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THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 



-l*- 



MONTHLY MAGAZINE 



OF 



General Literature and Science, 



VOL. XIV. 
OCTOBER, 1871, TO MARCH, 1872. 



NEW YORK : 
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE, 

9 barren Street. 

I 872. 






3 



660562 



JOHN ItOM * COMPANT, 

Rnmna amd irKiwyntPBM, 

■7 ROM KT., KKW VOMC. 



CONTENTS. 



Latar*, Aa.6B3 
ihr. 757 
: >lie b»ho|>«, CUikv's Uve^ of 



* ■ '■Urlyrt of. <i3 

Au>.i'.i^n, Ibc ItitctnaUoDil, 6m 
UiLi-iijr In Maitcr* of F*iib, 143 



I .iiti. It, Ubratie*. Ob. 707 

I'' ' : Li and rinlltebtn, SJA.8»9 

iivUn, I 
-.[>, Aecordifif 10 the Moit 

CWW :. Lif»ol tbc AmcricAiiCftlbblia BithofH, 



'"ujin-- 1; . 



C.T7<> 



Dwin t>< tb« Kicb In Cbrlktiui So«lily. Tb«, 

irr. 7!i 

Ippitn CiTiliution According to Ibe Uotl 
B«(*r,t Du r>ver'te«,6]| 

I'XMlliy, The, 91 

I .. An. 1*) 
BwaRi'.L' U.if.^iaiini Sa.^j ;or.Scv«fml Catura- 
•if Kc(u(e<J, M) 

' r , Tti« Pf)nc«(ftn K«rlew on, 400 
iif.nniT 'ti Mailers of, 145 

lu ilic Cctman Putiuasnt. 
f Wkc. Kec«at EvenU In, >S9 

I. >t, Letur ofMjr. Dupaoloup tfl, 
m-i Ai.Kv nf the Rerolutloo. A, 161 

rw Schfvol of. 549 
Jd llie Pietcnt Condition of thr, 

Uao«of y«rke.Tbe, »*, ijl, 305. «7J. j3$. ?J* 

tnamtiona) AsMiciaii^n, Th«.'94 
Muil af Smsu, Tbc, lis 

LUi» i;«orf «, A Wrek ai. 7* 

U Ro<]u«tt«. Tbc 1*U£« VcadAne anOi, i«7. >j). 

'■ ■ r^irfyo* Lonrdcs. 1*0 

t> :. The SUicmata «iuJ RctUaletuf, 

Im* trsncral Conr«nlifln of lh« T. K. Cborcb, 

La \ •:. '.- l)nr rtiilMmn RvC in, (47 

I- , IIUb»p of Orlcaav, 



Uqucfulimi of the Rtood of SL JbomtHii, Tha. 

Laun&n, Oui uay of. 100 
Lucas Garcia, (^ iSf 

Mainrt'i Leper of ihe City of Auu, 7*7 
Mammoth Cave. A Vivil (o.6>t 
Miutyraot Arcuail, The, 613 
Kodero Opera , 415 

KnilotwUty, The Elements of Our. ft 
New Scbooi of HUu»y. The, 549 

On Catholic Llbrarlca 707 

On the I'reMDt Cundiuon oftht Holy FiLhcr, 

777 
One Ctirbimts Cre In L* VeiKMe, 44f 

Opem, Modern, 41) 

Out I.aitv <tl Liiunles. loo 

Omch aDSpiiitlam, 9uj 

Panthetmn, Catholicity ami, jj6 

pa)Ml iMTHtlihilily. Papular (ibjcctlont 10,39; 

Ptiiliiaophy, The {'u«nilc, 61] 

Plccv Vemluitie, Tbc. atwl La Raqoette, iar< 

Poclry ■ml i'rrt«e of Tulor, ™ 

Po[.iiJar Ohi«ciioti4 to Papal lafstllbUlly, J97 

Poiil|visn>, CliriSltanilV aixl, ■ 

Piiiiucl'iii Review 1)11 Dr. Kabcr, 400 

Proiirft'aiil t!.iM>^coi>«l Church, Ijtie General Coo- 

veiiliun ('( inc. y^j 
PtoteUant Rule of PaiUt. The. 4U 

rtecent BvenU In France. «39 
Kcligioui Movement in Geiroany, ami tbc Frae- 
//.•a liu LtHtrr in the Cierotau Parlwoicut. 

■ CO 

Kevoluiion, A Ghoat Story oftkc. a6i 
Kick, Dutie* o4 the, jjj, js\ 
Riot of Ihe Tivellib. Tbc, 1 r? 
Rome, St. (:e<:IIU'» D<iy in. 64^ 
kul« or h'aiih. The Ptole*taut, 4W 

St. Cecllbi'a Day In Home, flffi 

St janoariui, I.iquctacilon ol the Hlood of, 3*, 

»'"^ i')'. S'^ 
St. Lajare, An Aflemoan at, M) 
S«ini», The laland ol, i^jj 
Scvciii Cxiumntrs KelUied, 663 
itiiirilism, On en on, 80.1 
SiiginatK, The, and Ecstasies of LouIm Lateau, 

■I' 
Stady of S»cr«d Hlalocy, 411 

Tbooffhtsfar the WaRieaorilieTliBe*,^*; 
Travel* In ibc Air. 7S7 

L'ncirU Jotirml, Aa, 7*1 

Valentine. 914 

Venue Ai1u*cmin. IIS7 

\'isi( tu Mammoth Care, A. 6*1 

Week at Lake Georie. A. ji 

Who n \n Kducato Our Children f 4ji 

Wumon ui Out TImca, Tlioucbta for ibc, 4<r 

Yorkc, The House of, ■«, ijl, 30$, 4n> a>a> 7jl 



u 



ConteiUs, 



POETRY. 



Annnncitlion, The, >t« 

Bethlehem, 487 

Broad School, The, 515 

Convert, A, 30 

Dante's Purgatorio (New TranslatEon), 503 

Evening Clouds, 15 

Kver, 471 

Epiphwiiy, Our, 63* 

Lamartinc'sThe Wayside Spring (TraQslatioo), 

313 
Last Days of Olsin, The Bard, 844 
Legeails ul' Oisia, The, i8s, 343 
Limitation, 414 



MartjrrdoB of St. Afaa, The, Sal 

Memory, A, 304 

Mountain, The, wjt 

New Outapokea Style, The, 596 

Oar Bplphanjr, 63a 

Purgatorio, Dant«*a(New TnuulaUea), m 

St. Agnea.The Martyrdom of, BaS 

True Faith, aia 

Uhland't Evening Clouds (Tnoilatlon), tj 

Veiled, 6m> 

Waytide Spring, The, aij 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



American Home Book of In-Door Games, 

Amusements, and Occupations, 790 
Antidote to " Gates A^ar," 571 
Ariana ot the Fourth Ucntury, The, 857 
Augustine, Aurclius, Works of, 381 

Rayle's Pearl of Antinch, 71a 

Bennl'a Tnidition of the Synac Church of Antt- 

och, 418 , 

Beecher's Lite nfjesus the Christ, 438 
Biographical Sketch of Mother Margaret Mary 

Halliihan, 143 
Brightley's Leading Cases on the Law of Elec- 

linas, 431 
Catholic Directory, Almanac, and Ordo, 5ad- 

licrs", 1873, 730 
Catholic <:hoir, I'ctcrs's, 385 
Catholic Family Almanac, Illustrated, SI4 
Cineas : or, Rome under Nero, 439 . 

Collection uf Leadtnp Cases on the Law of Etec- 

(ions in the U. S., 4^1 
Congregation of St. Paul, Sermons by the Fa- 
thers of, 576, 716 
Critical Greek and English Concordance of the 

Kew TcN(ament,3S6 
Curci's Taking uf Rome by the Italian Army, 

718 
Dahlgren, Ulrir, Memoir of, 859 
Doane's I'asiiiuii Play, 576 
East and West Poctiin, 575 
Essays CriticKl and lliatorical, 437 

Florence O'Neill. 718 

Formtty's I'ictorlal Bible and Church History 

StnrieK, 384 
Fourfold Sovt'reigntv of God, 4'7 
Four Great Evils of the Day, 3B6 

Gales Ajar, Antiilote to, 573 
Grariuuic <le Tempore ei do Sanctis, 387 
Grand DcinonHtration in Honor of the XXVth 
Anniversary cftlie hleciion ol Pius IX., 387 

Hallahan. Mother Margaret Mary, Biographical 

Skeich of, 143 
HarteS F.a-sc ami IVcM Poems, 575 
Harsha'K Lite tiTJohn Hunyan, 387 
Hastings and Hudson's Greek and Hngtish Cun- 

cunlaiicc ot the New Testament, 386 
llewit's Light In Darkness, 3S1 

IvnatiuN Loyola and the Early Jesuits, 144 
Illustrated Laiholic Family Almanac, 384 

Japan In Our Day, 73a 
Junonnnt's School Houms, 143 
Julia, Life ul Mother. i8s 

Lenten Sermons, 860 

loiters o> Mme. de Stfvlgn^, 410 

Letters of Lady Mary H ortley Montagu, 43s 

Lire ol Cant. Iiowara, 7r5 

Life of Jesus the Christ, 4a8 

LUr- nf inhn Riinv*p, tkj 



Life ofMother Julia, 185 

Light in Darkness, aSa 

Lord's Prophetlc^mperialisiD, 574 

Macaronic PoeLry, T17 

McCorry's Mount Benedict, 144 

Manning's Fourfold Sovereignty of God. 4a, 

Manning's Four Great Evils of the Day, aU 

Manual of Piety, 3S8 

Martyrs of the Coliseum, a88 

Memoir of Ireland, A, 714 

Meehan's Rise and Fall of the Irish Fniube 

Monasteries, 719 
Montagu's Letters, 430 
Montaiemhen's Monks of the West,s83 
Morran's Macaronic Poetry, 7>7 
Mount Benedict ; or. The Violated Tomb, 141 
Newman's. Atlana of the Fourth Century, 851 
Newman's Ewar* f'ritlcal and Hlatorical^jai 
Nieremberg'B Of Adoration in Spirit andTn 

>43 

O'Connell's Memoir of Ireland, 719 
O'Reilly's Martyrs of the Coli.teum, a88 
Of Adoration in Spirit and Truth, 143 

F;i1mer's Life of Card. Howard, 715 

Pearl ol Antioch, The, 719 

Pctcrs's Catholic Cliolr, 383 

Pictorial Kible and Church History Stories. 1 

Plus IX , Grand Demonstration la Uonor of 

Election 01,387 
Preston's The Vicar of Christ, ^71 
I'lisoners of St. Lazare, The, $73 
Prophetic Imperialism, 574 
Rise and Fall of the Irish Franciscan Moaaai 

ies, 7iq 
Hose's Ignatius Loyola and the Early Jen 

144 
Sadlicrs' Catholic Directory, Almanac, andO 

187*. 7*0 
St. Lazare, The Prisoners of, 573 
School- Houses, 143 
Segneri'a Lenten St-rmoni, 860 
Sermons hy the F.ilhers of the Conyrec«ttM 

Si. Paul, 576,716 
Siivigntf's Letters, 4^0 
Smith's American Home Book, 730 
Spouse of Christ, The, 860 
Stewart's Klort-nce O'Neill, 718 

Taking of Home by the Italian Army, 71S 

Taylor's Japan nt Our Day, 730 

The Internatinnale— Communism, 8.i(9 

Tissandivr'v Wonders of Water, 730 

To and From the Pasaion Play, 576 

Tradition ul the Syiiac Church ot Antioch, 41 

Vessels of the Sanctuary, The, 860 

Vicar ol Christ, The, 571 

Villefranch's Clne^iS, 439 

Wanders of Water, rao 

Works of AureliuB Augustine, a8i 



THE 



lATHOLIC WORLD. 



VOL, XIV., No. 79.— OCTOBER, 1871. 



CHRISTIANITY AND POSITIVISM.* 



Dk. McCosh had acquired a con- 
MdcnUe reputatiaa among Presby- 
tedutt io his own couniry and ouni, 
If cereral philosophico-theological 
nrb he had published, before he 
I invited to become the president 
fiht Xew Jersey College at Prince- 
one of the most distinguished 
^ffarv institutions of the Union. It 
ail able president, also a Scots- 
nn, Id Or. Witherspoon, one of the 
i of the Declaration, and a de- 
Bted champion of American indc- 
ce, and, though a Presbyteri- 
w. a sturdy defender of civil and 
«lipi)u5 liberty. Dr. McCosh comes 
> the presidency of the college with 
^high literary and philosophical rc- 
ptation, and comes under many ad- 
iU£cs, and its friends expect him 
ribule much to niisc still high- 
lioiacter, and place it on a 
ith Harvard and Yale, perhaps 
3VC ihcm. 

l^Hiti'an'/y »rit f^titivinm. A Sccits ot 
t>M, on N'attiriJ Theology 
iivffril in Nl-m- York. Jaiiu- 
ri".;!. nn lhe"EV I'ouU'U- 
Ifta-rr Ihewloxical Seminmry. Hy 

JunnM. .. LL-lJ.. Prcuilant o( tbe 

CMecc if< ^cw ]cr»ey, !*rmcettm. New VorV 
Outer A Itrol^n il;i. idtui, pp. ^Aq, 



There is some ability and consi- 
derable knowledge displayed in the 
volume of lectures before us, thougli 
not much originality. The author 
professes to take tlie side of Chrifi- 
tianity against the false and mischie- 
vous theories of such men as Sir 
AVilliam Hiimilton, of Edinburgh, 
J. Stuart Mill, Huxley, Darwin, Her- 
bert Spencer, and others, whom he 
classes as belonging to the Positivist 
school. We have every disposition 
in the world to think and speak well 
of the volume, and to give it full 
credit for every racrit it may claim. 
It is directed against our enemy cvcu 
more tlian against his. Positivism is 
the most open, frank, honest, and 
respectable anUgonist Christianity 
or Catholicity has had in modern 
times, and, we may add, the ablest 
and the most logical, especially as 
represented by avowed Posilivists. 
In fighting against us, positivism 
fights against our Presbyterian doc- 
tor, so far as he retains any clement 
of Catholic truth, and there is no 
good reason why his war against it 
should not tend as far as it goes to 
the same end as ours. Positivismj 



EBloed, Mcacdtnc to Act ol CnngT?«. in ttic year i3;i, by Rw. t. T. HxcKiit. id th« OlBocoi 
l&i LlliriilAii ul Cunfficn, at WatbloKliia, D. C. 



can be opposed and Christianity de- 
f<::Dded only on Catholic ground ; and 
so far as Dr. McCosh really does 
either, he must assume our ground 
and serve in our ranks, or at any 
rale be on our side ; and it would be 
churlish in us to reject or underrate 
his services because in certain other 
matters he is against us, or is not 
enrolled in our ranks. 

It is certain that in these lectures, 
wliichshow marks of much hard men- 
tal Labor, the author has said many 
good things, and used some good ar- 
guments; but having truth only in a 
mutilated form, and only his private 
judgment to oppose to llie private 
judiiment of Positivists. tic has been 
unable to give a full and conclusive 
refutation of positivism. As a Pro- 
testant traiued in Protestant schools, 
he has no clear, well-defined catho- 
lic |]rincip]es to which he can refer 
the particular tniths he advances, and 
the special arguments he urges for 
their unity and support. His book 
lacks unity, lacks the mental grasp 
that comprehends in its unity and 
universality the whole subject, under 
all its various aspects, or in its prin- 
ciple, on which it depends, and 
which explains and justifies it. His 
book is a book of particular;, of de- 
tails, of general conclusions tlrawn 
from particular facts and statements, 
like all Protestant books. This is 
not so much the fault of the author 
}>erhaps as of his Protestantism, which, 
since it rejects catholicity and has 
nothing imiversal, is essentially illo- 
gical, and can deal only in particulars 
or with individual things. The con- 
tents of the book are referred to no 
general principle, and the particular 
conclusions drawn are of little value, 
because isolated, each standing by 
itself instead of being reduced to its 
))rtnciple and co-ordinated under its 
law. The author lacks the concep- 
tion of unity and universality; he 




has particulars, but no univei 
variety, but no identity— multi[ 
but no unity, except in words, 
is a great defect, and rende 
work inconclusive as an argi 
and exceedingly tedious to the 
CT as well as the reviewer, 
defect runs all through the at 
philosophy. In his Intuithns 
Mind, there is no unity of 
tion, but a variety of isolated 
lions — no intuition of princip 
the universal, but simply intell 
apprehension of supersensible 
culars, as in The Human Iniei 
Prof. Porter, who is a far able 
than Dr. McCosh. 

We are utterly unable to fl| 
these lectures, reduce their d 
ances to a universal principle, ' 
if accepted, is decisive of the 
controversy they attempt lo 
or if rejected proves the whole 1 
less. Then we complain of 
thor for the indignity he offers to 
tianily by suffering the Positiv 
put it on the defensive, and 
tempting to prove it against p 
ism. Christianity is in possi 
and is not called upon to < 
her right till strong reasons ai 
duoed for ousting her. Conseqt 
it is for those who would oui 
lo prove tlieir case, to make 
their cause. 'I'hc Christian c 
versialist at this late day doc 
begin with an apology or d 
of Christianity, but attacks thoi 
assail her, and puts them on 
defence. It is for the scienli 
Positivisw, who oppose the Ch 
religion, to prove their positiv 
science. It is enough for the 
tian to show that the positivi 
alleged science is not itself p 
or, if proven, that it proves n 
against Christ and his church 
McCosh seems to have some 
cion of this, and occasional 
tempts to put positivism on j 



A 



Christianity and Positivism. 



Bfence, but he docs it withoat laying 
ddira tfic principle which justifies it; 
ttA in doing it he renders tt useless, 
)ff inuiicd lately running away after 
ne pet speculation of his own, 
Itch gives his opponent ample op- 
rtuaity to resume the offensive. 
fcCo&h, also, more than half 
riih the Potsitivists, and con- 
■t the religious society, as 
s»h. has DO right to judge of the 
bnaringv of ihe conclusions of tlie 
tcicntists on religion. '* All tins 
unMR," he aay% pp. 5, 6, " that reli- 
riious men qua religious men arc not 
be aDowed to decide for us the 
'owhs of science. Conceive an 
CEciancnical Council at Rome, or 
t AsMinbly of Divines at Wcstmin- 
T.ocin Episcopal Convocation at 
|L3Dibeth,or a Congregational Coun- 
Plymouih, or a Methodist 
ncc in Connecticut (why not 
■f B.i - taking upon it to de- 

ride fui . 1st tlie discoveries of 

SirUaac Newton, or the grand doC' 
trac cstablislied in our day of llic 
cvnaerration of force and the corre- 
Ittoo of all the physical forces, on 
tl>c ground of their being favorable 
w imfavorable to religion 1" This 
CKcedes to the Positivists that sci- 
ence is independent of religion, and 
.,.. -1; .: ,^ i5 (o ije accepted or re- 

\ does or does not accord 

.eiice, and wholly overlooks 

'. that religion is the first sci- 

tud thai nothing can lie true, 

jlically or otherwise, that is con- 

' or unfavorable 10 religion. Ke- 

i the word of God, and every 

man says villi the inspired 

, " I,et God he tme, and cvc- 

r man a lUr." 

McCosh, of course, cannot 
' this, fur, having no infallible au- 
rity to define what is or is not 
Rpous truth or the word of God, 
he B obliged to place religion in the 
caecgoiy of opinions which may or 



may not be true, and therefore to 
deny it as the law for all intelligences. 
Supposing God has appointed an au- 
thority, infallible through his gracious 
assistance, to teach all men and na- 
tions his religion, or the truth he has 
revealed, and the law he commanc 
all to obey, this authority must be 
competent to decide whether any 
alleged scientific discoveries are or 
are not favorable to religion, and 
must necessarily have the right to 
decide prior lo all scientific investi- 
gation. If this authority decides 
tliat this or that theory is unfavora- 
ble to religion, we as religious men 
luust pronounce it false, and refuse 1 
to entertain it. Dr. McCosh, as 
a Presbyterian or Protestant, would 
have no right to say so, but the Ca- 
tholic would have the right, and it 1 
his duty lo say so ; because religion 
is absolutely true, and the supreme 
law for reason as well as for 
conscience, and wliat is or is not 
religion, the authority unerringly de- 
cides for him. Nothing. that is not 
in accordance with the teachings of 
religion can be true in science any 
more than in religion itself, though 
many things may be true that arc 
not in accordance with the opinions 
and theories held by religious men. 

Tlie moment the Christian allows 
that the authority is not catholic; 
that it is limited and covers only one 
part of truth ; and that there is by 
its side aautlicr and an independent 
authority, another and independent 
order of truth, he ceases to be able 
lo meet successfully the Posltivists ; 
for iruth is one, and can never be in 
opposition to truth — ihat is. in oppo- 
sition to itself. Religion, we con- 
cede, does not teach the sciences, or 
the various tacts with which they 
are constructwl, but it does judge 
and pronounce authoritatively on the 
inferences or conclusions scientific 
men draw from these facts, or the ex- 



Christianity and Positivism, 



planaiions they give of them, and to 
decide whether they are or are not 
consistent with her oivn teachings. 
If they are inconsistent with the reveal- 
ed word, or with wh.it that word im- 
plies, she pronounces them false; and, 
if warranted by the alleged facts, she 
pronounces the alleged facts them- 
selves to be misinterpreted, misap- 
prehended, misstated, or to be no 
facts. Her authority is higher than 
any reasonings of men, than the au- 
tliority even of the senses, if it comes 
to that, for nothing is or can be more 
certain than that religion is true. We 
cannot as Catholics, as Christians, 
make the concession to the Positiv- 
ists the E'resbyteri-m doctor docs, 
that their science is an authority in- 
dependent of religion, and not ame- 
nable to it. 

Dr. McCosh, we think, is unwise, 
in a controversy with Posiiivisi*. in 
separating natural theology, as he 
calls it, from revealed theology. The 
two arc only parts of one whole, and, 
in point of fact, although distinguish- 
able, have never existed separately at 
any ei>och of history. The existence 
of God, the immateriality of the soul, 
and the liberty of man or frcc-wJll, 
are provable with certainiv by rea- 
son, and are therefore truths of phi- 
losophy, but they were not discover- 
ed by unassisted reason or the un- 
assisted exercise of our natural powers 
before they were taught to our first 
[•arents by the Creator himself, 
and have never been held as simple 
natural truths, unconnected with 
fiupemaiural instruction or some 
reminiscences of such instruction. 
Natural theology, or philosophy, and 
revealed theology form one indisstilu- 
b!c whole, and Christianity includes 
both in their unity and catlioUci- 
ty. In defending Christianity against 
posirivism, which denies both, we 
should defend both as a whole ; be- 
cause the natural is incomplete and 



unable of itself &loae 
the demands of reason, 
never sufficient for itself; a 
truths necessary to complete 
to solve the objections to I 
ing and providence of God i 
obtainable by reason alone < 
out the light of rcvelalion. V 
assert and prove miracles as 
but the objectious of Fositii 
them cannot be scientihcolly i 
ed till wc have pn^ved that th( 
their law in the supernatural 
The inferences we draw fron 
cles will not be appreciated oc 
ed by men who deny the sup 
ral and reduce God to nature. 
The author in reality lias i 
ihod, but he begins by attempi 
prove the being of God, thi 
existence of mind in man, aa 
reality of knowledge, and fiji 
tlie second part, that the life of 
was the life of a real pcrsonag 
proves the reality of his religion 
oifers only one argument to 
that God is, and that is thi 
known argument from de&ign, 
he bases on the principle thai 
effect has its cause. He do 
develop this argument, whic 
been so fully done by l*aiey a| 
Brid^avater Treatises, but sim 
serts its sufficiency. There an 
of design in adapting one Ih 
another throughout the ui 
which can be only the effect 
action of an intelligent dc 
Giving this argument all p 
force, it does not carry the au 
his conclusion beyond Plato a 
totle, neither of whom was pi 
a theist. Plato and Aristotle b> 
lievcd in an intelligent mind 
universe, operating on an cten 
created mutter, forming all 
from pre-existing materials, a 
ranging them in an artistic 
The argument from design c 
no farther, and this is all that i 



Ckristiauiiy and Pcsitivhvi. 



•'sflltBtralionofthc watch, 

.'1 be no illusiraiinn at all 

lo a mind thai had no intuition or 

conccpiion of a designer. Neither 

ilafo nor Aristotle had any concep- 

rinn of a creator or supermundane 

fiod Whether the intelliijent mind 

^as created all things from nothing, 

w hu only formed and disposed all 

ihin^ from pre-existing matter, as 

iSc soul of the world, anima mun- 

a, is what can never be dctcnniacd 

\iy any induction from the alleged 

nirkfi of design discoverable in the 

imivtfse. 

We therefore hold, and have al- 
ways held, thai this famous argument, 
ihe only one the Baconian philoso- 
phy admits, however valuable it may 
be in proving or illustrating the al- 
oiliHtcs or perfections of God, when 
(JoJis once known lo exist, is incon- 
duiive when relied on alone to prove 
thit Cod Is, or is that by which 
the tnimi first obtains t)ie idea. It 
My serve as a corroborative argu- 
ment, but of itself alone it cannot 
wiiinatc the idea in the mind, or car- 
7 one beyond an intelligent soul of 
the »orld, or the pantheism of Plato 
4tid Aristotle, and of all Gentile phi- 
losophy, cxcqjl the school of Leucip- 
jms and Democritus, followed as to 
jibjrsics by Epicurus — unless we 
cmut also except the sceptics, Pyrrho 
aid Sextus Empiricus. We think, 
therefore, the author has damaged 
the cattse of Christianity, instead of 
<erving it, by risking it on a single 
arpimcnt, by no means conclusive to 
r [tose. A weak and inadequate 
-^.,;.^ is worse than no defence at 
all. 

The principle that every effect has 
i rause, on which the author bases 
'It, is no doubt true; but 
jw that the fact is an <•/- 
before wc can infer from it that 
or has had a cause. Cause 
and cffccl arc correlative terms, 



which connote one another; but this 
is no i>roof that this or that fact is an 
€ff(ci ; and we cannot pronomicc it 
an effect unless we know that it has 
begun to exist; nor even then, un- 
less we have the intuition of caused 
and no intuition even of a par-' 
ticular cause suRices, unless we 
have intuition of a universal cause. 
It is not so simple a thing, then, lo 
pronounce a given fact an fffect^ and > 
to conclude that there Js between it] 
and something else, the relation! 
of cause and effect. It is precisely I 
this relation that Hume, Kant, Tho-I 
mas Browne, Sir William Hamilton,] 
Dr. Mansel, Auguste Comle, Joha 
Stuart Mill, Huxle)', Herbert Spen-( 
cer, and all the so-called Positivists j 
deny or relegate to the region of the] 
unknowable. Dr. McCosh does nolt 
refute them, by assuming and argu- 
ing from the principle; he simply 
begs the question. 

Now, we venture to tell our learn- 
ed and philosophic author that hiaj 
whole argument for natural theology | 
falls to the ground before a mindj 
that has no intuition of the relation | 
of cause and effect, that is not prcvi-l 
oufily furnished with the knowledge! 
of design and of a designing cause. 
Hence, from the alleged marks of de- 
sign and adaptation of means to ends, , 
it is impossible to infer a designer, 
Wlien the watch was presented for ] 
the first time to the untutored sav- 
age, he looked upon it as a living ! 
thing, not as a piece of artificial me- 
chanism constructed by a watch- 
maker. He nius.1 know that it is a i 
piece of arlihciui mechanism before 
tie can conclude man has made it. 
There falls under our observation no 
more perfect adaptation of means to 
ends than the octagonal cell of the 
bee. Does tJie bee work by design 
in constructing it ? Does the beaver | 
work by design, by intelligent design, 
in building its dam and constructing 



Ciiristm nity and Positivism. 



its house ? It is generally held 
that the bee as well as the beaver 
works by instinct, or by a law of its 
nature, as does the swallow in build- 
ing its nest. This proves that a de- 
signer cannot be inferred from the 
simple facts observed in nature, as 
the Fositivists maintain. This is the 
condemnation of the so called induc- 
tive philosophy. The induction, to 
be valid, must be by virtue of a prin- 
ciple already held by the mind, in- 
tuitively or otherwise, and therefore 
can never of itself supply or give its 
principle, or by itself alone obtain its 
principle. God is not an induction 
from the facts observed in nature; 
and the Fositivists have shown, de- 
monstrated so much, and have there- 
fore shown that observation and in- 
duction alone can give no principle, 
and, therefore, end in nescience — the 
termination of the so-called philoso- 
phie positive. 

Dr. McCosh is not wholly insensi- 
ble to this conclusion, and seeks to 
escape it by proving that there is a 
mind in man endowed with the ca- 
pacity of knowing things as they are. 
But if the existence of the mind 
needs to be proved, with what can 
we prove it ? By consciousness, the 
author answers ; but that is a sheer 
paralogism, for consciousness is sim- 
ply an act of the mind, and presup- 
poses it God can no more be an 
induction from the facts of conscious- 
ness than from the facts of nature. 
In either case, the God induced is a 
generalization ; in the one case, the 
generalization of nature, and, in the 
other, the generalization of conscious- 
ness. The former usually goes by 
the name of atheism, the latter by 
the name of egoism. 

Dr. McCosh very properly rejects 
Hamilton's and Mansel's doctrine of 
the pure relativity of all knowledge, 
and Herbert Spencer's doctrine that 
all knowledge is restricted to the 



knowledge of phenomena or 
ances, though conceding that 
ances are unthinkable withoi 
lity beyond them, but that th< 
beyond them, and which apj 
them, is itself unknowable; ar 
tains truly that we know thing 
selves, both sensibles and si 
sibles. We know them, he cc 
by intuition, or a direct loo^ 
or beholding them by the sii 
tellectual force of our mine 
this we are not so certain, fo 
not ourselves know by intuiti 
salt is bitter and sugar swe 
we think the doctor knows 
themselves only in so far as 
cepts their essence or substan 
confounds the thing with its 
ties, or its accidents, as say the 
njen, in which case he makes 
preciable advance on Mr. 1 
Spencer. I know the appe 
and the sensible properties of 
but I do not know its essence 
stance. Has the Presbyteria 
tor, who seems to have a holy 
of Catholicity, invented a phiJ 
for the express purpose of c 
ing with apparent reason th 
tery of tran substantiation, by : 
it conflict with the positive tes 
of the senses and the humai 
lect? 

But let that pass. The ii 
the doctor recognizes is er 
intuition, and intuition of pa 
or individual things, not of 
pies, causes, relations. And fi 
knowledge of those individual 
he holds that man rises by g( 
zation and abstraction — that is 
tion — from one degree of kno 
to another, till he finally att 
the knowledge of God distinc 
the world, and clothes him wi 
nite perfections. Yet the goc 
tor claims to be a philosophi 
enjoys a high reputation as 
None of these individual thin 



Christianity and Posittvtsm, 



j& of them together^ arc Cod, or 
^MQtaiQ liim ; how, then, &oin them, 
ding you know them, rise^ieii' 
to liim ? and what by ab- 
Itnrtion an^) generalization is (hat 
10 vUich the mind attains? Only 
ilieir gencraJizaiion or abstraction, 
nhkh 05 a creation of the mind is a 
ooUtly. lie, like Hamilton, in this 
would make philosophy end in nc- 
tcwice. 

\V*e, o( couise, hold tliat we ap- 
prehend and know things themselves, 
not phenomena merely, ^nd as they 
they are not — that is, in 
reUiions, not to us only, 
iuc in the objercive world. But to 
knov tilings as they are, in their real 
oqective rdatians, or to know them 
at fill, demands intuition of them, in 
tWcDntingenry or in their charac- 
I i:urcs or efifccls — that is to 

M tences, not as indepen<!ent, 

itii'-omteni beings, which they are 
aoc. And this is not possible with- 
Ott the intuition of the necessary, 
of real being, oa which they depend 
«dH from which they arc derived. 
^ I say a thing is an eiTcct, I 
has been caused, and therefore, 
in order to say it, I must have tutui- 
■^^ if cause; and if I say of a thing 
• I is a particular cause, I deny 
1 19 a universal cause, which I 
. uot do without the intuition of 
-al cause. So when I &ay of a 
.„ :t is contingent, I simply deny 
a to be necessary being, and I could 
(im deny a thing to be necessary be- 
mg if 1 Iiad no intuition of neccssa- 
ing. If the author means by 
.ling and generalising our 
~dge of things or individual 
;cr. distinguishing this ideal 
I >n, or ihc intuition of real ne- 
ul universal being — what 
,. :ft srtnielitncs c;dl neccssa- 
I'lluition of things 
gc , :ices, along with 

DcK it IE presented in thought, and 



as the necessary condition of our ap- 
preliending them, and by reflection 
and contemplation ascertaining that 
this ideal, necessary and universal. 
is really God, though not intuitively 
known to be God, we do not ob- 
ject to tlie assertion that we rise from 
our knowledge of tilings to the know 
ledge of God himself. What wc 
deny is that God can be concluded 
from the intuition or apprehension 
of things. We rise to him from the 
ideal intuition, or intuition of the 
real and necessary, which enters the 
iziind with the intuition of the things, 
and without which we never do or 
could have intuition of them, any 
more than they could exist without 
the creative act of real and necessa- 
ry being creating them from nothing 
and sustaining them in existence; 
but it needs to be disengagcil by a 
mental process from the empirical 
intuition with which it is presented. 

This ideal intuition is not immedi- 
ate and direct intuition of God, as 
tlic pscudo-ontologists contend, and 
which the church has condemned ; 
but is intuition under the form of 
necessar}% universal, eternal, and im- 
mutable ideas — of that which the 
mind, by reasoning, reflection, and 
contemplation, proves really is God. 
What misleads the author and so 
many others who use the argument 
he uses, is that the intuition o{ real 
nnd necessary being, and the iniui- 
lion of contingencies, are given both 
in the same thought, tlie one along 
\rith die other, and most mimls fail 
to distinguish them — which is done, 
according to St. Thomas, by the in- 
telieitus agctts^ in distmction from the 
passive or receptive intellect — and 
bence ihey suppose tliat they con- 
clude the ideal intuition from thej 
empirical intuition. This is decided^ 
ly the case with Dr. McCo>h. The 
learned doctor admits intuitions, but 
only intuitions of individual cxisten- 



8 



Christianity and Positivism. 



ces — what we call empirical intuitions 
— whether causes oreflfects,not intui- 
tion of the ideal ; and hence his ar- 
gument for the existence of God 
proves nothing, for the universal is 
not derivable from the particular, 
the necessary from the contingent, 
nor being from existences. Had he 
recognized that along with, as its 
necessary condition, the intuition of 
the particular there always is the 
intuition of the universal, etc., he 
would have placed theology against 
positivism on an impregnable founda- 
rion. The necessary ideas, the uni- 
versal, the eternal, the immutable, 
the necessary, connoted in all our 
thoughts, cannot be simply abstrac- 
tions, for abstractions have no exis- 
tence a parte ret, and are formed by 
the mind operating on the concrete 
object of empirical intuition. As 
these ideas are objects of intuition, 
they are real ; and if real, they are 
either being or existences. But no 
existences are or can be necessary, 
universal, eternal, immutable, for they 
depend to be on another, as is im- 
plied in the very word existence, 
from ex-stare. Then they must be 
being, and identifiable in the one 
universal, eternal, real, and necessary 
being, and distinguishable from ex- 
istences or things, as the creator from 
his creatures, the actor from the act. 
We have said that the ideal intui- 
tion is not intuition of God, but of 
that which is God ; we say now that 
the ideal intuition is not formally in- 
tuition of ens or being, as erroneously 
supposed by some to be maintained 
by Gioberti and Dr. Brownson, but 
of that which is ens. The process of 
demonstrating that God is consists 
in identifying, by reflection and rea- 
soning, the necessary ideas or ideal 
intuition with real, necessary, uni- 
versal, eternal, and immutable being, 
and real and necessary being in 
«-hich they are all identified with 



God. This process is demons! 
not intuition. When I say, 
syllogism, the conclusion folio 
ccssarily frcnn the premises, ] 
intuition of the necessary', < 
could not say it; but I have : 
tuition of the fact that the ne< 
is being, far less that it is God 
is known only by reflection an 
soning, disengaging the ideal 
the empirical. The idea mi 
real, or there could be no intui 
it, but if real, it must be being; if 
it must be real and necessary 
and real and necessary being i 
So of all the other necessary 
As the intuition is of both thi 
or necessary and the coming 
its principle, and in their real re 
it gives the principles of a coi 
demonstration of the being o 
as creator, and of the unive 
the effect of his creative acl 
therefore of the complete refi 
of pantheism. The vice o 
McCosh's argument is that i 
ceeds on the denial of ideal 
tion, and the assumption that 
God, is obtainable by general: 
and abstraction from the indi 
things given in empirical inti 
It is not obtained by reflectior 
them, but from the ideal int 
never separable from the empi 
This process of proving tha 
is may be called the ideal 
cess, or the argument from i 
sal and necessary ideas intu 
given. It is not a priori^ bi 
the ideal is held by inti 
nor is it an argument from 
ideas, as Descartes held ; nor- 
really objective, and present i 
mind — is it an argument fro 
primitive beliefs or constituent 
ciples of human nature, as Dr 
and the Scottish school maint 
and which is only another fo 
the Cartesian doctrine of 
ideas ; or an argument drawr 



Christianity and Postiivtstn. 



t 



(W 0«rn,/&ndEr, ss I.ethnitz imagined, 
orfroni the a pneri cognitions or ne- 
raasy forms of the intellect, as Kant 
idtl and which is only the doc- 
rme of the ScoUish school of Rcid 
lod Stewart differently stated; but 
ioffl priiKiples or data really present- 
ed in imuilion, and along with theem- 
piriral intuition of things. U places, 
ihcreforr, the be^ng of God on as firm 
itasis and readers it as certain to the 
uaderstaoding as our own existence, 
ar as any fact whatever of which the 
human mind has cognizance ; iiuIcL'tl, 
- it absolutely certain and un- 
»vi.-^!e. But while we say this, 
i while we maintain that the ideal 
uivcn along with the em- 
.uun, witl» which our author 
rit, and from which plulo- 
ktitral theology disengages 
i, ve by no means believe that 
ihc nee is indebted to this ideal or 
iKtiphysical process — which is too 
■iiScult not only for the Posiiivists, 
Itit for their great opponent. Dr. 
h — for the origin of their bc- 
..1 God. All ages and nations, 
rren the most barbarous and savage 
iribcs, ha\-c some sort of belief in God, 
tmt religious notions which imply 
)m exivencc ; and, hovering above 
the Tar'ous Eastern and Western 
ri ,, we find the belief in 

f<t, ;. ,., .1 the divine unity, though 
atgtcctcd or rejected for the worship 
of inferior gods or demons, or the 
fkntente—that is, the worship of crea- 
tures, which is idolatry, since wor- 
febipped as God. The ignorant sav- 
sge, but A grade above the beasts, 
\m nercr risen to the conception of 
God or of the Great Spirit from the 
amtemptalton of nature^ nor has he 
JCCJinoi to n.>ligious conceptions by 
I lav of his nature or by instinct, as 
tbe be« constructs its celt or the 
tesm its dam. 

It is very true, nothing more irxie 
t>an that ''the heavens show forth 



the glory of God, and the firmament 
declarelh the work of his hands," but 
to him only who has the idea of God!] 
or already believes that he is. Nc 
thing more true than Goil can bel 
traced in oil his works, or that " tht^l 
invisible things of him, even his ctcr- f 
nal power and divinity, are clearly^ 
seen from the creation of the world 
being understood by the things thatj 
are made," but only by those who 
have already learned that he is, are 
intent on answering the question, . 
Quilt est Deust not the (jucsiion, Am\ 
stt D(us f Hence we so far agrefr-l 
with the traditionalist, not indeedj 
that the existence of God cannot be 
proved by reason prior to faith, but] 
that, as a fact, God revealed himself 
to man before his expulsion from the j 
garden; and the belief, clear and dis- 
tinct or dim and confused, in the di< 
vine being, universally diffused among 
all races and conditions of men, ori-| 
ginated in revelation and is due to 
the tradition, pure or impure, in it»| 
integrity or mutilated and corrupteii> f 
of the primitive revelation made byi 
God himself to man. In this way] 
the fact of the universality of the be- 
lief in some form is a valid argument ] 
for the truth of the belief, and wej 
thus obtain a historical argument to' 
corroborate the already conclusive] 
ideal or metaphysical argument, thftj 
principles of which we have given. 

AVc bear willing testimony to the' 
good-will and laudable intention of 
our author, but we cannot regard 
him as able, with his mutilated theolo- 
gy and his imperfect and rather su- 
periicial philosophy — though less su- 
perficial than the philosophy generally 1 
in vogue among British and Ameri- 
can l*rotcstants — to cany on a suc- 
cessful war against the Positivists. 
^Vea^e almost tempted to say to hira ;j 

Non l«ll ■lui'lto nee ilcfoncoribat HUl 
TampuBegcU 

He is too near of kin to the Posiliv- 



10 



Christianity and Positivism, 



ists themselves, and adopts too many 
of their principles and conclusions, to 
be able to battle effectively against 
them. No doubt he urges much 
that is true against them, but his ar- 
guments, as far as effective, are incon- 
sistent with his position as a Protes- 
tant, and are borrowed from Catho- 
licity, or from what he has retained 
from Catholic instruction and Catho- 
lic tradition, not from his Protestant- 
ism. Having no authority but his 
own private interpretation of the 
Scriptures to define what is or is not 
Christianity, he knows not how much 
or how little he must defend against 
the Positivists, or how much or how 
little he is free to concede to them. 
He practically concedes to them 
the Creator. He defends God as 
the efficient cause, indeed, but not as 
Creator, producing all things by his 
word from nothing. He would 
seem to hold it enough to defend 
him as the organizer and disposer of 
materials already furnished to his 
hand. God docs not seem to him 
to be his own causa materialis. He 
works on a pre-existing matter. He 
constructs, the author concedes, the 
existing worlds out of " star-dust," or 
disintegrated stars, without telling 
us who made the stars that have dis- 
solved and turned to dust, and with- 
out bearing in mind, or without know- 
ing, that Christianity teaches us that 
" in the beginning God created the 
heavens and the earth," and there- 
fore could not have formed them out 
of " star-dust " or any other material. 
The Protestant divine accepts and 
defends Darwin's theory of the ori- 
gin of species by" natural selection," 
though he does not believe that it ap- 
plies universally, or that man has 
been developed from the ape or the 
tadpole. He denies that Huxley's 
protoplasm can be developed from 
protein, or life from dead matter; 
maintains that all life proceeds from 



a living organism, that the plant can 
spring only from a seed, and the ani- 
mal only from a living cell or germ; 
and yet concedes that some of the 
lower forms of organic life may spring 
or may have sprung from sponta- 
neous generation, and even goes so 
far as to tell us that some of the 
most eminent of the fathers held or 
conceded as much. What becomes, 
then, of the assertion that life cannot 
be evolved from dead matter ? He 
would seem to hold or to concede that 
man lived, for an indefinite time, 
a purely animal life, before the Al- 
mighty breathed into his nostrils and 
he became a spiritual man, and quotes 
to prove it St. Paul's assertion that 
^ not first that which is spiritual, but 
that which is animal ; afrcrwards that 
which is spiritual " ( i Cor. xv. 46). 
He seems, in fact, ready to concede 
any and everything except the intelli- 
gent Mind recognized by Plato and 
Aristotle, that has arranged all things 
according to a preconceived plan, 
and throughout the whole adapted 
means to ends. He insists on effi- 
cient causes and final causes, but 
hardly on God as the causa causa- 
rum or as the causa fitiatis of all par- 
ticular final causes. 

Throughout, as we have already 
remarked, there is a want of unity 
and universality in his philosophy, 
as there necessarily must be in his 
Protestant theology, and a sad lack 
of logical consistency and order, or 
co-ordination. His world is a chaos, 
as is and must be the Protestant 
world, Herbert Spencer undertakes 
to explain the universe without God, 
or, what is the same thing, with an 
absolutely unknowable God, which 
is of course an impossibility; but he 
has a far profounder intellect and a 
far more logical mind than Dr. Mc- 
Cosh. He is heaven-wide from the 
truth, yet nearer to it than his Pres- 
byterian critic. His logic is good ; 



iiinity 



Hi jinnriplcs being pranicd, his 

coiKlusions, though ibsun!, can- 

KA W (Jtfnic<L His error lies in his 

premijtfs, and, if you correct them, 

[ Mwr work is done. He will correct 

' : '=. and arrive at just conclu- 

aut fiinhcr assistance. But 

McCosh is one who, however 

ntirh he inay talk about them, 

DCTti reduces his doctrines to their 

?-^— " T'rinciples, or reasons from 

He is a genuine Protes- 

Luit, auti cannot be refuted in refuting 

hipTtrmriples, which vary with the cxi- 

f hts argwrnent, and are real- 

' u-i]>lcs at all, but must be 

r detail ; and -when you have 

1. L.j him twice three are six, you 

still to prove that three times 

■ix, 

.1 man — and he is, per- 
] vc the average of Prcsbytc- 

.. :.es — is the last raan in the 
I In attempt the refutation of 
:viam. No Protestant can do it. 
■d, all the avowed Positivists we 
ii %vn regnrd Protestant Chris- 

I- ■■- too insignificant a matter 

to be counted. It is too vague and 
fluctuating, too uncertain and hidcfi- 
nke, too unsubstantial and intangi- 
ble, KM) unsystematic and illogical, to 
crORtmand the least respect from tl»em. 
'1 at a glance ihat it is too 

tf a religion and too much to 
no-rdifiion. It cannot, with its 
'^r affirmations and its whole dcni- 
■.ond a moment before an intel- 
ligent Positivist who has a scientific 
.^a^ o f mind. The Positiviat icjeots 
ittn'-h, of course, but he respects 
jlicity as a logical system, con- 
fl-ctcnt ivith itself, coherent in all its 
nxrts, and for him there is no via 
«frtA« betwccti it and positivism. If 
i'ositivist, be saysopen- 
, iH- a Catholic, by no means 
:ant, which he looks upon 
3, II, ,M v: one thing nor another ; and 
w« respond that, could ^vc cease to be 



a Catholic, we should be a Posiiivist. 
for to a logical mind there is no me 
dium between the church and athe- 
ism. The middle systems, as Protes- 
tantism, Rationalism, Deism, etc., 
arc divided against themselves, and 
cannot stand, any more than a house 
divided against itself. Their denials 
vitiate their affirmations and their af- 
firmations vitiate their denials. They 
are all too much or too little. 

llie Positivists reject for what they 
call the scientific age both theology 
and metaphj-sias. They lielieve in the 
progress of the race, and indeed in 
all races, as does Dr. McCosh. 
Thc>' distinguish in the history of the 
human race or of human progress 
three epochs or stages — fir^t, thethen- 
logicnl ; second, the metaphysical ; and 
third, the scientific. Thcolog)- and 
metaphysics each in its epoch were 
true and good, and served the pro- 
gress of raan and society. They 
have now passed away, and the race 
is now entering the scientific age, 
which is the final stage, though not 
to la.st forever; for when the ficlil of 
science is exhausted, and all it yields 
is harvested, the race will expire, and 
the world come to an end, as having 
no more work to do. 1 1 will be seen 
there is here a remarkable diflerencc 
between the re.al Positivists, or believ- 
ers in Auguste Comtc, and our author 
and bis I'rotestant brethren. The 
Positivists never calumniate the past, 
but seek to appreciate its services to 
humanity, to acknowledge the good 
it did, and to bury it with honor, as 
the children of the ,Vew Dispensation 
did the Old, when it had lived its 
day. One of the finest appreciations 
from the point of view of humanity 
of the services of the mcdiaival 
monks we have ever read is from the 
pen of M. E. Littrc, the chief of the 
French Positiviits, and one of the 
most learned men of France- It said 
not all a Catholic would say, bul 



I 
I 
I 



fa 



Christianity and Positii'ism, 



scarcely a word that could grate on 
a Catholic ear, Dr. McCosh also 
believes in progress, in the progress 
of our spe<:ies, aud, for aught wc 
know, m the progress of all 
species and genera, and that we 
outgrow the past; but he takes plea- 
sure only in calumniating it, and Uke 
a bad son curses ihc mother that bore 
him. Because he has outgrown his 
nurse, )ie contends the nurse was of 
no use in his childhood, was a great 
injur)', and it would hrive been much 
better to leave him to himself, to tod- 
dle about at will, and toddle into the 
fire or the cistern, as he saw proper. 
Now, wc think, if one believes in 
the progress of the species or the 
|>erfcclibility of man by development 
or by natural agencies, the Posilivist 
iloctrine is much the most reasonable 
as well as far the most amiable. Its 
effecl, too, is far better. We — we 
spuak personally — owed much to the 
doLtriiie, wluth we borrowed not 
from Comie, but from Coratc's master, 
Saint-Simon, the influence of which, 
under the grace of God, disposed us 
to return to the old church. It soft- 
i-m!d the animosity, the bitter hatred, 
loward the past which wc had in- 
herited from our Trotestant educa- 
tion, and enabled us to study it with 
calm and gentle feelings, even with 
gratitude and respect, and disposed 
us to ^-iew it with impartiality and to 
appreciate it with justice. Study- 
ing the past, and e5peci.illy the 
old chuKh whicii wc had compla- 
cently supposed the race liad out* 
grown as the man has outgrown the 
bib and tucker of his childhood, in 
this new and better mood, we soon 
discovered that there was much 
more in the past than wc had ever 
dreamed of, and that it was abundant- 
ly able to teach us much more than 
wc or any of our Protestant contem- 
poraries supposed ; and we were not 
long in beginning to doubt if we had 



really outgrown it, nor in' 
convinced that, instead of out| 
it, we had fallen below it; t 
old church, the central institu 
the world, was as needful to ' 
as in the l}eginning ; and that, I 
parison with the full noondi 
which beamed from her divia 
tenance, the light in which ^ 
hitherto walked, or stumbled, 
was but a fading twilight, na 
night darkness. 

Of course we differ far mo 
positivism than does Ur. H 
but wc can as Catholics beti 
criminate than he what is tr 
just in them, and better und 
and refute their errors or fali 
ciples, because we have the 
truth to oppose to them, not 
certain fragments ordisfigured 
of truth. It is only Catholi 
can really set right the class i 
Dr. McCosh wars against Proi 
cannot do it. Wien Theodor 
er published his Disidurse of ^ 
Pertaining to HeHgion^ we had 
we speak personally again — ou 
the i'ratestantism in which i 
been trained. We set about ( 
him, and we saw at once wc 
not do iton Protestant grounds, 
planted ourselves on Catholic f 
as far as wc then knew it, a 
refutation was a total failure 
so far as we opposed to the /?, 
the principles of the Catholic C 
Dr. McCosh has tried his h 
the volume before us against 
dorc Parker and the Free R< 
ists. and with no success save 
as he abandons his Prntestanrii 
quietly appropriates the arg 
of Catholics, to which he has n 
right than he has to his neij 
horse. It was hardly gener 
ll»e learned doctor, while usin 
arguments — and they were ti 
arguments that availed hmi ar 
— to turn upon Catholics an 




istiamty and Positf 



Dof ** ignorance and superstition." 
Wu he afraid that people might dis- 
wver the source whence he drew the 
null stock of wisdom and truth he 

We might have made Dr. McCosh's 
lectures the occasion of presenting a 
fctrmal refutation oi positivism, but 
nt had already taken up from time 
lo time the fadse principles, the cr* 
ran and untenable theories and \vf' 
pothcses, which his lectures treat* and 
icAitoi them, so far as they are hos- 
tde to Christianity, far mure efl'ective- 
If, in our judgment, than he has 
done or could do. He may be more 
deeply versed in the errors and nb- 
nrl hypotheses of the false scitintists 
of ibc day, nho arc laboring to ex- 
plain and account for the universe 
iriifaout creation and Providence, 
ihin wc aic : but we have not found 
ID fail volume anything of any value 
•bch wc liave not ourselves already 
niil, and said too, perhaps, in a style 
QOic ca^ty undcrstuoil than his, and 
nbcUer English than he ordinarily 
mo. Our readers could learn no- 
lling of positivism from him, and 
joit u Utile of the principles and rca- 
Mttags that Christianity is able to 
oppose lo it. iie writes as a man 
vlio measures the known by what he 
' ■ ' ■ fws, and is now and then 

>- - measurement 

iir. McCosh, also, adopts rather 
loo def>reciatory atone in sjieaking of 
ftor countr)-raen, especially consider- 
iogtbashebasbutjust come among us, 
aDdkAO«ausat best only imperfectly. 
We own it was no striking indication 
«i Anoerican intelligence and Judg- 
ocM the lm[)ortation of him to pre- 
tale over one of the best Prolesfint 
Aacrican institutions of learning and 
•Cience ; Init men often loom up 
lUKec at a distance than they are 
«l»en Men close by. and there ts no 
oNintiy io which bubble reputations 
tttnu abroad more speedily collapse 



than our own. The doctor will find, , 
when he has lived longer among usij 
and becomes better acquainted with J 
us, that if England is nearer Germa- 
ny, German speculations are known 
to Americans and appreciated by 
them at least as soon as they are by 
Englishmen or Scotsmen. Kant. 
Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, were known 
to American scholars before there 
was much knowledge of them in 
England or Scotland. The Eng]ish| 
and Scotch are now just becoming] 
acquainted with and are carried] 
away by theories an<i speculations in ' 
philosophy which had been oxamin-j 
ed here, and exploded more than I 
thirty years ago by Americans. Thei 
doctor underrates the scholarship and 
intelligence even of his American I 
Presbyterian friends, and there a.rc\ 
scholars, men of thought, of science, 
general intelligence, in the country 
many degrees above Presbyterians,! 
respec^ble as they are. Presbyterians I 
are not by any means the whole j 
American people, nor the most ad- 
vanced portion of them. They ane 
really behind the Congregation a list a, 
to say nothing of '* the ignorant and 
superstitious " Catholics, whose scho- 1 
lars are in science and learning, phi- 
losophy, theologj', especially in the 
history of the church, it is no boast tOi 
say, superior lo cither, and know and] 
understand belter the movements of ' 
the age, intellectual, moral, social, 
and political theories, crotchets, and , 
tendencies of the present, than any] 
other class of American citizens. It' 
takes more than a Dr. McCosh. al- 
though for a time a professor in Bel- 
fast, Ireland, to teach them more] 
than they already know. 

We pass over the second part of 
the lectures, devoted to Apologetics, 
as of no importance. One needs to 
know what Chrisiinnily is, and to 
have clearly in his mind the entire 
Christian plan, before one can sue- 



14 



Christianity and Positivism. 



cessfuUy defend it against the class 
of persons the author calls Positiv- 
ists. This is more than the author 
knows, or as a Protestant can know. 
His Christianity is an indefinite, 
vague, variable, and uncertain opin- 
ion, and he has no conception at all 
of the Christian plan, or what SL 
Paul calls " the new creation." No 
doubt the miracles are provable by 
simple historical testimony by and 
to one who knows nothing of the 
Christian plan, or of its supernatural 
character ; but to the unbelievers of 
our time it is necessary to set forth, 
in its unity and catholixnty, the 
Christian schema^ if we may be al- 
lowed the term, and to show that 
miracles themselves have their rea- 
son or law in the divine plan or 
decree, and are no more anomalies, 
in relation to that plan or de- 
cree, or ex parte Dei, than are earth- 
quakes and volcanoes. It is only in 
this way we can satisfy the demand 
for order and regularity. The un- 
believer may not be able to resist the 
testimony which proves the miracle 
a fact, but till we show him that in 
a miracle the natural laws are not 
violated, or that nature does not go 
out of her course, as he imagines, 
we cannot satisfy him that he can 
yield to the miracle without surren- 
dering his natural reason, and the 
law and order of the universe. 

Now, this the Protestant cannot 
do; and though he might adduce 
the historical evidences of Christiani- 
ty satisfactory to a simpler age, or to 
minds, though steeped in error, yet 
retaining from tradition a full belief in 
the reality of a supernatural order, 
he cannot as a Protestant do it to 
minds that deny that there is or can 
be anything above nature, and that 
refuse utterly to admit the supema' 
tural order, which the miracles mani- 
fest, or that reject miracles, not be- 
cause the testimony is insufficient, 



but because they cannot be a 
without admitting the realit; 
supernatural. The prejudice 
the supernatural must be r 
as the preliminary work, and 
be done only by presenting 
tianity as a whole in its u 
catholicity, and showing that, 
ing to it, the supernatural o 
tian order enters into the 
decree of God, and is nece 
complete what is initial in 
mos, or to perfect the natur 
and to enable it to fulfil the 
for which it exists, or realize 
tmy or final cause, in whic 
beatitude or supreme gooc 
done, the prejudice against 
pematural is removed, mira 
seen to be in the order, nol 
of nature, as Carlyle pretend 
the order of the supematu 
demanding only ordinary h 
testimony to be proved, anc 
quently Hume's famous a: 
against miracles, refuted by 
tcstant that has protested aj 
shown to have no force. 

Now, this requires a \ 
knowledge of Christianity, • 
not attainable by private ji 
from the Scriptures, or outsid 
infallible authority of the chu 
which the revelation of G 
revealed word, is deposited 
guardian and interpreter. M 
indeed, admits some treatise: 
by Protestants into his coUe 
works he has published un 
title of Evangelical Vemor 
which are not without the: 
but are valuable only on 
points, and on those only so fa 
rest on Catholic principles 
Catholic arguments. Christi; 
ing supernatural, a revelatio 
supernatural, it, of course, m 
dressed to natural reason, ca 
determined or defined by nat 
fcon, and can be determinet 



EitfHtHg Ciauds, 



or presented, in its 

id integrity, only by an au- 

lupenuturally instituted and 

Jbr tlut very purpose. P>ven 

author colls natural theolo- 

; it is only iniiial, like the 

is incomplete, and, though 

c natural reason, needs the 

lanX lo fuUU it, and thcre- 

t super\'LS(on and control of 

lue supcmaturally instituted 

ststcil aulliuhty to preserve it 

or, from 3 false development, 

assuming a false direction, 

coQlinualty occurring with 

have not such an autho- 

;uide and monitor. Hence, 

watterii not above the pro* 

oatoral reason, natural rea- 

I a sufTicicot guide, or else 

come those errors of the 

in the purely scientific or- 

amed doctor combats with 

vonls, if not thoughts — with 

usertioDs, if not argu- 

since Protestants have no 
lority, and make it their ca- 
to deny that anybody has 
im that they are unable to 



present any authoritative statement, or 
any statement at all which an unbe- 
liever is bound to respect, of what 
Christianity really is, or what is the 
authentic meaning of the term. They 
can give only their private views or 
opinions of what it is, aiid these the 
unbeliever is not Ijound to place in 
any respect above his own, especial- 
ly since they vary with every Protes- 
tant sect, and, we may almost say, 
with ever>' individual Protestant who 
thinks enough to have an opin- 
ion of any sort. Even if they bor- 
row Catholic traditions Catliolic 
principles, and Catholic doctrines 
and defmitions, these in their hands 
lose iheir authoritative charac- 
ter, and became simply opinions 
resting on private reason. They 
can present as Christianity nothing 
authentic to be defended by the 
Cliristian, or to be accepted or re- 
jected by the unbeliever. Cleariy, 
then, Protestants are in do condition 
to manage apologetics w-ith acute, 
scientific, and logical unbelievers; 
and if we wanted any proof of it we 
could Bnd it, and in abundance, in 
ihc volume before us. 



EVENING CLOUDS. 

A TKANSULTION Of UULANO'S " AllCNOWE'ITER.* 

I SEE the clouds at eventide 
Ail in the sunset floating wide, 
Clouds now in gold and purple dyed 
That hung so dark and hoary : 

And my dreaming heart says. Wait 1 
A sunset comes, though come it late, 
That shall life's shadows dissipate, 
Light up its clouds in glory. 



x6 



Tlu House of Yarke. 



THE HOUSE OF YORKE. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



BKKAKING THE ICE. 



Shortly after Mr. Rowan's bap- 
tism, a miniature avalanche of letters 
reached the Yorke family. Mrs. 
Rowan-Williams wrote to Edith, in 
a very scrawly hand, in lines that 
sloped down, in a depressing man- 
ner, toward the southeastern comer 
of the page : " Do come and make 
me a visit, now that Dick is at home. 
You have no idea how handsome, 
and good, and smart he is. Mr. 
Williams thinks the world of him ; 
and as to Ellen — well, it wouldn't 
become me to say what I think. But 
it's of no use for her to try. Now, 
do come. This is the twentieth time 
I have asked you. We will go eve- 
rywhere, see all that is worth seeing, 
and you shall be waited on like a 
lady, as you are. 

" So the old clay bank has slipped 
down again, and the bushes have 
tumbled into the mud, and the men 
have piled their lumber over the 
ashes of my poor home. O Ed- 
ith 1 my heart is buried under those 
boards. Thank you, dear, for going 
to see it for me." 

Dick wrote : " Which is Mohammed, 
and which is the mountain ? I must 
see you, and if you cannot come 
here, I shall go to Beaton, though 
that would not be easy for me to do 
now. Besides, I want you to see 
your namesake. I have not long to 
stay, for the ship is about ready to 
Btartf and we take our cargo in at 
New York. It would be almost like 
a soldier deserting his army on the 
eve of battle for me to go away now. 
Do come if }'0u can. It seems to 
me that you must wish to." 



This young man, we may renuik, 
has got quite beyond the model let- 
ter-writer and the practice of pen- 
manship. He writes quite in hia 
own way, and is a very creditable 
writer, too. He has also a &ir edo- 
cation, and can converse more in- 
telligently on most subjects of genenl 
interest than many a young man far 
whom education has done its boL 
When Dick Rowan spoke, he aid 
something, and one never heard from 
his lips inanities, meanness, nw nu- 
lice. Neither did he say much of 
such things, even in condemnation. 
He looked on them with a sort of 
wonder, a flitting expression of dis- 
gust, then forgot all about them. 
His time had been too much occu- 
pied, his mind too busy for trifling. 
He had studied constantly and me- 
thodically, and the little libroiy in 
his cabin on board ship was a trea- 
sury of science, art, and belies-letirts. 
So far as it went, it was the library 
of a man of cultivated mind. His 
life, too, had educated him, and been 
a perpetual commentary on, or illus- 
tration or refutation of, his books. 
The phenomena of the sea he had 
studied not merely as a sailor, but 
as a student of natural history. What- 
ever culture can be derived from the 
intelligent visiting of foreign coun- 
tries, without going into society there, 
that he had. He had not spent his 
time about wharves, and ships, and 
sailors' boarding-houses. Aside from 
his own tastes, he never forgot that 
he was aspiring toward a girl who, 
if she should visit these lands, would 
walk in palaces. Therefore, what- 



The House of Yorhe. 



ty 



mous in nature or art in 
^cc5, he sought and exauiin- 
buy a traveiier who fancied 
L perfectly cultivated brought 
|»5 pleasant and valuable in- 
bn than this sailor from the 
key had both visited. More- 
lick hud studied hard to ac- 
Hiicthing of the language of 
DTt he stopped at. and was 
able to speak French and 
nrith ease, if not with cle- 
The elegance he did his 
improve L>y reading the best 
in those languages, and by a 
9ns in pronunciation, when 
, find time. Therefore, Miss 

K's friend and correspon- 
f no means one whom 
reason to be ashamed of. 
(e Rowans were not the only 
tf msisied on Edith's visiting 
It this lime. Miss Clinton 

a letter to Mr. Yorkc, and 
Ipfosiog his laughter, wrote 
are scot three times for that 

this is my lost invitation to 
'hy is she not allowed to 

Has she nothing to wear ? 
t a check for a gown and a. 

shoes. ^Mien she reaches 
•rill give her what she may 

make her decent. Or is it 
ly Yorke is jealous because 

daughters are not invited ? 
{ tliein must come as com- 
' Edith, 1 will pay her pas- 
L but I don't want her here. 
fcff > to Hester's or Alice 
Helicent has too ridiculous 
of her own consequence, and 
\ loo sharp and impudent. 
B read me her book, and I 
a very disagreeable book. 
1 better learn to cook and 
Br stockiogs, and let writing 

« you finished ?" the old 
ted, as Carl, with pen sus- 
looked up from his writing. 

VOL. XIV.— 2 



" Yes !" 

"Then sign my name." 
"Shall I write * yours respectfully' 
or ' yours affectionately ' ?" Carl ask- 
ed, with perfect gravity. 

" Neither !" she replied curtly. 
" Sign my name without any com- 
phment." 

" May I add a few lijies for my- 
self?" the young man asked, when 
he had signed the name as directed. 
•' There is a whole page left." 

"Yes." The answer was given 
very softly, and a smile of siJigular 
sweetness flitted across the old lady's 
face as she looked at the writer. 
Miss Clinton was very fond of Carl, 
in a tyrannical, tormenting, selfish 
way, and liked nothing so mucli 
as to have him ask favors of her. 

He wrote rapidly a few minutes, 
and was about closing the letter, 
when she stopped him. •• Rc.id me 
what you have written," she said. 

Carl blushed slightly, and hesitat- 
ed. " It was not written to read to 
you," he answered. 

*' No matter, it will be all the mote 
interesting," she persisted. " Read 
it ! You read mine." 

Carl hesitated yet a moment lon- 
ger, then, casting his eyes up to 
the ceiling, read, as if he saw it 
written, in the painting there, a pre- 
posterous eulogy of Miss Clinton, 
with a minute account of her cat's 
health. 

" I won't have it I" she cried out. 
'* Read what you have written there, 
or give it to me, and Bird shall come 
and read it. If you were a decent 
writer, 1 should have eyes enough 
left to read it myself." 

Carl dropped his laughing maimer. 
" M iss llird will write a letter for you," 
he said, and was about holding the 
one he had in the flame of a taper, 
when she stopped him, " Oh ! send 
it as it is, since you are so stubborn ; 
iliough I haven't a doubt that you 



18 



The House of Yorke. 



have written the roost dreadful things 
of me." 

The Yorkes were highly amused 
by this letter. " You see, Edith, she 
is a dragon," her uncle said. " You 
will have to carry yourself very gin- 
gerly." 

" I am not sure that is the best 
way to keep the peace with her," 
Mrs. Yorke remarked. " It would 
do with some, but she grows more 
overbearing with indulgence. If she 
were touched by sweetness and sub- 
mission, it would be diffierent. I 
have thought of late years that such 
persons are benefited by a firm re- 
sistance." 

Clara also wrote: "Let mamma 
come with Edith, and stay at my 
house, of course. It is really a 
shame that she has never visited me 
in the city yet. Come right away, 
and we will all go back to Seaton to- 
gether. You should come for poor 
Carl's sake, to cheer him up a little, 
if for nothing else, for he must lead 
a miserable life with that awful old 
woman. You would not have be- 
lieved he could be so patient In- 
deed, he would have left long ago, 
if it had not been for the hope of 
bringing you all back here again. 
If he were the only one in question, 
he would not stay a day." 

Miss Mills also wrote in the same 
strain, and the r^ult of it all was 
that the invitations were accepted. 
with a difference. " I will stop at 
Miss Clinton's, since you think it 
better," Edith said to her aunt. 
" But I must see a good deal of the 
Rowans." 

" Certainly, dear," Mrs. Yorke re- 
plied. " But say as little as possi- 
ble of the Rowans to Miss Clinton. 
It will only make her disagreeable. 
Hester will be happy to see the 
young man and his mother, and 
since he is a Catholic, I should think 
that Alice might be civil to him." 



HA invitation accepted, A 
ton began to look at the d 
"Are you sure that the gt 
very green, Carl," she asl 
detest country manners." 

" Oh ! she is very green 
was the reply. 

Carl sat looking out into 
den, unconscious that his co 
was observing him curiously 

" Are you in love with th 
she asked after a moment 

Bold and hardened as : 
she started and shrank at th 
he gave her. No words co 
been more haughty and repi 

« Well," she said pettish! 
need not look daggers at n 
question is not to your likin 
are not obliged to answer it 

He looked out the windo 
and said nothing. " She sh 
to keep her claws off i 
thought. 

No one but himself knew 
price Carl Yorke was payin] 
expected inheritance. Th 
less irritation and annoya 
enforced giving up of his 
and those literary labors wl 
seemed to him his vocation, 
constant confinement, wen 
more than he could bear. 
thought supported him, and 
that he should some day b 
restore his family to their lo: 
and to pursue those plan! 
own which their reverses hi 
rupted. 

He was also, not quite 
sciously, gaining somethinj 
than gold. He was seeing 
deformity of selfishness, and 
loveliness of that wit who: 
power is to wound. In as 
bitter questions. What is this 
living for ? what good does 
do the world ? echo had : 
the same questions in his ow 
\fYM are you living foz 



Imtse of 



Yorke. 



19 



docs the world derive from 
faeiDg in it } What in hira and 
othas had been vices or faults, 
i)c(| wilh A ceruin decorum so as 
look almost like virtues, in this 
Votnan's character were stripped of 
ifaeveil, ajid showed in all iheir na- 
hatcfulness. Here, too, were 
:-thiaking and atheism au uaturel^ 
without the crown on their brows, 
tlw lustre he had faucietl their faces 
n(l:itetl,and without their airy grace. 
He ttv a scoBcr, and it was as 
tboQgh he saw a devil. He Itad not 
Ibe consolatioD of thinking her really 
vone tJian himself, for he could not 
Aut his eyes to t}ie fact that the dif- 
liRAce between ^hem had been iii 
auiDer, not in essence. Me had 
ikovn more good lasle and delicacy, 
wualL 
"After all." he thought^ as he sat 
that day, looking out the win- 
" however it may be with men, 
'Vcnen need religion. I would not 
Utat a woman without it, I will 
ao( retract my saylag that religion 
4 strait-jacket, and intended only 
those who cannot stand straight 
lOut it, but I begin to think that 
are all of us partial lunatics." 
1 have heaKl say that parlor 
s a place to parlc in,'' remarked 
Clinton presently. 
The orioles are building in this 
,** Cart said, quite as though no- 
nopleasant had happtned. 
e tossed her head. What did 
care about orioles? 
How blood will show, both good 
Wood and bad," she said with the 
air of one who has just discovered a 
t tnjlh. " Wealth, associates, 
'd, occupations, education, neith- 
eflace the signature. The 
stamp remains in spite of 
ncos." 
tiie beginning, Carl scented bat- 
■issumed &t\ air of great 
>, " You are qviite right," 



he said. " That great pattcnu, Adam , 
and that still more frightfully new , 
person, his wife, have left an indeli-J 
blc stain upon their progeny. We 
can sec it to this day, faintly in 
some, more strongly marked in oth- 1 
ers. And, on the other hand, that 
princeof the ancUn r^ginu^ Lucifer — " 

" Nonsense 1" interrupted Miss 
Clinton. '* I was going to say, if 
you can stop your most disagreeable 
and disrespectful mocking — I was go- 
ing to say that you have some of the 
Bohemian lounging ways of your 
father, though you never saw him, j 
and though you have been under the 
training of Charles Yorke since your ' 
babyhood." 

" Do you think I have my father's 
ways?" Carl asked, with an air of 
delight. '* How glad 1 am ! No 
one else ever told me so, and I was 
afraid I might be all /Vmold. My 
mother is, of course, an angelic 
lady ; but some of her family have 
had traits which — really — well, I 
should a little rather not inherit 
And so you think me like my father ? 
Thank you !"' 

"The Arnolds and the Clintons, ! 
sir, ore families from whom you ma/ i 
be proud to inherit anything !" the ( 
old lady cried, beating tlie table 1 
with her fan. "They were among 
the e'litf of Boston and New York] 
when this country was a British pro- 
vince. We had colonial governors j 
and judges, sir, when your father's ' 
people were painting signs and 
door-steps. It is rather late in the 
day, young nun, for you to have to 
be lold what my descent is !" 

She stopped, choking with anger. 

The young man seemed to be 
much interested in this recital. " In- 
deed I*' he said, " this is very de- 
lightful to know, and it makes such 
a difl'crence ! T'hough I had always^ 
understood that your descent had 
been very — precipitous I" 



20 



Tfie House of Yorke. 



Miss Clinton glared at him, unable 
to utter a word, and seemed only 
just able to restrain herself from 
throwing her snuff-box at him. 

He rose wearily, and went out of 
the room, having half a mind to run 
away altogether. 

But ah ! who met him at the door, 
bringing sunshine and peace in her 
fair face, holding out two dear little 
hands, and scattering with a word all 
his annoyance ? 

"Dear Carl," Edith said, "are 
you really glad to see me — really 
glad ?" 

" How could you imagine such a 
thing ?" he replied. 

"Then I will go back to Seaton 
again. Good-by !" 

She took a step toward the street- 
door, only a step, both her hands be- 
ing strongly held. 

" You forget, then, silvern speech 
and golden silence,*' the young man 
said. 

" No," she replied. " But solid 
silver is better than airy gold. If 
people say kind things to you, then 
you are sure, and have something to 
remember ; but looks fade, and you 
can think that you mistake, or mis- 
took. Oh ! I like silence, Carl, but 
it must be a silence that follows after 
speech. That is the sole golden si- 
lence." 

" I am glad to see your face and 
hear your voice once more, Edith," 
he said seriously. " I have many a 
time longed for both." 

" Dear Carl !" she exclaimed. 
" But what is that I hear ? Is it a 
parrot ?" 

Cari laughed. " Hush ! It is Miss 
Clinton. She is r.illing out to know 
who has come. We will go in and 
see her." 

Miss Clinton had one pleasant ex- 
pression, and that was a smile, when 
she was so delighted by something 
out of herself as to forget herself. 



This smile brightened her fiux u 
she watched the young couple tp- 
proach her, hand in hand. She 
leaned back in her chair, and c«i- 
templated Edith, without thinking 
of returning her greeting. 

"I'm sure that is a golden si- 
lence," Carl said, laughing. "But 
what do you think of her, aunt? 
She likes to have people speak first, 
and look afterward." 

" You are welcome, dear !" Ae 
old lady said sofdy, and extended 
her hand, but without leaning for- 
ward. To take it, therefore, EdHh 
had to come very near, and was 
drawn gently down to the footstool 
by Miss Clinton's chair. 

The old lady took off the giil'i 
hat, and dropped it on to the carpet, 
then studied her face with delight 
She loosened one of the braids of 
hair wound around her head, aod 
held it out to a sunbeam to see the 
sparkle of it. She pushed it back 
from the face. " Did you evet see 
such ears ?" she said to Cari. « Tliey 
are rose-leaves! There must be ». 
large peari hung in each. She 
drew her finger along the smooth 
curve of the brows. " A great artist 
and physiognomist once told me that 
such brows show a fine natuie. 
Broken brows, he said, indicate ec- 
centricities of character, brows bent 
toward the nose a tyrannical disposi- 
tion, heavy brows reserve and si- 
lence, but this long, smooth brow 
versatility and grace. Read Lava- 
ter if you want to know all about 
eyebrows." She took the cheek, now 
glowing with blushes, in the hollow 
of her hand, and held the eyelids 
down to admire the lashes. " They 
make the eyes look three shades 
darker than they really are. But 
what color are the eyes ? They ar« 
no color. Did you ever see a shad- 
ed forest spring, Carl ? These eyes 
are as limpid." 



T7te House ei 



e?. 



%x 



Ob: please don't I" the girl bcg- 
^ tr}ing to hide her face. 

'-Mx dear, 1 shall coll you Euge- 

Brr, and shall adore you,'' Miss Ciin- 

(un continued. " 1 hope tliey have 

not lold you horrible stories about 

me, or that, if they have, you will 

Mbelkwc ihcra. People are fond 

tf nymg that I am sliarp, but I 

•lUDtc Victor Hugo to them, ' La rose 

ia Btnxcde^ pour itrt sans ipines^ tst 

lUui sans par/um.' A character 

oitfioul any sharpness would be like 

xa ocean uitiiout solL Temper 

ncclens. When any person is re- 

conntcnded to me as of a very mild 

Md pUdd position, never getting 

saff<f, 1 always say, Keep that person 

Out of my sight \ Yes. I shall call 

yn Eugenic. I di><like the Edith 

OB ucDunt of old Mrs. York c. She 

aad 1 always quarrelled, dear. Wc 

vac vhat some one has called ' in* 

MMtc enemies.' But I don't mean 

"Tcl with her pand-daughter. 

; -vt: your father's eyes and 

ic, but your mother's fea- 

. .iijpe you have not her dis* 

^i. She was loo positive, and, 

unoes, she ran away with another 

wooun's beau." 

' 1 drew back, and stood up, 
^ to Carl. 
*''nieTc! she is angry the first 
ihmg " the old lady cried. " No dan- 
cer of anybody's thinking her sans 
fftmi. Take her down to get some 
Utmkiasl, Cari. " 

** Diick Rowan is here." Edith 
uiil, as ibc two went down-stairs j 
" and be is a Catholic ; and he has a 
onr ^ii> which he has named for 

There wxs no reply. They were 
jeoing through the shady entry, and, 
lir the young man frowned at the 
nevSv tbe frown was not seen. 

»• Amit Amy has gone lo Hes- 
ter'*,'' Edith went on. "She got 
ova the jouniey nicely, and wants 



to see you very soon. She will send 
Hester up to sec me presently. 1 
am too tin.'d lo go out to-day, would J 
you believe it ? Vou sec, travel was 
so new to me that I could not sleep. 
I stayed on deck as long as I could, 
then I listened all night. It seemed 
so strange to be on the water, out of 
sight of land." 

Later, while the young traveller-' 
was resting in the chamber assigned 
her, a visitor entered gently, unan- 
nounced. " 1 thought I might come, 
dear," Miss Mills said. 

Edith raised herself, and eagerly 
held out her arms. The lady em- 
braced her tenderly, then droj>ped. 
rather than sat down, in a cluir by 
the bed. She looked with a strange 
mingling of feelings on this child of 
her lost lover. When she recogniz- 
ed the tint of his hair and eyes in 
Edith's, she bent toward her with 
yearning love; but then appeared 
some trait of the mother — a turn of 
the head, a smile unconsciously 
proud, an exquisitely fine outline of 
feature; and, at sight of it, that 
wounded heart shrank back as from 
a deadly enemy. The interview was 
friendly, and even tender, and en* 
gagemcnts were made for future 
meetings ; but die lady was glad to 
get away. The sight of Robert 
Yorke's child had wakened all Uic 
sleeping past, and for a time the ' 
years that had intervened sinct- her 
parting with him faded Uke a mist. 
Since (hat day, more than one pow- 
er, at first pride, later religion, had 
strengthened her. had raised up new 
hopes and new joys; but they were 
not tlie sweet human hopes and joys 
that every man and woman looks 
naturally for ; ihey were those bom 
of struggle and self-denial. She 
had lived truly and nobly, but she 
was human ; and to-day her humanity 
rose, and swept over her like a flood, 

Miss Mills locked herself into her 



22 



The House of Yorke. 



room, and for once gave herself up 
to regret. It was no ordinary affec- 
tion which she mourned. It had 
entered her heart silently, and been 
welcomed like an angel visitant; it 
had been held sacred. She had 
watched it with awe and delight as 
it grew, that strange, beautiful, terrible 
power ! How complex it had become, 
entering into every feeling, every in- 
terest ! How it had changed and given 
a new meaning to life, and a new idea 
and comprehension of herself ! 

Then, when it had got to seem 
that she alone was not a complete 
being, but only about to become per- 
fect — then destruction came. 

*' }ove sttikes the Tituis down. 
Not when they set sbout their inouaUin-piling, 
But when another rock would crown their work." 

If the foundation merely of an 
edifice be overthrown, there is hope 
that it may be rebuilt; but destruc- 
tion overtaking when the topmost 
height is almost attained is destruc- 
tion indeed. 

In the evening a knock was heard 
at the chamber door, which she had 
all day refused to open, a note was 
pushed under the door, and a servant 
waited outside for her to read it. 
She rose wearily, lighted the gas, and 
glanced over the lines. " I am sorry 
you have headache, sorry for you and 
for me. Edith is talking with Mr. 
Rowan, and I am, consequently, de 
trop. There is no one I care to see to- 
night but you. Send me word if you 
are better." 

"Tell him to wait," she ordered, 
and, hastily dressing for a walk, went 
down. The front parlor was not 
lighted, but she saw him sitting by a 
window there. " Come out ! " she 
said. " I wanted to go to the chapel, 
and you are just in time." 

Scarcely a word was spoken as 
they went through the streets together. 
They entered the chapel, and turned 
aside into a shady comer. Carl sat. 



and his companion, too exha 
kneel, sat beside him. In 
near by, a choir was singing t 
beautiful of hymns — 

"Jesus, lorer of my soiil.'' 

" Alice," Carl whispered, 
enough to break one's heart 

Her tears broke forth afres 
Carl, it is enough to heal 
already broken." She listei 
looking toward the altar, : 
over and over, 

" Other refuge bsTc I none. 

The solitude and quiet wer 
ing to both — the sense of 
presence more than soothin 
who had faith in it. 

They had not been there lo 
a gentleman came up the ai 
a firm, but light step, passed 
out noticing them, and kne 
just before them. Carl sat ai 
at him in astonishment. Tl 
Rowan should outwardly ai 
licly conform to the chu 
Edith's sake, was not surpri: 
that he should come private 
chapel to pray was inex 
Could it be that a brave, man 
like tiiis could sincerely belie 

Utterly unconscious of obs* 
the sailor knelt there motionl 
his face hidden in his han 
when Carl's companion whis 
him, and they both went o 
figure had not stirred. 

Edith Yorke's friend bi 
once to show her what was 
in the city ; but, as often I 
what they considered wort! 
disappointed the neophyte, a 
they passed without notice sJ 
fain have paused to look at 
perienced persons who ha- 
much usually overestimate t 
nitude of the wonders they 1 
seen. ^V1^at young travellei 
ing for the first time a city, ev 
its houses as palatial, its st 



Ms monnmeots as grand, as 
haey had pictured ihcm ? 

** Cvcr)thing looks so much smaller 

tod more slubby," Edith confessed 

privately to Didc Rowan. *' Trees 

nd waters arc finer than any pictures 

of (hem that I have seen, and faces 

lluti^>eak and smile arc more bcau- 

dbl than any p.itnted ones. Only 

MIC pictures of Italian scenes dc- 

"r- me. Now, Dick, please do not 

. >Lked when I tell you that I 

4tmc long to stop and look at ihe 

agui*grinders and thcii monkeys, 

nd to gaze in at the shop windows, 

1 1 can't, you know, for that would 

C&ri and Hester and Miss 

Bt ashamed of me." 

The result of this confidence was 

tlut, dressed to attract as little attt;n- 

WQU posMble, these two friends set 

the others aside, and went on long 

QuDps logetJier. They paid not 

nuch atlcnrion to the finer sights, 

l«t dived into all sorts of byways. 

Tliej looked in at shop windows, at 

Wibaikd shells and jewels, and more 

tbD Mie shopkeeper was smilingly 

plttscd to display his best wares at 

tbeyouog lady's shy request, though 

h&tnicd beforehand that she did not 

Bcsn to buy. They watched the 

O^n-grindcr? and iheir monkey's to 

fiiftr hearts* content ; they amused 

rhomwrlves with the f^amins, and held 

^ coovcrsaiions with iheni ; they 

bountiful 10 street-beggars. 

- '1 urchins were astonished by 

rs of candy that seemed to de- 

I'rora heaven un their heads, 

I. (tic weeping outcasts were 

-i--: :o tell their griefs, and listened 

to with lender sympathy, tears per- 

tupi rising into one pair of eyes that 

loi^tcdat thcrn. Somelimesa wretch- 

ftpcr, walking with downcast 

nngh the street, felt sourtething 

his hand and leave a bit of 

Ncy there, and looked up to see a 

lly and gentleman just passing, and 



one sweet face gliBSJ^&toienlarily 
back with a smile at oucc arch and | 
pitying. "Shall I ruin you, Dick?'* 
Edith asks gleefully. " I have ruined 
myself; but that didn't take long. 
My poor little money is all gone. 
Are you very rich ? " 

'* Oh ! immensely I " Dick replies. 
'* I have chests of gold. Give away 
as much as you wish to." 

One blind man gone astray long 
remembered how a soft hand took 
one of his, and a firm hand ihc other, 
and his two guides led him home, 
inquiring into his misfortune by the 
way, and commiserating hip more 
tenderly than brother or sister ever | 
had. 

'* It is so sad to have all the beau- 
tiful world shut out," said the sweet 
voice out of the dark. '* But one 
might, I think, sec heavenly things 
the more plainly." 

'llic poor man never lost himself 
afterward, but he looked blindiy, and 
listened to hear once more those two 
voices, and to feel the clasp of those 
two hands, one soft as charity, the 
other strong as faitlu And since they I 
never c-inie to him again, to his im- 
])risoned soul it seemed as though i 
heavenly visitants had led him, and 
s]>oken sacred words for hira to re- 
member. These two young crea-j 
lures, out of the happy world of thftj 
rich and prosperous, were not afraid f 
of soiling their hands or their clothes, | 
and did not look on the poor as they 
did on the paving-stones. 

'* O Dick ! " Edith said in one of 
those walks, " I do not wonder that 
the Lord could not stay in heaven 
when he saw the misery of earth, and 
knew that there was no comfort even 
in another world for it. What a trial 
it must have been for hira to sit above 
there, and hear all the cries of pain 
that went up, and see all the weeping 
faces that were raised. Why, Dick, 
it seems to me that if I could see and 



34 



The House of Yorke, 



know at once all the suffering there 
is to-day in this one city, it would kill 
me. I wish we could do something 
besides play, as we do. Perhaps we 
ought to work all our lives for the 
wretched, you and I j who can tell ? " 

" Yes I " the young man replied 
slowly, and was silent a moment, 
thinking. "That idea comes into 
my mind sometimes," he added. "I 
always fancy that the poor and the 
wicked look at me in an asking way, 
differently from what they do to 
others, as if they expected me to do 
something for them. It may be only 
because they see how I look at them. 
I never see one but I think. How 
should I feel if that were my father 
or my mother ? But I don't know 
what great work I could do. My life 
seems mapped out." 

Sometimes their expeditions were 
merrier. They went to the Back Bay 
lands, then not filled in, and stood so 
close to the railroad tracks that the 
passing trains blew in their faces. 
" I like strength and force," Edith 
said ; " and I like the wind in my 
face. It would be pleasant to ride in 
a car with an open front, and the en- 
gine on behind. Does it not seem 
]ike that in a ship at sea, Dick?" 

" Better than that," he answered, his 
eyes brightening. " For at sea you 
have a cleartrack, and can fly on with- 
out stopping or turning out for any- 
thing." 

" Now, let's go and see that large 
building," the girl said. " Isn't it fine 
to go about in this way ? You are 
Haroun-al-Raschid, and I am any- 
body, and we are exploring our capi- 
tal VVe are, perhaps, invisible. Stop 
A minute. There are fishes in this 
ditch. I am going to catch one with 
a crooked pin." 

They looked at the large building, 
Chickering's piano-forte factory, and 
Dick described foreign buildings to 
.his companion, and described so 



vividly and so simply that th« ttnio- 
tures seemed to rise before her. He 
was remarkably gifted in this respect 
His clear eyes took in the genend 
effect, and caught here and there a 
salient point to give it charactn and- 
sharpness, and his descriptions were 
never blurred by superfluous words, 
or by imagination, which ofteir de- 
stroys the outlines of tangible things 
by its perceptions of their intangible 
meaning. 

One morning they went to Mass to 
receive communion together. The 
morning was lovely, the spring greok 
all fi'eshness, the birds singing, the 
sun stealing goldenly through a faint 
mist. Edith rose happy, and every- 
thing added to her happiness. It was 
delightful to have some one to go to 
Mass with. It only now occurred to 
her that she had been lonely in her 
religion. 

" I hope that I shall make a good 
communion," she said to herself, as 
she began to dress. " What should I 
do ? Let me think ! If I had a house 
of ray own, rather a poor little place, 
and some one I loved and honored 
were coming to visit me, I should 
first make my house clean. Then I 
should adorn it all I could, and pre- 
pare a little feast I have no servant, 
I will say, and must do everything 
myself. I am rather glad of that, 
for I can show my good-will so. I 
will not mind getting on my knees to 
scrub out the darkest comers. But 
I must let in light to see where to 
cleanse. Come, Holy Spirit ! enlight- 
en my soul, and let no darkness re- 
main where a sin can hide itself. 
Then comes my confession ; but what 
poor things confessions are ! I wish 
I could say, I accuse myself of hav- 
ing broken all the ten commandments 
of God, and the six commandments 
of the church, and of having com- 
mitted the seven deadly sins, and 
every sin that could be committed. 



Tki House of Yorke. 



n 



ud cacti a thousand titnes over, 

llteD I should be sure lo get them 

iH in. But Fathu Rosle says that, 

if ov dispositions are good, ihe sins 

ft forget, or do not understand, are 

iociwied and forgiven with tliose we 

conJcss. As when a woman sweeps 

lier looin, she sweeps out, perhaps, 

flone things she docs not see. Weil, 

Bjr that my house is dean, what 

have I to adorn it with ? " She 

puscd with the brush half-drawn 

llifOiigh her hair, and the first sun- 

beuns, shining in her face, shone on 

guhenag tears. She recollected licr- 

kIC and went on with her dressing. 

"Such a bare reception 1 Nothing to 

ofrf'. How about faith, hoiie, and 

durity } I lieiieve ever)'thing, I 

oodd believe a thousand times more ; 

bot even the devils believe, Father 

'.lys. I don't know whether I 

in ihc righi way. Hope is a 

rtue to manage. Do 1 love 

V I Even though 1 do 

.11 love him. It is no sign 

■ a do not love a person, even 

do things to vex him. What 

torlc can I do to-day ? 1 will 

'-!i$s Clinton to sleep, and let 

I out. That will be something, 

1 I would rather go out myself 

: Hilt ask Miss Clinton if I may 

paj>er Lo her. That will be 

V; hard, for she will stare at me> 

ud then laugh in that way that 
makes me want to run out of the 
room. And I wUI — yes — no — will 1 ? 
Vcs, I will try to kiss her, if I possi- 
caa She would be pleased ; 
I shouldn't be. Those will 
like little daisies at the doorstep 
when he comes in. But my house is 
buc yet. If only I had some pain 
toaflerr 

Her eyes chanced to fall on a coil 
of piclurc-cofd, and the sight of it 
^vc her a new and st.irtling thought. 
paused a moment, then, rising, 
ie<l her curtains close, opened tlie 



door to assure herself that there was 
no one in the corridor outside, then 
shut the door and locked it. This 
done, she looped and knotted the 
cord into a discipUne — ali ! n&t i 
in vain had she once asked Father 
Raslc what diat was. Her hands 
trembled with eagerness while she 
fastened the hve lashes together. 
Then, with one glowing upward 
glance, she knelt, and brought the 
discipline, with the full force of her 
arm, round across her shoulders. A 
faint cry followed the first blow, and 
the blood rushed crimson over her 
face and neck. " O Lord ! 1 did not 
mean lo cry out!" slic whispered, 
and listened, and struck again, and 
yet again. " One for each of the 
five wounds, one for each of the times 
he prayed in the garden." She 
paused, and dropped forward with 
her face on the floor, writhing in silent 
pain. •' Now, one for eacii station 
of the way of the cross." Tears ran 
down her cheeks, but her strong 
young arm and heart did not falter. 
" Now, a decade of the rosary." 

Sobbing, half-fainting, she rose af> 
ter a while, and hid the precious pen- 
cil, with which she had painted &. 
picture for the wall of her httle re- 
ception-room. 

" I must put on something extra, 
so that the blood shall not show 
through my dress," she said ; but^fj 
looking to wipe away the blood, be- j 
hold 1 not a drop was there, but only 
long welts of retl and white crossing 
licr fair shoulders 

Edith hid her face, with a feeling 
of utter humihatiun and grief. She 
had been agonizing under the blows 
which had produced only a few 
marks, and yet fancying that she 
iniitatc<l him whose flesh had been 
lorn by the lash, and whose blood 
had flowed in streams. " I can do 
nothing, nothing 1 I am silly and, 
presumptuous," were the thought 



26 



The House of Yorke, 



with which she finished her prepara- 
tion to go out 

But, trivial as her penance had 
been, it brought humility, and a 
deeper sense of the suSerings of our 
Lord. 

A servant who was washing the 
steps as Edith went out, smiled 
gratefully to the pleasant greeting 
of the young lady, and looked after 
her as she went down the street 
The servants, all Catholics, were 
very proud and fond of this young 
Catholic in their Protestant house- 
hold. 

"Since I cannot do anything," 
Edith pursued, as she walked on to- 
ward the church, " I will ask the 
Blessed Virgin and St Joseph to 
come first, and be in my house when 
the Lord shall enter. He will be 
pleased to find them there. Then, 
when the time comes, I will go and 
meet him at the door; but how 
dreadfully ashamed I shall be! I 
shall not dare to look up, but I shall 
say, ' Welcome, Lord !' and kneel 
down, and kiss his feet Then, if 
there is anything more to be done, 
he will do it for I can do nothing. 
How odd it is that I should feel so 
ashamed at having him come to me, 
and yet should want him to come 1 
I wouldn't put it off for anything." 

Dick was waiting inside the cha- 
pel-door for her. He pointed her to 
a confessional, then took his place 
near the altar. When it came time 
for communion, they knelt side by 
side, but retired again to different 
seats. 

How long Edith knelt there she 
did not know. She had covered her 
face with her hands, shutting out the 
sight of all about her, and her soul 
had entered a new scene. There 
was a simple, small room, bare save 
for two vague, luminous presences, 
one at either side, lighting the place. 
There was an open door, with vines 



swinging about it, and a half-«ecn 
picture of verdure, and deep Uue 
heavens outside. Up through that 
pure, intense color stretohed two 
lines of motionless winged fcvnis, as 
if they bowed at either side of a path 
down which one had, come. Within 
the door, under the vines, stood the 
Lord, and she was prostrate on the 
floor, with her arms clasped unund, 
and her lips pressed to, his £eet 
She did not look up, and he did not 
speak nor stir, but his smile sh<me 
down through all her being. I«et it 
last so for ever 1 

The tinkling of a bell awoke her 
as firom a sound sleep— a flicko', as 
of flames in the wind, moved those 
heavenly lines of receding faces, and 
Edith lifted her head, and recollected 
where she was, seeming to be sud- 
denly transported back there from a 
distance. The priest was carrying 
the host away fix>m the altar of the 
chapel up to the church. He held 
the sacred burden clasped closely to 
his breast, and bent his head slightly 
toward it. He looked at it as he 
walked, yet chose his steps with care. 
He wrapped around it the golden 
veil, of which the fringe glistened 
like fire as he moved. No mother 
could carry a sleeping infant more 
tenderly. 

Edith stretched out her hands, with 
a momentary feeling of bereavement, 
for the Lord was going away. " Oh I 
take my heart with thee 1" she pray- 
ed. 

The lights disappeared, the sound 
of the bell grew fainter up the stairs, 
and ceased. She sighed, then smil- 
ed again, and became aware of Dick 
sitting at the furthest end of the bench, 
and waiting for her. They went out 
by separate aisles, and met at the 
door. 

" I would like to have followed 
up into the church, and waited till 
he was at rest again, and seen where 



The House of Yorke. 



37 



lev hjr him," Edith said after a 
vi)i!c. 
Dick smiled qtu'etly, and said do- 
It;. He was looking quite pale, 
I'lwi bright. She made no comment 
'^Ui looks, thinking (hat the com- 
nmion vas the c:iU5e of his emo- 
tion. 

They went to the public gardens 
tdbrc going home. It was very 
tdrely there. The mists of the mora- 
inj bad blowly gathered themselves 
two detached clouds, and they scarce- 
If moved, the air wxs so stiil. The 
trees and the many pink flowers 
sboot glistened with dew. 

Edith began to love her quietude, 
isd grow merry, but with an angelic 
memmcnL '"^ Do you think tliat the 
Lord came down to the garden only 
at evening ?" she asked. " I think 
he came at early morning, unless he 
tat] night — morning is so bcau- 
iill How aiivc evcrj-thing b! 
I almost see eyes in the How- 
Be the swans on the water, 
like clouds in the sky. 
\^ pink swan in a large blue 
Ufce, throwing up sprays a.s white 
xnow over his bosom ! Do you 
that the earth was any more 
Butifut when it was Arst made? 
ViX not lovely now ?" 
There was no answer in words, 
the young man's eyes, glancing 
were eloquent, and his smile 
I one of peaceful delight. - 
•* Come." the girl said, " let's play 
that this is really the Garden of 
and that you and I are just 
fcing our first walk in it, wondering 
r everything. Let us look at our- 
; in the water, and see if we are 

liful as all the rest." 
►smiled at the childish fancy, 
the hand slie cfiered him, and 
3t with her over the water. The 
swios pasted by, and sent ripples 
over their mirror, but it was clear 
CDOtigh U> ^ivc bock the image of a 



sweet oval face with bright eyes and 
lips, and of another face more richly 
tinted, peach-colored with sun arxl 
wind, with eyes that sparkled, and 
white teeth that laughed through a 
chestnut beard. 

" Adam," said ilie woman, " thou 
art more stalely than the palm, ami 
thine eyes have beams like the sun. 
Let us praise tlie Creator who hath 
formed thee in his own image I" 

Dick's hand and voice trembled, 
his face grew red in the water, then 
grew pale. *' Eve," he said, " thou 
art whiter and more graceful than the] 
swan, and, while thou art speaking,] 
the birds listen. 1 praise him whaj 
has given thee to me to be mine] 
atone ami for ever — my mate in this • 
world and in the next." 

Speaking, his Hght clasp grew tight 
on her hand. 

The face and throat that had \ 
shown swan-white in tlie water grewj 
rose-red, then disappeared as Editfa 
started back. 

**liow could I look forward t(>4 
anything else, Kdith ?" the young 
man exclaimed desperately, *' i 
have never dreamed of any other 
life. 1 have worked, and studied, 
and hoped for you. What ! will yon, 
turn away from me now, for the first 
lime? God liave mercy on me I" 

She did not utter a word at first. , 
She was too much confounded. I| 
w.as to her as though the friend she 
had so long known had been sud-^ 
dcnly snatched from her side, and a 
stranger like, and yet unlike, him put 
in his place, 'lliis man with the 
pallid face and trembling voice was 
not Dick Rowan, She wanted to 
get away from him. But after a step 
or two she turned back again. 

'* Who would have tliought it ?" 
she said, looking at him anxiously, 
as though half hoping that the whole 
was a jest 

" Who would have thought any- 



28 



The House of Yorke. 



thing else ?" he replied, taking cour- 
age 

She turned away again, but he 
walked on beside her. It was too 
late to withdraw. Having spoken, 
he must say all. 

" I think you were the only person 
who did not see what I lived for," 
he said. 

" But it is nonsense 1" she exclaim- 
ed. 

"We have always known each 
other. We are like brother and sis- 
ter. Is it only strangers who mar- 
ry ?" he asked. 

"Marry I Fie I I never thought 
of such a thing 1" she said angrily. 

" Won't you please think of it now, 
Edith ?" he asked, in a voice so gentle 
and controlled that it recalled her 
own self-possession. " This has been 
the great thought of my life. It 
made me ambitious, for your sake. 
I am a Catholic, thank God I and a 
sincere one, but it was love of you 
that led me to study and think on 
that subject When my life hangs in 
the balance, I am sure you will at 
least stop to think, dear." 

She looked at him, but he did not 
return her glance. His eyes were 
fixed on the ground, and it really 
seemed as though his life did hang 
in the balance. 

" I'd like to stop and talk about it 
a little while, Dick," she said. " Sit 
here. Now, be reasonable, and I 
will not be cross again. Forgive 
me I I was so surprised, you know ; 
for I have been studying all my life, 
and never thought about this. Now, 
it seems to me, Dick, that I shall 
never want to be married to any one 
whatever. I shall live with Aunt 
Amy, and, when she is dead, I will 
go into a convent, or, if I should have 
money, will do something forthe poor, 
perhaps. If you want to have me 
with you, some time I can go on a 
voyage in your ship, and you can al- 



ways come to see me when you come 
home. Won't that do ?" 

He smiled faintly. 

" Oh ! thank you !" she said, great- 
ly relieved. 

" Has any one else ever spoken to 
you in this way, Edith ?" he asked, 
looking at her searchingly. 

" Oh ! no," she answered with de- 
cision. " I am not at all engaged, 
or anything like it. No one ever 
cared anything about me. And I 
hope you are satisfied now, Dick. It 
it is very well for people to marry 
who are afraid of losing each other ; 
but we can live close by when we 
grow old, or perhaps in the same 
house." 

"I have disturbed and troubled 
you, Edith," the young man said 
after awhile, " but I could not help 
it. There must be a beginning to 
everything, and I had to make a be- 
ginning of this. I don't expect you 
to treat it seriously now, but I want 
you to think of it It seemed right 
that I should speak, or some one else 
might speak while I am gone, and 
take you away from me." 

" But I should never think of hav- 
ing any one else, if you want me," 
she replied with perfect conviction. 
" I may not ever marry at all, but, if 
I do, you will have the first chance." 

Dick Rowan's whole face caught 
fire. " Why, darling ! " he exclaim- 
ed joyfully, " do you mean that ? " 

She was astonished and pleased at 
the effect of her words. "Truly," 
she answered. " You know very 
little of me if you do not know that 
I have always considered myself to 
belong more to you than to any one 
else." 

They had now reached Miss Clin- 
ton's door, and there they parted 
without more words. 

But Edith's indecision was of short- 
er duration than either she or her 
friend had anticipated. The subject 




Thr Honse fif Yorkf. 



29 



I to her thoughts that at 
ftftd comprehended nothing, 
jod hid received Dick Rowan's 
2ionl in a most childish manner. 
Bui a few houn' consideration had 
Kl die whole in a different light. She 
Pcal ^wtn to Hester's as soon as 
diDiKr was over, and asked for her 
2iBt Mrs. Yorke was in her own 
mom, wntiug a letter, and she only 
I ') up with a smile as her niece 
. ■•!. 

"Ail wcU at Miss Clinton's?" she 
aicd. folding the letter. 
" Ves, very well" 
''.\aything new? 
["Miss Clinton told me last night 
will is made^ leaving every- 
( Carl, and that, if I marry to 
her, I am to have her jewels, 
awls, and laces. I do not want 
n, though I would rather have 
\ new things for myself, if they 
e Dot so rich." 

•Whom does she wish you to 
/ ? " Mrs. Yorke asked, direct- 
E her letter. 

'She did not say," Edith replied 

a) a contained voice, looking doH'n. 

Mrs. Yorke glanced at her niece, 

then put her arm out and drew her 

doae. ** You have something to tell 

le, dear," she said. 

lEdidi began to tremble. "Yes, 

t Amy. Dick Rowan has been 

J to me this morning, and, if 

yoa and Uncle Charles arc willing, 

■wdif I *hould ever marry any one, 

I affl going to marry him." 

.Mis. Yorke'i brows contracted 

ihdy, rather with anxiety than dis- 

ure. " Dear child, arc you sure 

Ifoonctf ? " she asked. " One may 

h*c a very great affection for a pcr- 

B, ami not be willing to marry him. 

q'I be hasty. Take time to think 

I it till he shall come back again. 

yoa promise, you may regret it. I 

say. dear, I think it scUish of 

k to »pcak so when you have jieeu 



nothing but birds and books, and do 
not know your own min<t" 

Edith raised her head from her 
aunt's shoulder. " Oh ! Dick isn't 
selfish, and hy? only asked me to think 
of it, and to know that he wanted 
me." 

It was useless to oppose. After a 
little more talk, Mrs. Yorke promised 
to consent if both were oi the same 
mind after a year. " And now, Fdiih, 
t have concluded to start fur home 
to-morrow, and I want to see Carl 
right away." 

She did not say that she had only 
come to this conclusion since Kdith 
had entered her room. 

"And I also wish to see Mr. 
Rowan," she added. " Did he not 
mean to consult me. " 

♦' Oh ! yes," Edith said eagerly. 
"He is coming up this evcuing; 
and, Aunt Amy " — very hesitatingly— 
" don't let me be niarrietl for a great 
while, till I ara twenty-five, at least. 
Of course," looking up quickly, as if 
some doubt had been expressed — " of 
course, I think the world of him, and 
don't wish to marry any one else ; 
but I cannot, cannot hMJxy" 

Mrs. Yorke had a long conversa- 
tion ft*ith her niece's lover, that even- 
ing, and laid down the law rather 
severely to him. No one but Kdith, 
herself, and Mr. Yorke were to know 
of his proposal. '* 1 do not wish her 
to be talked about, and assigned to 
any one, when nothing is decided," 
she said. " It is for that purpose 
that I am taking her away so soon, 
to prevent talk. If, when you come 
home next year, she wishes it, and 
nothing has happened to raise any 
new objection, I shall not oppose 
you." 

He sat a moment silent. He 
asked nothing better than he had 
got ; but his proud spirit rebelled at 
the manner in which the promise 
was given. He was tolerated be- 



30 



A C&HverU 



cause they conld not help them- 
selves. 

" Do you agree to that ? " she 
asked, after waiting a moment 

« Certainly I " he replied " I for- 
got to say so, and to thank you, be- 
cause, excuse mel I was thinking 
how much poorer an offering is a 
man's whole heart and faithful alle- 
giance than a full purse." 

" If you had millions, it would 
make no difference, Mr. Rowan," 
Mis. Yorke said hastily, her color 
rising. " If I am not cordial in wel- 
coming you into this relation, my 
reasons are not mercenary, nor — " 
her manner softened — " nor because 
I do not respect and like you." 

She held her hand out to him. 



He bent gallantly over it, m uimui e d 
a word of thanks, and took leave 
without sajring any more. 

He was willing, almost glad, that 
Edith should go home. He wel- 
comed any stir and progress in events 
which would seem to pass the 
time more quickly along. Let 
him get over his year of probation, 
and, during it, be separated from her, 
if they chose. Her doubt and trouble 
in their new relations troubled him. 
When he should come again, all 
would be settled. He was full of 
hope and triumph, and far removed 
from jealousy. She had said Uiat 
she should not think of marrying any 
one but him; and what Edith said 
was as sure as sunrise. 



TO » CONTIKnO. 



(IN HBMOUAM.) 

A CONVERT. 

1856. 

<TbcM Uaea exprMt the feelingi of one, now tX reit, who wis loved tod honored by all who kitew 
him— Including, probably, thoM who cut him olT.) 



Ah me I my alienated friends. 

Whose friendship, like a branch half-broke. 
With all its mildewed blossoms bends, 

And piecemeal rots ; — how kind the stroke 
That bond — your bondage — sent to sever I 
Yet, can I wish it ? Never, never I 



II. 

I hear them tread your festal floors : 
When now the lights no longer bum, 

Alone I haunt your darkened doors : 
The guests are gone ; yet I return : 

In dreamless sleep outstretched you lie : 

I dream of all the days gone by. 



A Convert. 31 

III. 



Against myself your part I take : 
" I was of those whose spring is fair j 

Whom men but love in hope, and wake 
To find (youth flown) the worse for wear : 

'Gainst the defaulter judgment goes : 

I lived on trust, and they foreclose." 



IV. 

And many times I say : " They feel 
In me the faults they spare to name ; 

Nor flies unjust the barbfed steel, 
Though loosened with a random aim." 

Officious zeal I for them I plead 

Who neither seek such aid, nor need. 



V, 

Give up thy summer wealth at last, 
Sad tree; and praise the fix)st that bares 

Thy boughs, ere comes that wintry blast 
Which fells the grove that autumn spares. 

There where thou lov'st thou liv'st I Bequeath, 

Except thy bones, no spoils to death 1 



VI. 

To others sovereign Faith exalts 

Her voice from temple and from shrine : 

For me she rears from funeral vaults 
A cross that bleeds with drops divine ; 

And Hope — above a tombstone — lifts 

Her latest, yet her best of gifts. 



Aubrey de Vere. 



32 



The Liquefaciwit of the Blood of St. Januarius. 



THE LIQUEFACTION OF THE BLOOD OF ST. JANUARIU& 



MO. II. 



When was this liquefaction of the 
blood of St. Januarius first seen by 
men ? It is not easy to answer the 
question. Some Neapolitan writers 
have maintained that it occurred pro- 
bably on the very day when the re- 
mains of the sainted bishop were first 
solemnly transferred to Naples. For 
then, naturally and as a matter of 
course, the vials of the blood must 
have been brought into close proxi- 
mity with the relics of the head. 
And this proximity, now intentionally 
brought about at each exposition, 
seems to be ordinarily the necessary 
and sufficient condition for the oc- 
currence of the liquefaction. Others, 
however, prefer to be guided by 
positive historical evidence, and 
have come to a dififerent conclusion. 
There is in existence a life of the 
saint written in or near Naples, about 
the year 920. It combines historical 
accounts and later legends, and evi- 
dently omits nothing which the writ- 
er thought would promote veneration 
toward the saint. It is diffuse on 
the subject of miracles. There is 
also in existence a panegyric of the 
saint, written perhaps half a century 
earlier still. No mention whatever 
is made in either , of them of this 
Liquefaction. We may, therefore, 
conclude that in the year 920 it 
was not known. Four hundred and 
fifty years later, it was known, and 
had been known so long as to 
be reputed of ancient standing. 
About 1380, Lupus dello Specchio 
wrote the life of St. Peregrine of 
Scotland, who came to Naples about 
the year 1 100, and died there proba- 
bly about Z130. In that life it is 



stated that St. Peregrine came to 
witness this celebrated and continual 
miracle — quoiidianum et insigne mira- 
culum. Now, it may well be that 
the author, writing about two hun- 
dred and fifty years after the death 
of St. Peregrine, had access to doc- 
uments and evidences clearly estab- 
lishmg this fact, although such doc- 
uments do not now exist, five hun- 
dred years later, or, at least, have 
not as yet been exhumed from some 
dusty library, where they may be 
lying unnoticed. Or, on the contra- 
ry, it may possibly be that in 13S0 
Lupus believed that the miracle, so 
regular in its occurrence at his day, 
had regularly occurred since the year 
of the translation of the body, and 
took it as a matter of course that Sl 
Peregrine had witnessed it; and so 
put that down among the facts of 
his life. But this, even though a 
harsh criticism, and one we think 
unwarranted, if not excluded, by the 
words of the life, would imply at 
least that, in 1380, the Liquefaction 
had occurred for so long a time that 
men had ordinarily lost the memory 
of its commencement. 

Maraldus the Carthusian, who ac- 
companied his abbot Rudolph to the 
coronation of Roger, King of Sicily, 
as historiographer, tells us in his 
Chronkon — or perhaps his continua- 
tor — how, in 1 140, Roger visited Na- 
ples, and how there he venerated the 
relics of the head and of the blood 
of St. Januarius. The Liquefaction 
is not mentioned in so many words. 
But these relics would not have been 
singled out from all others in the 
city, and made so prominent, without 



Tke Liqw faction of the Blood of Si. Januarius* IZ 



iamz special rca&on — a reason, per- 
bips, bO well known and so obvious 
(hit j[ <Ji<l not occur to the uriier to 
ttxtc it explicitly, any more tlian to 
Mjr that the Ling venerated the rc- 
\ta in the daytime and not at night. 
Ilie learned and critical BoUand- 
utk, who have carefully weighed all 
ttitt can be said on this question, 
iodine to hold that the Liquefaction 
commenced somewhere between the 
feats 900 and tooo. Prior to the 
century between those years, St. Ja- 
nsurius had been ranked among the 
minor patrons of the church of Na- 
»Jes. vVfter that century, he holds 
! most prominent place and rank 
their calendar. This change is 
UDOsual and important, and must 
have been based on some sufficient 
icuon. The most probable one un- 
der the circumstances — if not the 
only one that can be x^isigned — is 
that during that ccntur>' the Liquc- 
'^-"^n* btrcame known. The con- 
rjry records of Naples for llmt 
Xim-z were very few ; for it was a 
period of incessant warrings, devasta- 
tioiM, aod tumults. I'hose (hat did 
DS( probably perished in the not 
r<)ucnt destruction of the monas- 
libraries. Still, some venerable 
pDusrript may even yet come to 
elltng us how on some festival 
day of supplication, the re- 
werc all on the altar, tlic vials 
die blood near to the head ; how 
some of the crowd that prayed bc- 
' :■ -.\c altar saw that the blood in 
.A had become liquid; how the 
rful thing was spoken of and 
many ; how, on other occa- 
lioQS, it occurred again and again ; 
uDtd at last it came to be regularly 
I(x4icd for, 9S a part, and the most 
>nijerful part, of the cclobration. 
;AAer 1400, the notices of the Li- 
lion arc more frequent, j-lineas 
1 Piccoiomini (afterwards Pope 
II.) gives an account of 
VOL. XIV.— 3 



it. Robert Gaguin, the old French 
historian, narrating the journey of 
Charles VIIL into Italy, mentions 
his visiting Naples in 1495, ^"^ '^^ 
witnessing and examining this mira- 
cle of the Liquefaction. 

In 1470, Augelo Catone, a physi- 
cian of Salerno, who devoted the 
later years of his life to literature 
and to travelling, has written a brief 
but clear account of it Picus de la 
Mirandola, the wonder of his age, 
has also left his testimony as an eye- 
witness. 

It is needless to say that, since the 
invention of printing and the multi- 
plication of books, we have number- 
less accounts of it from travellers 
and authors, in Latin, Italian, Ger- 
man, I'olish, English, French, Spa- 
nish, and every language of Europe. 

Kver since September, 1659 — ten 
years after the opening of the new 
Tcsoro chapel — an official diary has 
been kept in it, recording day by 
day the exposirioas of the relics ; 
in what state and condition the blood 
was found when exlMcted from the 
(7/W(;/>ir, or closet ; after the lapse of 
wiiat length of time the change, if 
any, occurred ; what was its course 
and character ; in what condition the 
blood was, when safely replaced in 
its closet in the evening; and, gen^ 
rally, any other facts of the day 
which the ofticcia charged with this 
duly deemed worthy of note. 

There arc also printed forms in 
blank to the same effect, which one 
of them fills out and signs in the 
sacristy attached to the T^sora, and 
distributes each day of exposition to 
those who desire them. We have 
several in our possession. 

Another diary is kept in the ar- 
chiepiscopal archives. It was com- 
menced long before that of the Teso- 
ro. We had an opportunity of look- 
ing over it. Down to the year 15 16, 
it seems to be made up from previ- 



34 



The Liquefactutn of the Blood of St. Januarius. 



ous documents and extracts from 
various authors. In 1526,11 assumes 
the character of an original diary. 
Here and there come intervals dur- 
ing which it appears not to have 
been regularly kept on. These omis- 
sions would be supplied from other 
sources, when, after a time, the 
diary would be resumed. From 1632 
it is complete. We have before us a 
manuscript abstract of it, from which 
we will quote hereafter. 

The church of Naples celebrates 
three festivals of St Januarius each 
year; the feast proper of the saint, com- 
memorating his martyrdom; the feast 
of the translation, commemorating 
the transfer of his body from Marcian 
to Naples ; and the feast of the pa- 
tronage, a votive one of thanksgiving. 
We take them up in the order of time 
as they occur each year. 

I. The first Sunday of May is the 
feast of the translation. On the 
preceding Saturday — the vigil, as it is 
termed — a wlemn procession, during 
the forenoon, bears the bust contain- 
ing the relics of the head of the 
saint from the cathedral to the 
church of Santa Chiara, or St. Clare. 
In the afternoon, another more im- 
posing procession conveys the reli- 
quary of the blood to the same church, 
in which the liquefaction is then 
looked for. About sunset, both re- 
lics are borne back in procession to 
the cathedral and TJrj-^w chapel, and 
at the proper hour are duly locked 
up. On the next day, Sunday, they 
aie brought out, first to the altar of 
the Tesoro chapel, and thence, after 
a couple of hours, to the high altar of 
the cathedral. In the afternoon, at 
the appointed hour, they are again 
brought back to the Tesoro chapel, 
and are duly replaced in their closet, 
or armoire. The same is repeated 
on Monday, and on each succeeding 
day of the octave up to the follow- 
ing Sunday, inclusive. Thus, for this 



festival in May there are nine succes- 
sive days of exposition. And, inas- 
much as in the mind of the churcli 
the vigil, the feast, and the octave 
are all united together, as the cele- 
bration of one festival in a more so- 
lemn form, so we naturally look on 
those nine expositions not as isolat- 
ed and distinct, one from the other, 
but as in some way connected to- 
gether and united to compose a sin- 
gle group. 

The feast and its vigil are found 
in ancient calendars of the church 
of Naples. The octave was added 
about the year 1646, on the occasion 
of completing and .consecrating the 
new Tesoro chapel, the work and the 
pride of the city. The processions 
on the vigil were at first directed to 
such churches as the ecclesiastical 
authorities might from time to time 
select, to meet the convenience or 
the wishes of the faithful. In 1337, 
eight special churches were designat- 
ed to which in an established order 
of succession the processions would 
thereafter go in turn each year. In 
X526, it was stipulated between the 
city authorities and the archbishop 
that they should instead go in turn 
to six municipal halls, or seg^^ as 
the Neapolitans styled them, belong- 
ing to as many civic bodies or corpo- 
rations, which united, in some com- 
plex and ancient way, in the munici- 
pal government of the city : that is, 
to the chapels or churches attached 
to these se^e. This regulation 
was strictly followed until the year 
1800. The old mediaeval usages and 
liberties had by that time become 
weakened or had died out under 
the influence of modern centraliza- 
tion. The several old civic corpora- 
tions of Naples, if they existed at all, 
existed only in name. The halls or 
seg^e had lost their original impor- 
tance and standing. A new regula- 
tion seemed necessary. From 1 800 



Thf LiguefaetCoH of Ifu Btmd of Si. jTanuarttis. 



35 



tjovm, tilt procession of the vigil has 

gone Mcli year to ihe church of San- 

ti Chian. 

n. On ihe 19th of September 

i ihe Feast of Si. Januarius, the 

proper festival of the saint, 

Dunting his life of virtue and 

rious death by martyrdom un- 

Jctian. It is traced back to 

^ rtic3t martyrologics and calen- 

I of the church ; even those of the 

Greek schismatic church have pre- 

jmed it In Naples, St. /anuarius 

bong the patron saint of the city, 

iMs festival is, of course, one of high 

t&ftk, and has an octave. Opening 

00 the nineteenth, and closing on the 

Iwtntj'-sixth of September, it gives 

(adi year ri^A/ days more, on each 

one of wlu'ch the relics are brought 

bnh about 9 A.M., and are placed on 

the main altar of the Tesaro chapel, 

Od, about 1 1 A.M., are rarried thence 

OW to the high altar of the cathe- 

«b»l, whence again in the evening 

tfcry arc regularly brought back to 

Ifer Ttsero cha{>el, to be replaced for 

■^ -111 in their proper closets. On 

!3y. the liquefaction is looked 

1 ' n already given in the 

i; ; \! .y octave applies here 

ihft. These eight tbys of exposition 

an; not eight isolated or distinct days, 

irhhout any connection. 'ITiey 

' cr be looked on as form- 

' ' gi'oup. 

*.)n the i6tli of December is 

x\cA tlic feast of the Patronage 

' St. Januarius, This is a single 

lyr festival in annual thanksgiving 

Rt many favors received, and espe- 

cialljr for the preservation of Xajiles, 

centuries and a half ago, from 

Cate of Hcrculancum and Pom- 

4aples lies almost under the sha- 
of Mount Vesuvius, that terri- 
hle volcano which, after ilunibonng 
peacefully for an unknown number 
"agcv renewed its fearful am! de- 



structive eruptions in a.d. 79, 403, 
462,512, and more than fi fly limes 
since. The burning gas or the smoke 
from its cr.iter h-ts risen miles into 
the air, and has spread like a darltj 
cloud scores of miles on one side or j 
the other. It has thrown up stones, I 
which fell in showers of lapilli tea 
•miles away. Its ashes have been 1 
borne to Tunis and Algiers in Africa, I 
and to Tuscaiiy, to lllyria, and to I 
Greece in other directions. Once they , 
clouded the sky and blled the air j 
even in Constantinople. Streams of 
molten lava have flowed down its ' 
sides, filling valleys that were broad 
and deep, and sending in advance ' 
a sulphurous atmosphere and a 
glowing heat which destroyed all 
animal and vegetable life, even be- 
fore the fiery stream itself touched 
plant, tree, or animal. They roll on 
sluwly, but so infiexible and irrcsisli- , 
ble that no work or art of man can. 
stay the movement or control itsj 
course. Everything in its path isj 
doomed to utlerdesiruction. H^stua, \ 
between Naples and the mountain, 
has been destroyed and rebuilt, it is 
said, seven limes; Tom dd Grcco^ 
near by, nine times. Other places 
have perished as did Hcrculaueum 
and Pompeii. On every side of the 
mountain, so fair to look on when 
peaceful, so terrible in its wrath, one 
may follow for miles on niiks these! 
ancient currents, radiating from the] 
centre. Here llie hard, dark ruck 
rings, as iron would, under your 
horse's hoof. There, what was once 
a death - beating stream of lava 
has been covered by time with a 
rich soil, on which vines and olives 
flourish. By the shore, you may see 
where they reachetl the water, and 
have added leagues of rough volca- 
nic rock to the land. 

Naples has often been violently 
shaken, and .wmetimes seriously in- 
jured; has often been in imminent 



3^ The Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius. 



peril, but never was utterly destroyed. 
This brilliant capital, uniting in her- 
self all that Italian taste admires of 
beauty and luxury — " Vedi Napoliy e 
mtwri" — lives with a sword of Da- 
mocles ever suspended over her. 
Each night as they retire the Nea- 
politans may shudder if they cast 
a thought on the possible horrors 
of the night they have entered 
on or what the morrow may bring 
them. 

But men become callous even to 
such dangers as these, when often 
threatened and seldom felt. We can 
conceive how thoroughly all thought 
of them had died out in 1631, when 
Vesuvius, in a long unbroken sleep 
of one hundred and ninety-four 
years, had allowed six generations 
of Neapolitans to grow up and pass 
to their graves without any experience 
of its power. Earthquakes, explo- 
sions, flames, smoke, and streams of 
fire were all forgotten. Towns and 
villages, and gardens and vineyards, 
were dotting the base of the moun- 
tain or climbing its pleasant and fer- 
tile slopes. And among the many 
charming scenes in the neighborhood 
of Naples, there were then none more 
sweet and charming than those of the 
narrow tract between the city and 
Mount Vesuvius. 

So it was on the morning of Tues- 
day, the i6th of December, 1631. 
Yet fair as was the scene on which 
the sun rose that day, it was to be 
greatly changed ere night. Early 
in the morning, the citizens were 
startled and somewhat alarmed by 
a very perceptible tremulousness of 
the earth under their feet. It in- 
creased in violence as the hours roll- 
ed on, and the atmosphere too, 
December though it was, became 
sultry and close. The innabitants 
of the beautiful villas and the far- 
mers and country laborers, who had 
felt the trembling of the earth and 



the closeness of the atmosphere more 
sensibly than the citizens, and who 
saw at once that it was caused by the 
mountain, commenced to flee with 
their families for safety into the city. 
About 9 A.H. a cry of aflright went 
up from the city and the country, 
as suddenly the mountain shook and 
roared as if in agony. All eyes turn- 
ed to the summit of Vesuvius, only 
yesterday so fair and green. A huge 
turbid column of smoke was seen 
swiftly Springing upward from its 
cone toward the sky. High up, it 
spread out like the top of a mighty 
pine or palm. The lightning flash- 
ed through this rolling, surging, ever- 
increasing mass as it rapidly expand- 
ed on every side. By 11 a.m., Na- 
ples lay under the dark and fearful 
cloud which shut out the heavens 
and darkened the day. The inces- 
sant trembling of the earth was per- 
ceptibly increasing in violence. Men 
felt that they were at the beginning 
of they knew not what terrible trage- 
dy, before which they felt themselves 
utterly powerlras. 

The ever-open churches were soon 
crowded with fear-stricken suppliants. 
The cardinal archbishop at once di- 
rected rehgious services to be com- 
menced in them all, and to be con- 
tinued without intermission. In the 
hours of the afternoon there would 
be a procession through the streets 
near the cathedral, in which the 
relics of St. Januarius would be 
borne. Men prayed to be spared 
from the impending doom. The 
trembling earth might open to swal- 
low them J the tottering houses might 
fall and crush them; or the moun- 
tain, whose sullen roar, like that of 
an angry monster, they heard amid 
and above all other sounds, might 
destroy them in some other more 
fearful way. They prayed and did 
penance, like the Ninivites of old. 
They sought to prepare their souls 



Tke Liquefaction of the Blood oj Si. JaHuarins, 



37 



Ibr the deaih which might come to 
CUD)' 0/ ihcm. 

To ihe gloom and horrors of the 
tlvic cloud of smoke, spread as a fu- 
oeraJ pdl over the city, was added, 
later JD die day, a pouring rain. The 
vatcr came down heated and charged 
villi vulcanic ashes. Night arrived, 
iDuxe terrible tlian the day. The 
amtinuuus tr«>inb1ing of the earth 
had indeed ceased; but, instead, 
there came sharp, quick shocks of 
ciuhquakc, four or five of them every 
fii^ur, vastly increasing the danger of 
'.vho remained in their houses. 
-tloors waa the pouring rain 
and iJie intense darkness, rendered 
more fearful by the intermittent elcc- 
tnc flashings of the cloud overhead, 
few uU-lamps in the streets gave 
;le light ; some had not been light- 
others had been extinguished. 
nanow streets sounded with 
ihdcls of alarm and prayers for mer- 
cy. They were filled with those who 
cfaou rather the darkness, the rain, 
M(l the mud under foot, than the 
tUngcr «iihin their own chambers. 
And nil through the city might be 
descried entire families grouped to- 
gether, ami, by the light of torche* 
or Uotcms, making their way to some 
church — for, all through the terrible 
hours of llirtt long night, the church- 
es itill rcm.iincd open and thronged, 
ind the services still continued. Day 
ame at length, if the dim, misty 
bght could be called day. It brought 
00 relief beyond its saddening twi- 
light. All hearts were depressed and 
fiJIol with gloomy forebodings. All 
lelt that only by the mercy of God 
could they be rescued. 

At 10 A.M. there came two shc»cks 
of earthquake severer than any that 
had preceded them. The waters of 
the bay twice receded, leaving a por- 
tkm of the harbor bare, and twice 
ToUed back furiously, rushing over 
the piers and quays, and passing into 



the lower streets of the city. A 
hoarse and violent roar was heard 
from the mountain. It was soon 
known that the sea of lava within its 
bowels had burst for itself a channel- 
way out through the northern side, 1 
and was pouring tlown in a raind] 
stream, widening its front as it spread 
into seven branches, and advancin| 
directly towards the city, /fWfW'andi 
Rfsirta, near the mountain, or, raiher,| 
on its lower slope, were seen quicklyl 
to perish. Portions of Torre ddj 
Greco and of Torre dell' AnnunziatAI 
shared the same fate. It seemed to] 
the affrighted Neapolitans, as they I 
looked on the fiery streams pourin^l 
onward, resisile&s and inflexible, in 
their course of destruction, that death 
was coming to them by fire, more, 
terrible far than death by water or by^ 
earthquake. 

Meanwhile, the hour at last ar- 
rived fixed for tiiis day's procewiion. 
The archbishop was to take part in 
it, and would himself bear the reli- 
quary of the blood of St. Januarius.. 
'I"he clergy of the city would precedel 
and accompany him, and the muni-l 
cipal authorities would walk in pro-[ 
cession behind. Iliousands were iai 
tlie cathedral and would follow^fter,! 
and tens of thousands crowded the-| 
streets through which its route 
A common feeling filled all hea 
alike ; they prayed earnestly, if eve 
they did — for their lives, and their 
homes, their all was at slake. 

The rain had ceased, but the darki 
cloud still hung overhead, and th€ ' 
ashes were srill falling, and the air 
was close and sulphurous. As the 
procession issued from the cathedr.il, 
and while the archbishop stood yet 
in the square in front of it, a blajse 
of sunlight beamed around. The 
sun itself they did not sec, but hi* 
beams found some rift in the mass of 
smoke surging overhead, and strug- 
gled through, throwing, for a few 



38 



The Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius, 



moments, a glow of golden effulgence 
down on the cathedral and the square, 
and the groups that stood or knelt 
within it. The effect was electric 
"It is a miracle I our iH^yers are 
heard ! " was the cry that burst from 
the multitude. In a few moments 
the light was gone ; but, with cheered 
and hopeful hearts, the procession 
moved on through the crowded 
streets to the gate of the city, look- 
ing directly towards Vesuvius and 
the advancing streams of lava. Here 
an altar had been prepared in the 
open air, psalms were chanted, prayers 
and litanies succeeded, and the arch- 
bishop, ascending the steps of the 
altar, stood on the platform, and, 
holding aloft the reliquary of the 
blood, made with it the sign of the 
cross towards the blazing mountain, 
and all prayed that God, through the 
intercession of their great patron 
saint, would avert the dreaded and 
dreadful calamity. 

Ere the archbishop descended from 
the altar, all were aware that an east 
wind had sprung up, and that the 
smoke and cinders and ashes were 
being blown away over the sea. The 
mountain grew calmer, and at once 
ceased to pour forth such immense 
supplies of molten lava. The dread- 
ed stream, no longer fed from the 
copious fount, soon slackened its 
movement — ceased to advance to- 
wards them — and, before their eyes, 
was seen to grow cold, and solid, and 
dark. When that procession, on its 
return, reached the cathedral, the 
sun was shining brightly and cheer- 
fully. Well might they close with a 
solemn Te Deum^ for Naples was 
saved. Outside of the city, five 
thousand men, women, and children 
had perished, and ruin was spread 
everywhere ; within the city, not one 
building had fallen, not one life had 
been lost. 

The eruption continued for some 



months after, but in a moderated 
form. The danger to the city was 
not renewed. 

Therefore, in 1632, and in each 
year since, the sixteenth of Decem- 
ber has been a memorable and a 
sacred day for Naples. It became 
the festival of the BUrocinio, or Pa- 
tronage of St. Januarius. For a cen- 
tury and a half, it was kept as a 
religious holy-day of strictest obliga- 
tion. But the sense of gratitude 
dies out equally with the sense of 
dangers from which we escaped in 
the distant past Whether this was 
the cause, or whether it was deemed 
proper to yield to the so-called in- 
dustrial notions that have prevailed 
in more modem times, we cannot 
say ; but, for three-quarters of a cen- 
tury back, if we err not, this festi- 
val in Naples ranks only as one of 
devotion. For a number of years, 
its celebration was even transferred 
to the Sunday following. In 185S, 
it was transferred back to the day 
itself, and is now celebrated invaria- 
bly on the sixteenth of December. 
On that day, the relics are taken 
from their closet and borne to the 
altar of the Tesoro^ and thence to 
the high altar of the cathedral. Af- 
ter Mass, and the recitation (^ a 
portion of the divine office, they 
are borne in solemn procession 
through several streets in the vicin- 
ity of the cathedral, and, on the 
return, are brought again to the 
high altar, where there is the ex- 
position of the relics with the usual 
prayers ; and the liquefaction is look- 
ed for for the eighteenth regular time 
each year. 

If the weather be rainy, the pro- 
cession goes merely through the 
aisles and nave of the large cathe- 
dral and back to the high altar. 

This feast has taken the place of 
another single-day festival, formerly 
celebrated on the fourteenth of Jan- 



The Liquefaction of the Blood of Si* yanuarius. 



39 



uuy, aiid now merged in Uiia votive 
fcasi a month earlier. 

hcytixv\ these oixlinary and regu- 
\u\y established expositions, other 
iperial or exlraordinar)- ones have 
been occasionaJIy allowed, some- 
tiroes at tile request of distinguished 
-i.-.'i^icrs, who visited Naples mostly 
m Kinter, and could not wait for the 
recurrence of the regular festival; 
BODietimes to allow learned and sci* 
canfic mcn» earnest in the cause of 
religion, to examine the liquefaction 
aoic tioscty and (quietly than they 
cottld do amid the concourse of so 
mmy thousands on the regular 
days; and» sometimes, for special 
argent reasons of devotion or 
>1jc need, as was that of Decem- 
ber i6, 1631, of which we have just 
gheo the account. These cxtraor- 
dinary expositions were more fre- 
<]Ocnt a.nd more easily allowed two 
or three centuries ago than iu later 
fcarv In fact, the latest one of 
rhich wc cUH find any record oc- 
CTKTcd in 170a. Pope Pius IX. 
himxlf, during his exile in Gaeta, 
near Naples, waited for a regular 
diy — September 20, 1849 — to wit- 
ac<K the liquefaction. 

' I number of religious festivals 
■ ■-■■■■'J, the year, it U customary to 
Bke out the bust of St. Januarius, 
ctnstainiog die relics of his head, 
ud 10 place it, with other relics of 
liie s.iints kept in the cathedral, on 
the altar. To do this, it is, of course, 
necessary that tlie cily delegate with 
his keys should be in attendance, 
and siiocld co-operate with the canon 
or clergyman sent by the archbishop 
with his keys. Together they open 
•set in which, umlt-r two locks, 
. t the bust, and which, our rea- 
ders will remember, is built in the 
massive masonry wall of the T^soro 
chapel, immetltatcly behind its main 
altar, and adjoining the similar clusct 
ia wludt is preserved the reliquary 



with the ampullae, or vials, of thei 
blood. As this reliquary of the 
blood is not to be taken out on these 
occasions, its closet is ordinarily left 
untouched. But, in some rare in- 
stances, it has been opened, and due 
record made of the state in which 
the blood was then seen to be. A^i 
some other times, also, the door ha& 
been opened by special favor, that 
strangers might at least take a simi- 
lar view, if they cuultl not be present 
at an exposition. We have ihe re-^ 
cord of nineteen times altogether sincel 
164S, when the door was opened fo»l 
one or the other of these reasons, 
the last lime being June 11, 1775, 
when the blood was seen hariL 
However, as to tlie number of such) 
minor examinations, we apprehend! 
that we shouhl speak with some he- 
sitation. There may have been 
many more of which we have not 
juat now at hand sufficient informa- 
tion. 

We have spoken of the official 
diary of the lesoro chapel, com-i 
mencing in 16591 ^^^ °^ ^^ archi-| 
episcopal diary, commencing as 
diar>' in 1526, and both continuing, 
the latter with some hmna in its 
earlier portions, down to the present 
lime. Of course, different hands 
have penned its pages as years 
rolled on; and it is curious and 
amusing to note their differences of 
character as shown in their stylet. 
Even in so plam a matter as record-J 
ing, day after day and year after year, 
the state and condition of the blood 
when extracted from its closet, the 
occurrence and character of the 
liquefaction, the prominent or import- 
ant facts of each day, and in what 
condition the blood was when re- 
placed at night in its closet— points 
which it was the duty of all to record-— 
personal traits are unwittingly mani- 
fested. One writer evidently was 
fond of ecclesiastical ceremonies, and 



40 



Tfu Liquefaction of the Biood of St. Januarius. 



he is exact in recording the character 
of the High Mass and of the proces- 
sions : who and how many walked 
in them, how many altars were 
erected on the route through the 
streets, etc. Another was more 
of a courtier, and he care- 
ftiUy mentions the presence of car- 
dinals, viceroys, ambassadors, princes, 
and eminent personages. A third 
was devoted to prayer, and his entries 
breathe his spirit of devotion in many 
a pious ejaculation. One tells you 
of a iiL-w musical 7? /Vwot that was 
sung. Another had .1 painter's eye, 
and never fails to name, with minute 
precision, the varying shades of color 
seen in the blood. Another still, 
with more of a mathematical turn, is 
equally exact in setting forth to the 
very minute the times of the liquefac- 
tions which he records ; while others, 
again, performed their duty in a more 
iwrfunctory style. 

On li»e whole, these diaries are to 
us most interesting and unique, as 
well for the length of time they cover, 
and the evident sincerity and earnest- 
ness of the writcre in stating faith- 
fully what they saw— sometimes to 
their own astonishment or sorrow, 
sometimes with joy — as also for the 
wonderful character of the facts them- 
selves which arc recorded. 

Of the archicpiscopal diary, we 
possess a manuscript abstract, kindly 
written out for us. From its pages 
wc have made a summary of all the 
expositions of the blood of St. Janu- 
arius at Naples from the year 1648 
to i860, which we present to our 
readers in tabular form. We group 
ihem together in octaves, for the 
reasons already given, and because 
in thai form several peculiarities are 
dearly seen which, perhaps, other- 
wise would disappear. 

We give, 6rst, three tables for the 



vigil, feast, and oaavc in Maj 
The first one shows the state of th 
blood when taken out from its closet. 
giving to each day a column, and 
recording in each column the various 
condia'ons of the blood, distinguish- 
ing them as: t. Very hard; 2. H.ird; 
3. Soft ; 4. Liquid, with a hard lump 
in the liquid; 5. Hard and full; 6. 
Full, when, on account of that ful- 
ness, it could not be known whether 
the dark mass of blood within was 
solid or fluid ; 7. Liquid. A seconAH 
table will set forth, under a simBi^B 
arrangement, the various lengths of 
time which elapsed from the taking 
out of the reliquary of the a/ff/«A|fl 
from its closet until the liqueGiciioiJ^ 
was seen to commence. After enum- 
erating the instances in which the 
time is clearly dctenninable, another 
line indicates the times when 
liquefaction is set down as grad 
sometimes bccau.se the time wai 
clearly seen, sometimes, perhaps, be? 
cause the recording was pcrfutictorj*. 
We add another line, embracing the 
various occasions when the diary 
cither omits recording or indicating 
the time, or docs so, vaguely or in 
such terms as *' rfgit/ar, very rrjipt/ar, 
prompUy. pumtuaUy, most pitrntuaify^^M 
without unusudl lic/ay, without anf^^^ 
thing neiLC Wc subjoin to this table 
other lines, showing on what days 
and how often the blood remained 
alwaj-s fluid ; or always fluid with a 
hard floating lump; or always hard; 
or always full, and so full that lique- 
faction was not detected. A third 
tabic, similarly arranged, will show in 
what condition the blood was whc^H 
lo{:ked up at night in its closet. Wl|H 
also give three similar tables for the 
feast and octave of September, and 
similar accounts for the I>eccmber 
festival and for ihc extraordinary 
expo»tions. 



The LiqHtf action of the Blood of St. JanuarSs^ 

M9y, 1648. ta May, i860, ine/iuiw^tl^ Vnnt. 

TABLE I. 

Stati op Bu>od at the Opening of the Closet. 



41 



Mat. 



Vrryluud..... 

Hi«a 

x.(i 

iiijttid, with hard lamp., 

Hard and full , 

fuii 

Uqnid 



Samr. 



Sun. 



74 



12 



Mm. 



Tbm, 



Wed. 



Thar 



Fil. 



SAtur. 



Sua. 



TABLE IL 
TmEs or thk LiQURrAcnoss. 



Uav. 



ITiulcr rominuies 

t'aiicTjo " 

lndrr6o *• 

t'n'kr 1 hour* 

^''^■'rrs " 

5 •* « 

il 

ngiirof omitted 

Alrjn liquid, with hard lump 

AIwjT^ full , 

.Vl»raTS hard ,...,... 

Ajwijs liquid 



Sktur. 


Sun. 


Moo. 


Tuio*. 


Wed. 


ThUT. 


Fit. 


S*tur. 


Soa. 


88 


67 


8S 


44 


27 


23 


18 


16 


16 


49 


3S 


*>3 


73 


46 


46 


44 


35 


37 


lb 


9 


a 


30 


42 


35 


19 


17 


13 


S 


4 


2 


I 


5 


b 


5 


II 


7 


I 


7 


.... 


.... 


3 


a 


a 


3 


3 


1 


.... 


I 


. •■■ 


• ■'• 


.... 


a 


a 


4 


I 


40 


. >•. 


- ••• 


.... 


1 


.... 


.... 




aO 


4S 


54 


55 


54 


52 


5t 


53 


50 


17 






















4 


33 


56 


6S 


75 


73 


1 

6 






13 


.... 


.... 


4 


3 


3 


I 


3 



TABLE in. 
State ot the Blouu when Locked Up at Nicirr 



Mat. 


Sslur, 


Sun. 


Mon, 


Tuea. 


Wad. 


T&ur. 


Fit. 


Satnr. 


Sua. 




131 

77 


203 
10 


304. 

4 

5" 


174 

35 

4 


145 

33 
33 

I 

I 


130 
56 

a 

.... 


13a 

31 
68 

t 

t 


131 

M 

75 

I 

I 

I 


130. 




" v 








73 


<.-.r. 


3 

a 




• *k« 






I 




I 



' tabl«s present the course of 
r expeditions for two htindred and 
ihirtccn limes each of the nine days, 
in all, 1.917 exjXKiiions. They do 
DM Kt forth ihc changes in color. 



in frothing and ebullition, in minor 
increases or diminutions ot volume, 
and in occasional hardcnings, of 
all which we shall treat further 
on. 



43 



The Liquefaetum of the Blood of St, yanuarius. 



From September, 1648, ^ September^ 1860—2x3 Years. 

TABLE I. 
State of thk Blood on Opening the Closet. 



SSPTKMBSK. 


»9 


ao 


ai 


33 


83 


a4 


"S 


96 




JI7 
I 


191 


190 


igi 


187 


1 89 


191 


195 




Hard and full 


.... 


I 

I 

30 


I 

30 


3 
33 


3 

I 

3 

18 


I 

I 

3 
17 




Soft 




Full 


a 




13 


31 


14 





TABLE IL 
Times of the Liquefactions. 



SiimuBSR. 



IToder 10 minutes. 
Under 30 " 
Under 60 

Under 3 hours 

Under 5 " 

Over 5 " 

Vague or omitted. . 

Always liquid 

Always full 



*9 



35 
64 
19 
19 
37 
13 
33 
13 



33 
lOI 

*4 
4 



30 
21 



63 

78 

17 

5 



38 

31 

X 



59 
76 
SI 

4 

I 



30 

20 

I 



59 

78 

10 

8 

J 



33 
33 

3 



.a* 

51 
83 
18 

4 

3 



35 

18 

I 



51 

79 

21 

8 

2 



33 

17 

I 



55 

84 
15 

7 



35 

M 
3 



TABLE in. 
State of the Blood when Locked Up at Night. 



SlMEMnM. 


i9 


so 


3t 


33 


"3 


84 


«s 


•6 




313 


311 
I 


31 Z 
I 


310 

I 
I 


306 

3 
3 
I 


208 

3 
J 


209 

2 

I 


202 





























These tables give two hundred 
and twelve expositions for each day, 
and thus for the whole group a 
second aggregate of 1,696 exposi- 
tions. They do not, any more than 
the preceding ones, give an account 
of the changes to which the blood is 
subject, in color, frothing, or minor 
increase or decrease of volume. 
These points will be considered in 
their proper place. 

The festival of the patronage on 
the 1 6th of December, established ia 
1632, has been celebrated 228 times 
down to i860. 



I. On opening the closet or safe 
the blood was found as follows : 

Very hird « 

Hard 914 

Soft. I 

Hard and full to 

Liquid, I— sat 

II. The variations as to times of 
liquefaction were as follows : 

Immtdi&telx or under half-hour, 96 

Under \ hour, 39 

" 9 " 4t 

" S " 4> 

Orer 5 houn, 96 

Alwtvahard, 4* 

" ruii. ... .3 
" Uquid ; 

Vaca« CMT oaUted, . •. . . 17—998 



The Li^e/aenff^^^n^WoSn 



St. yanuaritts. 



43 



JIf. Tlie condition of the blood, 
vhea put up, was as follows : 

1^^ rji 

wilil huDp^ • ... 46 

Sofc 5 

Hud u foond 43 

Foil. 3-«d 

The extraordinary expositions were 
4j in number. Of these 30 may be 
grouped with the December exposi- 
tioD, having occurred in the months 
of November, December, January, 
ami Fchru.iry. 

Tiic blooti vas found : Very hard, 
1: hard, 13; soft, 5; and liquid, i. 
The times of liquefaction were : Un- 
der 10 minutes, 15 times; under 30 
miniiies, I ; under s hours, i ; re- 
■uining ]i(]uid, i. Of course, on all 
tie 10 ilaj-s ii was put up h(iui<I. 

Ninelecn days may be in the same 
"nij- connected with the May celcbra- 
xtvy, as they are distributed through 
the menths of March, April, May, 
aod June. 

The blood was found: W-ry h.-ud, 
Ii liud. 13; soft, 4; liquid, i. The 
taaes of the liquefaction were: Un- 
der 10 minutes, 10 times; under 30 
minutes, 3 ; under 60 minutes, 1 ; 
(ffldcr a hours, 1 ; under 5 hours, i ; 
ti»e not initicated in the diary, 2 ; 
rirraained liqui«l, i. On every 
ti ti was put up in a liquid 
■ tn, 
. ~.^ other times there were cx- 
traordmary ex|iositions in July and 
' er. 'i'wice the blood was 
hnrd and liquefied within half 
tv: . h time, and twice it was 

fc-..^ . i. 

Mmeteen instances arc recorded in 
which for various reasons tlic closet 
was opened and the reliquary seen in 
" ^pUce. Four times the blood was 

ad \-irr}' hard ; six limes it was 

fa: - it was soft ; four limes it 

».i^ _ ,^, ., and three times the con- 
ditkiti is oot neconied. 

These tables present an a};gre;;ate 
flf tw kas than 5,884 expositions 



within a little more than two cen- 
turies, of which number no less than 
3^32^ were marked by a complete or 
partial liquefaction. The exceptions 
are of various classes. The most 
numerous one comprises 320 cases, 
in which the ampulla, or vial, was 
found in the morning and continued 
duriiig the entire exposition of that 
day so completely full, that it was 
impossible for an ordinary observer 
to say whether the blood liquefied or 
not. 

The writer of the diary says on 
this point, a.d. 1773: "When the 
vial is full, some signs arc at times 
observed indicative of a liquetaciion, 
chiefly a wave-like motion when the ■ 
vial is moved. But as this can only] 
l>e seen from the rear (that is, as the') 
light shines on it or through it from 
the opposite side), and only on close 
inspection and by practised eyes, and 
is not visible to ordinary obserters 
standing in front, it is not here noted 
down as a liquefaction." In the 
diary of the Ttsoro chapel, which we 
cannot now consult, they are prob- 
ably recordctl as liquefactions. 

'ITie next largest class of exceptions ■ 
consists of the 171 cases in which the' 
blood was found liquid in the morn- 
ing, and was replaced in the closet in 
the evening still in a liquid condition. 
Wc should observe that not unfre 
quently in such cases the iluid mass 
became congealed or even hari.1 dur- , 
ing the day and Hquencd again. 1 
Kven when this does not happen, ' 
there are so many other and frequent 
changes as to color, to frothing, or to 
ebullition, and to change of volume 
by increase or decrease, that, even | 
without ilic occurrence of liquefac- 
tion, the fluid blood presents many 
wonderful characteristics. Thus ian 
our synopsis we have counted the' 
octave of September, 1659, as pre- 
senting seven days during which the 
blood was found and remained liquid 



44 



Th£ Liqu/factiau. of tht Blood of St. Januarius, 



'J'bc diary, taking up that octave day 
by day, stales, Uiat on the 19th of 
September the blood was found 
liquid, and, tlie reliquary being placed 
near the bust, there commenced an 
ebullition of tlie blood marked with 
froth. This conlinued, off and on, 
during the day. On the 20th the 
blood was again found liquid, and 
the ebullition and the frothing were 
repeatedly renewed as on the pre- 
ceding day. On the 21st the blood 
%ras a third time found liquid, and on 
this day the ebullition was more con- 
tinuous and violent. The aad and 
the 23d and the 24th were marked 
by the same phases. The blood was 
always found liquid, and each day 
the ebullition was repeatedly resum- 
ed and sometimes was violenL On 
the a6th the blood was found in a 
soft or jelly-like slate. It soon li(|ue- 
fied entirely, and during the day be- 
came covered with froth. The 26th 
— the eighth and la&t day — was like 
the nrst. The blood was again found 
liquid, anil (he eliuUihon was resum- 
ed, yet more moderately. 

The two remaining classes, which 
our tables present as exceptions, will 
also suffer diminution if accurately 
examined. There are 44 instances 
in which the blood was found hitni, 
and conlinued hard to the cml of the 
exposition. Yet the diary rccor<Is on 
several occasions the presence of one 
or more fluid drops, somettmcs of 
yellowish serum, sometimes of red- 
dish bluod, which could be made to 
run to and fro on the surface of the 
hardened mass, and continued to be 
seen for hours, or sometunes even 
until the close of the day. 

As for the 18 other instances in 
which the blood was found partly 
Itquiij and partly solid, the solid part 
floating as a globe \n thf fluid por- 
tion, and in whtch the same state of 
things was seen dunng the day and 
lasted until the closing, it must be 






IIUI- 



observed that generally, if not alwa 
this floating suUd mas gradu 
diminishes by a partial liquefaction 
or increases in bulk by a partial har* 
ening. Sometimes both tliese chon. 
succeed each other during the da 
In view of these facts, it would seem 
that these 18 cases, so far from being 
looked on as exceptions, should od 
the contrary be rather set down a$ 
special forms of tlie liquefaction. 

No mere tabular summaries^ like 
those presented above, can give the 
salience which they demand to cer- 
tain unusual facts add to many ordi- 
nary but striking characteristics whii 
should not be overlooked. For 
it is necessary to go back to 
diaries themselves, and to trustworthy 
historical notices of the miracle. 

Ou Saturday, May 5, 1526, 
vigil of the feast of the transUti 
the liquefaction is recorded to \w 
taken place as usual in the Se^ 
Capuana, to which the processioi 
were directed that day. On 
next day, the feast, the blood 
found hard, and it continued 
during the entire exposition, 
octave had not yet been establishi 
It continued hard all through tl 
octave of the succeeding September' 
as also in January, May, and -Sep- 
tember of 1527, and again in Jan 
ry, May, and September of i 
and in January, 1529. The liq 
factions were resumed on Sat 
May 1, and continued -on the 
day, the feast, and regularly during 
the September celebration. Thus, 
for nearly three years the blood re- 
mained hard and solid, witho 
liquef)'ing at any time. 

The Neapolitans connect this ui 
usual fact with the anger of God a 
his judgments, as manifested in the 
terrible pestilence which broke out m 
their city in 1526. and came to aoi 
end only in the early months of 1 52 
after causing 60,000 dcaUis in i. 




The LiquffaetioH of thf Bhod of St. Januanus. 4$ 



wigfc )wr 1537. and, together with 
tfce war then raging, as many more 
B the CDsuing year 1528. 

Again, in 1551, in 155S, and in 
1569, there was no liquefaction. On 
tiif contrary, for the two years 1556 
and 1557, and again for the two 
jrtin 1599 and 1600, and a third 
bme for the :uugle year 1631. the 
Mood was alwaj-s fuund liquid when 
bronghi forth for exposition, and 
ne^-CT at any time was seen to be- 
come solid. Since the last-named 
ytu^ it has occurred, in ten different 
yriB, that the bloml was found and 
cooDnued h'quid during the whole of 
a sngle octave in a year; but never 
in both octaves. It never cuntinued 
htrd for an entire octave at any time, 
itahoug'h at some few limes the Hquc- 
ftction occurrett only on the second, 
Ae ihinlT or the fourth day of the 
« to fa n t ion ; or, on the contrary, it was 
fend and continued hquid for one, 
:»o, or three days at the cornmencc- 
iwnt, and was found hard only on 
the leojnil. third, or fourth morning. 
'.: !!]c votive festival of December 
has reiKratedly remained hard. 
Hie table numbers 44 such cases. 
Of these only 5 occtined in the first 
150 years aAer the institution of the 
Cast ; the remaining 39 all occur in 
tic last 78 years. This the Neapoli- 
tan! cv * ' V the special charar- 
fcroftn I. The other festivals 

kavc been ui^muted in honor of the 
iliot; thi» one, to show their grati- 
ttile OS a city for favors received 
npealcdly through his intercession. 
HcDcc, when vice is rife in the city, 
vA capectalty when sins ag.iinst re- 
lijpon abound, their professions of 
(ntitudc arc wanting in the most 
necciaar>- quality to make tJiem ac- 
ocptoble; and the displeasure of 
heaven 13 marked by the withholding 
of the tnuocutous liquefaction. 

Departures like these from the 
owfinaiy cows^ or any extraordinary 



delay in the Itquefnction, or certain 
appearances of color in the blood, 
which they traditionally dread, fill 
the people with alarm and sorrow. 
From the many instances in the diary 
we give two, as shoning this practi- 
cal connection between the Uqucfac-' 
tion and the religious feelings of the 
Neapolitans. 

« 1732, Dec. 16.— The blood wa 
taken out, hard. Hard it continued 
until after compline (the afternoon 
service). The people were waiting 
for the miracle with great anxiety. 
Wherefore, instead of taking back the 
relics (to the Tesofv cliapel) at the 
usual hour, they remained on the 
high altar (of the cathedral) until 1 
after ai o'clock (3.30 P.M.); and the'' 
church being crowded with people, 
they recited the litanies several 
times. Rosaries were said, and ser- 
mons were preached. Rut the saint 
ditl not yield, which caused great 
terror; and everybody was weeping, 
So things were up to 24 o'clock (5.30 
P.M.) At that hour, a Capuchini 
father in the church again stirred up 
the people to sincere contrition foi 
their sins, and to acts of penance. 
White they were doing thLs, all saw 
that the blood was of a sudden en- 
tirely liquefied — a great consolation to 
all. The 7> Deum was sung; and 
then, only at half-past one of the 
night (7 V.M.), the relics were taken 1 
to the TfSffTv chapel." 

" 1748, May 7, Tuesday.— The 
blood was brought out hwd. After 16 
minutes, it liquefied. During the day 
it rose so high as to fill the vial com- 
pletely. From the 8th to the 12th, 
the vial was always full, and the blood 
was seen to be one-half black, the 
other half ash-colored, for which rea- 
sons his majesty came a second time 
U) see it, on Sunday afternoon (12th). 
When the king l-ad left the 75-f (»/•*», his 
eminence returned to pray to the 
saint to vouchsafe some sign of the 



46 



The Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius, 



miracle before the closing up (it was 
the last day of the octave). In the 
meantime the vast crowd strove to 
melt him by their cries and their 
tears. His eminence, having made 
his way out of the chapel with great 
difficulty, sent for a noble Capuchin, 
called Father Gregorio of Naples, 
who, in a most fervent sermon, exhort- 
ed the people to acts of faith and of 
sorrow for their sins. He then com- 
menced reciting with them the Litany 
of the Blessed Virgin. During the 
recitation thereof, the blood was seen 
to sink half a finger, and to commence 
to move. Who can describe the 
weeping and the fervor? The Te 
Deum was sung; and the blood was 
put up, being at nearly its normal 
level, of its natural color, and with 
some froth." 

No wonder the Neapolitans love 
St. Januarius as their patron saint 
when he thus yields to their fervent 
entreaties and prayers what was not 
granted to the pious curiosity of the 
king \ nor, for this occasion at least, to 
the prayers of his eminence the 
cardinal archbishop. 

The following briefer entries of our 
diary breathe the same spirit : 

"1714, May 5, Saturday. — ^The 
miracle took place at once. On 
Sunday, after an hour and a half. 
During this octave, the blood showed 
a thousand changes, liquefying, hard- 
ening, and increasing in volume 
many times a day, in an unusual 
manner. God knows what will hap- 
pen!" 

" 1718, Sept. 19.— The blood was 
taken out hard. After a quarter of 
an hour, it completely liquefied. 
During all this octave the miracle 
never delayed as much as an hour. 
This was truly a happy octave. 
There were no great changes; only 
a slight increase in volume." 

It is tantalizing to pore over the 
diary. At times you almost fancy 



that you have seized the ver 
cess of liquefaction. Thus 
day you read; "The bloO' 
brought out, being hard and 
ordinary level. After fifteen m 
a drop of serous humor, of a 
yellow color, was seen to move 
on the hard mass. At the exp 
of an hour and fifty-six m 
the blood became liquid, v 
large spherical lump floating 
There was the usual pro( 
through the streets, his em 
joining in. At 21^ o'clock 
3 P.M.) the lump liquefied. 
blood was put up, entirely 
and at its ordinary level." 
1771.) Vou think you see tht 
of the process. First the dr 
yelloMdsh serum; then a par 
quefaction, leaving a lump 01 
matter ; this gradually deer 
for three hours and a half, 
it entirely disappears, and the 
mass is fluid. If you read tl 
lowing, you may feel surer th; 
are on the right track : " The 
came out hard and at its or 
level. At the end of half an 
there was seen to run about c 
hard mass a particle of serou 
ter, inclining to a yellowish 
So it stood during the proct 
which was outside, througl 
streets, his eminence the ca 
archbishop taking his place 
So it was when the reliquar 
brought back to the Teson 
2 3 J- o'clock (about 5 P.M. 
serous matter changed into 
But the mass still remained 
Words cannot tell with wh.it e: 
ness and fervor the ecclesiasti* 
the people continued at prayer 
nally, at 24^- o'clock {5.45 
the mass loosened in the vial 
half an hour later, that is, 
eight hours and fifty minutes oi 
ing, the liquefaction took pi: 
small lump remaining solid and 



he Li^efaction of the Blood of St, Januarius. 



47 



ffl|. So it wai put up." (Dec., 1768.) 
N'otwiihsunding the cliange of the 
chvactcr of the yellowish serous 
drop in the last ciled instance into 
red blood, and the great difference 
of the timei when the liquefaction 
look place, there is a certain degree 
cf oorresiKindcncc between the two 
ctscs— enough perhaps to arrest the 
aitenlion and excite expectations. But 
all m no purpose. Such a drop was 
seen on seven or eight other da)*s, 
bstiog 1 couple of hours or for the 
attire day, without any liquefaction 
rig. And in three thousand 
iotcv iiundred and odd cases of li- 
qacfaction, we have ^iJecI to And a 
tkinl one in wliich such a drop is 
noted to have preceded tlie liqucfac- 
ttnn. 

In £iclt the modes of liquefaction 

m 2$ various a^ we can imagine, 

""" -. remarkable as tlie fact itselC 

inc^ the liquefaction occurs or 

. r-nces at once, with little or no 

At other times, it is delayed 

br J quarter or for half an hour, for 

"'- "vo, or three hours or more. 

lies, though very rarely, it 

'■':■■ d nine or ten hours. 

1 ly seen in the tables. 

untrcquently the change from 

I to fluidity, whether occurring 

r Ule,has been instantaneous, 

r the whole mass at once — in 

v> d'ocihio. Sometimes it ts 

'. before its complc- 

y hours; nay, some- 

OfDcs the ampulla is replaced in the 

,\.-.<^\ for the night before its entire 

tion. a greater or a smaller 

■\\\\ remaining solid. 

ils the entire mas3 liquc- 

I'jr times, only a portion. 

IS ihe case, the unliquefieil 

gcnenUIy floats as a solid 

' L-l'ibe in the liquid part. 

however, one side of the 

ncd; while the other 

. ind firmly altaclicd 



to the glass. Sometimes again, as 
in May, 1710, the portion next to the 
glass all around remained solid, thus 
forming, as it were, an inner cup, 
inside of which the other portion 
moved about in quite a fluid condi- \ 
tion. Sometimes, during tlie process ' 
of gradual liquefaction, the upper 
part is quite liquid, while the lower 
part remains for a time hard and im- 
movable in the bottom of tlie vial ; , 
or, again, the lower part liquefies 
first, and the upper portion, remain- 
ing hard, is seen cither as a floating 
globe or as a lump attached for a 
time to tlie sides of the ampulla. And 
once, at least, the upper portion and 
the lower portion both remained so- 
lid and attaclied to the vial, while 
the middle portion was quite fluid. 

We have already said something 
of the various degrees of liijuefac- 
tion. Sometimes the blood is as 
fluid as water, flowing readily and 
leaving no coating after it on the 
glass. And. at other times, it may 
be somewhat viscous; and, if the 
reliquary be inclined from side to 
»de, may leave behind a dark or a 
vermilion film on the inner sides of 
the ampulla. 

There arc likewise degrees of hanl- 
nesvs. Sometimes the blood is only 
very viscou^ and grumous, or jelly- 
like. In the tables we call it soft. 
At other times, the diary notes it as ] 
hard, dura j very hard, dumsimo s 
or even hard as iron, duro come ferro. 
When hard, it is attached firmly to 
the glass ampulla. Yet on two oc- 
casions, at least, the hard lump could 
move within, showing that it was then 
detached. 

After having become litjuid, or 
even when the blood was found li- 
quid in the morning, it has often har- 
dened during the ceremonial of the 
day, and then liquefied anew. One| 
of the extracts we have quoted^ 
above refers to the firequent occur- 



Tke Liquefaction of the Blood cf St. jfanuartus. 



fence of this variation in 1714. But 
throughout the diary we find similar 
instances, where it hardened . and re- 
mained hard for a few moments only 
or for one or two hours, during the 
public ceremony. This was some- 
times repeated two or three times 
in a single day. 

There is a special case, in which 
the mass hardens so frequently, and 
with such regularity, that it must not 
be omitted. We refer to the custom 
of suspending the ceremony for a 
few hours during the middle of the 
day. The Italians are very fond of 
a siesta in the early afternoon of a 
hot and oppressive summer day. Ac- 
cordingly, unless there be something 
unusual to excite them, they are ac- 
customed, on the later days of the 
octave in May, and sometimes of 
September, to yield to their beloved 
habit. The church grows very thin 
soon after mid-day. A few dozen 
pious souls may perhaps remain for 
their private devotions — about the 
number one would almost always find 
in the ever-open churches of an Ita- 
lian city. Under these circumstan- 
ces, the exposition is suspended. 
The reliquary, if on the high altar of 
the cathedrzd, is carried back to the 
Tesoro chapel, and is placed on an 
ornamental stand or t^emacle on 
the altar ; and a silk veil is thrown 
over the whole. The door in the 
metal-work railing under the arch 
leading out into the cathedral is 
locked; and the clergy may retire, 
one or two remaining on watch. The 
reliquary continues on the stand, un- 
approached, but still visible, through 
the railing, to those in the cathedral. 
At 3^ or 4 P.M. the clergy return to 
resume the exposition ; and the church 
is again full. The blood is very fre- 
quently found hard at that hour, and 
liquefies anew, as in the morning. 
This intermission and the attendant 
hanlening and liquefaction seem to 



the Neapolitans so much a matta 
of course that we find no mention 
whatever of it in the diary, save the 
single notice that, on one day, al- 
though the veil bad been omitted, 
the hardening nevertheless took 
place. The scientific men from Italy 
and from France and Belgium who 
have studied the liqnefaction at va^ 
rious dates, all unite in commenting 
on this fiict of the hardening of the 
blood during these mid-day inter- 
missions, and in considering it, un- 
der a physical point of view, as a 
fact of the highest importance in 
deciding the character of the lique- 
faction. 

There are other special circum- 
stances imder which the blood has 
not liquefied, or, having liquefied, has 
suddenly hardened again. The pre- 
sence of open scoffers, or of declared 
enemies of the church, has sometimes 
seemed to have this effect. In 1719, 
Count Ulric Daun was viceroy in 
Naples. On Saturday, May 6, be 
came with many German officers 
lately arrived in Naples to witness 
the liquefaction, in one of the 
churches to which the procession 
went, as we have already explained, 
and in which the liquefaction was 
first expected. The viceroy with 
his personal staff was of course in his 
official iog^ or gallery. The foreign 
officers were clustered together with- 
in the sanctuary. Some of them 
were Catholics, some Protestants. 
Tlic blood was hard when brought 
to the altar, and remained hard and 
unliquefied for a long time. The 
viceroy at length sent an aid, with a 
command to all the officers to with- 
draw and stand outside the sancluary. 
They obeyed, of course. " Scarcely 
was this done — the heretic officers 
thus withdrawing — when, in an in- 
stant, the entire mass became per- 
fectly liquid, to the great joy of all. 
It was a miracle of miracles !" Some 



Lucas Garcia. 



td the Prntesunts became Catholics 
iiDaiexlia.(eIy. 

P^bgfuim and Ctlano mention an- 
other fcict. Wc quote from the ibr- 
ncr, wlio was i canon of the cathe- 
tlnl ind present at the time on 
stfptce. " While the relics were out 
at the high altar of the cathedral, 
Ibcrc cimc many nobles from beyomi 
the Alfis, who wished to du homage 
to the uint and to witness the liquc- 
factiim. I'he blood was extremely 
floid jiut then, and the reliquary was 
being presented to those around, in 
Qim, iQ be kissed. In on instant the 



blood became hard and dry in the 
hand* of the canon. Those near by, 
stui>eficd by this new prodigy, stood, 
as it were, nailed to the floor. Then 
the canon, moved by aji interior iia- 
pulsc, raised tus voice, and said 
aloud: 'Gentlemen, if there be any 
heretic among you, let him rcUre.' 
Immediately, one of the stnmgers 
quiedy withdrew. Scarcely had he 
withdrawn, when the blood was li- 
quid again, and was bubbling." Pu- 
tiynani adds: "The same thing is 
said to have happened on oUier oc- 
casions." 



TO ta dXtTIKURDi 



LUCAS GARCIA. 



nou TNK STAMtnt or mtirAX lakallbro. 



IK 



ScvLv years passed in this man- 

Qcf, Lucia was fifteen, and had 

UoMomcd into one of those exqui- 

life And fragile creatures that, in 

tot climates, appear so rarely and 

md^h so soon, Luca», who was 

fttnty, had developed admirably. 

He was a )ouiJi of manly ajipcar- 

<ace. and so judicious and industri- 

t« that farmers and managers of 

hadcsdos employed him in prefer- 

'itrrs. Both inherited ihcir 

. [jc — the oval face, fine 

•^tiiiit^ nose, large and e.\prcssivc 

"^i\ csc"*. small mouth, adorned 

1 teeth* broad high forc- 

.'-*. ,-1 the bearing of mingled 

pace anil nobility that distinguish 

id yielded complete- 
r Za Leona, who 
, .„, and had made 

I A drunkard in grder to rule him 

VOU XIV, X 



the more effectually. Too enervated 
and lazy to enter unon a new patli. 
he went on selling Kis possessions to 
satisfy the woman's exaciioiLi, as an 
exhausted stream continues to flow 
in the channel it made when it was 
full and strong, without citlier the 
will or the force to open another. 
From the lime that Lucas was able 
to work, he had maintained the 
house alone, with that mysterious 
day's wages of the laborer which 
(io<l seems lo bless, as lie diil the 
loaves and fishes destined to feed so 
many poor people. Else, how ihe 
/Vic/(7, sometimes two reals • a day 
can support husband, wife, generally 
half a dozen robust children ; an oldj 
father or moihcr, or widowed mother- 
in-law, clothe them all and the head 
of the family in a very expensive 

• PrDoi tad. to \»H^. •Wfllnc- 



50 



Lucas Garcia. 



manner,* pay house-rent and the 
costs of child-birth, sickness, and un- 
employed days; and still yield the 
copper they never refuse to God's- 
ma»tfrs,i is a thing past comprehen- 
sion, and belongs to the list of those 
in which, if we see not the finger of 
God or his immediate intervention, 
is because we are very thoughtless or 
voluntarily blind. 

Lucas, who loved his sister above 
all things, seeing her entirely neglect- 
ed by her father, had assumed over 
her the sort of tutelage, recognized 
and incontestable among the people, 
which belongs to the eldest brother 
— a tutelage which is annexed to the 
obligation of maintaining younger 
brothers and sisters if they are father- 
less. This obligation and right in- 
stinctive do not constitute a law, 
nor are they laid down in any code, 
but arc impressed by tradition on 
the heart, and have, no doubt, given 
rise to the institution of entails.J Lu- 

* We hare thought it worth while to glre the 
exftct cost of the simplest dress— such a one as 
the poorest laborer is oerer without— of an An- 
daluRian peasant ; 

i'iotk 26ore«lt. 

Cloth jacket, .... 60 " 
Cloth breeches, ... 60 " 
Set of buttons (silrer), . . 60 " 
Idem for jacket, ... 36 " 

Woollen Bash «o ** 

Vest ^ « 

Linen ihirt, . . . . ao " 
Linen drawers, . . . tj ** 
Calf-skin shoes, . . . ta *' 

Oaitcni, 40 " 

StockinRS, .... 14 " 
Handkerchief, ... 4 " 
II*' ^ •• 

Total, . . . . "^ .. 

—without the makinfT, which is done by the wo- 
men of the household. 

What will be said to this by those who are all 
'fcr uilllly, economy, and sariaffs-banks, when 
the Andalu«an runtic might, without inconre- 
nienre.jjocladlnafrieresack.apairofhempen 
•andala, and a rush hat }—AutM«rtt*. 

+ PorJioitrat, those who ask in Gf>d's name- 
that is to say, beggars. For this and other deli- 
cate and tender epithets that the Spanish poor 
apply to the unfonusate, our stern language has 
no equivalents. 

X The actual orfi:anlzation oft he family through- 
out the kingdom of Axagon, the Basque prorin- 
ces, and the mounUins of SanUnder. It is this 
that makes the mania for codification that at 
present exists in Spain so much to be dreaded.— 

S^MUk Si, 



cas presented, also, the uncu 
type of those chivalrous and 
brothers that Calderon, Loj 
other contemporary writers hi 
en us in their delightful pici 
Spanish manners as models oi 
ty, delicacy, and punctilious h 

As for Lucia, she was, as t 
ther had been, loving, impt 
and yielding. She regarded 1 
ther with the deepest affect 
which respect mingled, withe 
ening its tenderness. 

One evening, when several 
bors, who tenanted Juan ( 
house, were met together in th 
one of them — it was the kins 
of the departed Ana — said : 

" Have you heard the new 
is reported that La Leona's h 
is dead. What do you say to 

"That La Lcona is just no' 
ing: 

* My spouse is dead, and to heaven has 
W'earing the tharns of a martyr's cro^ 

replied one of the neighbors. 

" There will be talk enoug 
man, if it is true," replied th 
speaker. 

" Well, what do you want 
say ? I feel it for one." 

" I feel it for hvo" added a 
laughing. 

** That is what I feel most, 
tinued the kinswoman. " It is re 
already that Juan Garcia is go 
marry with the rag of a widow 

" Woman ! will you hold 
tongue ?" 

" No ; and I say more : I sa 
I don't doubt it ; for the wret< 
him down, and holds him fro 
neath, so that she can put \ 
the torture with " thou must 
low this, or I will lay on thci 
that.' " 

" True enough," observed th 
er, " she has made a fool o 
with drink; and, not satisfiet 
giving him wine, which is r 



Lietas Garna. 



51 



iod the legitimate child of the soil, 
ihc poisons him with bad brandy." 

•'The kite will get cveiything away 
Iroa him by degrees, till she leaves 
kim siuckr like a star lizard, to the 
bore wall," added another ; " for she 
D mote covetous than greediness, 
tbit 'watlu one hand along the 
ground, and the other in the sky, 
and, with itji mouth wide open, that 
Docbing may go by.' " 

"She'll be Juan's third wife, and 

I '* the other two, and the 

n he h;is under the sod. 

ilc must have some deadly cxhala- 

tioQ about him, like a snake." 

" Kill A? l^ana / As if that would 

tr possible \ It's my opinion that 

I»alh himself couldn't do it, wiih a 

'V lo help him. There was the 

t i, that carried off so many 

5*xl people J it never approached 

her door."' 

"The she-rake has no end of luck." 

At this moment Lucas entered. 

It »i$ Saturday evening, and he had 

awje 10 spend the Sunday at home. 

■" T.iicas." a&ked his kinswoman, 

'ou know that La Letftta is a 

.ind ihey say thai your father 

^ to marry her?" 

A thunder bolt could not have 

hfen LuLJs more suddenly than did 

lhe»e wonls ; nevertheless, he matn- 

fimr^ his composure while he an- 

. 1: 

- riiher you are dreaming awake, 

Aunt ManueU, or age is getting the 

■ if your untlcrstandiiig." 

' >i\'i ritng my age into my face, 

UkfWiiiltf,*' • said the good woman, 

■^ was jocoM. " I would rather 

J«a caUed me sly fox : it is permitted 

"* "in the company of 

iments." 

•Weil, tht-n, why were you born so 
kmg ago ? But don't come to me 
«h yoor troubles." 

* Blf Lucu. 



" Publish your decrees in time, my 
son, for this one is in everybody's 
mouth." 

*' They may say what they please 
behimi my back. Regiments can't 
capture tongues and thoughts, but 
no one is going to speak against my 
father when 1 am present." 

" I'll lay you something, Lucas, 
that he'U marry !" 

"Thai will do, Aunt ManueLa; 
yon know the saying, * Stop jestingl 
while jesting is pluasant.' " 

Like all men of stern nature, Lu- 
cas, when in earnest, had in him a 
something that imposed respect: the 
noincn were silent, and he went into 
his own dwelling. 

He did nut speak to his sister ot 
the matter that occupied his thoughts^ 
so painfully, but, after giving her the' 
money he had brought, remained a 
while talking cheerfully and affeciion- 
aiely with her, and then went in 
scirch of his neighbor, Uncle Bar- 
tolo. 

He knew that the guerilla, on ac- 
count of his age and good judgment, 
and because he had been his grand- 
father's friend, exercised great influ- 
ence over his father, and could think 
of no one so suit.ihle to confide in, 
and implore to interfere in the matter, 
and dis-suade Juan llarcia, if, indeed, 
he entertained it, from such an out- 
rageous project. 

"Hola! What brings LuquUl^- 
with the step of a Catalan and face 
of a blacksmith Y' exclaimed the old 
man, as Lucas entered. 

The youth told his errand. 

Uucic Bartolo, having heard him 
to the end, shook his head, as he re- 
marked '. 

'•Lucas, the proverb says, 'Be' 
tween two millstones one had best 
not put his thumbs;' but — well, for 
your sake and Lucia's, the pretty 
dove ! I will do what you a&k, even 
if I lose — and 1 shall, for certain— 



52 



Lucas Garcia. 



your father's friendship. I tell you 
though, beforehand, that interference 
will do no good." 

" But, uncle, that which is never 
attempted is never done." 

" Have I not told you I would try ? 
You shall never say that you sought 
me and did not find me. I only 
want to remind you that counsels 
are thrown away upon the foolhardy, 
and perfumes upon swine. And to 
tell the truth, I would rather tackle 
one of those highwaymen of last 
year than your father ; notwithstand- 
ing that the she-bandit has taken and 
done for him as easily as a spider 
would vanquiish a fly." 

Our old warrior went, the next day, 
to see Juan Garcia, whom he found 
indisposed. 

"Hola! Juan," he cried, as he 
entered, " how are you ?" 

" Not so well as I mi^it be, un- 
cle," responded the invalid. " And 
you ?" 

" As well as can be, since I am a 
man of the old times, and not sorry 
for it: better suited beneath white 
hairs than white sheets. But," con- 
tinued the guerilla, who in his long 
career had never studied diplomacy 
nor learned the art of preambling, " let 
us come to the point ; for one needn't 
go by the bush where there's a high- 
road; they tell me, though I don't 
want to believe it, that you are going 
to marry." 

Juan contracted his brows, and re- 
plied : 

'' And if I have never told any one 
so, how could they tell it to you ?" 

" Answer one question with anoth- 
er, to avoid committing thyself," is a 
rule of rustic grammar that the peo- 
ple have at their tingeis' ends. Un- 
cle Bartolo proceeded : 

" It'seasy to see how ; you are think- 
ing of it ; and people nowadays arc 
so sharp that they divine the thoughts. 
So that we may as well be plain — it 



is what you mean to do. Tc 
truth, now." 

"The truth!" responded 
availing himself of another s 
fuge. " Then, though — becai 
was not prepared to tell it — I 
not compHed with the churc' 
year, I am to tell it to you ! N 
' He that reveals his secret, re 
without it' " 

" It is plain enough from 
crafty answer that your mi 
made up. So you needn't dt 
nor put me oflf with palaver." 

" The thing is yet in the 
and to be nibbled at," replied \ 

" Do you know. Christian, 
you are about ? For the begi 
of a cure is a knowledge of the 
ness." 

" Yes, sir, I have my five 
counted." 

" Yes, Juan, four of them u 
and one empty. But, my soi 
know me well, is it not so ?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" You are sure that I am 
friend ?" 

" I don't say no to that, Unci 
tolo." 

" And you know the proverl 
'An old ox draws a straigt 
row'?" 

" Agreed, Uncle Bartolo ; we 
that kind of wisdom years gi' 
we are told that the devil is kn 
not because of his devilship, b 
cause he is the old one" 

" Well, that being so, yo 
heed what I say." 

"That remains to be seen." 

"And you will consider n 
vice ? " 

" What is the meaning of ; 
advanced guard, Uncle Ba 
Why do you sift and sift m 
falling through the sieve ? " 

" To fall with all my weight 
ing this, and no more ; * Don 
marry, Juan Garcia I ' " 



*usteas Garcia. 



53 



"Why not? if yon would please 
tdl me." 

" Don't many, Juan Garcia ! " 

" Uncle Bartolo, don't leave your 
OMtnsels like foundlings in the hos- 
piul, without father or mother. I 
mntttot marry — the reason ? " 

"Juan, ' where there has been fa- 
isi^tyf let there be no contract.' " 

''If it were as you intimate, I 
Odgbl to marry ; for, if Uiis woman 
has lost resjject through me — " 

"Sop, Juan; that'll do! Don't 
fTinic to me with your ' mta eu/pas' 
Thcie is always a pretext for wroag- 
(iotng. But you know very Well that 
the iroman has not lost respect 
tbmi^ you. Nobody loses what 
kw?er had.'* 

■ i nrle iiartolo, by what I shave 

n, -lit that you comb gray hairs, 

ifld were my father's friend — l^ve 

** Tutf tut^ man 1 Don't get excited, 

zlA talk nonsense ! I did not come 

iKrc to poke you up, nor to pick a 

Itumrl, but with a very good inten- 

iion and, as ihe friend 1 am to you, 

i cm your making an atrocious 

t yourseIC Have you consi- 

yuur children, and the kind of 

flqi-mother you are going to give 

' If she will be a wife good enough 
hhcir father, it appears to me that 
dtt will be a good enough step-mo- 
ihct for them : especially as, wlicre 
H>ey arc concerned, what I do is 

^ht! Now you arc like the 
.in.in, Don 'Turo, that killed 
Tu uiraca for a partridge, and then 
nid * all right.' Take notice, Juan, 
tliU ihcy are not likely to be willing 
to five nmler (hat woman's flag. You 
axe goong to alienate them from you, 
«Bii, * withdraw tliyself from thine 
«*«, God will leave thee alone.' " 

"Tbcy will not be willing to live 
asdcf ha I AVhai are you saying, 



sir ? We shall see, however. ' AVhere 
the sea goes, the waves go.* " 

" Well, Juan, we shall see lliat 
Lucas, who is high-minded, will not 
consent to let his sister live with a 
woman of evil note." 

" The note I have put upon her, I 
will take from her. Uo you compre- 
hend ? And I.ucas will be very 
careful not to set himself up to crow 
while I live. There cannot be two 
heads, and. ' in sight of the public ' 
stocks, sireet-criers keep their mouths 
shut.' " 

** Think, Juan, that your sou should 
be the staff of your old age. You 
may provoke him so far that he will 
leave you some day without warn- 
ing." 

" Let him go ; I have the means 
to maintain myself, and my wife and 
daughter." 

"Ah! Juan, what have you left? 
Juice don't run out of a sucked 
orange. As if that woman had not 
sM'atluwcd your slice of field and 
olive-yard, leaving you nothing but 
the house ; and that will go the same 
way the field and orchard wcnL As 
for making a living — you have thrown 
yourself away; your back is getting 
stiff already, and ' to old age comes 
no fairy godmother.' Where, then, 
are those ' means ' to come from ? 
What you are going to do is get en- 
tangled in debts ; and, let a man be 
as honest as he will, ' if he owes and 
doesn't pay, all his credit flies 
away.' " 

" La Leona has a gossip at the 
port that is a contrabandist ; he Vk 
going to take me for a partner.** 

•• Only this was Vitnfi/t^^J " ex- 
claimed the old man indignantly. 
" You .' y0H take to the path /• Does 
Karabbas tempt you, Juan Garcia? 
Have you lost your senses entirely, 
or are you fooling me ? Sure enough, 

• Ttmar la wrrrfa— Twice another ihin lb« 
kLghurlegKlixedWftr. S»id of tooumbwidisls. 



S4 



Lttcas Garcia, 



* he that goes with wolves will learn 
to howl.' Don't you know that the 
devil takes honest gains and dis- 
honest, and the gainer with them ? 
But let us keep to the matter in 
hand. Juan, the woman has a bad 
name that neither you nor the king, 
if he tried, could take from her. She 
is bad of herself; and neither you 
nor the bishop, if he set his heart on 
doing it, could make her good. 
Moreover, * a rotten apple spoils its 
company.' " 

" Go on with the bad ! * Against 
evil-speaking there's nothing strong '; 
but, if she appears good to me, we 
are all paid." 

"Juan, 'look before you leap.' 
You have not the excuse of youth 
for your indiscretion ; you are more 
than forty years old." 

" And have more than forty arro- 
ba^ of patience, Uncle Bartolo. 
Candeiaf I have long sought and 
never found a friend that would offer 
me a sixpence, and have found, with- 
out seeking, one that gives me ad- 
vice." 

" Well, my son, your soul is in 
your palm," said Uncle Bartolo, 
rising. " Remember that there was 
not wanting a friend to give you 
good advice — a man of ripe brain, 
who warned you of the future — for 
this marriage is going to be the per- 
dition of your house. And, remem- 
ber what I tell you now, a day is 
coming when you will have eyes left 
you only that you may weep." With 
these words, Uncle Bartolo went his 
way. 

" Son," said he to Lucas, who had 
waited for him in his house, " it was 
lost labor, as I foretold. But go, 
now, and mind what I say. Submit 
to what can't be helped, and don't 
be stiif-necked, for you'll surely come 
out loser. The rope breaks where it 
is slenderest You are his son, and 

* An arrobafa twentf-five pounds. 



the authority belongs to him. You 
will only be kicking against the 
goad." 

Lucas went back to the country and 
to work with a heavy heart. When 
he returned home on the following 
Saturday, he learned that the bans 
of his father's marriage were to be 
published the next morning for the 
first time. Grief made him despe- 
rate, and he resolved, as a la^ re- 
course, to speak himself. 

We have already hinted at the 
cool and formal relation that existed 
between these two — thanks to the 
neglect the abandoned man had 
shown his children. For some time 
past, the excellent character of Lu- 
cas and the good name it had gained 
him had inspired Juan Garcia with 
that bitter sentiment which rises in 
the heart of a man who possesses 
the legal and material superiority, 
against the subordinate to whom he 
feels himself morally inferior — a sen- 
timent of hostility that is apt to 
manifest itself in despotism. 

" Sir," said the son, speaking with 
firm moderation, "they have been 
telling me that you are going to 
marry." 

" i'hey have been telling you what 
is quite true." 

" I hoped that it was not true." 

" And why ? if I might ask." 

" On account of the woman they 
say you are going to have." 

" She is not, then, to your taste ; 
and you think, perhaps, that I ought 
to have advised with you ? " 

" No, sir, not with me — I am of 
small account; but with some one 
that has more knowledge and judg- 
ment than L" 

" So, then, it appears to you," said 
Juan, with repressed ire, " that your 
father needs counsel ? " 

" Yes, sir," answered Lucas calmly, 
'* when he has a young daughter, and 
is going to give her a step-mother." 



Lkcas Gore 



For fear he miglH git'c her oat: 
ihu wnultl eat her up, like the Can- 

".Vo, sir, DO ; we understand now 
ihu people arc Dot swallowed hke 
«q|livd anises." 

"Or make her work, being herself 
twSiisthous, and not wilhng to sic 
hnul upon hand Uku a notary's 
«tie?" 

■* Ii Is not tJiat, nr ; Lucia, is not 
■fraui of work. She knows that 
I- I i lor of the poor." 

i<>, keep her at home 
-d dog ? ■• 

.\ r; I am not thinking of 

ihM; for my sister, though brought 

op vitfaout a mother, is modest, and 

wt 3 gill to be seen at the street 

door or «-ith a hole m h^r stocking. 

3he a used to the &hadc, but — " 

EUit what ? Have done ! " 

Ilmt which thi& woman nill 

|»e her is evil, and may be her ruin." 

who had with difti- 

- himself, rushed upon 

), as the latter uttered these 

, Mtlh his hand uphUed t* 

Lucas, perceiving the action, 

> inclined his head, and rc- 

ufron it the blow that had 

■■' at his face. 

; N 1|» me, father! what have 

■ to be cliasttsvd ? Have 1 

ything wrong ? Have I been 

I ^ in respect to you ? Father, 

my nictiher — heaven rest 

__ lied, she said to me, ' Lucas. 

niich over your siiier.' I promii^ed 

her that I would, antl have kept my 

proiui'ie.*' 

"She meant." replied Juan, sonic^ 
•bat soflened by the memory of the 
■Mher evoked by her son, '* she 
metM in case Lucia should be loft 
■kIhmii me. llut, while [ live, which 
all ihat has Uie authuritv uver my 
daagbter ? " 

* A BPtMAvr ttkcy (l^htta children widi. 



'* Father, for the love of tlie Bless- 
ed \'irgin, leave her to me ! J will 
support her." 

'• .\re you in your senses ? " 

" For God's sake, don't separate 
us I X will work with all my might 
to maintain us both." 

" Separate you ! Nobody has 
thought of doing it. You will come 
with her to my house." 

■* No, sir." 

" How is that ? What do yo«J 
mean by ' no, sir * ? Do you ihinli 
you have a right to call your father' 
to account ? Is it not enough for 
you to know what his hands decide ? 
Perhaps you would like to have an- 
other proof of what they are able 
to do ? " 

" My father may kill me, and I 
shnll neillier upt-n my lips nor forget 
my duty ; but — make me live with 
that woman — never ! " 

*' We shall see about that, insolent 
upstart : " , 

*• Vcs, we shall see," said Lucas» | 
as he went sorrowfully out. 

Lucas was gifted with one of those ' 
noble and delicate natures that bum* 
ble ihemiielves in victory and grow 
firm in defeat ; that is alike inca- ' 
pable of noisy elation in triumph,! 
or pusillanimous abjection when pros* J 
Irate. But the determination of his 
character was degenerating into stub- 
bornness, as it always happens when I 
will forsakes the guidance of reasoQ ] 
to follow the promptings of pride. 
Therefore, though he liad not, in the 
iljgiilest degree, failed in the strict 
respect that morality enforces, neitli- 
cr the threats of his father nor love 
for his sister could shake the resolu- 
tion he had taken in that decisive 
interview. On leaving his father's 
presence, he went in search of Lucia, 
whom he found weeping. For a long 
while neither spoke: brother and 
sister mutually comprehending the 
cause of the profound depression 



56 



L^cas Garcia. 



of the one and the tears of the 
other. 

" If mother could open her eyes !" 
at last exclaimed Lucia. 

" They whose eyes God has clos- 
ed have no wish to open them again 
in the world," replied Lucas ; " but 
remember, that from heaven she 
always has hers fixed upon her daugh- 
ter. I cannot help you ; for, though 
I have tried my best to keep you un- 
der my flag, I have not succeeded : 
because, heart's dearest, there is no 
power in the worid that can oppose 
a father's." 

*' But I am to do only what you 
tell me, Lucas, for my mother left 
me to you," sobbed the girl. 

" Well, then, pay attention to what 
I am going to say. 

" Bear your cross with patience ; for 
that is the only way to make it light- 
er. Be a reed to all storms, but an 
oak to temptation. Never turn from 
the right path, though it be steep and 
sown with thorns. Always look 
straight before you, for he that does 
not do this never knows where he 
will stop. As for this woman who is 
going to be your father's wife, give 
her the wall ; but remember that she 
is bad, and neither join yourself to 
her nor talk with her, except with 
reserve and when you must." 

" Shall you do the same, Lucas ?" 

" I — I shall act as God gives me 
understanding." 

' Nothing was seen of Lucas on the 
day of Juan's marriage, and it was in 
vain that -they looked for him : he 
had disappeared. Juan, who left no 
means untried to ascertain his son's 
whereabouts, learned some days 
later, from a muleteer who come from 
Tpvilla, that he had enlisted. The 
father felt indignant at the contempt 
thus shown for his authority, and 
sOTry to lose an assistant in his son : 
hut found consolation in freedom 
from the immediate presence of an 



interested witness whose censnt 
the fog, without form, voice, c 
tion, penetrated him with an ur 
fortableness from which there w 
escape. 

Lucia went to live with her 
mother, and it is hardly necessi 
relate what she had to endun 
particular from the daughters c 
latter, who, being both foolish 
ugly, naturally disliked one wh< 
beautiful and wise ; for she had 
menced by playing with swa 
the role of Cinderella thai 
brother had recommended, 
little by httle, the continual fr 
was wasting her patience, and i 
nation, repressed discontent, ant 
cor were beginning to find pla 
her heart She wished, somet 
to humiliate, by her advani 
those who were continually hun 
ing her, and grew presuming 
fond of admiration. So it it 
evil seeds spread and multiply 
prodigious rapidity: one suffia 
open the way and prepare the gi 
for the rest. 

While these things were pa 
a regiment of cavalry, comma 
by one Colonel Gallardo, came 
took up its quarters in Arcos. 

Gallardo was rich, well-bom. 
been good-looking, and a great 
comb. He was still the latter ; 
the kind of conceit that is ofte 
result of living in the atmosphe 
adulation that surrounds the po 
ors of money and command 
atmosphere that intoxicates r 
making them overbearing and 
lent, and apt to do, with great it 
tinence, things that would nc 
tolerated in others. While aull 
is thus misunderstood, it is hari 
be wondered at that it has lo 
ancient prestige, and is hated 
set at naught. Authority shou 
consecrated to its mission, and, 
its advantages, accept its rcspo 



£»Ar; Carcia. 



%y 



T35es, Ihe first of which is to give 
good example. Do those m |jlace 
iciHf think they ow« the masses 
Mtluag ? — that these arc, at once, 
oothers to nourish, and incensories 
to deify them ? Shall wc ever go 
tack, morally, to those remote times 
•hen men -were both worthy and 
•^''"5pccti^.g. and neither admitted 
■ y nor refused to rule its rcver- 
EBcc; for the latter was never so 
daptsed as it is at present; iheform- 
ffoexpr so (ringing. 

But to return to Colonel Gallar- 
"Id, iriw lias given margin to those 
clions. 

bis admirable person added to 

tt pretensions that of youth 

Rowrr. His own having al- 

r to seed, the result was 

L_ , .. ._ul of appearing the young 

iirk, he suggested the idea of a 

itn' oUl chicken. By grace of the 

muke-maker. which, as everybody 

'.sists in creating ringlets 

is no hair, he wore curl- 

<fi locks. He encased himself in a 

?imrh corset, which gave him a 

JcQ-lcmcss a sylph might have en- 

Tml it was an article of his belief 

ihil amorous conquests were as ere* 

liilablc to a sfMdier as mihtary ones; 

and he considered a little hare-brain- 

(dness in a man and a spice of co- 

""■■— tn a woman the proper sea- 

. for each respectively. These 

iih vanity enough to 

; vacant in his heart 

-im by the ali^ence of other 

,__, i.c-i. made of ^'oloncl Gallardo 

ooc of those characters thai are de- 

— ' !.'. without being malevolent 

liculous, though they do not 

-ih. 

I tier, a bachelor, of course, 
toe all of his stamp, had lodgings 
opposite the house of La Leona^ 
wtioK daughters were not long in 
bocomiog acquainted with his attcn* 

dutL 



The preludes \o acquaintanceship 
were couplets worded and sung with 
the evident intention of opening a. 
flirtation. The soldiers took the ini- , 
tiative, singing to the music of their j 
gftitatilhs : * 

" ir your (icrsoD •an (»e woo 
By raturin Ihc hclrl, 
Hetc'ss taui with iword Id htnd 
Will KODBcr die than yiold." 

Another followed : 

" If for a • rustic's Io»« 

l^*>e mc[«! you wtl have 
lu*le*«l ol iHtnlng goM." 

'lo which the girls replied in a^ 
similar strain, declaring that they 
found it difficult to have patience 
with " these men of the fields," wh»m 
they describe as " persecutors of the 
ground" and "sepulchres of ffis- 
pacho" 

Neither was the colonel behind- 
hand in becoming enamored of the 
beauty of Lucia; nor was he the 
man to dissimulate his sentiments. 
And, alas! Lucia herself had ceased 
to be the discreet and modest maid- 
en, who would once have shnmk of- 
fended from demonstrations that 
could not fail to give occasion for 
scandal. 

The hopes of our decorated aspi- 
rant, who soon learned tlic interior 
ciicumstances of this family, rose high 
in view of the antecedents of the 
step-mother and the unhappy lot of 
the young girl. But he deceived 
himself. For, though vanity had 
led Lucia beyond the limits of pru- 
dence, she receded from corruption 
with all the energy of the honorable 
blood she had inherited from her 
mother. This resistance cxasp<yatcd 
the step-sisters, who, wishing both to 
be rid of Lucia and to see her un- 
done, hoped that the colonel would 
take her away with him, and laid a 
plan to accomplish the result ihcy 

• SauU (tilUii. 



58 



Lucas Garcia. 



desired. Having previously concert- 
ed with the lover, they carried out 
their project in the following manner : 
One night, when Lucia had gone to 
her room, and sat combing down her 
beautiful hair, the door opened sud- 
denly, and admitted the colonel, hid- 
den to the eyes in cloak and slouch- 
ed hat, and accompanied by the 
daughters of La Leona in giggling 
triumph. They had hardly introduc- 
ed him into the chamber, when, with 
jests and bursts of laughter, they 
turned and ran out, closing the door 
behind them and drawing the bolt. 

Too much overwhelmed with in- 
dignation, terror, and shame to think 
of,any means of escape, the unfor- 
tunate girl covered her face, with her 
hands and remained silent. The 
colonel, also, who had been led by 
La Leona to think that it would not 
be difficult to propitiate Lucia by 
tender and gallant speeches, found 
himself without words in the presence 
of grief so real and so mute. For, 
unless a man is totally base, no 
amount of daring will enable him 
wholly to overcome the respect that 
innocence inspires. 

" Am I, then, so disagreeable to 
you," said Gallardo at last, drawing 
nearer to Lucia — "I who have no 
wish but to please you ?" 

" Lucas I Lucas ! O my brother 1" 
cried the girl, bursting into sobs. 

" I will go ! I am going !" said the 
colonel, half-offended, half-compas- 
sionate ; and he approached the door, 
but it was locked. 

" You see that I cannot get out," 
said he, turning again toward Lucia. 

" I know it," she exclaimed. 
" They wanted to ruin me, and they 
have done it ! Have locked me in 
here alone with you! How can I 
ever bear to have any one look me 
in the face again I What will Lucas 
say ? Ah, my heart's brother I" 

*' You are not ruined, child I" said 



the colonel, irritated. "Is 
friend to tragedies ; heroic Lu 
frighten me. Believe me, I 
to go, and, to prove it, since 
not leave by the door, I will g 
by this window." With these 
the colonel wrapped himself 
in his cloak, and, mounting th 
dow-seat, sprang into the yard, 
was enclosed only by a low pa 

Hardly had his feet touch* 
ground when he felt himself s 
ed by an infuriated man, who 
trophized him with the most i 
insults. At the same momei 
Leona and her daughters ran s 
ing from the house, while the u 
py Lucia called from the wine 
a voice of anguish : " Don'l 
him ! It is my father !" 

The man had drawn a 
but Gallardo, who was vij 
and wished to escape from tl 
venture without hurting Lucia'i 
er and without being recog 
pushed the assailant from hin 
such force as to throw him up 
back ; ran to the paling, leap 
and disappeared. 

Juan Garcia rose from the g 
in that state of blind rage in 
men of his uncultivated nalur 
at no obstacle and hesitate 
crime. Violently repulsing hi 
and step-daughters, who, alarn 
the result of their work, would 
detained him, he hastened t 
house, and was making direct 
Lucia's room. 

" Lucia ! Lu^a ! jump fro 
window \ " screamed La Leona 
seeing a catastrophe. " Your fa 
going to kill you I" 

Wild with terror, Lucia, who 
the enraged and drunken vo 
her father approaching her chi 
precipitated herself into the ya 

"Run to the colonel's! " urg 
step-mother, with no intentior 
but that of saving her life. " 






ifee hst one your father wril) suspect . 
tSrthe [itmrest house, and you can 
t hidden there better than anynhere 

txtoA obryed mechanically, guid- 

nct of sclfpreserva- 

ioii%e that rules weak 

: .-« tn momrnt* of supreme peril, 

OrilUrdo W3LS excitedly pacing his 

nan when she rushed in, pa]e as 

taA, oo%*ered with her long black 

iuir, cold and helpless wiUi fear and 

fefcntioDy and, sinking upon a 

dUr, exclaimed : 

" Vo« hare lieen my niin I At 
lost s»vc my life!" 

ll is to be supposed that even the 
6t ifKl iteriJe heart of this msu 
vonld find, in such ci re um stances, 
lewimcnts and words to soothe the 
tretdied creature ihus forced lo seek 
bti [ffoiection. It is certain that, at 
Ae vMioo of her youthful and irmo- 
ccol beauty, seen through the prism 
fi her tears, he became more enn- 
Bored than ever, and look advantage 
flf Ifce distress, of which he was the 
(Use. to advance his suit. 

And the poor child, bereft of affec- 
IM and supffort, having nowhere to 
by hcT head, lacking firmness to 
tntit and cner,:;y to act, unsu^itaincd 
hf principle duly and constantly in- 
Q^tccl, which would have made 
Irr ptrfer misery to shame, allowed 
hendf to be persuaded and retained, 
fawn by a love that began with the 
t«wnwe and <:on\-iction lliat tt was 
1* and elcrDal. 

. -J >oon left, taking with 

him. secretly, Lucia, who had a1- 
fudy begun to feel contented in the 
icmosuhere of tenderness and luxury 
■ ■ her. 

siun that Joan Gar- 
tia h»d experienced, united with 
i-rii-f .ll .rr,,- nnd remorse, so aJlcct- 
on, already spent and 
lOTn t>y mc mo he had been leading, 
thai be fcU into an inlUmmatory 



IrtttaS (jttTCm, Co 

fever, from which he never recover- 
ed. A little while before he died, he 
said lo his old friend : " Uncle Bar- 
lolo, you hit the mark when you told 
me that tlie day would ccme when i 
should have eyes left only to weep. 
It has come, and — well, belter to 
dose them for ever.'* 

Two years had passed since the 
events last narrated, and fire since 
I.uras left home. His regiment was 
in Cordova, wlicrc a general recent- 
ly arrived from Madrid was going 
to review the troops of the garrison. 

The evening before the parade, 
Lucas was in the quarters with seve- 
ral other soldiers from /Vrcos, one of 
whom, with the careless and con- 
Slant gayciy which characterizes the 
Sj>ani5h soldier, and proves, to the 
extreme scandal and disgust of the 
votaries of utility, the non-materiat 
gcniits of the nation, was alternately 
touching his guitar, and singing : 

" OU f 'ill gty to be * soldier, 
StmodlnjcKUftrd wiih tireilfeet. 
And bead erecL In viilT c-ravat, 
Aod Dothtns at all lo eu. 

" Atiil, Tor tUe bread of munllion, 
Hegel^ftoni the Kin|[ »(Sp«ln, 
To be ■ AUrt there, kcntinel > ' 
All iiigbt. and nevur coiuiiUio. 

"Tlilt ii the Itfe of « loldier. 

To aikitti vvhcievci he's led. 
To sleep under alien ilieller, 
Aad die id a hospital bed." 

At this moment the picket-guard, 
which had just been relieved from 
duty at the general's quarters, came 
up. 

•^Oh!" said one of the newly- 
arrived, " if the general's wife isn't a 
fine one ! In all my travels I have 
never seen her e<iual." 

" She is not his wife," replied an- 
other, " iio denp the * fine.' " 

'* And why should I drop it ? 
Good words neither add to beauty 
nor take from it; but what do you 
know ?" 

•'What they tell me; and, be- 



'60 



Lucas Garcia. 



fudes, if she was his wife, he wouldn't 
keep her so grand; for that is the 
way with the You-Sirs, they spend 
more money upon their dears than 
they do upon their wives." 

" Because they are afraid their 
mistresses will leave them for other 
lovers. What do you say, Lucas ?" 

" That it's Hke keeping a lead 
knife in a golden sheath," answered 
Lucas. 

"The soul of this. one may be of 
lead, or something cheaper, but her 
person — by the Moors of Barbary !" 

"We hear enough," replied Lucas; 
" dress up a block, and it will look 
like a shopman. I tell you, these 
good-for-nothing she vagabonds ap- 
pear to me more like bedraggled 
rags than women." 

" Get away I If this Lucas hasn't 
always the rod of justice lifted I He 
has entered the uniforro, but the uni- 
form hasn't entered him. If you 
had been bom king, they would have 
called you the ^us/iciero."* 

The next morning the troops were 
drawn up in splendid array, the 
bands were playing, and the general, 
magnificently mounted, came gallop- 
ing upon the field, followed, at a 
little distance, by an elegant open 
carriage, in which was seated a beau- 
tiful and richly dressed woman. 

The carriage stopped near where 
Lucas and his townsmen were form- 
ed at the end of a line. 

"That is the general's mistress," 
said the man at Lucas's right in a 
low tone. " Did I not tell you she 
was a sun ?" 

Lucas raised his eyes, and fixed 
them upon the woman, at the same 
instant starting so perceptibly as to 
attract the notice of his companions. 

" What ails you, Lucas ?" 

" Nothing," he answered calmly. 

But the glances of the occupant 

* The doer of }tittlc«. 



of the carriage had fallen u 
gallant-looking soldier who s 
near her, and a cry of deHgh 
prise burst from her lips. 

" Lucas," said his other n 
in line, "that lady is looki 
way, and making signs to yot 

Lucas, pale but perfectly ( 
ed, neitlier looked up nor rep 

" Lucas, who can it be 
knows you ; she is waving he 
kerchief, and seems as if sh< 
spring out of the carriage. I 
her ! Say ! who is she ?" 

" I do not know her," ai 
Lucas. 

" By the very cats !" exclaii 
first who had spoken, in an < 
" may my end be a bad oi 
isn't your sister Lucia ! Look 
man ! it is she ! " 

" I have looked at her, an 
you that I do not know h< 
sponded Lucas. 

" Look, now, look ! the po" 
thing is crying. She is not 
changed, only handsomer. Yc 
be blind not to see that it i 
sister ! " 

" I do not know her," repea 
young man, with the same com 

There are men who feel pn 
ly, but exercise such self-conti 
they succeed in covering with 
tie of indifference the most 
and agonizing emotions — 
Scaevolas, who astonish with 
tracting us. We like neitl 
motive nor the effects of a s 
that parades itself so dJsda 
For, if in order to judge of al 
human, it is necessary to c 
them with the example of th 
of humanity — the God-Ma 
cannot fail to be repelled b 
arrogance when we reflect tl 
most holy passion would have 
its tender and sublime sanctit 
it bravado had taken the p. 
meekness. 



Lucas Garcia. 



01 



The voice of the comQnanding 
o^fKTT was DOW heard prescribing tlie 
ns. Wheu these wtre con- 
. the Uuups marched to ihelr 
^ where, gathered ia groups, 

dity mule dictr commeuts upon the 
•autifui huiy- of the carriage, some 
I iers from Arcos dedartn^ 
■ Luciu, others, who had 
bilMCO her so near, maintaining the 

" Her brother will know," they ex- 
(iumed, running to find him. 
"Lacas, is that grand, fine You- 
■'-■". your siiler Lucia?" 
; (luii't know the woman. And 
comrades, no more questions; 
1 am not a repeating-clock, and 
m tired of answering." 
P. r.fc half an hour had passed, an 
.r . arrived from the general in 
ieucit o( a soldier named Lucas Gar- 

iwcriotly shaken by the indigna- 
liun which he would not allow his 
iut to betray, Lucas followefl the 
iM&engcr to a house of good ap- 
ponncer and was shown into an 
ddgani and luxuriously furnuhed 
raiiJnrf As hc enteFcd, a fair young 
cd in silk rose from a sofa, and 
nil r jwards him with open anus. 

I do not know you, my lady," 
aid Lucas, quickly repulsing her with 
tui right hand. 
"Lucas, my brother!" she ex- 
icd, bursting into tears. 
I have no sister," he replied, in 
Mmc tone as before. 
" Lucas, my own brother, listen, 
ml I wiil icll you what happened ! " 
At this moment, ihc colonel — that 
^beeot and was now general— en - 
tcicd. 

- Ah I Loda," said he, with ostcn- 
tiUoQS condescension, " so, then, you 
hiTC already seen your brother." 

" He will not know rae," sobbed 
tfie giiL 

- How is that ? " asked the general, 



turning toward the soldier. '*And 
why ? " 

" Because it would Iw a deceit, 
ray general," answered Lucas, lifting 
his open band to his temple. " 1 am 
the only one left of my house, and 
have no sister." 

*' I sent for you." proceeded the 
general, " to nuke you one of my 
orderlies, to keep you near me, have 
you taught to write, and lit you ior 
a career. You will mount rapidly. I 
know already that you arc intelligent 
and brave." 

" I do not wish to learn to write, 
my general." 

"And why?" asked the general, 
repressing his ill-humor, " since with- 
out knowing how to write, you can- 
not rise ? " 

** I do not want to rise, my gen> 
eraL" 

" The reason is evident," said the 
general, with a mocking laugh. " It 
is not strange that the heir of such a 
house should disdain the service of [ 
the king." 

" Hc that sees not the king is king,, 
to himself," answered Lucas. 

" What is there that you want, bro- 
ther ? '* asked Lucia. 

"I dearc nothing but to serve my 
time out and return home." 

"But who calls you there, if, as you 
say, you have no one ? " questioned 
she. 

" Love for my native place," he 
answered. " God give rac rest in the i 
soil that gave me birth! " 

•'Valiant goose !" exclaimed the 
general. 

Lucas neither opened his lips nor 
moved an eyelid. 

" Dearest brother ! by our malher's 
memory, don't make as if you did 
not know me ! You break my heart ! 
Stay here." 

** It would not suit mc to be a 
stranger anywhere, madam." 

" Enough I " said the general. " Lei 



62 



Lucas Garcia. 



the clown go, he will think better of 
it." 

" I do not think twice of things," 
replied Lucas, saluting as he went 
out. 

Lucia ran after him into the ante- 
room, caught his arm, and, pressing 
it against her bosom, cried in a voice 
of passionate and tender entreaty : 

" Lucas 1 my brother! for God's 
sake stay 1 The general has promised 
me that he will do all he can for you ; 
and he can do a great deal." 

" The sack is not big enough to 
hold both honor and profit," respond- 
ed Lucas, hurling his sister from him 
with all the loftiness of a proud nature 
and the brute force of an angry churl, 

Lucia fell overwhelmed upon the 
near«st chair, and her brother went 
his way to the quarters with clinched 
fists and lips compressed — pale with 
lividness that ire stamps upon the 
faces of children of the south. Ire 
was suffocating him; for he could 
neither express it nor follow its venge- 
ful impulses, which would not have 
been satisfied short of the commission 
of a crime; and of this he was inca- 
pable. 

But, oh 1 for a war. The private 
soldier would have given in it a hun- 



dred lives if he had had ther 
pair of epaulets that would lift 
the rank required, in order to 
him to demand satisfaction 
villain who, after having sedu 
sister, had insulted him so im; 
ly — epaulets that he would 
thrown away the next hour, 1 
tened orange skins; for Luc 
not aspiring ; neither fortune n< 
attracted him. He clung to 1 
dition, loved the labors of th 
was attached to his town and 
toms, and would not have ren 
the things that suited his tas 
in which he excelled, for the 
hoisting himself upon a p 
where he must always have 1 
unwelcome stranger and ii 
The very words were antipati 
his innate devotion, to his c 
his province, the place where 
bom, his lares, and his class 
the effort of the age is to dest 
beautiful instinct of the heart, 
tinually saying to the poor, 
risel the summit is your go 
heights are common to all, 
infusing a vain arrogance i 
wholesome minds of those wh< 
worthy and respectable in tti 
they occupy. 



CONCLUDBO IM OUl MEXT. 



Egyptian CiviHsation, 



63 



EGYPTIAN CIVILTZATION ACCORDING TO THE MOST 
RECENT niSCOVERIEa 



mou TUB coitu»p«fa>Anr, 



II. 



THE SACmOOTAL CLASS. 

EcvfTiAX civilization had itssourcc 
ta ihe priesthood. There is reason 
- ' " that at first they excrcis- 

; -U aulhoriiy. ".\ficr the 

o( the demigods and the 
t," sap Mancthon, *' came the 
lot dyoasty, consisting of eight kings, 
»l»o reigned for the space of two 
ttBtidred and fifty-two years. Mcues 
W« the first of these kings. I!e 
carriol w^r into foreign lauds, and 
aade himself renowned," 

Mcnes, the chief of the mih'tary 
(nrcei. effected a revolution which 
nletituted a civil government for a 
Awcracy. He was the firet to as- 
BiBirthc title of king, nnd he founded 
ihc herciiit:ir>' monarchy of Egv'pt. 

Tlie separation of the sovereign 
power from the pricstliood was main- 
tiincd for a long time, for it is not 
bU the twcnty*second dynasty that 
•« meet f'ahor-Amons^, high-priest 
in-Rii. whose name is sdll to 
-11 in the inscriptions at Thebes 
OD a ruyal cartouche. Pihmi-, an- 
■ihcT high-priest, also figures in the 
toyal U'^€nii(s among the historical 
ftprescDtations with which the pro- 
•10s of the temple of Khons at 
Thebes is dccoratetl. This sacerdo- 
tal revolution doubtless took place 
at the end of the seven generations 
j sluggish kings of whom Uiixtoms 
The twenty-second dynasty 



in fact left no traces in history. It ' 
is only known by its downfall. " And 
this leads us to remark," says Ch.im- 
pollion-i'igeac, *• that there was per- 
haps some admirable conception, or , 
profound combination, kx happy in- 
spiration In the monarchical estab- 
lishment of a powerful nation in 
which the loss of the crown was the 
inevitable effect of the incapacity or 
the negligence of the family that had 
received it by the will of the nation. 
A Thcban family preserved it for 
thirteen consecutive centuries, and 
furnished six dynasties of more than 
fifty kings. The first suffered from 
foreign invasion, and achieved the 
arduous labor of sustaining the gov- 
ernment, finally restoring all the 
branches of public administration, 
and re-establishing the temples and 
the public works. They rebuilt 
Thebes, Memphis, and the principal 
cities. Lake Moeris, and the canals 
of Lower Egypt. They and their ^ 
successors bore their victorious arms 
over distant lands and seas. The 
arts developed under the wing of 
victor)'. Tublic prosperity seemed 
10 keep pace with these heroic 
achievements, and the reigning fami- 
ly to become more powerful and 
more firmly established by such great 
undertakings. Inaction succeeded 
to so much zeal. Ten inglorious 
kings ascended the throne, the last 
of whom were deposed by the priests. 



6+ 



Egyptian Civilisati&n according to 



Tlie constitution of the country, fa- 
vored by the state of affairs, provided 
for this disorder. A new family was 
called to reign." 

Modem historians have represent- 
ed the ancient monarchy of Egypt 
as subjected to the despotism of the 
sacerdotal caste. This assertion 
seems difficult to reconcile with the 
numerous inscriptions attesting that 
the principal functions of the priest- 
hood were constantly assumed by 
the sons of the Pharaohs. An in- 
scription in relief on the facade of 
the tomb of Koufou Schaf, whom 
M. Mariette believes to be the oldest 
son of Cheops, the builder of the 
great pyramid, depicts that prince 
wearing a panther's skin — a distinc- 
tive sign of high sacerdotal functions 
— and among his titles is found that 
of priest of Apis. According to a 
papyrus published by Baron Denon, 
the sons of the two Pharaohs must 
have filled the office of the high- 
priest of Ammon. 

It is true these last-named princes 
belonged to the twenty-second dy- 
nasty, and at that epoch they had 
not had time to forget the usurpation 
by the high-priests Pah6r>Amons£ 
and Pihm6. It is probable that the 
king in causing this high function to 
be assumed by his nearest relatives 
wished to take precautions against 
the reaction of the sacerdotal class, 
always so powerful. But the monu- 
^ments almost always show the priest- 
hood living in strict and intimate 
alliance with the royal authority. 
Thus, while the younger sons of the 
Pharaohs performed the priestly func- 
tions, the children of the high-priests 
attended the royal children, and were 
employed in the highest offices in 
the king's palace. The office of high- 
priest of Ammon at Thebes, the sa- 
cerdotal city, was hereditary, as He- 
rodotus attests in the following pas- 



sage : " As Hecatseus, the h 
gave his genealogy at Thel 
made himself to be a descenc 
god, through sixteen generati 
priests of Jupiter (Ammon) 
him as they did me, excep 
did not give my genealogy 
conducting me into a vast 
apartment, they counted, . 
showed them to me, the larg 
en statues of the high-pries 
of whom, while alive, placed 
age there. Commencing w 
of .the last deceased and goii 
the priests made me rema 
each of the high-priests was 
of his predecessor. . . . 
one of these statues represent 
said, a piromis, the son of a 
They showed me three hund 
forty-five, and invariably a 
was the son of a piromis." 

It is not necessary to rei 
what degree the priests of 
took advantage of the cred' 
Herodotus. Doubtless, the i 
high-priest in Egypt was he 
as well as the throne, but it 
less subject to the influence o 
tic revolutions. We have ji 
for example, the two sons of; 
filling the office of the high-p 
Amon-Ra, king of the gods. 

The sacerdotal class was t 
soul of the Egyptian nation 
completely embodied the 
character, and traditions of t 
pie that they may be said i 
lived by their priests. They 
the most powerful body of n: 
ever existed in the world be 
Catholic clergy. 

As we have seen in a pr 
chapter, the independence 
corporation was ensured by 
territorial endowment. Ac 
to Diodonis, " the largest pai 
land belonged to the coll 
priests. . . . They transr 



the most Recent Dtscoverics. 



lion to their descendants and 

tempt from tajtaiion."* 

hus secure in the possession of 

laods," says Champollion-Ki- 

'* the entire sacerdotal class 
like a laiuily with a vast heri- 

tnnsmissible, according to 
n conditions, from generation 
Dcraiion. It was tliis right of 
bg the* lands that necessarily 
Bd their office iKrotliiary, be- 
Bbc nature of their functions 
Ivicd the part of the land 
ted by each raember of the 
', and on this fundamental prin- 
!hr wIkiIc constitution of the 
jf Kg)^)! depended." 
vry transniii^sion of 

Kiccrdotal function, and ihc 
f the landed property attached 
1 function, could only lake ef- 
I favor of one of the children, 
iroliably the oldest, as in the 

(jmiily. The other children 
iTcd to be supporte<l by the 
nf (he £iroily, or easily found a 
I of subiistence in the perqui- 
i the Diunerous sacred or civil 
ymentA. The number of the 
s, their rich cndoivmcnts and 

spoken of in the Rosetta in- 
oo, explains how so large a 
er of priests could live at their 

To this income must be added 
biidics from the royal treasury, 
k fees of the numerous salaried 
Bs which embraced every part 
; public administration, a]>art 
the loiliiary sphere. But in 
, as elsewhere^ families some- 

becomc extinct for want of 



liMvi. Ilntory ihu« cor^nns the Scil[>- 
'Fton ilij^ lino voiu Uiis dif, in tba 
' . itic gftli part is pAJd lo ttie 
cm li«r. except the Uml 
•'">ii» lli» cove* 
iv ilcRB wu not 
inicripUDO io- 
t inniullr inio 

* , ,: ■,,...; :ut crcryiroura 

an. 



'oi. XIV. — 5 



descendants, and thus a new path 
was opened tor capacity without em- 
ployment 

1*0 form an exact idea, of the in- 
fluence exercised by the priesthood 
over Egyptian society, it is necessary 
to cnt«r into some details upon their 
manners and kind of life, the duties 
whic h occupied them, and the extent 
of their knowledge of all kindij which 
they made use of lo promote the 
civilization of their country. 

Plutarch relates that the Egyptian 
priests absutned from mutton and 
jiork, and on days of purification 
they ordered their meat to be served 
without salt, because, among other 
reasons, it whetted the appetite, in- 
citing them to eat and drink more. 
He says : " They have a well apart, 
where they water their bull Apis, and 
carefully abstain from drinking the 
Nile water, not that they regard it as 
unclean, on account of the crocodiles, 
as some suppose — on the contrary, 
theie is nothmg the Egyptians reve- 
rence so much as the Nile — but they 
think its effect is to render them 
more corpulent. They are unwilling 
for Apis to become too fat, or tu be- 
come so themst:lves, but wish their 
souls to be sustained by slight, active, 
nimble bodies, and that the divine 
part within may not be oppressed 
and weighed down by the burden of 
what is mortal. 

'■^ hi the city of lleliopolis, or the 
City of the Sun, those who worship 
the divinity never carry any wine 
into the temple, because it is not 
suitable to drink in the presence of 
their lord ^d king, Tlic priests 
lake it in small quantities, but they 
havo several da)*s of purification 
and sanctification, during which they 
abstain entirely from wine, and do 
nothing but study and teach holy 
things." 

Who would have expected to 6nd 
among the priests of a pagan nation 



^ 



Egyptian Ctvilisafton according to 



the rules of abstinence now practised 
by the Catholic Church ? — " that the 
soul may be sustained by slight, ac- 
tive, nimble bodies, that the divine 
part within may not be oppressed 
and weighed down by the burden of 
what is mortal." Was it not in these 
temperate habits, so in accordance 
with their spiritualistic doctrines, that 
lay, to a great degree, the secret of 
the moral influence of the priests, 
the real aristocracy of the country ? 

The prestige of the sacerdotal 
class was partly due to their costume 
and appearance. " In other places/' 
says Herodotus, " the priests of the 
gods wear their hair long ; in Egypt 
they shave. . . Every three days 
the priests shave the whole body, 
that no vermin may defile them 
while ministering to the gods. They 
wear only garments of Hnen and 
slippers of the papyrus. They are not 
allowed to wear other kinds. They 
wash themselves in fresh water twice 
a day and twice by night. Their 
rites are almost innumerable.*' On 
the Egyptian monuments of every 
age the priests of various ranks are 
easily recognized by their heads en- 
tirely shaven. They could only 
wear linen garments ; woollen were 
forbidden.. Besides the religious 
motives that induced them to adopt 
linen tissues, this preference was jus- 
tified by its advantages. From linen 
could be made light robes of daz- 
zling whiteness, which would reflect 
the sun's rays and engender nothing 
unclean. 

All the ancient authors testify to 
the effect produced upo^ the popular 
mind by the imposing exterior of the 
Egyptianpriests; their gleaming white 
robes, the habitual gravity of their 
deportment, their exquisite neatness, 
and the images of the gods worn on 
rich collars — all conspired to excite 
respect and veneration. 

The most important duty of the 



priests, next to the functions 
office, was that of giving ad 
the king. "The priests," sa 
dorus, in a passage alread) 
*'are the chief counsellors 
king. They aid him by their 
advice, and knowledge." In 
ing to the regulations for the 
tion of the king, and facilitati 
accomplishment of their dut 
have shown how their appli 
so important to the happiness 
people, was confided to the i 
aiKl patriotism of the chief 
But did they not render this ti 
possible by allowing the ki: 
receive divine honors, exaltin 
pride by the ceremonies of actu 
ship, as attested by all the 
raents, and officially recogni2 
we shall presently see, by the 
dotal body itself, in the Rose 
scription ? 

In subjecting the Egyptians 
humiliation of this worship, ; 
superstitions still more shamel 
not the priests degrade ther 
facilitate the despotism of the 
The more enlightened and pc 
the sacerdotal class, the more i 
sible before history for the ( 
of a nation which was the fin 
of civilization. 

" In Greece," says Chamj 
Figeac, "the service of tlie 
was the sole occupation o 
priests; in Egypt, they were 
men governing, so to speak, 
and people in the name of the 
and monopolizing the adminis 
of justice, the culture of the sc 
and their diffusion. We, the 
find members of this caste 
where, in all ranks of Egypti 
ciety, and we see by the gr: 
the lowest grades that they 
attached by their titles or of 
religion and its ministrants. 
find in ancient writings the 
qualifications for the different 



the most Recent Discoveries, 



rfthc prifKthond. The monuments 
sKow that this class, with its iiiliiiite 
mmilications, was of every grade, 
lowest of which was not despised, 
was evcr%'whcrc present by means 
flfarast hierarchy, which had every 
gndilion from the all-powerful chief 
[Wtiflfdown to the humble porter of 
tlv tfm]>Ie and palace, and, perhaps, 
tvwi ihcir servant.* 

Id addition to their religious duties, 
liw learned priests taught in the 
Khools of the temples the arts and 
lunices, writing, drawing, music, 
Iccrature, cosmogony, natural and 
aorjl philosophy, natural history, 
rod the requirements of religion. The 
poctt bad charge of the finances, the 
tisestcient and collection of the taxes ; 
l<ne?ts arlministered justice, inter|>rci- 
d the Uws, and in the king's name 
1 all civil and criminal c-nses. 
......;i.(.r sacerdotal division practise*! 

Ticdidne and surgery. It is known 
U3t the Kgvptians were the first to 
nuke wedicme an art founded on 
iW dau of experienw and observa- 
lim.t 

One of the most numerous and 
*"-* important of the sacerdotal 
as was the scribes, who iran- 
d the s:»crefl books, the national 
the documents of all kinds 
leUting to the civil condition of fa- 
laBies. property, justice, the adniinis- 
bbon, and, finally, (he ritual of the 
it . ' -or less extended, which 

p. ited in the'cotliris of de- 

tcast'ii rcl.itives. Writing in Kg^Tit 
dues from exlremc anliiiuity. 'I'hcre 
w inwriptions «ill to l>e seen, per- 
fcaly legible, in the sepulchral cham- 
ben of the great pyramid, construct- 
ed by one of the Arst kings of the 
iivth dynasty. 

Charapollion-Vigeacsays the three 
Knds of writing, hieroglyph icjiiera- 

* SfifU »mti»itmty p. tti. 

*C&ailctry «0lBC* fnxa Ctxmt^whlcb meanK 






lie, and demotic, were in general uscsi 
He adds that "the hieroglyphic 
alone was used on the public monu- 
ments. The humblest workman 
could make use of it for the mos 
common purposes, ns may be seert^ 
by the utensils and instruments of the 
most common kinds, which, it mil) 
be observed, contradicts the incorrect 
assertions respecting the pretended 
mystery of this writing, which the 
Egyptian priests, according to them, 
made use of as a means of oppress--, 
ing the common people and keeping 
them in ignorance," 

\o learned body ever understood 
the wants of its country as well as 
the Egyptian priesthood. ,^nd never 
was a puliUc administration more so- 
licitous of availing themselves of thia 
knowledge for the general benefit. 
It is true, the annual uniformity of' 
physical phenomena singularly facili- 
tated the study and application of the 
laws necessary for the well-being of 
the people. The great and wonder^ ^ 
ful inundation of Ihc Nile, occurring"] 
every year at the same time, covcr-^ 
mg the land with water for the same 
length of time, then subsiding to^ 
give a new face lo the country and-' 
a fresh stimulus tn the activity of the 
inhabitanLs, naturally imprinted on 
the nation habits of order and fore-- 
sight which made it easy to gnvcrn. 

The members of the sacerdotall 
class, then, were most intimately | 
connected with the individual interests*! 
of the nation; they were the neces- 
sary intcmiediaries between the godsj 
and man, antl between die king and! 
his subjects. Their concurrence] 
in all public business was not Ics 
constant or less necessary. The re- 1 
ligious nature of the inhabitants ledj 
lliLMn to offer invoc.itions to the god»^ 
aniid all ihcir occupations, in peace 
and war, in public and private duties, 
at the ebb of inundating waters, the 
preparation of the land for the seed» 



EgyptujH Chilhation acconiUig to 



and the han-esting of the fruits of the 
earth. The gods, m.iniftfsting them- 
selves through the pricsls, directet! 
Ihc most iniiiort.int decisions, and 
sanctifiefl by the expression of their 
aatisfacLion the possession of the 
harvest, ihc first-fruits of which were 
received as offerings.* 

But that which gives a more just 
idea of tlic sublime r^r played by 
the Kjiyptinn priests is the Rosetta 
inscription, t It is well known that 
this fiimous inscription is the repro- 
ctuction of a decree made in 196 B.C. 
by the representatives oi the sacer- 
dotal body gathered at Memphis for 
the coronation and enthronement of 
Ptolemy Kpiphanex. On account of 
its importance, we think ourselves 
justified in ginng it almost entirely : 
" In the year IX., J the tenth of tlie 
month of Mechir, the pontifTs and 
pro]>heLi, those who enter the sanc- 
tuary to clothe the goMs, the ptcro* 
phorcs, the hierogrammalists, and all 
the ether priests, who from all the 
temples in the country have assem- 
bled before the king at Memphis for 
the solemnity of taking possession 
of that crown which Ptolemy, still 
livmg, the well beloved of I'thah, 
the divine Kpiphanes, a most gra- 
cious prince, has inherited from his 
father, being assembled in the tem- 
ple of Memphis, have pronounced 
this same day the following decree: 

•We have borronctl from ChampolUon mom 

^•f tliti n<.ci>untol Ihc icrvtcca readcre4 by Ibe 

nieithuud lo tbc Effvptlan nitlon. It tc tnis, 

I only niTci (h« UrombleiUe of thml clu«, bul, 

n ipeaklnK of Ihn reliKinn of the cnunlry, we 

llhall 1 ' ' tnplcic the pKture ■nd piv- 

faentii s-kt. 

t T - L jne WM kmunc the raluabla 

U;;Ltc>l br th« I'rcocb GS[icilitt<>a 
-nil Klven up lo Ltic Cnf;ll«)i «l Ihe 

.Si ; ^. Alcuodila, ll wa»rif lilack b«sBll, 

rAliout three (cct b>- Iwii. Tbc ituctipltun on II 

|w«i In three kind* of writing : the htern^lyfihic, 

Itke demotic nf rnchorUI. anii ihe f.Jtcck The 

[•Pt»«f mi'l lower [lorilon* of the »t>>nc wne 

'ffOken and trjutcd, but lti« <lciuoiic Inactipllon 

MlInX The Orerk litvrfplinn mtbi t key 

loih«n.f>ooi which ■ comi-lcic hicrotly- 

VIphahct w;u cimr»i»«il. — Tk 

SOf Utc rclftiof t'lalcmf--— Tji. 



" Considering that Kill 
still living, the well-beloved o 
the divine Epiphanes. son 1 
Ptolemy and Queen .Arsim 
philopalores, has conferred a 
of benefits on the temples as 
those who dwell in them, 
general on all those who ar 
his dominion : that l>eing 
the offspring of a god ai 
dess, like llorus the son 
and Osiris, the avenger of O 
father, and, eager to raonj 
zeal for the things that pei 
the gods, he has coasecral« 
revenues to the service of the 
in money as well as grain, 
l>ended large sums in rcstorii 
quillily to Egypt, and cons 
temples therein : 

*' That he has neglected n< 
in bis power of pcrformi 
mane deeds; that in order 
his kingdom the ju-ople and 
citizens generally might po 
abundance, he has repealed 
the tributes and taxes cstabj 
Egypt, and diminished the w 
the remainder; that he has, 
remitted all that was due h 
the rents of the crown, eitl 
his subjects, die people of £ 
those of his other kingdoms 
these rents were of con 
amount ; that he has released 
who were imprisoned and cof 
for a long time ; 

"That he has ordered 
revenues of tlie temples, and 
paid them annually in grain 
as in money, together with 
lions reserved for the gods 
vineyards, the orchards, and 
places to which they had a ri 
the time of his father, sho 
tinue to be collected in tl 
try; 

" That he has dispensed tl 
l>c1ong to the sacerdotal tri 
making an annual joume]r 




the most Recent Discoveries, 



(ihe fecat of royalty after tlic 
a of ihc Lagiilcs) , 
I be has bc^tuwctl many gifts 
Afw, Mnevis, anti other sacred 
of Egypt; . . . 
has, therefore, pleased the 
of aXX the temples of the land 
that all the honors due 
- my, still living, the weW- 
tdoved of Pthah, the divine Kpi- 
ptuocs. most gracious, as well as 
:haM which are due to his father and 
oothcr* gods, philopatorcs, and those 
■bd) aire due to ht!» ancestors, should 
be CDoadcrably augmented ; that 
&e sbUue of Ring rtolcmy. &ti)l liv- 
vg, be erected in evcr>' temple and 
jJiced in ihc most conspicuous spot, 
ttuch iball be called the statue of 
ftolcmy, the avenger of Egypt This 
Uatne shall be placcii near the prin- 
cipal god of die teiupU-. who shall 
fment him with the arms of victor)*, 
uul all things sliuil be arranged in 
tiK motit appropnatc manner; that 
like (ffie&t!i shall i>crform three times 
lous service before these 
a they adorn thetn with 
uow ornaments; and that they have 
urc to render them, in the great 
wlonnitics, all the honon which, ac- 
nirding to usage, should be paid the 
mlkcr gotls. . . . 

"And in order that it may be 
known why in Egypt we glonty and 
boor, as ia just, the gml Epiphanes, 
nost gracious monarchy the present 
^Boce shall be engraved on a stela 
*f hard stone, in sacred characters 
am\ in fircck characters, and this 
«; placed in every temple 

« i„- -i , second, and third classes 
cnnDg in all the kingdom." * 

When wc remember that the rule 
of die {■rpck conquerors had already 
r It one hun- 

a.i , -, wc judge, 

from tlie manner the Egyptian priests 

■ FroB Ct»«pQinoB-Flf wc'i Umnslulork 



exjircsscd themselves, of the persist- 
ent strcngdi of this social organi2a- 
lion imposed on the successors of 
Alexander in spile of all their power. 
Therefore, says Champollion-Fige- 
ac, *' the monuments of die times of 
the Ptolemies may t>e considered a 
key to the times of the Tharaohs, and 
the account of the ceremonies cele- 
brated at the coronation of Uiesc 
Greek kings may xtzxy suitably be 
applied, by changing the names, (o 
the kings of the ancient dynasties. 

iir. 

THK MII.ITARV CLASS. 

As we have already seen (Book I,, 
thap. ii.), the profession of arms, 
us well as all other pursuits, was 
licrcdilary in Egypt, and those who 
followed it formed a distinct body 
still more numerous than that of the 
priests. They ownctl a jiart oi the 
land, but were forbidden to cultivate 
it or to pursue any industrial labor. 
The fertile land a.ssigned to every 
head of a family in the division 
whichj according to Herodotus, was 
made under the first kings, was tilled 
by the laborers. It is easy to per- 
ceive the evils of this system, which 
for ever withheld from agriculture a 
mulntude of young and vigorous 
arms. Herodotus estimates the num- 
ber of the calasirics and hermotybies 
(the names of the warriors) at4io,ooo. 
Wc should doubtless modify the 
information given Herodotus by the 
priests, who had motives for exagge- 
rating before a stranger the military 
forces of the country. But it is no 
less true that the number of able men 
withheld from agriculture by the 
Egyptian system must have been 
considerable. On llie other hand, ' 
nolwitlistanding the numerous gym- , 
nasiic exercises to which they werei 
subjected, these exercises could no: 



70 



Egyptian Civilisatum according to 



have been as efficacious as agricul- 
tural pursuits in developing strength. 

Wishing to elevate the noble pro- 
fession of anns, they disparaged 
manual labor, and gradually left to 
slaves not only the trades, but even 
the agricultural pursuits so necessary 
to the existence and prosperity of a 
-nation. Thanks to the salutary rule 
of hereditary professions, agriculture 
and other labor could not be entirely 
left to slaves, but labor alone attaches 
man to the soil ; and there came a 
day when the military class was 
rooted out and transplanted beyond 
Egypt, which was left defenceless to 
its enemies. This is an important 
point in the history of the country 
which has not been sufficiently re- 
marked. 

Psammetichus, the head of the 
Saite dynasty, was, it is said, the first 
king of Egypt who dared shake off 
the yoke of the laws imposed from 
time immemorial on royalty.* Re- 
lying on an army of foreign mercen- 
aries, Arabians, Carians, and Ionian 
Greeks, he was not afraid of viola- 
ting the privileges of the military 
class, and thus a revolution was ef- 
fected in Egypt which became fatal 
to the country. " Two hundred and 
forty thousand Egyptian warriors re- 
volted. . . . I'hey therefore con- 
ferred together, and with one accord 
abandoned Psammetichus to go 
among the Ethiopians. Psammeti- 
chus, hearing of it, pursued them. 
When he overtook them, he implored 
them for a long time not to abandon 
their gods, their wives, and their 
children. Then one of them replied 
that everywhere . . . they could find 
wives and children." f 

* " The priests repreieiitcd Pummetichus %s 
tfac first Bsyptlsn king to violate the sacerdotal 
rale Uniltlng the king's ration of wine."— Strabo, 

Gt*gr. ITii. 

t Htrad»tiu, ii. Diodorus coafinns this ac- 
count, but Its authenticity hat been disputed by 
declarlni; that " the garrison of Elephantine, 
oompriilag onljr some hundred* or thouModt of 



There are such bold colors in 
picture of Herodotus that mo( 
requires us to efiace them, bu 
may say that he depicts to the 
the brutal cynicism into which 
ness had caused the military cla 
fall. Whatever their wrongs or 
part of the king, it is difficult to a 
they were right in carrymg thei 
sentment so far as to abandon 
religion, their families, and 
country. When, less than a cen 
after, the Persians, led by Camb; 
invaded the land, the unarmed n: 
could offer no resistance, and £ 
was devastated. It had not recov 
from this disaster when it fell 
the power of Alexander. 

The military system of an< 
Egypt possessed, nevertheless, ; 
ral advantages which should 
noticed. 

First: Exemption from mil 
service ensured the tillers of the 
complete stability to their occupa 
so that war did not, as among mo 
nations, hinder the cultivation oi 
land by enrolling the ablest pa 
the population and endangering 
subsistence of the country. 

On the other hand, the posse 
of landed property guaranteed 
patriotism of the soldiers, whi 
Diodorus justly remarks, defe 
their country with all the 
ardor that they were at the 
time the safeguards of their 
property. Finally, the perp* 
of the military service in 

warrion, was the only one that could esc 
to Ethiopia." It wms doubtless easier f 
garrison to cross the frontier which it v 
pointed to guard; but, supposing the Eg 
soldiers, dissatisfied with the violation c 
privileges, bad concerted among themsel 
Herodotus declares, we do not see hov 
Psammetichus could have hindered the de| 
of to formidable an army. Besides, Hei 
adds that he saw In Ethiopia a people kno 
der the nameorj4w/0M*«/rf (deaertera), di 
ants of these Egyptian warriors. Thli tea 
is the more credible because Herodotus ro 
Journey not more than \%<3 or i6o years a] 
death of Ptunmetichut. 



the most Rrrrnt Diseeveries. 



71 



1 



milies must Imve singularly 
ihe (ievdopment of the art 
respect for discipline, and 
lenance of an esprit de corps 
arroy. After the expulsion of 
jrksos, the FCgyptians, inured to 
y their long struggles agninst 
foreign invaders, obtained 
ictorics in Asia, under Iheir 
Ahmes (Amosls), Thothmes 
nd Ramescs II., called tlie 
jcsoslris by the Greeks. The 
prc-craincncc uf Kgypt is 
by the Holy Scriptures in 
ophccics of Isaiah respecting 
wnfall, 

ras by war and ihe public 
that the Phnraolis shed so 
It a glory over Egypt, but wc 
how dearly this glory cost the 
whosctraditional characteristic 
incntly pacific. Nevertheless, 
J be unjust to make the king 
fesponsiblc for the ruinous wars 
ded in the conquest of Eg)'pt. 
rfcct vre have referred to in the 
Btion of the military class 
ave greatly contributed to this 
Ssult. The forced inactivity of 
Hies made them a ready instru- 
br the nmbilion of the kings, 
land a benefit in turning their 
in from internal affairs and 
ig the activity of so powerful 
to distant expeditions. 

the eighteenth dyna^*, and 
ilarly under the reign of 
es III., Kgypl extended the 
of iu armi to a great distance. 
this prince, accordi
A SUMMARY OF PRINCIPAL FEATURES 
OF THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION. 

We shall now give a brief review 
of the social and 'political institutions 
of ancient Egypt. 

Tlie priesthood, the guardian of 
religion and the laws, and the pro- 
moter of morality, was rendered per- 
petual by hereditary transmission in 
the sacerdotal families. 

The army, the guardian of civil 
and political life, and the maintainer 
of order, was rendered perpetual by 
hereditary transmission in the milita- 
ry families. 

Labor, the source of national and 
individual vigor, was rendered perpe- 
tual by the hereditary transmission 
of the agricultural or industrial pur- 
suits in the families of the agricultur- 
ists and artisans. 

* p. Lenonnant. Manuel ^Hiit. itneitmnt. 

\ Diteeun tmrCHUt. »«»..- " The EfcyptiBtis 
obMrra the cuMomt of- their fathers, tnd adopt 
no new ones," uys Herodotus. 



Authority, the organ of the nar 
tional will, was maintained in iti 
unity and perpetuity, by hereditary 
transmission in the royal £imily. 

And all these classes, all these fa^ 
milies, were guaranteed in their in- 
dependence by the unchangeableness 
of their members, and the proprie- 
torship of the soil and the trades. 

Such were the foundations of the 
social constitution of Egypt. 

With such fine order, to borrow 
the language of Bossuet, there was 
no place for anarchy or oppressicm. 
In fact, society was preserved from 
the abuse of power by the fundamen* 
tal law of hereditary professions, 
which, ensuring to each family a fix- 
ed employment and an independent 
existence, prevented the arbitrary 
changes of men and property, so 
that opposition was not, as M. de 
Bonald happily says, in men, but in 
the institutions.* 

It was by this combined action of 
the different social grades, that is, of 
royalty, the priesthood, the army, 
and the corporations devoted to mar 
nual labor, that Egypt attained such 
a degree of civilization, which left 
so great an impress on the ancient 
world, and the vestiges of which 
still appear so worthy of attention. 

In consequence of this wise and 
powerful organization, peace and har- 
mony seemed to have a long and 
unbroken reign in Egypt. The first 
symptoms of disorder and tyranny 
only appear under the kings of the 
fourth dynasty. When the knowl- 
edge of the true God was almost 
effaced from the memory of man, the 
kings, regarded with religious venera- 
tion, set themselves up for gods, and 



• TkiorU dn PcMVoir, vol. i. book t. From 
thli work, now consulted so little, but neverthe- 
less full of remirkable view<i respcctioc the dif- 
ferent systems of social organization, we havo 
Uken the plan of this ^tudt of the political loitl- 
tuUoDtofaocienl Egypt. 



the most Rtcent Discoveries. 



tfic sotffcc of flespotism, en- 
\ thfir hearts. After ovcrlhrow- 
ot at least changing, the nature 
|b national religion, they favor- 
■i all their might the intruduc- 
If polytheism, which placed them 
P^ alUni, ntiii g.ivc a divine nu- 
hy to their power. " The priests 
med mc," says Hcrodoiu?, " that, 
bKhamsinite, equity prevailed 
5ypt, and the prosperity of the 
ttry was great. But after him 
^ (Khoufou, the builder of 
peat pyramid) reigned, and the 
ile suffered all kinds of miseries. 
^bc closed the temples and for- 

hc offering of sacrifices ; then 

ed the Egyptians to labor for 
This tradition of the impely 

Rrst flesigncr of the pyramirls 
in the extracts from Manc- 
!^ but with an important addi- 
I^Suphis, who built the largest 
Bd, attributed by Herodotus to 
K vos at fir^t a despiser of the 
■tat he aftcrwnrd rcj'cntcd and 
K sacred book, grcady esteem- 
PEgyptians." • 

«i assertion of the national his- 
n b con6rmed by the discoveries 
iodern science. A stone found 
the great pyramids contains a 
ible inscription respecting the 
-nt history of Egypt. " It ap* 
L from this inscription," says 
be, "that Cheops restored a 
K already standing (dedicated 
is), assigning revenues to it in 
d -.and replaced the sta- 

>l i . t-T, bronze, and wood, 

1 adorned the sanctuary. . . . 
Ve see by this," adds the learn- 
rrheeologi&t, "that, even at that 

Ely remote period, Egyptian 
on shone forth with the greal- 
ancy." \ 
ISO see that the royal despot- 



ism could not long prevail against 
the powerful social organisation of 
which we have given a sketch, for, 
In re-establishing the worship of Isis, 
Cheops doubtless restored at the 
same lime the national institutions, 
the viohuion of which has left so 
marked a trace in the historic tradi- 
tions of Egypt. 

To show our Impartiality, wc ought 
to slate that many modem historians 
have judged Egyptian royalty much 
more severely than we. Among 
them, M. Francois Lenormant may 
be particularly mentioned. 

" From the time of the oldest dy- 
nasties," says he, " wc sec existing this 
boundless respect for royalty, which 
became a genuine worship, and made 
Pharaoh the visible god of his sub- 
jects. The Egyptian monarchs were 
more than sovereign pontiffs, they 
were real divinities. . . . They 
identified themselves with the great 
divinity Horus because, as an inscrip- 
tion says: 'The king is the image 
nf Ra (the sun-gad) among the 
living.' 

*Mt is easily understood what a 
prestige was given to the sovereign 
power in Egypt by such an explana- 
tion of royahy. This power, already 
so great among the Asiatic nations 
adjoining that country, assumed the 
character of genuine idolatry. The 
Egyptians were, with resi)ect to their 
king, only trembling slaves, obliged 
by religion even to blindly execute 
his orders. The higiiest and most 
powerful functionaries were only the 
humble servants of Pharaoh. . . . 
For this regime to last so many ages 
with no notable modification, the 
Egyptians must have been profoundly 
convinced that the government they 
were under emanated from the di- 
vine will • 



■ 




78 



A Week at Lake George. 



Egyptian society stood on so firm 
a basis that it could be oppressed, 
but not overthrown, by the despotism 
of its kings. Property was so well 
secured by the general law of inheri- 
tance, the sacerdotal and military 
aristocracy was so firmly established 
in its independence, that the first ex- 
cess of power only affected the labor- 



ing classes. Unable to dispose of the 
property of .their subjects, the kings 
appropriated, as J. J. Rousseau justly 
remarks, " rather men's arms than 
their purse." It was thus they eflfect- 
ed the gigantic work of erecting the 
pyramids by the enforced labors of 
a whole nation. Property was 
spared, but humanity was oppressed 



TO »> coimxtrsD. 



A WEEK AT LAKE GEORGE. 



Most of our merchant readers will 
be able to recall a thousand pleasant 
reminiscences or anecdotes of the 
firm of Hawkins & Smith, whole- 
sale cloth dealers, of our great metro- 
polis. Mr. Hawkins is the dapper, 
fluent, old English gentleman, who 
meets all callers upon the house. 
He appears to be the very life of the 
firm, and sells the counters and 
shelves as clean as his own smoothly 
shaved, fair little face. He is fond 
of boasting that he never kept a 
piece of goods through two whole 
seasons. He is the only member of 
the firm with whom our agents and 
correspondents are acquainted. Rare- 
ly, indeed, does it enter anybody's 
head to inquire for Mr. Smith. But 
a silent, squarely-built, gray-eyed 
man, never to be seen in the sales- 
room, and only in the office at the 
earliest hours, looks as if he might 
be called Smith, or any other 
practically-sounding name; and on 
closer inspection this same indivi- 
dual appears to possess those qual- 
ities which would fit one to do and 
endure the grinding, screwing, and 
pounding, the stern refusing and 
energetic demanding, connected with 



the business of such a distinguished 
firm. Smith never boasts. He hai 
a disagreeable way of chuckliD^ 
when he observes, before dismissii^ 
an idle employee, that he (Smith) 
came here (to New York) in his own 
schooner from home (Rhode Island) 
and, in six months, bought his share 
in the present business. Mr. Haw- 
kins never alludes to him in conver- 
sation, but always greets him with 
marked respect, and, when late to 
business, with a nervous flush quite 
unpleasant to witness. It has been 
said by enemies of the firm that 
Hawkins is a first-class salesman 
because Smith does all the buying; 
and many quaint expressions have 
arisen regarding the fate of the 
American eagle whenever a certain 
coin passes between old Smith's 
thumb and forefinger. 

Anyone who has so far penetrated 
the nether gloom of our first story sales- 
room as to peep behind the little railing 
on the high desk, has seen a tall, pale, 
blue-eyed young man, with closely- 
trimmed whiskers, bending over the 
gas-lit figures and folios, the myste- 
ries of Hawkins & Smith. Five 
years in this Hades, wearing and 



«■«■ the perpetual riddle 
tiim, have worked a slight 
Vie ju»t between his brows, and 
: his thin figure, and even hlanch- 
his delicate hands and hoUow 
lb; but he is no more a demon 
E»st than you or 1, or even Mr. 
ntins himself, but the jolliest 
||bc&t of jolly good fellows. If 
BBve long kno^'n Jack Peters, 
■cknowlcdged this, be civil to 
■KIT reader, henceforth, for his 
vlbr 1 am this book-keeper's 
Pbnsin, George Peters. 
A the boys in the first floor whom 
oith watches most. 'Ihcy will 
with a laugh, the new clerk 
Ifirst counter. Ask. Mr. Haw- 
[lom he put at the first counter 
he likes Jack Peters. Ho 
iwcr, George Pciera, his cou- 
\tk Mr. Smith who the clerk 
Kr5t counter is. He will an- 
,*'An infernal fool that Ha^vkins 
sd up, because he always wants 
od looking figure-head," 
lis last remark is historical, and 
Me it to illusirate many subjects 
■vanity, modesty, and rcs{>ect 
1!^ employers ahkc render deli- 
lo mc, George Peters. 
3 a certain Monday evening in 
last* Jack and I stood in the 
1 presence of Hawkins and 
li, in the inner circle of the 

f. Peters,'* said Hawkins, look- 
3th of us as blandly as man 
Dok in such a pl.ire, " we have 
included that we can better 
• yon this week than next. No- 
Mrill be going on, and so you 
Ktter \>c going off. Ah I ha! 
Au, tny young friend, although 
pi customary to grant vacation 
th recent employees, had better 
, too, on account of your cou- 
■tirdy on his account V adri- 
Uhtle gentleman, dexterously, 



glancing the last part of his speech 
from me to his partner. 

Jack nodded his thanks, and 1 
endcivored to thaw the cohi stare 
of the junior partner by a warm 
burst of gratitude, not altogether 
feigned. His glance, indeed, alter- 
ed, but only to a sneer, and the 
labials of the word " puppy " were so 
distinctly formed that I could scarce- 
ly keep from disarrao^g liiem by a 
hearty slap. 

Feeling checked and snubbed. I 
walked with Jack out of the store, 
but soon these feelings gave place lo 
the excitement of our vacation. 

"Jack, are the • traps ' all packed ?" 

" Kveryihing is ready ; all wc have 
to do is to get aboard the boat. 
Hawkins told me on Saturday that I 
might get ready, but that it was ne- 
cessary to stay over Monday in order 
to get you off with me. So I left 
word at home to have everything 
sent down by the boy." 

Wc turned the corner, and, in a 
fiw minutes, were wandering through 
the cabins and gangways of the .Al- 
bany boat. The " boy " on whom 
Jack had relied so confidently did 
not make his appearance until the 
last moment, and then professed 
utter ignorance of any lunch-basket. 
Jack was certain that he had put it 
with the trunk and satchels, and was 
but partially convinced when he found 
it. on our return, in the wardrobe of 
bis bedroom. But we \v%re on board 
of tlie St. yifhn, and it only made a 
difference of two dollars in the cost 
of our supper. 

Yes, dear reader, wc were on board 
of the St. y\}hn, and moving up the 
Hudson ; and, if you arc pleased at 
finding us on our way at last, judge 
with w hat feelings wc turned from the 
brick and stone of the great Babylon 
behind us to the towering palisades, 
the groves, and hills, and happy rural 



8o 



A Wgek at Lake George. 



sights about us. Jack and I were 
unable to get a state-room ; all had 
been secured before the boat left the 
wharf. This, however, afforded little 
matter for regret, as we sailed through 
moonlight and a warm breeze be- 
neath the gloomy Highlands, and 
watched the lights of the barges and 
tow-boats, like floating cities on the 
inky river. Scraps of history and 
romance were suggested at almost 
every turn of the winding channel, 
and as we passed old Cro' Nest, the 
opening lines of the Culprit Fay were 
forcibly recalled : 

'"Tin the middle watch of a summer night. 
Earth is dark, but the heaveni are bright. 
And naught is seei in the vault on high 
But the moon and stars, and the cloudless sky, 
And the Hood which rolls its millcy hue, 
As a river of light, o'er the wellcia blue. 
The moon loolis down on old Cro' Nest ; 
She mellows the shades on bis shaggy breast ; 
And seems his huge gray form to throw 
In a stlrer cone on the wave below." 

The white schooners went through 
their ghostly parts in a way that 
would have shamed VVallack himself. 
We thought the performance of the 
sturgeons fully equal, from an ar- 
tistic point of view, and, certainly, 
less objectionable from every point of 
view, when compared with anything 
we eversaw at the ballet; and, yet, we 
remembered that men and women 
were sitting wide awake through 
these late hours in the hot and 
crowded theatres of the city. Thus 
we were consoled for the loss of a 
state-room. -But even in this peace- 
ful enjoyment of nature we were not 
without drawbacks, and in the chap- 
ter of accidents must be recorded 
how and why we lost our places on 
the forward deck. 

Scarcely had the steamer left her 
dock, when we were startled by a 
voice inquiring " if there would be 
any intiusion in case a party of ladies 
and gentlemen desired to while away 
time by singing a few hymns ?" 



Jack and I turned in our seats. The 
inquiry had proceeded from an el- 
derly individual, of general clerical 
appearance, and certain marks strong- 
ly indicating the specific character 
of the " Evangelical " school. A pair 
of " sisters " hung upon either arm, 
and all three settled into chairs in 
the middle of the deck. His que^ 
tion had been addressed to about 
two hundred ladies and gentlemen 
who crowded the forward deck 
There were evident marks of dissat- 
isfaction, but, as nobody, spoke, oar 
" Evangelical " friend thought proper 
to conclude that nobody was oflfend* 
ed, and the hymn-singing commenced. 
Gradually congenial spirits, drawn 
by the sound, were to be seen ap- 
proaching from various parts of the 
boat, and when Jack and I returned 
from supper, we found about twenty 
or thirty in various stages of excite- 
ment, and our clerical friend wrought 
up to a high pitch. Another minis* 
ter, with a strong but wheezy bass 
voice, announced and intoned the 
hymns. At intervals in the singing, 
our friend arose and addressed the 
spectators. At one time he informed 
them that the feeling which animated 
the present assembly was love to the 
Saviour. At another, he thought that 
perhaps there might be some present 
who knew nothing about the Saviour; 
to such he would apply the words of 
the apostle, " Be ye followers of me, 
as I am of Christ." He said that 
he had been a child of God for 
thirty years, and knew by a certain 
assurance that he was a saved man. 
Hallelujah ! 

" pA'angclical " blood was up, and 
our friend turned from the contem- 
plation of his own happy lot to 
worry something or somebody. 
Jack's cigar caught his eye. It was 
the red rag to the bull. 

"Young man I there ain't no 



A itVf/* at l^kf G€0rgt\ 



Zt 



,flno)un'*car in heaven. There ain't 
I) for'arJ ilet-k n-hc^e you can {lufT 

d of your'n !" 
Jat:. . il .a forcible denial in 

a uocjertone, ami, before I could 
irndgc him. broke ouc with: 
"Td like lo know what the Rible 
m against smoking?" 
"You would, young man, would 
tt? Well. I'm gUd you would. I'm 
gbd you have a^kcd that question, 
ft'd), sir, tlie Bible says, * Let no 
filtiiy coRiraunication proceed out of 
tin- mouth ' ; and if diat ar smoke 
ii&'t a ^6khy communication,' I'd 
fekc to know nliat is." 

There was a general roar, '• Come 
•^g. Jaci." S3i<l I, "you are a 
nqwt, and can't argue against a 
'free Bible-'" So, retiring to the 
iilcrdecfc, which was covered, and 
omccaJrd tniii-h of the landscape, 
■c left our Methodist friends tri- 
i^jihanliy bhuuting and keeping 
Mb awaice up to a late hour. 

A> the night passed, and our fel- 
!oi» -travellers dropped off one by 
irac to doie in Uieir staterooms or 
r»a ilu: sofas of the cabins, we were 
1<A alme. Gradually we retired 
wiiltia ourselves,, and shut the doors 
<tf oor senses. 

•* Wake up, old fellow, wc arc nearly 
ta: 
I rrpme<! my eyea, and saw Jack's 
iiihng over my shoulders. 

. ieil at Albany, and after 

iftiakfaM fountt ourselves settled in the 
v — '- r and Saratoga cars, and, 
I liijs at Fort Edward, ar- 
med at U lean's Falls in about three 
btmrv 
Jick, whn had nftcn made the trip 
irc, had set me reading The Lea- 
SiKMtMg Series, and I positivc- 
to budge from the town of 
FalU until wc had visited the 
' -d into the cave 
imifiorlalized in 
fint diapters of his most interest- 
vol- xn*.— 6 



ing romance, T/te Last of the Mo-- 
tixcatn. The falling in of the rockj 
at different perioils,and the low stngf 
of the water in tJie summer seasoni^ 
preventetl us from recognizing the 
old shelter of Hawkcye and his party. 

But there is the cave, and there ardi 
the rapids— both are shrines of Aineri* 
can legend ; and wc felt better pleascdl 
with ourselves for our pilgrimage. Of-( 
course wc had misse<l the stage whichil 
takes passengers from the station 
Caldwell at the hca<l of Lake George. 
We wandered a short time about 
town, found out that there were 
number of Catholics in it, and that! 
its president, Mr. Keenan, was a well-l 
known Irish Catholic. We also( 
visited a beautiful church, the finest! 
in the town, recently completed by ' 
Father McDermoti, the pastor of the 
Knglish-speaking Catholic congrega-j 
tion, there being also a Freuch-Cana- 
dian parish in the place. 

As may be easily imagine<l, we had 
no mind to waJk over to the lake, 
to pay ten dollars for a vehicle tol 
carry us as many miles, and Jack wasJ 
beginning to grumble at my curiosityj 
when we met a farmer's wagon- 
with a farmer in it, of course. Thtf 
latter offered to take us over for fifty 
cents a head, as he was going in the 
same direction. Never was there aj 
better piece of good luck. 'I'here ; 
.several Scotch families settled OB 
French Mountain, at the head of thel 
lake ; our driver was one of theirl 
patriarchs. He literally imured out I 
funny stories of the "kirk" and! 
"dominie"; and although some off 
the jokes were very neariy ns broad [ 
as they were long, Jack an<l I werftl 
forced lo hold our sides while the! 
" gudenian " sparkled and foamedtl 
like a certain brown export from hIS * 
native country. 

During a momcntar)' lull in the 
conversation, I took occasion to inquire 
with respect to a black woolly-coated 



82 



A Week at Lake George. 



dog, who followed the wagon, if he 
were a good hunter. "Yes," said 
Jack, with a contemptuous smile at 
the subject of my inquiry. " He is what 
is called a beef-hound." 

" Hoot, mon," said his owner, 
** that dog would tree a grasshopper 
up a mutlen-stalk." 

It was in no sad or poetical mood 
that we passed by *' Williams's Monu- 
ment " and the scene of Hendrick's 
death and Dieskau's defeat, or saw 
at " Bloody Pond " the lilies bending 
over the sedge and ooze which served 
of old as the last resting-place of 
many a brave young son of France. 
We did not think of the fierce strug- 
gle which had here confirmed our 
Anglo-Saxon forefathers in possession 
of this soil. All this comes up now 
as I write; for, certainly no sober 
thought entered our brains until, as 
we turned round a mountain-side, I 
saw Jack take off his hat. I looked 
in the direction of his respectful nod, 
and — oh I what a vision ! — the deep 
blue lake sank from view in the em- 
brace of the distant mountains. Its 
winding shores and secret bays, cur- 
tained with veils of mist hanging in 
festoons from boughs of cedar, birch, 
maple, and chestnut, were like en- 
chantment in their endless variety of 
form and shade. No less the work 
of magic were the islands. These, 
owing to the reflection of the water, 
appeared to hang over its surface as 
the clouds seemed to hang over the 
peaks above. To stand suddenly in 
view of such a sight might have 
startled and awed even lighter souls 
than ours. Here, indeed, our hearts 
were lifted up and thrilled as we 
thought of the gray-haired apostle 
and martyr, the first European who 
sailed upon the water before us — the 
Jesuit Father Jogues, who also gave 
it on the eve of Corpus Christi its 
cniginal name — Lac du Saint-Sacra- 
ment. Our Protestant tradition, fol- 



lowing the courtier taste of 
liam Johnson, has handed c 
name of Lake George, but 
that the hope of every 1< 
American antiquity who ha 
its shores may not prove v 
that time, in doing justice tc 
restore to the lake its first 
lovely title. 

A itw small sails on the w 
the smoke from the village at 
broke the spell and remindet 
we were still among the h; 
man. 

Caldwell is made up of 
house, several churches, store 
and shops, a saw-mill, an 
streets of separated dwelling 
The grand hotel is near the i 
occupied by Fort William 
and is called by that name, a 
towards Ticonderoga, altho 
view is cut off midway by tl 
ings of the lake. Old Fort 
is overgrown with cedars anc 
and only a few feet of ruinec 
remain. The scene of the i 
of Fort William Henry is 
nearly as we could reckon f 
Cooper's description, a swam] 
however, is said to have gr 
tered the topography of the 
this point, and certainly it is 
locate Montcalm's old c 
ground during the siege dcs< 
IVie Last of the Mohicans. 

Leaving such questions to 
tiquarian, perhaps, dear reai 
will ask one with a practica 
for the present and future, 
How do they provide for the 
at the Fort William Henrj' r 
that were indeed an ill-timt 
tion for us. Perhaps, if I h; 
the proprietor to allow me t 
upon his fare in the pages 
Catholic World, he wou 
done so in a manner satisffi 
all parties ; but, as no such 
idea occurred at that time, I 



A H'i'f/i at Lake George. 



»3 



cii to confess that I was afraid that it 

KU loo good. He it sat<l to our 

ihime, wc did not promenade upon 

ibe niagniticcnt piaua, nor did we 

)to taste liie alluring fare of the 

Fort William Henry. What else did 

•< come for ? Why, lo see Lake 

U«arge, of coitrse, and to have a 

good lime ; anrl we did both, al- 

ttiiiugh wc went without luncli for 

MHitc hours that day. 

• Scarcely h.ii! I claimed our bag- 

gc at the btage-olfirc, when Jack 

cuQc up from the liear.h wilh a radi- 

at countenance. "It's all right!'* 

did he, " I've got just the boat we 

■SOL l-'ive dollars for the rest of 

ibc week. Take hold of that trunk, 

Hid veil get under way as soon as 

>ap&, dear reader, la yotir wan- 
. through life it has never hccii 
Kppy lot to be absolute mafiter 
irf the cralt on which you are sail- 
Do you think that you have fa- 
oed the roystcr>' of such lives as 
of Captain Kidd and .Admiral 
Scnuaes? 

Uo you imagine that life on the 
wan wave means sleeping in a 
benh and pacing a c|uartcr-deck ? 
.Hit ihit was truly indt'pendence day 
to as. The wind blew fresh and 
nroRg. We hoisted our india-rubber 
Uankct on an oar. Coats and col- 
fan were packed .iway in the satchel, 
oar " worst ' straw hats were jmllcd 
down over our eyes, and, as wc sat 
irith loosened tianncl in the lx>ttom 
rf our heavy skiff, and hsiened to 
lite tippling water, we quite forgot 
ihat it w:is past lunch-time. The 
*«fm south breeze, and that peculiar 
fngnnce which popular fancy l^as 
mociated with the name of cavcn- 
<feii, brought us in full sympathy 
vith the naval adventurers of other 
diyi, and ^ ! the memory of 

Sir Waller 1 ■ as we sailed." 

The upper portion of the lake, 



through which wc arc now passing, 
though surrounded by hills, h^ 
enough farming land and farnvhous- 
cs on their slopes to give it that 
placid, tranquil beauty which is al- 
ways associated with views on tlic 
Knglish waters. As it widened from 
three quarters to as many full miles, 
we passed several beautiful residences, 
two of them belonging to Messrs. i 
Price and Hayden of New York] 
Cily. Opposite these, on the eastern j 
shore, is a handsome property belong- 
ing to Charles O'Conor, Esq., one 
of the most disiinguisheil members j 
of the New York bar, and wetl' 
known throughout the Unite<l Stales. 
Just abreast Diamond Island is the 
residence of .Mr. Cramer, president 
of the Rensselaer and Saratoga Rail- 
roatl, antl while sailing past the love- 
ly group of islnnds known as the 
" 'I'hree Sisters," the property of 
J udgc Kdraonds, we saw beyond theta i 
the white walls of his cottage peep- 
ing out from the green foliage of the I 
western shore, about three miles and 
a half from Caldwell. 

.\s the sun sank below Mount Cat- ' 
head, back of the pretty liiile village j 
of Uolton, we landed on a lutle | 
islet in the Narrows near Kourlcen 
-Mdelsbnd. 

I was quite curious to find out 
what preparations Jack had made, 
and k-nt a wiHing hand at the long, 
narrow trunk. In the tray was a , 
small cotton tent, made according to 
Jack's own order, and slightly larger 
ihan the soldier's *' dog-house." A 
keen little axe in Jack's quick hand 
soon provided a pair of forked ui> 
rights and four little pins, aji oar 
served for a ridge-pole, and our 
shelter was up before the sun was 
fairly below the real horizon. Oi 
of the same tray came a quilt ar 
two pairs of blankets, which I w; 
ordered to spread on the india-rubber, 3 
My task accomplished, the smell of 



84 



A Wak at Lake Gcorgr. 



something very much like ham and 
eggs recalled me to the beach. We 
supped, that night, by the light of 
our camp-fire, and it was only after 
a night*s heavy sleep that I was able 
to examine the rest of Jack's outfit. 
A small mess-chest, which bore 
marks of his own clever fingers, oc- 
cupied one division of the bottom of 
the trunk. The rest of it was shared 
by apartments for clothing, provi- 
sions, and a humble assortment of 
fishing-tackle and shooting material. 
The gun lay strapped to one side of 
the trunk, and a couple of rods on 
the other. 

*' Very neat, Jack," said I. 

" You are right ; I built it myself, 
all except the walls and roof, seven 
years ago." 

I am sorry to confess that I did 
not get up that morning until break- 
fast was ready. Jack did not com- 
plain, but I saw by his quiet smile 
that some kind of an apology was 
necessary. 

"Jack, I'm as stiff as a clothes- 
horse, and sore from head to foot." 

" Why," he asked, " didn't you dig 
holes for your hips and shoulders, as 
the Indians do ?" 

"The holes were all made, only 
they were in the wrong places." 

After breakfast, we broke up our 
camp and rowed over to Fourteen 
Mile Island. On the way we had 
another view of Bolton, behind us, 
and the countless islands in the Nar- 
rows, through which we were shortly 
to sail. The little village of Bolton 
lies on the western shore opposite 
Fourteen Mile Island. It contains 
a hotel, several boarding-houses, a 
pretty little P. E. church, and a forest 
of flags, every house seeming to have 
its own staff. One of the islands, 
near Bolton, was shown us as the 
point of view from which Kensett's 
picture of the Narrows was painted. 
At Fourteen Mile I&land we found a 



quiet little hotel, which serves as a 
dining-place for excursionists from 
Caldwell. A few regular boardeis 
seemed to be enjoying themselves, 
and I noticed an artist's easel aad 
umbrella on the porch. 

We soon left with a good supply 
of butter, eggs, milk, and fresh bread 
After rowing a few miles through the 
maze of islands in the Narrows, one 
of which is occupied by a hermit 
artist named Hill, a " transcendental- 
ist," the wind arose, and we sailed 
under the shadow of Black Mountain 
through the wildest portion of the 
lake. On the western shore, savage 
cliffs were piled in utter confusion, 
now rising, like the Hudson River 
Palisades, in solid walls above a mass 
of debris^ now hanging in gigantic 
masses over the crystal abyss below. 
On the eastern shore. Black Mountain 
rises above any other height on the 
lake, and the view which we beheld 
as we passed from Fourteen Mile 
Island down the Narrows is one of 
the finest in the world. Now we 
were drifting under the clifls at the 
base of the mountain, and, looking 
up its abrupt sides — a series of rocky 
spurs covered principally with hem- 
locks and cedar — we saw two eagles 
soaring above the thin clouds which 
floated half-way up. Throughout this 
portion the lake varies from one to 
two miles in width. 

Oh ! what a cozy little nest in the 
hills at the northern end of Black 
Mountain ! A few farms, and a sleepy 
old mill that looks as if it never was 
made to run, lie on the sunny slope 
retiring into the hills which forms a 
pass over to Whitehall. No wonder 
they call it the " Bosom ! " 

Here, in a little graveyard, we saw 
the tombstone of a Revolutionary sol- 
dier, and the old farm-house, at which 
we stopped for dinner, with its loom 
and spindle and bustling old house- 
wife, formed a good specimen of thai 



A W^ek af Litkf Gcorffe, 



sr 



5n\inencan life which is ra- 

|pa.s^iug away Tor ever. 

k oiir mc.ll was being cooked, 

bappcared with bis rod. I bftd 

talk urith ilie mistress of (he 

She was a " Free-will Bap- 

ftd very much opposed to the 

nd Catholics jjcnerally. Her 

DOS tu ihe fonticT were thus 

ummed up, "The crilicrs get 

arock, ojid have sich litters 

Irm." 

Pg the ensuing conversation 
marked, " I have four sons, 
•cry one of them professors." 
J" said I. in all simplicity, 
nui^t be doing verv well ; but 
> they leach ? " 
ich ? — they don't teach do- 
' I said ihcy were professors." 
sH, then." I asked, '• what do 
Dfe»s ? " 

ly, professors of religion, of 
' answered the good dame — 
one of 'era baptized in yon 
Dh ! it was a glor'ous sight \ '* 
good old Lilly — for she was 
ghty — showed rae her dairy, 
artments of the house which 
d were usually occupied by 
5 at this time of the year. 
] woven all the carpet-s quilts, 
Lnaiikins, and table-cloths of 
Hft cstatilixhtiient, and every- 
pHbed rery neat and old-fash- 
mighty sorry you have to 
tff," Mid she, •• I could make 
ic nicest chowder you ever 
My man knows just where 
liie fish. A few years ago we 
r, at once, one hundred and 
WD(b of clean lake trout." 
)o, was sorry that we were 
I to hasten on our journey, as 
;ht, for the first titne since we 
of Hawkins & Smith and a 
'AX m the gloomy salesroom. 
late for dinner with live 
-trout in his hand. 



" llulloa.old fellow, where did youtj 
get those ? " 

"Dh: there's a little pool on thtf 
hillside up yonder," answered Jark^ 
pointing as he spoke, " 1 always find 
two or three there." 

After paymg for our dinner, visit-^ 
ing an Indi.in family who claim to be 
the genuine " Last of the Mohicans," 
we bade farewell to our hostess and 
one of the "professors," who )iad 
appeared in the meanwhile, and werfl 
.igain afloat "VVe passed Sabbatb 
Day Point, about two miles abov4 
" The Bosom " on the opposite shor 
The former derived its name froirtT 
having served as a resting-place to 
Abcrcrombie's expedition; it was the 
scene of several bloody skirmishes 
during the French and Indian war 
and aUo during the Revolution. 

The lake now widens somewhat 
and the mountains decrease in height 
Two points of land overlapping fror 
opposite sides close up the nonher 
view and form a large circular hasinl 
opposite the little village of Hague,] 
situated on the western shore about 
six or seven miles from the lower end 
of the lake. One of the ])oints al4 
tuded to is a craggy spur whicl 
seems to spring directly out of the 
depths of the w.tier ; it is on the 
eastern shore, and is called Anthony's 
Xose. The western i>oint is a well 
shadeil lawn of about one humlreii 
and fifty acres, with a winding irregu 
lar shore, and containing a numbefl 
of large hlckor)' and chestnut trees. 

The robins were hopping aboui 
the lawn as wc landed; the thrush, 
singing his vesper, made a special 
commemoration of the faithful newly 
arrived ; the greedy cat-bird, a sleek- 
coated sharper, approached to sec 
what was to be made off the strangers ; 
while the politic red-squirrels, scam- 
pering ofi" at sight of our tent to dis- 
cuss the object and intent of this in- 
vasion, remained at a respectful dis- 



86 



A Week at Lake George. 



tance- while Jack's trout were frying 
over the little camp-fire now gleaming 
in the twilight. 

Supper having been despatched, I 
heard Jack approaching, while en- 
gaged in washing the dishes on the 
beach — an occupation which tiiiie 
and place can often rob of all its 
offensiveness, wherefore, most deli- 
cate of readers, I am bold enough to 
mention it. 

I looked at Jack from my towel 
and tin plates, and great was my as- 
tonishment to behoJd him in com- 
plete hunting-dress, gun in hand, and 
all accoutred for the chase. 

" Why, Jack ! what's afoot ? " 

" No game yet," he answered, 
smiling ; " but I'm to leave you to- 
night." 

" What ! to sleep here all by my- 
self?" 

" Why, yes— you are not afraid, are 
you ? " 

" No, not afraid exactly." 

." The fact is," said Jack, " a fellow 
over at Hague promised me a deer- 
hunt last year, and if I can find him 
to-night I shall go out with him to- 
morrow. You can't shoot, have no 
gun, and are not much of a walker, 
so I am sure you would be bored to 
death." {I nodded.) Jack continued, 
" I will walk over to-night, and if I 
do not meet the hunter will be back 
bright and early to-morrow morning. 
If I do not come then, please row 
over for me to-morrow evening." 

"All right, mon eapitaine" And, 
with a wave of the hand, Jack de- 
parted, and I was alone. 

The embers of the camp-fire began 
to brighten as the darkness fell. The 
birds and squirrels disappeared. The 
trunk was stowed safely together with 
its mess-chest and provisions, and 
the blankets were spread in the little 
tent; the milk-jug and butter-bowl 
were secured by stones in the water, 
in order to keep them cool. I began 



my rosary for night prayers, and 
roamed through the grove over to 
the northern side of the point, in ftilt 
view of the steep promontory on the 
opposite shore. Beyond our own 
smooth camping-ground the westeni 
shore surged up again in all its for- 
mer wildness. The beads passed 
slowly through my fingers, and it 
seemed as if the beauty and loneliness 
of the scene were al»orbing all my 
faculties, and withdrawing me from 
instead of raising my thoughts to God 
and heaven. 

Finally the moon arose. A thou- 
sand scattered beams shot through 
the dark foliage, and lit up patches 
of the lawn over which I had just 
passed. The wind had died away, 
and the light fell in unbroken splen- 
dor -upon the broad mirror before 
me. The few thin clouds, veiling 
small groups of stars, the frowning 
clifis and sombre woods — all were 
reduplicated in the unruffled water. 
Far to the south. Black Mountain 
closed up the view, which sank in the 
east behind the low ranges of hills, 
all dark below the rising moon. The 
last bead fell from my fingers, and 
praying God to forgive anything 
inordinate in my enjoyment of his 
creatures, I gave up to the intoxica- 
tion of the scene. The hours passed 
rapidly while I dreamed of the days 
of Montcalm and Abercrombie, and 
saw in fancy the fleets of canoes and 
batteaux passing and repassing in 
victory and defeat the rocks upon 
which I was sitting. Had my mind 
ever reverted to the possibility of 
being obliged to give a public account 
of itself, I might have composed some 
lines, had some " thoughts," or done 
something worth recording. Alas, 
dear reader, do not consider me rude 
if I confess that I did not think of 
you at that time. For, indeed, I 
did not think of anything, but lefi 
my fancy to be sported with by im- 



A Wfek at Lair George, 



87 



mi past and present of ilic 
region in which 1 found my- 
lappy visitor. 'Hie cool nighi 
rought the Llood to my sun- 
checks. The landscape swam 
me, the past mingle<l with the 
I; finally, iht: mist seemed to 
cveryiliinj:. My watch was 
o«n past midnght when I 
finding myself sUetchcd at 
igth on the rock, 1 started — 
iras 1 ? what had disturbed my 
!r ? Was it the war-whoop of 
ngoes, or the friendly greeting 
cas and Cliinpargook ; but if 
tre were the canoes? 1 raised 
slowly on my elbow, all wet 
w, dazed by sleep and the 
scene about me — when sud- 
Dnder the shadow or the trees, 
one hundred feet distant, 
rose fron» the water a shrill, - 
tievilish Uugh, so wild and 
that I bounded lo niy feet 
\y screamed with fright 1'he 
lit, a large bird appeared 
ig on tiie moonlit water be- 
" Pshaw!" s;ua I, "didn't 
hear a loon before ? " Thus 
jgg myself, 1 returned to the 
Hpiripping olTmy wel clothes, 
P^in the blankets, 
not know exactly what time 
day it was when I awoke the 
loming. The sun was high, 
cioilies and the tent perfect- 
but I &aw through its open 
c steamer which leaves Cald- 
cight o'clock, ancl hence con- 
that it was now between ten 
!ven. I was glad enough that 
d not appear lo rebuke my 
until I came to try my 
cooking breakfast. The fire 
moke, and I could not hinder 
hnm would not broil, and I 
not force il. The eggs, of 
were scorched, and so was 
Eue when I tasted the coffee, 
icmbled a decoction of shav- 



ings and bitter almonds. Quietly 
emptying the coiTce-pot on Uic grass, 
1 contented myself with a cup of 
milk, which, however, showed strong 
premonitory symptoms of sourness; 
and after bolting a huge stock of raw 
ham and scorched eggs, made up my 
mind that this was to be die last meal 
Without Jack. 

It was very warm in the lent, so, 
taking the quilt and a certain small 
pouch of buckskin decked with wam- 
pum, I sought the shelter of the 
grove. Chestnut-burrs did not pre- 
vent me from choosing the shadiest 
spot, for my quill afforded ample 
protection. 

Here, with my back to the tree, tj 
fell into a state which might easilji 
have proved a continuation of ray* 
already protracted nap. Jt was not 
so, ho never. The bag of the 
medicineman contains an antidote 
for prosiness after meats. Blue 
clouds of the inspiring fragrance 
curled in the still air, and the brain 
which might have succumbed to the 
vulgar humors of digesdng pork 
maintained itself in a gcnUe, subdued, 
intellectual sute. Had 1 some 
favorite author in my hand, some 
volume of pithy sentences furnishing 
themes for my morning meditation, 
or somebody's " confessions " ? Alas, 
dear reader, I am forced to make a 
confession myself, to wit, that ther 
was not a line of printed matter 1 
all our luggage. 

Daydreams and night-dreams are 
|>retty much alike widi mc unless J 
there be a triHc of brilliant imagina- 
tion in favor of the latier. Still, if an) 
stray thoughts wandered through my 
brain at ihis time, they mast havfl 
been something like these : Why wa 
it Ihat the law of rest had to 
supcrathled to the law of lalior, if not^ 
because man ha.s turned his whole- 
some penance into a debauchery? 
Avarice and ambition have gradually 



. . / .t: Lair Gcor^, 

iiiii '"tf three little steamers continually ply- 

1 : ::j^: inj; :iliout lliis portion of the lake. 

, -.■..:.>. comi'lete the inii>rrssi()ii th;it itisa 

^•- ^^'.i* I'l-ue ^i pleasure, ease, ami holiilay. 

- .^.,. tto I'iie Narrows, completely filled with 

- 1 :!":e isLuuIs, where every stroke of the 
•. .;:aI oar reveals new visia.s aiul cnulc* 

-..: ;i^ ihaniies of scene, I can compare 

. .1 • \' with nothing, and, indeed, it wuuiil 

'.•«.-'x-». secni as if tliey were a uni'|iie crca- 

., , '\*[ tinn. Theiic extend for two or ihrte 

. vv -wx miles to where Ulark Mountain be- 

'. : s.rsie ^ins. And as for the rest, my ignor- 

■ . „■ .\'\\\ ance is also at a loss for a conijiarLson. 

X.: '.;*.■. and I can only think of wliat Lake 

■•■ -yiics (."omo might have been if adorned 

- !.,jiMed with islands, if its peaks were lower 
..-.* iii.it and covered with foliage, and if the 
, ,"teine, hand of man had never wrunglit 
.■!v d.i\s upon its native beauty. 

. ■.^•:LeeI That evening I ri>weil over for 

. \x\ \tni Jack. He had not yet arrived, al- 

; l.iwkin-i iliongh the sun had set when 1 

,. 'ci'^l? arrived, as agreed, at the little hold 

■..-.e:-* - at Hague. Something nnu.sual was 

. * I, .iiuMi going on, and 1 m-ade various guesses 

> i> iili'm' as to the reascjn why so many xvell- 

If. dressed maids and shaven yeomen 

. w» e .I'lv were gathered on tlie ponh. Seven 

, ■> rtl'.ivii o'clock came, and yet no Jack. 1 

, » 'x . . tc eagerly inipiired alter supper, re- 

... . .'I a >olved not to rink the chance of 

.■^ . V t'l I'cing obliged to depend upon myself 

., xvi;; in l^'r ^ cook. The dining-room had 

. ; I've been ( leared of every table save the 

.,■,.1 ; u" »*ne whi<'h I occujiicd. antl shortlv 

^. ^.!. »■! after I had come out from supper 1 

., .Ill s.iw the young people crowding into 

.. ■.» i;. I luul now begun to suspect 

, -X . ■ v.>^ -^ \\\\y\\. was the matter, wlien an honest- 

^ .1 looking young gentleman, fresh ami 

, , . u- tiagrant frtmi a proce^NS to which he 

. .,.x •»Su»rily afterwards urged and invited 

...v; me. ai)proai heilands.iid: ".Stranger, 

xvni're camping on the ]i'int?"' To 

^s... ii*'* piece of information 1 nodded 

.... •' -i iienial assent. 

..^....^ " I ookin' for your ]Kirdncr ? " ask- 

, .» • ■' ^"^^ *''*' pleasant young man. I nod- 

^. jk ..«. - vvS .ik;ain. " Well, he'll he in soon. 



A Wffk at Lake George. 



89 



with a fellow that 

litis &ort of ihiiig." I 

ioU<iIy formed my own no- 

.ck'& companion, and a jolly 

n a neighboring violin forc- 

e necessity of inquiring as 

jiaturc ol ihc ** thing" wliich 

1 suJi an influence over him. 

isunt young man, however. 

confidenlial, and added widi 

luous air : " The fact is, wc 

ig to shuffle the hoof a little 

[ and he never misses any- 

le that. You'd belter come 

y it yourself." 

[ becoming confidential in 
d glancing at my unpol- 
trcraities. 1 soggcstcd that 
the articles in question were 
I condition to ije ^huBlcd. 
iwas that our sympathy cul- 
and my friend, in a burst of 
» proffered the invitation be- 
Ided to, with the words: 
along and &Hck uj)." I do - 
m into what folly I might 
rri seduced if my good angel 
I not just then ajipeared and 
ne. 

r many deer, Jack ? " 
we did not so much as start 
• answered -\nd then ask- 
avc you had anything to 

ly reply, Jack said that he 
, for he had just had his own 
B the kitchen. As we rowed 
camp. Jack fell asleep in the 
the boat, while telling me 
had tramped in vain from 
vn till night. 

low proud 1 felt next mom- 
n, after kindling the fire and 
43n tlie kettle, I came back 
id Jack still sleeping in the 

nervous Jack ! who ever 
[asleep in daytime before ? 
, as the thought in tny mind, 
ded up as freshly as one of 



the deer of which he had been 
drcaiiiing. 

" Caught I" he said, the old quiet 
^mile hghting up his face as became 
out and fell 10 work getting break- 
fast. 

\S'beii wc had finished our meal 
and laughed over the adventures of 
the precious day, Jack set me to 
catching grasshoppers, while he prc- 
]>ared the fishing tackle. , 

I found my occupation quite live- 
ly for a sultry morning, and not with- 
out a certain amount of adventure, 
as I also discovered, for one ignorant 
of the precise ditiVrence between a 
grasshopper and a hornet 

Finally, enough were caught and 
imprisoned in an empty wine-bottle 
to serve for bait, and Jack was sure 
wc were going to catch a load of 
fish. My confidence in fishing was 
only in proportion to my experience, 
very meagre, and after several hours 
fruitlessly spent in trying various 
places, great was my astonishment 
when the lance-wood rod bent dou- 
ble in my hands, and the next in- 
stant a large fish appeared struggling 
on the surface of the water. 

" Don't lose him !" shouted Jack 
as he came forward, and snatched 
the rod out of my hands and landed 
the fish. 

" \ fool for luck ! " said ray cousin. 
** I beg your pardon, old boy, but 
there won't be a better fish caught 
here this summer." It proved to be 
a splendid specimen of black bass, 
and weigheti, according to Jack's es- 
timate, ever)' ounce of six pounds. 
Several smaller fish of the same spe- 
cies, together with a few small perch, 
were the result of our day's sport. 
The l)ig bas-s made a suificienily large 
Friday dinner and supper; the other 
fish we saved for our last breakfast. 

Alas ! for some episode, before we 
row down to Ticonderoga and take 
the steamer on Lake Champlain to 



90 



A Wfek at Lake George, 



Whitehall, and the cars thence to 
Albany and New York. Our tent 
did not blow away that night ; and, 
although the storm beat fiercely, not 
a drop bf water touched us, thanks 
to the little furrow which Jack had 
traced with a sharp stick, to carry 
off the drippings from the tent- 
cloth. 

Starting bright and early next 
morning, we rowed past a steep 
smooth cliff running almost perpen- 
dicularly for about four hundred feet 
and then down into the lake. 

" That's * Rogers's Slide,' " said 
Jack. 

" The deuce it is ! He must have 
worn a stout pair of pantaloons !" 

" Oh ! but he didn't actually slide, 
you know !" replied Jack, and then 
proceeded to recount the famous es- 
cape of Major Rogers in 1758, who 
here eluded the pursuit of the In- 
dians, and, having thrown his knap- 
sack over the precipice, turned his 
snow-shoes and made off by another 
route. 

In a few hours, we had left our 
little boat attached to the steamer to 
be taken back to' Caldwell. A stage 
ride of several miles brought us to 
Ticonderoga and Lake Champlain. 
That same evening, at ten o'clock. 



we snuffed the hot and fetid 
of the great metropolis, and ^ 
morning saw us re-enterin 
shades of Hawkins & Smi 
word to Jack and a stare at n 
the only greetings of the juni( 
ner, as he passed through tht 
room. 

" Ah, boys !" said the cheer 
kins, " glad to see you ; I 
if you've been having a goo 
Plenty of bone, muscle, and 
skin, eh? I guess Mr. Smi 
think that it pays to give you 
rest. You haven't been wastii 
money at Long Branch or Sa 
I'll bet." 

Thus ended our summer vai 
and if we did not have enou 
venture to pass for heroes, 
enough game for sportsmen, 
enough sights for artists, or 
enough of the past for antiqi 
or measure miles and heights < 
for the scientific — in short, if 
pear as two vulgar and thor 
commonplace clerks, smokin 
boating through our holiday 
note, dear reader, that even s 
we can take delight in Lake G 
then, go and make the trip aft 
own fashion, and see if you cai 
it more or better. 



The EUments of Our NalionnUiy. 



THE ELEMENTS OF OUR NATIONAT.ITV. 



(liversiiy of race lo be foiinil 
republic, tike its rnpiil and 
IU5 phj-sica) and metUal dev- 
t, is unparailck'd in hi-stor)'. 
lattons, such as Austria, Prus- 
Ru&sia. it is true, have l>eeii 
lo existence m times com- 
ly modem, hut they have 
;grcgalions of smaller kindred 
'Alreidy established, attracted 
each other by mtirual inlcr- 
tAStes, or eoerceil into union 
of arms. AVith us, growth 
latness. originating at ditifcrent 
3d at plac:es widely separated, 
;cn ihc result in the first in- 
of the ustablisltment of a wise 
liprclicnsirc system of govcrn- 
he benefits of which we were 
lo share generously with the 
of all nations; aJid next, to 
rity and sincerity with which 
ople, acting on an impuUe 
to humanity, have accepted 
■antages thus presented. 
ing Iwick to the history of the 
n of mankind t'rom the cradle 
uman race, we find that colo- 
'icrwards to become nations 
nuclei of distinct families, 
I off from the centre, presenlcd 
inity of language and affinity of 
the originators of our country 
t the ad van la ge. K vcn ( Jreece, 
cful daughter of dusky Egypt, 
soscd to be Hellenic, and be- 
nt withstanding her many sub- 
5, thoroughly Greek, and her 
in Europe and Asia, when 
ased their connection with 
Mhcr country, were fjuickly 
td in the snirounding peoples. 
»Dnn Empire had no nation- 



ality, being simply the creature of 
force, and no matter how widely its 
boundaries were spread, all authority 
was lodged in Rome, and its subjects' 
outside the walls of that city were 
comparatively or positively slaves, 
without any voice in the management 
of their own aft'airs, or a nationality 
to which they could lay claim. A»" 
the legions were withdrawn to the 
capital, the empire crumbled, and the_ 
disintegrated parts gradually resumed 
their original character. So with the 
splendid but short-lived empire of 
(Charlemagne The Goths, Vandals^^ 
Huns, and other Euroijcan and 
Asiatic contjuerors who from time toij 
time overran different parts of Europ 
and founded dyn.isties, were simply^ 
waves of conquest overcoming and! 
enslaving the previous inhabilants^f 
subjecting them to the yoke of their 
own crude customs and laws, and" 
building upon the ruins of one nation 
the greatness of another. 

Far diftercnt was the origin of our 
republic. At the beginning, \vc had 
on our shores voluntary immigrants 
from the then four great mariiimfi 
nations of Europe — Spain, Erance/ 
Holland, and England. l*he colo-J 
nists of each, from fortuitous circum-i 
stances, or letl by peculiar predilec- 
tions, seleclcd for settlement certain 
portions of the continent, established 
themselves therein, and, while adher- 
ing to their parent country and fol- 
lowing its laws, speaking its language{| 
and practising its religion, early as- 
sumed a stale of semi-independence. 

'ITiese representatives of distinct 
nationalities, though few in numbers, 
grew prosperous each in its own ter- 



92 



The Eieuients of Our Naiionality, 



ritory, for the reason that there was 
no idea of nationality, and con- 
sequently no unity of action, among 
the aborigines in their resistance to 
the new-comers. Supported by their 
home governments respectively, they 
grew from mere settlements to be 
important colonies, at peace with 
each other as far as their own indivi- 
dual relation was concerned, but al- 
ways liable to be embroiled in the 
incessant quarrels of their countrymen 
at home. The sturdy Hollanders 
were the first to succumb to what 
might be called foreign influence; 
then the French settlers, deserted by 
France, laid down their arms before 
their English conquerors, who, in their 
turn, by the Revolution of '76, yielded 
their dominion to the Thirteen Colo- 
nies, which embraced within their 
limits much of the territory and most 
of the descendants of the original 
colonists of at least three of the nation- 
alities which first effected settlements 
on the Atlantic roast. From this 
period we may date the origin of 
American nationality. In its infancy, 
it included nearly four millions of 
men of various races, creeds, opinions, 
and sentiments. For the first time 
in history was proclaimed the perfect 
equality before the law of all persons 
of European origin, as has since been 
extended that grand principle of hu- 
man equality to men from every part 
of the earth. In forming a code for 
itself, it rejected what was contrary to 
this dogma, and adopted everything 
that was beneficial in all other fonns 
of government. From Holland, it 
took the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, that great manifesto of popular 
rights ; from England, the writ of 
habeas corpus and trial by jury; 
from France and Spain, many of those 
equitable constructions of the civil 
law which regulate the rights of 
property and the domestic status of 
individtials. To all these were added 



the beneficent constitution under 
which we have the good fortune to 
live, and the many excellent laws, 
local and national, which, in con- 
formity with that instrument, have 
been enacted from time to time. 

But custom is said to be stronger 
even than law, and hence we can 
understand that the vivifying principle 
of the government itself was generat- 
ed from the peculiar circumstances 
amid which the first settlers of Ame- 
rica and their children found them- 
selves, without local monarchical tra- 
ditions, an hereditary aristocracy, or 
laws of primogeniture. With, as a 
general rule, little private fortune or 
means of subsistence other than that 
derived from manual labor and in- 
dividual enterprise, the American 
colonist, no matter of what nation, 
was naturally disposed towards popu- 
lar government, and to proclaim and 
admit general equality. It is uih 
doubtedly to the existence of these 
robust social and economical habits 
ia the early settlers — which, finding 
expression in their new-found political 
power, were embodied in the funda- 
mental laws of the new nation by the 
fathers of the republic — that we are 
primarily intlebted for the wise and 
moderate scheme of government we 
enjoy, and which it is our duty to 
preserve and perpetuate unimpaired 
to posterity. 

It was thus by a combination of 
circumstances hitherto unknown that 
our country became clothed with all 
the attributes of nationality peculiar 
to itself— its subsequent progress, as 
we may presume its future greatness, 
having no parallel in the annals of 
other lands. That we are a nation, 
possessing an appropriate autonomy, 
capable of sustaining all the relations 
of war and peace with other countries, 
and exercising supreme authority 
over all our integral parts and indivi- 
dual members, no sane man uninflucn- 



Elements of Onr 



ilesof mere l.iwyersor 

-■ [)olitir.il j)xwK>ns of 

l« fiiv. wiU licny. Who would so 

|]ic.i,can'I maintain thai this republic 

A bundle of pcily sovereignties in 

(lich the poner of one is coequal 

(0 tJiat of all the others comhincH, 

fOtild reject thf axiom of Kuclid, 

dut tile whole is f;rcater than itft 

|«rt 'Hic mie ^Vmcrican, then, is 

lewbo keeps this principle of unity 

ilMjr6 JD view. It gives dignily and 

ttnagth to hLs country abroad, and 

SBSRs peace, conronl, and security 

atbome. While allowing all possible 

Itiitwie to subordinate members in 

Ac maJiagemeni of their domestic 

dbirs. It reconciles and harmonizes 

tbeujiiAicttng and sometimes antago- 

Biitic i(iierc5.ts of difTcrent sections, 

CTOccntrates on works of vast com- 

nicmal and nanonai intjwrtaiice the 

ocplicctive powers of ail, directs the 

fordjcn policy of the government for 

dw general good, and arrays the 

power of the people for the common 

jvoteetion and defence. True, some 

jciri ago, many {KriMins held contra- 

ty opinions, and in the attempt to 

any iheni out unhappily causetl one 

of the most calamitous civil wars of 

■odem times ; but, like the tempest 

wfcich 9W4-tps over the gigantic oak. 

trunk .md Icusening the 

md It only that its roots 

r ke deeper and firmer into the 

.-,.,.. ,*UT country has passed through 

tile storrn unscathed and now rests 

lasis firmer than ever. The 

its errors, howe^'er^ we can 

tnifr forc;ct ; the future is ours ; and 
vim shall hold us hnniiless if we 
|«tiAt not by our dearly-bought ex- 
id the lessons which every 
us? 

not the least potent, of 
th A-hich lc<I to that fratri* 

cidai fcuugjile was the advocacy of 
t was called '* manifest dc&tiny," 
:b is simply a delusive, dangerous, 



and, in its ap]ilication, \cxy often a 
dishonest doctrine. It is not unna- 
tural thai in a young and sanguine 
republic, whose sliort history is so 
full of successes, many ardent prapa- 
gandists of freedom should be fouod. 
who without calculating consequences 
would like to extend the benefits of 
our political system not only to the 
utmost confines of this continent, but 
over all (Jhristendom ; but this feeling, 
though creditable, is hardly one to be 
cncoLirage<l. It lends, as we bava 
often seen, to a national hist for thftl 
acquisition of our neighbor's territory,! 
to the undue extension of our boun** 
daries, disproportionate to even ourj 
ever-increasing population, and to the 
weakening of the bon(is that hold 
together the comparaiivcly settled, 
slates of the Union, by the tiodily 1 
introduction of foreign elements inlO'i 
our polity at variance with our real! 
interests. The annexation of Texas! 
and the acquisition of our Pacific] 
terriiory, though productive of many 1 
tangible advantages, were undoubt- I 
edly some of the remote, but, nev- 1 
enhcless, very important, influences 
which, operating on the public iniud, 
tended to unfix our loyalty to the 
whole country, and to iniluce us lo 
view the recent forcible attempt on its 
integrity with feelings somewhat akin 
to indifference. That enlargement of 
the national domain was so suddcaj 
and immense that men's minds, accus- ' 
tomed to defined limits, failed to real- 
ize it. Patriotism is not a mere 
scmiment, but a love of something of 
wliich we have some accurate know- 
ledge, whether associatecl with a 
particular race, locality, or historical 
record, or all together; and hence, 
when we could not understand how 
in one moment what we had thought 
was our country, the object ot' our 
affection and siiiirce of our pride, 
was extended thousands of miles and 
millions of acres, our imaginations 



94 



The EUiuenis of Our Nationality. 



could not keep pace with the mon- 
strous growth of the country, and we 
fell back on our native or adopted 
states, and felt prouder of being 
known as Virginians or Vermonters 
than of being United States citizens. 

It is not at all improbable that 
posterity will see the whole of North 
America united under one govern- 
ment, but this consummation, so de- 
voutly to be wished, to be permanent 
and salutary, must be the result of 
time and the observance of the laws 
of right and justice, for nations as 
well as individuals flourish or fade in 
proportion as they follow or despise 
virtue. It must also be when our 
population is not forty millions, as it 
now is, but quadruple that number, 
and when our sparsely setUed terri- 
tories are well filled with citizens, 
their resources in full process of 
development, and their varied inter- 
ests assimilated with those of other 
portions of the country. Steam and 
electricity may do much to bring 
about such results, foreign immigra- 
tion more, but a proper administra- 
tion of our own laws, and a judicious, 
liberal, and conciliatory policy to- 
wards our American neighbors, most 
of all. 

Happily for us, we are at present on 
terms of friendship with all nations, 
and, remote from Europe and Asia, 
we are not likely to become involved 
in the complications and disputes of 
the Old World. Still, no human pene- 
tration can foresee how long such a 
desirable state of accord will exist. 
The monarchical states of Europe 
are not very sincere friends of repub- 
licanism, and, should war occur be- 
tween us and them, our greatest 
difficulty would be to defend our 
already too extensive frontiers from 
their attacks. Why, then, should we 
increase our danger by enlarging 
them ? A good general never length- 
ens his lines unless he has propor- 



tionate reinforcements to 
them. 

As to becoming propag^ 
republicanism in Europe, 
the attempt, in this centur 
would be both injudicious 
less. The impious atroc; 
dark designs of the secret 
there, who profane the wo 
and blaspheme against all 
have put so far back the 
true freedom in the old coui 
they who sincerely desire 
liberal system of laws are 
seek under the shadow of t 
protection and security eve 
sacrifice of their political 
If we truly wish for the spre; 
institutions, let us use examj 
than precept, and prove, by tl 
administration of our own < 
respect for the doctrinesof Ch 
^nd, by proper regard for 
laid down by the church, th; 
licanism has ceased to be a 
ment, and has become a pra< 
glorious reality. Such a res 
be an argument so cogent 
sophistry could refute it and 
could combat its logic. We 
member, also, that the grea 
mies of free government 
after all, kings and nobles, 1: 
deluded men who have band 
selves in every part of Eu 
tensibly as republicans, but 
as the destroyers of all law ai 
These men, it is well knoi\ 
the inspired word of God : 
his very existence, conterr 
ignore the first principles o 
and scoff at the beautiful 
virtues which bind the wife 
tionate duty to the husband 
child in love and graiiiudi 
parent. Empires are goveme 
by force, republics through ol 
and yet those pretended ap 
freedom acknowledge no la 
their own and that of their 



The EUtinnts of Our Natioimliiy. 



95 



Hamu laws^ no matter l>y whom 

madf, or how jusr ihcy may be in 

Iftler and spint, are mere pieces of 

ppcr or pArchracnt if the people are 

Ml disposcfi to obey them, and this 

i&tposition can only come through 

Kfigion. For, as man is constituted, 

\t becomes ameuabic lo the oper.i- 

bofl of the dJTine law of obedience 

bdbct 1 - under the edicts of 

honin 11 ; in other words, he 

it a Chnjtiaii or the reverse before he 

ti 1 lawyer or responsible to the 

temporal law. ** The characteristics 

of a democracy," says Blackstore, 

'OTcpublic virtue and goodness as to 

ux intentions;" and Naixileon 1., 

litciugh by no means as ^ood a 

Chhitun as he was a far-seeing states- 

nuQ, when about to reduce chaotic 

fnttce to order and decency, found 

tt accessary first to restore religion 

mil recall her exiled priesthood. 

Unfortunaiely for us, this spirit of 
BTdi^uQ is not conru)ed to the other 
ttde of the Atlantic. Vit find it 
iiody making its way into American 
«odctv. though as yet it assumes more 
li ■.-r of indifferentism. We 

t. ,c!i a Christian people, yet 

ks than one-half of the entire com- 
i&unily ever enter a church for dcvo- 
tnmal purjioses from one year's end 
to another. Recently, too, we notice, 
in itur Ur^er cities particularly, exhi- 
of the same wicked spirit 
_r_, animated the Carbonari and 
lists of Europe, and which 
:ab itfrcir in many expressions of 
)»thy for the infamous Commuu- 
of Pans in the columns of 
KKDe of our newspapers and the 
speeches nf more ihiin one promi- 
nent politician. This insidious dan- 
ger to our venerated institutions 
ooght to be closely watched and 
stemly repressed. It is opposed 
alike lo private \-irtue and j>ublii; 
mocals. and, if ever allowctl a 
cootroUiDg influence in the state, 



would sweep away every safeguard 
that stands between the citizen and 
the passions of the mob. No person 
who values the blessings of domestic 
peace or venerates the memories of 
our ancestors, no true American, can 
tolerate for a moment these commun- 
istic and socialistic designs which are 
creepmg in amongst us, utterly foreign 
as they are to our soil and the genius^ 
oi our people and government. 

While thus excluding vicious prin- 
ciples from our shores, we ought to, 
as wc have ever done, continue to wel- 
come the oppressed and impoverish- 
e<l people of the Old Work!, and, as 
far as is consistent with the public I 
safely, lo extend to them every faci* 
lity to a participation in the political 
as well as the material prosperity nf 
the country. They are our relations. 
Very few of us, going back two or 
three generations, but will find that 
his ancestors were also immigrants, 
like those who to-day seek our pro- 
tection and hospilahty. Since the 
formation of our government, eight 
millions of tJiem have made their 
homes in the young republic, helping 
to develop our resources, commerce, 
and manufactures, and always prov- 
ing faithful lt> their obligations of 
allegiance in peace as well as in war, 
An enlightened and tolerant treat- 
ment of our immigrants is both cha- 
ritable an<l wise; and the best evi- 
dence that we have profited by our 
sui>erior [Xilitical and educntional 
advantages, is our readiness to make 
allowance for the intellectual defects 
and antiquated habits of those who 
have left home and country to join 
their lot with ours. The exclusion 
of any class of citizens from a parti- 
cipation in the benefits of our gov- 
ernment, on account of religion or 
previous nationality, never has had, 
and is never likely to have, the coun- 
tenance of the people of this coun- 
try. The spasmodic efforts of those 



96 



The Elements of Our Nationality. 



fanatics, vulgarly but not inappropri- 
ately called Know-nothings, which 
have been made occasionally, were 
directed against Catholics, but they 
never reached the dignity of national 
movements, and, being the ofispring 
of disappointed ambition and blind 
prejudice, withered before the scorn 
and contempt of all good men. Po- 
litically, there can be little possible 
danger arising from the exercise of 
the elective franchise by all citizens 
of foreign birth, even conceding their 
inferiority in some respects to the 
native-born, as the former number 
less than one-eighth of our entire 
|K)pulation, and these, in the natural 
course of events, will disappear from 
among us, their children born here 
growing up thoroughly imbued with 
the spirit and liberality of our insti- 
tutions. Even to-day the immediate 
descendants of adopted citizens hold, 
under both the great parties that 
divide the country, many high places 
of honor and trust, and perform their 
duties with an ability and patriotism 
that reflect credit on the American 
name. The nationality that would 
<leal harshly or jealously with fiiends 
or neighbors because they were born 
in a foreign land, or are poor in the 
world's goods, is not American, and 
is more titted for the latitude of Lon- 
don or Peking than of New York or 
Washington. 

We are well aware that there are 
many things in the conduct of some 
of our adopted citizens that we find 
difficulty in understanding, and which 
require all our good-nature to over- 
look or palliate. A great famine, wc 
might say a succession of famines, 
the misgovernment of England, and 
the oppression of the worst class of 
alien landlords with which a people 
ever were afflicted, have driven among 
us, within a quarter of a century, over 
two millions of the inhabitants of 
Ireland. Having been denied prac- 



tically all participation in th 
ernment of their own countr 
never have had an opportur 
acquiring that steady habit of tJ 
and reflection necessary to 
them to judge of the relative 
or demerits of the manifold p 
measures which the exigencit 
free nation are, from time to tin: 
senting for popular endorse 
and having unlimited confide 
those who profess to be their 
in their new homes, they fall a 
prey to the demagogue ac 
political charlatan. The vict 
long, cruel, and unrelenting ty 
and ardent lovers of their fatht 
their hatred of England is, if 
ble, stronger than their love fc 
land. In fact, those two engi 
passions sometimes so absort 
minds that prudence, toleratioi 
even self-interest are forgotten, 
circumstance, while it may be 
table to themselves, cannot t 
regretted by us for many re 
but more particularly because 
ders their assimilation with \\\ 
majority of our people more 
and difflcult, and operates a 
their material advancement, an 
sequently against the welfare o 
children. In the abstr.ict, we ( 
blame our Irish immigrants fi 
fond devotion to their natal co 
nor for their hatred of her oppr 
on the contrary, we admire it a 
as it works no injustice to th< 
to the country they have selec 
their future home; but we do 
emphatically deprecate the cc 
of those among them who, ti 
on such natural and generou: 
ings for selfish purposes, turn 
aside from their duty as parent 
citizens, and, assuming to be 
leaders, have swayed them i 
interest of this or that faction, i 
neglecting at the same time th 
formance of duties to the exei 



Tiu EUifuttU of Our NaiionalUy* 



97 



of which any one might be proud lo 
devote his iifc. 
Let us illustrntc whnt we mean. 
anr, at Ira^t. twn and a half 
' ttOlKins of Irish in the United States, 
Ibe gnat majority of whom, for very 
aSdent. if not obvious, reasons oc- 
npr socially and pecuniarily a \cry 
iolerior position lo that whieli their 
oitval abilities would entitle them, 
^ «e see how liitlL* ctiort is bciuy 
nude by ilu-ir countr)'mer, of more 
ednutiQa or larger wealth, to assist 
(hem. The Cothohc Church has 
(hrae much, but the church, neccssa- 
dr. can only attend (o their spirit- 
D- uid lo the education of 

1j ;cn; llic temjjcrancc and 

boevoJent societies are good in their 
ivy. buc their power is limited, and 
ihdf ^here of action very restricted j 
int «c tiMik in vain for an organiza- 
mn that will take by the hand the be- 
vddered and uncertain stranger as 
he LioiU It Castle Garden or in the 
iurboo' of Boston, shield him from 
Ae temptations and villany which 
ndc him out as a victim from the 
nDment his foot touches the Brm 
ofthand his battle of life cammen- 
<ai,ittd him employment in the great 
fOlits of trade and commerce, or 
Qsduct him satVIy to the broad 
^reading fieUis of the free and fruit* 
U WTest. If he be a farmer or agri- 
cokoxal laborer, as the majority of 
Inh imiiugrants are, what wciciy 
«f hii countrymen is prepared to de- 
tiy ht^ expenses to the niral dis- 
tncts, vhere labor is always in de- 
VBMJ, and waftes high, or help him 
tolucue on the Western lands, which 
caa be had almost for the asking, 
iBd vbcTc he can bring up his fami- 
ly m comfort and happiness ? If half 
i^e money and one-quarter the time 
iDd labor which were teccutly so 
fooliihly expended in futile efforts 
to free Frvland and invade the Bri- 
tah dci 's bad been used for 

—7 



the benefit of the poorer class of our 
Irish immigrants, how many thou-l 
sands of them might now be enjoying 
happy homes in our fertile Western 
states and territories, instead of in- 
festing the purlieus of New York, un- 
derbidding each other for precariou 
and unhealthy employment. Ho« 
many victims of disajipointed hope| 
or mistaken confidence might have 
becti rescued from the slough of de-j 
s[iondency and degradation into I 
which they have fallen, and placed 
in a position of at least comparao 
live indei>endence. llie libcraliottj 
of Ireland through the Instrumen- 
tality of her exiled children is anl 
old and a splendid dream, but it is ' 
only a dream so long as the present 
relations exist between this country 
and England. We yield lo no one 
in appreciation of all that is noble in 
that pious and gallant nation, aiid^ 
woultl, i>erhnps, sacrifice as much as I 
the most enthusiastic of her sous to see ' 
her not only independent, but in the 
enjoyment of the fullest liberty ; but 
no person who has ever casually I 
stuilied the relative strength and re- I 
sources of England and Ireland, and ^ 
wlio has had any practical experience \ 
of the enonnous expenditure of life 
:md money so unsuccessfully incur- 
red by tlic people of the South, even 
when military training and available 
population were so evenly balanced, I 
can for a moment believe in the sue- ] 
cess of any attempt of the people 
themselves to separate forcibly one I 
from the other. 

But whatever the people in Ire- 
land may see fit lo do or dare, tl:e 
organization of armed men in this 
country to asi.ist in that purpose is 
most reprehensible and fraught with 
the greatest mischiefs. For any person 
within our limits lo attempt to levy 
war on a country at peace with the 
United States is clearly illegal. If 
he be a stranger, it is a criminal 



98 



The Ehments of Our Nationality, 



abuse of our hospitality ; if a citizen, 
he disregards his oath of allegiance. 
Such a movement gives color to the 
assertions of the worst enemies of all 
foreigners, the Know-nothings, who 
accuse Irishmen of not becoming 
citizens in the true spirit of their oath, 
but merely pretended ones, whose 
object is to use this country as their 
point d^appui for ulterior objects. 
Besides, such societies have a ten- 
dency to unsettle the minds of 
the people, and divert them from 
the main objects of their self-expa- 
triation — free homes and altars. But 
even if Ireland were to-day indepen- 
dent, not one-tenth of the Irish in 
America could or would return. The 
mass of them are permanently at- 
tached to America by affection, as- 
sociation, or interest; their children 
are growing up around" them, natu- 
rally imbued with a love for this, the 
country of their birth ; their property 
and business are here ; some are too 
old to be retranspl anted, and others 
young enough to prefer seeking for- 
tunes in our stupendous and but 
yet only partially developed com- 
monwealth, to spending a lifetime 
in the necessarily limited sphere of 
entcrjuisc presented by so small a 
country as Ireland under the most 
favorable auspices. True patriotism 
should, therefore, dictate to the Irish- 
American the wisdom of promoting 
the welfare of this large majority of 
his countrymen who, for good or 
evil, must pass their lives with us. 
And what a vast and enticing field 
is thus presented to the successful 
merchant and ardent Irish national- 
ist ! If they cannot free Ireland, 
they can by their money and their 
intelligence free tens of thousands of 
their countrymen from the slavery of 
poverty and dependence, from the 
vices of the cities and the degrada- 
tion of the factories and the coal- 
mines. Such an effort, judiciously 



made, apart from the b 
would confer on so many 
deserving citizens, and the i 
able argument it would p 
practical, disinterested s 
would, if the occasion ah 
present itself, enable the pers 
nefited to assist in their turn 
of true Irish nationality. Tl 
thing so successful, it is sai 
cess, and while thesympathii 
nations, particularly of our 
easily crilisted in favor of ar 
ed nation like Ireland, ther 
rally observable an implied c 
she is misgoverned because 
pie have not the capacity to 
govern themselves. At he 
certainly have not been al 
try the experiment, but here, 
institutions already firmly es 
vast mineral, agricultural, i 
mercial industries to invite 
bor and excite their ambi 
with an area of unoccupied 
most beyond conception, . 
incapable of profiting by the; 
tages, either as individuals c 
tual co-operation, expose ik 
to the suspicion of being dc 
that organizing faculty anc 
grasp which create and si 
dependent governments. 

Without intending to dra 
vidious distinction between 
of citizens and another, we n 
to the German immigratio 
country as an admirable ex 
tlie benefits arising from org 
and mutual support. It is 
mony of purpose that has 
the Teutonic element, thouj 
means the strongest in our pc 
a preponderating influence i 
of the Western slates, and 
prietorship of innumerable 
both sides of the Mississipi 
Coming from a self-governing 
and leaving behind an extcn 
ing and manufacturing co 



TIte Eirmoits of Our Nationality. 



99 



tbe Gamaii immigrant bas of course 
nuflf advAntages over his Iri&h fel- 
low-voyager, but (hose who hsve 
ciofarly KMtched Uie progress of both 
aces in America assert that it is to 
the admirable system of mutual help 
iid protection enjoyed by the former 
fa2t his great industrial progress is 
nuiaty due. 

U'e arc satisfied that there are 

Diny wealthy citizens of Irish birth 

ill thus city and elsewhere who would 

gUdly contribute of ir»cir super- 

ibttndaait means to assist their less for- 

taute {cJlow-countrymeu, were any 

fasiblc project inaugurated by which 

"t do so practically and 

and we trust that there are 

_; \x> adopted citizens them- 

— persons who, abandoning chi- 

it schemes of conquest and in- 

|kM(uii, would devote their time and 

bility to assist those of tlieir helpless 

■1 who have come and are 

iong us. Every intelligent 

agnculItln^t that can be planted on 

•'"' <IiT;in soil of our how waste public 

every ingenious mechanic that 

' 1 with employment in our 

and, we may say, every 

i urer that is rcinovcd from 

-1 ked lalK>r market of tlie 

hist and assisted to the towns and 

cnollcr cities of the South and West, 

Adds to the general wealth of the 

ununity. increases the stronglh 

glory of our republic, and con- 

. to Its growing intcUigcnce and 

ality. 

iThe jnusuit of wealth, however im- 
nt, ii not of course the primary 
of man, considered either as an 
lividual responsible being or as a 
len. Religion, in its proper prac- 
: sense, is not only the source of 
pmcss lur mankind in this world 
i the next, but is absolutely neces- 
for the prescnation of all wcU- 
|uLucd Mciety, and it is on this 
Duot among others lliat so many 



admirers of American institutions 
have seen with regret that a large 
portion of our immigrants from the 
continental countries of Europe evince 
a complete disregard for the plainest 
forms of Christianity. Now, the 
founders of this government were 
essentially a religious people. The 
Catholics of Maryland and the Pu- 
ritans of New England; the Virginia 
Episcopalians and the Pennsylvania 
Quakers, feared God and revered his 
laws, as far at least as they under- 
stood them ; and the excellent institu- 
tions which those men of diverse opin- 
ions, but honest intentions, originatwl 
and transmitted to us, arc but the re- 
flex of that reverential and devotion- 
al spirit. \Vc admire the thrift and 
enterprise of our Clerman fellow-citi- 
zens, we admit their general good 
order, taste, and proficiency in art, 
particularly the beautiful one of 
music, and we know how many fine 
churches and hospitals they have 
built and are sustaining, but it can- 
not be denied that tlierc is a great 
deal of indiffcrcntism, and even worse, 
among the anti-Catholic portion of 
them, the outward evidence of which 
may be found in the complete disre-J 
garri ihnt is so generally manifested'1 
for the holiness of the Sunday. We 
are not of those who would deny to 
the hard-working and hard-furing 
Classes their proper share of innocent 
and healthful amusemcnl on the only 
day in the week that they can esc^'pe 
from labor, but this recreation should 
be preceded by some act of devo- 
tion, some solemn and open recogni- 
tion of our dependence on the great 
Olver of life and happiness. Still, 
whoever visits our saliKtiis and plea- 
sure gardens on a Sunday will find 
them thronged with persons of all 
ages and both sexes from early morn- 
ing till midnight, while churches thalj 
would gladly receive them are cornj 
parativcly deserted, Luther's re^'olt 



100 



Our Lady of L&urdes, 



against the chiuxh has much of this 
to answer for, but Kant, Fichte, and 
other so-called philosophers of more 
modern times have much more -, for 
while the " Reformers " only unsettled 
the religious mind of Germany, and 
partially succeeded in alienating it 
from the Catholic Church, the school- 
men succeeded in making atheism 
fashionable among the intelligent 
classes by covering it with a thin veil 
of learned mysticism. This want of 
proper deference for the day set apart 
by the church, and by all Christian 
sects, for special reverence, and the 
observance of which is even en- 
joined by our common and statute 
law, is, we maintain, not only un- 
American, but is likely to produce 
a general contempt for all law, and 
lead to a weakening of the sense of 
that obedience which every indivi- 
dual citizen owes to the public au- 
thority. 

In thus alluding to the char- 
acteristics of some of our adopted 
citizens, we have touched only on 
those of the two most numerous re- 



presentatives of European n: 
ties, not because there are no 
whose deficiencies, from an Ai 
point of view, are not as a[ 
but from the fact that we o 
from their numerical strength 
trinsic qualities, they are desi 
exercise a marked and exten: 
fiuence on the future characte 
country. In feeling or tempei 
they are not opposed to us 
each other. The vivacity ar 
excitability of one race fine 
complement in the solidity an 
ter-of-fact disposition of the o( 
union of qualities which, goverr 
properly managed by the p 
genius of Americans, will in aU 
probability lead to results in t 
tant future of the magnitude of 
we scarcely dare to dream. No 
ever possessed the advantagt 
we, native and adopted, enjoy, 
avail ourselves of them in suci 
ner that posterity may look t 
us, as we to the Revolutionary I 
with unmingled feelings "of gr; 
and admiration. 



OUR LADY OF LOURDES. 



FIOK THE FKENCH OF HXNRI LASSCRIIK. 



{CPMclmded.) 



PART X. 
H. 

Another episode. 

There are, in civil life, men whose 
appearance is precisely that of a sol- 
dier. Though they have never seen 
service^ every one who meets them 
and does not know them takes them 



without hesitation for veterans. 
have the rather stiflT carriagi 
step, disciplined appearance, ar 
cealcd good-fellowship belong 
the profession. They are sp 
common in the mixed service 
as the customs, the waters and I 
which, though purely civil ir 
nature, borrow their degrees o 
and their methods from the ! 



Mr Lady of Lourdes. 



'toT 



for the anny. On the tMie 
hcstf men have, like pnvatt 
tens, a family and a ilomcslic IHc : 
the oihcr, they are bound in a 
iDit ways by the manifold rc- 
<lDirtment5 of an entirely military 
nilc. To this is due the peculiar 
jpj^arance of which I speak, and 
\i\i which every one is familiar. 

If, then, you have ever seen a 

brave cavalry officer in citizen's dress, 

«ith his short hair and his Imstly 

i I 'ining to turn gray ; if 

II ;; L-d in his energetic 

' iho&e straight and verti- 

L-s which are hardly as yet 

>, and which seem peculiar to 

niililary faces ; if you have 

i-poa that forehead, rebellions 

lai, and which seems made 

y for the kepi or tricornc, 

;.05e finn eyes which by day 

."^toaictl to brave danger, but 

'. become gentle at the fireside 

■' the children's heads; 

. r this characteristic 

! liAvc no need to introduce 

- -■ M. Roger Lacassagnc, ofticcr 

in the custom-house at Uordeaux— ^ 

'■■ - -now him as well as I. 

1, alwul two years ago, I had 
|c liunur of visiting him at his house, 
du Chai des Farines. No. 6, al 
Bordeaux, I was struck at first by his 
Ri-crc apjicarancc and his air of 
loenc. 

He uked mc, with the somewhat 
truM{u« poUicnc^ habitual to men 
«( d:sct|iiine, what was the object of 
«J >isiL 

- Uon&ieur." said I, " I have heanl 

■k* rt. .. . . ,f vour journey lo the Groito 

.tnd for the profit of some 

'!Vi^ic3 i am just now making, I 

^ romc to have it from your own 

„ Jic words *' the Grotto of Lour- 
ilts.'' ihtt stern countenance became 
icn^, and a dear remembrance 
tcAfOcd its rigid lines. 



" Ke seated," said he, " and excuse i 
the disorder of our establishment,' 
My family leaves today for Arcachou^ 
and everything is topsy-turvy." " 

.■'Do not mention it. Tell rae alM 
about Jhese inlcresling events of ' 
which Ihave alreaJy heard, but only^ 
confusctKy." •* • 

" For my. part," *aid he in a voice 
choked by emotion, "I shall never 
in my life forget their smallest details. - 

" Monsieur," he rrritir.ued after a 
moment of silence, "T'lfave Duly two 
sons. The youngest, aboui vhom I' 
am going to tell j-ou, is callecj^les, _ 
He will come in before long. "Voti^l 
wiU see how sweet, pure, and good 
he is." 

M. Lacassagne did not tell me all 'J 
his affection for this youngest son. '\ 
Uut the accent of his voice, which 
becjime gentle and as it were ca- 
ressing in speaking of this child, show- 
ed me all the depth of his paternal 
love. I understood that in that 
strong and tender feeling was con- 
centrated all the force of this manly 
soul. * 

" His health," continued he, "was 
excellent until the age of ten. 

"At thai period there came on 
unexpecteilly, and without apparent 
physical cause, a disease the im[)or- 
tance of which I di<l not at first 
appreciate. On the 25th of January, 
1S65, when we were sitting down to> 
supper, Jules complained of a trouble 
in his throat which preventetl him 
from swallowing any solid food. He 
had to limit himself lo a little soup. 

" This state of things continuing 
next day, I called in Dr. Nogufcs, 
one of the most distinguished physi- 
cians of Toulouse. 

'**Tlie diflicuhy comes from the 
nerves,' said he — which gave mc 
hojws of a speedy cure. 

" In fact, a few days afterwards, 
the boy was able to eat, and I thought 
all was over, when the trouble return- 



102 



Our Lady of Lourdes, 



edf and continued with occasional 
intermissions till the end of April. It. 
then became fixed. The poor child' 
had to live entirely on liquids^'-^Jri* 
milk, the juice of meat, and "^K^ff. 
Even the broth had to be vAy'clear, 
for such was the narrqwo^ 'of the 
orifice that it was absolut^l^ impossi- 
ble for him to swalfo^^ anythingsohd, 
even tapioca. .• '-. \ 

"The poqf.i)0^' reduced to such 
miserable dfet; was becoming visibly 
emaciate^ >ad was dying slowly. 

" ThV'y^ysicians, for there were 
twd^sas I nad from the outset re- 
quested a celebrated practitioner, Dr. 
Roques, to consult with Dr. Nogufes — 
the physicians, I say, astonished by 
the peculiarity and the persistence 
of this difficulty, tried vainly to dis- 
cover its precise nature, that they 
might- apply a remedy. One day, 
it was the tenth of May^for I suffer- 
ed so much, sir, and thought so much 
about this illness that I remembered 
every date — one day, I saw Jules in 
the garden running with unusual 
hasie, and as it were precipitately. 
Now I dreaded the least agitation for 
him. 

" * Stop, Jules ! ' cried I, going to 
him and taking his hand. 

" He broke away immediately. 

" ' Father, I cannot,' said he. * I 
must run. It is stronger than I.' 

" I took him in my lap, but his legs 
moved convulsively. Soon after the 
movement passed to his head and 
face. 

" The true character of his disease 
had at last declared itself. My poor 
child was attacked by chorea. A'ou 
are no doubt aware, sir, by what 
horrible contortions this disease is 
usually marked." 

" No," said I, interrupting him, " I 
do not even know what it is." 
. " It is what is often called St. 
VUu^s dancer 

"Yes, I have heard of that Goon." 



.»*' TJje principal seat of th 
was in the oesophagus. Th 
.' ^«n5 which I had just witne 
which were continued at 
from that time, put an eni 
perplexities of the physician 

" But though they now ur 
the difficulty, they could i 
come it. After fifteen mi 
treatment, the most they coul 
control these violent extern 
toms; or really, in my own 
these disappeared of thems 
the efforts of nature alone, 
.to the contraction of the 1 
had become chronic and 
all appliances. Remedies 
kind, the country, the bath: 
chon, were successively and 
employed for about two ye 
the treatment seemed only tc 
the disease. 

" Our last trial had been 
son at the sea-side. My 
taken our poor child to St. 
Luz. I need hardly say 
the state in which he was, 
of his body was everythir 
only object was to keep h: 
We had from the first si 
his studies and stopped ; 
on his part, whether of 
mind; we treated htm like 
Now, his mind was natural 
and inquiring, a;id this prii 
intellectual occupation g; 
much ennui. The poor bo 
so ashamed of his .trouble; 
other children in good healtl 
felt himself as it were disgr; 
under a ban ; so he kept ap; 

The father, deeply moved 
memories, stopped a mo 
check a rising sob, and conl 

" He kept apart. He ' 
When he found some interest 
he would read it to distract i 
At St. Jean-de-Luz, he saw oi 
the table of a lady who live 
neighborhood a little notic 



Onr Lady of Lottrdet. 



103 



qiptmionatLouTdes. Hereadit.nml 
KOna to have been vcn- much 
impressed by it. He said that even- 
ing to his mother that the Blessed 
Virgin could very easily cure him; 
bat she paid no attention to his pro- 
poul, considenng it as only a child- 
ith whim. 

" On our return to Bordeaux — for a 

Imle while before this my station had 

beca changed, and we had come to 

live here — on our return to Bordeaux 

the child was absolutely in the sair.o 

cnuliiion. 

"That was last August. 

"So many vain efforts, so much 

iciencc employed wiihool success by 

the best physicians, so much lost 

UDublc, had by this time, as you will 

osily imagine, discouraged us most 

comptrcely. I^iiihcariened by the 

failure of all our endeavors, we gave 

up aJ) kinds of remedies, letting na- 

TiiKactalonc»and resigning ourselves 

lofiie inevitable evil which God was 

pleated to send us. It seemed to us 

' ' much suffering had in a cer- 

• -ly redoubled our love for this 

thiJd Our poor Jules was tended 

■'^' '- > motlicr and myself with equal 

'CSS and solicitude continually. 

''i:ci sddcd many years to our lives. 

Vott would hardly believe it, sir, but 

I ua only forty-six years old." 

1 looked at the poor father; and 

II the sight of his manly face, upon 
•hich grief had left such visible traces, 
tD^ heart was moved. I took his 

;ind pressed it with cordial 

hy and real compassion. 

! .' 'Ahdc," said he, '* the 

■ 1 ot the child decreased per- 

1 ! Iv. Kor two years he had 

->4vti no solid footL It was only at 

Itcat expense, by means of a liquid 

30orishmcnl in preparing which all 

^ ingcnlrtty had been taxed that it 

Ijc substantial, and by most 

rdinarj* care, thai we had been 

>Mc 10 prolong his life. He had 



become frightfully thin. His pallor 
was extreme; he had no Mood show- 
ing under his skin ; you would have 
sail! he was a statue of wax. It was 
evident that death was coming on 
apace. It was not only certain, but 
imminent. And, tliough the usclc.ss- 
ness of medical science in tiie case 
had certainly been clearly shown, I 
could not help knocking once again 
at its door. 1 knew of no other in 
this world. 

'* I applied to the most eminent 
physician in Bordeaux, Dr. Giiitrac, 
Dr. llintran examined his throat, 
sounded it, and found, besides the 
mere contraction which bad almost 
entirely closed the alimentary caual, 
some most threatening ruughnesscs or 
small swellings. 

" He shook his head, and gave me 
little hope. He saw my terrible «i- 
xiety. 

" * I do not say that his cure is im- 
possible,' said he ; ' but he is very UI,*^ 
"These were his exact words. 
" He considered it absolutely neces-*] 
sary to employ local remedies ; fir 
injections, then the application of 
cloth soaked in ether. But this treat- 
ment prostrated the child ; in view 
of the result, the surgeon himself, 
M. Sentex, employed in the hospitaJ, 
advised us to discontinue it. 

" In one of my visits to Dr. Gintrac, 
I communicated to him an idea whictv^ 
had occurred to me. 

" * It seems to mc,' said I, ' that if- { 
Jules had the xvilly he could swallow* . 
Does not this difficulty pcrha|K uDme 
from fear ? Is it not pcriiaps that 
he does not swallow to day merely 1 
because he did not yesterday ? If 
so, it is a mental malady, which can 
only be cured by moral means.' 

*' But the doctor dispelled this my 
last illusion. 

" • \q\x are mistaken,' said he. ' The 
disease is in the organs themselves, 
which are only too really and se- 



104 



Our Lady of Lourdes, 



riously affected. I have not con- 
tented myself with looking at them, 
for the eye may easily be deceived ; 
but I have sounded them with an 
instrument, and felt of them carefully 
with my fingers. The oesophagus is 
covered with little swellings, and the 
passage has become so small that it 
is materially impossible for the boy to 
take any food whatever, except li- 
quids, which can accommodate them- 
selves to the size of the opening, 
and pass through the pin-hole, as I 
may call it, which still remains. If 
the enlargement of the tissues pro- 
ceeds a few millimetres further, the 
patient cannot live. The beginning 
of the trouble, the alternations which 
characterized it, and its occasional 
interruptions also bear out the result 
of my examination. Your child, hav- 
ing once recovered, would have con- 
tinued well if the difficulty had been 
in his imagination. Unfortunately, it 
is organic' 

"These remarks, which had been 
already made to me at Toulouse, but 
which I had gladly forgotten, were 
too conclusive not to convince me. 
t returned home, with death in my 
soul. 

" What could now be done ? We 
had applied to the most distinguished 
physicians both of Toulouse and 
Bordeaux, and all had been unavail- 
ing. The fatal evidence was before 
my eyes ; our poor child was 
condemned, and that without ap- 
peal. 

" But, monsieur, such cruel conclu- 
sions cannot easily remain in a fa- 
ther's heart. I still tried to deceive 
myself; my wife and I continued to 
consult ; I was thinking of hydro- 
pathy. 

** It was in this desperate state of 
things that Jules said to his mother, 
with an air of confidence and abso- 
lute certitude which strongly impress- 
ed ber: 



" ' Mamma, neither Dr. Ginti 
any other doctor can do anythi 
my trouble. It is the Holy 
who will cure me. Send me 
Grotto of Lourdes, and you w 
that I shall be cured. I am s 
it.' 

" My wife reported thisprop< 
me. 

" * We must not hesitate !* ci 
' He must go to Lourdes. An 
as soon as possible.' 

" It was not, sir, that I was 1 
faith. I did not believe in mi; 
and I hardly considered such 
ordinary interventions of divine 
er as possible. But I was a 1 
and any chance, no matter he 
significant, seemed to me not 
slighted. Besides, I hoped 
without any supernatural occur 
the possibility of which I di 
wish to admit, this journey 
have a salutary moral effect g 
child. As for a complete cure, 
not entertain the slightest idea ol 
a thing. 

" It was in winter, at the begi 
of February ; the weather was 
and 1 wished to wait for a fin< 
on Jules's account. 

" Since he had read the little n 
eight months before, at St Jej 
Luz, the idea which he had ju 
pressed to us had never left 
Having expressed it once wi 
any attention being paid to it, h 
not introduced the subject a 
but the thought had remained ii 
and worked there while he wa 
dergoing all the medical trea 
with a patience that had to b« 
to be appreciated. 

" This faith, so full and com 
was the more extraordinary be 
we had not brought up the ch 
any unusual practices of piety, 
wife attended to her religious c 
but that was all ; and, as for n 
I had, as you have just heard, 



Omr Lady of Lourdts. 



los 



vTfihif idMf tending quite the other 

"On ihc ijth of February, ibe 
vdtlwr promised to be magniticeut. 
W< look the train for Tarbes. 

" During the whplc journey^ Jules 
V4& gay, and full of ihc most posi- 
tive faith that he would be cured ; his 
fiilh was ovcrpiiwcring. 

"As fur myself, I encouraged, but 

I not slurc, this confulencc ; it was 
}pty\. that I shoitid caU it exag- 

atcd, did I not fear to be wanting; 
|.re5pcct for the Got] who inspired 

"AtTarbcs, at the Hotel Dupont, 

I we fmt up, cvcr>' one noticed 

poor child, so pale and wasted, 

jrcl with such a sweet and at- 

tive cxprcsUon. I mcntioneiJ at 

[hold the object of our journey, 

j;ood wislies and prayers 

■-' good people made for 

IS there seemed to be a presentiment 

ofaooess. Aod when we set out, 

I tt« plainly that they would await 

Lim with mipaticncc. 

iwithstoiuling my doubts, I 

tMpi with mc a small hK>x of biscuits. 

"When we arrived at the crypt 

ihovc the Crotto, Mass was being said. 

Join prayed with a faitli which shone 

Mt in all his features, with a truly 

lor. 

.-^l noticed his fervor, and 
.t- lud left the altar, he came 
.1 : ihe sacristy almost immediate- 
k. and approached us, A good idea 
bd occurred to liim on seeing the 
poor little one- He proposed it to 
tte, and. turninjj (o Jules, who was 
Kill un \\vi kiK-cs said ; 

"'My child, would you like to have 
ne rnnsccrate you to the Blessed 

'■■Indeed I would/ answered he. 

" The priest immediately proceeded 

L* very simple ceremony, and 

ov« my child tlie sacred 

■tfmulis. 



" * Now,' said Jules, in a tone whicd 
impressed me by its perfect coiifi-* 
deuce, ' I am going to be cured.' 

"We went to the Crotto. Jules., 
knelt before the statue ajid piayed,^ 
I looked at him. and tan stilt sec thej 
expression of his face, his altitude,^ 
and his joined hands. 

** He rose, and we went to the 
fountain. 

** It was a terrible mornenL 

" He bathed his neck an<l chesttj 
Then he took the glass and dranli 
several mouthfuls of the miraculous' 
water. 

" He was calur and Iiappy, gay in 
fact, and radiant with confidence. || 

" For my part, \ trembled and al- 
most faintetl at this last trial. Ifut I ,| 
restrained my emotion, though witll 
difliculty. 1 did not want to let him 
see my doubt. 

'"'iVy now to eat/ said I, handing 
him a biscuit. 

*' He took it, and I turned away my 
head, not feeling able to look at him. 
It was, in fact, the question of tlie 
life or death of my child which was 
to be decided. In putting this ques- 
tion, such a fearful one for a father's 
heart, I was playing, as it were, ray 
last canl. If I failed, my dear boy 
would have to die. This lest was a 
decisive one, and I could not sec it 
tried. 

" But 1 woA soon relieved of my 
agony. 

"Jutes's voice, joyous ami sweet, 
called me : 

*' ' Papa ! I have swallowed it. I 
can e.it, I knew I could — I hatl 
faith ! • 

" Wliata surprise it was * My child, 
who had been at death's door, was 
saved, and that instanUy. And I, 
his father, was a witness to litis as- 
tonishing resuncclion. 

" But, that I might not ilisiurb the 
faith of my son, I checked any ap- 
pearance of.astonisltmcnt. 



to6 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



" * Yes, Jules, it was certain^ and 
could not have been otherwise/ said 
I, in a voice which I made calm by 
great effort. 

" There was in my breast, however, 
a whirlwind of excitement. If it 
could have been opened, it would 
havs been found burning as if full of 
fire. 

" We repeated our experiment. He 
ate some more biscuits, not only 
without difficulty, but with an in- 
creasing appetite. I was obliged to 
restrain him. 

" But I could not refrain from pro- 
claiming my happiness, and thanking 
God. 

" * Wait for me,* said I to Jules, 
' and pray to the Blessed Virgin. I 
am going to the chapel.' 

** And leaving him for a moment 
kneeling at the Grotto, I ran to tell 
the priest the wonderful news. I was 
quite bewildered. Besides my happi- 
ness, so unexpected and sudden that 
it was terrible, besides the confusion 
of my heart, I felt in my soul and 
mind an inexpressible disturbance. 
A revolution was going on in my agi- 
tated and tumultuous thoughts. All 
my * philosophical ' ideas were tot- 
tering and crumbling away. 

*• The priest came down immediate- 
ly and saw Jules finishing his last 
biscuit. The Bishop of Tarbes hap- 
pened to be that day at the chapel, 
and he wished to see my son. I 
told him of the cruel illness which 
had just had such a happy end. 
Every one caressed the child, and 
rejoiced with him. 

"But I meanwhile was thinking of 
his mother, and of the joy in store 
for her. Before going to the hotel, 
I ran to the telegraph office. My 
despatch contained only one word : 
'Cured!' 

Hardly had it gone before I want- 
ed to recall it. 

" * Perhaps,' Kud I, * I have been to* 



hasty. Who knows if he w 
have a relapse ? ' 

" I did not dare to believe 
blessing I had received ; and \ 
did believe in it, it seemed 
was going to escape from me. 

" As for the child, he was 
without the least mixture of d 
tude. He was exuberant in J 
and perfect security. 

" * You see now, papa/ said 
me every moment, * it was on 
Blessed Virgin who could cu 
When I told you so before, 
sure of it ' 

" At the hotel, he ate with 
cellent appetite ; and how I ei 
watching him I 

" He wanted to return on 1 
the Grotto to give thanks for \ 
liverance, and actually did so. 

■' ' You will be very grateful 
Holy Virgin, will you not ?' 
priest to him. 

" * Ah I I shall never forget 
he. 

*' At Tarbes, we stopped att 
tel where we had put up the d 
fore. They were on the looki 
us. They seem to have had 
think I told you) a feeling tl 
would be successful. There 
great rejoicing. People ga 
around us to see him eat with 
ish everything that was served 
the table; to see him eat h 
who the day before could onl) 
low a few spoonfuls of liquid. 
time seemed to me long 
by. 

*• This illness, against whic 
science of the most able phy; 
had failed, and which had jus 
so miraculously cured, had 
two years and nineteen days. 

" We were in haste to return 
mother, and took the express 
for Bordeaux. The child was 
come with fatigue by the jo 
and I should also say by his 



(^t^ Lady of Lourats7 



Tor 



fions, wtrc It tiot for his peaceable 
and constant calmness in spite of his 
wdticn cure, which overwhelmed him 
wnh joy, but did not astonish him. 
He wanted to go to bcil on reaching 
Iwiwr. He was exlremcly sleepy, and 
look no supper. His moiber, who 
hiJ nearly dic:i of joy before our re- 
turn, when she saw him so exhaust- 
ed and refusing to eat, was seized by 
ifiorrible doubt. She told me that 
I fcid deceived her, and I had the 
pcatest difficulty tn making myself 
Mievcd. But how she rejoiced 
wbcn, the next morning, Jules sat 
dvvn at our table, and breakfasted 
with a belter appetite than ourselves. 
It was not til! then that she became 
reassured. ■* 

".Vod since then," I asked him, 
"lus there been no relapse?" 

*' So, sir, absolutely none. I may 
ssy that the cure progressed, or rath- 
er ccQsoIidntcd itself, considering 
ihit it had been as complete as it 
ras instantaneous. The transition 
fiom a dise.ise so fixed and obstinate 
to a, perfect cure was made without 
Ibe least gradation, though it was 
^■' it apparent disturbance. Bitt 
ctv^ hcidih improved visibly, 
Llie influence of a restorative 

^ II, the 5,dulary effects of which 
d v» full time for him to expe- 
titti*." 

" And the physicians ? Have 

■^lifted to Jules's previous con- 

Ccrtainly they should have 

ill*OC »0." 

" \ thought so too, sir, and men- 
tiooed the subject to the Bordeaux 
ctof who had been the last to at- 
1 my child ; but he maintained a 
ve which prc\ented me from 
tig. As for Dr. Roques of 
(ulouse, to whom I utoic imme- 
ely, lie hastened to recognize in 
t dearest terms the miraculous na- 
; of the fact which had occurred, 
which was entirely beyond the 



powers of medicine. ' In view of 
this cure, so long desired and 
promptly effected,' he said to me, 
• why not quit the narrow sphere of ^ 
scientific explanations, and opeitl 
one's mind to gratitude for so strange I 
an event, in which Providence seems 
to obey the voice of a child ?* He 
rejected most decidedly, as a physi- 
cian, the theories which are always | 
produced on such occasions of * mo- 
ral excitement,' 'llie effect of the 
imagination,* etc., and confessed frank- - 
ly in this event the clear and positive 
action of a superior Being revealing I 
himself and imposing himself on thcj 
conscience. Such, sir, was the opin- 
ion of M. RoqUes, physician of Tou- 
louse, who knew as well as myself 
the previous condition and the illness 
of my son. ITiere is his own lettcT, 
dated I'-ebruary J4. 

" But the facts which I have just 
related arc also so well known that 
no one wouKI care to contest them. 
It is superabundantly proved that 
science was absolutely powericss 
against the strange disease by wtiich 
Jules had been attacked. As for the 
cause of his cure, every one can place 
it differently, according to the point 
of view which he chooses to assume. 
I, who had previously believed only 
in purely natural phenomena, saw 
dearly that its explanation must be 
sought in a higher order of things ; 
and every day 1 gave thanks to God, 
who, putting an end to my long and 
cruel trial in such an unexpected 
way, had approached me in the way 
most adapted to make me bow be- 
fore him." 

" I understand you, and it seems 
also to me that such was the di\'ine 
plan." 

After these words, I remained some 
time silent and absorbed in my re- 
flections. 

The conversation returned to the 
boy so wonderfully cured. The fa- 



lOS 



Our Lady of Lourdts, 



ther's heart came back to him, as 
the needle does to the pole. 

"Since that time," said he, "his 
piety is angelic You will see him 
soon. The nobleness of his feelings 
is visible in his face. He is well- 
bom, his character i& honest and dig- 
nified. He is incapable of lies or 
meanness. And his piety has not 
been at the expense of his natural 
qualities. He is studying in a school 
close by, kept by M. Conangle, in 
the Rue du Mirail. The poor child 
has quickly made up for his lost time. 
He loves his studies. He is the 
first in his class. At the last exami- 
nation, he took the highest prize. 
But, above all, he is the best and 
most amiable. He is the favorite 
of his teachers and schoolmates. He 
is our joy, our consolation, and — " 

At this moment the door opened, 
and Jules came with his mother into 
the room where we were sitting. I 
embraced him affectionately. The 
glow of. health was on his face. His 
forehead is large, high, and magnifi- 
cent ; his attitude has a modesty and 
gentle firmness which inspires a se- 
cret respect. His eyes, large and 
bright, show a rare intelligence, and 
absolute purity and a beautiful soul. 

"You are happy to have such a 
son," said I to M. Lacassagne. 

"Yes, sir, I am happy. But my 
poor wife and I have suffered a great 
deal." 

" Do not be sorry for that," said I, 
going a little away from Jules. " This 
path of grief was the way which led 
you from darkness to light, fi-om 
death to life, from yourself to God. 
The Blessed Virgin has shown her- 
self twice in this event as the mother 
of life. She has given your son his 
temporal life in order to give you the 
true life which knows no end." 

I left this family, so greatly bless- 
ed by our Lord, and, still under the 
impression of what I had heard and 



seen, I wrote, with my heart I 
the feelings produced, whatyo' 
just read. 



PART XI. 



Let us return to Lourdes. 
had passed, and human ir 
had been at work. The sur 
ings of the Grotto, where the J 
Virgin had appeared, had ct 
their former aspect. Without 
anything of its grandeur, this : 
spot had put on a pleasing : 
Yet unfinished, but fairly aliv 
workmen, a superb church, p 
crowning the Massabiellc 
was rising joyously to heaven, 
lofty heights, so abrupt and u 
vated, where formerly the feet 
mountaineers could scarcely de 
were covered with a greer 
and planted with shrubs and fi 
Among dahlias and roses, daisi 
violets, beneath the shade of a 
and cytisuses, a path, broad 
highway, wound in sinuous 
from the church to the Grotto. 

The Grotto was enclosed 
chancel by an iron railing, 
the roof a golden lamp had 
suspended. On the rocks, 
had been pressed by Mar)'*s 
feet, clusters of tapers burnc 
and night. Outside the enc 
the miraculous spring fed 
bronze tavers. A canal , sc: 
from sight by a little building, 
ed a chance for those invalid 
wished to be bathed in^his I 
water. The mill-race of Sav 
changed its bed, having be< 
into the Gave, further up. 
Gave itself had withdrawn 
what, to give room for a fini 
which leads to the Mossabielle ] 
Below, on the banks of the riv< 
ground had been levelled, and 



Our Lady of LourHes. 



109 



walk, 



extra^c Fawn and 
I by elms and popKirj. 
thcTSc th.inpe* haij been accom- 
! anrj were still going on amid 
45,int concourse of the faith- 
copper coin, thrown by 
ular faith inio the grotto— the 
flft'f of so many invnlids who had 
l_c«rci], of bO many hwrts who 
en consoled, of so mnny souls 
cned to iniih and life, alone 
the cost of these gigantic 
^which approaches the sum of 
lion francs. When Ck>d, in 
my. vouchwfes to call men 
prate in any of his works, he 
[lot employ soldie-rs, or tax- 
, or constables to collect the 
-he Bccepts from his creatures 
voluntary assistance. The 
of the uni\*crsc repudiates 
at, for he is the God of free 
be does not consent to re- 
nytbing which is not sponta- 
tid ofifisred with a cheerful 

the church was gradually 
thus the river and the niitl- 
ive way, hilkidcs were level- 
were planted, and path- 
Bced ftTound the now famous 
rbere tlie Mother of Christ 
riifrstcd her gloty to the eyes 



II. 

■ging the laborers, su- 
bding everything, suggesting 
QCtimes pulling his own 
: work to set a misplaced 
aighicn a badly-planlcd 
[ling, by his anior and holy 
stn, the grand figures of 
^and Nchemiah, occupied, by 
er, with the rebuilding of 
i_of Jerusalem, a tnll man, 
Itaturrs, seemed to make 
ywherc present. His 
suture and black cassock 



rendered him conspicuous to all 
eyes. His name will be speedily 
giicssciL It was the chief pastor of 
the town of Ix)urdes, the Abb6 Pey- 
ramale. 

Every hour of the day he thought 
of the message which the Blessed 
Virgin had addressed to him; every 
hour lie thought of the miraculous 
cures which had followed the appari- 
tion : he was a daily witness of 
countless nitraclea. He had devoted 
his hfe to execute the orders of his 
powerful Queen, and raise to her 
glory a splendid monument. AU 
idleness, all delay, every moment 
wasted, seemed to his eyes n token 
of ingratitude, and his heart, de- 
voured by zeal for the house of God, 
often broke forth in warnings and 
admonitions. His faiih was perfect, 
and full of confidence. He had a 
horror of the wretched narrowness 
of human prudence, and scouted it 
with the disdain of one who looks 
upon all things from that holy mount 
whereon the Son of God preached 
the nothingness of earth and the 
reality of heaven, when he said: 
" Be not solicitous . . . seek 
first tlie kingdom of heaven, and all 
these things shall be added unto 
you." 

One day, while standing before 
the miraculous fountain amid a 
group of ecclesiastics and laymen, 
the architect offered him a plan for 
a pretty chapel which he pro]iosed 
to build above the Grotto. The cur6 
looked at it, and a flush rose to his 
cheek. With a gesture of impa- 
tience he tore the drawing into bits, 
and tossed it into the Gave. 

" What are you doing ?*' cried the 
astonished architect. 

" Look you," answered the priest, 
" I am ashamed of what human 
meanness would offer to the Mother 
of my God, and I have treated the 
wretched plan as it deserved. We 



110 



Our Lady of Lourdts. 



do not wont a country chapel to com- 
memorate the great events which 
have taken place here. Go, give us 
a temple of marbl^ as large and as 
high as these rocks can sustain — as 
magnificent as your soul can con- 
ceive! Go, and do not check your 
genios till you have given us a chef- 
d^mtvre ; and understand that, if 
you were Michael Angelo himself, 
it would ail be unworthy of her who 
has appeared in this spot." 

" But, monsieur k cur^" observed 
everybody, " it will cost millions to 
carry out your ideas I" 

" She who has made this barren 
rock send forth its living stream — 
she will know how to make faithful 
hearts generous," answered the priest. 
" Go, do what I tell you. Why are 
you afraid, O ye of little faith ?" 

The temple rose in the proportions 
designed by the man of God. 

The good pastor, as he watched 
the progress of the various works, 
often used to say : 

"When will it be granted me to 
assist, with my priests and people, at 
the first procession which goes to 
inaugurate in these hallowed pre- 
cincts the public worship of the Ca- 
tholic Church ? It seems to me that 
then I could sing vay Nurudifniifis^ 
and die of joy." His eyes filled with 
tears at the thought Never was there 
a deeper or warmer desire than this 
innocent wish of a heart given whol- 
ly to God. 

Sometimes, at hours when the 
crowd was thin at the Massabielle 
Rocks, a little girl used to come and 
kneel before the place of the appari- 
tion, and drink of the miraculous 
spring. She was a poor child, and 
meanly clad — nothing marked out 
from the common people about. And 
if the pilgrims were all strangers to 
the place, no one suspected that it 
was Bemadctte. This privileged soul 
bad withdrawn into silence and con- 



cealment She went daily 

sisters' school, where she ' 
simplest, and strove to be t 
unnoticed. The numerous 
whom she was called upon tc 
never disturbed her peace o 
which ever retained the mei 
its glimpse at heaven and the 
parable Virgin. Bemadette 
these things in her heart 
came from all quarters, mirac 
being worked, the temple wa 
Bemadette and the holy p: 
Lourdes awaited, as their c 
joy, the day which was b 
to their eyes the sight of pt 
the true God leading their 
with cross advanced and flyii 
ners, to the spot of the appai 

III. 

In spite of the bishop's 
the church in fact had not y< 
possession, by any public ce: 
of this spot, consecrated ft 
It was not till the 4th of Apr 
that this was done, by the ir 
tion and blessing of the sup 
tue of the Blessed Virgin, wl 
placed with all the pomp cu 
on such occasions in the rusti 
bordered with ^tld flowers 
the Mother of God had app< 
the child of man.* 

The weather was magnifice 
young spring sun had risen, 
vanced in a blue and cloudle 

The streets of Lourdes wer 
ed with flowers, banners, g 
and triumphal arches. The 
the parish church, the chap 



• This statue, made of fine Canmrm 
life-size, wan presented to tbe Grotto c 
by two nohlc and jtious sisters of the 
Lyons, Mesdames de Lacour. It w«i 
according to Hcrnadette's )>Brticular ia 
by M. Fabish. the eminent LyonneM 
The Blessed Virgin ia represented as I 
described her, with scrupulous rega 
tmallest details, and rare talent in exe* 



Our Lady of Lourdi^s. 



iti 



tiie cfaurdics of the neigh borliootl. 
Dg oat joyous [>cah. Immense 
ura^TS of people flocked together 
thrs great festival of earth am) 
avtn. A procession, such as had 
TCT been seen by the ohlest inha- 
nt. moved &om the church of 
urdcs to the Grotto. , Troops, in 
the splendor of military attire, 
I the way. I'oUowing them were 
con&atetnities of Lourdes, the 
fur mutual aid, and other 
ations, with their banners and 
oi!H»«; the Congregation of the 
Chil'lrcn of Mary, whose long robes 
•tre white aa snow ; the Sisters of 
N<vcts, with their long black veil ; 
the Uaughters of Charity, with their 
gT«l white IiockIs ; the Sisters of St. 
|nsq)h, in dark mantles ; the reU- 
gioiis onlcrs of men, the Carmelites, 
Ihf Hrothcrs of Instruction and of 
! t'hristian w:hools, and prodigious 
of pilgrims, men and wo- 
jrouiig and old — fifty or sixty 
IfotMand persons in all — wound along 
sflowcry road leading to the Mas- 
r rocks. Here and there, choirs 
itrumental bands gave a. voice 
pO{mlar cnihusia5tm. Last, 
Inreantjed by four hundred priests 
Jacboif dress, his vicars-general, and 
jdignitnries of his cathedral chap- 
ifCamc bis lordship, Mgr. Bertrand- 
ire Laurence, Bishop of Tarbes, 
I hi& miire aiKl pontitical robes, with 
oae hand hJe«ing the people, and 
icr in tiie other. 
-able emotion, an cx- 
ition of feeling, such as only 
an people assembled before 
can know, filled every heart, 
day of solemn triumph had at 
come, after so many dilficulties, 
j|c5, and disasters. Tcar^ of 
ithusjasm, and love ran down 
ks of the people, moved by 

from fiod. 
indescribable joy raust have 
bcjLrt of Ocrnadctte on tliis 



day, as she led the Congregation of, 
the Children of Mary! What ove 
whelming happiness must have inun- 
dated the soul of the venerable curi 
of Lourdes, who was no doubt at 
the side of the bishop, singing the 
hosanna of the victory of God ! 
Having both liad to labor, the time 
was certainly come for them to enter 
into their reward. 

Alas! one would have »ought in 
vain among the Children of Mary for 
Uernadette : among the clergy sur- 
rounding the bishop, the Abbe Pey- 
ramalc would not have been found. 
I'here are joys too sweet for earth, 
which arc reserved for heaven. Here 
below, God refuses them to his dear- 
est children. 

At this time of rejoicitig, when the 
bright sun was shining on the triumph 
of the faithful, the cure of Lourdes^ 
laboring under a disease which was 
expected to result fatally, was a vic- 
tim to intense physical sufferings. He 
was stretched on bis bed of pain, at 
the head of which two religious 
WAtched and prayed night and day.j 
He wished to rise to see the grand 
cortege pass, but his strength failed^ 
him, and he had not even a momen- 
tary glimpse of its splendor. Through 
the dosed shutters of his room, the 
joyous sound of the silvery bells^ 
came to him only as a funeral kncU. 

As for Bcrnadcltc, God showcdl 
her his predilection, as usual witltl 
his elect, by giving her Uie bittcrl 
trial of pain. While Mgr. LaurenceJ 
was going, accompanied bycouatlesaf 
numbers of his flock, to take posses* 
sion of the MassabicUe rocks in the 
name of the diurch, and to inaugu- 
rate solemnly the devotion to the 
Virgin who had appeared there, Ber- 
nadette, like the eminent priest of 
whom we have just spoken, wai-J 
prostrated by illness; Providence,- 
perhaps, Tearing for this well-beloved 
child a temptation to vainglory, de- 



xi-a 



Our Lady of Lourdts, 



prived her of the sight of this unpre- 
cedented festivity, where she would 
have heard her name on the lips of 
thousands, and extolled from the pul- 
pit by the voice of enthusiastic 
preachers. Too poor to be taken 
care of in her own home, where 
neither she nor her family would ever 
receive any gift, Bemadette had been 
carried to the hospital, where she lay 
upon the humble bed provided by 
public charity, in the midst of those 
poor whom the world calls unfortu- 
nate, but whom Jesus Christ has 
blessed in declaring them the pos- 
sessors of his eternal kingdom. 

IV. 

Eleven years have now elapsed 
since the apparitions of the most 
Holy Virgin. The great church is 
almost finished; it has only to be 
roofed, and the holy sacrifice has 
long since been celebrated at all the 
altars of the crypt below. Diocesan 
missionaries 'of the house of Garaison 
have been stationed by the bishop 
near the grotto and the church, to 
distribute to the pilgrims the aposto- 
lic word, the sacraments, and the 
body of our Lord. 

The pilgrimage has taken dimen- 
sions perhaps quite without precedent, 
for before our day these vast move- 
ments of popular faith did not have 
the assistance of the means of trans- 
portation invented by modem science. 
The course of the Pyrenees Railroad, 
for which a straighter and cheaper 
route had been previously marked out 
between Tarbes and Pau, was chang- 
ed so as to pass through Lourdes, 
and innumerable travellers continually 
come from every quarter to invoke 
the Virgin who has appeared at the 
Grotto, and to seek at the miraculous 
fo'untain the healing of all their ills. 
Ttiey come not only from the'differ- 
ent provinces of France, but also 



from England, Belgium, Spai 
siaj and Germany. Even fr 
midst of far America, pious 
tians have set out, and cros 
ocean to come to the Grotto o 
des, to kneel before these 
rocks, which the Mother of G 
sancrified ly her touch. An' 
those who cannot come writ* 
missionaries, and beg that a 1 
the miraculous water may be 
their homes. It is thus dist 
throughout the world. 

Although Lourdes is a smal 
there is a continual passing 
fro upon the road to the gr 
stream of men, women, pries 
carriages, as in the streets of 
city. 

When the pleasant weather 
and the sun, overcoming the < 
winter, opens in the midst of 
the gates of spring, the faithful 
neighborhood begin to bestir 
selves for the pilgrimage to ; 
bielle, no longer one by one, 
large parries. From ten, twe 
fifteen leagues' distance, these 
mountaineers come on foot in 
of one or two thousand. 'Y\ 
out in the evening and ws 
night by starlight, like the she 
of Judea, when they went to tl 
of Bethlehem to adore the ne- 
infant God. They descend 
high peaks, they traverse dee 
leys, they cross foaming torre: 
follow their course, singing the 
es of God. And on their w 
sleeping herds of cattle or of 
awake, and diffuse through 
desert wilds the melancholy 
of their sonorous bells. At 
break, they arrive at Lourdies 
spread their banners, and form : 
cession to go to the Grotto, 
men, with their -blue caps and 
shoes covered with dust fronr 
long night march, rest upon a 
stick, and usually carry upor 



Our Lady of Lourdts, 



"3 



( the provisions for their jour- 
ic women wear a white or 
ilet Some carry the pre- 
rden of a child. And they 
j^btrly, quiet and rccoHect- 
Hnc litaDics of the Blessed 

Bssahielle they hear Muss, 
the holy lable. and drink at 
culous spring. Then they 
; themselves, in groups ac- 
D fumily nr friendship, upon 
I Around the Grotto, and 
J out on the sod the provi- 
!y have brought, ihey sit 
ion the green carpet of the 
And, on the bank of the 
the shade of those hallowed 
:y realize in their frugal re- 
e fraternal agapes of which 
leltsus. Then, ha^ngreceiv- 
blessing ami said a parting 
ey set out with joyful hearts 
ir homeward way. 

the people of ihe Pyrenees 
Grotto. But the greatest 
are not from there. From 
ighly leagues' di;:tance come 
ly immense processions^ 
^om these great distances 

^Bkl wings of steam. They 
llv fiayonne, from Peyre- 
rom La Teste, from Arca- 
in Bordeaux, and even from 

1 the request of the faithful, 
cm Railroad has e^itablished 
rains, trains of pilgrimage, 

exclosively for this great 

ks mbvement of Catholic 

I the arrival of these trains, 

of l.ourdes ring out their 

ok. And from these som- 

igc» the pilgrims come out 

in procession in the square 

lation ; young girls dressed 

married women, widows, 

full'grown men, the old 

the clergy in their sa- 

Their banners are flung 

; the crucifix and the 

XIV.— 8 



sutues of the Blessed Virgin and the 
saints arc di^layexL The praises 
of the Mother oi God are upon every 
lip. The innumerable procession 
pas.ses through the town — which 
seems, on such occasions, like a holy 
city, like Rome or Jerusalem. One's 
heart is elated at the sight ; it rises 
toward God, and attains irithout ef< 
fort that elevation of feeling in which 
the eyes fdl with tears and the soul 
is overwhelmed by the sensible pre- 
sence of our Lord. One seems to 
enjoy ^qx a moment a vision of para- 
dise. 

The hand of the Almighty does 
not weary in shedding all kinds of 
graces at the spot where his Mother 
has appeared. Miracles ore still fre- 
quent. Not long ago Fr. Hermann 
recovered his sight there. 



V, 



God has accomplished his work. 

He says to the flake of snow, rest- 
ing hidden upon the lonely peak, 
" Thou must come from Me to Me. 
Thou must pass from the inaccessible 
heights of the mountain to the un- 
fathomable caves of the deep." And 
he sends his servant the sun with its 
brilliant rays to collect and draw 
along this shining dust, changing it 
first into limpid pearls. The drops 
of water run through the snow, they 
roll down the side of the mountain, 
they leap over the rocks, they break 
upon the pebbles, they reunite, they 
collect in a mass, and run together, 
now gently, now rapidly, toward the 
wonderful ocean, that striking image 
of eternal movement in eternal rest 
— and thus they reach the valleys 
where the race of Adam dwells. 

" Wc will stop these drops ot 
water," says this race of man, as 
proud now as in the days of Babel. 

.\nd they undertake to dam up 
this weak and quiet stream as it 




114 



Our Lady of LourtUs, 



gently crosses their fields. But the 
stream hughs at their dikes of wood, 
^ canb, and pebbles. 

'*\Vc will stop these drops of 
otter, " the fools repeat in their de- 
lira. 

And they heap up enormous rocks ; 

J*lhey join ihcm together with impene- 

Icrablc cement. And notwitlistand- 

ling, the water docs leak through In a 

fiousand places. But the men are 

numerous — they have a force greater 

than the iitmics of Darius. They 

stop \ip the thousand fissures, they 

fill up ihe cracks, they replace the 

alien stones ; and at last a time comes 

"when the stream cannot pass by. It 

has before it a barrier higher than 

' the pyramids, and thicker Uian the 

■femous walls of Babylon. Beyond 

this gigantic obstacle, the pebbles of 

its dry bed are shining in the sun. 

Human pride shouts its pocan of 
Ilium ph. 

Meanwhile the water continues to 
descend from those eternal heights 
where it has heard the voice of God ; 
[id millions of drops, coming one by 
Kone, Slop before the barrier and" rise 
silently against this granite wall 
which millions of men have built. 

" Look," say the men, "al the im- 
ttcnsi? power of our race. See this 
pnomious wall. Raise your eyes to 
summit; admire its astonishing 
eight. We have for ever conquered 
thui stream which comes from the 
mountains." 

At this moment, a thin sheet of 
water passes over the cyclopean bar- 
rier. They run up; but the sheet 
has thickened — it is a river which is 
now falling, scattering on all sides tlie 
Upper rocks of the wall. 

•* What is the matter ? " they cry 
on all sides in the doomed city. 

It is the drop of water to which 
God has spoken, and which proceeds 
Qvincibly on its way. 
What has your Babel-Iikc wall ac- 



complished ? What have y\ 
with your herculean elTorts 
have changed a quiet sircan 
formidable cataract. You I 
stop the drop of water ; bu 
resumes its course with the i 
of Niagara. 

How humble was this <! 
water, this word of a ehdd t 
God had said, " Pursue thy c 
How insignificant was this \ 
water — this shepherdess bu 
candle at the Grotto — th; 
woman praying and offering 
quel to the Blessed Virgin^^ 
peasant on his knees! Ar 
strong, how apparent, impassa 
invincible was this cnurmoi 
upon which all the force of 
natiun, from the policeman 
gendarme to the prefect a 
minister, had labored foq 
months I 

But the child, the poor < 
the old peasant, have rcsumt 
course. Only now it is not 
candle or a poor bouquet thi 
fies to the popular faith; it is 
niticcnt monument which the 
are erecting; tliey are spend 
lions upon this temple, 
celebrated throughout Chrisi 
Their opposcrs thought to pti 
some scattered believeni ; b 
they come in crowds, in imme 
cessions^ displaying their bam 
singing their hymns. The 
pilgrimage without precedent 
peoples now come, borne up 
iron ro.ids by chariots of i 
sicam. It is not now a littl 
borhood which believes — it is \ 
it is the Christian world « 
coming from all directions, 
drop of water which men trice 
has become a Niagara. 

God has finished his worl 
now, as on the seventh day, i 
entered into his rest, he 
signed (o men the duty of \ 



Our Lady of Lcurdes. 



"5 



r tAu work, ana the fonDulaUe re- 
nuUlity of developing or cora- 
pnasiiMiig it He has given them a 
fpm uf atmndant grace, as of other 
|irmp ; Lbe burden remains on ihem 
offuldvating and nutaring iL l*hey 
aa multiply it a hundredfold by 
nlkiog humbly and holily in the 
flrier ol his providence; tUey can 
nuke it uQ&iiitful by refusing to enter 
8M0 this order. Kvcry good thing 
Eno on high is cnirusccd to human 
liberty, as the terrestrial paradise was 
ll ihc otilset, on the condition of la- 
boring for and keeping it — *' ui opera- 
rtUr <t£uUoiitr£t tUum" Let us be- 
«ah God that men may not reject 
vbt he Has done for them, and (hat 
ihejr may not by earthly ideas or ir- 
[diglous Acts break in their guilty or 
iwtvird hands the sacred vessel of 
iTinc grace which they have re- 
tOTcd in trust. 



VI. 

Most of the persons mentioned in 

tbc course of this long history are 

^lil! ilive, llic prefect, Haron Xtassy, 

Duprat, Mayor Lacade, and 

«i[iiiticr Fould are dead. 

Some of iliem have made several 

tti^ in advance on the road to for- 

littc. M. Kouland has left the Min- 

iary of TubUc Worship (for which he 

''•"- not seem lo have been well 

to take care of the Bank of 

M. Dutour, the procurcur- 

U has become coimsellor of 

irt; M. Jacomet is the chief 

; -^ary of police in one of the 

: cities of the em])ire. 

i>-arricttc, Croisine Bouhohorts 

•ad her son^ Mnic. Ri/an. Henri 

Hmquet. Mile. Nforeau de Sazetviy, 

6c widow Cro^.it, Jules Lacassagne, 

M all those whose cures we have 

ntorded, are sldl full of life, and tcs- 

lifjf by their recovered health atid 



strength to the powerful mercy of the 
apparition at the Grotto. 

Dr. Dozous continues to be the 
most emiueut physician of Lourdes. 
Dr. Vergez is at the spring of Bar 
^ges and attests to the visitors at this 
celebrated resort the miracles which 
he formerly witnessed. M. Kstrade, 
whose impartial observations we have 
several times given, is receiver of 
indirect contributions at Bordeaux. 
He lives at No. 14 Rue Ducau, 

Now, as formerly, Mgr. Laurence 
is Bishop of Tarbes. Age has not 
diminished his faculties. He is to-day 
what we have represented him in tliia 
work. He has near the Grotto 4 
house to which he sometimes retires, 
to meditate in this spot, beloved by 
the Virgin, on the great duties and 
the grave responsibilities of a Chris- 
tian bishop who has received so won 
derful a grace in his diocese.* 

The Abb^ I'eyraniale recovered 
from the severe illness of which we 
spoke above. He is still the vene 
rated pastor of this Christian town 
of Lourdes, where his record is left 
in ineflaceable characters. Long af- 
ter he is gone, when he rests under 
the sod in the midst of the generation 
which he has farmed to the Lord; 
when the successors of his successors 
hvc in his house and occujiy the 
grear wooden chair in his church, his 
memory will be living in the mindft 
of all ; and when the " Curi of 
Lourdes" is mentioned, every one 
will think of him. 

Ixmise Soubirous, the mother of 
Beniadelte, died on the 8th of De- 
cember, 1866, the very day of the 
feast of the Immaculate Conception, 
In choosing this festival to take the 
mother from the miseries of the world, 
she who bad said to the child, " 1 am . 
the Immaculate Conception," seems 1 



• Mrr. !.aureDce died it the V*tic»o Couocil 
iu lUc wiaUi of tSC^-To- 



n6 



Our Lady of .LourtUs, 



to have intended to temper the bitter- 
ness of the loss to the heart of her 
survivors, and to show them as a 
certain pledge of hope and of a happy 
resurrection the sign of her radiant 
appearance. 

While thousands go to the Grotto 
to contribute to the splendid church, 
Bemadette's father has remained a 
poor miller, subsisting with difficulty 
by manual labor. Mary, the daugh- 
ter, who Was with Bemadette at the 
time of the first apparition, has mar- 
ried a good peasant, who has become 
a. miller and works with his father-in- 
law. The other companion, Jane 
Abbadie, is a servant at Bordeaux. 

VII. 

Bemadette is no longer at Lour- 
des. We have seen how she had, on 
many occasions, refused gifts freely 
offered, and repelled the good for- 
tune which was knocking at the door 
of her humble cottage. She was 
dreaming of other riches. " We shall 
know some fine day," the unbelievers 
had said at the outset, "what her 
pay is going to be." Bemadette had 
in fact chosen her pay, and put her 
hand on her reward. She has become 
a Sister of Charity. She has devoted 
herself to tend in the hospitals the 
poor and the sick collected by jiublic 
benevolence. 

After having seen with her own 
eyes the resplendent face of the thrice 
holy Mother of God, what could she 
do but become the compassionate 
servant of those of whom the Virgin's 
Son has said : " As long as you did 
it to one of these my least brt'tliicn, 
you did it to me." 

It is among the Sisters of Charity 
and Christian Instruction at Nevers 
that Bemadette has taken the veil. 
She is called Sister Marie-Bernard. 
We have lately seen her in her religi- 
ous habit at the mother-house of this 



congregation. Though she 
twenty-five, her face has k« 
character and the charm oi 
hood. In her presence, th< 
feels moved in its better pan 
indescribable religious sentime 
one leaves it embalmed in tl 
fume of this peaceful inn< 
One understands that the He 
gin has specially loved her. 
wise, there is nothing extraoi 
nothing which would make h 
spicuous, or would make one ' 
the important part she has I 
this communication from hea 
earth. Her simplicity has nc 
touched by the unexampled 
which has been taken in her 
concourse and enthusiasm 
multitude have no more troub 
soul than the turbid water o; 
rent would tamish the impei 
purity of a diamond. 

God visits her still, not r 
bright visions, but by the sacr 
of suffering. She is often : 
suffers cruelly; but she be; 
pains with a sweet and almo: 
ful patience. Sometimes the 
thought her dead. " I shall 
just yet," she would say, smili 

She never speaks, unless cue 
of the favors which she has ri 

She was the Blessed Virgin 
senger. Now that she has gi 
message, she has retired ir 
shade of religious life, wisl 
be unnoticed among a nun 
companions. 

It is a trouble to her wl 
world comes to seek her in th 
of her retreat, and when so 
cumstance obliges her to apj 
fore it again. She fears the | 
this life. She lives in the 1 
of the Lord, and is dead to I 
ities of the earth. And th 
which we have written, anc 
speaks so much of Bemadett 
Marie-Bemard will never reai 



The Riot of the Txvctfth. 



til 



THE RIOT OF THE TWELFTH. 



We are late in our comments on 
the riot of the izth of July last in 
Ais dtr, occasioned by the Orange 
(mxression in comraemoraiion of the 
Battle of the Uo>-nc; but as what 
ft have to say relates to general 
principles rather than to particular 
fttis, our remarks will have sull'cr- 
ed little from the delay, and will 
4and a chance of being more core- 
faHf rca<^l and duly weighed than 
if nude at an earlier day. The tra- 
gic event is not likely to be soon 
bfgottcn. 

The secular press of the city have, 
u ^r as we ha^e obser\'ed, with 
Kitcdy an exception, taken the 
pouDd that, however ill-ad\-iscd 
ODJ^ be the Orange procession, it 
»■ 2 right of the l")rangemen, and 
tbr ID>erty of the citizen was in- 
fingctl by the police order prohibit- 
ioj it. The order was also an act 
?f cowartlice, as dictated by fear of 
I Catholic mob; and hence lis revo- 
cittoo by the governor, and his ex- 
otllcncy's resolution to sustain the 
B^csty ol llic law, and to protect 
& Orange procession by all the 
fatoc, if necessary', at his command^ 
•u a Arm and manly interference in 
Uiialf of liberty and law. The sec- 
Unu press of city and country see 
a the police ordtr prohibiting the 
piOocsbion — dictated, it i^asiiuiucd, by 
ilic Catholic clergy — only a proof of 
(he hatred of the Catholic Church 
to liberty and republican in<;titu- 
tioAs^and in the action of the govern- 
or, and the bravery of the military 
ia iirii "' crowd, and killing 

and w. ■ .1 large number of citi- 

san, for the moat part innocent, except 



of idle curiosity, an a&surancc much 
needed, that Trotestants have as yet 
even in iliis country some rights 
which Catholics are bound and can 
be compelled to respect. 

The view taken by the sectariaaj 
press is ridiculous, as well as malt- i 
ciuus. The Catiiolic Church woj J 
the victitn of the riot, but her only . 
rusponiiibility for it was in warning 
her children against it, and bidding 
them to let the procession alone, and 
not to go near it. If she had been 
heeded, there would have been no 
riot, no disturbance. The question 
was not a Catholic question, and the 
church had nothing to gain by pr&: 
venting the procession, still less by a ^ 
riot to break it up. The pretence 
that the rights of Protestants are ia 1 
danger from Catholics in this coun7 
try, where the Protestants outnumber 
the Catholics as eight or ten to one, 
is too absurd to be even a passable' 
joke. Do the sectarian journals j 
count one Catholic more than &i 
match for eight or ten Protestants ? f 
Tliat were a greater compliment toj 
us than xvc deserve. We are afraid ' 
the sectarian leaders have bad con"! 
sciences, which make them cowards. 
Catholics cannot show the least sigu I 
of vitality, or make the slightest ' 
move for the practical possession of i 
the equal ri>;hls guaranteed them by | 
the constitution and laws, but ihcyi 
lake fright, tremble in their shoe^J 
and cry out : " Liberty is in danger rj 
the Pope is going to suppress Arac-3 
rican repubhcanism, strip Protcstar.Ui| 
of llielr rights, cut their throats, 
reduce tliem lo be " hewers of wood^ 
and drawers of water '* to— the Je- 



its 



The Riot of the Tweifth, 



suits. They are dreadfully alarmed, 
or affect to be, and create a panic 
throughout the whole country. But, 
dear frightened souls, there is no oc- 
casion for your alarm, unless you 
suppose you cannot be free if every- 
body else is not enslaved. Even if 
we were the majority of the Ameri- 
can people, as we are not, nor likely 
to be to-day, to-morrow, or the day 
after, you would be in no danger, 
for we understand liberty as well as 
you do, appreciate it more highly, 
teve it better, and have made greater 
sacrifices for it than you can imagine. 
Not a few of us have fled hither 
from the tyranny and oppression of 
Protestant governments, expatriated 
ourselves for the sake of liberty, and 
do you believe us such fools as to 
destroy it the moment we have found 
it? 

This talk about the hostility of the 
church to liberty and American re- 
publicanism, when not malicious, is 
sheer nonsense. The acts Protestants 
allege to prove that the church is 
hostile to liberty, prove the contrary ; 
for they were acts done against ty- 
rants and despots in defence of liber- 
ty, both civil and religious. What 
were her long struggles against the 
Franconian and Suabian emperors, 
but struggles on her part for the 
freedom of religion, the basis and 
principle of all true liberty ? Why 
did the popes deny to kings and 
emperors in the middle ages the 
right of investiture by the cross and 
ring, but because to have conceded 
it would have enslaved the church 
to Casar, and destroyed the inde- 
pendence of religion and the free- 
dom of conscience ? Know you not 
that it was under the fostering care and 
protection of the church that grew 
up the freedom and independence of 
all modem nations ? What nation, 
-state, or people has she ever depriv- 
ed of independence or liberty ? If 



she has asserted the rights of 
eigns, and condemned seditio 
bulence, conspiracies, insum 
rebellions, on the part of the ] 
she has been equally prom] 
determined in asserting the 
and franchises of subjects, : 
censuring, excommunicating, 
even deposing, when professin 
Catholic, the tyrant who de 
and oppressed them. Tlie 
principles of justice and equa 
which American republican 
founded were taught by hood 
ars in their monasteries, an 
claimed from the Papal throi 
before the landing at Plymo 
the Pilgrims from the Mayflo\ 
the settlement of English color 
the banks of the James. D< 
friends, read and try to under 
litde of history, and dismiss yc 
fears, or, if fear you must, fear 
salvation of your own souls 
ten 

TTie fact is, we are a little 
tient when we hear Protesta 
pressing in grave tones and 
serious face their apprehensio: 
the spread of Catholicity will : 
the destruction of American 
Considering what Protestant 
and by what means it was intr< 
and has been sustained, it 
much as if Satan should exp: 
nous apprehensions that the 
of the Gospel may tend to i 
stiiiction of Christian piety am 
lity. We find among Protestan 
and not a few, who, when the; 
of liberty, mean liberty for a 
for Catholics as well as for r 
tholics; but your true-blue 1 
ant, who is imbued with the i 
and genuine spirit of Protest 
would seem unable to underst 
liberty anything but his right 
em, or by religious liberty ai 
but his right to reject the j 
abuse the Pope, calumniate a 



Tiu Riot of tki Twelfth. 



119 



fcipal Che cimrch, and exlcrminate or 

iciubvr dthoUcs. Who has not 

heini )>f Tybum, and who went 

Aor — of the infamous penal laws 

igunst Catholics of Kngland and 

trtUnil, 10 say nothing of other 

CDHOtries? And were not these 

l«iDe [>enal laws enacted and enforc- 

in the colony of Virginia, and 

It not a capital offence in Mas- 

Ichttseits for a priest to set his foot 

hin the colony, or for an inhabi* 

to harbor or pvc him even a 

al of victuals ? Did not Mas&a- 

\ fit out and send from Boston 

ed body of raen, who shot 

Father Rasle, a missionary to 

ndgewock I ndians, at the head 

' hk congregation as they came 

hhfrom Mass, and massacred them? 

not in American Provincial 

ngress • ■ ■ among their 

ive chai i:,t (ieorge III. 

! hfX that he had granted freedom 

[worship to Catholics in the neigh- 

■vi£ province of Canada ? Was 

I Guy Fawkes* Day celebrated in 

with the usual anti-popcry 

itions down to the epoch 

Revolution, until protested 

; by some French officers, who 

ue with the army from France to 

lid tts in gaining our national inde- 

ice? Yet Proteslanls do not 

-J call Piolestanlisni the friend, 

tod Catholicity the enemy* of lib- 

my! 

Protestants have very short memo- 
ry -' they have forgolien these 
or else they suppose that 
i (ve no memories at all if 
'ic that we can permit 
10 claim, unchallenged, to be 
ilwiiys (o have been the party 
l^erty. It is not, however, the 
delusion of Proteslanls, 
i>nly nf fl piece wiih ihcir de- 
ft' ' ilisra is Christi- 
na 1 by the Holy 
bat let this pass. We 



yield to no one in our devotion to 
liberty or in our readiness to defend 
the rights of the citizen. Wc have 
no sympathy with the rioters of the 
Twelfth of July and not one word to 
offer in their defence. They broke 
both the law of the church and the 
law of the land, sinned against God, 
and committed a crime against tlve 
state. But we venture to deny that 
the police order forbidding the Orange 
procession infringed the liberty of 
any citizen Or deprived the Orange- 
men of any right ihey had or could 
have on American soil. No men or 
class of men have the right, in the 
performance of no civil or religious 
duty, but fur their Own pleasure or 
gratiiication of their own passions, to 
do any act or make any display iq ■ 
the juilgment of the police certaiaj 
or very likely to provoke a riot oi;.! 
breach of the peace. This is commoaf 
sense, and^ ue presume, common 
law. 

The Orangemen were required ly \ 
no duty, civil or religious, to celebrate | 
the battle of the Boyuc by a public 
procession in the streets of our city, | 
nor were ihcy called lo do it by any 1 
sentiment of patriotism — not of Irish, j 
patriotism, for tlie batUe of the Boyno 
resulted in the subjugation, not the lib- 
eralion, of Ireland — not American pa- 
triotism, for the event was I'uteign to ' 
American nationality. No foreign pa- 1 
triotism has any right on American j 
soil. The e%-ent commemorated is ] 
wholly foreign to our patriotism. It j 
occurred in a foreign country before 
our nationality was born, and has no 
relation whatever to any .Vnierican 
sentiment No procession not in honor 
of religion or some religious event, 
and wholly disconnected with Ameri- 
can interests or sentiments, has any 
right on American soil, and can only 
take place by courtesy or suifernnce, . 
indifference or connivance. The pro- 
hibition of the Orange procession bjr 



I90 



The Riot of ifw Twelfth, 



the police would have deprived the 

Orangemen of no right which ihcy had 

I or could pretend to have in this coun- 

'try; and if the procession was de- 

I cigned or even likelj' to irritate a por- 

I lion of our citizens, and lo provoke 

' a riot, it was not only the right but 

the duty Kii the police, as conservators 

of the peace, to prohibit it, and as far 

as possible to prevent it. 

But the right and the duty of the 
police do not stop here. There is 
another side to the question. Every 
peaceable citizen has the right to walk 
the streets without being insulted or 
having hi* feelings outraged. Proces- 
sions, banners, songs, tunes offensive, 
and really intended to be offensive, 
to any portion of the community, 
and in commemoration of no Ameri- 
Ican event, in satisfaction of no Ameri- 
can sentiment, or in the performance 
of no civil, military, or religious duty 
incumlK'Ht on American citizens, are 
never allowable, for the insult and 
outrage offered to the feelings and 
sentiments, no matter of what class of 
the population, is purely wanton, 
ntalicicuus, and wholly unjustifiable. 
Of this sort is manifestly the insult 
and outrage offered by Orange pro- 
cessions, banners, songs, and tunes to 
atl of our Irish fellow-citizens not of 
the Orange party ; and these fellow- 
citizens of Irish birth or extraction, 
though they have no right to take 
the law into their own hands, have 
undoubtedly the right, on American 
Koil. to be protectetl by the American 
authorities from iiisult and outrage 
to their feelings and seniimenLs, jmt 
as much as j>ersons have the right to 
he protected from indecent sights in 
the public streets, or the display of 
obscene pictures and images in tlic 
j»hop-window». 

But these Orangemen — very few, if 
iny, of whom, we arc told, arc 
^American citizens — outrage American 
as well as Irish manhood. Their 



cdebrations here are~ 
every true American, for tti 
honor of principles and dee 
rent to every American he 
them to bring thdr old 
hither from a foreign land \ 
reprehensible, even if theiil 
were not utterly disgraceful 
but they become a gross outr 
the real character of their qu 
their loyal countr>'men is cc 
The deeds of the party in Ire 
represent arc such as are ca 
by every distinctive Amend 
pie, and a more infamous 
would be ditHcult to find 
country on earth. They 
the |>any that in Ireland fou 
foreign invader and a chief 
against their own country, 
at once traitors to their 
nation. Tlicy represent t 
that enacted the intanious on 
izing {>enal laws which tlepi 
loyal Irbh — \vho in the batt 
Bo)-ne fought for and at 1 
mand of their rightful kinj 
rebels, traitors, foreign inva 
enemies — of every vestige of 
religious liberty, even ma] 
crime for a Catlier to teacl 
child letters, and doomed 
Mrendants, till within our own 
to the most cruel, heartless, j 
less oppression ever endure 
people in the world; tlicyi 
the party that, after the Pr« 
and Jacobin movement of i 
which some Catholics had 
vcigled by the promise of 
for their religion, and left t 
fighting and to bear almost ! 
])cnalty uf defeat, were the 
of the savage butcheries infl 
the Orange yeomanry on t 
olic jwasantry, even on th 
had taken no |}art in the mi 
and were innocent of all ofl 
ccpt that of sighing to be < 
from bondage, and treated 



The Riei of the Twei/th, 



131 



lin Go<l'« image, not as wild 
wham it is a merit to hunt out 
Ootdown wherever ihcy can be 
They commemorale in their 
MBS, their banners, their songs 
IKS, the triumph of treachery, 
K, bigotry, persecution, oppres- 
Rinler, rapine, and wholesale 
unsurpassed in the history 
iost barbarous and heathen- 
was there a more cruel and 
party, one redeemed by 
;rmes or blackened by more 
cs, or more deser\'ing 
if mankind, than that 
these Orangemen represent 
:ght to honor. Is it no insult 
-bom Americans for them 
here and flaunt in our faces 
incrs stained with the blood 
nocent and the good, Immd- 
the widow's curse, and wet 
> orphan's (cars — symbols of 
wronj;. oppression, and reli- 
h tolerance ami fersccution ? 
re, in free America, they dare 
So boast in public of their 
and glory in their infamy ? 
we Americans profess to ab- 
lecution, tyranny, and opprcs- 
Do we not, as a sovereign 
procJaim to the world that 
r opened an asylum to the 
d. the oppressed, the down- 
of every land and of every 
Where, then, is our man- 
rtien we allow the tyrant, the 
Dr. the i>erwcutor» to come 
d insult and outrage his vie- 
the very asylum we profess 
opened to them ? What 
'imnll to all that is noble and 
can be offered Americans 
i be e^en afked to protect 
ho will not respect even the 
r asylum ? 

the press has taken only 
Sdetl view in calling the pro- 
of the Orange procession a 



violation of freedom and a cowardly 
yielding to Irish or Catholic dicta- 
tion. It was no such thing. The 
Orangemen had no right on their 
side, and were entitled to no protec- 
tion. Liberty was on the other side 
and its vindication and the right 
asylum required us as Americans to 
protect the victims of the Orange 
p.-irty who had sought refuge wit 
us from Orange insult and outrage' 
on our own soil. HLs excellency 
the governor of the state also took 
only a hasty and a very incorrca 
view of the cose in revoking ihe very- 
proper order of the police. We are 
as far as he can be from yielding to 
the dictation of the mob. When a 
mob has collected, it must be ad- 
mitted to no parley, and the only 
answer to be given to its demands 
the reading of the riot act, and 
whiff of grape-shot or a shower of 
niusket-balls. But no threats of vio- 
lence should ever deter authority 
from doing what is right, and, in this 
case, right was not on the side of the 
Orangemen. Authority must l>c jusl 
as well as fiim. The threats of vio- 
lence were wrong, but llicy did not 
put the Orangemen in the right. Au- 
thority w.is bound to protect the 
Orangemen from actuil violence, but 
it was not 1>ound to protect them in 
the performance of acts which they 
had no moral or legal right to per* 
form, and which it was foreseen, if 
permitted, wouki lead to violence. 
One wrong is not rc*lresse<l by per- 
mittmg another thai must provoke it. 
His excellency's revocation of the 
order of the police prohibiting the 
Orange procession, and promise to 
protect the procession by all the 
force at his command, cannot be de- 
fended on the ground that the party 
opposed threatened violence in case 
the procession look place, unless it 
be assumed that the Orangemen had 
a perfect moral or legal right to 



%2i 



Tk€ Riot ef the 'Twei/th, 



march in processioii through our 
streets in (heir regalia, and with their 
insulting banners flying and bands 
playing offensive marches. But they 
had no such right, as we have seen, 
and (he party making the threats, 
however wrong the threats were, had 
the right to be protected from the 
insult and outrage otTere<:l to their 
feehngs by such a display. The vin- 
dication of liberty did not require 
the procession to take place, for 
liberty is not infringed where no right 
is violated or abridged ; and the as- 
sertion of the majesty of the law 
never re^^uircs protection of a wrong 
because they who would Iw aggrieved 
by it have threatened, if permitted, 
they will attempt by violence to right 
themselves. Neither American liber- 
ty nor I.1W required the Orange pro- 
cession to be permitted, and if both 
liberty and law required a mob, 
when collected, to Ik dispersefl and 
the violence suppressed, they both 
also required the protection of Ame- 
rican citizens from public insult and 
outrage. Uis excellency forgot the 
duly of protecting American citizens 
from wrong, and thought only of 
protecting a foreign and wholly un- 
American p.irty in committing it. 

Yet we have no doubt that the 
mistaken conduct of the governor — 
an able man. a good lawyer, and for 
the most part a worthy chief magis- 
trate of the state — was chiefly 
prompted by the clamor against Ca- 
tholics, and the charge brought 
against his jwrty by its opponents of 
acting under the dictation of Catho- 
lics, who, of course, it is assumed, 
act always under the dictation of 
their clerg)', and was intended to 
refute t!ic charge by showing his 
readiness to protect even Protestant 
Orangemen, and shoot down their 
hereditary enemies, though Catholics. 
"The charge, we know, was made 
against the party now in power in 



this state ; but his txct 
not have allowed it to D 
It is no doubt true that, h 
rotes of citizens who hap| 
Catholics, he would never I 
governor of the state, and 
would be, at least fur the ) 
a hopeless minority ; but i 
allow that Catholics have 
upon the fact, or asked an) 
their right as simple Arae 
zens, and we know that t 
obtained less than their etp 
even in this city, where 
probably count not much 
one-half of the population, 
charge is a mere parly trie 
ed, through the sectarian 
against Catholicity, to thro 
ty now in out of power, 
vernor seems to us to h; 
into the trap his political 
set for him, and has not 
damaged the nolirical prosj 
of himself and of his party 

The clamor against the 
account of its Catholic le: 
supporters means only tha 
are anxious to become the 
party out of power in I 
would as willingly receive 
of Catholic citizens as dot 
ty in power, and when in 
did, we behove, more for 
than the party now in p 
ever yet done, though it, 
promised less. Catholics h 
had any reason for givmg t 
to the Democratic party b 
doing so, they followed, v 
tcrestc«lly, their honest poli 
victions. 

The pretence of Protes 
Catholics In or out of office 
cally under the dictation 
clergy, and in reference to 
interests as such, is too D 
false to mislead anybody 
prominent i>olitician*<, in c 
office, who happen to be 



The Riot of the Twcifth. 



»3 



n the last men in the world lo 
felCQ 10 Oic dicution of the clergy 
or to act in ol>edience to the orders 
of ibcir church, awl ihey lake in- 
fioite pains to prove that their re- 
Bgwa hxs nothing to do with their 
pofitics, in onler, wc suppose, to es- 
eipe the suspicion of being influenced 
'% their political conduct by regard 
fcr Catholic inlcresis. nieir parly 
tfanding i$ more to ihem than their 
Cttholic standing, and they consult 
TUtty the wishes or interests of their 
thurrh. and usually only the wishes 
ntcrests of their party and its 

idjii. All the offices in the slate 

[ nation might be filled by Catho- 
, the constituencies remaining un* 

Bftged, without any more advan- 
~4^e accruing to the church tlian if 
the)* were all filled by Protestante. 
Cii)ioUc$ and Protestants alike, when 
n office, consult their constituencies, 
and act in the way and manner they 
jt»dge most likely to secure votes to 
tkenudx'cs or their party. 

Tbe fact i?, Catholicity has never 
flaced any man in city, state, or 
Ution in office, and never yet has 
lay man in our country been elected 
10 office because he is Catholic. The 
Oftholics who are in office under the 
Maicspali state, or federal govern- 
ment, in congress, in the state 
toute, or the assembly, are there 
lot because they are Catholics, but 
because ihey arc Democrats or Re- 
psMicans, or because they arc of Irish, 
Gcnnan, or some other foreign origin. 
Hid have or arc supposed to have 
ttSucnce in securing the so-callcii 
" Irish vote," the " German vote," 
or the " foreign vote " — distinctions 
•hich should have no place in Ame- 
rican politics — not because they are 
r in*! supposed to be dcvot- 

f ;l>olic interests. There is 

«n " Inah vole," a " German vote," a 
"Swrign vote," but no "Catholic 
?o(c" and, the constituencies remain- 



ing the same, Catholic interests would 
be just as safe in the hands of Ame- 
rican Protestants as in the hands of 
Catholics elected to office, not for 
their Catholicity, but for their real 
or supposed influence with our natur- 
alized fellow -citizens; and perhaps 
safer, because Protestanis would be 
less likely to be suspected of acting 
under Catholic influence, and there- 
fore could -act more indejiendently. 

It is, we think, a mistake on the 
part of our politicians who are Catho- 
lics, whether in or out of office, to bcj 
so anxious not to be susjtccted of j 
acting under Catholic influence aadl 
in view of Catholic interests, Thej 
church asks only what is just, only to 
be protected in the possession of the 
equal rights before the stale, guaran-, 
teed to her by the constitution of the ' 
state, and which are not always re- 
spected by the popular sentiment of 
the country. The care which politi- 
cians take to show themselves inde- 
pendent in their political action, if 
Catholics, gains tlicni no credit, and i 
a frank, open, straightforward, and! 
manly course would gain much hiore] 
respect for themselves and for theif { 
religion. Indeed, their sensitiveness] 
and overcaution on (his point tend 
to excite the very suspit-ion ihey 
would guard ajijainst, or the suspicion 
that their conduct is di|»lomatic, and 
that they have some ulterior purpose! 
in ^eser^■e which they artfully and] 
adroitly conceal. The chunih is 
supposed by Protestants to be the | 
very embodiment of craftiness and' 
dissimulation, always and everywhere 
intriguing lo get the control of the 
secular power, and to wield it in her 
own interest regardless of all rights 
and interests of the citizen who hap- 
pens not to be Catholic. Hence, 
every Catholic politician is suspected 
beforehand of craft, intrigue, of crookr j 
ed and underhand ways, lacking 
frankness, openness, and straightfbr- 



134 



The Riot of the Twelfth, 



ward honesty. The only way to 
repel this false and unjust suspicion 
is for such Catholics as are politicians 
to show in an open and manly man- 
ner that neither they nor their church 
have any sinister purpose, and that 
in being devoted to her interests and 
acting under influence as good Catho- 
lics, they have nothing to conceal, 
and no end^ to gain for her incom- 
patible with their plain duty as Ame- 
rican citizens, or which they fear or 
hesitate to avow in the face of all men. 
The best way to quell a wild beast is 
to look him steadily in the eye, and 
show that you do not fear him. 

But to return to the question more 
immediately before us. If the press 
and the executive had looked at the 
subject from the point of view of 
common sense, as a simpl? question 
of right and wrong, without prejudice 
against Catholics or in favor of Pro- 
testants, and without any wish to 
charge or acquit any party of being 
jnder Catholic influence, they could 
not, it seems to us, have failed to see 
that liberty was violated in permit- 
ting, not in prohibiting, the Orange 
procession. Party or sectarian pre- 
judices obscured the judgment, and 
many lives of innocent persons were 
lost in consequence. 

It is contended by some that if 
a procession of Catholic Irish in 
honor of St. Patrick is allowed, the 
Orange procession of the Protestant 
Irish should also be allowed ; either 
permit both, or prohibit both. The 
celebration of St. Patrick's Day as 
a festival of the Catholic Church, 
which it is, even by a public proces- 
sion through our streets, if peaceable 
and orderly, is a right guaranteed in 
the freedom of the Catholic religion 
under our constitution and laws, and 
so far differs totally from the Orange 
procession. As a purely Irish na- 
tional festival, it can be celebrated 
here only by courtesy, as is St. 



George^ Day by the EngUs 
Nicholas's Day by the Dutch, 
Andrew's Day by the Scotch; 
foreign nationality has any n| 
American soil; otherwise, Ana 
nationality would not be indepc 
and supreme on American ter 
No foreign national festival 
commemoration or honor of • 
and interests or sentiments fore 
American nationality and in 
and sentiments, can be publiclj 
brated here except by indifie 
courtesy, sufferance, connivanc 
tional comity, or international t 
l^is rule, however, does not 
to religious festivals and celebn 
whether Catholic or Protestan 
cause in the eye of the state a 
gion is catholic, and not nai 
and, therefore, never a foreigi 
any nation. Protestants c 
claim Orange celebrations as a 
though the Orangemen are all 
Protestants, because the event 
brated is a foreign political, not 
gious event; yet they have the 
to institute and celebrate festi\ 
honor of Martin Luther, John 
vin, John Knox, and other Prot 
reformers ; for these being the f 
ers of their religion are as suci 
foreigners. Catholics may alsc 
brate here any of the festivals < 
church in the way and manm 
prescribes, because they are rel 
festivals, and the right to ccli 
them is included in the frced< 
conscience ; so may they celebrat 
licly the birthday of the Holy F 
his return to Rome from his e: 
Gaeta and Portici, the complet 
the twenty-fifth year of his p 
cate, or his liberation, when eff 
from his present imprisonment 
the recovery for the Holy See < 
possessions of which she has bee 
rilegiously despoiled — because, 
chief of their religion, he is nt 
eigner in America. 



The Riot of the Ttw/ffh. 



! celehration, as 
By the cclchra- 
Ctrnian conquest and 
n of France, our ancient 
by suffcnmcc, not by right, 
nn organizations, niarclm 
ttcnnarches, parades and 
s in honor of victories not 
abRotulely illegal, and take 
f by the connivance — we 

the culpable connivance — 
rernroent, if Great Britain, 
rhom they are directed, 
tr3elf allow demonstnitions 
'n sojl against foreign sov- 
llie celebrations of Italian 
"x eflccleii by fraud, vio- 
iTiIegc, and robbery, the 
of the Holy See. and the 
ent of the Pope, perhaps 

regarded as the celebra- 
he successes of Protestant 

and thercrore, by a right 
the ciril freedom of Pmtes- 
td if peaceable and order- 
rohibitable by the police. 

be annoying to Catholics, 

Frutestantism itself; but 
I have, so far as the secu- 
itics go, the same right to 
tnnts that we have to be 

e alrejidy shown that It is 
to attempt to hold the 
ponsible for the riul. The 
y hive been nominal Ca- 
tt, if w, they were bad Ca- 
• ihey acted contrary to the 
of their church, and the 
I direction of their pastors, 
hurch cannot be held re- 
for acts done contrary to 
and in violation of her 
The riotera, themselves, 
owned that they were dis- 
tdr church, and defended 
I on the ground that the 
rata a national not a reli- 
stion, and, therefore, not 
jurisdiction of the clergy. 



Their defence was a lame one, and 
proved they were no true Catholics ; 
for the church, without assuming to 
decide the national, party, or political 
question, had full jurisdiction of the 
morality of their acts, and was quite 
competent to condemn the passions 
of anger and revenge that actuated 
them and their riotous proceetilings, 
as condemned by the law oi God. 

Hut there arc Catholics in this city 
of fifteen or twenty different nationali- 
ties, and yet the rioters were exclusive- 
ly of irisl\ origin, which is full proof 
that the riot was not CaiholicT but 
Irish. Had it been a Catholic riot, 
inspired by the church and for a 
Catholic object, for which the church 
could be held responsible, Catholics, 
irrespective of their nationality, would 
have been engaged in it, and it would 
not have Iwen confined to persons 
of one nationality alone. It was, as 
ever)*body knows, an Irish riot, oc- 
casioned by an old Irish feud be- 
tween two Irish panics, not an Ame- 
rican or a Catholic riot These 
hot-he.ided, disobedient Irishmen, 
even if Catholics, could i;ot commit 
the church to their disorderly and 
criminal proceedings. 

It is only fair to add that this hand- 
ful of Irish rioters could not .iny more 
commit the great body of our Irish 
fellow-citizens. According to Uic 
last census, there were 201,000 souls 
in this city who were born in Ireland, 
to .say nothing of their children and 
grandchildren bom here. There 
probably was not over five hundred, 
if so many, actively engaged in the 
riot; but double the number, say 
there were a thousand, and they are 
quite too few, even if they were of 
reputable character, which they were 
not, to commit so large a body as 
that of our Irish population, most of 
whom remained quietly engaged in 
their ordinary avocations. That the 
Irish fiirnibh their full quota of row- 



ta6 



Tkt Riot of the Twelfth. 



dies, roughs, and disorderly persons 
in our large towns, nobody denies ; 
but we must remember that there are 
plenty of the same class not of Irish 
origin, and there have been riots, and 
riots of a very grave character, in 
which the Irish had no hand, though 
of some of them they were the vic- 
tims. We have seen more than one 
American mob in which the chief 
actors were respectable, well-dressed 
Protestant American citizens. 

There are Irishmen who are 
wealthy and wear fine clothes that 
are no credit to their race or their 
religion, but the Catholic Irish as a 
body constitute a sober, quiet, peace- 
able, intelligent, religious, industrious, 
and thriving portion of our popula- 
tion, and no American-bom citizen 
has any right to say a word in dis- 
paragement of them. Indeed, we may 
say of the Catholic population of the 
dty generally, that it is that portion 
of the population that it can least 
afford to spare. Were the city to 
lose them, it would lose the very 
population that has contributed, and 
contributes, the most to its high moral 
and religious character, to its industry 
and wealth, and on which its pros- 
perity chiefly depends. With all 
their faults, and they are many, and 
many more in the eyes of the Catho- 
lic than of the Protestant, they are, 
as they should be, decidedly the best 
people going. Their vices are on 
the surface ; their virtues lie deeper, 



and are many, solid, and i 
We bless God that we are 
ted to call them brethren, ai 
we are with them in the unity 
and communion, though we i 
to be an American of the i 
generation, and it was our mis 
to be reared a Protestant. 

We think the conduct of the 
cratic party towards their C 
supporters is discreditable. An 
may feci itself honored that : 
the votes of the great Iwdy 
Catholic citizens, whetlier nati 
or native-bom citizens, and m 
will suffer in the end by insist 
justice to Catholics and to C 
interests. Any party, by fran) 
fearlessly sustaining the equal 
of Catholics with Protestant 
maintaining the freedom and in 
dence of religion, will not onl; 
truly their country, and resp< 
the demands of Amoican patr 
but they will best ensure its ov 
manent prosperity, power, ai 
fluence. They who scorn and b 
on the church may flourish 
time like the green bay tree, 
the end they will wither and d 
their places be sought, an 
found. It is well for every p 
party to remember that God 
and that they who scorn his c 
whom he hath purchased w: 
own blood, will in turn be scor 
the "King of kings, and L 
lords." 



The Ptac€ Vendvme and La Roquette. 



127 



THE PLACE VENDOME AND LA ROQUETTE. 

THE BEGINNING AND THE END Of THE COMMUNE. 



nioil u commrONDAirr. 



ould be difficult to find in the 
gf human revolutions a spec- 
t once as burlesque and icrri- 
ihAt j usi presented by the too 
led Commune of Paris. It 
with a long trail of blood at 
Tance of the Place Vcndonie, 
;nal)£cd its wretched end by 
ibic niiissacre of La Roquette. 
ss of these two bloody scenes, 
iill depict them with but few 
DL^, but with perfect exact- 
detail. At the risk of being 
lete, I shall only relate what 
In sjKoking of the confine- 
,t Mj^us and the massacres 
Koipiette, 1 shall barely add 
ncidents, the truth of which 
uchcd for by the companions 
cnicl captivity. Comments 
only weaken the impressive- 
Uiese (acts, I leave my rea- 
draw their own conclusions 
moral and social point of 
nly remarking that the first 
; relating to the events that 
red in the Place Vend6me 
E the btter half of March, was 
up a few days after they oc- 

tlgh the first ess.nys of the 
une were not marke<l by the 
Drs that drew upon its 
ation of all civilUcd 
I have thought it right not 
my first account. Perhaps 
observations may not appear 
atly severe, and others not 
justified by the events. I 
em to the public as they were 



noted down at the time. By conH^ 
paring the account written at the 
end of March wiili that of the end 
of May, an exact idea may be form- 
ed — I was going to say a faithful 
photograph may be had — of the re- 
voluiiunary condition of Paris at the 
beginnuig and ihe end of the Com- 
mune. We may thereby be enabled 
to judge of the development, during 
this short interval, of a brutal revolu- 
tion — the implacable enemy of all 
institutions, human and divine. 

In spite of the mingled emotions 
of horror and disgust I feel in recall- 
ing the men ami the decils I speak 
of, I may be permitted to manifest 
two feelings that prevail over 
others in the depths of my soul- 
redoubling of constant sjTnpnthy for 
the unhappy city of Paris, only ren- 
dered dearer by its misfortunes, and 
an ardent gratitude for the infmitc^j 
mercy of God, which presen-ed me, . 
contrary to all human expectation, 
from the bullets of a herd of assas- 
sins more shameless and lower than 
their predecessors of 1793. 

t* 

TliE PLACE TENI>6mE ON TlIE NICHT 
OF TlIE TWENTY-FIRST OF MARCH. 

I passed a great part of Tuesday, 
the twenty-first of March, in discuss- 
ing with some political friends the 
intolerable situation of things at Pa- 
ris, effected by the triumphal mob of 
Saturday, the eighteenth. We all 



I3S 



The Place Venddme and La Roquette, 



deplored and denounced that unjus- 
tifiable attempt at the national sov- 
ereignty which suddenly drew on us 
the danger of Prussian occupation 
of the city and the horrors of civil 
war — perhaps both of these scourges. 
Our indignation was profound. One 
blamed the government for having 
too readily abandoned Paris to the 
danger of insurrection; another main- 
tained that by establishing itself at 
Versailles with the national assembly, 
and defending the environs of Paris, 
it saved France. Another declaimed 
with bitterness, sometimes against 
the culpable indifference of the na- 
tional guards, which left everything 
to be done, and sometimes against 
the audacity and wickedness of the 
leaders of the mob that, without any 
pretext, was dragging France, all 
bleeding from the wounds incurred 
in war, into a bottomless abyss. We 
all felt there was something beneath 
all this : it was the shameful defec- 
tion of a part of the troops of the 
line which had rendered such cruel 
misfortunes possible. If the army 
were to countenance the insurrection, 
that would decide the fate of France 
— Gallia finis / 

It was easier to deplore the gravi- 
ty of the evil than to point out a 
practical means of remedying it. 
There was great diversity of opinion 
respecting the latter. Should recourse 
be had to material force or to a spirit 
of persuasion and conciliation ? The 
use of material force might inflame 
the rebellious party still more, and 
cover Paris with blood and ruins. 
The success of moral influence was 
hardly i>ossible with insurgents who 
began by assassinating Generals Le- 
comte and Clement Thomas, and de- 
liberately advocated a social revolu- 
tion. 

At three o'clock, a well-known in- 
habitant of the Place Vcnd6me» who 
had already distinguished himself by 



his courage in the insuirectic 
June, 1848, in which he was 
the first wounded, came to ann 
to me the formal intention < 
national guards of his battali 
retake the place from the insui 
come from the faubourgs. Heth 
that by a bold stroke they 
effect their object without a sht 
is sure that the fiiends of order 
ed by all means to avoid the 
ding of blood. Some momen 
ter, one of my friends, who beai 
of the great political names of Fi 
and is destined to render his cc 
eminent service, after the exam] 
his family, because he is at o 
man of superior intelligence an 
interestedness, very liberal and 
religious, announced to me th; 
national guards of his arrondissi 
were animated with the best 
tions, and comprehended the 11 
necessity of maintaining order i 
midst of the inextricable chaoi 
which we had fallen. He was 
self a powerful example of the 
lution and self-sacrifice inspire 
an enlightened and generous p: 
ism. A retired officer from the 
of his marriage, he had organic 
the beginning of the war, thi 
tional guards of that section c 
country in which his estate 
Later, when the army of Gi 
Chanzy made his evolution fror 
Loire toward the Sarthe, he res 
his military life, and took an \ 
part as captain of the staff in the < 
tions and struggles of the army 
west. The very day he returned t 
life, he took the cars to spend 
days at Paris, where several me 
of his family awaited him. I 
rived there on the eve of the 
teenth of March. Instead of r 
ing to the country, like so 
other Parisians, he enrolled his 
the following day as a simple 
ber of the national guards, re: 




Tki Place ViiidQtne and La Requeue, 



129 



beibre oo dAOgci or tatiguc , 
serve the cause oi order at 
he had been scnuig the 
f the tuttonal honor in his 
We should not despair of 
ire {>ras(>cr)ty of A countf)'' ia 
there is atiU .1 grc^t number 
i^ca of bimilar devotedticss. 
not thiAlc of returning tu the 
tiU the day after the nUyors 
lalies of i'oris, doubtless un- 
^ serving the iulcrcsls of 
^SQi much more than tlie 
gues themselves, thought they 
iing a concilialory move by 
to their wLihcs, inviting the 
eicctor^ to illegal elections. 
ici|S the batLdions of the na- 
whuUy devoted to the 
cr. 3iid thus dcilroying 
maicml and moral support 
TCtnaiiicd tu the better por- 
Farts, These mayors and 
whose iniprudeRLL' and want 
ght no human tongue could 
ledored they had saved 
ng, aad they had lost evcry- 
They osceniletL to the Capi- 
a triumph, and they had led 
Taipeian KocL They pre- 
to avoid the shedding of 
Mkd chose the &urc!>t means 
tug it in tornrnls. My friend 
vitta me that next to the hide- 
id of the battalions of the 
t had entered into a pact 
mob, nothing could be mute 
tbaa tlic inexplic'ible com- 
ciucred into by these may- 
dcputics. 'I'here was not a 
which I did not apply to 
le dilemma that I formerly 
to the government of the 
in \h^ j;)t^t-a-f<Hs of Castel- 
** Either dupe:! or accom- 



■ftkt. •cc4r4lac 10 the P*Ht 7^mr- 

__.!■_- , . .1-. ,u(|j of M»y, citued 
Ilic prrflct. tiiic of pn- 
>: uf il»« unlui'pr US' 

l^lt I KfiC-I U->l mlMJlKlltllK . 

Ot, XIV. .J 



At five o'clock, an old deputy who 
had been brutally excluded from the 
legiilative body in the favorable time 
of oHicial candidature, because he 
would not renounce his opinions of 
freedont and control, gave mc some 
interesting details respecting the pa* 
cihc manifestations that had just met 
with an unhoped-for success. A 
great number of citi/eus, of all ages 
and of every rank, had traversed the 
principal t^uarters unarmed, crying, 
" Kiv rOrdre.' ITtv /a Ftattcii 
Vivt VAssembi^e NatimaU /" "They 
everywhere meet with cordial sym- 
pathy. The battaUon that guarded 
the Bourse presented arms as they 
passed. The battalions of the fau- 
bourgs, lh.*t hchl the Place Ven- 
dome, endeavored in vain to prevent 
their passing, and the person who 
from the balcony of the staff wished 
to .address them in order to justify 
the insurrectionary movement, was 
interrupted by enthusiastic acclama- 
tions iti tavor of order and Uic na* 
tional assembly. 

The central committee at tlic Ho- j 
tel de Ville understood so well thej 
bearing of this manifestation that] 
they hastened to take energetic mea-l 
sure^ to remain masters of the Place 1 
Venddme, and not to allow in itj 
any new manifestations from thej 
friends of order. They sent ihithefJ 
several battalions. Travel was foi-| 
bidden there and in the neighl)onng.| 
streets ; the ajiproaches were rigOr- 1 
ously guarded : four pieces of camion, 
witli cannoneers ready to tire, wcrel 
set up in the Rue de la Paix and thej 
Hue Castiglione. 

At nine o'clock, the wife of one of 

'■ My dear tnoqucL, you hivo dcc<dc<l itien to 
*CI out Ktlh Villeneuveand llic pr«lcct l-vche- 
tkUci liir BuiilcKUi. We ire l>>o mui:.*! niitiei) 
la our KcatimcD'.n fi>r )'du nut lo fed ihc Impor* 
unca of your mlseton. The levguc of ih« r*>l 
publican unioD.in pIcBding Ui own cause. |'l«adn 
uurs. As to your 7,joa francn, 1 will enJc«»ori 
to tutnisb then, tb»yi;b U l« dUScult to procar^J 
remltUnoet." 



130 



The Place Veuddttu and La Requtttf, 



the employees of the minister of jus- 
tice came to beg me to carry to her 
brother the final consolations of reli- 
gion. I had seen him some days 
previous, and his end seemed near. 
It was with the greatest difficulty she 
had left, the Minist^reand the Place 
Vendome, and she feared it would be 
impossible for me to Ktum with her. 
But, unwilling her brother should die 
without the sacraments of the church, 
«he succeeded by her prayers and 
rtears in reaching me, and was will- 
ing to brave everything again in or- 
der to enable me to go to him. 

I assured her I would unite my 
efforts to hers, and, though conscious 
that the ecclesiastical costume had, 
since the downfall of the empire, 
been disagreeable to the Parisian re- 
volutionists, I added that we should 
succeed. I set out that very instant 
with one of the employees of the 
church. 

The Place and the Boulevard de la 
Madeleine were quiet and nearly 
deserted. The Rue Neuve-des-Ca- 
pucines was livelier. At the entrance 
of the Place Vendome, I found myself 
in presence of the national guards, 
who did not much resemble those be- 
longing to that quarter. They were 
very numerous. Their language was 
in the main rather noisy than threat- 
ening. The words " citizen " and 
" republic " were constantly on their 
lips. They allowed no one to stop, 
and showed themselves severely rigid 
towards the passers-by that wished to 
contemplate a spectacle so new in 
this pacific and wealthy quarter. 

I had not yet arrived at the angle 
of the Rue Neuve-des-Capucinesand 
the Place Vendome, when an out- 
post of the national guards, arms in 
hand, cried to me in somewhat rough 
tone : ** Citizen, no one is allowed to 
stop!" It was the very place and 
the time to stop to accomplish my 
holy mission. I explained briefly, 



but politely, the motive that 
to the Place V enddme : it was 
don of giving a dying person 
succor of religion ; and, to !< 
doubt of the truth of my sta 
I pointed out the lady, ba 
tears, at my side, and the ei 
of the Madeleine. " It is imj 
citizen," was uttered on al 
" the consigne has forbidden 
asked to see one of the office 
saw plainly I should be ob 
parley, but, in view of a duty s 
and urgent, ■! resolved to us 
means. A sergeant presenti 
self with that important am 
what ridiculous air which 
the conviction among the low< 
that public affairs could not 
tained without him. I es 
my wish. "You cannot p: 
mildly insisted. " The consigne 
bidden it, and to-day he is vei 
ous." I asked the reason of 
ceptional severity. " It is, y 
citizen, because the bourgeois! 
quarter have been making a 
to-day, and this must not be 
ed." 

This observation, one of tl 
characteristic I ever heard 
life, was made with a seri 
which would have dispellei 
at another time less distres 
my heart as a priest and a 
man. 

Convinced that nothing w. 
effected with this sergeant, m 
more self-sufficient than wi< 
asked to see the captain. V 
to me with a dry and lofty air 
mildness of my language ant 
less the sad motive also that 
to the Place Vendome spee< 
dified. After refusing me, an 
ing to renewed entreaties, he j 
permission to enter the Pla* 
dome, on condition that I 
remain all night. That was 
tent cf the right allowed hin 



Tifu Place V'eHMme ami La RcqiutU. 



Tirwl of consMntly hear- 
coHSisTK who, accwrding to 
hie avowa.1 of the sergeant, 
influenced by his dissatis* 
It Ihc racket that the bour- 
of the quarter had I)ecn mak- 
da>% I repliL'd that I could not 
c condition, that I was very 
t to be able to undc'r%>tand a 
hich aifecicd a dying person 
ily in alUiction, and that I 
rave the public to judge this 
;e there was no other autho- 
)peal to. 

word?, uttered with an ctno- 
: little restrained, diangcd 
! of the captain^ who vainly 
ilaustble pretexts to oppose 
; appeared, besides, to be 
preoccupied with the com- 
cxercised : others were con- 
3ming to Mm for orders, and 
idcnt troni his cmbarras^ied 
thai he had been more ac- 
I to receive than to give or- 
c ordered one of the nation- 
% to accompany me to the 
the minister of justice, not 
ight of mc for an instant, and 
me back to the entrance of 
Ncuvc-dcs-Capucincs. Not- 
ding the pacific character of 
ime, I was treated like one 
uspicious bourgeoisie of the 
who could not be pardoned 
g made a racket during the 
he insurgents had strength' 
position in the Place Vcn- 
lo prevent henceforth the 
lions of hont'st people, 
ipcarett resolved to allow it 
lereiJ only widi extreme cir- 
aoo, and by persons who re- 



peeded. accompanied by my 
Isman, wlio was armed. 
was poorly lighted. \\"c 
rty left behind us the group 
,al guanU that barricaded 
tlun he addressed me 



these words in a confused but very 
respectful tone : *' How sad all this is, 
monsieur I'abb^, ami how wrong not 
to arrange everything so every one 
can remain at home and quieUy at- 
tend to his business!" I evidently 
had with nie one of the too numer- 
ous workmen of Paris who love or- 
der and peace, but who dare not, or 
who do not know how to, resist the 
bold ringleaders who take them from 
their work and lead them astray. 'J"he 
fear of not speaking with sufl'icienc 
calmness and caution, while I was 
at once afflicted and exasperated, in- 
duced me to be reserved, I merely 
replied that I shared his sentiments, 
and that very ]>robably reason would 
prevail in the end. 

Every moment we met armed 
groups. As far as I could judge, 
from rapid glances over the Place, 
some were discussing with vivacity 
the events of the day; others, like 
mercenaries, without dignity and 
Without conscience, appeared to have 
no other care than to smoke and 
drink. The insurgents I met did not 
conceal the suprise that the presence 
ofaprie&tin their midst during the 
night caused ihcm. Those who 
thought I had been arrested, and was 
on ray way to the post of the ^/'.7/- 
major, where T had seen more than 
one spy or Prussian led during the 
siege, did not deprive themselves of 
the pleasure of aiming a joke or an 
insult at mc. Those who thought I 
was going to fulfil the duties of the 
holy ministry saluted me with respect. 
They were fur from resembling in 
their ec}ui])ments and deiiortnient 
the national guards of the quarter of 
St. Roch or tlie Madeleine, but when 
I compared them with those T found 
the next day in the same place, after 
the criminal and blomly fusillade 
upon citizens only guilty of calmly ex- 
pressing ihcir love of order and their 
dcvotetiness to the national assembly, 



»32 



7%e Piace Venddme and La Roquette. 



they vere comparatively disciplined 
and civilized. 

The ante-room of the minister of 
Justice's residence was guarded by 
insurgents, who allowed no one to 
enter or go out without particular 
scrutiny. I quickly made known to 
the leader the object of my mission. 
He listened to me with evident curi- 
osity and self-sufficiency, and, after 
affecting to consider, he motioned me 
to proceed. The court was occupied 
by another post that watched the 
entrance to the offices and h6tel 
of the minister, and the avenue that 
led through the gardens to the Rue 
de Luxembourg. No light was to 
be seen in the apartments. A pro- 
found silence reigned everywhere. 
No other employee remained at the 
minister's than the brother-in-law of 
the young man to whom I was carry- 
ing the last consolations of religion. 
He received them with more calm- 
ness and serenity than might have 
been expected, humanly speaking, of 
a young man ot twenty-two years of 
age, when one looks forward to a 
long life; but what a double grief 
for a family to find themselves at 
once in the presence of death and a 
band of insurgents ! 

A quarter of an hour after, I left 
the mirtistire with my national 
guard, who treated me with a respect 
more and more deferential. The 
lady who had gone to the Rue de 
la Ville-l'Evfique to find me was 
also struck with his excellent appear- 
ance, and commissioned me to give 
him a small sum of money. I beg- 
ged him, as delicately as possible, to 
accept it in aid of his family, who 
might be in need for want of employ- 
ment. He seemed very much touch- 
ed by this generous attention, and, 
as much to satisfy my curiosity as to 
prevent the difficulty of expressing 
his gratitude at a time when he was 
officially charged with guarding me, 



I concluded to address him ! 
questions. 

" From what quarter of Pari 
you ?" 

" I am from Bercy, monsieur I'i 
They sounded the rappel this eve 
I set out with my company. ' 
told us we were appointed to a 
important patriotic mission. / 
ed at the Place VendAme, we 
ordered to guani it rigorously." 

" But why so rigorous a \ 
in a quarter where there are 
very excellent people, who love i 
and peace above all things ?** 

" Ma foi, monsieur I'abb^ 
know nothing at all about it. 
cy is perfectly quiet. This qu 
is no less so. I do not unden 
it. They ordered us to come, 
we had to obey." 

" But did you not at Bercy 
confidence in M. Thiers as we 
we ? Do you prefer Assi, Flon 
Blanqui, and Felix Pyat to him i 

" Our employers have a] 
spoken very highly of him. 
good workmen call him a grea 
triot, and not a mere pretendei 
so many others. He promise 
liberty and work, and would cei 
ly have kept his word. So we 
committed a great piece of fo< 
ness in allowing him to go to 
sailles. God grant it may no 
for a long time !" 

*' But what becomes of your 
all this time? Do you think 
state of thing favorable to the 
rests of the workman ?" 

" Ah, monsieur I'abbfi, woik 
thing but little thought of now, 
yet the longer we delay resumi 
the more unfbrtunate we are. 1 
are among us so many sluggard; 
madcaps I . . ." 

My excellent guard was expla 
to me in his own way how the 
workmen, who wished in 1848 t 
lain the right to labor, had, sine 



Tfu Place VenMme and La Roqiu-tU. 



Paxv, washed to retain the 
loing nothing, when I found 
t the spot whciK-c wc had 
Immcdtalcly resuming his 
idol and patroni&ing air — 
," said he lo the patrol that 
the entrance to the I'lace 
c, " lei this citizen pass 1" 
promised the family of the 
; roan to visit htm again iu 
kTcc days. Corn|>licated as 
Ltion of Paris was, and in 
X that of the Place Ven- 
leated and occupied as a 
cen by stomi, in dcAonce of 
t And all decency, by the 
guards of the faubourgs 
t against the laws, 1 was 
I anticipating that I should 
the next day tn the same 
the midst of all the hor- 
ix-iJ war, to cony the conso- 
f religion to the honorable 
Its of Paris, smitten down 
asy provocation, without any 
ky the bullets of their fellow- 



II. 

CE TIOfljdME OW WEDNESDAY, 

Irewrv-SECOND of uakch. 

Ki day, the twenty-second 

I — liencefonh one of the sad- 

a in the history of Paris — I 

duty at the church of the 

lie — that is to say, appointed 

re, from six o'clock in the 

Ull ten at night, those per- 

> sooght the religious or 

e ministry of the priest, and 

rthcm all tlie satisfaction 
-. of possibility. 
fc c manifestations on 

had. produced a favorable 
;t, it was proposed to re- 
dorrng tlie day, as I Icarn- 
somc of my friends, known 
oteti to the cause of liberty 



and order, so strangely compromised. 
The aim they had in view and the 
means to which they had recourse 
were not only incontestably legal, 
but also in conformity with the inter- 
ests and dignity of all the inhabitants 
of Paris. Therefore, far from con- 
cealing tticm, they openly discussed 
them, hopinij they would be under- 
stood and appreciated as they deserv- 
ed to be. They desiretl to promote, 
by means of persuasion and concilia- 
tion, respect for order and the laws, 
disregarded by the bold ringleaders 
and a part of the national guards led 
astray. In the mitlst of ruins accu* 
muiated by an unfurlunate war, they 
wished to declare the assembly of the 
representatives of the country in ses- 
siun at Versailles to be the sole power 
charged to watch over our destinies, 
that we should rally around them 
and await their solution of the inex- 
tricable difficulties of the moment. 
The inhabitants of the Place Veo- 
d6me and the neighboring streets, 
wounded, and not without rea.son,at 
seeing their quarter invaded and oc- 
cupied by the national guards from 
other quarters, who prevented travel, 
lerritied their families, and paralyzed 
all commercial transactions, proposed 
lo claim their rights, as inhabitants of 
liie first arrondisscmcnt, to become 
tlie iiolice of their own quarter. They 
violated no right, they were not 
lacking any propriety, in begging the 
iiii/ens of the arrondissemcnts of 
Montmartrc anil Belleville, who were 
installed there without any notice, to 
leave it to their own care. Not only 
are those who live in the Place Vcn- 
dfime Parisians as well as the inhabi- 
tants of Belleville and Montmartre, 
but it was evident to those who knew 
Pans that four-hfihs of the national 
guards that held possession of the 
Place Vcnduinc on the twenty-first, 
and especially on the twenty-second 
of March, had never seen Paris three 



t34 



The Place Ven^me and La Roquette, 



yean previously. Paris is rather 
the theatre than the author of the 
revolutions that take place there. 

Revolutionists and rioters belong 
to all parts of France and Europe, and 
in disastrous times they hasten to 
Paris, hoping to catch fish in the 
troubled waters. 

I have studied all the large cities 
of Europe from a political and social 
point of view. For reasons too extend- 
ed to be enumerated here, not one 
is like Paris, the rendezvous of all 
suspicious and corrupt characters — of 
the unfortunate who are at variance 
with the laws of their own country, 
and of men of no class who are ready 
to become revolutionary agents — and 
these are the worst of all. After the 
siege it had endured, the state of 
agitation and prostration resulting 
from so great a struggle, so much 
suffering, and so many deceprions, 
could not fail to attract the leading 
charlatans and rogues of all parts of 
Europe. It is not to the honor of 
the popular class at Paris, the most 
frivolous and the most credulous in 
the world, that these new-comers 
met with a success beyond their ex- 
pectations, for they became in a^ mo- 
ment our masters. Thanks to this 
cosmopolitan invasion, and also to 
the departure of too large a number 
of genuine Parisians who feared the 
Prussian bombardment less than the 
mob of international agents, Paris, 
the brilliant centre of elegance, art, 
and of intellect, as well as a finan- 
cial and political centre, became, 
according to the expressive compari- 
son of the Times, an infernal caldron, 
which terrified all Europe, and in 
which mingled and seethed all human 
passions. 

The party that was playing its part 
at Paris was not Parisian or French, 
but exclusively social. It was a flock 
of birds of prey, a herd of roaming 
wild beasts, who had hastened from 



the four cardinal points to &11 o 
capital of France, which a five mi 
siege had weakened. The In' 
tional agents wished to foum 
Commune, and, to realize the 
of the Commune, which esp« 
clings to locality, home, the fii 
the steeple, the associations an 
ditions of domestic interest, thej 
moned to Paris all their boon 
panions of the Old and the New ^ 
and forced the real inhabitai 
Paris to take refuge in the pro 
or abroad. It was a revolting 
cism, pregnant with disaster. 

At half-past two, some pe 
filled with terror and indignatio 
tered the Madeleine to inform i 
a sinister catastrophe. The i 
of the pacific manifestation, wh 
proposed on the eve to traven 
principal streets of the city, c 
Vwe la R^publique / Vhe VO 
Vrve iAssembUe NationaU / ha 
come the victims of a horrible ai 
cade. After passing through thi 
de la Paix, a large number of re 
ed citizens of Paris, unarmed 
iniluenced only by the patriotic 
of securing, by the most inoffl 
means and for the benefit of all 
citizens, the triumph of equity 
and a spirit of conciliation, had 
met at the entrance of the 
Vendume by a murderous fuf 
from the insurgent national gi 
The reports of the number o 
killed and wounded varied, I 
must have been considerable. 

At the same time, I saw fro: 
outer colonnade of the Mad 
the shops hastily shut up and |: 
fleeing in disorder from the din 
of the Place Venddme. Ever 
expressed wrath and constem 
Some national guards of the < 
arrondissement hastened to 
around the church to watch ov 
public security. 

I made inquiries about the < 



Tki Place Vtnd^mc and T.a Roguftte. 



the woundrd, and was told 

c being carricti home, and 

belonged to the parish 

Jctnc, which includes the 

la Piix and the Mace Vcn- 

As I did not know the ad* 

' the victims, and knew from 

ticncc of ten ycare that Oie 

s or the p:ui&h had the Chns- 

>it of summoning ilie priest 

aid of the dying, I waited 

notion for them to have re- 

[o my mini&try. 

ur o'clock no one had come, 

ras ignorant of the name and 

of any of the wounded. At 

I four there was a report that 

the killed and wounded rc- 

00 the Place Vcnddme, and 

re were detained there some 

engaged in the pacific 

ati'in, among others, the 

f a young min from the Rue 

rt, whose skull had been 

by a ball, and whom the 

ts refused to deliver up. 

eiaiU were adtled of such a 

; character that I could 

credit ihcm. I ordered the 

lie to be closed — took with 

lat was necessary for the ad- 

iion of the sacraments, and 

way of the boulevards to- 

le Place VcndAmc, resolved, 

preceding night, to recede 

DO obstacle lu my reaching 

nw who might need religious 

Boulevard tie la Madeleine, 

y so lively and brilliant, was 

deserted. The inhabitants 

quiring in a low tone, and in 

bout the incidents of the 

drama that had just taken 

the neighborhood. Some 

only, who had joined the in- 

fotir days previously, were 

along with a careless and 

utis£cd air. If the?;c unhap* 

WCTc aware of the frightful 

iC then preoccupied all Parts, 



they only retained a glimmering of 
moral sense. .Mrcady unworthy to 
bear the name of a soldier, they would 
no longer merit to bear that of man. 
At the entrance of the RucNcuve- 
dcs-Capucines, which leads from the 
Boulevard de la Madeleine to the 
Place VeiidOme, I was stopped by »■ 
group of people, who from a distance 
were regarding with mingled senti- 
ments of curiosity and terror the pa- 
trols of the mob scattered along th^ 
street. "Do not go any fiirtheivl 
monsieur I'abb^," cried several pc 
sons to mc in trembling voices, morej 
charitable than brave. "If you gol 
among those WTCtchea, you arc losH 
We have seen them fire upon inoffen^ 
sive men who were bearing away the 
womidcd at the entrance of the Rue 
de la Pai.x." 1 m.ide no reply to 
what was dictated more by fear than 
reason, and c^me to the first patrol 
stationed before the Credit Foncier. 
All the houses of the Rue Ncuve-des- 
Capucines were closed, and this 
street, one of the liveliest of the. 
quarter, seemed like a tomb. The 
head patrol, a jolly young fellow, 
with a iacc as red as blood, advanced 
towards me, and, solemnly raising his 
sabre to attest his authority, which I 
had no intention of disputing, order- 
ed mc to stop. I explained to him, 
without concealing my sadness, the 
object of my mission : " I am going 
as a priest belonging to the parish of 
the Madeleine to see the wounded on 
the Place Vendirae." He immedi- 
ately moiioned with his sabre for rae 
to pass; this was his only reply. Was 
he aware of the effect of this sinister 
beginning of civil war upon the con- 
dition of Paris ? I doubt it — to parade 
and appear important seemed to be 
his principal care. The othtT nation- 
al guards, vigilant and with their hands 
on their loaded arms, resembled sen- 
tinels in face of ihe enemy, without ! 
their discipline and proper carriage. 



136 



Tke Place Venddme and La Roqaiette, 



The second patrol, stationed in the 
middle of the street, allowed me to 
pass without objection. It was com- 
posed, like the fii^, cX national guards 
of all ages, but not of all conditions : 
they were from the most uncivilized 
class of the faubourgs. Their accou- 
trements were not uniform or neat. 
Some appeared quite satisfied ; they 
were the youngest ; others had a less 
blustering manner j but all felt an in- 
stinctive joy to rule over the most 
brilliant part of Paris, and inspire the 
citizens with a lively terror. 

Before I came to the third patrol, 
placed at the opposite end of the 
street, I noticed on the pavement 
many stains of blood. It was in fact 
only a few steps distant that, only a 
short time before, the victims of the 
fusillade fell. I will not attempt to 
describe the anguish that filled my 
soul at the sight of this blood of my 
countrymen, shed by insurgents with- 
out country and without God. In 
the midst of my great distress I re- 
called the sublime cry of Monseigneur 
AfTre : " Let my blood be the last 
shed ! " I ardently prayed in my turn 
that the blood of these innocent and 
peaceful victims might be the last 
poured out, but it was to be feared 
that the revolutionary and social 
crisis, that weighed on Paris like a 
horrible nightmare, would only end, 
as it had commenced, by a terrible 
effusion of blood. 

There was no difference between 
this patrol and the preceding, except 
that it was more actively vigilant. 
The chief of the national guards that 
formed it, and who seemed surprised 
to behold me, having asked where I 
was going, and what I was going to 
do, sent two men to conduct me to 
the post that guarded the entrance 
to the Place Vendome. During the 
Biege of Paris, I one day passed along 
tfie formidable defences of the Point- 
du-Jour at Auteuil. The consigne 



there was of a difierent degr 
mildness and condescension froi 
at the entrance of the Place Vm* 
which the insurgents evidently i 
to make their headquarters, and 
they were entrenching thems 
The national guards that de£ 
the entrance were less blusterin 
more numerous and more de 
than those of the evening b 
They allowed me to pass w 
hindrance ; many of them must 
felt that where the dead and dyi 
to be found is the proper place 
minister of Jesus Christ A se 
was ordered to accompany me ' 
Minist^ de la Justice, where 
tended to go first. He posi 
neither the intelligence nor the [ 
ness of the national guard that e 
ed me the night before. He 
rather an animated machine ti 
man. Not a word, not a ge 
not a change in his features ! 
wondering what he was thinkii 
I ended by doubting if he thouf 
all. I should render him this j 
— that, from a mat^al point of 
he discharged his commission 
irreproachable exactitude. 

I experienced an undefinabl 
pression in the Place Vendome, 
duced by a twofold contrast, tl 
membrance of which will n( 
effaced to the latest moment c 
life. 

This Place, with which Louis 
adorned Paris, was first callec 
Place des Conqu^tes, to recal 
brilliant victories which had se 
to France the fine provinces i 
we have just lost a large part < 
ter most lamentable reverses, 
sumptuous edifices, built accordi 
Mansard's plans, which fonr 
contour, render it in an architei 
point of view the finest Plai 
Europe. Destined by Louis 
to bring together the royal li 
and imprimerie, the academic: 



Tkt Piacf Vfrnidtrtf and La RoquetU. 



■Acivi 
Kt in 



Ebc hAtel of foreign am- 
low inhabited by wealthy 
|t id some of 

Is ; situated 

ttie garden of the Tuilerics 
Boulevards des Capucines 
illaJiens; entered at its two 
tie* by the Rues dc Casligli- 
I de I.i f*aix» through winch 
tajthy mcrrlunts and elegant 
iders, It became on the twen- 
d of March the theatre of 
Ivtl war: it was covered 
id occupied by an arm- 
'bich prevailed the 
nifftcr faces ftom the worst 

of Pans. 

tational guards of Bency tliat 
Ken the night before were 
Df dvilijeation and distinction 
id wuh these. Some were 
>oy» than men. They ap- 
to be only sixteen or 8C\'en- 
irs oi age. As proud as they 
rpfTKcd to carry a gun, they 
igbt for an opportunity or a 
lo use it. Those who have 
d the revolutions of haris 
MLt anncd children are capa- 
itrocious luisdeeds. Sprung 

: lowest grades of society, 

of all moral sense, they care 

r what cause they have to 
or what enemy lo attack : 
ghcst ambition is to display 
idjcity and to fire off their 
Ai I am only rcbting the 

wJtnesKd myself, I shall not 
the 6eodi:>h part taken, ac- 
lo »otnr spcctaiopi, by a boy 
ostUade whtch had just shot 
k> great a number of pacific 
norablo citizctis. Many of 
irgents were in a state of 
tcment, proceeding less from 
3hlical and social opinions 
ttn a too copious absoqition 

and other liquors : this is on 
revolutionary.* storms anoth- 

gty of insurgents capable of 



137 



everything because they have lost all 
moral settsc. There was but bttle 
care and unifonnity about their ac- 
coutrements. Some had on only a 
part of the uniform of the national 
guards : others wore a kepi and a 
blouse. A great number of the k^pls 
were not numbered. Here and there 
were to be seen ."iome red stshes. 

In this namelcbs multitude raighl 
also be remarked men of fifty or 
sixty years, whose ferocious and de- 
graded faces excited the worst suspi- 
cions resjjecting their moral instincts 
and their previous relations with the 
legal authorities. 1 at once saw that 
many of them were foreiguere, parti- 
cularly Italians and Poles. What a 
contrast between such insurgents, 
hardly to l>e found in June, 1848, 10 
the lowest pans of I*aris, and the im- 
posing architec rural splendor of one 
of the finest squares in the world 1 
I could not express the effect of this 
mingling of poetic beauty and foul 
deformity upon me. 

Another contrast no less sad rent^ 
my heart. The side of the Place 
Vcndiime toward the Kue de la Paijr 
was sprinkled with blood ; now and 
then the wounded and dead were 
carried by ; and over these spots of 
human blood, by the side oi these 
unfortunate victims of civil war, 
great number of insurgents, perha 
the very ones who without any mo- 
tive or provocation had shot tbem 
down, were laughing, eating, drink' 
ing, and amusing themselves, as if 
they were celebrating ihc happiest 
event of their lives. 

In going to the Mtnist^re de la 
Justice, I had to pass through seve- 
ral groups of varied physiognomy. 
They were generally astonished to 
see the ecclesiastical garb among 
them. I acknowledge that, if I had 
not had a mission of sacerdotal obli- 
gation to accomplish, I should bard* 
ly have procured them this surprise. 



^ 



138 



The Piact Venddmg and La Roqttette, 



notwithstanding my natural love of 
observation. Some — a small number, 
however — received me with coarse 
insults and horrid laughter. A few 
steps from the Minist^re de la Jus- 
tice, a national guardsman, who was 
talking and gesticulating with un- 
common vivacity, stopped to address 
me, while shaking his fist at me, 
this singular apostrophe: "When 
shall we be delivered from those 
wretches ?" I will not relate other 
pleasantries of this nature of which 
I was (he butt : this one is only too 
much. Their authors had doubtless 
learned to know and judge the clergy 
by the violent diatribes of citizens 
Blanqui and F61ix Pyat 

Others, on the contrary, saluted 
me with a respect and cordiality - 
which I was careful to return polite- 
ly. They were honest workmen who 
had doubtless had intercourse with 
their parish priests, or whose children 
attended the catechism classes or the 
schools of the religious congregations, 
and received a benefit which they 
understood how to appreciate. There 
were strange contrasts in this mix- 
ture. Not to forget a single charac- 
terisdc detail, I caught some obser- 
vations that denoted on the part of 
their authors serious regrets for the 
dreadful catastrophe which terrified 
the whole city. 

If, among the insurgent battalions 
chosen to fire on the inoffensive in- 
habitants of Paris, there were some 
to deplore the horrors of civil war, 
how many might not have been 
found in the other battalions I If 
the ringleaders could be separated 
from those whom they lead, and the 
deceivers from the deceived, the 
number of the latter would be con- 
siderable, and the former somewhat 
modified. One of the most serious 
faults of the workman of Paris is the 
incredible facility with which he en- 
ters into all the hollow schemes of 



the rogue and the charlata 
tempt him, and sacrifices t 
mad ambition and culpable i 
his peace, his property, his 
and his life. 

My guide, or rather my gu 
peared insensible to the ins 
well as to the salutations I r 
on the way. Arms in hand, 
impassible and solemn, it w 
now and then he cast toward 
inquisitorial glance, as if to 
his authority and my c 
ence. 

I made known the object 
mission to the leader of the 
the Minist^re de la Justice, 
a young and well-bred office 
listened to me with attention, 
plied, after saluting me twice 
politeness full of respect, tha 
at liberty to do all I wished. 

I found the sick person I hi 
the evening before in the h6te 
minister of justice, exhausted 
citement that was hastening 1 
He could see from his sick- 
that occurred on the Place, 
corner of the apartment his 
endowed with the higher C 
virtues, and an aged lady « 
did not know, but who was pi 
their mother, were weeping o 
public as well as their own 
woes. I had promised the si 
son the night before to vi: 
again in three or four days, I 
could not enter the Place Vi 
without indicating the precis 
I wished to go to, and coi 
have a better means of ascei 
where the victims of the fusillj 
been transported, I briefly ex 
the reason of my unexpected i 
gave him some religious enc 
ment, which was to be the 
learned that the dead and w 
removed from the Place ha 
carried to one of the neig 
houses occupied by the adn 



The Ph££ Vendumc and La Roquette. 



'39. 



the ambulance of the Credit 
I hurried thither. 

Minislbre de la justice was as 
desetted as on the preced- 
;ht. Four sentinels were posted 
n the court and garden ; a 
the door of the h6iel had the 
[uaidiog most conicienliously 
tnt excellency. 

Ding out, I sought mth a dls- 
ancc for my solemn guard, to 

anew his prisoner. Theofiicer 
received me a few moments 
informed me he had sent him 

bis post. From that moment 

go where I pleased. 

e CrWit Mobilicr I met two 
that were being carried to their 
s. I was lold that one was M. 
t, one of the most pious and 
wy young men of the parish, 
I been shot down by the side 
Ither, who, notwithstanding \\\9, 
fsible grief, had 1}ccn torn from 
If of bii only son and carried 
soncT to the stafT-uflicer of the 

After offering up a prayer 
»e two unfurtunatc victims, I 
d for the apartment to which 
unded had been carried. 

coRstcmalion and terror that 

among the inhabitants of 

tee Vcndfime may be im- 

from the siniiiler events that 
icurrcd before their eyes, and 
igers of all kinds with whicli 
■crc threatened. Stupor was 
d on the faces of the concicr- 

tlie CrWit Mobilier. These 
teoptc were hardly willing to 
en the door of their lodge, and 
cd something vague which was 
, Answer to my question. At 
ly sent with: me to the satU of 
unded a charming child of 
r ten years of age. He exam- 
th more curiosity than fear the 

features of the citizens of 
flirt re and Belleville who oc- 
vcsribulc. 



The number of the wounded in the 
ambulance was six. They were still 
on the litter on which they had been 
broughL Two infirmanans, who wore 
the red cross of the International so- 
ciety, were zealously attending to 
them: Sicauiiniire of somewhat free 
manners also manifested an equal de- 
sire to aid ihcm. Tiie insurgents that 
frequented the rooms behaved with 
l>ropricly ; they s{>oke in low tones, 
and instead of the care which they 
were not fitted to bestow, the most 
of them manifested a sympathy 
mingled with curiosity. Beyond 
this, their faces displayed no emo- 
tion; my presence did not astonish 
them ; they discreetly retired when 1 
approached the suficrers. No one 
appeared to me mortally wounded. 
Nevertheless, I administered religious 
aid to one of them at his own request, 
and confined myself to giving the 
rest n.s much encouragement as pos- 
sible, fur which they earnestly thanked 
me. Tlicy all belonged to the bour- 
geoisie. The last to arrive lived in 
the Kuc Meyerbeer, and did not ap- 
pear to be more than thirty years 
oUL He tolii me he was to have set 
out that ver>' evening to join his wife 
and children in the country, but 
wished before leaving to perform the 
part of a good citizen by joining in 
the manifestation. He liad been 
woundeil three times, but not danger- 
ously. 

At the entrance of the room a 
young man seixed with frightful con- 
vulsions had been laid down on the 
parquet. He was panly dres.sed as 
a soldier of the line, and partly as a 
national guardsman. He was doubt- 
less one of the loo numerous soldiers 
who had united with the insurgents, 
and been drawn into serving their sad 
cause. The fusillade from the ranks 
of his new colleagues, and the nu- 
merous victims they had just shot 
down, must have caused a violent fit 



140 



Tht Place Venddine and La RequetU, 



of remorse. He was not wounded, 
but only had a sudden nervous attack, 
that affected him in a manner pain- 
ful to behold. He did not appear to 
understand anything, and was suffer- 
ing from contractions and contor- 
stons of a truly frightful character. I 
approached him — tried to calm him 
with some kind words, and then re- 
commended him aloud to the care of 
thetwoinfirmariansof the Internation- 
al society. The national giiards who 
surrounded him appeared touched to 
see manifested for one of their number 
an interest equal to that I had just 
shown for the victims of devoted- 
ness to the cause of law and 
order. 

Before leaving the Place Venddme 
I wished to ascertain if any of the 
victims had been taken to the ambu- 
lance of M. Constant Say. This was 
one of the six ambulances I was ap- 
pointed to visit during the siege, to 
administer religious aid and awaken 
the moral sense of the soldiers who 
were sick or wounded. This ambu- 
lance was kept in perfect order. 
More than once, in observing the 
meals of the wounded, I envied them 
the healthful and abundant nourish- 
ment served up to them during the 
interminable months of December 
and January. They were treated as 
real members of the family, and 
were truly the spoiled children of the 
house. They were daily visited by 
one of the most celebrated physicians 
of Paris, who lavished on them the 
most inteUigent care, and by the 
minister of Jesus Christ, who no less 
kindly spoke to them of God, their 
sonls, their absent mothers, and of 
their temporal and eternal welfare. 
It could not be otherwise in a family 
whose extensive industrial establish- 
ment and inexhaustible charity are 
such a benefit to the laboring classes 
<£. Paris. I had the consolation of 
seeing all the soldiers who were taken 



to this ambulance leave i 
Christians and better French 

As to the rest, during th 
siege, the solicitude of the I 
for the sick and wounded 
was truly admirable, and tht 
I am bound in justice to ac 
the ambulance of* M. Constj 
may be equally given to the rt 
appointed to visit: the ami 
of M. Frottin, formerly mayc 
first arrondissement, in the '. 
Honor6; that of M. Jour 
member of the Institute, in t 
du Luxembotirg ; of Dr. Moif 
physician of the Hotel Dieu 
Rue Richepanse \ of Madam 
nin, of the Point du-Jour at i 
and, finally, the ambulance 
founded and directed at Gre 
some laboring women of arde 
and a devotedness that wor 
ders, and transferred after th 
bardment of Crenelle to the 
ficent h6tel of M. le Comt< 
d'Argenteau on the Rue de S 

I was also aware that there \ 
some wounded soldiers in K 
ambulance. The brutal invs 
the Place Vendome had pr 
me from visiting them the \.\ 
previous. To go tliere, I was 
to cross the entire Place, It 
more like a field of battle 
Place. Here were :ttacks o 
there .ware caissons full of s' 
further on were delegates of ) 
tral committee of the Hotel c 
who where transmitting ordt 
feverish haste, and everywhei 
the insurgents who had jus 
and who were ready to tak 
aim. 

I had no longer an armcc 
to accompany me. During n 
which I frankly acknowledge 
have seemed much shorter o 
nary occasions, I was again 
jcct of insult and sarcasms no 
seasoned with wit from some 



T'-ir Piace Vendome and La Roquettt. 



T41 



Dpachy from others, and 
: or iiulifilcrcnce (rom 
St pait. I had never seen 
tt a number of persons eating 
filing. Their appetite only 
^ after coroplde exhaustion 
kncana of gratifying it. It is 
Uf to the demoralized work* 
p abound in Paris, the word 
IJitic* the time for good eating. 
) better drinking, and no work 

It the railing that surrounds 

were squatting several na- 

ardsnicn. to whom a conti- 

alt out liquor. The oldest 

jlainly not eighteen. At my 

ne of them, who had 

a chorister in some 

iciively made a rcspect- 

A second, who made some 

IDS to dcUcate wit, pointed 

:h his sabre, uttering a laugh 

opid than malicious. A 

k1 this became more serious, 

or pretended to load, his 

Irhich he pointed at me. At 

■ time the caniiiiiHe cncour- 
n with atrocious words, that 
ate car would pardon me 
ing. I had hod for seven 
M many occasions to recom- 
ysoul to God. that I thought 
tune to do so once more. 
ele&s, not to take things too 
r, I recalled the amusing 
idc mc by an excellenl man, 
I neighborhood of St. Sulplce, 
t obliged, al'ter tlie three first 

■ bombanlmcnt on the left 
the Prussians, to seek refuge 
vicinity of the Madeleine, 
approved of his prudent de- 
le replied, *' In fact, I could 
sooably pass every night 
Dromcnding my soul to 

ved at my ambulance with- 
f barm but a momentary 
None of the victims of the 



fusillade had been brought here. I 
found my de.ir wounded ones in a 
fair way to be healetl, but vt-ry much 
depressed by what was passing , 
around them, and humihated espe 
cially by the shameful defection of 
part of the troops on the dejilorwJ 
able day of Saturday, the eigh-j 
teenth. 

My sacerdotal mission was endeil, j 
In returning across the Place Vcn- 
dOme, I was not the witness or the 
object of any occurrence that merits 
attention. Tlie dense line of insur- 
gents that guarded the entrance of . 
the Place from the Rue dc la Faixj 
opened for me to pass. The patrol, ^ 
who remembered having allowed me 
to enter, asked no questions in per- 
mitting mc to go out. I met a man 
in the Hue Neuve-dcs-Capucines 
who was covering a real pool of 
blooil witli s:ind. There was no 
change in the manner of the patrols : 
the street was uill like a tomb. Near- 
ly in front of the Credit Fonder, a 
shop-keeper of respectable appear- 
ance timidly opened one of the doors 
oi his shop, and asked permission to 
pass from the last patrol toward the 
boulevard, which was not more than 
fifty yards from me. He appeared 
so alarmed, and his face was so ex- 
trcniely pale, that the patrol, proud , 
of the fear he inspired, did not fail , 
to avail himself of so favorable an 
op'portunity of amusing himself at 
the others expense. He questioned 
him with an affected solemnity which 
would have excited my laughter in 
less tragical times, addressed hira a 
long and severe recommendation, and 
when the man turned, more dead 
than alive, toward the boulevard, 
the youngest of the band, who hid 
the malicious hilarity of a gamin 
under the gravity of a judge, took 
his gun, and pointing it low.ard the 
shop-keeper, who happily was not 
aware of such a salute, had the air 



142 



The Place VenMme and La Roquette, 



of saying : " If the rest of the bour- 
geoisie resemble this one, Paris is 
certainly ours." 

I was as much saddened at the 
dejected and disconcerted appear- 
ance of most of the inhabitants of 
this quarter, as I had been alarmed 
by the boldness and audacity dis- 
played on the Place Vendome by 
the workmen of the faubourgs, old 
criminals and revolutionists from all 
countries, who held possession of it. 
There was more stupor than indigna- 
tion among the former. They hard- 
ly ventured to the doors of their 
houses, they spoke in low tones for 
fear of being compromised. This 
unfortunate attitude of the lovers of 
order only encouraged the energy 
and boldness of the enemies of so- 
ciety. I comprehended for the first 
time how a handful of factionists 
had been able in 1793 to terrify and 
decimate the better part of the com- 
munity, who were ten times as nu- 
merous. 'ITie very day when the 
lovers of order will say to those of 
disorder, with the same energy and 
finnness as God to the waves of the 
sea, " Thou shalt go no further I" 
Paris will have no more to fear from 
anarchy and revolution, and France 
will no longer oscillate between the 
equally deplorable extremes of des- 
potism and license. 

If this simple and impartial ac- 
count, intended to cast a little light 
upon one of the saddest and most 
execrable episodes of the revolution 
of the eighteenth of March, could 
also have the effect of calling the 
more particular attention of the lov- 
ers of order and stability, of whatev- 
er nation and party, to the dark aims 
of the International league of dema- 



gogues who, under the mask of 
workingmen's associations, pruden- 
tial interests, and mutual protection, 
aim at the denial of God, the de- 
struction of family and country, of 
public capital and private sa\ings, of 
the domestic and political hierarchy 
— in a word, the destruction of aU 
those principles which are the foun- 
dation of society ; and also of tho- 
roughly convincing the better classes 
of Paris and all the larger cities kA 
France, that the promoters of disor- 
der and anarchy, though now re> 
cruiting from the lowest social 
grades of Europe, are only strong 
in consequence of their own inac- 
tion and regard for self; that such 
power is only derived from their own 
want of discipline and energy ; thit 
they would only have to enroll, or- 
ganize, and assert themselves to ut- 
terly destroy it — I shall have reaHi* 
ed one of my most ardent widui) 
and labored in my sphere of a^ioo 
for the consolidation of the sodil 
edifice and of public order^ so pro- 
foundly shaken. 

It was nearly six o'clock when I ' 
reached home. T had passed a little 
more than three-quarters of an hour ' 
among the insurgents and the wound- > 
ed of the Place Venddme. God ^ 
alone knows with what emotion and \ 
earnestness I implored him that I 
might never be subjected again to | 
such a trial to my heart as a priest ; 
and a Frenchman. 

Here ends my first account, drawn 
up at the end of March. I need 
not add that my prayer was not 
granted. The Commune was found- 
ed in blood and terror, and was to 
end in a fiendish dcbauchery,of mad- 
ness and crime. 



TO BB CONriNlEU. 




KBTCH OP Mother Mar- 

V llAXLAirAN, O.S.D. I vol. 

w York : Tlic Catholic Pub- 

; success of the original 
er Murji^ret Mary llalla- 
ess uftlicThir<t Order uf 
Nuns in England, and 
ion it has given to ihou- 
ttders cver>*where, have 
■Bisters and admirers to 
■bridged life for more 
!iag. 

df^^ment is in every re- 
rlitable performance. In 
jetton, as well as in the 
ter treated, superior abi- 
aphical style is very dis- 
'he paper, printing-, and 
also of the first class. 
'C interested, either from 
liith or even of curiosity, 
rising revi^-al of ihe Cu- 
on in England within the 
tury. wilt be cheered and 
r the perusal of this new 
it may be called, of the 
if the greatest agents In 
ful work of God. The 
if the work, moreover. 
In easy reach of all Ca- 

I 

TS. By James Johonnoi. 
iU Ocsi|;ns by S. E. Hcwcs. 
^ W. Schcrmerborn & Co. 

dly the subject treated 
is one of considerable 
Involving, as it does, the 
uturc prospcclsas well 
nt comfort of the rising 
^o doubt, also, there 
■K>ra for improvement 
Hi arrangements of the 
which so large a portion 
of llic young, and cspc- 
Idren. is to be passed : 
ards the points of 



light, heating, and ventilation, The 
construction particularly of country 
school-houses is also certainly open 
to change for the better, and many 
good suggestions arc made and de- 
signs furnished by the authors. 
Some of these dcstgna, however, 
strike us as being unnecessarily 
ornate. The latter part is occupied 
with the questions uf furniture, ap- 
paratus, grounds, etc., anil with 
many illustrations of chairs, desks. 
globes, and other appliances, which 
will be found useful and interesting. 
The book is finely printed, and 
beautifully bound. 

Of Adoration is Spirit and Thi'th. 
Written iti four books. Br John 
Eusebius Niercmberg, S.J., native of 
Madrid, aad iraoflated iota Hn^ilish 
hy R. S., S.J.. Willi a I'reracc by the Rev. 
iV'tpf Gallwcy. S.J. London: burns, 
Oales&Co. 187:. 

This beautiful volume forms the 
first of a scries of works, under the 
title of *• St. Joseph's Ascetical Lib- 
rary," undertaken by the Fathers of 
the Society of Jesus in England. It 
is no novelty in Itself, though it will 
probably be new to almost all who 
sec it In its present fnnn. The 
author was born at Madrid in 1590, 
and died in 1658; and this transla- 
tion uf his work was made nearly 
two hundred years ago, in 1673, aid 
has that charm of quaintness and 
simplicity which U is now in vain to 
imitate. 

The title might convey the idea 
that the treatise before us was a 
very abstract and mystical one, un- 
Buited to the generality of readers. 
But such an idea would be soon dis- 
pelled by a glance at some of the 
headings of its chapters, such as, 
"How Incommodious a Thing Sleep 
is," " How Penances and Corporal 
Afflictions help Us," and "That we 



144 



New Publicatwns. 



must rise Fervorously to our Morn- 
ing Prayer. " It is practical enough 
for any one, perfectly clear, intelli- 
gible, and interesting; and, at the 
same time, no one can find in it any 
want of devotion or spirituality. 

It is divided into four books, as 
stated in the title ; the first, second, 
and fourth treating of the purgative, 
illuminative, and unitive ways re- 
spectively ; the third being concern- 
ed with " What Belongs to a most 
Perfect Practical Performance of 
Our Actions," which illustrates in 
detail the general principles laid 
down in what precedes. 

Wc are under great obligations to 
the editors for having brought into 
notice, and into general use, as we 
trust, this treasure of Catholic piety. 
It will be of inestimable value to all 
who desire to lead a really spiritual 
life and to practice the " adoration " 
of which it treats, which is nothing 
else than complete self-renunciation 
and devotion, in the true sense of 
the word, to God and to his service. 



IcNATiL's Loyola, and the Early Jesu- 
its. By Stewart Rose. London : 
Longmans, Green & Co. 

We have several excellent biogra- 
phies of St Ignatius in the English 
language, but the present one is 
likely, we think, to become the most 
popular. It is carefully compiled, 
written in that literary style and 
with those graphic sketches of sur- 
rounding circumstances which Mo- 
dern taste demands, and published 
in an elegant manner. Its principal 
distinctive excellence consists in the 
portraiture of the early life of Igna- 
tius as the accomplished, valiant, 
and Christian knight, whose noble 
and chivalrous character formed the 
basis of his future heroic sanctity. 
We welcome any work which may 
make the illustrious founder of the 
Society of Jesus and his Institute 
better known both to Catholics and 
Protestants, and we hope for a wide 
circulation for this ably and charm- 
ingly written biography. 



Mount Benedict; or, The V 
Tomb. By Peter McCorry. 
Patrick Oonahoe. 

The burning of the con 
Charlestown, and the accum 
horrors of that fearful ni( 
subjects worthy of a graphic 
tion. well calculated to poii 
ral and adorn a tale. \Ve 
our disappointment in this 
written, no doubt, with a g 
sign. The conversations ai 
and pointless, and too muci 
book is occupied with the in 
talkofthe "conspirators." 
testagainst the introduction 
into story-books. The int 
the story is marred by these 

Mr. p. Donahoe, Boston, ; 
ces as in press an account 
" Passion Play " at Oberam 
Bavaria, from the pen of t 
George W. Doane, Chancelh 
Diocese of Newark. It will 
cated to the Rt. Rev. J. R. 
D.D., Bishop of Newark 

The Catholic Publication 
will publish, early in No 
Mary, Queen of Scots, and hi 
Historian, by James F. Melii 
book will contain the artich 
appeared in The Catholic 
on Mr. Froude, as well as 
deal of new matter. In fact 
tides as they appeared in 
THOLic World are almost 
rewritten, and many new f: 
duced. It will be acomplet 
tion of Mr. Froude 's romam 
torv. 



Erratum.— In the article 
Reformation not Conserva 
733, ist column. 16th line 
bottom, for French soverei 
Frank sovereigns. Christer 
founded some centuries befi 
was a French sovereign or 
kingdom, in the modern sen 
word 7^r/«irA, or France. Th 
were a Germanic race, and 
man was their mother-toQ( 



THE 



ATHOLIC WORLD. 



[VOL. XIV., No. Sc^NOVEMBIiR. 1871. 



AUTHORITY IN MATTERS 0¥ FAITH. 



question wc propose to dis- 

ihis arttclt: is opened in the 

e introduce, answering an ob- 

to the inQiltibiUty of the 

nioilc by a lawyer through 

[jcnon, and by an elaborate 

om the lawyer in reply, and 

anotltcr and, in hi5 judgment, 

norc s<:rtuui> obj«:ctiun. Tiie 

note is I 

objection of your friend against 
li'litif Bible intctpreicd by a /,tf- 
lofl, as a suit rule of faitli, is uii- 
bte. Notlifng stronger cou)d be 
iIbsi the Proicsiant [lositiun. 

objection against the ctiurcli, ia 
gWJ*it I uaJcr»laad it correctly. 
laanswembte. It is quite evident 

ag:glonierafion of fallible men 
;e aa infallible church, either by 
onal authiiritv of the individuals 

uc of their a^f{Iomoralion. Hut 
lijr oo mcaaa the qucstloa with 

ilmj that the church is simply an 
'ration of men ; and wo deny that 
hbiltty come« fay the aulhoriij of 
ben in aojr way. 

[Jhritiis aTbcaotbropical pei&ou, 
the chutch is a Theanlhru|)icul 
of which Cbri5t is the head, the 
lost tlie tuul, and the reffenerat- 
Hie t>'jdv. TlicinfalUbElttvconies 
,IIoly (^host. tbrouKh Chiisi, to 



" // it it JO. it is evident iliat the infat 
libility will remain as long as tlic uiiiun 
shall last. And in that supposition the 
learned lawnrcr cannot fail to sec that in- 
fallibility docs not. iti any way, come to 
the body by the authority of its members, 
but from God, the only auihorJIatirc and 
absolute power in the world, which can 
bind the minds as well as the wills of 
men. 

"That is thti Catholic question, and 
the real position wc maintain. 

" If each man is his own authority, ac- 
cording to the preceding remarks in this 
book (and that Is conceded), ihcn an au- 
thoritative church is impossible, because 
it presents an authority external to me, 
and then asks me to accept it. I admit 
that.jf tbete is to be un^ chutch, il must 
be of divine origin. Even were the Bible 
inspired and inratlible, I. being fallible, 
must intorprct it fallibly, and therefore it 
must be the same tome (or all intents and 
purposes as if it were a fallible book. 
The same ai^ument applies to the church 
asadivine.authortiativeinsiitutiun — what 
is outn'tit of the man— that Is, the so-call- 
ed fact is not an authority for him ; but 
Mf is the authority for it ; if not an abso- 
lute authority, at any rate, the unlv au- 
thoiity possible. The trouble arises from 
the Baconian philosophy, which ha^ ai 
templed to build up a system on _/itW/ so- 
called — wiihaut rejecting thenu/Wi/v for 
those facts — at if ik* amtimnfy ibett im tht 
faet itself" 

This speaks for itself, and the post- 



rni; In Art of rnflCTew. in the ynr 1S71, by Riv. 1. T. Hkoux, In tb« Office of 
tbc t^ibnrlaa of Censren, it WoibloKton, D. C. 



146 



Authority in Matters 0/ Faith, 



tion it takes is not controverted. But 
the lawyer says it does not meet the 
question, that is, we presume, the 
question as it is in his mind, though 
he had not previously expressed it. 
He says : 

"The note given me does not meet the 
question. It is claimed that the church 
is infallible because a divine institution 
— that is, because established by God. 

" Now, admit it to be a divine institu- 
tion, if it is to be presented for our ac- 
ceptance, it must be for the acceptance 
of our fallible reason. 

"For example, when the missionary 
carries the church to the heathen, does 
he not present it for their rational accept- 
ance ? And if so, does he not ask their 
finite judgment to pass upon and accept 
the infinite and the absolute? 

" Now, the point is this : if the thing or 
truth presented be infinite and absolute, 
and the person to whom it ii presented 
be imperfect, fallible, and conditioned, 
how can the truth — or the church, if you 
please — appear otherwise to him than ac- 
cording to his finite and partial interpre- 
tation of it ? 

"The question in respeit to the abso- 
lute is, not whether it be rnUfy true and 
absolute or not, but to what extent does 
the normal affirmation go respecting it. 
In short, must not the same argument 
obtain against the church as against the 
bible ? 

" It comes to the question of authorify ; 
and, if all intelligent authority resides in 
thepersoH (and certainly each one must, 
from the nature of hii constitution, t>c 
his own authority), then it follows that 
no authority whatever can reside in the 
state, the church, or in any mere institu- 
tion or being QUtside of the person, 
whether that church or institution assume 
divinity or not. 

"The aulhority is not in the tP-ealled 
ftut, but In the person to whom the so-call- 
ed fact is presented, and who is called 
upon to pass upon it. 

" The Baconian system is false, be- 
cause it makes the so-called fact the au- 
thority for itself; when plainly the very 
existence or comprehension of the so- 
called fact depends wholly on the person 
to whom it is presented." 

The objection is, apparently, the 
objection we ourselves bring to the 



Protestant rule of faith, r 
Bible interpreted by pri 
ment. The Bible may b 
of God and infallible, bul 
pretation of it, or my pri 
ment in interpreting it, is f 
therefore I have in it ai 
only a fallible rule of fait 
church may be a divine 
and by the assistance of 
Ghost infallible; but her I 
addressed to my intcllig 
must be passed upon by i 
judgment, which is fmite a 
therefore incompetent to 
the infinite and absolute. 
the Catholic rule no mort 
fallible faith than does the 
rule. The principle of the 
the lawyer urges is that a 
intrinsic, not extrinsic; c 
from without, but from wi 
the mind, and can never 1 
than the mind itself; and ; 
fallible, there is and can bt 
lible authority for faith or b 
objection is simply that ar 
authority for the mind in i 
faith is impossible, because 
is not itself infallible, and 
incapable of an infallible 
sent This, we believe, is 
tion in all its force. 

ITie objection rests on f 
pies, neither of which is 
first, that the mind or intell 
versally fallible; and, secon 
authority in matters of fait! 
mind itself, not out of it, a 
fore, belief m anything or 
authority is impossible. 

I. The intellect is not univ 
finite, and does not and cai 
all things; but it is neve 
what it knows, and in its o 
is infallible; that is, the i 
not false or fallible in what 
for every one wlio knows k 
he knows. Tlic judgment 
fallible only when and whe 




Authority in Matters of Fmth, 




rlge fails. Thus, St. Au- 
Omnis ^tii /ailitur^ id 
^n mUlJigit, The error 
»c intellect or inielbgcnce, 
; igooraucc or non<intclli- 
'oubtle&s, wc can and do 
' judgment of matters of 
are ignorant, of which we 
an imperfect knowledge, 
e undertake from what wc 
) judge of things unknown, 
|h-tbuC St. Thomas means 
K " Fahiitts est in intelUi- 
^Kny thU is to deny all 
Rncdge, and to assert uni- 
Jtidsra, and then the law- 
pt assert his objection, 
[ obliged to doubt even 
bts. \{ the intellect is 
ilJible, wc may as well 
sion at once, for no- 
cttlcd. If it, in its oun 
re it really does know, 
, then the only question 
in passing judgment on 
stablish the infallibility 
_j the intellect is obliged 
^its own province, and 
in regard lo which 
ledly incompetent and fal- 
locftlion we shall consider 

>in issue with the lawyer 
rtion that the authority is 
the mind itself, not cxtrin- 
□ the object or the auiho- 
UUI& it. He says in his 
Do aulhurity whatever 
the Slate, the church, 
■litution or being ont- 
n, whether that church 
5sume divmiiy or not. 
\ i$ not in the so-called 
lie person to whom the 
f is addressed, and who 
I to pass upon it. Th* 
cm is false, because ii 
ailed fact the autliori- 

t1. qtixit. XXX. 
, «. xtIL a. 3 la c. 



ty for itself; when plainly the \iixy 
existence or comprehension of it de- 
pend* wholly on the person to whom 
it is addressed." So we ^o not 
know facts because tltey exist, but 
they exist because wc know tliem or 
judge them to exist I But how can 
so-called facu be addressed to the 
person before they exist ? The law- 
yer goes farther than his argument 
against the ciiurch requires, and con- 
sequently proves, if anything, too 
much, and therefore nothing. He 
makes not only all knowledge, but» 
unintentionally, wc presume, all ex- 
istences, depend on their l>cing known, 
and therefore makes them purely 
subjective, and fails m to Fichtcism or 
pure egoism. 

The lawyer's rule excludes not only 
faith, but knowledge of every sort 
and degree ; for all knowledge is as- 
sent, and in the simplest fact of 
knowledge the intellectuaj assent is 
given on authority or evidence ex- 
trinsic lo the person, though intrin- 
sic in the object. Knowledge is 
either intuitive or discureive. In in- 
tuitive knowledge, the evidence or 
motive of the intellectual assent is 
intrinsic in the object, but extrinsic 
to the assenting mind. The imme- 
diate presence of the object motives 
or authorizes the assent, and the 
mind has simply the power or faculty 
of apprehending the object, or judg- 
ing that it is, when presented; for, 
without the object affirming its pre- 
sence to the mind, there can bo no 
fact of knowledge or intellectual as- 
sent. In discursive knowledge the 
authority or evidence, as in intuitive 
knowledge, is intrinsic in the object, 
but ii Ls implicit, and can be jjlaced 
in immediate relation with the intel- 
lectual faculty only by discursion — a 
process of reasoning or demonstra- 
tion. But demonstration does not 
motive the assent ; it only removes 
the proktifentia^ or renders explicit 



148 



Authority in Matters of Fmith, 



what is implicit, for nothing can be 
asserted in the conclusion not already 
implicitly asserted in the premises; 
yet the assent is by virtue of the evi- 
dence or authority intrinsic in the 
object, as in intuition. All this means 
that we know objects because they 
are and are placed in relation with 
our cognitive faculty, not that they 
are because we know them, or be- 
cause the mind places them, or 
makes them its object. If the law- 
yer's rule, that authority is not in the 
object but in the mind or person, 
were true, there could be no fact of 
knowledge, either intuitive or discur- 
sive, because the mind cannot know 
where there is nothing to be known. 
Faith or belief agrees with know- 
ledge in the respect that it is intel- 
lectual assent, but differs from it in 
that it is mediate assent, by an au- 
thority extrinsic, as authority or evi- 
dence, both to the object and to the 
person. The authority or evidence 
mediates between the mind and the 
fact or object, and brings them to- 
gether in a manner somewhat ana- 
logous to that in which the middle 
term in the syllogism brings together 
the two extremes and unites them in 
the conclusion. If the evidence or 
the authority is adequate, the belief 
is reasonable and as certain as any 
conclusion of logic, or as the imme- 
diate assent of the mind in the fact 
of science or knowledge. I am as 
certain that there is such a city as 
Rome, though I have never seen it, 
that there was such a man as Julius 
Caesar, George Washington, or Na- 
poleon Bonaparte, as I am that the 
three angles of the triangle are equal 
to two right angles. It is on this prin- 
ciple the lawyer acts and must act 
in every case he has in court. He 
summons and examines witnesses, 
and relies on their testimony or evi- 
dence to obtain a conviction or an 
acquittal, except in a question of 



law ; and then he relies on tb 
or the court. If there is no 
ty outmie the person, that is 
thority not in his own mir 
does he summon and exam 
cross-examine witnesses or 
the judge ? Why does he n 
the facts and the law out of '. 
" inner consciousness," as c 
modem historians the facts th 
us for history ? As a law] 
friend would soon find his p 
if he carried it into court, o] 
as an effectual estoppel to tt 
tice of his profession. 

The lawyer asks, " When 1 
sionary carries the church 
heathen, does he not preser 
their rational acceptance ? 
so, does he not ask their finit 
ment to pass upon and ac< 
infinite and absolute ?** We 
our friend would argue bett 
this if he had a case in c* 
which anything of importat 
pended. When presented 
brother lawyer opposite with t 
sion of the court of appeals 
his case, would he attempt t 
or pass upon the judgment 
court before accepting it, oi 
he not be content with simp 
fying the fact that the decis 
been rendered by the court of 
or court of last resort? A 
quite sure that, if he were on 
fensive, and adduced the i 
of the court of last resort ban 
action, he would be very £ 
allowing his brother oppc 
question the judgment. Noi 
he as a lawyer dream of r 
the decision because his owi 
had not passed upon its men 
when once assured that th 
had rendered it, he would a< 
and submit to it as law, not 
own judgment, but on the at 
of the court itself. All he wou! 
himself to do would be to vc 




Authority in Maittrs of Faith. 



X49 



le court, in order to as- 

ithJi court of compeicntjurLv 

nnd to be sure that it had 

I ihc decision. The decision 

wouJd not, as a lawyer, 

cxamiTiing nr>y farther than 

ain iis meaning. He would 

I.S fin-al. and submit to it as 

rthcr fur him or against him. 

ibjcction fails to distinguish 

the case supposed, the hea- 

9 required to pass upon in 

act rationally in accepting 

ch. They would be i-equir- 

ifls on the suffiricncy of the 

of her divine institution 

imivfioin to leach and govern 

and nations in all things per- 

to the kingdom of God on 

That evidence, called by 

vn% ** motives of cre<libility," 

, all the rest follows 

;iset]ucnce, and there 

^ing npon "the finite to 

!tn the infinite nnd absolute, 

c than there Is upon the coun* 

E|^ Uf>on the merits of the 

^^F the court of final resort 

3t5 certified that the court 

ually rendered it. AH thAt 

to believe of the infinite nnd 

, after he has eslablislied by 

; appropriate in the ease the 

tstitulion and commission of 

rt:h. he believes on the au- 

lurch herself. 

ry, no doubt, presents 

their rational accept- 

;, therefore, present to 

Ives of credibility, of the 

it her as divinely 

commissioned, and 

these facts, must be ad- 

undcrslaiuling, an<l 

reason can pass upon 

t. But the qurs- 

reason has pns5cd 

'!ie motives, and 

'.nt to accredit*: 



Ito 



laccTcdii 



ficir 



the church, as a teacher come from 
(jod, and comraission«I or authorised 
by'him lo teach his word, is not the 
acceptance of thai worvl on her au- 
thority as the word of God a " ra- 
tional acceptance," and all the most 
rigid reason docs or can demand i* 

The lawyer says no ;. and because 
all authority is in the person, and 
resides nowhere outii*1e of him, and 
therefore it is necessary that reason 
should pa»i upon the contents of the 
word, that is, upon the doctrines and 
mysteries contained in the word the 
church professes to teach, which is 
impossible; for it requires the finite 
lo pass upon the infinite and abso- 
lute, which exceeds its powers ; there- 
fore, faith is impossible. But this 
simply implies that no belief is ad- 
missible that is not scienre, and fniih 
must be swallowed up in knowledge, 
and thus cease to be faith, before 
the human mind can rationally ac- 
cept it. 

The trouble with the lawyer's ob- 
jection is that it assumes that faith 
is irrational, unless it is science or 
knowledge. His statement goescven 
Ciriher than ihis. He not only de- 
nies that there can be any rational 
belief on extrinsic authority, but that 
there is or can be any such authoti- 
t)', or that any stale, church, or briti^ 
has or cut have any authority out- 
iitie of mc, or not derived from me. 
This, as far as words go, asserts tlut 
God himself has no authority over 
me, and his word has no authority 
for my reason or will, not dependent 
on me. We do not believe he means 
this, for he is not divested of the rea- 
son common to all men. He means. 
we presume, sim[ily that no state, no 
church, not even God himself, has 
any authority on which I can ration- 
ally believe anything which tran- 
scends the reach of niy reason, or 
which is not intriobicolly evident to 



150 



Authority in Matters of Faith. 



my reason by its own light. But what 
is evident to me by the light of my 
own reason, I know, and not simply 
believe. As belief is always on ex- 
trinsic authority simply accredited to 
reason, this goes so far as to deny 
that any belief is or can be rational, 
and that any authority or any amount 
of testimony is sufficient to warrant 
it, which, as we have seen, is much 
farther than the lawyer can go in the 
practice of his profession, or any man 
in the ordinary business of life. 

We do not think our legal friend 
has duly considered the reach of the 
principle he lays down. Even in 
the so-called positive sciences, the 
greater part of the matters accepted 
by the scientist are accepted on ex- 
trinsic authority, not on personal 
knowledge. No geologist has per- 
sonally observed all or even the 
greater part of the facts he uses in 
the construction of his science ; no 
geographer, however great a tra- 
veller he may have been, has visited 
and personally examined all parts of 
the globe which he describes; the 
botanist describes and classifies more 
plants, the zoologist more forms of 
life, than he has personally seen, and 
the historian deals almost entirely with 
facts of which he has no personal 
knowledge. Eliminate from the 
sciences what the scientist has not 
observed for himself, but taken on 
the reported observation of others, 
and from the garniture of every mind 
what it believes or takes on extrinsic 
authority, not on his personal knowl- 
edge, and there would be very little 
left to distinguish the most learned 
and highly educated man from the 
untutored savage. In all the affairs 
of life, we are obliged to rely on ex- 
trinsic authority, on evidence neither 
in the subject nor in the object, on 
the observations and testimony of 
others, and sometimes on the obser- 



vations and accumulated testi 
of ages, especially in wise and 
dent statesmanship ; and if we 
suddenly deprived of this autli 
evidence, or testimony, and rei 
to our own personal knowledj 
tuitive or discursive; society i 
come to a standstill, and would 
fall below the level of the New 
lander, for even he inherits soni 
sons from the past, and associate 
his observations some observ: 
of others. 

We presume our friend the l 
means nothing of all this, an 
mistake arises from not sharp! 
tinguishing between the motiv 
credibility and the authority, o 
one hand, and the authority and 
it authorizes, on the other. 'Hi 
istence of God is a fact of sci 
though discursive, not intuitive 
ence. That God is, as the theok 
say, prima Veritas in essetuto, in , 
sccndOf et in dicendo, is also a tni 
science — is a truth we not s 
believe, but know or may kno* 
it can be proved with certain 
natural reason prior to faith. C 
truth ; it is impossible for him ' 
since he is prima Veritas in dicena 
primal truth in speaking, anc 
neither deceive nor be deceive 
he is prima Veritas in cof^oscen 
the principle of all truth in knc 

This granted, the word of 
must be true, infallibly true. I 
we can go by science or c 
knowledge. Now, suppose thi 
yer to have full proof that it re 
God's word that is announce 
him, would he not be bound t 
lieve it true, nay, could he in tl^ 
ercise of his reason help believ 
true, prior to and independe: 
any consideration of its conten 
what it is that God says ? Go 
neither deceive nor be dec€ 
therefore his word must be true 



Authoriiy in Matttts of Faith. 



J5I 



My be false. God's 
highest and most con- 
tee conceivable of the 
vhu is averted in his word, 
Ihc truth, then reasonable, for 
' is more rexsonablL* ihan truth 
issonable than falsehood. It 
Itherefore, be as unnecessary 
>ereat and impertinent to ex- 
Jod's word to sec if what he 
is reasonable before }'tc]dtng 
losent. We know beforeliand 
B true, or cUe God could not 
L and that whatever conflicts 
|s fiUsc and unrcnsonable ; and 
h[CC himself Mnll admit, we 
■■kit the highest possible 
^Bbchcving is God's word, 
we have it Lei u« consider 

^B step is the proof or cer* 
l^^hat is .lUeged to be the 
if God rcaliy is his word. 
Ird is his revelation. Sup- 
|ca, thai he made his revela- 
jd deposited it with the apos- 
\m be commanded to go forth 
^h It to oil men and nations. 
■^es would, on this supposi- 
^^pctcnt and credible wit- 
Dfte fact that God made and 
kd his revelation with them. 
t, farther, that the apostles 
Ued to their successors, or, 
that the church is the identi- 
itollcal body, continued wilh- 

Hcnu[>tion or break down 
L the church would then 
tent and credible witness 
\aX of revelation and to what 
lied. Being the cyc-wilness 
Lcta which proved our Lord 
fi come from God and aulho- 
\ speak in his name, and the 
\xj of the revelation, her tes- 
nclusive. She saw with 
les the facts, she knows 
n deposited with her, 
lission she rcccive<l, and 
Iter testimony or evidence 



cannot be gainsaid. She is the living 
and contemporary witness, and every- 
way credible, as we have shown in 
the article The Church accredits 
HcrselJ* 

The infallibility follows necessarily 
from her commission from God to 
teach all men and nations. This 
commission from God commands all 
men and nations in his name to be- 
lieve and obey wliat she teaches as 
his word. If she could err in teach- 
ing, then all men and nations might 
be required by God himself to believe 
error or falsehood, which is impossi- 
ble, since God is truth, and can 
neither deceive nor be deceived. The 
divine commission to the church or 
apostolic iKjdy to teach carries with 
it the divine pledge of infallibility. 

Now, supposing the church to be 
what she claims to be, reason itself 
requires us to accept and obey as the 
word of God whatever she teaches 
as his word, since his word is true, 
ami the highest possible evidence of 
truth. Nothing is or can be more 
reasonable than to believe the word 
of God, or to believe God on his 
word. liqualiy reasonable with it is 
it to believe that what the Apostolic 
Church declares to be his word, 
really is so, if she is instituted and 
commissioned by God to keep, guard, 
teach, interpret, declare, and de- 
fine it. The only point, then, to be 
pruvetl is the divine institution and 
commission, both of which, if the 
apostolic body, she is herself the 
autliority for asserting, as the supreme 
court is the autliority for asserting 
its own legal constitution, power, and 
jurisdiction. This leaves, then, only 
a single point to be proved, namely, 
the historical identity of the body 
calling itself the Catholic Church 
with the apostolic body with whom 
the revelation was deposited. 

• T»t« CATKOtJC W«BLO for Mir, iir». ^^'^^ 
article. 



152 



Aut/tority in Matters of Faith* 



We need not now go into the his- 
torical proofs of the identity of the 
Catholic Church with the apostolic 
body, for that is easily done, and has 
been done over and over again ^ 
besides, it lies on the very face 
of history, and Pius IX., the Pon- 
tiff now gloriously reigning, is as 
easily and as certainly proved to 
be the successor of Peter as Ulys- 
ses S. Grant is proved to be the 
successor in the presidency of the 
United States of George Washington, 
the schism of Jefferson Davis to the 
contrary notwithstanding. Moreover, 
if the lawyer doubts, as we presume he 
does not, the identity, we hold our- 
selves ready to adduce the proofs 
whenever he calls for them. Assum- 
ing, then, the case to be as stated, we 
demand what in the whole process of 
acceptance of the faith the missionary 
proposes to the heathen is irrational, 
or not satisfactory, to the fullest 
demands of reason ? In fact, the 
points to be proved are exceedingly 
few, and those not above the reach 
of private judgment, or difticult. The 
authority of our Lord as a teacher come 
from God was proved by miracles. 
These miracles the church wit- 
nessed and testifies to as facts, and 
so far her testimony is unimpeachable. 
Their supernatural and miraculous 
character we can ourselves judge of. 
Whether they prove the divine au- 
thority of Jesus or not, is also a mat- 
ter of which we are competent to 
judge. His divine authority proved, 
his divinity, and all the mysteries of 
his person can be rationally accepted 
on his word, and what his word was, 
the church who received it is compe- 
tent to decj^are. There really, then, 
is nothing to be proved which the 
church herself docs not either prove or 
supply the means of proving in order to 
render belief in what she claims to be, 
and in what she teaches, as rational or 
reasonable as belief in any well-ascer- 



tained fact in natural science. 
motives of credibility whicl 
brings with her and presents 
understanding of all men whc 
her accredit her as the divine 
pointed depositary and teacl 
the revelation God has made t( 
and all the rest follows of itself 
the syllogism the conclusion i 
from the premises. 

The lawyer does not admit i 
rejects the whole, because he 
all belief on extrinsic authority, 
is not this because he mistak 
meaning of the word author 
used by theologians and philoso] 
We have generally found tha 
men who object to belief on aul 
understand by authority an or 
command addressed to the will 
out including anything to coi 
the reason or to motive the ass 
the understanding. This is nt 
cisely the theological sense < 
term. The theologians unde 
by authority in matters of iai 
thority for believing as w< 
an order io believe. It i 
reason which authorizes the 
and is therefore primarily a 
ity for the intellect, and fui 
it an ample reason to believe. 

Authority addressed simply 
will ordering it to believe, and 
the intellect no reason for bel: 
can produce no rational belief, a 
duce no beHef at aH, and this \ 
sume is what, and all, our legal 
means. Taking authority in his 
we entirely agree with him, ex 
command from God is always 
son for the intellect as well as 
der to the will, since God is 
7'<r/i/as, and can command only i 
true, reasonable, just, and right, 
command is his word, and an 
from him to the will is iJ>so j 
reason for the understanding, si 
higher evidence of truth th; 
word is possible. With tl 



Auihority in Matters of Faith, 



153 



is right in his ohjcc- 
authorii)% as he un- 
'« it, for there is no belief 
is no intcUeclual convic- 
ut he is mistaken in supposing 
nlogun*; mean only authority 
enw, authority commanding 
and giving no reason to the 
iiiJing; they mean pnmarUy 
lority in matters of faith or 
vuthority for believing, and 
nding it only through convic- 
believe, which it must do if 
id. 

*aihorily, then, which we 
the reason for behcving ; it is 
tms trrminus that unites the 
object and the crcditivc sub- 
d renders the belief po.s.Hible 
nielleciunl act. and so far as- 
it to knowledge. Belief 
authority is belief without 
ind or reason for believing, 
irrational, unfounded, mere 
; as wlien one believes a ru- 
which there is no authority. 
he auilioriiy U worthy of 
he bvlicf is wnrrante*!, and 
is infallible, the belief is in- 
In believing what the church 
me is the wor<l of Cod, [ 
|]U^^ riiy for my belief, 

m - cd, be mistaken, 

"his is all iu plain, and so fully 
ri vnih the demands of rea- 
we ore forced to explain the 
turc so many people mani- 
believing on authority, by 
(l^ey understand by 
an order of a master 
thoul accompanying it 
g to convince the under- 
Uius making the act of faith 
I of faich at all, but of mere 
icnce. This is all wTong. 
; ;I act cannot be 
ill a is the act of 

t, and must have a reason 
vincea the understanding. 
;hc church docs not censure 



unbelief in those who know not the 
authority or reason there is for belief, 
and, if at all, it is only for their neglect 
to avail themselves with due diligence 
of the means of arriving at belief 
within their reach. 

The authority or command of 
God is indeed the highest reason the 
mind can have for believing any- 
thing, and it is therefore that unbe- 
hef in those who have his command 
or authority becomes sinful, because 
it itnplies a contempt of God, a 
contempt of truth, and practically 
says to him who made us, from 
whom wc hold all that wc have, and 
who is truth itself, " We w/// not take 
your word ; we do not care what you 
say ; we are the masters of our own 
thouglits, and will think and believe 
as we please." This is not only ir- 
reverent and disobedient, indicating 
a wholly indefensible pride and self- 
will, but denies the very principle as- 
serted by unbelievers in justi6catioa 
of their refusal to believe at the order 
or command of authority, namely, 
that it is not in one's power to believe 
or disbelieve at will, nor as one wills. 

These explanations suffice, wc 
think, to show that private judgment 
or individual reason is not required 
by the Catholic to judge " the intinile 
and absolute," or to pass upon any 
matter that lies out of the province of 
natural reason, and exceeds its com- 
petence or finite capacity. It is re- 
quired to pass only upon the motives 
of credibility, or the facts that prove 
the church is a divine institution, 
commissioned to teach all men and 
nations through all time the divine 
revclarion which she has received, 
and of these we are able by our own 
light to judge. The authority to 
teach established, all the rest follows 
logically and necessarily, as we have 
just said, as in the syllogism the con- 
clusion follows from the premises. 
The authority being addressed to 



154 



Authority in Matters of Faith, 



the intellect as well as to the will, 
and a sufficient reason for believing 
as well as obeying, the lawyer's prin- 
cipal objection is disposed of, and the 
acceptance of the faith is shown to 
be a rational acceptance. 

But, conceding the infallibility of 
the church, since her teaching must 
be received by a fallible understanding, 
why is belief on the authority of the 
church less fallible than belief on the 
anthority of an infallible book, inter- 
preted by the same fallible under- 
standing ? You say to Protestants : The 
Bible may be infallible, but your un- 
derstanding of it is fallible, and there- 
fore even with it you have no infalli- 
ble rule of faith. Why may not the 
Protestant retort: Be it that the 
church is infallible, you have only 
your fallible private judgment by 
which to interpret her teachings, and, 
therefore, with your infallible church 
have only a fallible faith ? 

More words are usually required to 
answer an objection than are required 
to state it. We do not assert or con- 
cede the fallibility of reason, intellect, 
or private judgment in matters which 
conic within its own province or com- 
petence. Revelation presupposes rea- 
son, and therefore that man is capa- 
ble of receiving it; consequently of 
certainly knowing and correctly un- 
derstanding it, within the limits of his 
finite reason. We do not build faith 
on scepticism, or the incapacity of 
reason to know anything with cer- 
tainty. Reason is the preamble to 
faith, and is competent to receive and 
understand truly, infallibly, if you 
will, clear and distinct propositions 
in their plain and obvious sense when 
presented to it in words spoken or in 
words written. If it were not so, all 
writing and all teaching, all books 
and all sermons, would be useless. 
So far the Protestant rule and the 
Catholic are the same, with this dif- 
ference only, that, if we happen to 



mistake the sense of the chun 
is ever present to correct th 
and to set us right, while the \ 
ant rule can give no further es 
tion, or add a word to com 
misapprehension. The teachi 
the church need to be unde 
but not ordinarily to be interj 
and, even when they do h: 
be interpreted, she is presi 
interpret them, and declare 
libly the sense in which th 
to be understood. But the 
from beginning to end, must bi 
preted before it can be undei 
and, while private judgment or 
may be competent to underst 
when it is interpreted or exp 
it is yet only a fallible interpret 
incompetent to explain to the 
standing its real sense. 

The church interprets and e: 
herselfj there are books, alsi 
carry their own explanation 
them, and so need no interpr 
or further explanation \ but mai 
the Bible is not such a book, 
inspired ; it is true ; it is inD 
and is, as St. Paul says of all 
ture, divinely inspired, " profit 
teach, to reprove, to correct, 
struct in justice, that the n 
God may be perfect, fumisl 
every good word and wor 
Tim. iii. i6, 17); but it bears 
face the evidence that it was ad' 
to men who were already be 
and already instructed, parti 
least, in the truths it teaches 
forces, and that it was not wri 
teach the faith to such as 1 
knowledge of it, but to correct 
to present more fully the faith 
tain points, to point out the d 
enjoins, to exhort to repentan 
reform, and to hold up i 
tives, on the one hand, the 
judgment of God upon tho! 
disregard his goodness, or 
his mercy, or abuse his long 



Authority in Matters of Faith, 



IS! 



itlie other, the exceeding 

^vine love, and the great 

ifriired in heaven for those 

, love, and obey him. No 

it without perceiving 

llhcr is nor professes to be 

kl medium of the Christian 

to man, but from first to 

revelation previously 

religion to hove been 

and instructions in it 

eived. This is true of the 

lent, .ind more especially 

New Testament ; and we 

Tically.nnd nobody denies 

liilh was preacher! and 

particular churches, 

fbf believers, were ga- 

! organized, before a word 

■lent was written. 

, Induced to the sa- 

even supposing he has 

and authentic texti and 

|udgment, would be rcduc- 

condition of the lawyer 

undertake to explain the 

ny oneof our stales, in lo- 

r of the Common Law, or 

least reference to it or 

?DS of the common-law 

low and then a statute, per- 

explain itself, but in 

lie would be wholly at a 

real meaning of the 

wise law reformers 

, n few years since, seeing 

g the fact, attempted to 

I laws so as to su|>er- 

cmand for any knowledge 

kmoD Law to understand 

the ablest jurists in the 

thcni a puzzle, or nearly 

e, and our best lawyers 

Lin how 10 bring an aciion 

new Code of Procedure. 

^tant needs, in order to 

he Mcred text, a know- 

revelation which can 

ob(aine<l from the text 

lui iatcqiretalion nor sup- 



plied by private judgment. Hence 
it is that we find Protestants unable 
to agree among themselves as to what 
is or is not the meaning of the sa- 
cred text, and varying in their views 
all the way down from the highest 
Puseyitc who accepts all Catholic 
doctrine, " the damnatory clauses ex- 
cepted," to the loivest Unitarian, 
who holds that our Lord was simply 
a man, the son of Joseph and Mary, 
and rejects the church, the mysteries 
of the Trinity and Incarnation, ori- 
ginal sin, redemption, the expiatory 
sacrifice, regeneration, supernatural 
grace, the resurrection of the dead, 
the last judgment, the everlasting 
punishment of the incorrigible in 
hell, and the reward of the just in 
any heaven above the IClysmn Fields 
of the Greeks and Romans or the 
happy hunting-grounds of the jwor 
Indian. Protestants are able to 
agree among themselves only so far 
as they follow Catholic tradition and 
agree with the church. The Pro- 
testant needs to know the Christian 
faith in order to interpret ihe sacred 
text and ascertain it from the Uihle, 
and this he cannot know by his own 
private judgment or develop from 
his own " inner consciousness," since 
it lies in the supernatural order, 
and is above the reach of his natural 
faculties. It is clear, then, that in 
the Bible interpreted by private judg- 
ment he has and can have only a 
fallible authority. 

It is not because the Holy Scrip- 
tures do nut contain, explicitly or im- 
plicitly, the whole faith, that, interpret- 
ed by private judgment, they give 
only a fallible rule of faith, but be- 
cause, to find the faith in its unity and 
integrity in them, we must know it 
aliunde and beforehand. This diffi- 
culty is completely obviated by the 
Catholic rule. The church has in 
Catholic tradition, which she pre- 
serves intact by lime or change, the 



156 



Authority in Matters of Faith. 



whole revelation, whether written or 
unwritten, and in this tradition she has 
the key to the real sense of the sacred 
Scriptures, and is able to interpret 
them infallibly. Tradition, authen- 
ticated by the church as the witness 
and depositary of it, supplies the 
knowledge necessary to the under- 
standing of the sacred text. Read 
in the light of tradition^ what is im- 
plicit in the text becomes explicit, 
what is merely referred to as wholly 
known becomes expressly and clear- 
ly stated, and we are able to under- 
stand the written word, because tra- 
dition interprets it for us, without 
any demand for a knowledge or 
judgment on our part that exceeds 
cur natural powers. Our judgment 
is no longer private judgment, be- 
cause we have in tradition a catho- 
lic rule by which to judge, and our 
judgment has not to pass on any- 
thing above the province of reason. 

The objection we make to the 
Protestant rule, it must be obvious 
now to our friend, cannot be retort- 
ed. The Protestant must interpret 
the sacred Scriptures by his private 
judgment, which he cannot do with- 
out passing upon questions which 
transcend its reach. The Catholic 
exercises, of course, his judgment 
in accepting the infallible teach- 
ings of the church, but he is not 
required to pass upon any ques- 
tion above the reach of his under- 
standing, or upon which, by his na- 
tural reason, he cannot judge infalli- 
bly, or with the certainty of actual 
and complete knowledge. He is not 
required to pass upon the truth of 
what the church teaches, for that fol- 
lows from her divine institution and 
commission to teach the revelation 
God has made pre\iously establish- 
ed. He has simply to pass upon the 
question, What is it she teaches, or 
presents clearly and distinctly to my 
understanding to be believed ? and, 



in passing upon that quest 
judgment has not to judge 
thing beyond or above reas 
therefore, is not fallible any m 
in any other act of knowledg 
There is another advani 
Catholic rule has over the Pi 
rule. In this world of p 
change, and with the resd 
ever-busy activity of the hum: 
new questions are constantly 
up and in need of being ai 
and so answered as to save t 
and integrity of the faith. T 
having once spoken is he 
silent ; it can say nothing m 
make no further explanation 
faith to meet these new qi 
and tell us explicitly what t 
requires or forbids us to belie 
regard to them. Hence, Pre 
never know how to meet them 
new or further explanations 
cisions are constantly needed, 
be needed to the end of time, 
the explanations and decision 
church, amply sufficient whei 
not seldom, through the subtl 
activity of error, and its ur 
efforts to evade or obscure th 
become insufficient, and nee 
selves to be further explaim 
applied so as to strike 
head the new forms of old er 
deprive them of their last sub 
These explanations and deci 
necessary, and which can be u 
made only by a living and e- 
sent infallible authority, can 
fallibly made, if at all, on the '. 
ant rule. Even the creed 
church, though unalterable, 
from time to time not deveU 
but new and further explai 
to meet and condemn the nei 
of error that spring up, and 
serve the faith unimpaired am 
late. How is this to be done 
bly by a book written two tf 
years ago and private judgn 



Authority in Matttrs of Faith. 



«57 



)ut tiie di\'inc and in^lible au- 
ly of the church? 
etc reiiurks an<I expl^oations, 
int, fulty answer the objections 
ir legal t'ricDii 10 the belief on 
rity, and prove that no at- 
cd rcton of the Prulc&taiU on 
ilholic can be sustained, or en- 
led c\'en, for a moment. We 
thus vindicaled for him the 
ilic rule, and proved that Ciith 

trulc is possible, practicable, 
ionai, 19 reasonable obedi- 
and by no means a blind sub- 
n, as he probably supposes. 
more can he ask of us ? He 
I repeat UU charge and say wc 
Dol met the question, for we 
net it, at kast so far as we un- 
it, and under more forms 
probably dreamed of in 
The question is one that 
be inquirer at the threshold, 
can hardly suppose that wc 
ivc accepted tJic church our- 
ithout meeting it^ considering 
jth, and dis[>osing of JL 
lere is one thing more want- 
he mtMhod of proof we have 
out, however sure and how- 
ihfully followed, does not suf- 
jnakc one a Catholic, or to 
: true Catholic and divine 
faitli as a theological virtue ; 
nrmm-cs the obstacles in the 
he intellect in believing, and 
only what theologians call 
fiulh— ^alts huNuma — which 
dvanocs one not a single step 
the lungdora of God, or liv- 
I with Christ. A uian may be 
Wy convinced, so far as his 
toes, of the whole Catholic 
d yet, perhaps, nncr become 
iGc. To be a. Catholic, one 
ve supernatural faith, and be 
by the grace of God in 
to the sujieTDatunLt ortlcr of 



life in Christ. Keason can construct 
no bridge over which one can jwiss 
fi-om the natural to the supernatural ; 
the bridge must be constructed by 
grace. Faith, the beginning of the 
Christian hfc, is the gift of God. The 
method wc have pointed out or the 
Catholic rule produces the conviction 
of the truth of the church and what 
she teaches, and shows it to be one's 
duly to seek, if he has it not, the 
grace that inclines the will, illumines 
the understanding, and regenerates 
the soul. 

The way in which to seek and find 
this grace is pointed out by our Lord, 
Matt. vii. 7 : " Ask, and you shall 
receive ; seek, and you shah find ; 
knock, and it shall be opened unto 
you." The way is the way of i 'rayer. 
The grace of prayer, gratia oiiUhmis, 
is given unto all men. Ail men can 
pray. He who prays for it shall re- 
ceive the grace to seek, and he who 
seeks shall find, and receive the 
grace to knock at the door of the 
church, which will be opened to him, 
and he have the grace to enter into 
the regeneration, and livt- the life of 
Christ Wc liave no hope for the 
conversion of any one who docs not 
pray ; and we have more confidence 
in the humble prayers of simple, sin- 
cere, and fervent Catholic souls for 
the convension of those without than 
in all the reasonings in the world, 
however conclusive they may be. 
When once grace has touched the 
heart, all clouds vanish of themselves, 
all darkness is dissipated, all obstacles 
disappear, we know not how, and to 
believe is the easiest and sinqilcst 
thing in the world. To believe is 
ditVtcult only when one persists in 
relying on his own strength and will 
accept no aid from above. Let 
those, then, who have faith pray un- 
ceasingly for those who have it not. 



158 



The House of Yorke, 



THE HOUSE OF YORKE. 



CHAPTER XV. 



VOILA CE QUI FAIT QUE VOTRE FILLS EST MUETTE, 



Madame Swetchine says : " The 
wrongs which the heart resents most 
keenly are impalpable and invisible." 
We may parody this, and say, with 
equal truth, that the troubles most 
difficult to bear are frequently those 
which, to indifferent observers, seem 
scarcely worth mention. There is 
dignity, and a certain stimulating 
excitement, in great affliction and 
great wrong; but a petty persecution, 
which we would fain treat with con- 
tempt, but which, in spite of us, 
pierces with small, envenomed points 
to our very hearts, is capable of test- 
ing our utmost endurance. Who 
does not know how one malicious, 
intriguing woman can poison a whole 
community, break friendship that 
would have stood the test of death, 
and destroy a confidence that seem- 
ed as firm as the hills ? The smiling 
malice, the affected candor, the 
smooth insinuation, the more than 
infantine innocence — happy he who 
has not learned by bitter experience 
these tactics of the devil's sharp- 
shooters ! 

Of such a nature was the earlier 
stage of the persecution suffered by 
the Catholics of Seaton. Servants 
were daily insulted by mistresses less 
well-bred than themselves. They 
had to swallow a gibe with their Fri- 
day's eggs or fish ; they were enter- 
tained with slanderous stories regard- 
ing the priest they loved and rever- 
enced. This was, of course, without 
provocation. Who ever knew an 
Irish servant-girl who attacked the 
religion or irreligion of her employ- 
ers? Workingmen could not go 



through the streets to and from 
work without being forced to 
to revilings of their church, 
was carried to such an exten' 
they soon found themselves ol 
to relinquish their open-air loui 
places, where they had smokec 
talked after the day's work was 
and shut themselves into their h 
Nor were they allowed to rem 
peace there. Nearly all the 
lived on one street, running fro 
bridge up the west side of the 
and called Irish Lane. When 
found that they would not con 
to be insulted, the mob that gat 
in the streets every evening ma 
up this lane, calling out to the 
challenging, taunting them, 
not one word or act of retal 
could they provoke to give the 
excuse for the violence which 
were thirsting to commit. I 
Rasle had given his people stri 
orders to remain in their house: 
make no reply, no matter wha 
said to them, and to defend ' 
selves only if their houses were 
en into. They obeyed him wi' 
tonishing docility. 

When, later, the people of S 
found themselves covered will 
grace before the country for 
outrages on Catholics, they strc 
throw the odium on " a few row 
or on workingmen from other 
employed in the Seaton ship-} 
and in a sketch of the town i 
History of Afahif, written sinct 
time, the Catholics are accus* 
being themselves the cause of 
own troubles. Both these state 



Tht House of Yorkc. 



»59 



In the town- meeting, 
orsnt and even suggested 
■age that was committed, 
nd towTi-officers made in- 
^ speeches from the same 
ilh any ignorant adventurer 
: hope to raise himself to 
■cvUing the church. Those 
(wnspeople who were not 
inbers of the mob were, at 
«.* lookers-on ; and when, 
acts of violence began, 
te roost prominent citizens 
e the windows of the Ca- 
iTch and of the [jriest's 
ten, as they would have 
iny other amusing show. 
[icifKLte. 

no instrument in thtsmove- 
Ihc Seaton Jirmld, which 
^ ]ud Icf^ in a sinking con- 
be Know-Xothings, want- 
{tn, bought it for a song, 
nto the editorial chair a 
ittcd for the work. Under 
iniendeace, the paper rose 

f» populariiy. It was 
question of religious 
law, and order, but of 
leocncy. Every week the 

•juict, respectable people 
^ into its column;;, that 
ith lies — their names only 
Elcd to escape the law, but 
li to conceal the identity, 
then; is some escape from 
i&ting notoriet)* — one can 

it; but in a small town 
o escape. Everybody is 
e\-erybody, and one lives 
■ case. 

pkc looked over one of 
r* — •• looked holes through 
aid— then threw it into the 
ilroppcd a lighted match 
watched its burning with 

compressed, like one who 
Kknu scent. " Don't send 
tmbcr of your disgraceful 
ic," be wrote to the editor ; 



but vainly, for the paper came a£ 
before, and was regularly taken In 
the tongs and put into the kituhen 
6re, except when Betsey or Patrick 
slyly rescued it for their own private 
reading. 

" I don't care for their lie*," Pat- 
rick said, u-hen Mr. Vorke reproved 
him; "but I want to know what 
Ihey mean to do. If a pack of 
lliicves were planning to break into 
your house, sir, wouldn't you stop 
to listen to their conversation ?" 

The Catholic children had also 
their cross to bear. Jhe teachers of 
the public schools, anxious to have 
their part in the " great work," were 
zealous in enforcing the Iliblc-rcading, 
and careful to .sec that no Catholic 
child omitted Uie doxology which 
Martin Luther chose to add to the 
" Our Father " of the Son of God. 

Suddenly an outcry was raised by 
the Know-Nothings. The pretext 
they had longed and worked for was 
given, and great was their joy. The 
incident was simple enough. 'ITie 
boy who livc<l with Father Rasle 
was found by his teacher lo have a 
Uouay Bible. He was ordered lo 
take it away and buy a I'rotestaot 
Bible. " I shall not buy you a Pro- 
testant Bible," Father 'Kaslu said 
** Use your own, or go without." The 
child was threatened with punish- 
ment if he dill not bring unc. The 
priest immediately removed him from 
school, fitted up the building former- 
ly used as a chapel for a school- 
house, and cmpluyed a young Ca- 
tholic lady, recently come to town, 
as teacher. The Catholic children 
gladly left the schools, where they 
Iwd, perhajw, suffered more than their 
parents had elsewhere, and placed 
thetnselves under the care of Miss 
Churchill. How beautiful, how strange 
it was to kneel down and say an 
Our Father and a Hail Mary at the 
beginning of their studies I How 



i6o 



The House of Yorie. 



delightful to go out ..t recess and 
play without being assailed by blows 
or nicknames! How proud they 
were when Father Rasle came in to 
give them his weekly instruction in 
religion 1 It was quite different from 
their accustomed ideas of school- 
life. 

Mrs. Yorke was much disturbed 
by tliis arrangement. "Edith will 
have to give up her new friend," she 
said decidedly. " I honor Miss 
Churchill for acting up to her prin- 
ciples, even when it is sure to bring 
her into a disagreeably conspicuous 
position ; but there is nothing that 
obliges us to share her danger. 
When a person comes out of the 
ranks for conscience' sake, let her 
stand alone, and have the glory of 
it" 

Edith objected at first, but her 
aunt insisted, and the girl soon saw 
that, though it went against her feel- 
ings, it was right to obey. 

" We are not Catholics, my dear," 
Mrs. Yorke said ; " but it is our duty 
and wish to protect you from insult. 
We have suffered in doing so. You 
know we have given up going to 
meeting, the sermons were so point- 
ed, and given up the sewing-circle, 
because we could not go without 
hearing something offensive, and 
your cousins find it unpleasant to go 
into the street even. As to your 
uncle, his defence of the religious 
rights of your church exposes him to 
actual danger. Our life here is near- 
ly intolerable, and this will make it 
worse if you and Miss Churchill 
continue to visit each other." 

Fortunately, Miss Churchill anti- 
cipated this, and herself put a tem- 
porary end to their acquaintance — 
" till better times," she wrote. 

" She has behaved well," Mrs. 
Yorke said, after reading the note. 
" And now, Charles, I wish that you 
would show a little prudence, and 



let events take their course i 
interfering. Why should yc 
anything ? It does no good.' 

" From which motive wou 
wish me to be silent," her hi 
asked quietly — " from cowan 
selfishness ?" 

She made no reply, save tc 
her hands, and wish that sh 
never come to Seaton. 

" Now, Amy dear, listen to re 
her husband said. 

"You know, Charles, it i 
disagreeable to have to listen I 
son," she objected pathetically 

He laughed, but persisted 
have heard you say many a 
that disinterested and inteliigei 
were to blame in withdrawing 
public afiairs, and leaving th 
the hands of dishonest polit 
You said, very sensibly, that, i 
men were not strong enough t 
vent abuses, they should at lea 
test against them, and let the 
see that patriotism was not 
dead. Perhaps, you added, \ 
protest might shame others iiiti 
ing you. Oh 1 you were el< 
on that subject, little womai 
quoted from Tata's Hails. Tl 
was that even the indignant bn 
of a heart in the cause of 
showed that truth stiU lived, 
was some good. What do yo 
milady ? Was it all talk ? A 
going to fail me? *I appeal 
Philip drunk to Philip sober.' " 

Mrs. Yorke was smiling, ax 
face had caught a slight color, 
repetition of her own sentimen 
encouraged her, as the recoil 
of our own heroic aspirations 
does help us in weaker moraen 

His wife pacified, Mr. York< 
out to work off his own irrii 
He would not have had her kc 
but he had been attacked i 
street that very day when stc 
to speak to Father Rasle. 



The Hottse of Y&rke. 



\6l 



dom went into the ureet un- 
iluielf obliged to, and would 
mve avoide^l subjecting any 

nnoyance on hts account; 
Vorktf would as soon havede- 

faith as Iiave shrunk from 

to greet the priest cordially 
have so greeted liim, indeed, 
dretl guns had been aimed 
V it. But it was not pleas- 

vraa a lastidtous gentleman, 
led to respect, and the im- 
le of the rabble was to him 
r offensive. He had come 
ning with anger, which had 
Sd while restrained. Fortu- 
found something to scold 

utc he went out. A grape- 
ch he had coaxed to grow 

maccustomed country, had 

put forth its first clusters ; 

mistake, Patrick had dip- 
c&vea off, and left the green 

xposcd to the sun. 

what fool told you to do 

i master demanded angrily. 
self, sir I" answered Patrick, 
tinching. He had his cause 
incc also. 
nke denied the charge with 

oo such thing, you — you 

drew himself up with an 
ignlfied resolution. "Sir," 
I've done my duty by you, 
ve done your duty by me, 
taken many a sharp word 
I, and made no complaint, 
ftit honest man, if 1 am not 
teamed, and I won't stand 
ny one call rae such a name 

orfce laughed out irrepresst* 
rcll. well, Pat," he said, " I 
pirdon. You're not a ver- 

■ 

ngbt, sir I" Pat answered 

t and went about his work 
rot- XIV. — II. 



Mr. Yorke, his good humor quite 
restored, went into the house again. 

" Poor Pat 1" Edith said, a little 
zealously, when the oiUers smiled 
over the story. 

" We are not scorning hiro for his 
ignorance, my dear," her uncle re- 
plied. "With Charles Lamb, •! 
honor an honest obhquity of under- 
standing/ and I also honor an hon- 
est ignorance of books; but some- 
limes they are amusing." 

" What did I hear you saying to 
Mr. Yorkc, Pat ?" Betsey asked the 
man that evening." " It seemed to 
me that you were impudent." 

" The fact is, I wa.s really mad," 
Patrick owned. " Pd been down- 
town, and there I came across the 
editor of the Herald, and the sight 
of him roiled rae, especially as he 
grinned and made believe bless hini' 
self. Pd like to meet him alone in a 
quiet bit of woods. I'd soon change 
hrs complexion to as beautiful a black 
and blue as you ever saw — the dirty 
spalpeen, with bis eye like a button- 
hole I" 

Betsey sat on the door-step, 
and looked up at the stars. " If 
I'd had the placing of 'era," she re- 
marked presently, " I'd have put 'em 
in even rows, like pins in a paper. 
It would look better. They're dread- 
fully mixed up now." 

Patrick looked into the skies a lit- 
tle while, but his mind was on other 
things than the marshalling of stars 
into papers of pins. " I'm sorry Mr. 
Yorke went to that town-meeting to- 
night," he said. 

Mr. Yorkc was, in fact, at that 
moment rising in the town-hall to 
speak. The Rev. John Conway had 
uttered a bitter tirade against the Ca- 
tholic clergy, with a fierce recapitu- 
lation of the affair of Johnny O'Brian, 
the priest's boy, and his Douay Bi- 
ble, Dr. Martin had followed with 
cooler, but not less bitter, denuncia- 



l62 



The House of Yorke. 



tion, and another reference to Johnny 
O'Brian. A Portuguese barber had 
made an idiotic speech, and various 
town-officers, and prominent Know- 
Notliings, all more or less ilhterate, 
had spoken, and all had seasoned 
their discourse with Johnny O'Brian. 
Finally, the Rev. Saul Griffeth had 
held his hearers spell-bound while he 
described, in glowing phrases, the in- 
evitable and complicated ruin of the 
country in case Catholics should be 
admitted to equal rights, or any 
lights at all, and had painted a daz- 
zling picture of the country's future 
glories should Catholics be excluded. 
And here again the perennial John- 
ny O'Brian figured. 

In the midst of a cold and threat- 
ening silence, Mr. Yorke got up. 
Never was his voice more rasping, 
his mouth more scornful, his glance 
more full of fire. " It was happy," 
he said, " for one man that the Rev- 
erend Mr. John Conway was not 
Calvin ; for, instead of being content 
to bum Servetus, he would first have 
tortured him, till even the flames 
would have been a relief. As for the 
Reverend Mr. Griffeth's companion 
pictures of the country's future, they 
were daubs such as no sensible man 
would receive as true representations, 
and the young man who painted them 
probably believed in them no more 
than he had believed in the precisely 
contrary views which he had express- 
ed within a few years in the speaker's 
own hearing. With regard to the 
other orators, he did not know what 
that illiterate and idiotic Portuguese 
barber had to do with the town af- 
fairs of Scaton, and he congratulated 



the. rest on the possession of 
O'Brian, who had certainly 
godsend to them. So lonj 
shred of that devoted child i 
they would have something 
But the reasoning in the mos 
speeches to which he had 
had reminded him of the L 
Sgamarelle, le m/decin mai^ 
They had put their premises 
middle ages of Europe, an 
conclusion in a little New £ 
to wn of the nineteen th i 
' VoUti ce qui fait que vatre 
mueiie* What, in fact, are i 
to talk about ? " He then v 
to state his own views. 

It is said of the Frenct 
mists under the first empire, 
their scorn of the emperor, ai 
determinatioa to regard hii 
foreigner, they used to pronot 
nameso that it seemed to be a 
twenty syllables. Mr. Yorke h 
faculty. His enunciation wa: 
and the letter r very promine 
the mere pronouncing of a n 
could make an insult. At \ 
manner had commanded silen 
one liked to be the first to hi 
it became too scathing presen' 
when one gave the first faini 
of disapproval, the storm bro 
He tried again and again to 
but they would not hear him, 
and jeers arose, and cries o 
him out ! Down with him ! " 

" Touch me if you dare ! " 1 
facing them, and lifting his 
They stood aside, and he 
out, and went home, not vei 
pleased. 



CHAPTER XVI. 
BY THEIR FRUITS VE SHALL KNOW THEM. 



Mr. Yorke went home fi^m that 
first town-meeting, and opened his 



Bolingbroke to look for a s< 
He found this: "The incivi 



The House of Yorl-e. 



163 



th from opposite imrtics have 

(ar from rt-iulennj; nie vio- 
pur m any, that I ihJiik my- 
:cd to xbcm all. Some have 
of fears, by showing me 
lent the world is; otJicrs 
ed mc of hope, by showing 
rious popular friendships 

have cured me of surprise." 
forke readjusted his glasses, 
the passages a second time ; 
not the sedative he want- 
was somclhing the mat- 

Bolingbroke ; his was a 
ind selfish philosophy; and 
orcovcT, a discouraging one ; 
cadcr wished to believe that 
>«ible to awaken and keep 
he popular mind an enthu* 
justice. XCr. Yorke was not 
tat in this warfare he had 
farer to God, and that what 
ll in his old favorite was that 
ftvcniy motive which, run- 

a golden chain through the 
haman actions, strings them 
(•' ' ' ig which the noliI«t 
\. and deeds crumble 

on the sea-shore. 
g his book with a reeling of 
ilment, his thought glanced 
atcr times, and he remcmber- 
le sentiment uttered by one 
t admired, indeed, but half- 
ly — one of the piirc&t and 
oic men of our time, a man 
s nothing but faith. 
I God. one is a majority'" 
ulcil Phillips. 

lought came down on Mr. 
icart like a hammer upon an 
id sent sparks up into his 

brain. 

EC back all that I have said 
that man," he exclaimed, 
up and walking to and fro. 

who has a vision of al»olutc 
cannot help being imp.itient 
ng conviction never 
be, tolerant." He ran 



his fingers through his hair as he 
)>aced the room, and combed it up 
on end. He would have liked to go 
directly back to the town-hall, and 
perhaps would have done so but for 
the probability that it was now dark 
and empty. 

*' It is not pleasant to be insulted 
by such people," he muttered ; " but 
it would be still less pleasant to think 
that the rascals could silence me. I 
will be heard at the next meeting, 

*Th«ueh li^ll ilMlfshoulil gi|>«, 
And liid me bold my |ieace.* " 

It was sometime before Mr. Vorke 
had the opportunity he desired, though 
scarcely a day passed in which he did 
not speak some word for the truth. 
There was no other town-meeting 
that summer. The people contented 
thcms«ives with the weekly scanda- 
lous battery of the Sechm Herahf^ 
and with a small domestic persecu- 
tion. A few pious church-members 
were especially active. This was 3 
kind of missionary labor which suited 
them well, for ii i^ave the pretext of 
zeal to their bigotry and uncharita- 
bleness. If a lady could have per- 
suaded her Irish ser\-ant-girl (o eat 
meat on Friday, she would have 
gloried in the triumph. 

'■ I will not eat of flesh on the day 
when the flesh of Jesus Christ was 
hacked and mangled for the sins of 
the world," said one faithful girl. 

" But nobody knows on what day 
of the week he died," the mistress 
urged, '* That is one of the lies of 
your priests. Now, Bridget" — laying 
a gold half-eagle on the table — " this 
money shall be yours if you will cat 
that piece of meat" 

The servant looketl at her mistress 
with tliat dignity which a scorn of 
meanness can give to the lowliest. 
" Mrs. Blank," she said, "you remind 
me of the devil tempting our Saviour 
when he was fasting." 

The temptation and the occasion 



i64 



Tlie House of Yorke. 



were trivial, but they called out the 
spirit of the martyrs. 

Cold weather seemed to cool the 
zeal of the Know- Nothings ; but with 
another spring it kindled again, mak- 
ing the Catholic school its principal 
point of attack. Anonymous letters 
were written to the teacher, threaten- 
ing her if she did not give it up. The 
Herald contained, week after week, 
insulting and scarcely veiled referen- 
ces to her ; and the children could not 
go through the streets unmolested. 
But no notice was taken of these an- 
noyances, and the school prospered 
in spite of them. The children came 
unfailingly, not, perhaps, without fear, 
but certainly without yielding to fear. 
They were deeply impressed by the 
position in which they found them- 
selves. All their childish gaycty de- 
serted them. They gathered and 
talked quietly, instead of playing; 
tliey drew shyly away without answer- 
ing when the Protestant children at- 
tacked them. " Keep out of their 
way, and never answer back," was the 
charge constantly repeated in the ears 
of these little confessors of the faith, 
and they obeyed it perfectly. Dear 
children ! may they never lose in 
later years that faith by which they 
Buffered so early in life. Herewith, 
one who watched and admired their 
constancy sends them loving greet- 
ing. 

When the first examination for 
prizes took place in this school, Mr. 
Yorke was present, and made an ad- 
dress; and when it was over, he 
and Father Rasle walked away to- 
gether. 

" I am obliged to go away, to be 
gone a month," the priest said. " I 
must go to-night. Hut I do not 
like to leave my flock to the wolves. 
There is no help for it, though. The 
bishop wishes to see me at Brayon, 
and I must visit the Indians on Old- 
town Island." 



'* I advise you, sir, to go as 
ly as you can, and let no o: 
you go or know that you are g 
Mr. Yorke said. 

Father Rasle looked sur 
" Why, you do not imagine th. 
person would molest me ?" 

" I do not imagine, but I ai 
that the Know-Nothings wot 
anything," was the reply. " 1' 
safe to give them an opportur 
miscliief." 

Still the priest looked increc 

" I cannot see why they 
touch me," he said. " I bav 
nothing to provoke them. Tl 
suit us, they tell lies, and I < 
resent it. Do you know the 
that have been brought to n 
week ? I find them ami 
He laughed pleasantly. " Sc 
they represent the church! . 
tholic man, they say, wanted t 
a hundred dollars. Now, to t 
much at once would be a mort 
but to steal ten cents would b 
a venial sin. So my brave O 
steals ten cents, and, after a 
ten cents more, and so on, 
has the hundred dollars. B 
means, he secures his money, 
guilty only of a thousand veni: 
which he gets forgiveness for \ 
ing the priest fifty dollars. 1 
one of Mr. John Conway's ; 
Here is another that was pu1 
in the Heraldy with my nam 
the others in full. You kno 
Mrs. Mary 0'Conner*s husban 
ly died in California. Well, tl 
raid says that the poor wido« 
to me, weeping and lamentin 
she had not even the consolat 
seeing her husband's grave ; 
told her that, for thirty dol 
would have him buried here 
had saved thirty dollars, ean 
washing, and she brought it 
Three days after, I told her tl 
husband's body had been raira< 



The House of Yorkc. 



t6s 



ISa 1 pointed out the 
itrc it was buries), down here 
'the church. But I warned 
\ she mast not dig there, as 
I be a sacrilege, and that, if 
I the body would disap|->ear. 
another : Patrick Mulligan 
I fonie sin to me, and, for a 

1 tdl him to give himself 
re blows with the discipline. 
goes home, gels ready for 
^ce, and suddenly remem- 
I he has no discipline. It is 
b'ghl. He puts his head out 
low, and sees that Mrs. Ma- 
rxt door, has forgotten to 
[her clothesline, and a fine 
Ihcs-line it is. Pat blesses 
B, creeps down-stairs, steals 
pes-Une, and, going back. 
Up into a beautiful discipline. 
\ has piously beaten himself, 
K ilie cord all up, that he 

be known as a thief, goes 
mh a clear conscience, and 
e sleep of the just. 
r, sir/' the priest concIii(!ed, 
It likely that I ara to 1>e at- 
Of such stories as that. Of 
BO sensible person believes 
>r, if people should doubt, 

easily find out the tnilh." 

truth, my dear sir, is pre- 
lal they do not wish to find 
r, Yorke replied, " They 

be exasperated, and, since 
afford thcni a pretext, 
:lcome any lie, and no 

asked. Moreover, you arc 
;hink that such slanders ori- 
ilh tlie low only, and influ- 
y the low. I came upon a 

other day written by Calhe- 

!cher. You have hoard of 

Ilier«, of course? The title 

■••.):^T timn J'lction: a 

ills it, ofJxeetttt Trans- 

\Kg Inquiries in reqarj to 

ef Honor ^ Truth, ami 

chtain in a tUsttn^uish- 



eti Americau Unwenity. That uni- 
versity is in Connecticut; and the 
affair was one which created a good 
deal of stir among the Protestant 
clergy a few years ago. Miss Beech- 
cr seems to prove clearly in her book 
that certain eminent doctors of diW- 
niiy, and professors, with ladies of 
their families, ruined the reputation 
of a distinguished and innocent wo- 
man. IJut what does Miss Beecher 
herself do, in the preface to this very 
book wherein she appears as the 
champion of ' honor, truth, and jus- 
tice,' spelt with capital letters ? She 
goes out of her way to speak of the 
Catholic clergy, and asserts that, 
since their ministrations are effica- 
cious, no matter what their characters 
may be, ' there is no special necessi- 
ty, on this account, to limit admis- 
sions to this office to those only who 
are virtuous and devout.* Now, Uic 
sentence is artfully worded lo evade 
the charge of slander; but almost all 
nOR-Catholic3 interpret it, as the 
writer wished they should, tu mean 
that, in ordaining a Catholic priest, 
it is not considered of any conse- 
quence whether he is a man of good 
character or not. It has been so in- 
terpreted by every person whom I 
have asked to read it I give you 
anuihcr instance: Doctor Martin touk 
upon himself to send Edith some 
anti-Catholic books, which I relum- 
ed lo him without letting her see 
them. I glanced into one, and 
found it divided into paragraphs, 
each containing a charge against 
your church, illustrated by an anec- 
dote. I read one paragraph, headed 
A Church without a Holy Ghost. Of 
course, you were charged with not 
believing in sanctification ; and the 
anecdote was of a man who became 
a Protestant after having been a Ca- 
tholic forty years. When his new 
teachers told him of the Holy Ghost, 
he exclaimed, ' Holy Ghost ! What 



i66 



The House of Yorke, 



is that ? I have been in the Catho- 
lic Church forty years, and I never 
heard of a Holy Ghost.* Now, sir, 
this, of course, seems to you idiotic \ 
but a Protestant doctor of divinity 
keeps such books, and gives them 
to people to read, and repeats such 
falsehoods in his sermons. You see 
what you have to expect." 

" Shall I, then, publish a card deny- 
ing the truth of these stories ?" Fa- 
ther Rasle asked, with an expression 
of face which showed his distaste for 
the task. 

" No one will read it if you do," 
was the reply. " You must leave all 
to time. At present, for you to be 
accused is to be condemned. Who 
was it — Montesquieu ? — who says, 
' If you are accused of having stolen 
the towers of Notre Dame, bolt at 
once ' ? That is your case. What- 
ever they may charge you with, con- 
sider yourself convicted." 

They had by this time reached the 
priest's house, a little cottage close 
to the corner of the two streets. Mr. 
Yorke declining an invitation to en- 
ter, they leaned on the gate a few 
minutes to finish their talk. 

" You must not judge our country 
by what you see here," Mr. Yorke 
said. " What you complain of is 
merely the abuse of a good gift. A 
priest of your church has expressed 
himself very well concerning these 
difficulties. ' It always pains me, in 
such periods,' he says, ' to hear men 
express doubt concerning our insti- 
tutions. As for me, I would rather 
suffer from the license of freedom 
than the oppression of authority. 
War is better than a false peace ; riot 
better than servitude; heresy better 
than indifference. But none of these 
things,' he adds, * is to my liking. 
And may the good God preserve us 
from them all !' That was Father 
John, an American priest" 

" Ah ! I know him," Father Rasle 



said brightly. " I happenec 
once in his company. We 
steamboat, and some minis 
ed into controversy with h 
tholic Christianity degrades 
the minister said. The 
cannot hold any communica 
God. If he should be cast 
a desert island, he would b 
God. All must come to hin 
the church. He has in hi 
power to reflect the divine 
' You mistake,' says Fath 
' and I can show by a famili 
Suppose that every man in t 
should insist that his ttme^ 
correct, and should refuse 
late it by any other. Of c< 
chronometers would all wag 
veral ways, no two alike, a 
would be a ceaseless wrangl 
what was the time of day, a 
man would think that he C2 
sun in his pocket. To the ( 
the meridian and the alma: 
watch is right t That is Pi 
ism. Now, the Catholic ha< 
itual dial also ; but since \ 
that it is a fallible instrui 
keeps it regulated by the gr 
of the church. The conset 
truth and harmony. Every 
conscience ticks alike ; and, 
meridian-gun of the great 
is fired, every man says, ' II 
o'clock. Amen !' " 

Mr. Yorke's warning was 
ed, for the event proved thi 
Rasle would scarcely have 
lowed to leave the town wit 
lestation had it been knowr 
was going. No one knew 
ever, but the priest's hou 
Mr. Yorke, and the man wl 
him over to Brayon that nig 

" I do not think that anj 
tion was needetl," Father R 
to his companion, as the 
through the dewy woods by 
" But since it was as easy 



Tht House of Yorke. 



167 



iet, why, I have. 1 have 
or right to throw my life 

)rke did not know what had 
1 till Patrick told hini the next 
The crowd had gathered 
Mts, it appearcil, and taken 
d promenade up Irish Lane, 
usual result. No one came 
inswered them, and they 

see a face in the windows, 
lut if the |>atience of the 

not worn out, that of their 
rs was. Since they could 
}ke an attack, they would 
If. From Irish Lane they 

tto the priest's house, 
:lves with stones and 
t a whole window left 
is^ ar, " said Patrick ; " and 
L stone lying on Father 
sed, where it was thrown 
[he window, that would have 
n if he had been there, as 
tghl he was." 

Ut that certain expressions 
[r. Yorke made use of on 
his story will not be remem- 
atnst hiiu on the day of hnal 
J. They were not pious 
ns, nor mild, nor, indeed, 
i«hed ones; but they were 
He put on his hat with an 
which left a large dent in 
D, refused to take any break- 
started for the town. 
t does he mean to do ?" 
I wife, wringing her hands, 
go after him. Oh 1 if Carl 
t. Girls, it is of no use to 
Be £ must know what goes 

neaklast was left untouched, 
whole household gathered 
^bother, coaxing and sooth- 
^Ratrick should go down, 
^^d keep his master in 

election would an Irish 



Catholic be to him ?" cried the 
lady. 

Betsey would go, she declared, 
standing with arms akimbo and her 
fierce head raised. She would like lo 
see the man that would stand in her 
way when she was roused I 

But, no ; Betsey was too pugilistic. 
If Mr. Yorke were to see her, he 
would be irritated. Some one more 
conciliating and politic was want- 
ed. 

Clara cut the matter short by ap- 
pearing in walking dress. She would 
go down and see what the trouble 
was, and send a messenger home im- 
mediately. 

Meantime, Mr. Yorke was in no 
danger whatever. People were, in- 
deed, more good-natured than usual 
after the success of the night before. 
He encountered mocking smiles^ but 
no threats. His first visit was to one 
of the selectmen. '• What are you 
going to do with the rascals who 
broke Father Kasle's windows, last 
night?" he demanded, without any 
ceremony of greeting. 

The man assumed an air of pomp- 
ous indifference. " I do not projjose 
lo do anything," he said. " If they 
were brought before me, as a justice, 
I should try them. But I am not 
called on to take any step in the mat- 
ter." 

" Perhaps you were one of them," 
Mr. Yorke said bitterly. 

The man's face reddened. " I 
shall not take any notice of your in- 
sults," he said. " It is well known 
that those windows were broken by 
a lew rowdies who cannot be found 
out. The town is not responsible 
for them. And even if they were 
known, the feeling of the community 
is such that they would not be pun* 
ished. People arc so much excited 
against the abuses of popery, and the 
interference of the priest in our pub- 
lic schools, that they are willing la 



i6S 



Tht House of Yorke. 



see every Catholic driven out of the 
town." 

If there was ever a moment in Mr. 
Yorke's life when he regretted being 
a gentleman, it would be safe to say 
that this was that moment. To talk 
with such a man was folly. But if 
some muscular Christian had entered 
the scene opportunely, and applied 
to the town-ofhcer's back a score or 
so of such logical conclusions as he 
was fitted to understand, or had en- 
lightened his cranium by propound- 
ing to it an argument from an un- 
answerable fist, Mr. Yorke would, 
doubtless, have left the office with a 
smile of serene satisfaction, and a 
conviction that the dramatic proprie- 
ties had been sustained. No such 
person appearing, he went away with 
anything but an amiable expression. 

His next visit was to the Rev. 
John Conway. The minister had 
just finished his breakfast, and came 
into the room with a comfortable, de- 
liberate air, rather exasperating to 
a man who was not only indignant, 
but fasting. His guarded look 
showed that he expected an attack. 

By an effort, Mr. Yorke greeted 
him courteously, then began: "I 
come, sir," he said, " to ask you to 
raise your voice and use your in- 
fluence to put a stop to such out- 
rages as were committed last night, 
and bring the perpetrators of that to 
punishment." 

Mr. Conway seated himself with 
dignity, cast down his eyes, puckered 
his mouth accurately, put the tips of 
his right-hand fingers to the tips of 
his left-hand fingers in an argumen- 
tative maaner, and spoke slowly and 
solemnly : 

" I am sorry that any violence has 
been done. But when a community 
becomes incensed by encroachments 
which threaten their most sacred in- 
terests, and when they find that the 
laws are not stringent enough to af- 



ford them security from an ii 
foe, we cannot expect that tl 
act with that calmness and d 
tion which is to be desired. ] 
cate— " 

" You are not in your pulpit 
ing to blockheads ! " Mr. Yorlc 
forth. " I came here to talk c 
sense." 

A cold glimmer showed un 
minister's lower eyelids, and 
went over his face ; but he ha 
self-control than his visitor, or 
not that sense of outraged just 
decency which, to that visitor' 
made forbearance a vice, cons 
ly he said nothing for a n 
There was, indeed, no more 
said. Mr. Yorke rose and \ 
the door, but stopped there. ' 
appeal was vain, warning mij 
be. 

" I warn you, sir," he said- 
Protestant — that your course 
only dishonest, but impolitic 
are working so as to secure tl 
triumph of those you hate, 
bring about your own ruin. 
anti-Catholic mobs are not 
tant, except as they protest 
all religious restraint The 
Catholicism most, simply beca 
the strongest religion. You m 
think, perhaps, that you use tht 
you mistake. They use yo 
they despise you. They spe 
fair now, because you stand b 
them and the law and give 
certain respectability. Indee 
only power is derived from yoi 
when they shall have crushed 
licism, if they ever do, they wi 
the same weapons you have 
in their hands against you. 
hope that by the course you are 
you are going to make Bap 
Congregational, or Methodist < 
members ; you are going to m 
fidels." 

A sense of the utter useless 




The House of Yorke, 



'&> 



loflhai} restored Mr. Yorke 
mess. He spoke firmly, but 
E any cxctienifni, and, having 
, Icfi ihc house, and walked 
ihomcward. Clara, coming 
last Street, and looking anx- 
pght and left, saw him. and 
Poui <A sight. With her foot 
I on a doorstep, she made a 
icsk uf her knee, hastily pen- 
line to her motlicr. While 
«e, three several families 
u»I wondered at her through 
td». She looked about for an 
ijr — saw one. and sent him 
lucjt^ge. 

1 like the wind till you come 
of the house," she charged 
ut walk slowly up the avc- 
hey will think that you bring 
I, and be frightened." 
right, mamma!" Clara had 

•* Kverybody I meet is as 
d innucetit -looking as a cat 
been stealing cream. I saw 
\ minute; 1 am going up to 
Icr, and will be back before 

'orke kisse 1 and feasted the 
brought the news; Mcliccnt 
for old clothes, and sent him 
th garments enough to last 
rear, and both nearly cried 
B, ■' Poor little persecuted 
Betsey bestowed on him a 
the t¥ro Pattens, having 
of their own to give, stole 
piem a encumber, which ihcy 
fcped into his pocket. People 
nl with the Yorkcs always 
as llie Yorkcs did. There 
ET more than one party in 
use. Their domestics were 
, their dependents adorers, 
went out into the garden, 
tcrcd some flowers for the 
ing with him me.inwliile. 
\ calm June day — after a 
D. The sky had started to 
J" — got so far that there was 



nothing left but a pearly fleck of 
cloud that just netted ihc sunshine 
—then had forgotten all about itself. 
A lovely, dreamy softness overhung 
the scene, and the drops of rain that 
lay on every leaf and flower slionc, 
but did not flash. 

The boy gazed at Kdith with ad- 
miration. Her head was bare, and 
she wore a blue dress, with loose 
sleeves, and a little crisp white ruffle 
dose around the throat, She stood 
on tiptoe, and stretched her arms to 
reach a branch of red roses. As she 
caught if, a shower of drops fell 
over her head and face. " Asperges 
inf /" she whispered. 

"* Oh ! she's real pretty," the boy 
said afterward to his mother. " She 
has dimples in her elbows just like 
baby." 

\Vhen the wreath was made, Edith 
hung it round the child's neck, his 
arms being full, and walked down to 
the gate with him. " Try to be a 
little saint, and not be angry, no 
matter what may be said to you," 
she said. ** If you are afraid, say the 
' We fly to thy patronage, O holy 
Mother of God,' and she will take 
care of you. Goo<l-by, dear." 

She leaned on the gate, and look- 
ed after him. Her checks were as red 
as the roses she had gathered, and 
her expression was not, as formerly, 
one of sunny calmness. She was as 
quiet in manner and speech as ever, 
but it was the qutct of a strong and 
vivid nature fully awake, but not 
fully satisfied, perplexed, yet self- 
controlled. So much had happened 
to her in the last year ! She had 
been called away suddenly from 
childhood, and study, and vaguc> 
bright dreams to confront a p<»itive 
and quite unexpected reality. Un- 
less she should make a vow never to 
marry, then she was to marry Dick 
Rowan, that washer conclusion ; and 
ha\'ing once made up her mind in 



r/o 



TIte House of Yarke, 



that respect, she thought as Httle 
about it as |}Ossible. Perhaps her 
only definite thought was that Dick 
might have waited awhile before 
speaking, and let her study more; 
for study had now become impossible. 
She wanted to be in continual motion, 
to have work and change. A deep 
and steady excitement burned in her 
cheeks, her eyes, her lips. Her piety, 
instead of being tender and tranquil, 
had grown impassioned. To die for 
the faith, to su^er torments for it, to be 
in danger, that seemed to her desir- 
able. She almost regretted that she 
had home and friends to bind her. 
If she were still with Mrs. Rowan, in 
the little house that was under that 
clay-bank, then she would be free, and 
perhaps they would kill her. She had 
scarcely been to Mass that year with- 
out thinking how glorious it would be 
if a mob would break in and kill them 
all. Her imagination hovered cease- 
lessly over this subject. 

Seeing her uncle coming, she wait- 
ed for him. " We must make up 
our minds that we have not seen the 
worst that they will do, little girl," 
he said. " There is no law." 

She smiled involuntarily. 

" Why, are you pleased at that ?" 
he exclaimed. 

" There might be a worse fate than 
dying for one's faith, Uncle Charles," 
she said, clasping her hands over his 
arms. 

He laughed, and patted her cheek, 
" Is that your notion ?" he asked. " If 
it is, remember that I have a word 
to say about it. I shall fight hard 
before you are made a martyr of. I 
see what you have been reading — 
Crashaw's St Thensa .• 

* Ptrewell, house, and farewell, home : 
Sho't for tbe Moors uid mKrtyrdom.' 

Do I guess and quote rightly, made- 
moiselle ?" 

She only smiled in reply. But well 
she knew that she had been reading 
from a deeper book than Crashaw. 



A few nights after, the C: 
school-house was blown up 
gunpowder, and left a perfect 
"Of course!" said Mr. Yorke. 

"The teacher has taken tli 
dren into the galleries of the ch 
Patrick said. 

" The church will be desi 
then," replied his master. 

It was not destroyed altoge 
once, however, but every windc 
was broken. This was done in 
daylight, just after a summer s 

Mr. Yorke put himself befc 
mob, entreating them to forbea 
trying to push back the fo 
ones, but without avail. " 
listen to him ! His niece is a I 
lie," they cried. " To the ch 

Two or three gendemcn dn 
in their buggies, and sat at 
distance while the work of d 
tion went on, and several i 
lingered on the outskirts c 
crowd. In a neighboring stre 
of sight, Edith Yorke stoo( 
Clara, and listened to the soi 
breaking glass. For a mome 
tural indignation overcame p 
her heart. " Oh ! if I were a 
sand men on horseback," si 
claimed, " I'd like to ride 
down, and trample them under 
Then the next moment, " Oh 
wicked I am I" 

" You are not wicked !" Cla 
angrily. "I won't have yo 
such nonsense." 

Clara was in that state of 
when she must scold somebod 

Of course the authorities took 
ticeofthisaflfair. The teacher I 
glass reset, and continued her 
Mr. Yorke wrote to Father Ra 
vising him not to return to Sea 
a while, and a lull succeeded. 

And now the Yorkes took 
and felt not quite alone, for C 
coming home, and Dick '. 
would soon be there, and ( 
Gary was coming down. 



TO u cmrnMVBD. 



Tk€ Siigntata and Ecstasies of Louise Lateau. ijx 



\m 



AND ECSTASIES OF LOUISE LATEAU 01 
BOIS U'HAINK. 



the (Uys of St. Francis of 
, whose life in the thirteenth 
ras one constant succession 
Is, the occasional appearance 
ored individuals of the stig- 
nd the occurrence <>{ ecstatic 
lavc excited the deepest in- 
dcvout minds, • 
: eye of Ciith, these dcpar- 
m the ordinary laws of na- 
i the mirades which God 
;hsafcd in all ages of the 
lave seemed fresh and bril- 
tntions of this divine pow- 
ihe purely scientific mind 
re presented inexplicable 
na, which, being irrcconcila- 

natural laws, have been 
leoly derided or attributed 
fraud. 

in the physiologist be harsh- 
d for scepticism in this dt- 
(br history leenis with the 
f epidemics of religious en- 

in which fanaticism had 
::tims to claim repeated cc- 
DDS of God, and to be the re- 
>f supcmatural revelations. 
:ription5 transmitted to us 
eti&ts and lUuminati in Gcr- 

the French and fcingUsh 
the Welsh jumpers, and 
icfs of the sects to which 
matioo gave birth, abound in 
of these ecstatic outbreaks. 
lions of Swedenborg, as re- 
[lis Arcana dzUstia, and in 
srout biographies t of this 



paly Bccwftrj to cxpUtn In Tftilia- 
ItM ikU CXJ^vaslOD ll tpplicd to th« 
firs wouoda upoa our Loiil'i hoAr-, 
H Otff Cofp«]. uid lUiumud la aU 
uu at liha cmcl&zkia. 
Kkcn, trbbe't Li/tmnd U'ritfittt 



extraordinar)' person, are well known ; 
and among similar clainiaots to su- 
pernatural experience, Arnold's de- 
scription of John Engelbrecht* is 
one of the most curious and interest- 
ing. 

In Hecker's EpidemUs of (he AfiJ' 
(iU A^s is given a full account of 
the" ConvulsionnairesofSt. M^dard," 
so-called from the cemetery of St. 
Midard in Paris, where a noted Jan- 
senist deacon was buricil in 1727. 
The fanatical excitement of his fol- 
lowers first showed itself in pilgrim- 
ages and reported miraculous cures 
at his grave, to which they gradually 
flocked in great numbers, many be- 
coming convulsed with terrible con- 
tortions, jumping, shouting, rolling 
on the ground, spinning around with 
itKfcdible velocity^ running their 
heads against walls, while others 
preached fanatical harangues or pre- 
tended to be gifted with ilain'oyiiiue. 
For more than fifty years these 
scandalous exhibitions continued, 
Convulsionism growing into ."i dis- 
tinct sect in spite of tlie efforts of 
the government to suppress it, un- 
til swept out of existence by the 
greater excitement of the French 
Revolution. 

In many of these cases, the sup- 
position of intentional fraud was 
doubtless well founded ; in others, the 
ecsiatics were themselves the un- 
conscious dupes of tlieir own fanati- 
cism. To appreciate the cautious 
scrutiny with which the church, how- 
ever, sifts pretensions of this nature 
in any of her children, the reader 



1S06. Cited by Clymer. 



172 



The Stigmata and Ecstasies of Loutse Lateau. 



need only consult the lives of such 
saints as have been thus favored.* 

The psychological condition or 
state which is somewhat vaguely 
termed ecstasy has always possessed 
peculiar interest both for the theolo- 
gian and the physician ; and, although 
numerous definitions of it have been 
attempted, it is extremely difficult to 
convey to the general reader a clear 
idea of its distinctive nature. The 
word itself usually signifies a condi- 
tion in which the mind and soul is 
transferred, or placed out of its usual 
state. 

St. Augustine called it "a trans- 
port, by which the soul is separated 
and, as it were, removed to a distance 
from the bodily senses," and, follow- 
ing this definition, Ambrose Par£, 
the father of French surgery, terms it 
" a reverie with rapture of the mind, 
as if the soul were parted from the 
body." St. Bonaventure, the con- 
temporary and biographer of St. 
Francis of Assisium, says that ecstasy 
" is an elevation of the soul to that 
source of divine love which surpasses 
human understanding, an elevation 
by which it is separated from the ex- 
terior man." St. Thomas Aquinas, 
Cardinal Bona, and other theologi- 
cal writers give similar definitions; 
while among medical authorities, 
Briquet, J. Franck, B^rard, Thomas 
King Chambers, Guislain of Brus- 
sels, Clymer, Gratiolet, and many 
others describe its symptoms and dis- 
cuss its pathological relations. 

Well-marked ecstasy and the stig- 
mata have but seldom been united in 
the same individual, and still more 
rarely have these extraordinary ma- 
nifestations been subjected to the 
searching tests of science. 

It will not, then, be amiss to pre- 

*See smonc others, SalTitori'i Li/t 0/ Vtr»- 
mitm Citiiani, pp. loo-ioS, and the cxhauttlre 
Chrittluk4 Myitik of GBrTcs, in which 1< given 
• full uconnt of MarU M6rl, tbe " Ecstatic of the 
TyroL' 



sent the readers of this m: 
with a brief description of th 
notable illustration in recent 
of these marvellous phenomi 
the case has acquired a £u 
celebrity, attracting the scrut 
many savants, and forming tl 
ject of an interesting memoir 
professor in the Belgian Unive 
Louvain. From his descript 
the facts, which he was officii 
pointed to investigate in thei 
tific bearings, we shall conde 
following account. 

In the rich and industrial p: 
of Hainault, in Belgium, is 
ed the tillage of Bois d'Haine 
midway between the towns of ' 
roi and Mons. It is mainly c 
ed of cottages occupied by wi 
in the neighboring manufa( 
and in one of the poorest o 
Louise Lateau, the subject 
notice, was bom January 30, i 

She is the youngest of thn 
dren, alt daughters; and th 
rents were poor working 
strong and ordinarily healtl 
never subject to any nervous 1 
rhagic disease. The mother 
living and in good health ; th< 
died during an epidemic of 
pox at the age of twenty-eight 
ise, then two and a half mon 
contracted this disease from 
ther, but made a rapid recover 
family continued to struggle 
poverty, the children's food 
poor and scant — *' plusque 
says Ur. Lefebvre — but they 
theless grew up robust and 1 
When only eight, Louise was 
in the temporary care of a p 
woman in the neighborhood 
the latter's son was engaged 
door work. A little later s 

* Lou lit La4fau dt Bait ^Haim* : « 
Extattt : it* Stigm»ttt. Etmdt Midi, 
le Dr. F. Lefebvre, Profe«Mur de P 
Gtfa^ntle et de Th^rapcutique. Louti 
lamo, pp. 360. 



Tht Stigmata and Ecstasies of Louise Latcau, 



»73 



ichool for five months, learn- 
picchism and a little rending 
bng. la her twelfth year, 
made hcf first cotntnunion, 
bed ihc service of her gre.it- 
|0 Uvctl at Manage, near 
Eatoe, in a ceruin degree 
n. In tliis position she <lis- 
prat activity and devotion to 
k giving herself up day and 
the service of her relative, 
|. m a year or two. She then 
ic service of a respectable 
iSSeU, where she remained 
months on account of an 
ic nature of which is not 
after this she obtained 
ace in Manage, where, ns 
ic left behind her the re- 
of devoted courage, of pa- 
humble and quiet piety, 
for the poor. 
the beginning of 1867, she 
lOre feeble m health with- 
cxactly ill orobliged to sus- 
customary work. She lost 
nd color, suffered from se- 
Igic pains in the head, and 
iumed the greenish- white 
always indicates impover- 
fthcbtood. This had been 
by a severe attack of 
OD several occasions, 
c early part of April of this 
! spat blood, the source of 
whether from lungs or sto- 
uld not be decidefl 
entire month she now be- 
istanlly weaker, taking al- 
log during this time but 
the medicines prescribed 
The exhaustion increased 
, degree thai her death was 
snmincnt, and on the 15th 
(he last sacraments were 
frd. She now suddenly 
iuid so ni|)idly that, on 
pril, she was able to 
at the parish church, 
IS of a mile distant This 



apparently remarkable cure was the 
first incident that attracted public 
noiice to her case ; crowds of people 
coming to sec her as an object of 
curiosity. 

Iliis period may be viewed as her 
turning point from girlhood into a 
woman ; and, at her then age of 
eighteen, she is described as being 
slightly below the middle height, 
with ftill face, very hltle color, a fine 
delicate skin, light hair, clear, soft 
blue eyes, a small mouth, and very 
white well-shaped teeth. 

Her expression is intelligent and 
agreeable, and her genera] health is 
good, and liee from any scrofulous 
or other consiiiuiional taint. She 
has always worked hard, and exhi- 
bited considerable physic^il endu- 
rance. Mentally she is represented 
as unemotional, lacking in imagina- 
tion, by no means bright, but of good, 
strong common sense, artless, straight- 
forward, and devoid of enthusiasm. 
Hex education is Umited, although 
she has improve*! the elementary 
instruction received during her brief 
school term, speaking French with 
ease and some degree of purity, 
reading with ilifticulty, and writing 
very little, and incorrectly at that. 
WcT moral character is honest, sim- 
ple, transparent. Dr. Lefcbvre and 
others, who questioned her about 
her ecstatic visions, repeatedly tried 
to lest her sincerity, but never suc- 
ceeded in making her contradict her- 
self or tend in the least degree to 
exaggeration ; nor could she ever be 
induced by her young friends to dis- 
cuss lier stigmata or visions, upon 
which she was equally reticent with 
her friends and her family. Of a 
naturally gay and happy disposition, 
she has shown in various circum- 
stances much patience, determ'ma- 
tion, and courage. AmJtlst many 
domestic anxieties and troubles, of- 
ten losing her rest day and night 




The Stigtnata and BcstasUs of Louise Lattau 



dunng the illness of her relatives, and 
falsely accused by her mother (who 
seems to have been a person of diffi- 
cult lecnjtcr) of being the cause of 
all the family's inislortunes, she re- 
mained invariably calm and cheer- 
ful. Another of her most striking 
traits was her charity for the poor ; 
" poor herself, she loved to relieve 
the poor," and many instances arc 
narrated of her devotion to the sick 
and helpless during the cholera that 
ragedat fioisd'Hainein iS66. From 
her infancy almost she was cxcep- 
ttonally devout, and her piety was 
always practical, and devoid of af- 
fectation and display. In her inte- 
rior and religious life, as in her do- 
mestic duties, she was simple, ear- 
nest, and dr scree L 

A recollection of these details of 
her character and antecedents is 
necessary for the proper appreciation 
of the phenomena now to be describ- 
ed. These arc of two distinct kinds, 
having no connection but their ac- 
cidental association in the same in- 
dividual \ and that they may be more 
clearly understood, they will be con- 
sidered separately, first the stigmata, 
then the ecstatic trances, and, thirdly, 
the nature of the evidence upon 
which the extraordinary facts rest 

I. — THE STIGMATA. 

The first occurrence of the bleed- 
ing w;is noticed by Louise on Fri- 
day, the 24lh of April, i86«, when she 
saw blood issuing from a spot on the 
left side of the cliest With her ha- 
bitual reserve, she mentioned it to no 
one. The next day it recurred at 
the same spot; and she then also 
observed blood on the top of 
each foot. Slic now confided it to 
her director, who, although thinking 
the circumstance extraordinary, re- 
assured her and bade her keep the 
facts to herself. During the night 




se to < 

>dicat^ 



preceding the second 
lowing. May 8, blood 
the left side and from botlt fcl 
toward nine o'clock in the ml 
it flowed freely from the bad 
palm of each hand. At thi 
ture it seemed impossible loi 
keep the matter secret, 
confessor directed Louise to 
a physician. 

Recognizing the mcdi 

ter of the case, the pcriodicat 
ing, and the ecstatic trancesi 
subsequenUy occurred, the rcj 
authorities felt constrained t(% 
its investigation in the handl 
medical expert, and for thi| 
pose called in the aid of Dr. | 
vre. A more judicious ch<Mco 
not have been made, as this | 
man had long devoted hini8el| 
study of nervous afi^ections, ai 
passed fifteen years in medical \ 
of two hospitals for the insam 
in lecturing upon mental dise^ 
the University of Louvain. 

Of the minuteness of his exj 
don, and of his credibility «s ' 
ness, each reader can judgj 
himself. I 

If, during the course of the 
from Saturday to Thursday njd 
the hands and feet be examini 
following facts are revealed : ( 
back of each hand there is xj 
patch about half an inch (two 
half centimetres) long, of a md 
hue than the rest of the ski 
and glistening on the surfacQ 
the palm of each hand a siroila 
patch was seen, equally red, ad 
responding exactly with the % 
that on the back. On the sd 
back of each foot are found | 
marks, having the form of a p^ 
ogram with rounded angles, > 
three-quarters of an inch (thr< 
timetres) in length. 

On examining these spots 1 
magnifjing-glass of twenty dio^ 



i 



!>^ Sit^ftta/a aud Ecstasies of Louise Lateau, 



1/5 



(or superficial layer of 
u found to be thin but un- 
nd through it the cutis (or 
can readily be seen. 
Her looks perfectly natural, 
at tlie papiUas, or little ele- 
which terminate the nerves 
are slightly atrophied and 
this givbg rise to the glia- 
ppearance of the surface. 
' one of the stigmata has not 
a week or two, the reddish 
ion disappears, and the pa- 
tne tbeir normal appearance, 
anent marks remain upon 
;ad; and, except on Friday, 
ing points cannot there be 
hcd. From a natural feel- 
dicacy, the chest was only 
duriog the ecstasy. 
ist symptoms announcing 
caching bleeding usually ap- 
it noon on Tliursday. Up- 
of the rosy spots on the 
\ feet, a lticl>^ or lildc bladder, 

rise and slowly develop. 
:tly corresponds, when fully 
rilh the size of the patch ; 
ed with a transparent serous 
netimcs of a rcddi^ih lint 
>n tl»e soles of the feet and 
s of the hands. The bleb 
of the epidermis detached 
aceil from the true skin by 
mulating serous fluid. No 
or redness is seen in the 
(in immediately surrounding 

eeding nearly always begins 
midnight and one a.m. on 
nd it does not occur in all 
lata at once, but in each 
cly and in no regul ir onlcr. 
imonly (he flow begins from 
a the chest, then in succcs- 

1 (he stigmata, on the hands, 
forehead. .\ rent occurs 

wliich is some- 

Liietimes crucial 

uiar: the &crous fluid then 



escapes, and is immediately followed 
by blood, which oozes from the ex- 
posed papillie. Usually the flow of 
blootl detaches and w;Lshes away the 
shreds of epidermis, and the bleeding 
surface is left uncovered ; but some- 
times on the palms of the hands and 
the soles of the feet, where the epi- 
dermis is thicker, the blood collects 
and clots in the bleb. 

At each of his Friday visits. Dr. 
Lefebvre examined the stigma on the 
chest, which lay in tlie space between 
the fifth and sixth ribs, e.Yternal to 
and a little below the centre of the 
left breast.^ 

At the first examination, which 
was made August 30, 1868, llie 
bleeding point showed no trace of a 
previous vesicle ; the cuticle was not 
detached, nor was the skin discolor- 
ed, and the blood was seen lo ooze 
from three little points almost imper- 
ceptible to the naked eye, and about 
one centimetre apart. In three sub- 
sequent examinations a vesicle had 
formed like those on the hamls ami 
feet ; it had burst, and the blood 
oozed from a circular spot oi the 
raw skin nearly a quarter of an inch 
In diameter. 

Upoa four diffisrent occasions, 
blood was observed to be flowing 
from the head. It was difficult to 
ascertain the condition of the skin 
under the hair; but on the forehead 
no vesicle appeared, nor was there 
any apparent change in the color of 
the skin. The blood was seen to 
issue from twelve or fifteen minirte 
points arranged in circular form upon 
the forehead. A bandage, of the 
breadth of two fingers, passinj^ around 
the head equidistant from the eye- 
brows and The roots of the hair, 
would include the bleetling zone, 
which is slightly puffy and painful 

* ForlbeunprofmioaiJ reader, ilin«rt>« pro- 
per to sUil« tli«( lh!» poiot l> |urt extern*! to Ut« 
tmoa) pcnUlon of tbe Kpex ai the hcAtL 



176 



The Stigmata and Ecstasies of Louise Lateau, 



upon pres3ure. On examining these 
points with a magnifying lens, most 
of them looked like minute cuts in 
the skin, of triangular shape, as if 
made by the bite of microscopic 
leeches : othere were semilunar in 
shape, and some quite irregular. 

The quantity of blood that flows 
through the stigmata each Friday is 
variable. During the first months 
of the flow and before the com- 
mencement of the ecstatic attack, it 
was abundant, and often lasted twen- 
ty-four hours — from midnight to mid- 
night — and it was estimated that as 
much as one litre, or seven-eighths 
of a quart, was discharged from the 
nine wounds. An exact estimate of 
the amount was difficult, from the 
fact that most of the blood was ab- 
sorbed by the cloths about the 
chest and limbs. But, as the result 
of his personal observations, Dr. Le- 
febvre states that at his first visit, 
August 30, 1868, both the duration 
and the quantity of the flow had al- 
ready begun to diminish : beginning 
at midnight, it stopped about four or 
five o'clock the next afternoon ; yet 
he counted on that day fourteen 
large hnen cloths (the largest being 
twenty inches by eight, and the small- 
est twenty inches by six) completely 
saturated. Besides this, the left foot 
was still enveloped during the ecsta- 
sy, and there was a pool of blood on 
the floor as large as two hands. He 
thinks he rather understates the 
amount of blood then lost if he esti- 
mates it at two hundred and fifty 
grammes {a half-pint). This, how- 
ever, he gives as the mean quantity 
lost, it being sometimes more and 
sometimes less. 

Sometimes the bleeding ceased 
about midday, and two Fridays pass- 
ed without any haemorrhage, the ecs- 
tasy occurring as usual. On one of 
these occasions the stigmata remain- 
ed unchanged, but on the other the 



usual vesicle formed, yielding 
rous discharge of a delicate lO! 
but no blood. After this th( 
bleeding resumed its regular 
every Friday, and the blood} 
let on the forehead, which i 
appeared exceptionally, was m 
played each week. 

The blood, which was a 
examined, had neither the 
tint of arterial nor the dark 
hue of venous blood, but wa 
violet red color, like that of I 
pillaries or minute vessels whic 
the veins and arteries. It 1 
natural consistence, and clotK 
dily upon the cloths and up* 
edges of the wound. With 1 
his colleagues who were ex] 
microscopy, Dr. Hairion, pr 
of hygiene and dermatology (t 
ory of skin diseases), and D 
Kempen, professor of anatoit 
Lefebvre made several careful 
scopic examinations of the 
which showed a perfectly tram 
plasma or blood fluid, with t 
and white corpuscles of 01 
blood in proper proportion. 

The stigmata are manifcstl 
ful ; for, although the girl was ej 
ly reluctant to speak of it, Dr. 
vre was satisfied, by careful 
vation of her attitudes and exp 
before the ecstasies began, th 
suflered acutely. 

The bleeding stopped at d 
hours, as has been stated. 1 
following day — Saturday — th 
mata were quite dry, with litth 
of dried blood here and there c 
surface. Not a trace of supp 
ever occurred from the wounc 
the girl, who a few hours aj 
much difficulty in using her 
or in standing on her feet, if 
engaged with her morning 
hold duties, or walking a mih 
half to her devotions at the 
church. 






Stigmaia and Ecstnsits of Louise LaUau. 



m 



ECSTATIC TRANCES. 

■■U]^ eciitaslcs of Louise 
^|pi on Kndar. July 17, 
rtecn w^tk** after llie blccd- 
fiTSt noticed, alibuugit the 

7 Dots d'Haine, M. Niels, 
:ed before this some fugitive 
r uQcoQticiousne&s. lie dis- 
voided speaking of ihem, 
and WAS c.ircl'ul not to di)^- 
i CTcn with Louise herself. 

8 oT these transient .ittacks, 
tenUIy occurred during some 
bat rcli^iotn festivals of the 
5*ear» arc given by Dr. Le- 

, he had no satisfactory cvj- 

tbcm, and was unwilling to 

E»lMervAtion5 of others. The 

CftacJc trances recurred cvc- 

flfter the d:ite mentioned, 

i'^ht or nine o'clock 

-lid ciidftl about six 

t7i]oon,ahhough sometimes 

i bour longer. Their dtira- 

iBTcfore from ten to eleven 

tiout interruption; and they 

begin while the subject is 

with her tlevotions, al- 

9raeiime'> when she is in 

of conversation* and occa- 

; cng.-iged at her work. 

I mominu;. Louise is ac- 

>] time in prayer, 

HI' riing condition 

Imds on her h-inds rcnder- 

;ii\tw.i^ibie. Her prayers 

: character, consist- 

toi the rosary. Seated 
l&er hands wrapped in 
I her manner calm and 
nly her eyes become 
>o\'able, and the trance has 
Prom his notes maile oa 
upon one of these oc- 
Dr. LefcbvTe transcribes 

^ description : " J t is 
in the morning. I 
ing to Louise upon 
topKS, about her occupa- 

- XIV.— 13. 



ttonsy her educationi her hcalili. She 
has answered my questions simply, 
precisely, laconically. Her appear- 
ance is (luiet and tranquil, her color 
natural, her »kin cool, and the pulse 
seventy-two in Uie mmute. After a 
while her conversation flags, and she 
answers more slowly. I suddenly 
notice that she 1ms become immova- 
ble, her eyes fixed and turned up- 
wanl, and a little toward the righL 
The ecstasy has begun." It is wortli 
observing that the instant the eyes 
become fixed in contemplation, the 
ecstatic state has commenced; after 
this the girl answers no qucsiions, 
ami is quite insensible to external 
influences. 

Ur. Imbcrt-Goubeyre, professor in 
the medical school of Clermout-l'Vr- 
rand, has also witnessed the com- 
mencement of the ecstasy under like 
circumstances. His description is 
unnecessary. 

Lastly, the ecstasy in.iy begin 
while she is at her daily work. On 
August 13, 1S69, Mgr. d'ilerbomez, 
the venerable Bishop of llhtish Co- 
lumbia, went to see Louise Lateau, 
reaching; her house about eight 
o'clock in the morning. She was at 
work on her sewing-machine, al- 
though her hands and feet were- 
bleedmg freely, and the blood trick- 
led down from her forehead, chcekSt. 
and neck upon the raacliinc, which- 
she evidently worked with the ut- 
most pain. While the prelate was 
si>eaking to her, the noise of the ma- 
chine suddenly slopped, fur she luad 
at once passed into the trance. 
A number of distingutshe<l ccclesias' 
tics, among them iVofcssor Hailed 
of the Seminary of Touniay, have 
witnessed a similar onset of the at- 
tacks. 

When once established, the course 
of the attack is thus described. Dur- 
ing roost of tlw; trance, the girl sits 
on the edge of her chair, as motion- 



178 



The Stigmata and Ecstasies of Louise Lateau. 



less as a statue, with the body bent 
slightly forward ; the bleeding hands 
enveloped in cloths and resting upon 
her knees, the eyes wide open and 
rigidly fixed as described. The ex- 
pression of the face is that of rapt 
attention, and she seems lost in the 
contemplation of some distant object. 
Her expression and attitude frequent- 
ly change, the features sometimes re- 
laxing, the eyes becoming moist, and 
a smile of happiness lighting up the 
mouth. Sometimes the lids droop 
and nearly veil the eyes, the brow 
contracts, and tears roll slowly down 
the cheeks : at times again she grows 
pale, her face wears an expression of 
the greatest terror, while she starts 
up with a suppressed cry. The body 
sometimes slowly rotates, and the 
eyes move, as if following some in- 
visible procession. At other times she 
rises and moves forward, standing on 
tiptoe with her hands stretched out, 
and either clasped or hanging open 
like the figures of the Orantes of the 
catacombs ; while her lips move, her 
breathing is rapid and panting, her 
features light up, and her face, which 
before the ecstasy is quite plain, is 
transfigured with an ideal beauty. 
If to this be added the sight of her 
stigmata : her head encircled with 
its bloody chaplet, whence the red 
current drops along her temples and 
cheeks, her small white hands stamp- 
ed with a mysterious wound from 
which bloody lines emerge like rays 
— and this strange spectacle surround- 
ed by people of all conditions, who 
arc absorbed in respectful attention 
and interest — some idea may be gain- 
ed of what Dr. Lefebvre often wit- 
nessed at Bois d'Haine. 

About half-past one o'clock, she 
usually falls on her knees, with her 
hands joined and her body bent for- 
ward, while her face wears an ex- 
presaon of the profoundest contem- 
plation. She remains in this attitude 



about half an hour, then ris 
resumes her seat About two 
the scene changes. She first 
little forward, then rises — sic 
first, then more quickly — anc 
by some sudden movement i 
jection, falls with her face 
ground. In this position she 
on her chest, the head restin] 
the left arm, her eyes closi 
mouth half-open, her lower 
stretched out and covered 
heels by her dress. At three 
she makes a sudden moveraei 
arms are extended at right 
with the body in cross-like f 
while the feet are crossed, th 
instep resting on the sole of t 
She maintains this positior 
about five o'clock, when she s 
ly starts up on her knees in t! 
tude of prayer. After a' few r 
of profound absorption, she x 
her chair. 

The ecstasy lasts until ab 
or seven o'clock, the attituc 
expression of face varying ace 
to the mental impressions, ? 
terminates in an appalling 
The arms fall helpless along: 
the body, the head drops forw 
the chest, the eyes close, th 
becomes pinched, while the f 
sumes the pallor of death: 
same time the hands becoi 
cold, the pulse is quite imperci 
a cold sweat covers the bod 
the death-rattle seems to be h 
the throat. This condition last 
fifteen minutes, when she r 
The bodily heat rises, the pi 
turns, the cheeks regain theii 
but for some minutes more 
hangs an indefinable express 
ecstasy about the face. Si 
the eyelids open, the feature! 
the eyes look familiarly at su: 
ing objects, and the ecstasy is 

If the different phases of t 
oxysm be carefully watched, il 



rAf Stigmata und EfStasUs of Louise Lateau, 



it llie intellect, far from being 
is very active ; although 
IS quite unconscious of what 
igorounci her, she remembers 
Ir alJ her subjective sensations. 
|[h extremely reluctant to dis- 
\ subject, she was ordered by 
^tual fUrectors to answer Dr. 
t's questions, which she did — 
^distinctly — to the follow- 

I her ecsusy begins, she says 

t herself suddenly plunged 

^ast flood of light; figures 

r leis distinct soon apjicar, 

rertil scenes of the i'assion 

ss successively before her. 

he minutely b«l briefly de- 

-« ith the appearance of the 

his garments, wounds, crown 

Ls, and cross. He never ad- 

hcr a worti or even looks at 

ic describes with the same 

and precuion the characters 

und hira — the apostles, the 

en, and the Jews, 

ifcbvre has given a lucid ex- 

of the Slate of the different 

uring the several stages of 

.sy, as well as of the chief 

if interest of the paroxysm. 

jthe first period — fnm eight 

in the morning until two in 

lOon — l.oui<ie remains sitting 

hair, and her organic and 

condition changes but li l- 

skin is cool; (he face retains 

color; respimiion is regular. 

aim that close attention is 

:o note the chest movement j 

is soft and regular, beating 

irvcnly-fivc in the minute. 

lally the heart-beats arc more 

slower tlian usual, and the 

■hes or becomes suddenly 

trx functional modifications 

ith tJie play of the features, 

evidently the result of the 

'— -onsof the mind. 

;, on Thursday, when 



she rfincs more sparingly than usual, 
until eight o'clock on the Saturday 
morning, she tastes absolutely no 
food or drink of any kind. She feels 
no need of cither, and her stomach 
woulil not retain it if taken ; for, 
several times, when ordered by her 
ph)'sictan to take certain nourishment 
on Fridays, it has been swallowed 
without resistance, but at once reject- 
ed. In spite of this complete ab- 
stinence from drink, the tongue was 
always moist : the great excretions 
of the body were suspended. Care- 
ful attention was directed to the con- 
duion of the nervous s)-stem, and 
especially to sensation and motion. 
To the touch, no tension or spasmodic 
contraction is perceptible in any of 
the muscles, and the girl executes no 
movements but those required for 
the uciion of the scenes at wiiich slie 
assists. Thus, at limes, she sits up 
straight, her hands either clasped or 
hanging loosely, her lips relaxing 
into a smile, or her face drawn into 
a frown. If her liml>s be moved by 
a bystantler, the result varies; some- 
times ihey preserve the position 
given, as, when her arms are lifted up, 
they may retain ihe new position for 
nine or ten minutes, and then slowly 
relapse to their former place. But, if 
she is lifted to a stan<]ing pasilion, 
great muscular relaxation is evident, 
and as soon as the support is with- 
drawn she falls back into her chair. 
One peculiarity should here be noted : 
if any effort be made to change her 
position during prostcrnaiion, when 
the arms are extended and ihe feet 
crossed upon each other, a decided 
resistance is perceptible, and the ex- 
tremities immediately resume their 
position. 

The exercise of the special senses 
is completely suspended, as was test- 
ed by experiment. The eyes arc 
widely open, the pu])ils dilated, the 
lids quite immovable, except when 



i8o 



The Stipnaia and Ecstasies of Louise Lateau. 



the conjunctiva * is touched, which 
produces a slight winking or contrac- 
tion of the lids. A bright light or 
other object may be suddenly passed 
without effect before the eyes, which 
gaze vacantly into space. 

The sense of hearing is equally 
blunted, and insensible to ordinary 
sounds. On several occasions, a per- 
son standing behind her has shouted 
loudly into her ears without exciting 
the least evidence of being heard. 
Except upon the conjunctiva, as men- 
tioned, general sensibility seems to 
be completely in abeyance. Numer- 
ous experiments were made to test 
this fact. 

For instance, the mucous mem- 
branes of the nose and ears were 
repeatedly tickled with a feather with- 
out exciting any reflex contraction ; 
a strong solution of ammonia held 
under the nose produced no effect. 
The skin, being less sensitive than 
the mucous membranes, was pricked 
with a needle, and a pin thrust 
through a fold of skin on the hands 
and forearm; the point of a penknife 
was also driven into the skin until it 
bled freely, without producing the 
faintest muscular contraction or indi- 
cation of sensibility. 

A still more decisive test was made 
with an electro-magnetic battery, f 
the electrodes of which were placed 
on the front of the forearm where the 
skin is very thin and sensitive, and 
the strongest possible current passed 
through the muscles for more than a 
minute by the watch without elicit- 
ing the least evidence of pain, and 
the electric brush was equally power- 
less. The poles were likewise appli- 

* The thin, tnnspirent membrane ihst corers 
the eyeball, and is reflcctetl u;inn the Inner sur- 
face of the lids. U is one of the most delic&tc 
and sensitive portions of ihc boily. 

t This test is often applied for the detection 
of feiKned conruliions. etc., by criminals and 
other maliugeren ; its efficac)' will be appreciat- 
ed by any one who haa tried to bold the poles 
of* powerful battery. 



ed to different parts of the ii 
violent and prolonged cont 
of the facial muscles indue 
without the slightest winking \ 
sign of sensibility or suffering 

Such is the condition of the 
functions during the first par 
ecstasy, but some modificati 
observed during the second, 
while lying prostrate on the fli 
pulse becomes almost imperc 
and an ordinary observer woul 
detect it at all, although Dr. L 
was sure it never ceased to be 
Its frequency was at the sau 
greatly increased; so that, i 
could be counted, it often ros< 
or 130 in the minute. The 
ments of respiration now 1 
more and more feeble, and tl 
est attention is needed to ma 
that they exist, the rhythmic 
tion of the little shawl that 
her shoulders being often tl 
appreciable evidence that tl: 
not totally suspended. 

Another remarkable fact, v 
contrar)' to the general physic 
is that the rate of the pulse a 
of respiration aiv directly in an 
proportion; both Dr, Lefeb\ 
Dr. Imbert-Goubeyre having 
that, while the pulse rose froi 
130 per minute, the respiratioi 
mally averaging 20 to 25) sin 
or even 10 in the same peric 
proportion as the pulse and br 
become feeble, the skin loses 
tural temperature, and is bath 
cold sweat. As was .stated, r 
occurs in ten or fifteen ra 
the pulse regains its force and 
frequency, respiration increas 
the natural standard of bodi 
is restored. The ecstatic thus 
at once from her trance into 
dinary life witliout any intcrr 
stage of transition. No he; 
stiffness of the joints^ or otl 
comfort is complained of; th 



r , the expre;sio» 
■Ai, a»d the body 
At this moment the pulse 
•n found regular, sofV, and 
to 75 pcrrainuic ; respiration 
ai strength, and 22 per minute, 
sLin perfecily natural. 

BQinUTIOM OP CREDIBIUTV. 

iis|>ic3on of fraud seems never 
lipco enlCTt.iined by the pco- 
> ■^cd Ix>uisc t.atcau. 

r ^ I s ird character, her 
nii unostcnratious piety, and 
ic acts of charity to the poor 
to them the antithesis of hy- 
. Of the likelihood of inien- 
Iccepttun each reatler will 
n himself from the tiltetrh wc 
ren of her hisiory. Dr. Lc- 
►owcvcr, acknowledge* with- 
ation that when he tirst visit- 
ic was sure a pious fraud was 
k ! which the eye of 

once rietect. Con- 
that he knew nothing of her 
L'cdents, this suspicion, 
-as natural, legitimate, 
en; but it soon disap* 

ncc of the facts." 
e siigmalitntion be ron- 
Uic supptwition is untenable, 
ts rcinemtrt-red that she was 
}y watched by her friends, 
n^and visitors. How, under 
mmstancrs, rould she possi- 
anil use the blisters, caustics, 
means of producing the 
: wounds? But, granting 
all these at her command, 
aid the ignomnt peasant gtrl 
hough aided by two or tlircc 
ices — pro^hice a result which 
ncian with all the resources 
:e cinnot effect ? For it in- 
the occc!i^ily of causing a 
diicbargc from nine or ten 
f the body, and of sustaining 
a hali-day or even longcr 




under the very eyes of wtincsse? who 
prevente<l any repeated irritation of 
the bleeding surfaces. But when tlie 
ecstatic trance is borne in mint), the 
impossibility of imposture is still more 
evident How can wc conceive that 
a young girl, brought up in the hard- 
ships of manual work, deprived of all 
instruction, who has read nothing, 
and seen nothing, could each week, 
during nn entire day, play the part 
of a consummate actress; that she 
could simulate not only the abolition 
of sight and hearing, but complete 
insensibility to the most exquisitely 
painful tests; that she could control 
functions which are essentially be- 
yond the power of the will, as cirou- 
I.ition, bodily temperature, respira- 
tion ; or that she could suspenrl those 
cxcrelioiis which nrc at once ihc most 
humiliating and the most irresistible 
evidence of human weakness f 

If,then,theproblemal Bois d'Hainc 
presented only one difficulty — the 
stigmati^alion or tlie ecstasy — it 
would be ne^t to impossilde to ex- 
plain it on the supposition of fraud. 
But this difficulty is incomparably 
ga-ater when we consider these two 
extraordinary facts m association. 
To suppose that both the ecstasy and 
stigmatizaiion were fraudulent would 
involve the manifest contradiction of 
admit ting that the ha;morrhage, which 
refjuiretl a frequent movement te 
sustain it for ten, fifteen, or twcntj 
hours, could he niaintnined durinj 
the prolonged immobility of the 
trance. No one, however dextrous, 
could play this double rS/ir for eight- 
een months* without detection, al- 
though constantly examined by oU 
kinds of pcople^many of them filleil 
with scientifi<: distrust, and nmoni 
thera more than one hundred physi- 

* TtuL it, tiam July. ttCS, lo April, tt^a, whn 
Dr. Lcfebvic'k tuink wri puhliUivd. In a hulMe- 
qiicnt letlcr ilatcti JRniiaty t], 1S71. to Dr. Dkr. 
of London, tic iUt» that hct candlUoo is iii*U 



1 82 



The Stigfnata and Ecstasies of Louise Lateau. 



cians. As an example of the uncer- 
tainty of her privacy, Dr. Lefebvre 
states {in a note) that, on the nth 
February, 1870, he was unexpectedly 
passing through the neighborhood, 
and, as it chanced to be on Friday, 
he thought he would stop and see 
Louise. He knocked at the door — 
was at once admitted, and went 
straight to her little room without 
stopping to speak to the family. It 
was a quarter to four in the afternoon, 
and she was completely alone, lying 
prostrate on the floor, with her arms 
extended as described, and insensible 
to all that was passing around her. 
The bleeding limbs were wrapped in 
the usual cloths, of which he counted 
nine. The blood which trickled from 
her forehead was dried ; and, lifting 
up her little white cap, he noticed 
the circle of bleeding points on her 
forehead, which presented the usual 
appearance. The feet had not been 
bleeding ; on the right hand the flow 
was just stopping, while on the left 
the blood was still distinctly flowing 
from both stigmata. Having ascer- 
tained these points, he quietly left the 
cottage without her having been 
aware of his visit. 

As a general answer to the objec- 
tion of insincerity, Dr. Lefebvre ap- 
peals to both moral and physical 
proofs. As the most convincing of 
the former class, he cites the general 
good repute of Louise, which was 
never doubted, even l)y those who 
most resolutely questioned the nature 
of the phenomena she presented : 
her brave and humble life, her con- 
tempt for presents or money, her 
simplicity and avoidance of all pa- 
rade ; her extreme anxiety to conceal 
the first evidence of the stigmata 
even from her own family. If, as oc- 
casionally happened, money or pre- 
sents of any kind were offered to her 
mother or sisters, their wounded pride 
was unmistakable; and when the 



Archbishop of Malines, after 
examination of Louise, once 
the family if they had no req 
make of him, they only entreat 
they might be relieved of visit( 
left imdisturbed. 

To meet the physical obj 
raised to the theory of the sti; 
he tried the effects produced t 
ping, caustics, and various bli 
agents. The first of these ha 
or no force ; for, besides the di 
of exhausting the air under 
upon the hard and uneven sur 
the back of the hand, it is ne< 
to cut the skin to make the 
flow, and, when the amount dr 
the surface flows out, the bl 
ceases at once. 

Caustics produce a destruc 
the skin at the point to whic 
are applied, and after five 
days an eschar is detached, 1 
a sore but not a bleeding surfa 
if bleeding exceptionally occ 
ceases very soon, and the I 
process is stow and always folio 
an indehble scar. This in no 
accorded with the facts observ 

The blistering hypothesis 
less improbable, as this class 
tants produce a special form of 
mation of the skin, during whi 
epidermis is raised from the di 
an exudation of serous fluid. . 
process much more resembh 
vesicles that preceded the sti 
bleedings, it was examined witl 
er care. The characteristic c 
cantharides or ammonia was 
perceived, nor could the p 
spangles of the Spanish-fly ever 
tected with a magnifying lens, 
mus paper, moistened and ap[ 
the wounds, gave no evidence 
application of acids. In addi 
this, there was no inflamed 
around tlie stigmata, as is c< 
around the edge of blistered si 
and their development was n 



iTAf Stigmata and Ecstasies of Louise Lateau. 



183 



ut successive ; and more 

ice, in Dr, Lefcbvrc's presence, 

pulU or vesicle ruptured spon- 

[ly, and tlie tlow of bl<x>d in- 

tcgan in its u^iuol quantity. 

B, however, tlie vesicle pro- 

)pf ft blister is ruptured, the 

'scfl, but never under 

; ;es emits a flow of 

lo prove this in the most 

ve manner, the following ex- 

ts were instituted: 

£»'™iay, Nov. 27, 186S, Dr. 
who u.sually adopted the 
ution of taking with him 
,hrce of his colleagues or other 
ble physicians on his visits to 
ic. in the presence of l>rs. 
Severiii, applied strong 
>nia to a spot about half 
in diameter upon the back 
left Ihind, alongside of itie 
urhidi wa-s then bleeding frec- 
tanow &trip of sound skin was 
left between the two. In 
ive minutes a well-develop- 
vesiclc was obtained, 
ith transparent serum. On 
iQthesis of fraud, this should 
spontaneously ; but, as it 
so, it was ruptured and 
lorn off, thus exposing two 
pices side by side, upon the 
ind, and involving the same 
The two spots were care- 
Lchcd ; the stigma continued 
I freely for two hours and a 
ber, while the blisteretl sur- 
Sng this period did not yield 
drop of blood. For a half 
{UKuded a little colorless scrum, 
bich its surface dried up ; on 
it with a coarse towel, a httlc 
b>red scrum escaped and 
into the cloth, but ceased the 
^m was stopped, 
vjjcriment, which was 
Jc decisive, was by means of 
e calls "the glove test" 
^tdessaats^ 



On Wednesday, February 3, 1869, 
Dr. Lccrinier, M. Niels, the curate 
of Bois d'llainc, and M. Buisin 
visitc<l the cottage, and took with 
them a pair of thick, strong, well- 
stitched leather gaundets. After 
carefully examining her hands, and 
satisfying themselves that no vesicle 
or abnormal redness existed, tlicy 
asked Louise to put on the gloves, 
which fitted her exactly. A strong 
wristband being then wrapped five 
times around the wrist, so as not to 
leave the smallest intersi>acc between 
the glove and the skin, it was lied in 
a double knot, the ends cut short, 
covered with melted sealing-wax, and 
impressed on each side with a special 
seal. To prevent the wax from scal- 
ing off from friction or any chance 
blow, the seals were enclosed in little 
bags [bifursci en toUs). The gloves 
were the same for both hands, except 
lliat on the right glove Ihe thumb 
and forefinger were cut sliort to allow 
the girl to continue her usual sewing. 
On the next Friday morning, before 
seven o'clock. Dr. Lcfebvre met by 
ap[)ointmcnt at the cottage Mgr. 
Pouceur, vicar-general of the diocese 
of Tournay, and two well-known 
Belgian ])hysiclans, L)rs. Moulaert, 
of Bruges, and Mussely, of Deguze. 
After each one had satisfied himself 
of the integrity of the seals, and that 
it was impossible to slip an instru- 
ment of any kind between the glove 
and tl»e skin, the strings were cut 
and the gloves removed 

'I'licy were full of blood, wliich also 
covered the hands. When this wa 
washed off, the stigmata were foundl 
just the same as on other Fridayit; 
on the palm and back of each 
hand the epidermis had been de- 
tached ; it was torn, and the surfac^j 
of the skin left raw, and each of 
sligmatic spots continued to bleed 
as usual. Of the feet, which had 
not been subjected to any test, the 



iS4 



The Stigmata and Ecstasies of Louise Lateau, 



right was bleeding freely, while the 
left was dry. 

Lest some subtle doubter might 
object to this experiment that, by 
some indiscretion on the part of the 
examiners, the girl might perhaps 
have discovered their intention, and 
applied her secret irritant to the hands 
before their arrival, Dr. I.efebvrc 
resolved to repeat the test with still 
more conclusive precautions. 

The gloves were therefore again ap- 
plied on a Tuesday with the same 
care as before, and the next day were 
removed for a few moments, and tlic 
hands found in a perfectly healthy 
and natural state; they were then re- 
applied as before. On Friday morn- 
ing, they were taken off before a new 
set of witnesses, when the stigmata 
of both hands were found bleeding 
freely as usual. 

In his appendix, Dr. Lefebvre states 
that this glove test was suggested by 
Mgr. I'ouccur, who superintended 
the theological jiart of the inquiry at 
the request of the Bishop of Tournay, 
and to whose tact and intelligent 
liberality he pays the highest com- 
pliment. 

These experiments, and the infer- 
ences that they logically involve, 
convinced Dr. Lefebvre that the hy- 
pothesis of fraud in the production of 
the stigmata was untenable. 

It would be easy to show by simi- 
lar proofs that the ecstatic trances 
could not have been feigned. Itut 
for Ois puriTOse it will suffice to re- 
call the reader's attention to the nu- 
merous trials that were made to test 
the subject's sensibility to external 
impiessions. Those made with the 
electric current alone are decisive 
upon this point, for it may fairly be 
said that the strongest, and most re- 
solute man could not possibly resist 



some exhibition of feeling 
powerful magnetic battery w 
toning his muscles. 

In a subsequent part of his ■ 
Dr. Lefebvre enters into an 
live medical study of the fa 
served, the discussion of whit 1 
be out of i)lace in this magazir 
shows conclusively that, a 
they have some points in cc 
the ecstatic trances esscntiall 
from hysteria, catalepsy, an< 
allied disorders of the nerve 
tem; while animal magnetisi 
various subdivisions of " lir.i 
hypnotism, and electro-bio 
equally powerless with som 
lism or the theory of spirituo 
unravel the plienomena prese 
this simple peasant girl c 
d'Haine. 

The reader who desires to 
this inquiry \z referred lo Dr. 
vre's work (pp. 162 et sn/.) 
Fournier's article entitled 
rares" in the fourth volume 
l>h-/iottriaire des Sch'fues M 
which is replete with curioi 
matlon upon the subject of 
mata. 

So convincing arc the sta 
of Dr. Lefebvre, who never i 
into the advocate or mistakes 
theories for facts, that the 
narrates has been accei)ted 
faith, and republished within 
sent year by two of the leadi 
naU* of this country ami Kn 

In one of these. Dr. Day, 
don, discusses the probable ( 
the ]>henomena with conj 
liberality, while the learned 
contents himself with repor 
extraordinary facts. 

Voik, 0(:t., ^%^o, Macmil!*n*t .Ma^a 
don, April, 1B71. 



Th£ Lrgcrids of Oisin, Bard of Erin. 



>«r 



THE LEGKXUS OF OISIN, BARD OF ERIX. 



BY AUSRET DE VERE. 



IXrKOOL'CIOKY. 



DMinUias mjid on the wild shores of MTeKern Trelind lire ktill reciied. In tbc GacUO| ■ 

t legends Tclaiing i'> t- ionn Mat Cuiubul and 'an son (Jl>in, known ti> tlie KogUsT 
I'Snder th« aames M Fingsl and Ossuia. Some of ihe«e "Thapsodies" )ux-e beeit^ 
:il. with an Knulith vernon, tt)^ ihe Itkh •'0»%ianic S-Ji^icty," and oilirt^ by Mr. 
pn, IG ■ valuable %ulumc rulled Oiiiit,/At Barti ti/ £riti. Many pocnu uii tlic 
; IncludcJ alto In Yhe Oe^a nj Litntare't iJAxt', a work cansislini; of nncknt Gai'llc 
Sed Iraui a MS. callectkiii nade about a.o. i^tf, bv Sir Janttv MacGTc^oi, I>«iin nf |U»- 
I tn ArRTllalKrc. The eariy Irlili ■eillmicnta in Western Scotland arc Ur|[Dty- r«lorri»l 
■Akh and arclurotoglsu ot' ScoiUnii. U'. P. ^kcnc, Rnq., In bit learned Introduction 
ok. intonufc ua ittkouRll for Scotland, also, he claim* OsAianlc |>oelrr.i iImI, ilurinK [h« 
jbKh !h* efi.ai Celtic h(5ti« if tf>* '• LorO ui ilic I-lcs" bcld sway, Uwie existed 
.'ion beiwcen tlic U'estern IllgliUnda and Ulaada and Ireland, bu(J 
Llbseand Mranic ; Ibe lilsh a>;ii[iachles aitd liurilx ivcte heads ct' I 
M .... VL ^ .,^111 lltnhlaiiiU. uDd ihe HiiiliUmI seunacbics were clilicr (it Iflsli de-^ 
RtiTc oriKtn. reioncd tu bardic Nrhoob m IrcUnd for Insiructlan m the Uncuase sod 
I ol tb«ir an." ..." The oldest of the (taellc MSS. prcserred in tbe tibraiv ol 
lAdincates beloojta lo thl« pertnd. They are all written in thi^ Irish character; the 
Iwritltcu language uf Ireland ; aad tttejr truolain numciout Bj^ccuneas of the pDctiy of 

\ Olsuni,: potxM \\\\\ rhanted In Ireland, itnt a few coiitUt uf dinlogiiea between (Mslq^ 
mirjt, Tltcv descend fmtn a very remole ■ntiquUv'. t1iot]|>h they buvc licc-n niucli inudi< 
IT ' : ' !.i<ii of hiH race and clan, \s leprctemed at itic giicsL of Siiat 
'-['islhe Cliriii',»n failli, (hniii^li with iiii>;;u'ini;s, fur be (caKi 
11 yutitbtatid now a»d ihcn his wrath blaacs out aeaiTist Ihe 
Vc i.L^ uiiu lu Uic klkUU of luiJtall. The saint bc|[Uili!a bU ouUiicakit by praying blrn 
[loi'c ijf ilic lun-t, 

^Of Oiiiu. was the great coiDiuandcr of the Irish Kcinc. a siandiiii; army elected 

Duntry, and tnrcstcd wUh itrivilegcs which mtdc k almrMt a kingdom wltbln a 

fctlv. h^ bel'-nprd ti- the Keliie of l,«>(niMer, lUe celebrnled '" Hanigne ("Ian." 

Rl 1 ' ■ ■ ■ . 7-- . I -,,:], I |(inj<i| nf Ireland baniled thein- 

< in McBih, was tnuchl. A.D. iK5. tn 

.; Oa,rar, Oi&iu'» a^^n, uh>.> commanded 

F H atwaya lei'feMntcil *!• (tie (cuticiii., wA. leu than the bravest ot itio Feme— the 

I Trwy. 

0n floiitislivil, ile^iite ihew lioclir ilUpuIalitins, nraily two centuries before the I'lO 

|[ Some have siir>pi>^<.*<i, ai:cttrdi[ig)y, that the I'aliick of the Ovilatiii: |i-.>cnis Wa| 

I Uw IrNh ipnrtle. Kut !hc chttmoluftiiutl iliwrcpancy wimid proltably bare pforo" 

I' ••( tlut luHiini t \vhit:Ii made itic niitii>iinl 1 man initio n m^'^t on coD 

pc[i->d uf IieUiid. A ihcTnf full nf [i:i'.hi"s and inietc^l wai pn 

jid, dirldcd beIAc:cii liu Uevntiou to his Ealfacr and bu son OD ihaiS 

«rKw. on the other, for Ihe tcnchert o( the better Callh — batweco old alTectloai 
•Irintic recoil cctiun 3 and rctiKiuus bopei. 



THE CONTENTION OF OISIN WITH PATRICK * 



When Palrick tlie faith to Oisin had preacheci. 

He believed, and in just ways trod ; 
Yet oft for old days he grieved, and thus 

Stormc<i oft at the saint of God. 

■ of (hia poecs will bs fouod araOOtf the mnsIatioi» of th« IrUb Dnianlc Soctetr- 



1 86 Tke Legends of Oistn^ Bard of Erin. 

" Woe, woe, for the priestly tribe this hour 
On the Feine Hill have swayl 
Glad am I that scarce their shapes I see ; 
Half-blind am I this day. 



" Woe, woe, thou Palace of Cruachan I 
Thy sceptre is down and thy sword ; 
The chase goes over thy grassy roof, 
And the monk in thy courts is lord 1 

** Thou man with the mitre and vestments broad, 
And the bearing of grave command, 
Rejoice that Diarmid this day is dust ! 
Right heavy was his clenched hand ! 

" Thou man with the bell ! I rede thee well. 
Were Diorraing living this day, 
Thy book he would take, and thy bell would break 
On the base of yon pillar gray ! 

" Thou man with miraculous crosier-stafT, 
Though puissant thou art, and tall, 
Were Goll but here, he would dash thy gear 
In twain on thy convent wall ! 

" Were Conan living, the bald-head shrill, 
With the flail of his scoff and gibe, 
He would break thy neck, and thy convent wreck. 
And lash from the land thy tribe ! 

•* But one of our chiefs thy head had spared — 
My Oscar — my son — my child : 
He was storm in the foray, and fire in the fight, 
But in peace he was maiden-mild." 

Then Patrick answered : " Old man, old man, 

That pagan realm lies low. 
This day Christ ruleth. Forget tliy chiefs, 

And thy deeds gone by forego ! 

" High feast thou hast on the festal days, 

And cakes on the days of fast — " 
" Thou liest, thou priest, for in wrath and scum 

Thy cakes to the dogs I cast ! " 



The Legends of Oisin, Bard of Erin, 187 

"Old roan, thou hearest our Christian hymns : 

Such strains thou hadst never heard — " 
" Thou liest, thou priest 1 for in Letter Lee wood 

I have listened its famed blackbird ! 



'* I have heard the music of meeting swords, 
And the grating of barks on the strand, 
And the shout from the breasts of the men of help 
That leaped from the decks to land. 

" Twelve hounds had my sire, with throats like bells. 
Loud echoed on lake and bay : 
By this hand, they lacked but the baptism rite 
To chant with thy monks this day !" 

Oisin's white head on his breast dropt down, 
Till his hair and his beard, made one, 

Shone out like the spine of a frosty hill 
Far seen in the wintry sun. 

" One question, O Patrick ! I ask of thee, 
Thou king of the saved and the shriven : 
My sire, and his chiefs, have they their place 
In thy city, star-built, of heaven ?" 



" Oisin, old chief of the shining sword. 
That questionest of the soul, 
That city they tread not who lived for war : 
Their realm is a realm of dole." 



" By this head, thou Hest, thou son of Calphum 1 
In heaven I would scorn to bide, 
If my father and Oscar were exiled men, 
And no friend at my side." 

"That city, old man, is the city of peace : 
Loud anthems, not widows* wail — " 

" It is not in bellowings chiefs take joy, 
But in songs of the wars of Fail ! 

" Are the men in the streets like Baoigne's chiefs ? 
Great-hearted like us are they ? 
Do they stretch to the poor the ungrudging hand, 
Or turn they their heads away ? 



l88 The Legends of Oisin^ Bard of Erin, 

" Thou man with the chant, and thou man with the creed, 
This thing I demand of thee : 
My dog, may he pass through the gates of heaven ? 
May my wolf-hound enter free ?*' 



" Old man, not the buzzing gnat may pass. 
Nor sunbeam look in unbidden : 
The King there sceptred knows all, sees all : 
From him there is nothing hidden." 

" It never was thus with Fionn, our king! 
In largess our Fionn delighted : 
The hosts of the earth came in, and went forth 
Unquestioned, and uninvited !" 



" Thy words are the words of madness, old man. 
Thy chieftains had might one day; 
Yet a moment of heaven is three times worth 
The warriors of Eire for aye ! " 

Then Oisin uplifted his old white head : 

Like lightning from hoary skies 
A flash went forth 'neath the shaggy roofs 

Low-bent o'er his sightless eyes ; 

"Though my life sinks down, and I sit in the dust, 
Blind warrior and gray-haired man, 
Mine were they of old, thou priest overbold. 
Those chiefs of Baoigne's clan ! " 

And he cried, while a spasm his huge frame shook, 
" Dim shadows like men before me, 

My father was Fionn, and Oscar my son. 

Though to-day ye stand vaunting it o'er me ! " 

Thus raged Oisin — 'mid the fold of Christ, 

Still roaming old deserts wide 
In the storm of thought, like a lion old, 

Though lamblike at last he died. 



Lucas Garcia. 



189 



LUCAS GARCIA, 



nuMi TH* srAtnsH or ruwAN cAaAixito. 



III. 



IS, irho coulil neither do nor 
\y anything, sufttrred feartuJly 
prtscncc of his sister so near 
appily, in two days the 
llcft for Sevilla. 

m the hour when she met 
her and he refused to rc- 
hcr, Lucia's existence was 
To her, in the flowery 
life into w))ich, at seventeen, 
been almost forced by 
CCS, the encounter wiih 
d Vx'on like the striking of 
Indolently voyaging, without 
Mid without compass, to the 
flight and laughing breezes 
e first rock of finii land: 
t had been terrible. In pcr- 
ilie asked herself, " Where 
^''luther am I going ? >Vho is 
flutters and shelters me ? 
thai rejects inc ? " In terror 
pd around her: all seemed 
strange, all odious and re* 
le. Ill her ineinor^' — oh ! 
had consulted it before I — 
d the words her brother had 
T at parting : " Never mm 
light path, though it be steep 
with thorns. Always look 
before you, for he that does 
Utts never knows where he 
Lucia's wretchedness was 
«d by the seeming impossi- 
cscape irom the position in 
ind herself. Could she 
hout either enrourage- 
port, while, by continu- 
the would have both ? 
;ra] want of energy made it 
difficult for her to return to 
path, with no help but his 



who never fails those who seek hira 
with faith and without fear or falter* 
ing. The tears she shed taniished 
her beauty, and the sorrow that prey- 
ed on her heart robbed her manners 
— hitherto so gay and caressing — 
of their charm. All this at first an- 
noyed Gallardo, then olfcnded, and 
finished by exasperating hira. Vio- 
lent scenes look place between the 
lovers ; these introduced discord ; and 
discord, when once it has burst 
its primitive embankments, fdters 
through whatever oUiers may be rais* 
cd to contain It. 

When tlie general was recalled to 
Madrid, expecting to be employed, 
and thinking that his stay would not 
be long, he resolved to leave Lucia 
in Sevilla. She allowed him to go 
without opposition, for so weary was 
she of the life she le<.l that any change 
seemed preferable. She was, besides, 
very far from possessing the brazen 
and insolent courage that women of 
her condition arc wont to acquire, 
and that causes so many of them, 
when they have ceased to be objects 
of p.ission, to be dreaded by the men 
around whom they have coile<l them- 
selves like horrible snakes; making 
miserable Laocoons of the victims, 
who often marry them through fear, 
where before they would not do it for 
love, and thus render the latter part 
of their career as ridiculous as the 
beginning was scandalous. 

A worthy manner, truly, in which 
to fill up a man's existence ! 

The stay at court, however, of the 
ypuftg general, as the papers styled 
Callardo, was prolonged. He nltor- 



190 



Lucas Garcia, 



nated in various combinations of 
second-class political intrigues, and 
allowed himself to be made the con- 
ceited tool of one of them, under the 
full persuasion that he had become 
the imposing leader of a party. 

The general now began to think, 
with excellent reason, very sound 
judgment, and profound calculation, 
that it was time for him to be more 
considerate. The reader will pardon 
us the expression, which, in his case, 
meant to enter upon a life of useful- 
ness and devotion to the interests of 
the country — without sacrificing his 
own. it will be understood. Influenced 
by these grave considerations, our 
young leader subscribed to newspa- 
pers, bought books and read some 
of them, though he soon forgot pre- 
cisely which he had read and which 
not ; wrote a memorial on river 
navigation, and another upon the 
Renta dd Excusado ;* made short 
speeches as a preparation for longer 
ones, which succeeded very well and 
met with the entire approbation of 
his hearers ; and, in the time it takes 
to say a devout amcn^ exchanged the 
rakish air of the young blood for the 
pompous tone of the prominent and 
influential citizen. 

Our friend, as may be seen, had 
reached his ajKigee : in confirmation 
of which — among other sacrifices 
made to seriousness — he had procur- 
ed a good cook, and loosened the 
lacings of his stays. 

Nevertheless — since there is adiffe- 
rence between a serious man and a 
moral one — our hero maintained a 
sort of toned-down dissoluteness be- 
hind the scenes, where he and his 
intimates entertained themselves in 
conversations tissued with a variety 
of subjects, such as the discourse A 
and the scandal B ; the concordat 



'NamcKtvca to the sabsidy fonnerly levied 
by the Yivt\% of Spain fur carryiog on wars 
ac*iiisl the Infidcla. 



and the theatre royal; the i 
and the danseuse ; the bishi 
the prima donna; the cro\ 
cards ; erected a throne to Ta 
quia; proposed an apotheosi 
dustry ; and passed a vote of 
upon the luxury of novenas. 

"Look here, little one t'^ 
him just such another *' little 
a breakfast party — where cha 
was made to represent the i 
good society that the greai 
of the guests lacked — " what 
come of La Lucia f " 

" She was not very well, ai 
her in Sevilla," responded the 

" Doesn't it strike you thi 
losing her varnish ? " 

" At twenty-one, man ? " 

" It is not singular," remar 
elegant son of a capitalist (th 
had been educated in France' 
that age, one who lives fast 
retfur." • 

" The existence of camellia 
that of roses." quickly added i 
whose Christian name of B 
they were in the habit of con 
into Honi. 

Having constituted himsel 
separable copy of the engral 
risian, and not wishing to fall 
his model in anything, Bm 
allowed the capitalist to cx\ 
idea without instantly reprod 
in different words, always end« 
to surpass the original in elegj 
licisnis; in scepticism of tl 
material, and cynicism of tl 
approved kind, and in extren- 
tation of the fashionable forei| 
nerism, 

"You ought to place this 
//w-luccnt among the numbe 
thou sand-and- one Didos," s 
would-be Gaul. 

" Lay her aside with last yea 
fafi/es" t the copy hastened t 



* On the wane. 



tPftded: 



Lucas Garcia, 



191 



do that,*' said the gen- 
Spanish morality I'" ex- 
tlie capitalist, bursting into a 
■ Does the fair creature cx^ 
nd aa Amadeus of G.iul in 
kl of the age of enlighten- 

Pastor Fido in one who 
D become a father to his 
" put in Botii. 

iaxx is," replied our friend, 

my connection with h\ic\\x 

re been exceptional circum- 

tbcm to us, tittle one," said 
Ate. "The romantic tale 

the coffee." 
nenil related alt the prelimi- 
1 particulars of his relations 
ia. 

t you see, general," said the 
of the tone Parisian, •' that 
I a farce, very well got up, 
hurbes ntsffts to set you on ; 

; interest you in the girl, 
p you to take her? " 
it was all an intrigue of /as 
4ded the coin' of the copy. 
lev of imjiositions," said the 
*' r must tell you what hap- 

me yesterday. A fellow 

my office — '* 

omit," said B0m\ "that 
counting an iinmen!>e sum 
at the lime, for that is what 
the joke." 
iked me," coniinned Cre- 

wouM lend him two doul> 

told him that it cost me 
St pain to be obliged to re- 
that 1 liad not sixpence by 

ai not wished to give, I 
fc sought another reply," 
d general — uncle to ours — 
lost a leg in the battle of 

fal." replied the narrator, 
B, /hatx nc^ is synonymous 



wkh / wi// ft,>/ y even sucking>babe9 
understand it." 

" A synonym which Iluertas has 
omitted, but which is known in these 
days, even in the Batuecas," chimed 
the repeater. 

" It could not have existed when 
he coiiAposed his work," said the 
general. 

*''rhe fellow," proceeded the nar- 
rator, " begge<l and implored, lower- 
ing his demand to the most insignifi- 
cant sum. I was as inexorable as 
destiny." And the millionaire cast 
around him a look worthy of Cato. 

" He was, then, in real need, and 
not an impostor ? " questioned the old 
general. 

"Osir! — general rule — every one 
that asks is an impostor." 

•* Unless he is an intimate friend," 
said £oni, speaking this time with un- 
acrustomerl personality. 

"J/d /fft',"* answered the GauluA 
Spaniard, " I cxcq)t no one. Seeing 
that he was not going to desist, an<l 
always with the amiability and deli- 
cacy that must be used in such 
cases — " 

*' Sans i/aulf, the same as in afTah-s 
of honor," said the bad copy of a 
worse original. 

** I told him that, since his necessity 
was so extreme, 1 would venture to 
lend him — not money, for I had none 
— but something that would be of 
more use to him in his circumsitances. 
The imbecile thought, perhaps, that it 
was going to be my signature." 

*' Your signature ! What one might 
call t!ie onlv and unique sanctum 
sandomm of the disciples of Mercury. 
A thing so sacred ! " 

" My dear Boni^^ said his friend, 
•' veuUiex ne pas niinterrompre t f 
The fellow's countenance lighted up. 
I believe, upon my word, that he had 
not eaten in three days. laughing 

• lo &iiUi. 
f •> VIII j-oa pltCM not interrupt me V* 



192 



Lucas Garcia, 



within myself, although my face de- 
noted the gravest sympathy for his 
situation, I led him to a closet, took 
out a case of pistols, which I opened, 
and, handing him a weapon, said, as 
I bowed his dismissal, * Here is a 
remedy for all your troubles.' My 
mendicant turned upon his heel and 
left ; and you may be sure that I have 
rid myself of him, une bomie fois pour 
toutes." * 

Boni's mirth was overpowering. 

Gallardo and the rest of the Span- 
iards were silent. 

" You must positively put this joke 
into some paper," said the capitalist's 
admirer, between his paroxysms of 
laughter. 

" M&n cher^ h quoi bon f " * respond- 
ed the hero of the anecdote, with an 
air of modesty. 

" To show people how to get rid 
of impostors," answered Boni; "to 
furnish a specimen of your humor — 
to let it be seen that you are as richly 
endowed by nature as by fortune- 
to give circulation to an entertaining 
item- — and to — " 

" And could a paper be found that 
would print such an iniquity as an 
entertaining item ! " shouted the old 
general, no longer able to contain his 
wratli. " Is it the mission of the press 
to propagate such ideas and senti- 
ments ? God help us, sirs, if there is 
no one left in Spain capable of a 
blush! Can the press parade in- 
famy shamelessly, and no one be 
found to repudiate the impudence 
that relates such a scandal in terms 
of laudation; or appeal from it to the 
noble and generous instincts, and 
sense of public decorum, of good and 
true Spaniards? Have we become 
as positive as the written law ? In 
former times, gentlemen, not all gave, 
but the few that denied did not boast 
of their refusal. Charity made men 



•OaotfortU. 



t What for, my dear ? 



sorry to say no, even to ini 
and, having said it, they wouj 
been silent about it for shame, 
rice was looked upon as c 
the disgraceful vices which 
for public opinion required 
kept out of sight." 

" Uncle, for God's sake ! " er 
Gallardo. 

'■ For God's sake what, nej 

*' Speak with more moderal 

" When I do, look towart 
quera for sunrise." 

" Don't feel apprehensive, g 
said the capitalist, ^ sats vh 
respect your family, and know 
make allowance fur gray ha 
the ill-humor of advance<i agt 

•' Ves," instantly added the s; 
shadow, '^^ carte blanche belong 
dies, children, and — " 

He was going to add oU n 
a look from the general silenc 

" No, nephew, don't be ap] 
sive," said the latter. " The w 
of a gentleman are for nobl 
than the punishment of insult 

" Come, let us talk of soi 
else," said Gallardo's intimat 
ious to change the subject, b 
in his heart, as were all th 
guests, of the lesson the b 
had received from so worti 
authorized an antagonist. 

" It is not possible, Gallar* 
you will allow Lucia to be ; 
deemable lien upon you. 
tell you, my boy, that it wou 
pretty piece of folly on your 
create an obstacle to your fu 
tablishment.' 

*' I don't see that — in ordi 
a deputy, senator, or — " 

'■ Oh ! you're on the wron 
Your political ideas absorb a 
thoughts; but I liave been ti 
one of her friends — that the 
ter of Don Juan de Mone< 

• I know how to bchftTC. 
t Uoa lohn made of Money. 



Luces Garcia. 



193 



, is quite smitten with your 

irdo straigbtened himsdf, and 

i his curled locks. 

Ir mother is completely taken 

be title of Marquis de Monte 

Ho, which they say you arc 

D receive, and her father with 

pacily." 

; are even there," said the ge- 
for I am as mucli impressed 
. To buy— " 
" pnx-tcilcd llie friend, " he 
billy so niih your sash and 
k. Here, boy, is an opportu- 
Bcttle in life." 

lily, I hardly know the kind 
uaUc young lady who has 
> condtJsccnding as to ihuik 
* drawled tlic extremely flat- 
f privately resolving 

: lys a^ain. 
; is very beautiful," affirmed 
id, "and you must know that 

Ukc a Cossack." 
1 Athcnals la Moncda has 
elegant figurt and complcx- 
' le S — ond the fiercest glan- 
t haughtiest) " of all the 
Madrid. She is delicious !" 
d the Parisian, 
has the neck of a swan, with 
iuc uniiuiafing" said Boni- 
ac a loss for another 



moM desirable parU^ ma foil 
icr i» wortli forty millions, 
is the only daughter," con- 
ic cn|iitalist, who did not al- 
■ ition of beauty to in- 
_ , _ _: 'ievolion to dollars. 
ought to improve your op- 
y, and marr)* at once," ad- 
c friend. '• These giris with 
liUions are more capricious 
wind. They change oflcn- 
wealher-cocks, and do just 
tUase; for millionaire fathers 
l*r only the Castilian have 
consideration for daugh- 



ters who have learned French from 
Sue's novels, and Italian at the 
opera." 

" An heiress's whim b like a flash 
of lightning. In losing time, you ex- 
pose yourself to a — " 

" To a deception," said the capi- 
talist, concluding the sentence. 

" To a dUabus€ment" said the copy, 
thinking, with profound satisfaction, 
that he had, for once, surpassed the 
original. 

" \Vhat is your opinion of all this ?" 
asked Gallardo of his uncle, willi a 
laugh, intended to appear jesting, 
but which betrayed his interior satis- 
faction. 

" Yes, give us the benefit of your 
wisdom," said the capitalist, covering 
liis ill-humor _ with a tone of light 
irony. *' In matrimonial os well as 
martial coimcils, tlic Ncslors should 
be heard. 

* La/iur Jtt ritUl»rJt ttt^timt dt m^/'a/t ; 
Ltur rvfji rur ttjtuttmct a Jtt mrtl* I'li- 

" Une vUux de la vieilU**^ confirm- 
ed ^i;w, " is a California of experience ; 
a barometrical and chronometrical 
counsellor; a universal grammar 
bound in gold; a — " 

" HvLsh, Boni /** whispered the ca- 
pitalist in the ear of his friend, who, 
less accustomed to champagne than 
the others, began to feel its emanci- 
pating influence. 

Meantime, the old officer stroked 
hU gray moustache in silence. 

" Well, what do you think, gene- 
ral 1" questioned Gallardo, 

•' I think tliat you ought to mar- 
ry." 

" Cestclair" said the Parisian. 

** It is clear," repealed Boni — " as 
clear as detestable water; and they 
think of bringing it into Madrid! 
Will spend millions to do it !" 

• '■ The tspcct of the old Is full of ii»]e«ly : 

Th«lrwardi sro UdeD with thesecrcUOf 
<xiMeni:c," 
f Kxi old wldier of tha oldeo time. 



194 



Lucas Garcia. 



" Taisez vous^ mon cher*' entreated 
the model, in a low tone. 

" I am not in the humor," replied 
Ihe copy, in excellent Spanish. 

" Of course he ought to marry," 
said all the rest. 

" Let us understand each other, 
gentlemen,'* said the old general. " I 
think, Gallardo, that you ought to 
marry, not the mushroom of the mil- 
lions, but Lucia." 

These words were received with 
clamorous disapprobation. 

" You take advantage of your rSle 
of Nestor, general," exclaimed the 
capitalist. 

" The hero of former times dotes — 
I would say radote. I propose a vote 
of censure ! " hiccoughed the copy. 

"S-s-s, Boni. Le vous en prie !* 
Do you want to get another broad- 
side from the disabled old pontoon ? 
Don't provoke him, for the next time 
neither prudence nor contempt will 
enable me to keep my temper," mur- 
mured his patron. 

" The general is jesting. A gentle- 
man of his fine delicacy cannot mean 
to counsel one, in Gallardo's position, 
to marry a woman of light reputation," 
said Gallardo's friend. 

" I do it because I have delicacy — 
a plant that strikes so deep when 
once it has taken root, that neither 
the silver plough nor the golden 
spade which cultivates the field of 
ideas of the present day can turn it 
out. I counsel a man who has done 
a wrong to repair it. I advise one 
who has been the ruin of an honest 
girl to become her defender. And 
the more public he has made her po- 
sition, the more he is bound to set 
her right in the eyes of others. If 
the future looks smiling, I counsel it 
all the more earnestly, that the past 
may not reproach him. In my days, 
gentlemen, marriages were not dis- 

* ** nush, I beg of you." 



cussed in semi-pubb'c mi 
The only counsellors were, aa 
to the circumstances, the he 
honor, and the conscience, 
added the old man, rising, " r 
timents are as much out of hj 
with yours, as my person is 
place in a reunion of gay 
men. Gentlemen, I salute yo 
phew, good-by. Do not ask 
your brilliant wedding if you 
with the million-heiress of the 
ces. If with Lucia, I will b 
groomsman." 

With these words the nobl 
ran took his leave. 

" Style of an epic poem," s: 
pseudo-Parisian. 

"Tone of an ele^ac lyric^ 
mered the copy. " One woul 
the governor had been drinkin 
kind of palate-skinning Catalai 
instead of the excellent, exquii 
lectable, deKcious — " 

" Enough, Boni^' interrupl 
friend, indicating to him w 
foot the urgent necessity oi 
discretion. 

"The general has, so to 
one foot in the grave, and, na 
all looks to him de profundis 
observed Gallardo's intimate, 
we live in a positive age, an 
conform to the step of its mai 
do otherwise would be to ma 
selves antiquated and ridiculoi 

Days followed days, eacl 
bringing to our hero its busim 
velty, interest, and forgetfulr 
those that had preceded it. 
in the meantime, saw her mc 
subsistence failing without infi 
him; for, with the reawakene< 
ments of duty and shame, cai 
comprehension of her guilty 
denco, and sense of the doul 
miliation of soliciting and rec 
She had lived for some time 
sale of her valuables, but i 
source was almost exhausted. 



Lucas Garcia. 



195 



iit is to become of me ?" she 
ned, *rith more of weakness 
hquictude, more inertia than 
I, as she sat one day alone, 
Itl drooping upon her breast. 
itgetting how lo work, I have 
Itc the sailor that forgets in a 
Dw to handle the ropes, \Vlut 
Wo when all is gone ? What 
vrho has brought me lo this 
ingof?" 
'questionings were interrupted 
"entrance of the wonian of the 
ith a letter. 

from Madrid/* she said, with 

;g smile. *• I'll bet that the 

tells when he is coming, and 

IS ilie report of his appoint* 

is cap tain -general of this pro- 



Opened and read the foUow- 
Kle: 

LAR LuaA : Xothing can last 
Mature age brings serious 
Ihe life of a man, obligations, 
stances, compromises, and po- 
iuties, wliich force us to make, 
r of reason and moralit)', sa- 
th&t ate not the less painful 
S they arc necessary. 
• family has undertaken to ne- 
a marriage for me, which will 
,inc a certain and brilliant fu- 
nd matters have proceeded so 
I I cannot oppose myself to 
ifigement without oflending a 
i! and respectable family, com- 
■.vn, and causing grave 
\ .inconvcnicnceswhich 

Duld be tlie ftrsl to deplore. 
|belicve that you will undcr- 
he necessity of my establishing 
I in life, and will feel neither 
, nor pained. I am equally 
, having noticed for a long 
unhappy you secratd at 
c, and how little pleasure ray 
! gave you, that you will not 
It may be that another 
occupies in your heart the 



place that once was mine. If you 
will be happier with him than you 
have been with rae, I trust tliat 1 
have enough philanthropy to rejoice 
in your good fortune. 

"Adieu. It Is likely that we may 
not meet again; but, believe rae, 1 
shall never forget you ; and, if I can 
serve you in any way, command 
me." 

" Well," asked the woman, eager- 
ly, "does he say anything about 
coming ?" 

'* No," answered Lucia, with the 
tears raining down her cheeks, " he 
says that he is not coming." 

Lucia did not feet for Gallardo 
that which can properly be called 
love ; but, during four years, her na- 
turally affectionate heart had attach- 
cil itself to him, and could not but 
be wounded by the cold insensibility 
with which he had abandoned her. 

'riie harpy's face, manner, and 
lone changed at once ; for this grief 
confirmed her suspicions. Lucia's 
lovt'P had cast her off. 

" Madam," she said, " certain exi- 
gencies, in which I unfortunately find 
myself, have obliged me to introduce 
a rule into my house, requiring my 
bti.ir<lcrs to i>ay in advance. All the 
rest have agreed lo it, and I trust 
that you will do the same." 

" No, madam," replied Lucia, "for 
I am going away to-morrow, and so 
shall have to give you only what 19 
already due." 

The poor forsaken girl went out 
that night and sold her wardrobe to 
a pawnbroker. After satisfying her 
creditor, she had enough left to pay 
some wine-carriers for a ride upon 
one of their mules as far as Jerez, 
and from there she meant to go to 
Arcos on foot. At dawn, on the fol- 
lowing morning, she passed through 
the Carmona gate, casting a long, sad 
look upon the sleeping city — the 
city thai the Bitis serves as a page; 



196 



Lucas Garcia. 



La Giralda for insignia, and the ver- 
dure of its orange groves for adorn- 
ment; the city that is at once gay 
as a village maiden and imposing as 
a queen; beautiful as a young girl, 
and full of wisdom and memories as 
a matron ; graceful as the Andalu- 
sian of to-day, and chaste and noble 
as the Castilian dame of olden time. 

Lucia found herself in Jerez alone 
and without resource, but, by favor 
of her good angel, met Uncle llartolo 
at the inn where she alighted. The 
visible presence of the former would 
not have rejoiced her more than did 
the sight of this old friend of her fa- 
mily, to whom she told the whole of 
her sad story, adding that now she 
knew not what to do, since she dared 
not seek even a servant's place. 

••My daughter," said the old gue- 
rilla, " you grew vain in the fiend's 
own house of Lcomi^ and forgot that 
wings were given to the ant for its 
destruction. If you had shown that 
wretch a repulsive face, he would not 
have ventured to do what he did. 
\\'hat motive, will you tell me, 
could a You Sir have for playing 
clucking fox to a little country girl, 
but to make of her a mark for 
shame ? 

" However," he continued, seeing 
that Lucia's tears began to flow, " far 
be it from me to hack at the fallen 
tree, or double the burden of the ass 
that is down. The baptism of repen- 
tance opens the fold, and your re- 
pentance is sincere, because you re- 
turn to poverty, when, if you had 
chosen otherwise, profligates would 
not have been wanting, in the great 
city, to complete your ruin, ('ome 
with me, and I will talk to Lucus. 
It is his duty to take care of you." 

" He will never forgive mc. Uncle 
Bartolo!" exclaimed Lucia sadly. 
'■ He has said that hL- had no sister, 
and no one can make him say the 
contrary." 



" True," replied the gueri 
Garcia heads are harder tha 
I learned that by experien 
your father — Heaven rest bin 
ried Za Lcona. But this i.' 
thing, for, notwithstanding \ 
father did so badly, Lucas 
ed out well. And it is a g 
easier to yoke two that are \ 
blood than to unyoke two 
devil has united. We will 
helping us, and, in the rr 
you shall come to my hou! 
is no great abundance, but } 
is not wanting." 

The next day saw UncU 
and Lucia travelling along 
which we described at t 
mencemcnt of our story 
mounted upon a little ass, 
agile good old man folio 
foot At nightfall they rex 
cos. 

Alas ! for the one who, 
to his native place, instead 
riencing pure happiness, 
heart torn by grief and shar 
his parents dead, the house 
was born the property of \ 
and sees, in the looks of n 
cold disdain instead of tl 
smile of recognition and we 

Uncle Bartolo took Lucia I 
house, and, while they were j 
supper, went himself to that 
who, on receiving his disch; 
returned to Arcos and to 
among the day-laborers, an' 
his aptness and diligence, 
much credit that several 
jobs and positions had alr( 
offered hira. As will be sup 
had found his father's he 
But as his kinswoman still 1 
he hired his former habita 
she assisted him. 

Uncle Bartolo entered, 
Lucas had finished his supi 

" Sit by, Uncle Bartolo," 
young man. 




Ltuas Garcia. 



197 




fo, thank fou. May what you 
uken profit you ! Will you 
I cigar ?" 
vouMn't come Amiss." 

Darlolo handed Lucas a 
x^XTf lighted his own, and, 
actcnsik bluntness, plung- 
fiubject. 
ian, will you lell me why 
T speak of your sistiir? Does 
tu you that a &iste:r is a 
wed on to be ripped at plea- 

dtsagreeably surprised, con- 
ijs brows as he answered : 
,ve no sister, Uude Bartolo." 
it! whJit do you say?" 
vc alreatly said it. *In my 
ley bestow but one loaf.' " 
;i-walkiog with your grand 
'tl hke to know what right 
e to deny your sister, even 
KT life ha5 not been what it 
be?" 

had tinned pale, and his 
nembletl with repressed in- 

B. 

le Bartolo," he replied, af- 
in air of indifference^ •* the 
% * He thit goes away is not 
,• Let us drop this convcr- 



Dti't feel disposed to; you 
wen understand that jVnd 
mc tell you that this ftce of 
L tliouj^h it may be the cor- 
m to show to a sinner, is not 
means the one to show to a 
;, Do you comprehend ? 
or little sister is penitent; and 
that 

KimKlf to Uod L-otnmenili.' " 

,vc said that I had no sister." 
1*1 be stubborn, for God's 
ik here now, soul of an 
can you say you have 
', if he has given you one? 
have come, and I shall not 
tttittl you forgive Lucia." 



" Unde Bartolo, don't pledge 
yourself to what you canm^t accom- 
plish." 

" You are your father's own son 
— the one and the other harder-head- 
ed than oxen. Juan Garcia and Lu- 
cas Garcia : there's a pair 6t for a 
cart !" 

"Why fall upon me, sir, in such a 
shower of sarcasms ? Is it necessary 
to give so many punches to sny that 
ihe bull is coming ?" 

"Because he comes with a pur- 
IX)5e, and, ' when things come with a 
puqiosc, more than the ass may fall to 
the ground.' I tell you only the pure 
truth, and you, with your devil's mot- 
to of ' few words and bad ones,' what 
you say has neither form nor sense \ 
Hut to come back to the subject, for 
1 don't let go the handle this way 
when I am defending the right. As I 
was going to say, your stubbornness 
is worse than your father's ; because 
it is not so bad to be determined 
upon marrying one's girl as to be 
determined not to forgire one's sister. 
It's better to do more than your duty 
than to do less. If your father lack- 
ed puncto, yuu have half a share too 
much. Your mother committed, 
your sister to you ; and you are dis- 
obeying the last will of her that bore 
you!" 

" She committed my sister to me, 
but not the kept miss of a villain." 

** Vou arc soaring as the eagle, 
which is a royal bird; you pronounce 
your sentences like a judge of the 
Audiencia, and make yourself believe 
that you are wiser than the Regency. 
But you arc greatly out of the way, 
my son. It ill becomes you to go 
before God in casting out your sis- 
ter; your own mother's daughter, 
when her misfortune was partly your 
fault," 

" Mine, sir?" 

" Yes, yours ; for you threw ofi" the 
burden like an untamed coltj cast 



198 



Lucas Garcia. 



behind you the trust you received 
from your mother, and, without com- 
mending yourself either to God or 
the devil, shouldered your gun and 
made off; knowing that for six years, 
walled up in a uniform, you must 
lose sight of your charge j knowing, 
besides, that you were leaving her in 
a house where wickedness was well 
established. And so what happened, 
happened. The past is past, and 
can't be mended now ; but after this, 
do you think it is right, Christian, 
that your sister should have no one 
to turn to when she leaves her sinful 
life ?" 

" She ought to have remembered 
in time that every uphill has its 
down." 

*' But, my son, is not this to 

* Sec the ulcer, see the woe : 
Shut the purse, and oaught besMw '.■ 

This is to have bowels of a pagan to- 
ward a poor creature that they push- 
ed and pushed — a child that did not 
know what they were doing." 

•' Uncle Bartolo, ignorance does 
not take away sin." 

" Do you think, if you had had 
your evil hour — suppose it for in- 
stance, only — and had robbed or 
done something that had dishonored 
you, and had gone to your sister, 
that she would refuse to own you ? 
I'll be lH>und she wouldn't !" 

'* Well, I should have acted badly. 
But the case is impossible, for it 
wv>uKl have been my care not to put 
myself in her way. * He that touch- 
es his own with his leprosy, gives it 
to ihem. and does not cure himself.' " 

" l.iKMS, my son, the sentenee 
says. • Aei with good intention, anil 
not with jvi-viion 1' " 

" And the prv^ orb :i.»\ s th.\t • Mood 
boils \\i',Iiout fiie.' I'luU' lUrlnlo." 

"l.uc.is, fvT iho love \>X the Hlos 
ciJ Virgin : How can ho \vl\o slunxs 
no mcrcv hope for the morv'v iyi 



God ? Do a good, deed, and 
you lie down, though it be 1 
mattress of rushes, you wil 
without bad dreams, and as ! 
as if it were a bed of feathers ! 

"You are wasting words, 
Bartolo. Even if I am cone 
for it, I will not hear that viL 
spoken of, and so — stop !" 

"Go to, then, Cain/'* exc 
the good old man as he rose tc 
" and God set a mark on you 
did on the cruel brother t 
cursed ! I'd rather have he 
her sin and her repentance, th; 
with your virtue and your pric 

To paint the grief of the wi 
Lucia when Uncle Bartolo in 
her of the no-result of his n 
would be impossible. 

'* Holy God !" she exclaim 
tween her sobs, "only witi 
shall I find mercy ! Ah ! how 
ed this brother in the days 
happy childhood, when I wa« 
cent, and he was all my conso 
Then he could not do enoi 
please me, and used to sweai 
to abandon me !" 

" Come, come, dry your te: 
daughter, said Uncle Bartolo. 
frightened partridge is the I 
get skewered.' What do yoi 
of an unnatural, ^Wthout bow 
compassion ? You have m 
the roof of my house is not so 
that it cannot shelter you. ^ 
have you shall share, and y< 
help my poor Josefa. She h 
come a potsherd, and dor 
much rest, for * woman's work: 
and to be done again.' " 

When the other inmates t 
house slept, Lucia kept loneb 
and wept the things that had f 
ly m.\vle her h.ippiness — her p 
her itmooence. ami her brothi 
ievV.o:i, Wam'.ering in the va 
of her recoi lections, she foun( 
atHieiion .\ud consolation in re 




Lucas Garcia. 



'99 



particulars of her simple life ; 
Iproof of tenderness that she 
iceived from her brother ; every 
jffithered or dead. With the 
ting sileace and shadows of 
Khc, her anguish increased. 
flluU I do ? What shall I 
the cried, wriDging her hands. 
Inot be a^urdeo to this good 
p! I ^cannot slay in tliis 

iiood, for my ohti brother's 
of me will encourage others 
;e me! What shall I do? 
>eg if I cannot find work ! 
lall I go ? Wherever God 
me!" 
It waiting for daylight, and 
n order that her departure 
t be perceived by her pro- 
ucia opened the door, and 
Dto the street. 
B could not leave, for ever, 
\Q dear to hcr^ without lin- 
■ a moment before the adja- 
fi. It was the one in which 
er died ; its roof had shel- 
tmnquil infancy: in it she 
■ brother that she still 
I of her guUt and his 

iiuy. 

. was not asleep. Exaspera- 
disquieted conscience, and 
; driven repose from 

; oncif he was startled by the 

Fa sweet and tremulous voice 

t)ic street door, singing the 

tt he had taught his sis* 



ter when she was a child. He 
sprang from the bed, moved by an 
irresistible impulse, but instantly cov- 
ered his ears with his hands as if to 
shut out the sound. 
The voice sang : 

"Pnjrfns tn God'i Dime, liitcr. 
And for his awcct motber's Mke, 
Give my little cfaildrcn breid. 
And liU woit] la p«yiiiciu take." 

Struggling with mingled emotions 
of rage and grief, Lucas seated him- 
self upon his couch, and beat upon 
the ground with his feet. 

The voice, becoming all the while 
more low and quivering, proceeded ; 

** ila takes B lo«f, and t>reak3 it. 

But Ihtovrs it down ai^ln. 

Fg[ blood rutia out oi the bread." 

The brother's heart was choking 
him, yet, still resisting, he covered 
his now tear-stained face with both 
hands. But when the voice, broken 
by sobs, continued, 

" And >he that, wklioot pitjr, 
To a liitcr refuicK bread. 
To God') Moiher ilolk ivfuse it "— 

he rushed to the door, and, dash* 
ing it open, ran out; and Lucia, 
with a cry of joy, threw herself into 
his extended arms. 

The next day, Uncle Bartolo re- 
marked to his wife : 

" When the devD enters into one, 
he locks all the doors behind him. 
But until the last hour, his divine 
Majesty keeps a postern open in the 
sinner's heart." 



200 TJu Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius. 



THE LIQUEFACTION OF THE BLOOD OF ST. JANUARIUSi 

NO. in. 



But this is far from being the gene- 
ral rule. In 1543, the diary mentions 
the presence of Muleasses, Bey of 
Tunis, a Mohammedan, and records 
his expression of astonishment at 
what he beheld. On several other 
occasions, Mohammedans were wit- 
nesses of it; some became Christians. 
Protestant travellers from England, 
Denmark, Sweden, and Germany 
have written accounts of what they 
themselves saw. On four of the six 
occasions when the writer of these 
lines was present, he can bear per- 
sonal testimony to the presence of 
Protestants. 

It is narrated that the liquid blood 
has been known to solidify instantly, 
whenever the reliquary passed into 
the hands of a particular canon, in 
his turn of office, to be presented by 
him to the people, or when certain 
persons approached to venerate and 
kiss it, and would as quickly liquefy 
again when they withdrew. A noto- 
rious case is mentioned by the Bol- 
landists, and by other authorities, of 
a prince, whose name, for family 
reasons, was not given — for the mat- 
ter was published in his lifetime. 
At his approach the liquid blood 
used to become solid. His personal 
character left no doubt on the 
minds of the Neapolitans why this 
happened. 

We have already spoken of the 
notable diiferences of color, on va- 
rious days, or parts of the same day. 
The diary registers them as bright^ 
beautiful^ vermiiion, rttbicundy or as 
dense or dark^ or blackish^ or ask- 
cohredy or, again, pale or yellowish. 
Sometimes the whole mass was of 



one uniform tint. Sometimes then 
were several tints in different parts, 
as in 1748, when, as we saw, one 
portion was blackish and the other 
ash-colored, the vial being then foil, 
and the blood liquid, as afterwards 
appeared. 

Again, the liquid blood is som^ 
times quite quiescent, yielding, in* 
deed, to every movement of the am- 
pulla, as water would, but when the 
ampulla is at rest on its stand, re- 
maining in it as tranquil as water, 
with a level and smooth surface, and 
without the least indication of inter- 
nal movement Yet often it girei 
forth a froth or foam, which coven a 
part or all of the surface, which 
stains the glass dark or vermUion* 
and the remains or traces of which 
may be noticed on the mass when 
indurated afterwards \ that is, if thil 
foaming has continued until a solidi- 
fication on the altar, or until die 
reliquary is locked up in the eveninfr 
Very often this foaming will ceue 
after lasting half-an-hour or an honr. 
Its ending and disappearance is u 
fitful as its beginning. 

Sometimes the motion is greater, 
and of a different character — an ebul- 
lition or boiling, as the Italians ciB 
it. Portions of the liquid blood are 
thrown up a quarter of an inch, tf 
more. Sometimes this bubbling bi> 
been very violent, some of the liquid 
being thrown up into the neck of the 
ampulla to the very top. 

On December 16, 17 17, it is le- 
corded that, before the lique&ctiofl 
took place, and while the blood vai 
still hard and solid, " an exhalation 
was seen to rise from the hard mai^ 



lion of the Blood oj St. Januaritts, 20T 



Ittlte cloud, and to ascend 
ip of the neck." On 24th 
r, 1725, "the blood was 
It hanl, and immediately 

and three or four times, of 
moved round in a circle 
ic ampuUa, although the 
iraa then In its place on the 

motionless," 

eedJess to cite any more of 
U)d-and-one items of such 

scattered through the dt- 
ty ail show the sincerity 
!failh of the writers, and the 

»'hich the minutest facts 
erved. and accurately re- 
ihe day of their occiir- 

the occurrence of the 
iD, the mast important fact, 
dgmcnt, is the frequent 
f volume which the mass 
I while liquid. We say 
[id, for we do not discover, 
iary or in our rescarch- 
y indication of such 
taking place while the 
\ its solid condition. But, 

I ' 

liidf fiuch changes are so 
ind so gr^t that the diary, 
; noticed their absence or 
nee, during one octave, as 
remarkable. The blood 
3Cat its ordmary or normal 
\ iX fills about four-hftbs of 
in the ampulla, or vial. It 
^Mwn to sink below this, 
^Bely. Ordinarily it is 
^TO volume, sometimes 
Ihe neck, or entering it so 
io leave only a thread of 
Idling the neck up to 
the mass of soldcr- 
me distance between 
ets is about an inch and 
\ the voltmic must increase 
per cent, in order to 
ordinary level so as to 
the ampulla, 1'he 
paratively rare when 



some change of volume is not seen, 
either by increase or by decrease. 
The change is generally gradual, yet 
such as may be watched and follow- 
ed. Sometimes, however, it is quilt 
rapid in the ascent or the descent, 01 
in its alternations of rising antl fall- 
ing ; sometimes almost instantaneous 
— in un coipo, in un tratto. 

'{"hese ordinary oscillations or 
changes of volume, which occur at 
any time, may be looked on as the 
usual and minor form of one general 
and striking trait or mode of action. 
When the increase is carried to its 
utmost extent, tlie vial is seen to be 
completely filled ; and this fubiess,.ia 
turn, presents many variations to be 
studied. \Vc may divide them into 
two classes. The first embraces all 
those cases in which the fulness ter- 
minates, and the blooit commences 
to diminish in volume, at any time 
before the close of the octave ; wc 
may call these completed periods. 
The second embraces all those in 
which the fulness contmues to the 
end, so that, on the last day of the 
ocuvc, the blood is replaced in its 
closet still completely filling the am- 
pulla ; these we call incomplete pe- 
riods. 

To the prior class beiong, first, 
all tliose ni.iny instances in which 
the blood swelled up and filled the 
aonpulla and commenced to sink 
again in volume on the same day, 
whether after a few moments or after 
several hours of fulness, .'\gain, the 
diary records three cases in which 
it so rose one day aud sank the 
next; four cases in which it rose 
one day and sank the second day 
after, keeping the ampulla completely 
full for the entire intermediate day ; 
six cases in which there were two 
such intermediate days; iwc wiUi 
three, and/ci//- with four such inter- 
mediate days of complete fulness. 
We have thus nineteen cases re- 



202 The Liquefaction of tJu Blood of St. yanuarins. 



corded in the diary, to which we 
should add, perhaps, an equal num- 
ber for the first category. A com- 
plete period, so to call it, of the 
fulness may vary, therefore, from a 
few moments to five consecutive 
days. 

The second class comprises nine- 
ty-four instances of fulness opened 
and not completed during the octave. 
The varieties in these are even great- 
er than in the former class. In 
nineteen cases the fulness, or, at least, 
its last phase, commenced on the 
closing day ; in fve cases, on the 
day before ; in nine, on the third last 
day ; in eleven, on the fourth ; and in 
twenty-two on the fifth day, counting 
from the closing of the octave; in 
twenty-six cases, the fulness began on 
the sixth day ; and in two cases, as 
far back as the seventh day, count- 
ing from the close of the octave. 
We have here twenty-eight of these 
incomplete periods, longer than the 
longest of the closed or complete 
periods, just mentioned, still further 
complicating any question as to the 
lengths of these periods of fulness. 

Whenever, during an octave, the 
ampulla is locked up at night fuU^ 
it will be found full the next morn- 
ing. When it is locked up at the 
close of an octave in that state, it 
will be found in the same at the first 
opening of the next celebration, 
months afterwards. We said that 
the mass changed its volume only 
when in a fluid condition. We may 
now venture to add that such chang- 
es take place only in public, and 
never while the blood is closed up 
in the closet, or armoire. In exam- 
ining the diary very carefully, we 
find that, in the vast majority of 
cases, the level of the mass as stated 
when taken out — whether it be at 
the ordinary level, or somewhat ele- 
vated, or very high, or full — perfectly 
agrees with the level at which it was 



stated to stand when last \ 
whether the day before or 
close of the preceding octave, 
number of cases, indeed, the i 
silent or obscure on the poii 
its language often seems to 
this fact, or to take it for g 
Nowhere does it state the rev 
general terms ; and we cannol 
single instance recorded whicl 
lishes the contrary. The bl 
always found at the level at « 
stood when last put up. 

These ninety-four unclosed ] 
were, therefore, prolonged i 
next festival, when the ampul 
taken out still full. Some o 
periods had just commenced 
last day; others had lasted 
days after the day of their 
mencement Is there any r 
difference in their closing ? 
the day ; for they all, with ihi 
ceptions, closed on the first • 
the incoming octave, if they h 
over to May or September, 
December i6, if that was th' 
exposition. In regard to time 
is no rule. The most nui 
class, containing twenty-six inst 
varied from imntediatefy to nim 
and a half/ nine times the lie 
tion occurred in less than one 
and nine times it delayed mor 
three hours — the other eight t 
lay between the two. The t 
two cases of the next highes 
present the same divei^ties ol 
from immediately to nim hours 
half Nine instances were un 
hour, eight were over three 
the remaining five lay betwei 
two divisions. 

The more those periods of I 
are examined, the more clear! 
it appear that they follow no s 
and can be classified or aca 
for by no law. We see the 
swelling and increasing its v 
and filling the ampulla, and cc 



Th( LiquffitctioH of t/w Bhod of St. JaHuarins. 203 



fill It for some niotucnts, or 
or days. We can note the 
but why this increase? why 
rise so high ? why lo-day, 
ycstenlay, or to-morrow ? 
long, or uoi lonijer ? Physi- 
cc is as utterly unable to an- 
questions as it is to assign 
for the liquefaction itself, or 
Tarious and var)-ing phases 
of St. Januarius. 
stated in our preceding 
le Neapolitans hold that 
ily of the relics of the 
A the reliquary with the viils 
!ood to each otlier, is onlina- 
suflicient and determining 
the liquefaction. Their whole 
the expositions is based upon 
iple. The separation of the 
their ^a«-separation, by a 
iwn over the reliquary of the 
s ordinarily suflident to ter- 
Ite liquefaction and to indu- 
! blood anew. But, on the 
nd, the diary records a nuin- 
istances in which the blood, 
found hard, liquefied at 
before the reliquary was 
the busL Several times, 
liquefied in the streets, 
ie>i aloft in the aflcmoon 
n of the vigil in May to- 
.nta Chiara or a s^^a, al- 
thc bust had already been 
ithcr tn the forenoon. So, 
liquefaction, partially com- 
in the Xetoro chapel or in the 
has often continued or 
picted during the outdoor 
through the strecla, on 
of the patronage, in De- 

ttr cftUftc or condition, per- 
iraportant as the proximity of 
c», is, in our judgment, the 
uth and the earnest devotion 
Litcndants — a faith and devo- 
which the Neapolitans, clergy 
^j>lc, arc not surpassed. It 



was, perhaps, for this reason, that 
in the extraordinary ex|X)sitJ0ns ol 
which we have spoken, the lique- 
faction so often occurred quickly, 
and, as the Neapolitans would say, 
// ffiimcoA? era /fUijsim^. The de- 
vout strangers to whom the favor 
was granted brought to it faith and 
piety. On the few occasions when^ 
it was lardy — on none did it entire- 
ly fail — there may have been too 
strong an ingredient of mere pro- 
fane curiosity. Kings, and princes, 
and nobles of high worldly standing 
have often visited Naples, an<I some- 
times sought and obtained this favor 
of an extraordinary exposition of the 
relics in their presences, that, apart 
and with less danger of any intru- 
sion on their personal dignity or com- 
fort, and in the company of their 
chosen attendants only, they might 
have an opportunity of witnessing the 
miracle at their ease. This was the 
length of their privilege. As for the 
liquefaction itself, they had to wait as 
others waited, ami, perhaps, because 
they did not pray as others prayed, 
they were sometimes disappointed. 

In 1702, Philip v., King of Spain, 
to whom Naples was then subject, 
visited the city, reaching it on the 
afternoon of Kastcr Sunday. On 
Easter Tuesday, April i8, he was pre- 
sent at a Pontifical High Mass cele- 
brated in the cathedral. After that 
long ceremony, his majesty passed 
into the Ttsoro chapel, where there 
was to be a special exposition of the 
relics, that he might venerate them 
and might witness the liquefaction. 
"The blood was brought out hard; 
four Masses were celebrated in succes- 
sion {about two hours) ; but the saint 
was not pleased to work it The king 
departed, and the Masses continued. 
At the sixth Mass, and as the king had 
entered his carriage at the cathedral 
door, the blood liquefied. The king 
returned at aa o'clock (3.30 p.m.)i ^d 



204 Tkg Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius. 



kissed the relics in the hands of his 
eminence in the Tesoro." 

However, the diary mentions that 
he did witness the liquefaction itself 
at the next regular day in May, with 
all the people. 

Other instances are given in which 
viceroys and nobles and princes wait- 
ed until they were tired out. Soon 
after their departure, when the faith- 
ful and fervent people might freely 
crowd the chapel and pray, the lique- 
faction would occur. 

It is impossible to exaggerate the 
firmness of their faith or the depth 
and tenacity of the affection of the 
Neapolitans for this their miracle. 
"Whatever else happens to their fair 
city, nothing must interfere with their 
devotion to St Januarius and the pro- 
per celebration of these festivals — 
neither wars nor pestilence, nor erup- 
tions nor earthquakes, nor change of 
rulers. Once a battle raging in the 
streets prevented an outdoor proces- 
sion. But, within the cathedral, 
there was a procession through the 
aisles and nave, and all things else 
went on as usual. 

Oddly enough, the greatest dis- 
turber, to judge by the simple-minded 
writers of the diary, has been — rain. 
Not that the weather has any direct 
influence on the liquefaction or its 
circumstances. Quite the contrary. 
The blood liquefies all the same, and 
with as many attendant variations, 
whether the day be fair or rainy, 
whether the season be so dry that 
the farmers are complaining of 
drought, and prayers have been or- 
dered for rain, or whether it has been 
raining incessandy for weeks and 
months, to the injury of the crops, 
and in the churches they are praying 
for fair weather; in summer, when 
the sun is' pouring down his almost 
tropical beams ; and in winter, when 
the procession is confined to the 
cathedral because it is too cold to go 



out into the streets, or becau 
ground is covered with snow, 
meteorological changes have 
parent influence on the lique 
or its characteristic circumstati 

But at Naples they sometimi 
terrible deluges of rain — steady 
pourings such as one may ' 
only within or close to the i 
Sometimes these have come 
at the hour to interfere wi 
grand afternoon procession 
vigil in May, forbidding it, c 
crously disarranging it, and 
monks, friars, priests, semir 
canons, and people alike to 
the ranks and seek immediat 
ter in the neighboring sho] 
houses. However, come what 
at the worst, his eminence, 
highest ecclesiastical dignita 
sent, with a few attendants oi 
proof hearts, would carry th 
in a sedan chair or a • carr 
might be, to the appointed pla 
it not all punctu:dly set dowr 
diary; at what comer, or ii 
street, the procession was brol 
and who then carried the re 
and whether still on foot o 
carriage, and how many coun 
ly accompanied him ? We i 
sure that on arriving at their c 
tion they never failed to fi: 
church, despite the rain, and 
the absence of fashionable or 
ed by devout souls, who love 
saint more than they fearet 
such weather. 

Passages in the extracts ik 
made from the diary, and ma; 
er passages we might quote, i 
the feelings of alarm which 
hearts of the Neapolitans wt 
li(luefaction fails to occur, oi 
tended by circumstances whii 
traditionally dread. St. Janu 
their patron saint. This eve 
ringliquefactionis,in their eye 
petual and miraculous sign 



wfutfaction of the Blood of St. J&tmarius. 205 



care and proteclion. 

occuis regularly, when the 

1' nplelcand the color 

i . -od a bright vermil- 

when there are no sudden 

CCS and onlysllght variations 

the Neapolitans are hap- 

B a blessed octave." They 

C}' have eWdence that all 

KcU with them. If, on the 

the hard mass does not 

[ all, or if the liquid blood 

rhid, dailc or ash-colored, or 

and fdlls rapidl}', or if it i>re- 

er unusual and sinister ap- 

K, their hearts sink, and they 

I with alirm and anxiety. 

r that this is an indication 

lispleasure of heaven, and 

chastisements they deserve 

sins may soon come on 

\" '-•- heard a learned 

rge on this theme, 

various instances in the his- 

is city in which he showed 

table coincidence, at least, 

such facts of the liquefac- 

] the occurrence of wars, 

>, famine, and disastrous 

kes, or of other signal chas- 

i from heaven. We were 

rienlly conversant with tlic 

r ^fap!es either to controvert 

menls or to allege other 

*hc contrary. It is a sub- 

iic might go astray, 

I. ;, ;is if he undertook 

the Apocalypse. But 

professed to have the history 

ger-enils, and certainly was 

ly convinced of the 

-nm. 

Icrs axe accustomed to tell 
stories of the impatience 
vcrcTjce of the Neapolitans 
sition, whenever there 
.1 delay in the iiquefac- 
charge them with ad- 
8aiot alternately in ex- 
lUgious homage and of 



bitter reproach, praying and beseech- 
ing him one moment and apostro- 
phizing him the next in slang terms 
of vituperation. Such travelk'rs, we 
may be sure, arc cither drawing on 
their own imagination or on the store 
of anecdotes they have heard from 
others. They usually know Hltlc of 
Italian, and are utterly ignorant of 
the peculiar dialect of the Neapolitan 
people — almost a Iinguage m itself. 
The only possible excuse for making 
such a charge would be a stranger's 
misconception or misinteq^rctation 
of the demonstrative gestures they 
indulge in nhcn deeply moved, and 
his utter ignorance of the words they 
are uttering. We opine, however, 
that the motive, generally, » a wish 
to parade droll and amusing state- 
ments, even if they be neither witty 
nor true. 

\Yc have been assured by many 
respectable clergymen of Naples, 
who, of course, know their own peo- 
]>le, and often have to chide them, 
that there is not a word of truth in 
litis charge. 

The clergy and the laity of Naples, 
of all classes, learned and unlearned 
alike, believe roost stc-tdfastly and 
earnestly in the miraculous character 
of the liquefaction of the blood of St. 
Januarius. Many strangers who have 
seen it and have examined it critical- 
ly have come to the same conclu- 
sion. Although the church has not 
s]>oken authoritatively on the matter, 
still the consensus of so many learn- 
ed, intelligent, and pious persons who 
have so accejitcd it — the fact that 
during so many centuries it has stood 
the test of time, and tliat Bcieocc bus 
not been able to explain it away or 
to reproduce it artificially — and the 
very character of the liquefaction 
itself, with its attendant circumstances, 
so clear, so plain, and so decisive — 
all leave 00 room for reasonable 
doubt. 



2o6 The Liquefaction of tlie Blood of St yoHuarims. 



To complete our statement, we 
must, perhaps, go still further back, 
and inquire how it has come about 
that a portion of the blood of a 
Christian bishop, beheaded in the 
year 305, under Diocletian, and in 
virtue of edicts by that emperor for 
the suppression of Christianity, should, 
after the lapse of so many centuries, 
be now found in a glass ampulla, or 
vial, at Naples. To some, this pri- 
mary fact may, at first sight, appear 
as strange and as extraordinary, if 
not as unaccountable, as the subse- 
quent liquefaction itself. 

To an Italian Catholic, indeed, a 
doubt on this head would scarcely 
present itself. The usages and the 
thoughts of his ancestors in the faith 
have come down to him so naturally 
that they form, as it were, part of 
his being. He thinks, and feels, and 
knows as his fathers did before him. 
In such cradle-lands of Christianity, 
and among a people that has never 
swerved from the faith since the early 
ages of the church, there is what we 
might term an inherited Catholic in- 
stinct, a readiness and a correctness 
of Catholic thought in religious mat- 
ters, which those of other lands that 
received the light of Christianity only 
at a later period, and consequently 
have not such a bond of ancestral 
connection with the Christians of the 
days of persecution, can only reach 
by study and cultivated piety. How- 
ever, even a moderate acquaintance 
with the usages and customs of those 
early ages will show in many instan- 
ces that what some have considered 
peculiar national traits of perhaps 
later growth are in reality deeply 
rooted in the customs of those 
ancient times ; and that many a 
point, often set down as a fond 
fancy or a singular product of super- 
stition, is firmly established as a 
truth, by historical research into their 
records. 



This is the case with the < 
before us. 

As we study the daily life ( 
early Christians, passed tint 
cumstances so very differer 
those of our modern life, an< 
to realize to ourselves their tl 
and aspirations, their motiv 
modes of action, nothing 
out in bolder relief than their 
conception of the honor an 
of martyrdom. In the e 
pages of Fabiola and of Oth 
learned Cardinal Wiseman a 
Newman have made thesi 
Christians live again before 
we catch some insight int' 
enthusiasm on this subjec 
them, a martyr, dying for tl 
of Christ, was — and truthf 
hero of the highest grade. 
love than this no man hath 
man lay down his life for his 
John XV. 13. 

They could never sufficient! 
him. For, honor him as the} 
all they could do would fall 
ly short of the honor whit 
had already bestowed on his 
heaven, and that which he wi 
stow on his body in the resui 
A martyr's blood, in their viet 
next in rank to the blood of 
viour. 

Their daily life made mai 
the prominent subject o 
thoughts. Day after day, tt 
their brethren seized, imprisot 
tured, and put to death for tl 
Each day, any one of the 
might be seized and led to 
ibm. The greatest of all tri 
and the surest passport to e 
lasting bliss, was to persevei 
tlie end in that conflict ; the \ 
of all misfortunes was to fail 
nounce or deny the faith f 
of death. Kach one strove i 
himself ever ready for the trial 
pastoral injunctions; their mu 



The Li^iu/action of the Blood of Su Januaritts. 207 



Itdr most precious lite- 

i<ta Martyrtttn ; the or- 

of tlieir chapels and 

ill visible in the frescoes of 

!>rnbs ; the site of their cho- 

Ituaries, amkl the tombs of 

TeJ brethren ; the very 

rhicli they wonihipped ; the 

their more glorious mar- 

^-thing co-operated to keep 

I high esteem of martyrdom, 

up their hearts to cour- 

[even to a yearning for so 

crown, and so happy an 

this life of trials and sor- 

oonfcssor of Christ, as they 

Uy &tiU in chains, they 

means to enter the prison 

it him — sometimes availing 

of legal rights, sometimes 

ious pretexts, sometimes by 

when these would all fail, 

.1th and at every risk. For 

be strengthened by the 

and encouraged by their 

they were to be strengtliened 

implc ; and especially they 

« lose the opportunity of 

ling themselves to his pray- 

f seeking the blessing of a 

lend of (>od. 

was led forth to trial, or 

death, they would 

_ the crowd pressing 

;3t he might be checr- 

iiDcd by the sight of 

laces or by their outspok- 

ons, and that they might 

id embalm in their hearts 

IS word of fiiith he 

. iges, to the execu- 

id to themselves or to the 

,ttd afterward be able to 

ly and to record the he- 

ph of another martyr. 

death, they spared no 

ain po'>scssion of his 

as of a most precious 

Their very earnestness on 



this point ivasnot unfrequently made 
an occasion of aggravating the sen* 
tcnce. After execution, so the judge 
would order, the body must not be 
delivered to his friends, according to 
ordimiry usage. These obstinate and 
fanatical Christians must be thwarted 
in their dearest wish, or, rathcTji in 
their criminal purpose, of honoring 
one whom the laws had sentenced 
to an ignominiuus deatti. Let the 
body be burned, and the ashes be 
cast to the winds or to the running 
streams; or let the vultures and ra- 
venous dogs consume it \ or let it be 
sunk by weights in deep waters; let 
it be done away witli in some man- 
ner, so tliat the haled Christians be 
balked of their purpose. 

At times this was successfully done. 
Often, however — even despite these 
orders — entreaties and bribes to the 
soldiers and executioners would pre- 
vail to obtain the budy, or at least 
the Ihigmenls of it If lliey failed, 
stratagems would be used, and per- 
severing search made, even at great 
personal risk, to recover it. Very 
often, as tlie martyrologies and Aita 
Mitriyrum tell us, it was in such at- 
tem]Jts that the Christians were dis- 
covered, apprehended, and them- 
selves condemned as fresh victims. 

When the execution was by be- 
heading or disiuembernient, or such 
other mode as caused the effusion of 
blood, the Christians were careful to 
gather this up in any way they could. 
Not imfrequcntly it was all they could 
recover. Cloths and sponges sucked 
it up from the hard pavement of 
wood or stones. 'Ihe earth saturat- 
ed with it was carefully gathered up 
and bonie away, that at home and 
at leisure they might carefully sepa- 
rate the blood from the earthy mat- 
ter, and place it reverently in some 
vxse, ordinarily of glass, sometimes 
of earthen ware, and in a few instan- 
ces of bronze. Sometimes a porlioa 



2o8 Tfu Liquefaction of the Blood of St, JanuartMS, 



of sponge or of doth so saturated 
would be kept as a precious jewel 
in a locket of silver or gold, and be 
preserved in the oratory or chapel of 
a Christian household, or even be 
reverently borne on tiie person. Or- 
dinarily, however, the vials or vases 
into which the martyrs' blood had 
been gathered, or the open vases 
containing the saturated sponge or 
the bundle of blood-stained cloths, 
would be placed with the body in 
the tomb; or the vials might be 
built into the masonry of the tomb, 
near the head, in such a way as to 
be partially \'isible from without. 

Tlie Ada Martyrum — the official 
records of the sufferings, death, and 
deposition or burial of the martyrs, 
written out at the time by appointed 
officers of the church — ^bcar frequent 
testimony to the widespread exis- 
tence of this custom. Other Chris- 
tian writings, in prose and in poetry, 
refer to it frequently. We find it 
prevailing at Rome and in all Italy, 
in Carthage, in Sebaste, in Nicome- 
dia, in Gaul, and throughout tlio 
church. It was the universal cus- 
tom. 

About the time when the body of St. 
Januarius was transported from the 
original tomb where it had been laid 
during the persecution, to the church 
of St. Januarius, extra mur&s, at 
Naples, similar translations of the 
bodies of martyrs took place else- 
where. St. Ambrose, the great Bi- 
shop of Milan, gives an account of 
such a ceremony for the martyrs St. 
Gervasc and St. Protasius, and again 
for the martyrs St. Vitalis and St. 
Agricola. He mentions finding in 
the tombs, in both cases, the blood 
of the martyrs which had been gath- 
ered and placed there. St Gaudcn- 
tius, liishop of Brixia, about the 
same time, mentions a similar fact. 
Some centuries later, the northern 
barbarians were making raids into 



Italy, and had repeatedly bro 
to and desecrated the sepuli 
the catacombs, either in mei 
tonness or in search for the b 
which they thought might be 
there. In order to save the i 
ed relics of the martyrs iro: 
outrages, the popes opem 
tombs of the martyrs in the i 
of the catacombs then acce: 
a great portion being alread] 
up, either by the falling in 
roof or by the act of the Ch 
centuries before — and transfci 
remains to the churches wit 
city for greater safety. In < 
the tombs, these vases wer 
found, and hundreds of thi 
now in the churches or in the 
museums of Rome. Three ci 
ago, Bosio, and after him I 
Boldetti, Mamachi, and other 
trated into the catacombs, se 
them anew, and came upon S( 
those portions which had no 
disturbed at the time of the ] 
removal In such portions 
few unopened and undisturbed 
of martyrs were found. Wit! 
the remains of the body — bon 
dust — with sometimes the ruste 
mcnts of the instrument of 
and frequently the vial, or ai 
of the martyr's blood. Duri 
last forty years, the work of i 
gating the catacombs, whicl 
been intermitted, has been tal 
afresh and prosecuted with t 
ness and skill by F. Marchi, t 
Rossi, and other eminent arc! 
gists. They still come occas 
across the tombs of martyrs, e 
ly untouched since the day of 
sition, and within them, or 
mortar by the head, the va; 
blood are still found. When 
vials are so placed in the mo 
to be visible and accessible 
without, the thin glass has gc 
been broken. But the botto; 




tiqutf action of the Blood of St, Januarius, 209 



ought to remain as the residuum of 
human litood. 

It is clear that, both as to the cus* 
torn of theeariy Christians of carefully 
gathering up the blood of their mar- 
lym, of placing it iu ampull%, or 
vases, and religiously preserving it, 
and likcvrise as to the identification 
of the ampullae themselves, the tes- 
timony is all that cnn be desired. 
Bosio, Aringhi, BoldettI, Mamachi, 
Gaumc, Mardii, Raoul-Rochette, De 
Rossi, rerret — all who have studied 
the question, arc unanimous in recog- 
nizing tliese numerous old Roman 
vials, or ampulla, still found in the 
aitacomlw and tombs or preserved 
in the churches, as the identical vials, 
or arapullx, so used by the ancient 
Christians. On this point, there re- 
mains not the slightest room for 
doubt. 

It is therefore but reasonable that 
there shouUl exist in Naples a vial, 
or ampulla, of the blood of St. Janua- 
rius. He was in his day a distin- 
guished bishop of the church. His 
martyrdom was public, and attracted 
the attention of the Christians. It 
W.1S by. beheading. There w.is no 
conceivable reason why the Chris- 
tians should omit in that instance 
what they were universally so care- 
ful iQ do in sucli cases. On the 
contrary, to judge from the ancient 
accounts we have of the martyrdom 
of St. Januarius and his six compan- 
ions, the Christians found no extra- 
ordinary difficulty in obtaining the 
bofilcs, and entombing them in thtrir 
usual mode. When, eighty or ninety 
ye,nrs later, the church had been 
firmly established in peace, the body 
of St. Januarius was taken from the 
original tomb and brought to Na- 
ples, as the bodies of the others 
werv taken to the various churches 
which claimed tNera. 

The very presence, therefore, of 
an anipulla in the custody of the 



set tn the mortar, and 
Qtr is covered to some ex- 
a (Kin. dr>% rcdtlish crust ad- 

> it. This crust or film is all 
A of the blood the vase ori- 
Eoniained. Vials, or ampul- 
w . interior of the tombs are 
E perfectly prcser\'ed. It is 
Keresting 10 look on one of 
J to mark exactly the line 

the hcjuid blood once reach- 
thc jiurple hue of the sedi- 
crust now left, with its 
or ilarker shades of color, 
I^Bn the character of the 
^^probobly from the thick- 
thinness of the crust itself. 
1 the accumulated evidence, 
ccly needs to read the rude 
n found and still legible, 
only M-xalched in the mor- 
1 it wa$ soft; Sanguis, or 
iri'RMNi, Tfte biooii of Satur- 
Ve know that this is blood 
yot flowed from a martyr's 
testimony of his faith in 
Lr Lord. 
17th century, when Bosio, 
and others bruuj^ht uut such 
om the caucombs, and 
attention was directed to 

> nature of this dry reddish 
icring to the interior was 
I chemically. There was 
»tdajice in the results ob- 

g those who made such an 
ion was the celebrated ].«ib- 
rotrstant, among the ablest 
\\ learned men of that age. 
f ount of his process, 

I n at which he arriv- 

evipriag nt.jiier on fAfg/nst is 
ms. Some j-ears ago, the 
'oniiff, Pius IX., had a new 
nade according to the full- 
most accurate tests of mod- 
littry. The answer was still 
: This substance is, so far as 
r cm decide, precisely what 
(UXtv.— 14 



2IO The Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Jhnuarius. 



church of Naples, together with the 
other relics of St. Januarius, is under 
the circumstances /n/»/rt/7f/«f evidence 
of its own authenticity — evidence 
which cannot be impugned, except 
by attempting to overturn a well- 
known and universally admitted 
usage of the early Christian church, 
or else by a supposition, equally gra- 
tuitous and absurd, that the ampulla 
which originally was in existence, and 
was prized beyond measure and 
carefully preserved, was somehow 
lost, and another fraudulently substi- - 
tuted in its stead. We need not recur 
to the olden traditions of the church 
of Naples or its legends concerning 
this relic — traditions and legends 
found, too, we believe, among the 
Greeks, whose intercourse with Mag- 
na Grecia, as Southern Italy was 
called, was more intimate and con- 
tinued longer than with any other 
portion of Italy. We scarcely need 
the testimony of Fabius ^ordanus, 
quoted by Caraccioli, going to show 
that, so far back as a.d. 6S5, it was 
the custom of the clergy of Naples 
to bear the relics of the head. 

The historical evidence in favor 
of the genuineness of the relic is am- 
ple an<l satisfactory. There would 
not be a moment's hesitation on the 
point but for the very vain hope 
which some minds may entertain 
that, by declining to admit the genu- 
ineness of the blood, they will some- 
how escape the difficulties of the 
liquefaction. As if the liquefaction 
of any other substance, with all the 
circumstances which characterize the 
liquefaction at Naples, as we have 
set them forth in our previous arti- 
cles, would not be for them as hard 
if not a harder nut to crack than the 
liquefaction of the blood of St. Janua- 
rius! 

Having, therefore, established the 
genuineness of the relic, the next 
question which presents itself is this : 



Are we to attribute the amoi 
the blood still to be seen witl: 
ampulla when at its ordinary 
and its condition when hard, 
continuous action of natural c 
or are we to recognize in 
points the effects of that .sup< 
ral force to which the lique 
itself is to be attributed ? W( 
would not the agency of i 
causes have resulted in a gre: 
duction of the original volume 
blood, and in a far different co; 
of the residuum, at the present 
We know pretty accurate 
composition of human blood 
proportions of the several ingn 
going to constitute it ma) 
somewhat according to the hea 
the food of individuals. V 
entering into the refined, and 
not fully accepted results of th< 
qualitative analysis, it will be 
cient to give the following u 
the constituents of the healthy 
of man : 



Water, 

Albumen, . 

OxygCD, 

NlUogen, . 

Carbonic acid, 
Eztraclive matters. 
Salts, . 
Colorine matter, 
Klbrice, 
Haematine, , 
GlobuUne, . 



a-27 



Blood globulea, 



79o"37 

6; -80 



10*98 



9-95 



i»7*90 , 
t, 000*00 



Water constitutes nearly fou 
of the entire quantity. If it be 
off by evaj)oration, only a dr) 
would remain behind. 

When blood issues from the v 
first passes through the process 
gulaiion, the successive steps of 
have been carefully examined, 
fectly liquid as it comes ou 
blood soon thickens, throug 
action of the fibrine it contains, 
firm, elastic, uniform, jelly-like 
Soon drops of clear, amber 
cd fluid begin to exude fro 



Taction of the Blood of St, Januarius. 



2\t 



■I])*, and accumulate until 
sss is divided into two 
m, a transparent, near- 
id, in which there floats 
CTassamentuiTi> a firm, red 
e miiis. In time, the clot 
ividwl. The fibririe is seen 
ing a layer of considcr- 
stcncc, soft, clastic, lena- 
of A yellowish vrhitc color ; 
portion, consisting of the 
rts of the clot whicli have 
eeftied douTj to thai posi- 
reil mass, made up chiefly 
kI globules. 

exposure would by degrees 
the aqueous portion by 
n, and the progress of de- 
fl would tend to free the 
!ic other constituents, and 
(Tiber to diminish tlic mass. 
xpcrimcnts, instituted by 
can compare, in time at 
the instances presented to 
vases of the catacombs. 
Des on the glass still show 
what level the blood, or at 
dot, originally reached; 
t what has remaine<l after 
sixteen hundred years — a 
y reddish powder adhering 
iting the sides and bottom 
tcL 

, however, mentions three 
in which such ampullx 
d in the catacombs con- 
. of the blood still 
liquid. And, if we 
i^Ukeii, something similar 
rcn in some other vials 
here and there, and held 
a portion of tlie blood of 
LTlyrs. 

y Christians of Italy gave 
Roman custom of incre- 
bumtng the bodies of the 
adopted instead the East- 
r sqjolture. In some in- 
least, they seem to have 
£s ami ointments, as the 



Jews and Eastern nations generally 
did; and some of them might even 
have had a knowledge of the anti- 
septic preparations used by the Egyp- 
tians. They never prepared the dead 
as mummies, but they may at times 
have put some antiseptic ingredient 
into the blood, lending by its chemi- 
cal action somehow to retard the 
escape of the water and the decom- 
position of the mass. If this were 
really done or not, we believe modem 
science cannot decide j and the his- 
torical evidence is not clear. 

Something may be due, also, to the 
mode in which they would sometimes 
close a narrow-necked vessel of glass. 
When it had received its contents, 
the glass of the neck would be heat- 
ed, probably by the (lame of a blow* 
pipe, until it became soft and pliable. 
The sides would then be pressed to- 
gether untd they coalesced and be- 
came united, thus obliterating the 
oriticc; or else molten glass would 
be carefully dropped on the lips of 
the mouth, until the whole was en- 
tirely coated over and perfectly closed. 
When either was followed and llic 
work was done perfectly, the ampul- 
la would be, in fact, hennclically 
sealed. The air would thus be ex- 
cluded, and evaporation nearly ar- 
rested. Placed in a loiuUts or grave 
in the dry earth of the catacombs, 
twenty-five or thirty-five feet beneath 
the surface of the earth, the ampulla 
would also be subjected to an ever- 
equable temperature of about 58° 
l-'alu-. Under such circumstances, 
especially if we admit the presence 
of some aiitiscjuic ingredient, it may 
be possible that decomposition would 
be very slow. But, after all, the 
glass sides of these ampulla; arc thin, 
and glass is porous, and sixteen cen- 
turies is a very long time. Even 
were the sides far thicker than ihej 
are, evaporation would have slowlj 
taken place, the gaseous products of 



212 The Liquefaction of the Blood of St. yanuarius. 



decomposition would have gradually 
passed through into the outer atmo- 
sphere, and only the dry solid resi- 
duum would be left, as we ordinarily 
find it in the ampullae from the cata- 
combs. The case of the ampulla 
containing the blood of St. Januarius 
is not open to these doubts. We are 
not able to say, indeed, whether it 
was actually closed in either of the 
modes we have indicated. As it 
stands in the present reliquary, of 
which we have given an account, 
the mouth enters so deeply into the 
upper mass of soldering within the 
case that the eye cannot discover the 
manner of closure. Before it was 
placed in this reliquary, five hundred 
and seventy or seven hundred and 
thirty years ago, this could probably 
have been seen ; but we have found 
no record throwing light on the sub- 
ject. We presume it was done in one 
or the other of the modes we have 
described. It is certainly so tightly 
closed that not a drop of the liquid 
blood within has ever been known to 
ooze out. 

But this ampulla has not been lying 
in the low and equable temperature 
of an underground vault of the cata- 
combs. It has been preserved in the 
upper and variable atmosphere of a 
city, subject for many centuries to 
the excessive heats of almost tropical 
summers, and to the cold winds that 
blow down at times from mountains 
covered with snow. By no law of 
physics could a mass of blood so 



situated escape the natu 
quence — a vast diminutio 
by the loss of water and i 
of gases. The film that 
interior of the smaller am 
in the same case or reliqu: 
the film seen in the whole 
broken ampullae of the 
and churches generally, 
think, what would have 
natural course. 

That the larger ampul 
on the contrary, have lost 
the volume of its conteni 
should still be four-fifths 
though for centuries expa 
have said, to heat and cold- 
general permanence of bv 
character should be main 
though eighteen or tweni 
year the mass alternates i 
id to a fluid condition, a 
through many subordinati 
of color and volume — tl 
seem to us not only utter 
cable, but directly contrar 
know of physical laws. 
them along side the grand 
liquefaction itself, as beini 
measure its characteristic 
tants. Still, should any 
these questions too obsci 
peremptorily decided, we 
now discuss them. We 
willing to let them stand c 
the more prominent and 
and more tangible questi 
liquefaction itself. Of tha 
now proceed to treat. 



TO BS CONTINVKD. 



The Wayside Spring. 213 



THE WAYSIDE SPRING. 

nOM THB rSSKCH or ALPKOMS DB LAMAXTIKX. 

As here is quaffed a sweet forgetfulness 

Of the long journey yet to go, 
So unto all who through life's pathways press, 

Lord, from thy rock let waters flow 1 
Let thy sweet grace refreshment be ! 
On earth we wander wearily, 

And in a thirst that will not cease. 
Oh ! let each dry and dusty Up 
From thy deep hidden fountain sip 

Sweet draughts of lore and peace. 

Ah \ every soul drinks its own cup of bltss. 

Some the delights of glory bless ; 
One finds it in a little daughter's kiss, 
Another in a wife's caress. 
The secret friendships of the heart, 
The rapture of creative art, 

Each hive its own sweet honey stores ; 
To every lip let torrents burst 
From life's great fountj but I — / thirst 
For the eternal shores. 

Earth's dreams are but a bitterness to those 

Whose yearnings are for love divine. 
No rivulet sparkles here, no runlet flows, 

To satisfy this thirst of mine. 
What shall assuage it ? The desire 
That heavenward ever doth aspire. 

And sigheth ceaselessly ; 
The sweetness that in suffering lies, 
And tear-drops showering from my eyes. 

Are hope's one draught for me. 



214 



Valentine, 



VALENTINE. 



rtOH THB KlVm DU MONOB CATKOLKJ^'B. 



" Frankly, my dear friend, tell 
me, is she not charming ? Does she 
not lend a certain grace to her white 
dress, and a brilliancy to her blue 
ribbons? Is she not the prettiest 
flower in my garden ?" 

" And my Alfred, dear Madame 
de Guers, does he not look well by 
her side ? Are there many young 
men in our village who appear to 
such advantage near this fair and 
graceful darling, now in the flower of 
her youth ?" 

" What you say is true, my friend. 
We have both of us, thank God, fine 
children — noble, virtuous, and good ; 
and I hope they will be happy." 

" They will make a very handsome 
couple, at all events," concluded M. 
Maubars, rubbing his hands and smil- 
ing contentedly. 

Thus spoke two old friends, as 
they sat quietly, one summer evening, 
in the shadow of the hop-vines of a 
pretty green arbor, and talked away 
in this simple, lively, and joyous 
manner, while they observed their 
children as they appeared here and 
there in the garden-walks. 

When people have passed fifty, 
and known each other since they 
went to the same school in child- 
hood, and during the long succeed- 
ing years have resided pretty much 
in the same place, they are very apt, 
when talking together, to speak open- 
ly from their hearts, especially if 
those hearts are filled to the brim 
and running over with justifiable pa- 
ternal pride and motherly tenderness. 



And it was true that the dear . 
the only and cherished son 
Maubars, was handsome, hon< 
tive, and gifted, and, thanks 
fortune which he would inherit, 
one day take his place amoi 
most respectable citizens of th 
vince. As to Madame de 
this fair and worthy old lad; 
white hair, in whom all the 
souls of the little town salute 
recognized a sister, all the p 
benefactress, and all the afHi 
friend, she had never been a n 
She had married late, less in 
clination than duty, to obey . 
of her parents and fulfil a 
project J she had cared for, » 
admirable devotion, and sup 
with a no less admirable equal 
temper, the precocious infii 
and frequent brusqueries of ) 
Guers, who, as former captait 
vessel, had lived a silent, sc 
deserted life in an old cold-k 
little house on the coast. Bi 
happy day the sun seemed to 
brighter for her, and the radial 
timent of an unknown hap 
mingled with her tears and h 
grets, as one of the friends i 
childhood, a poor widow, in i 
confided to her the educatioi 
guardianship of her deserted ; 
What a complete happiness, t 
recompense for all the sunless 
the gloomy and heavy hours, sc 
fully supported ! M. de Guers,t 
very ill at the time, consented 
ceive the child, on condition, 
added peremptorily, " that she i 
be kept very neat and mali 




Vaienttne. 



215 



this his precise and solemn 
m. The little Valentine 

unUerstancI what was ex- 
' her, and, though stirring, 

and lively, mrely a rent 
in her little Indian silk. 
pot on her red Ups nor her 
forehead. When she hap- 
EaU.she smothered her sobs 
; when she remembered the 
MTcpt low for her mother — 
his not to displease the old 
), shut up in his close par- 
t he contemplated with as- 
It mingled with pity and 
is two unfortunate legs — 
in flannel. Time, child- 

1 natural gaiety combining, 
{irl began even to find her- 
icly happy in this old house, 
t »as cherished, and nolh- 
tndone for her needs, her 

hex repose. 

re say that her adopted mo- 
happy? At the end of 
Hghis of want of sleep and 
hat she passed with the ill 
itient old man, she ran fur 
I to the iitdechamber above, 
ihed the sweet pet, with 
es and rosy cheeks, as she 
l;hcr morning's happiness ; 
lie dear little round arms 
fneck, Uie sweet tender lips 
loa her own, and she thank- 
^ this blessing. The little 
9e, STift the breakfast over, 
led down-stairs happiness 
Jf-a-day. Later, when 
bled at the end of 
cture, or her arms were 
t some endless rubbing, she 
It the window, saw the little 
ffting in t!ie sun, playing 
keek among the lilacs, or 
\ her from amidst the roses, 
sight, it Seemed her cup 
[ftiU, that the spring light 
i is Ihe sick man's rham- 
Uie time she forgot 



whether she was guardian or victim. 
Thus she lived on, consoled and 
strengthened by the child, consoling 
and strengthening her husband, until 
the day when M. de Guers died, and 
both wept his loss — Valentine with 
time having learned to love himj and 
he himself, won by the grace and 
beauty of the child, had often so far 
unbended as to keep time for her 
with his crutch while she danced all 
alone before his window in the gar- 
den. 

From this moment, Madame de 
Guers gave Valentine all her time, 
her heart, her cares, her tenderness. 
1 leave you to imagine how such 
precious gifts, with the aid of years, 
added 10 everything lovely and noble 
in the child. Of all the young girls 

of C , Valentine at eighteen was 

not only one of the most beautiful, 
but, better still, tlie best, the simplest, 
the most lender, the humblest, the 
most joyous, and the best loved : the 
most ill-natured of the citizens could 
not refuse her their homage, and her 
adopted mother loved her to excess 
and with pride and delight; M. Mau- 
bars, too, the oldest friend of the 
house, and his son, the elegant Al- 
fred, saw in her perfection a treasure, 
and their unite*! wonder. Then at 
eighteen the future is so beautiful, 
the horiiEon so pure, dreams so sweet, 
and friends so tender ! How happy, 
then, was our Valentine at this mo- 
ment, when, joyous undei the eyes 
of her mother, gay and confiding in 
the presence of her future husband, 
and gracious and pretty as she al- 
ways was in her simple and quiet 
toilet, she wandered hither and thith- 
er in the garden, breathing the air, 
gathering the flowers, and breaking 
from the trees the large snow-balls 
that shed their petals on her lustrous 
brown hair. 

We do TK)t know exactly wliat 
-Mfred and Valentine were talking 



2l6 



Valentine. 



about in the garden-walk, as running 
from side to side to fonn their bou- 
quet they chanced so often to meet. 
But, under the arbor, they were more 
grave, calmer, and certainly more 
mature, and they spoke of business. 

" If you will permit it, my dear 
friend, I should like the young couple 
to live in my house," said M. Mau- 
bars. " It is, I may say, without 
vanity, one of the most comfortable 
and best furnished in the town. As 
to me, you know, I am becoming a 
monk, or a bear, or a house-rat. The 
rolling of the half-dozen coaches 
and the three or four cabs our town 
possesses is sufficient to trouble my 
digestion, and almost deafens me ; 
so I think, in order to plant my 
cabbages in peace, I had better 
lodge in the pavilion of my large 
garden at Vaux, which is not more 
than a league from the town. My 
good old Baptistine will accompany 
me, and keep the pot boiling. Every 
evening the children can come and 
see me, that is, every fine evening ; 
and you can have them right by 
you — nothing to do but cross the 
street, and walk a few steps on the 
quay, ring the little bell, the latch 
will fly up, and there will be Valen- 
tine in a clean dress and red ribbon 
coming to meet you, for her delicate 
hearing would distinguish your step 
among a thousand others on the 
same pavement." 

" Poor dear child ! I don't want 
to be selfish, and yet it is hard to 
part with her," murmured Madame 
de Guers, while stilling a sigh. 

" Do you call that parting with 
her, when I tell you she will be 
right under your eye ? And then, 
my dear friend, I must tell you you 
have become very worldly of late. 
You are obliged to accompany Va- 
lentine to this and that soiree, and 
it fatigues you, absorbs and puts you 
out altogether. When it comes my 



Alfred's turn to do all this fa 
you will see how you will im} 
and old ladies always recovt 
naturally. Confess it, my deai 
dame de Guers, have you n 
some time been very negUge 
yourself and your old people ? * 

" Alas, yes ! poor good old pe< 
replied the respectable lady, v 
sweet smile. " Yet every mo 
after Mass, I stop to see thera. 
my child monopolizes much < 
time I should give to them, bi 
loves them too : she has so 
lent a heart 1 How often I 
seen her, when quite a child, 
from her weekly allowance tc 
jujube for old Manou, who hi 
tarrh so badly, and tobacco k 
rine, whose happiness is in smc 
And how she takes care of 
when necessary, my friend! 
merry she makes them, and ca 
them, and reads them good 1 
and the Scripture she expla 
prettily ! In truth, this humble 
will not perish witli me : I have 
one to whom I can confide it" 

This demands an explai 
Madame de Guers was not oi 
excellent, tender, and devote< 
ther, a constant and generous i 
but she was, at the same time 
foundly pious and sincerely c\ 
ble. The death of M. de 
had left in her soul a bitter ai 
cret sorrow, which she had 
been able to console. The i 
lieutenant of the service, in spi 
the solicitations and tears c 
Christian and devoted wife, ha 
farewell to this world in a m 
far from exemplary, dying, w 
doubt, peaceably and bravely en 
but without rq>entance, without 
without penitence, neither fixii 
eyes on the cross nor listening 
absolution of the cure. So, f< 
poor, tender soul of the wife 
remained a gnawing regret, a 



Valentine, 



2i; 



and at the price of any 
if any sacrifices, she 
secure the eternal salva- 
|iis obiuiurkte huslxind. Cioil 
ws what in ortiti cations she 
in secret, to gain a little 
y towards the tender and 
end she proposed ; and. 
p, she openly rerfnubled her 
' fervor and charity. A part 
Boney left her by her lius- 
d been employed by her in 
t of refu^e^ where ten or 
td, in6nu women* the very 
or the department, could 
ifortably and in pc-acc until 
of their days, and at the 
e of reciting every day from 
BCh in the chapel a prayer 
repose and salvation of the 
can Louis de Guers, fonncr 
the king's fleet We said 
Mt Madame de Gueis had 
laientine all her heart, her 
i her life : wc should, never- 
Mvc remarked thai she re- 
portion for the poor old 
of her little liospilal,. not 
I A difiicult matter to recon- 
ber humble and peaceable 
happiness and duty, chari- 
ve. 

dear old pensioners," she 
iwhile regarding from a 
ir chartning adopted 
who smiteil on her from 
ihe shady trees, " tliey will 
happy to find after roe this 
:» I .. 1.. ^^iy^ I ^jjj sme, pos- 

: ■ and strength to rc- 

ht:. Good little Valentine ! 
\ already given them, in my 
\ : o( her heart, and to 

u ; '■■'■ to be as generous as 

sbe is, for I could ha\% given 
more brilliant heritage to 

IT chil'l had I not already 
I tpie. Her mo* 

:'jut fortune, and 

1 bave ftiU remaining forty 



thousand francs, invested in rentes in 
the state, and my little properiy 
here. This is all, my good Manbars, 
I have to give her." 

** Well, well, my dear friend, don't 
trouble yourself. The whole will 
amount to sixty thousand francs, at 
tlie lowest figure. Valentine is trea- 
sure enough in herself, and don't 
need any more." 

" A treasure I Yes, indeed, you 
have spoken llie truth !" replied the 
noble woman, fixing on her interlo- 
cutor a look radiant with joy, happi- 
ness, and confidence : *' and ns you 
make me so hnppy, my brave Mau* 
bare, in speaking as you do, I am 
not ashamed to confess I have often 
thought — have often feared — well, 
don't blame me; nothing, you know, 
is so restless and timid as a mother 
— I have feared that a dowry so 
small could not respond lo ihe legi- 
timate views of a young man like 
Alfred, who can aspire to the beat 
match ill the country. I dare not 
tell you how this secret doubt has 
tortured my heart Jt would have 
been so painful, so frightful to think 
that my want of foresiglu n»ight 
have prepared so bitter a disappoint- 
ment for my dearly loved Valentine." 

" And who S|>caks of disappoint- 
mciil, cowardly mamma that you 
are?" replied M. Maubara. with the 
good hearty htugh of the retired suc- 
cessful merchant " Of course I do 
not mean that any dowry is lo be 
despised, and, I will add, if this were 
larger, it were so much the better. 
Hut the moment diat the question is 
between it and you and Valentine, 
-Mfred and I will accept what you 
have in all confidence. Let there be 
no more mention of these things 
between us any more than there Ls 
just now in the conversation of that 
happy couple smiling and babbling 
among the roses," 

*' How good you are, Maubars," 



2l8 



Valentine. 



replied the adopted mother with a sigh 
of reUef. " Assuredly," she contin- 
ued with a sweet and mischievous 
smile, *' I am very sure that it is not 
with dowry or business that they are 
entertaining themselves just now." 

This you may be assured of, my 
readers, for, just then, Valentine, 
spreading into a sweet smile her fine 
and delicate lips, while her brilliant 
eyes sparkled above the cheeks as 
rounded and satiny as the petals of 
her roses, said to her partner, who 
was coming toward her : 

" You had better believe me, 
Mr. Alfred. We will not go to 
Paris. Paris is very far off, and it 
costs a great deal to go there. 
But we will go every evening and 
see dear papa in his little pavilion 
at Vaux. Won't it be charming to 
do just as we did when we were 
little, ten years ago, just us two 
alone, you and I, running through 
the ruts and the fields, gathering the 
new hay and the herbs covered with 
dew?" 

And the simple child, clapping her 
white hands, gently smiled still more 
joyously at the innocent, truant pro- 
jects with which she proposed to in- 
augurate their future housekeeping. 
Then, Alfred having offered his arm, 
she accepted it a moment in order to 
adjust with her young intended some 
other detail of great importance, 
which she must tell her mamma im- 
mediately — mamma holding her 
breath meanwhile, hearing vaguely the 
murmur of the wind in the arbor and 
smiling with tenderness as her child 
approached. 

"Mamma," cried Valentine, throw- 
ing her arms around her mother's neck, 
and with a caressing and infantine 
movement mingling the waves of 
her lustrous hair with the fine, heavy 
gray curls, " did you not say that the 
anniversary of your birth would 
come in two weeks, the second of next 



month, and that you wculi 
see Alfred and me choose 
to celebrate our betrothal ?" 

" Yes, my darling/' repl 
dame de Guers gently. 

"Very well, dear mami 
all arranged; wc will exch 
rings on the same day that 
so dear a mamma. But 1 
decided anything about th 
tions ?" 

" I have at least thought 
my child. We will have, 
the greater part of those of 
society, and especially, yoi 
stand, all your young friends 

" Yes, just as you wish, 
to be only for the even: 
mamma ?" 

" Ah ! my little ambiti 
wishes to give a whole da 

"Indeed I do, mamma 
dreamed of it even, so I ma; 
confess. I want particularl 
morning to have those I ii 
to myself; I will receive thei 
them, and serve them with 
hands. O mamma I it wi 
nice, in the shady part of the 
among the flowers, to set t 
tables, and have an exceller 
fast, good wine, cakes, a ro 
Pierrot the violinist with hi 
and the baskets all filled w 
ers I And my guests will be 
prised, and so pleased, my d 
mamma !" 

" But who are they, then ? 

" Your old women, dear n 

Madame de Guers's respon 
take the pretty brown heac 
charming child in her t 
hands, and to press it tend< 
long upon her lips^ while i 
shivering of admiration ai 
made her heart beat 

" Itissaid," fherepliedatb 
table shall be set for fifteen, a 
shall be cakes and violir 



Valentine, 



319 



d flowers. You shall serve 

y child, and my old people 

!ve tliey arc at the wedding." 

as the 6rsc stars began to 

pure sky, and the happy and 

up rose to leave the per- 

tcr of the garden, Madanic 

;, more joyous and prouder 

, held back on purpose to 

ung people pass before her, 

whispered in the ear of her 

wlio was philosophically 

the whole scene : 

Maubais, did you not 
now, my Valentine is a 

II. 

«k5 afterward, the air being 

:est, iind the sky roost radiant, 

received with great joy 

her morning guests on 

Ijr o\ her betrothal. Kvery- 

confurraably to the an- 

progratnine: the large ta- 

ornamented and coveted 

ing while doth ; the light 

e country filled the glasses ; 

ipcared large and gilded ; 

was cooked to per- 

this succulent and cor* 

^uet the twelve old women 

themselves in order, and 

p waited on ihcra, cutting 

nutton in rosy slices, dislri- 

ic pieces of cake witli her 

tic white hand, upon which 

c golden ring, with its blue 

^t Alfred had sent her that 

[ ' until slie took the 

\. id cuchain her for 

poor old go!uips feasted 

heart, and laughed as 

lied, their glasses tumbling 

other; while the spar- 

,it fHisted, piped in the 

n ' at so much 

, . . gently to the 

at the crumbs of cake 



that fell in the grass ; and, to crown 
all, the violin of Pierrot, seated at his 
post unJcr the arbor, played for the 
delighted old women all the minuets, 
gavottes, and hops of the good old 
time. 

You can judge of the gratitude 
and general joy. 

" God will take you to his holy pa- 
radise, good and beautiful young la- 
dy I" said mother Purine, as she re- 
ceived from the hands of the pretty 
child Iicr third slice of mutton. 

" What are you saying there, mother 
Pcrine ?" cried Babet, her usual anta- 
gonist. " What kind of wish is that 
you are making? Better hope for 
Miss Valentine, as for many others, 
that paradise will come as late as 
possible, and that here the dear 
good young lady will become a great 
and good matron, and enjoy herself 
as mucli as she can in this world." 

" True enough," said Manou, " for 
there is the scraping of the violin; 
and just listen to that pretty gavottet 
Oh ! in those days when I was but 
twenty, how I hopped about like a 
young goat at the first note of the 
music Dear me I Miss Valentine, 
how this good wine makes you 
young again, and puts the gaiety 
into you I I do believe, if Pierrot 
begins that flourish once more, I 
shall jump up and dance a minuet 
in your honor." 

So Valentine laughed, and the 
other oil women applauded, and 
Manou fluttered about in true danc- 
ing style. Madame de Guers herself, 
who was rarely gay, wiped away a 
joyous tear from her eyes, while a 
tender and proud smile spread over 
her countenance. There was only 
the very, very old Genevieve, who, 
could not laugh, because she had 
lost her five sons and grown blind in 
weeping for them. But, with her old 
wrinkled hand, she had groped for 
the pretty little one of her young 



220 



Vaientine. 



friend and protectress, pressed it 
between her own, and repeated in 
mourning accents; 

" Miss Valentine, you deserve to 
be truly happy ; you know how to 
give blessings like the good God, 
whose care and pleasure it is to think 
of the poor." 

llianks to the pleasure of such a 
repast and so much time so happily 
spent, the old guests lingered around 
the table in the garden, and exceeded 
the Hmits of the morning hours. 
When at last they wended their way 
homeward, accompanied by the good 
sister who took care of them, they 
met on the road several of those in- 
vited for the afternoon, friends of 
Valentine mostly, accompanied by 
their mothers, in elegant toilets, and 
coming in great pomp to offer their 
compliments. 

" Why, how is this, my dear ? 
Have the old pensioners of Madame 
de Gue rs come to congratulate you ? " 
asked Rosine Martin, one of the 
young ladies, as she entered and em- 
braced her friend. 

" Yes, Rosette, on this occasion I 
gave them a little y?/^. They break- 
fasted here and drank my health ; and, 
do you know, Pierrot played the vio- 
lin, and old Manou was so excited 
she actually danced a minuet." 

" Do you hear what Valentine is 
saying?" whispered Madame Mar- 
tin to her friend and confidante, Ma- 
dame Fremicux, " I always thought 
Madame de Guers put on the airs of 
a great lady, and, of course, will leave 
the same to Valentine, as foundress 
of charitable institutions. Insupport- 
able, is it not ? And charity costs 
something too. It is well to make a 
parade of it, whether one has it or 
not; and the question is, whether it is 
prudent to put such ideas into the 
child's head, when she will give her 
at the very most two poor thousand 
francs?" 



*' Provided that charity is a 
like any other, and often m 
prudent than any other," add 
tentiously, Madame Fremieu: 
she pulled out with her righ 
the crushed ruche of her gre 
dress. 

" What an odd fancy you 1 
these old gossips, Valentine 
Adeline de Malers, anothe 
friend, a pretty young woman i 
handsome diUdren, whom 
gaily into the garden. " Tht 
go, charmed with your recepti 
repeating your name to all the 
of the town. Well, it is a go 
while you are waiting and 1 
little to do, and nothing much 
See what will become of thei 
you will be mamma in your ti 
dear I" 

" Do you think so, Adeli 
cannot agree with you," repli 
entine, blushing a little. " 1 
good mamma Marie alwajr! 
time to give me all her care, h 
and her watchfulness, and ye 
sure she never neglected the 
old friends. It seems to x 
when one becomes a moth 
desires to heap up a treasure i 
actions, and multiply one's 
and virtues, in order that Gi 
requite the little good one 
graces and benedictions oi 
dear little heads." 

"You always have a sent 
way of seeing things," replied J 
stooping and arranging with 1: 
fingers the white plume that 
the hat of baby ; " but I doub 
Alfred Maubars will give th 
light to the chapter; for, n 
one, husbands are not nonoi 
the future organization of a 
hold ; their decrees are ine 
and must be listened to." 

" O Adeline 1 do you real] 
that Alfred would wish to 
my doing a Httle good in i 



ValenHfie, 



iinate ? " snid Valentine, 

ovc*l and almost indignant. 

ho gave up his project of 

Paris, which we were to do 

itdy after our marriage ? He 

miscd to give me one-haI£of 

would cost lo make this trip 

a present to dear mamma, 

i&h woollen stockings and 

the poor litlle parish chil- 

the winter ? " 

y good Valentine! where 
just now, all this may be. 
it will not, my dear. Do 
e most part of the good 
ow — and there are none 
f them — thinlc charity 
me. The wife, if she 
Imay give away the old boot.s 
Fj but woe to her if, in a lit 
18 imprudence, slie parts 
half of the chicken or the 
\ of port that belongs to my 

fOtis Adeline laughed with all 

t as she finished these words, 

\Z moment Valentine smiled 

vcly raillery of her friend. 

Maubors and Alfred appear- 

c same time at the end of 

she fixed on her intended a 

timi<), and sad look, ask* 

if it could be tme, if it 

possible, that he who 

natural confidant in all 

and tender inspirations of 

, in all the Christian asjiira- 

her innocent and pious soul, 

nsider it a crime in her to 

to obey the great and holy 

hrtst that she had seen prac- 

'cry day from her infancy, in 

humble home. 

this passing distrust of 
A charming betrothed 
;>ened. Alfred approach- 
ited her a rich and 
iquet, and his worils as 
were so respectful and 
id his look so subdued and 



sincere ! Then all the young people 
irivitfd had arrived ; ihey were just 
finishing the joyous feast taken to- 
gether on the grass, and already they 
were preparing for the darnx. And 
now the scraping of Pierrot made 
way ft.fr an harmonious orchestra 
that resounded sweetly, echoing 
through tlie shady bowers. On the 
branches of the large lindens were 
suspended light and capricious-look- 
ing garlands, in which little red, blue, 
white, gilded, and green lamps were 
hung. They looked like stars that 
had come from heaven to see the 
ffu and smile at the other Hving 
stars, the young girls their sisters. 
M. Maubars had charged himself 
with this i»art of the emertainmcnt — 
an offering not of charity, but one 
made to youth and pleasure. So, 
everything passed off as brilliantly 
as could be wished on such a day ; 
and qua<lrille after quadrille suc- 
ceeded each other on the same spot 
where, a few hours cariicr, Manou, 
recalling her twenty years, had so 
valiantly executed the rhythmical 
and bounding steps of the ancient 
minuet of Auvergne. 

And while the young people danc- 
e<l, the older ones talked in the par- 
lor, or complacently looked on while 
their children enjoyed themselves 
from the little fringed pavilion with 
velvet benches that had been pre- 
pared for them in front of the green- 
sward Madame Martin, while ad- 
miring from afar her brown and 
pretty Rosette, had insensibly ap- 
proached the father of Alfred — ajid 
of all the ladies in the town, she had 
the least sympathy for Valentine, 
having for a long time nourished very 
sweet maternal hopes on the possi- 
bility of a marriage lictween Rosetic 
and the young Maubars. 

" In truth, dear neighbor, " said she, 
accosting with an amiable smile 
the honorable retired merchant, " one 



223 



Vaietttine. 



must confess you do things royally. 
It certainly cannot be these ladies, 
with their small, very small fortune, 
who have by themselves given us 
such a ft-te as this. And then, it 
is not according to their tastes. If 
by accident they should have a little 
too much money, they would have 
less pleasure in offering a ball to their 
friends than a breakfast to their old 
poor." 

** My dear Madame Martin, when 
one does as one can, one does as one 
should," replied, with a deep bow, 
M. Maubars, responding to her com- 
pliment to himself. "As to these 
ideas of our excellent friend Ma- 
dame de Guers, you see, we must 
not be suqjrised at them. She has 
always lived a little above our so- 
called middle society; she is a 
woman — how shall I say it? — well, 
of the old r/giine. In her devo- 
tions, in good works, and jwrsever- 
ance, she has grand ideas; the com- 
mandments of Christ, the love of her 
neighbor, the good of the poor. It 
is all beautiful, Madame Martin, and 
sits superbly on a woman like her, 
grave and dignified, with such hand- 
some white hair." 

" Hut for the little one — for Valen- 
tine — do you think, M. Maubars, 
that it will suit her as well ?" replied, 
quickly, the lady, with a mocking 
smile. 

" Oh ! why not ? Iiver>-thing be- 
comes a child. All these fine devo- 
tions are an occupation for the widow 
and an amusement for the little one. 
It is mucli better to direct her by 
caring for the poor than by ruining 
the reputations of others and seeking 
false excitements. Wait till Valen- 
tine becomes the wife of Alfred ; that 
will change everything, you knoiv, 
neighbor. The dear child will only 
have one end, one duty, one love — 
her husband." 

"Do you really tliink so, neigh- 



bor?" interrupted Madame Maitin, 
in a jeering tone. 

'* It is, at least, 'what all women 
promise at the altar, madame. And 
Valentine will do as she promises, I 
am certain. A cliild so docile, a 
nature so pliable, and a heart of 
gold. Yes, madame; I do not 
doubt, if my Alfred wishes it, she 
will prefer the road to tlie market 
or the grocery in preference to that 
of the church. And as to the refuge 
of which you speak, Madame de 
Guers will take care of that, as it 
will be her only occupation. My 
daughter-in-law will visit it occa- 
sionally in her leisure moments." 

"It will become her well to adapt 
her household to his wishes; far 
every one knows, neighbor, yonr 
son brings her a fortune far superior 
to her own." 

"Alas I yes, you say truly; her 
dowTy is the only weak point." 

" The little one will have scarcelf 
anything, will she, M. Maubars?^ 
asked the lady precipitately, in her 
ardent, almost joyous curiosity. 

" Oh ! a modest cipher, but enough. 
There is nothing to complain of. If 
it had been less, I confess I do not 
know what Alfred would have done. 
The needs of luxury are so numerow 
nowadays, and it costs so much to 
live, my dear lady !" 

"Yes, we all know that," replied 
the prudent mother. " This is the 
reason I calculate, and economiae, 
and stint myself every day for the 
love I bear Rosette. According to 
my ideas, it is a culpable charity that 
does not consider one's own first" 

At the enunciation of this wise 
maxim, M. Maubars sighed pro- 
foundly. At the bottom of hii 
heart he could not help wishing, 
in the interest of Valentine and Al- 
fred also, that Madame de Gueis, 
his dear old friend, had less tender- 
ness and greatness of soul, less gen- 



k 



VaUntitte. 



ion;~and a little more 

utlencc and solicitude lor 

side of life. Neverthe- 

05 careful not to express 

»ccret preoccupations 

ami then diiiquieted him 

id just then Valoiiltne, leav- 

uyous group of dancers, 

d him, street and charm- 

r innocent joy and unaf- 

iplicily. Her steps, dcli- 

-niodest, slid silently over 

and the golden reflection 

ig garlands of light made 

1 dress appear whiter and 

sparent, while her brown 

y raised and half-crowned 

uquet of small roses, glit- 

imeT and more lustrous ns 

un[is threw their rays upon 

^passed, 'i'he smile alone 

[ ch.irming daughter-in-law 

il A host of deceptions and 

Valentine's eyes beamed 

;ndor, love, sweetness, and 

in admiring her one for- 

or less respectable 

omised dowry. 

line did not remain long 

roup of talkers seated in 

she was looking for Ma- 

Guers, and raft away 

^hcn she heard the good 

ad gone into the house. 

mamma, arc you ill ?" said 

distressed when she saw 

protectress in the little rc- 

bm, carefully wrapped up 

vi, pale, trembling 

» , . 'ling to suffer. 

child, it is nothing; a 
trifling ailment only. 
had a great deal to do te- 
am tired. Perhaps I took 
£0 long in the shade of 
oaod dance, my love, 
ilace rac and finish 
&Cake my excuses to our 

obeyed, but she left her 



mother sadly, with a secret convul- 
.sion of the heart, that dimmed her 
bright eyes and her radiant smile. 
Two hours after, when, at last, alone 
on the step of the dear old house, 
she had said adieu to her guests and 
was at liberty to run to the room 
where Madame de Guers already re- 
posed, she saw clearly that this in- 
stinctive fear was a realized fact. 
The sleep of her adopted mother 
was agitated and painful, her fore- 
head was burning, her eyes half- 
open, her breathing difficult and 
accelerated. For the lirst time in 
these fifteen years of f>eace and hap- 
piness passed under the friendly roof 
of the old house, the heart of the 
young girl sank for a moment under 
the weight of an unknown grief — of a 
mortal anguish. Without thinking 
of her ball-ilre.ss, she knelt down at 
the foot of the bed, weeping in ter- 
ror, ])raying to God, and gently kiss- 
ing, from time to time, the hand of 
the sick woman, who, in her feverish 
sleep, mutlcreil words without mean- 
ing. And thus she awaited the day 
— the new day that was to arise for 
her, and menace her with danger, 
grief, terror, and anguish 

m. 

It had been decided, on the day 
of the modest betrothal, that the 
marriage of Alfred and Valentine 
should be celebrated a week after the 
Nativity of Our Lady, in September, 
before the first fogs of autumn had 
tarnished the verdant woods, and 
before the vintagers had robbed the 
robust vines of their golden grapes 
on the slopes descending to the val- 
ley below. But autumn passed ; the 
woods grew yellow and the leaves 
fell J the joyous shouts of the vinta- 
gers ceased to rejoice the hills, and 
the icy winds of winter blew over the 
blackened slopes, without Valentine 



324 



Vaientine. 



having sought her white marriage 
robes. Alas 1 it was a robe of moum- 
iDg that covered her now, poor little 
onel She bad again become an 
orphan ; her sweet and careless hap- 
piness of the young daughter, the 
cherished child so tenderly protect- 
ed, was all gone, destroyed for ever, 
for ever lost with the last swallows 
that fled from the woods with the 
first falling leaves. The most devot- 
ed care, the greatest affection and 
constancy, could not preserve to her 
this nervous and tender mother, 
whose life here below was sad enough, 
and whose death would have been 
sweet, had she not so felt for and 
trembled for her child. Her illness, 
however, had been long &nd cou- 
rageously combated, and for some 
time there was hope of triumph 
over the disease, until one day, when 
Valentine was absent on a pilgrim- 
age to a neighboring chapel, a sud- 
den haemorrhage set in, and Madame 
de Guers, feeling it necessary to use 
what strength she had left, sent for 
several papers, and with pain wrote 
for her adopted daughter directions 
which were not to be opened until a 
month after her death, when the first 
transports of grief were over. 

The fatal moment then came, and 
by one of the last auroras of Sep- 
tember, soft, fresh, and almost veiled, 
Valentine found herself on her knees 
by the bedside of the dying, ex- 
changing the last adieux with her 
tender benefactress, the devoted mo- 
ther who, from her infancy, had so 
unceasingly studied her happiness. 
The poor child remembered no more : 
grief had completely prostrated her, 
and she forgot her own existence 
until one evening, returning to con- 
sciousness, she found herself clothed 
in deep black, and alone with Mari- 
anne, the old and faithful servant, 
who wept low by her side and tried 
to console her. Then, M. Maubars 



and Alfred had come, and 
felt a secret consolation ii 
of her sadness. It was » 
toning and strengthening 
one's self still loved whi 
stances had' separated he 
upon whom she had lavis! 
wealth of affection. It i 
consolations offered by 
father-in-law and betro^ei 
of the highest order of mo 
not very profound, perhap 
were truly affectionate and 
at least, Valentine thoug 
they had power to alleviat 
and restore her heart's sert 

" What would you, my c 
are all mortal," said the fu 
" But we can still console 
and live almost happy in t 
the friends that remain to 

Alfred did not even say 
But he looked at her ten( 
a gende expression of in 
pity ; he quietly took the 1 
and thin hand that lay lai 
her black drapery, and pre 
tween his own, while he n 

" Poor dear Valentin* 
friend, so dearly loved." 
simple words, this look, 
tionate gesture from the fri 
childhood, seemed to op 
heart-broken young girl a 
sure of' hope and consolati' 

The days, however, n 
grief was not less profound 
stant, or less bitter, but 
necessarily more contained, 
signed, was borne more v: 
secret, giving place to austt 
the serious preoccupation 
The time came, naturally, v 
ness had to be spoken of 
tine. Until then, with n 
Jicr grief and her weakness, 
spared her every propositi 
discussion on the subject. 

" I will do all that is n 
murmured the poor child. 



r she must assist at the open- 
'the will, which would take 
y the notary, in presence of 
ed witneucs. 

Bolcmn assembly, therefore, 

id on a cold tnoming of No- 

' in the Urge parlor of the 

A biting aad moumfid wind 

t windows, and threw against 

disorrlcr (he last leaves of 

ens that on the day of the 

1 hkd balanced so joyously 

Ben ]»eTfume<l crowns above 

Idened heads of Valentine, 

kkanions, and her betrothed. 

■ wishes of Madame de Guers 

f ' ill a manner at once 

^ Her little capital 

(o trJiii s, placed in rentes on 

^ and her house, with all its 

pcics, were willed by her to 

r pupil, Valentine Vaudrey, 

it of direct inheritors from 

Ctmily or from thai of her 

The assistants knew in 

the tenor of the wU ; ncver- 

tfirr its rea<)ing they hastcn- 

ngralulate the poor heiress, 

rwhelmed in tears. 

good madame knew you 

she was not wrong," said 

ad honest Marianne, with a. 

A air. 

dcir child, herenfier you arc 
home." added M. Maubnrs, 
resscii with lively affection 
white hand, quite dampened 
ft. 

otiiry, however, made a ges- 

his bflnd to reclaim still 

rocnLs of silence. *• The 

of ttic papers establishing 

Irishes of the defunct is not 

iplcted. gentlemen," added 

grave and measured voice. 

- - Sand a letter written 

I..' client fifteen days 

I, and addres5t;il to 

Valentine Vaudrey. 

enime will be kind enough 

wv. — IS 



to take notice, conjointly with my- 
self and M. the President of the Tri- 
bunal or M. the Justice of the 
Peace, if these last recomraemlations 
are not to be considered as bearing 
uiwn her affairs." 

Valentine, drying her eyes, raised 
her pale, noble forehead, and tried 
to collect her voice, that trembled 
greatly. 

" My good Monsieur Morin, read 
the leller," said slie, " 1 pray you. 
My dear and best friend had no 
secrets to confide to me, I am sure, 
and her last wishes should l>e re- 
spected and known by all." 

The notary bowed and broke the 
seal. With one look he glanced 
througli tht; writing, and a shade of 
suqjrii;e and anxiety was depicted on 
his face. Valentine, distiuieted in 
turn, advanced gently, and extended 
her hand toward tlie paper. 

" Of what is tliis the subject, sir ?'* 
she asked timidly. 

" Business; only business, mv dear 
young lady," summered the' good 
M. Moria in an embarrassed tone. 

" Then read it aloud, I pray you, 
sir," said the young girl, tranquil, re- 
solved, and suddenly leasjurcd. 

The notary then slowly imfolded 
the paper, put on his spectacles, and 
began his reading in the midst of a 
profound silence, and perhaps anxie- 
ty, that reigned just then among the 
little assembly. 

" My dearly loved Valentine," said 
the noble woman dead, '* forgive me 
if I open my heart to you, and if, in 
giving up what has been, after you, 
the joy and consolation of my exis- 
tence, I leave you perhaps serious 
duties, real and profound anxietj'. 
My will, as you no doubt have learn- 
ed, makes you the one ami only 
heiress to the modest sum I fei:l so 
happy to be able to leave you. But 
you know, my poor dear child, I 
have besides undertaken, and yoa 



336 



Vaientifte. 



know with what end, a work of mer- 
cy that I wished to succeed and pros- 
per a long time, even when my pre- 
sence and aid would have, by the 
will of God, been withdrawn from 
my poor old proUgies. 'J'his chari- 
table foundation has been for me the 
object of grave and disquieting cares, 
that till now I have never found ne- 
cessary to confide to you. I have 
just learned that the proprietor of 
the building that shelters my poor old 
pensioners, having some si>eculation 
in view, has decided to take posses- 
sion of it and its dependencies him- 
self, or will only permit me to retain 
it under conditions too exacting to 
be in harmony with my slender re- 
sources. Many people of judgment 
whom I have consulted have all 
counselled me to choose another 
abode and there install my pension- 
ers. If I had found myself, as for- 
merly, alone in the world, I should 
not have hesitated to do so ; but to 
find a suitable house and pay several 
debts of my poor little hospital — for 
times have not been good for a few 
years past — I should have had to 
have laid out at least twenty thousand 
francs, almost the half of my present 
fortune \ and could I deprive you of 
so important a sum — you, my best 
loved and only heiress, who cannot 
have the same reasons for being inte- 
rested in the existence of the work, 
and therefore its continuation ? 

"This idea has not seemed possi- 
ble to me, my dear child ; therefore 
I have made no reser\'es, no stipula- 
tions in the interests of my poor old 
dependants, leaving it to your rea- 
son, not less than to your generous 
heart, to decide what you find best 
to do. Perhaps the advice, the sup- 
port of the new family into which 
you are going to ciitt-r, of my good 
friend M. Maubars, whom I have rl- 
ways known so loyal and just, will 
be at your service, and, without im- 



poverishing yourself, you < 
those whom I have always 
so much to see prosper. 1 
vice, then, of these friends, m) 
ter, consult your own faculti 
strength, and, above all, do nt 
pitate anything. It would ha 
too painful for me to have 
the thought of relinquishing tl 
which has been so dear and 
ing, therefore I speak to y( 
to-day, confident you will unc 
me in this as in everything els 
in any event, I hope that Pro 
will continue to watch over ) 
dest foundation for his glo: 
whatever you decide to do, n 
and tender child, be assur 
will have my approval and m 
ing. 

" Farewell, joy and consols 
my old years, sweetness of i 
my dear daughter. I will no 
you in the presence of my ■ 
he will deign to hear my pra) 

Thus the letter finished, s 
sad and continued voice of 1 
rin, which seemed to die 9ut 
murs, was only replied to by t 
and bitter sobs of Valentine. 

At the end, the young gh 
bling and half-tranquillized, ap 
ed the notary, turned towa: 
her mild countenance, where 
smile of gratitude and tender 
ready commenced to shine as 
tive and light ray in the mids 
tears. 

" Monsieur Morin, in four 
I will be twenty-one," said she. 
haps the picprietor of the 
will wait till then. I shall ! 
then, will I not, to give the 
thousand francs necessary for t 
chase of the house ?" 

A profound silence, soon in 
ed by a feeble murmur, gre 
first these words of the orpha 
Maubars rose from his chair, 
gcd his shoulders slightly, ap| 




VaUntine, 



223 



)k her hand with a be- 
B.n(I paternal smtlc. 
Ill rae, my dear cJitld," said 
^ ore not — my worthy and 
iv friend knew it well — tiuitc 
1 to decide in matters of bu- 
1 you had better, I think — " 
think pcrh;ip8 I would do 
I install the poor women in 
k)ltl hoHse," intcrrujJtctl the 
(girl, with her sad and sweet 
^Monsieur Maubars, 1 love 
pch, this humble abode, too 
knith, i have in it so many 
pllettions, and have passed 
lany happy days of infancy, 
poor dear mamma would 
W happier to know her old 
dged and sheltered here, in 
touse. So I am quite rea- 
• it up to ihcni, if you think 
aitc suitable." 

no, no, dear good Vaien- 
ictl the prudent papa, with 
ibarrassed air. " My child, 

undersund, questions of 
should never interfere with 
business. Think, by aban- 
«s little properly, or itscqui- 
m, you give up in reality 
of your dowry — a dowry, 
say too, without any 
already not the most 

[e. Think that all pru- 
j>le woulil endeavor to dis- 

I from taking this part ; that 
lot in reality free to accom- 
trificc so important and to 
nent of your future family.*' 
>or Valentine ! had she ever 
such a declaration ? At first 
ed. calmly, then smiled; then 
Bmprchendevl these words, 

Ib hkc a thunderbolt upon 

II tijeir cruelly, her paleness 
r ' gave place to a 
1 < ,; redness ; then this 
I. 1. and she remained 

J.5 a marble statue. 

of indignation and grief 



glanced from her pure eyes, but com- 
pressing, however, the sudden beat- 
ing of her heart, palpitating and 
growing colder every instant, she re- 
plied, still in an uncertain and timid 
voice, with a firm and serious accent, 
but caressing and affectionate: 

** Free, did you say, my good Mon- 
sieur Maubars ? Do you not mis- 
take me? Should I not be always 
free, to accomplish my duty, the lost 
wishes of my mother?" 

"But allow me . . . distin- 
guish," repeated the future father-in- 
law, alarmed but yet not discouraged. 
" There is an imprudent and rash 
liberty, my dear young lady, and one 
that IS provident and wise. You see 
yoarsclf that your tender and gene* 
rous protectress orders nothing, and 
asks nothing of you. She simply en- 
gages you to seek for the best advice 
of those who are interested in your 
happiness, in your future destiny, mine 
amongst others, my dear child. And 
you know well I am disposed \i act 
toward you as an old fiicnd, as your 
father. I have a great influence in 
benevolent societies, am a member 
of several ; nothing easier for me to 
tranqui!U/.e you on the subject of 
your old women than to make out a 
little account of the actual state of 
things, with a few words of my own 
observation, and have them received 
without any delay or trouble into 
the hospital for incurables in this de- 
partment. In this way, ray dear Va- 
lentine, you sec all can be arranged 
for the best. You will be relieved 
from all inquieiade as to the fate of 
the ptvi/g/es of the excellent Madame 
de Guers ; your Utile fortune will not 
be comproraisetl ; exempted from 
every care, free from obligations, you 
can consecrate your entire time to 
your duties, to ihc atlecllons that 
await you in your new family." 

Valentine listened to every word, 
her eyes fixed, her lips immovable. 



228 



Valentine. 



But from time to time a deeper and 
more sombre shade spread over her 
eyes, an expression more desolate 
fixed itself on her lips. When the 
caressing and persuasive voice of her 
future father-in-law ceased to be 
heard, she sadly bent her head, and 
leplied : 

" Alas ! Monsieur Maubars, I see 
we can never again understand each 
other. I am not free, as you appear 
to think. What my dear and wor- 
thy protectress would have done, I 
must do for her." 

" But, my child, reflect : you can- 
not sacrifice your little fortune." 

" And this fortune, to whom do 
I owe it, then — I, a poor, abandoned 
orphan, who, without the generous 
protection of this inestimable friend, 
would have been sent in years gone 
by where you would place these poor 
infirm people — in a hospital. Oh ! 
my good Monsieur Maubars, if my 
benefactress had in dying left some 
debt of honor that I should pay, 
would you advise me to cancel the 
obligation — you who are so just and 
honorable ?" 

*' IJut, dear young lady, the case is 
different ; your excessive delicacy 
leads you astray." 

" It is only different in one re- 
spect : it is more grave and solemn. 
This is a sacred debt that Madame de 
Guers has contracted toward God and 
toward the poor, to satisfy the yearn- 
ing of her soul. To-day this debt is 
transmitted to me. I recognize it ; 
I receive it with the rest of her heri- 
tage ; I promise to use, if necessary, 
all my resources, all my time, all my 
strength to pay it as I should." 

'J'he young girl, pale tliough reso- 
lute, rose in pronouncing these words, 
and extended her little hand, that had 
ceased to tremble, as if she called 
upon all the strangers assembled to 
witness her irrevocable decision, her 
generous detennination. The old 



frequenters of the mansion 
scarcely recognize her: she i 
to have grown taller, lipene 
moment, and was transfigured 
former sweetness, so timid and ■ 
ing, did not abandon her, bui 
mingled in it an expression of 
cible courage and inBexible i 
ty ; the weak and feeble chil 
disappeared, and in her plai 
peared a woman — loyal, intrep 
signed, ready for every devoti 
every sacrifice, even of the 
and most cherished affections 
heart. 

M. Maubars was undeceiv 
was with an expression evider 
extreme surprise and marked * 
tent that he fell back a few 
and bent his whitened head : " 
sist in hoping, mademoiselle, th 
will still reflect," said he, in i 
impressed with remarkable co 
" Otherwise, you understand, w 
doubt, our projects must ui 
some modification. Conside 
such obstinacy on your par 
most unhappy precedent for th 
being and peace of your future 
hold." 

At this brutal menace, at tl 
saddest moment, perhaps, of h 
Valentine became still paler a 
look more sombre, but she i 
trembled nor flinched, acceptinj 
out a murmur and in silence ; 
bitterness of the duty she ha 
embraced. Only, by an oli 
tender habit of childhood, wi 
remains of a hope perhaps, he 
more eloquent and earnest thai 
was fixed upon Alfred — the : 
the betrothed, whom, for so 
a time, she had been accustor 
consult in any sadness or disqu: 
But Alfred, before the mute a 
of this regard, was not moved 
bore with his father an air of f 
and dissatisfaction. 

" I am sure you v. ill reflecl 



ValenttHe, 



229 



itix)e,"hesimpiy5aid. "You 
Xuber counsels you as a true 

viny only in view your h.ip- 
mrf ihe preservation of your 

Valentine turned slowly antl 

ilitout allowing a single tear 

>c her, or a sinj^le sob that 

I swelling in her breast. 

good Monstieur Morin, my 

En is taken," s:iid she, her 
first trembling, but becoming 
a* she spoke. *' AH the re- 
tliat I could make would only 
show n3e my duty, more dis- 
lore exact, more sacred. In 
lUs, if you wish, wc will hear 
sopcny had better be sold, 
Die a suitable abode for our 
. . . Now, gentlemen, our 
t ended, I believe. ... I 
iti one and all for having 
1 me your advice and the 
of your prescnr.e. 

assUlants understood that 
bgeom young girl must be 
to suffer, alone to weep. 
(c simultaneously, bowed to 
undly with admiration and 
ml went out. Alfred wore 
. Tcjiignet) look of sadness, 
hfaubars betrayed his irrita- 
lis bruv]ue movements .ind 
walk. The echoes of their 
d in the distance, and around 
n in her mourning reigned 
tude and silence. 
aU over; ihey have said it," 
inred then, and let fall the 
lear^. '* But no t it was to 
. I wished it also. It was 
—why could he not so un- 
it? Oh! Adeline told me 
God 15 good to have en- 
me while I am stitl single 
Poor mamma, yoti could 
imagined this. So much 
V fof vou would have wept 
r." 
IE thus, she wept and wept, 



hiding her face in her hands, and sob- 
bing as if her heart would break. 
The hours flew by, night came, and 
the Noveml>er rain fell on the win- 
dows, the November winil shook (he 
shutters in the little parlor, formerly .so 
tightly closed, so bright, and peopled 
with good friends, but now so so- 
lemn and deserted, ami where the 
orphan alone must sutler and weep. 

IV, 

Valentine held firm to her reso- 
lution ; her soul, so loyal and pure* 
was of those where the courage of 
devotion, and the love of duty ac- 
complished, united to double the 
price of the humble virtues, submis- 
sion, gentleness, and tenderness. To 
a very polite and respectful letter 
from .-Mfred, in which the young 
man begged her to let him know if 
slie still persisted in her intentions, 
she replied in simple tenns, releasing 
him from his engagement, and tell- 
ing him that hencefortt-ard she should 
devote herself to the austere and ho- 
norable task betiueathed her by her 
adopted mother. Notwithstanding 
her orders to the contrary, one of 
her best friends forced her way into 
the house, no doubt with good in- 
tentions, it was the lively and joy- 
ous Adeline de Malers, in whom, in 
spite of much prudence and worldly 
experience, tenderness and benevo- 
lence were not wanting, and who 
would sincerely have desired to con- 
quer what she considered the obsti- 
nacy and blindness of her poor dear 
friend. Adeline took care to bring 
precious arguments with her to plead 
the important marriage cause : she 
led her two dear little children by 
the hand, with their innocent bab- 
bling and sweet smiles, the source of 
so much delight and maternal felicity. 
However, Valenthie did not yield; 
her soul was steeped and her resolu- 



230 



Valentine, 



tion strengthened by the secret pray- 
ers and solitude of her affliction. 

" My dear," said Adeline to her at 
the end of her arguments, " if you 
grow poor by this foolish liberality, 
and if, half-ruined, you are obliged 
to give up M. Alfred Maubars, you 
will be an old maid, I warn you." 

"I have always been a happy 
young girl, I can be a tranquil and 
contented old maid. Happiness has 
no age," replied Valentine, with her 
calm and tender smile. 

" My dear, the obliged are gene- 
rally ungrateful ] gratitude from the 
poor is a rare and uncertain commo- 
dity." 

" I know it ; but the satisfaction 
of an accomplished duty is immense, 
and the grace of God infinite. Be- 
sides, I shall be so happy to realize 
the intentions and to continue the 
work of my mother, who is in hea- 
ven." 

Adeline shrugged her shoulders 
with a gesture of impatience. " But 
your poor old folks won't live for 
ever, and when the last one has dis- 
appeared, your work will be finished, 
and you will be alone. Besides, in 
devoting yourself in the flower of 
your years to their catarrhs and their 
rheumatisms, do you know, my poor 
child, what you renounce and what 
you lose ? Come here. Bertha, my 
treasure, kiss me, Max, you dear little 
angel. . . . Look at them now, you 
wicked little obstinate one, and tell 
me, as you examine them well, if all 
the happiness, all the glory of a wo- 
man, docs not consist in raising, car- 
ing for, and cherishing such charming 
little loves." 

At these words, Valentine drew 
the little ones to her; kissed each of 
their pretty white foreheads, and laid 
her hand gently on their blonde 
heads ; for she had at heart that ten- 
der and deep love of children that 
God has given innocent young girls. 



in order that one day thnr nu 
duty may become their tru< 
sweetest happiness. And for 
stant perhaps the caressing lo 
she fixed upon them becam 
tender, deeper, and more tearl 
stooped then a moment tow 
earth ; then resumed her s 
and replied peaceably and i 
signation : 

" God has given me my < 
— children, Adeline, who ha> 
need of me, for they are » 
poor, and feeble. Besides, n 
friend, when the last of the 
old people shall have gont 
will remain to me the foundat 
hospital. I will open it then 
children, to young and poor c 
In this way, I too will have 
rally — my family blessed by ( 

" It is fanaticism, truly, an 
gin to despair of your futi 
dear friend," cried Adeline, si 
and discontented to find he 
tures so energedcally repulsed 
then, why do you persist in 
ing in the world, that will onl 
believe me, disdain for your li 
coldness and raillery for yoi 
rous devotion ? Why do yoi 
once adopt the comette and s 
the Sister of Charity ?" 

" Because, thus far, God ha 
commanded me," replied the 
geous child, modest and n 
" My duty lies near these old ■ 
here my place is marked 
have nothing else to do but 
stand, adore, and obey. Ar 
I have friends among my 
I esteem and love thet 
Why should these friends a 
nic because a sacred duty c 
portion of my time and my s 
and I must consecrate mysel 
My destiny is no doubt chan, 
my heart will never chanj 
from those I should have lo 
memory will never be detaci 




Valentine* 



231 



tion will banish their rcmem- 
and for them, always, I shall 
niinc." 

mc took leave soon after, half- 
Iwlf-impresseil, declaring she 
uiulcrscanil nothing of the 
ler of such an obstinate girl, 
dild hide such real perversity, 
Dcxplicablc tenacity, under a 
r so liniid and so gentle. Af- 
r tlcparture, the pupil of Ma- 
lic Guers read for the last 
le solemn message to Alfred, 
■shed the reply she had alrea- 
menced. Not a tear sullied 
whereon slowly and cou- 
ily she traced her farewell, 
start of tenderness or grief 
t the poor little while hand, 
heroically sealed the decree 
ration, renunciation, and for- 
tss. Only when she had fin- 
hen there was nothing more 
Dse or hope for, when the old 
le, carr)*ing the letter, had 
ired in the fog, near the 
»ring quay, she gently ap- 
x). with her eyes full of tears, 
nmcy where the noble and 
face of her second mother, 
id of her youthful years, smil- 
hcr as if to encourage her 
Hlcr her light glass covering, 
she pressed her trembling 
the little portrait, she smiled 
thruiigh her tears. 
It all finished, mamma," mur- 
fchc •* I will do as you would 
lire only for God, and for 
You have told me more 
at such is the lot of the 
believe you, dear mamma ; I 
aoil t bless you."* 
as the choice of the young 
made, she lived, as she had 
led and valiant, active and 
The notary soon came to 
md made it known to 
. r resources would be 
far the support of bcr old 



people. Hut what would she have 
done all alone in the dear old house, 
much too large for her by herself, 
and so full of remembrances, render- 
cfl so bitter in silence and solitude ? 
Valentine understood what she had 
to do, and easily resigned herself. 
The old and peaceable abode, a little 
enlarged, received on one story the 
old pensioners of the Uttle hospital, 
while the young protectress reserved 
on another her bedroom, her little 
parlor, and her library : a modest 
apartment filled with pious relics and 
sweet and humble souvenirs. And 
from this moment her life was entire- 
ly consecrated to her retreat, to God 
and the poor; from this moment, too, 
she openly relinquished all hope of 
any new situation, any other destiny ; 
and the circle of friends and ac- 
quaintances of the little town of 

C ceased lo include her among 

the marriageable. 

In obscure cares, in constant la- 
bor, in hidden devotions, passed the 
days, sped the years, and roblicd 
her of her youth. Uut peace re- 
mained, because she was content to 
est.ibHsh her abode in the shadow of 
a Christian roof, and in the love of 
grateful hearts. It is true — ^though 
some of our readers may be permit- 
ted to doubt it — that a peace the 
sweetest, the most delightful, the 
most constant, and the most sure 
docs not depend on what excites 
and pas.<;es so quickly from earth, 
but on the true, salutary, and Chris- 
tian manner in which the soul, wise 
and resigned, puis Itself in harmony 
with the exigencies of its destiny 
and the will of its God. Valentine 
felt this early, and from that time 
experienced it always. The serene 
tranquillity of her heart, humble in 
its desires and contented in its des- 
tiny, was never overshadowed by a 
cloud ; it stood proof against, any 
shock, even on the day when, hav- 



333 



True Faith, 



ing finished the reading of the Scrip- 
tures to the old Genevieve, she heard 
in the street, quite close to her, a 
great noise of carriages, rolling joy- 
ously towards the church, from which 
resounded the sounds of a feie, and, 
looking out the window to explain 
the cause of the tumult, she saw in 
the first of the carriages, ornamented 
with wedding favors, bouquets, and 
ribbons, two friends of her child- 
hood ; the betrothed of that day, 
Alfred Maubars and Rosine Martin. 
There passed over her face a calm 
smile^ vague and almost dreaming ; 
then a fixed and disturbed look, for 
at 'the bottom of the page, as she 
read, were these words: "// is not 
^oodfor man to be atoned* 

But almost immediately resounded 
in her ears the caressing and infan- 
tine voices of childhood, those of 
two little orphans, her cherished de- 
pendants, who had taken the places 
of Babet and Manou, dead full of 
years, and now quietly reposing in 



their graves. At the joyou 
Valentine was once more 1 
and, with a calm smile, bendii 
head as if she recognized hei 
she said : 

*'Yes, indeed, it would \ 
to be alone, but those are m 
who know how to love. Dcai 
ma told me so, and well sht 
what she said. Come, Marie 
Loui^tte, let me say the j 
with you." The little ones apj 
ed, knelt down, and she la 
hands on tlieir heads, and 
their browned foreheads. A 
fore she made the sign of th 
she regarded them eamestl 
with a joyful, softened, pea 
and triumphant gaze, even 
pression of indifference and 
fulness to the carriage that w 
ing towards the church, and s 
at last full of gratitude and I 
benediction and prayer, anc 
her eyes to the clear and blue '. 
that caressed her with its gold-' 



TRUE FAITH. 

Faith is no weakly flower, 
By sudden blight, or heat, or stormy shower 
To perish in an hour. 

But rich in hidden worth, 
A plant of grace, though striking root in earth, 
It boasts ,a hardy birth. 

Still from its native skies 
Draws energy which common shocks defies, 
And lives where nature dies ! 



E. Casv 



The Place Vtnddme and La Roguettt? 



»33 



•HE PLACE VENDOME AND LA ROQUETTE. 

THE SECINNING AND THE END Or Tlt£ COUMUNE. 



k abruptly from my 
up at the end of 
tspecting tlie tragedy of the 
rndyme, to that written at 
►f May, concerning the inva- 
le NLuieleine, niy detention 
'rtfccturc dc Police and at 
nd the transcendent crimes 
miniune wluch I witnessed 
qucttc. 

ras the opinion of the few 
E left in Pans res|>ccting the 
tvcnis they witnessed, the 
CC3 and auxiliaries of the 
r» and the degree of respon- 
c national and inlcmation- 
it would incur in its follies 

M? 

I5t render this justice to the 
i insurgents of the eighteenth 
1 — that the power of dissi- 

was the weakest of their 
\ the least of their cares. 
Limed at imitating Camot, 
(nd Robespierre, they made 
stons of rivaUing Richelieu, 
and Talleyrand. With a 
degree of coolness, curiosi- 
iscemment, it was easy to 
ss to tlieir larder, and asccr* 
ingredients of the viands to 

up to us each day. They 
ight a dash of moral sense 
occupied with questions of 
I propriety. 'J'he absolute- 
icjr aims made them com- 
cnsible to delicacy of means 
ienc« as to appearances. 

the politicians who had not 



raOH LS CORbUrOMOANT. 



JI. 



fled before the heroes of the Interna- 
tionale did not waste their time. If 
they were nearly deprived of aclion, 
they could, at least, be observant, 
communicate the result of their im- 
pressions, and acquire a reasonable 
conviction respecting the opciation 
of the revolutionary engine, with its 
numerous springs and mysicnous pro- 
pelling forces, not revealed by the 
press of the Commune, and therefore 
escaping the attention of the vulgar. 

I have already protested against 
the weakness, blindness, or conni- 
vance of the republican mayors and 
deputies of Paris, wlio, Inunediutely 
after the massacres of the Place Ven- 
donie, became reconciled lo the 
agents of the central committee, dis- 
banded and dispersed the battalions 
of the national guard still faithful to 
the cause of order, and gave Paris 
up to an association of adventurers 
and outlaws, some of unknown ori- 
gin, others notorious for their con- 
flicts with the laws of their own coun- 
tries, and all for their savage hatred 
of every social institution. 

Instead of subsequently acknow- 
ledging their weakness or error, the 
majority of the radical republicans 
continued their campaign against the 
national assembly with a persistence 
and hypocrisy that cannot be sufli- 
ciently stigmatized. To preserve the 
republic, they emboldened and 
strengthened the Commune, thus sa- 
crificing to their political iilol the 
peace, prosperity, honor, and cxis- 



234 



Tfte Place Venddme and La Roquette. 



tence of their country. The Coni- 
mune did not conceal its affection for 
such auxiliaries, but its caresses were 
to some of a more serious and com- 
promising nature. 

Formerly, the most ultra never 
dreamed of giving up their patriotism. 
It was reserved for the members of 
the Commune to divest themselves 
of this old prejudice of all nations. 
They vehemently demanded, during 
the siege of Paris by the Prussians, 
the most extreme measures — a gene- 
ral sortie, " des batiaiUes iorraitielles^* 
and fighting to the last. When con- 
spiracy made them masters of Paris, 
their violence and ferocity against the 
Prussians changed to obsequious de- 
votedness and civilities of the, most 
amicable nature. Their dishonest 
protestations were displayed in the 
columns of the official journal of the 
Commune with a coolness that makes 
one blusli. The delegate of foreign 
affairs treated the Prussians, who had 
just lacerated and humiliated France, 
and bombarded its capital, as if they 
were our most faithful allies, and were 
sacrificing themselves heroically for 
our safety. 

The generals of the Commune, who 
had been imprisoned some weeks be- 
fore by the government of the na- 
tional assembly as Prussian spies and 
agents, made no change in their pa- 
triotic course. The delegate of war, 
General Trochu, recalled at the tri- 
bune, " is making a series of rigorous 
arrests, the object of which is to as- 
sure to the enemy the freedom the 
pending negotiations confer on them." 

The politicians and chemists of 
the Commune proved they had been 
in a good school by borrowing two 
ideas of M. de IJismarck and M. de 
Moltke, the very names of which 
now inspire honor — the system of 
hostages and the use of petroleum. 
To ensure the entire payment of the 
exorbitant requisitions on the invad- 



ed provinces, and somewh 
the limited enthusiasm mai 
the humiliated and sufferii 
tants, the Prussians retaiuet 
notable individuals as hos 
sent them to the prisons of 
Citizens Ferre and Raoi 
found this system too ing( 
convenient not to be adopt 
took as hostages, and ii 
them at Mazas and La Ro< 
priests and laymen who, 
to the opinion of these ser 
tors, had been more devol 
cial and national interest 
those of anarchy and dems 

Fourteen months ago, a 
dictionary was discovered in 
quarters of the Intemat: 
which was a list of such wc 
tro-glycerine and picrate c 
um, and a recipe for sulpl 
carbon, and the chlorate a 
ate of potassium. At the < 
recipes were these words, s 
of the uses to which they w 
applied : " To throw from 
dows : to be thrown into thi 
If the most formidable of 
not to be found there, it l 
the citizens of the Commun 
yet learned in the school of 
engineers the art of destroyii 
and monuments by means 
Icum. 

In continuing the accou 
horrible deeds of the Cor 
find consolation as a Freni 
the thought that the murd 
incendiaries of Paris denied 
their God, but their country 
they were members not o 
criminal, but a foreign leagi 



THE CLOSING OF THE MAt 

In following with serious 
the various evolutions of t 



The PiiWe Vt'nd/mu and La Roqutftt^ 



n% 



t are struck by the contrast 
its bcgiaDing and its cud. 
Msays were rather grotesque 
ghtful. Hie statesmen most 
xupiol about the quicksands on 
it threatened to cast society 
nation did not at first fore- 
crimes that are without a 
hicU made ils end one of the 
lister pages in human history. 
on is easily underslood. Once 
of Pan.s, the charlatans and 
that composed the Commune 
;o become the rulers of France, 
w ihetnselves already at the 
a social icvolution, and, en- 
cd by their unexpected success 
seductive cause of pretended 
ion, they set to work in ear- 
Hence ihc deluge of slrangc 
lohcrent decrees that became 
letter, and only servetl to 
the careless and frivolous Pa- 

rhcn the generals of the Com- 
made an audacious eflfort to 
and open coniniunl- 
r numerous agents in 
lulous centres of the provinces, 
TC overwhelmed by the army 
lought disorganized or won 
their cause, and all iheir 
:re overthrown. The attempts 
te an insurrection in tlie large 
ilcd. The Commune could 
nothing more from the inter- 
of the departracnls : its rule 
lictcd to Paris, and the days 
K)wcr were numbered. Then 
of hatred and vengeance 
cd tlioic of social renovation. 
>nkeys of the ilutcl de Ville 
lace to tigers. The prophets 
Oftles of the Commune lost 
^^ffmd. The foul Felix I*yal 
(. n atrocious invec- 

;} .-\\ Delescluze evi- 

prefcrred to blow up Paris 
iun give it up to France. 
the emissaries of the radi- 



cal republicans knowingly deceived 
France and all Kurope respecting 
the condition of Paris, and were cir- 
culating their deceitful and impru- 
dent sophisms, dictated by their ad- 
miration for the Commune and their 
hatred of the national assembly, 
what was the language of foreign 
Journals that cared for nothing about 
these internal struggles but exactness 
and impartiality ? The correspon- 
dent of the Tunes was not satisfied 
with comparing Paris to an infernal 
caldron, in which seethed all hu- 
man passions, but thus depicted the 
armed forces of the Commune : " Be- 
sides the old and the young, excited 
by the phraseology of the first revo- 
lution, still novel to them, all the vil- 
lains in Paris arc under arms. I 
have never seen, even in London, so 
sinister a collection of faces. These 
men always seem more or less in- 
toxicated. They have not, perhaps, 
ceased to be so since the ejghieeolli 
of March." Such is the spectacle 
in the streets and public places : that 
of the forts and ramparts is of a still 
more expressive character : " Man 
is there only a ferocious animal, cvc- 
rj'whcre scenting blood. AVe hardly 
recognize him, and no longer com- 
prehend him." 

The parish service I directed at the 
Madeleine after the arrest of M. 
Deguerry encountered but few diffi- 
culties. The Commune only made 
some insignificant requisirions in a 
civil manner. The qualification of 
"citizen director of the church of the 
Madeleine," given me in the most so- 
lemn manner, enlivened me for an 
in.stant in the midst of my cares and 
griefs. 

The success of the Versailles an«y, 
in giving joy to the respectable peo- 
ple still remaining at Paris, was a 
source of danger to them. The 
Commune concentrated, or rather 
gave up. its civil and military power 



236 



The Place Venddme and La Roquette. 



into the hands of the committee of 
public safety and the central commit- 
tee. On Wednesday, the seventeenth 
of May, in going to administer the 
last sacraments to the daughter of a 
concierge in the Rue dela Victoire, I 
found the ninth arrondissement hem- 
med in by the insurgents, who were 
making frequent arrests. Thanks to 
one of the most ultra journals of the 
Commune that I pretended to be 
reading very attentively, I passed 
through their inquisitorial ranks un- 
impeded. 

On the eighteenth, which was As- 
cension day, the church of St. Au- 
gustine was closed, and one of the 
vicars and the organist were impris- 
oned. All the offices of the day 
were celebrated at the Madeleine, at- 
tended by a numerous and very de- 
vout congregation; but, so far from 
yielding to any illusion about the 
fate that awaited me, I begged Dr. 
B. de L , a parishioner of the Ma- 
deleine, to enable me after vespers to 
see M. Jacquemin, one of the physi- 
cians of the prison of Mazas. There 
was every reason to believe I should 
soon require his kind services. I 
was already acquainted with M. de 
Beauvais, the second physician at 
Mazas, whose courageousdevotedness 
I was subsequently to experience, 
and who had already been so thought- 
ful as to give me news of the cur6 of 
the Madeleine and of the Archbi- 
shop of Paris. After my interview 
with Dr. Jacquemin, I felt some em- 
barrassment about returning to my 
residence. The Rue de la Ville- 
I'Evfique was filled with an armed 
band of the national guards. The 
house of the Sisters of Charity, oppo- 
site the Presbyt^re, was guarded by 
two sentinels. The sisters had been 
expelled, and the girls' school con- 
fided to some citoyennes^ who, ac- 
cording to the unruly tongues of the 
quarter, had been replaced at the 



prison of St. Lazare by tl: 
ters of Picpus, who were accu 
a series of crimes, each one m< 
traordinary than the rest. Ibou 
on the previous day, one of th 
journals of the Comnvune, and, 
with this new kind of a safe-co 
I took a roundabout way to th 
la Ville-rEvfique, in order to 
the national guards as much a 
sible. Once their protection 
have been eagerly sought ag; 
robber or assassin, but since thi 
of the Commune respectable ] 
feared and fled from them a 
worst of evil-doers. And the nt 
litary organization will doubtles 
to undergo a radical transfom 
for it will be difficult for it t 
above the moral discredit into 
it has fallen. 

Some moments after, a 
priest, who had gi en himself u 
indefatigable zeal to the servi 
the ambulances, notified me tl 
order had been signed to do 
churches and arrest the priesi 
in Paris. I went to see one 
devoted confreres, M. de Bre 
and consult with htm abou 
means of preserving the hoi 
charist from profanation. Tl 
surgents had already thrown 
or carried off in their cartridge- 
the sacred elements in some < 
churches. At this very tim< 
church of St. Philippe-du-Roul 
entered by the insurgents, an 
want of priests they arreste< 
employees who were guardin 
church. The Madeleine of the ( 
arrondissement was the only c 
that was still open. 

Although, after the arrest t 
Deguerry, a part of the valuab 
the church had been carried 
safe place, I employed the fin 
ments of Friday, the nineteer 
confiding the remainder to son 
men of the working-classes. 1 



The Piact Venddme and La Roi^uetlc. 



jchurdi a few valuable ob- 

veral hundred Irancs. The 

if ihc Cuininunc I»ad a singu- 

ijing for money, and when they 

pot obtain some bank-bills or 

L iheir expeditions, the places 

1 or the i)ersons arrested had 

r for such a financial disap- 

nL 

lalf-post three, the sacristy 

rst open. A tall young man, 

rfd kobespierre, with a broatl 

btte that half-covered him, 

Ki at the head of a knot of 

titfs anncd with revolvers, 

Jaiiucd in a loud lone : " The 

of the Madeleine is closed by 

the committee of public safe- 

n*as at that moment supplying 

Ktunate people whom the /*/■ 

the Commune had deprived 

bread. I had on my 

in addition to my ordin.i- 

liastical costume. The in- 

if the racristy were greatly 

Some who were waiting to 

tr ' ; fled. Only one, the 

refect of the empire, 

remained to witness this .sin- 

dc. I approached the 

agent, and asked to examine 

lal decree ami see if it was 

While I was reading it, 

'Is two other decrees 

je of public safety, 

\'r my arrest and the 

k^ ^,-i,j jcssion of some news- 

ifaal bad not conformed to the 

i of the Commune. 1 thought 

Dature wa.4 (h:it of Kanvier, 

for of Uclleville, one of the 

luenlial members of the Com- 

Dtl of the committee of public 

He was an old bankrupt 

llcr, who bad several times 

le to the laws, and, like 

utlaws, swore an impla- 

itrcd to society. He acquir- 

populahty in the clubs, after 

oir September, by advocat- 



ing sotial wiu", as in Ujc last months 
of the empire he had advocated the 
claims of absolute liberty J It Wtis 
by virtue of this absolute hberty that 
he had just signed the three decrees, 
that aimed so many brutal blows at 
religious, civil, and politica.1 liberty. 

" Are you ilie ciiiieo director of 
the church of the Matlcleiiie ?" added 
the delegate, somewhat irritated at 
the inspection of the warrant, which 
seemed to him rather impertinent. 

I would willingly have replied like 
Sgaiiarelte, " Yes and no, accorritng 
to your wish," but unfortunately, in- 
stead of living any longer in the 
Paris of Moli2:re. we lived in a city 
of folly and crime. 

'* You know perfectly well that the 
cure of the Madeleine was anestcd 
six weeks ago. It is 1 who :mi for 
the present in his place." I had not 
fiiii;>hed tbe^e worda before he look 
the second warrant, and ONclaimcd 
\\\ thundering tones: " By virtue of a 
decree ox the committee of public 
safety, the citijten director of the 
church of the Madeleine is arrested." 
The murderers who escx>rted liitn, and 
who belonged to the battalion of the 
Ven^eun dc J^oufrns, rushed upon 
me, holding their revolvers against 
my ihruat and chest, and bestowing 
on me a .scries of names, the most 
decent of which were " banMt^ ta- 
fiaiUf, tVH/w/r, assassin /'' One of 
them, whose stupid ferocity can only- 
be attributed to drunkenness, cried 
while endeavoring to adjust his arms : 
" it is you, vile rabble, who cause the 
patriots of Paris lo be assassinated by 
the wretches at Versailles : the priests 
nre tlie murderers of the people : they 
should all be shot." I had received 
these miserable men with politeness 
and a sentiment of resignation. Tlicir 
low insults marie me flush with indig- 
nation and <lecitle to confront them. 

•• I am not accustomed to hear 
such language," said I to their lead- 



238 



The Place Venddtne and La RoquctU, 



er. " If you continue to treat me in 
this way, I shall seat myself without 
another word, and force alone shall 
tear me from this sanctuary." 

He made a sign to his followers to 
moderate their civic indignation, but 
without being heeded. I now sought 
to lead them into a discussion, hoping 
to appease them and preserve the 
church from devastation by making 
them incapable of justifying their acts 
and outrages. For two hours — hours 
that seemed ages — I was obliged, un- 
der the greatest peril, to defend my- 
self as a man and a priest against 
these emissaries, who were as ridicu- 
lous as they were odious. I will re- 
late the principal points in this inter- 
change of observations. 

I first asked why I was arrested. 
At this question the delegate of the 
committee of public safety replied by 
a torrent of accusations and maledic- 
tions against the " miserable quarter 
of the Madeleine, the most hostile in 
Paris to the r^^me of the Com- 
mune." He was not wholly wrong 
in this, for at the last elections the 
parish of the Madeleine, which com- 
prises about forty thousand inhabi- 
tants, did not give more than a hun- 
dred votes to the candidates of the 
Commune. In the eighth arron- 
dissement, where the church is, of 
about nineteen thousand votes, only 
five hundred voted for the Commun- 
ist members. He added : " You 
must therefore expiate your conspi- 
rations in favor of the Versailles as- 
sassins." Here the delegate was no 
longer right. Hut it was evident 
that I was arreslcd because I was the 
"citizen director of the Madeleine," 
and they would make me expiate the 
sympathy and concurrence that the 
parishioners of the Madeleine liad the 
unpardonable offence to refuse the 
Connnune. To gain more time 
and thus calm their fury, I spoke of 
political affairs. My observations 



visibly disconcerted my interio 
The epithets, canaiUe^ crapuk 
assassin, became more and 
rare, and their revolvers, at fi 
actively and impertinently exe 
were returned by degrees to 
cases. 

Another incident that might 
been fatal to me served still m 
disconcert them. During th 
half of the reign of the Com 
the affair of the bodies found 
Laurent, Notre Dame des Vic 
and Notre Dame de Lorette fc 
unfortunate effect. Disregardii 
reports of the physicians and 
was clearly evident, the revolu 
papers, the journal OjffUiel, ai 
clubs exclaimed at the scandal, 
most abominable crimes were i 
ed to the clergy, against wh 
diabolical persecution was excii 
extravagant accounts and vit 
tures. In vain were these ex 
gances met by decisive reason 
reasons themselves became ne' 
jects of crimination and inve 
which gave me great concern. 

The vaults of the Madeleini 
at this epoch filled with bodies, 
ing the siege of Paris by the 
sians, the bodies of several ge 
and foreigners of distinctioa 
been deposited there till they 
be carried to their distant 
tombs. I had for several days 
on the explanation I could gi 
specting these bodies so as to ! 
these furious madmen, but had 
none. The time had come w 
needed it. 

" It is in this miserable pari 
the Madeleine," exclaimed the 
gate of the Commune with a 
of contempt and hatred, " th 
shall discover the infamy o 
priests. I will bet," continue 
turning toward his agent, " tb 
shall find here more horrible ' 
than at St Laurent and Notre 



Tkx Piace V'enddnu and La Raquette. 



^39 



Citiiens, let us go 
I the vaults :" 

|)r of light that I had sought 
^^le three previous weeks 
^■beamed into my miml. 
I^Rftson I needed. Though 
Wcr of the dangerous agents 
fmmittec of public safety, 1 
(od for his protection, 
re two obscn-ations to make 
I replied. " The first is thai 
ind in the vaults of the Made* 
ky more corpses than in the 
^cs ..." 
|liU K-c the delegate laugh- 

fcndish satisfaction at these 
he nearly fell backwards. 
h>u, citi2ens, that there was 
imy in this church than any- 
e!" 

tecond otiscrvation, sir, con- 
I personally, and from a mo- 
;y I think it a duty to 
cntion to it. 1 warn 
of these bodies be- 
ilustrious ^unilies in Spain, 
;land>and America, and, if 
ih enough to disturb ihcm, 
these foreign powers, and 
le, you will have to deal." 
place I should kavc cn- 
to dtssiroulate my enibar- 
by doubting this assertion, 
.ting to be assured of the 
It he was not constrained in 
He waved his hand with 
lant air, and, as if it were I 
loscd to violate the tombs, 
med in the most sonorous 
"Vcs, yes, the Commune 
^ these bodies ; thcv shall 

;hts incredible instance of 
id incohcrency, we may 
only beg pardon for 
e of the moral reflec- 
c by one of the emissaries 
J at the commcnce- 
Liie. 1 had occasion 



to pronounce the name of God. 
" blop /' said he to me, liourisliing his 
revolver, " if God existed and should 
descend here, it is he I would shoot 
first ! " 

It was Iialf past five. My situation 
became less critical. These men, at 
first so ferocious, now treated me with 
politeness. The most brutal seemed 
almost ashamed of having insulted 
me. 1 was able to request the na- 
donal guards appointed to watch 
over the Madeleine not to allow any- 
thing to be removed or desecrated. 
I also begged that the faithful cm- 
jiloyees of tlie church might have the 
liberty of returning home. The dele- 
gate charged to arrest me could no 
longer deceive himself. He became 
almost affable, 1 will not mention his 
name. He sufficiently dishonored the 
family from which he sprang by his 
deeds. A week after, by a coincidence 
worthy of note, he directed from the 
Madeleine the fight on the Boule- 
vard Malesherbes. More strongly 
resisted than he had e.tpected, lie 
found himself with two of his agents 
hedged in by the Versailles troops^ 
and sought shelter in the cellar of the 
church. An ofiiccr of the line shot 
him with a revolver, fracturing his 
skull. This prodigal child had be- 
come hardened in sin: unworthy of 
pardon and mercy, he had become 
incapable of repentance. 

I arrived at tlie prefecture de 
police at a quarter past six, accom- 
panied by a staff-officer of the Com- 
mune. 1 was as yet but little pre- 
occupied about my situation, but 
when told that I was to apjicar at 
once before citizen I'crr^, the pr/fit 
de poliie, who was regarded by men 
of penetration as another Robespierre, 
I felt thai my case was extremely 
grave, and that, having but little to 
hope l>om man, I shoukl confide 
myself to the protection of God. 



240 



The Place Venddme and La Roquette, 



THE PREFECTURE DE POLICE AND 
MAZA5. 

It is no easy matter to describe the 
singular scene at. the prefecture de 
police, usually so quiet, so disciplined 
and solemn. This establishment had 
become noisier and more picturesque 
than a fair-ground. By way of con- 
trast with the usual proceedings, rob- 
bers and other criminals now issued 
decrees of arrest and imprisonment, 
and they who were arrested and im- 
prisoned were lovers of order and 
their duty. 

The entrance was guarded by a 
crowd of national guardsmen, who 
had stopped drinking and smoking to 
laugh at the unfortunate victims of 
the hatred of the committee of pub- 
lic safety, who were arriving in large 
numbers. I had seen at the Made- 
leine the delegate who ordered my 
arrest give the staff-officer appointed 
to conduct me a five-franc piece to 
pay for the carriage. This honest 
man found it more suitable to leave 
this expense to his prisoner, and keep 
the five francs himself. It was a litde 
contribution to the expenses of the 
war that I cheerfully paid. Like the 
misanthrope of Moli^re, I was almost 
glad to see the masters of Paris throw 
off the mask and add niggardliness to 
all kinds of violence. 1 1 was pleasant 
to be able to testify that a staff-officer 
of the Commune, the friend of Ferrfi 
and Raoul Rigault, the confidential 
agent of the committee of public 
safety, and one of the great dignita- 
ries of the prefecture de police, com- 
mitted a theft at my expense, and 
with an unceremoniousness that could 
not be found among the robbers and 
pickpockets of the worst quarters of 
the barriers. 

After waiting three hours, I was 



summoned before citizen Fe 
member of the Commune dc 
to the ex-prefecture de police 
signifies in common langua 
pre/et de poUce. He appea 
be from twenty-six to thirty y 
age. He was no longer the te 
student and the burlesque wi 
the small journals of the Lati 
ter, who gave himself up to ( 
on those rare festivals when t 
ceeds of his pen allowed hit 
vel at the public balls at th( 
way of the Observatory. I 
exchanged his worn clothes 
more elegant suit, his old poin 
for a cap with gold spangles, 
lessly seated in a superb arm-i 
the luxurious office where Dc 
Mau])as, and Pietri had labo 
gave orders to his subordinab 
the solemnity and self-sufficie 
a pasha. I am mistaken ; th 
pashas I saw white travelling 
East were only inferior rulers 
him ; he realized with admiral 
cision the fantastic idea I had 
of a Chinese mandarin of tl 
class. 

After making a salutation wl 
doubtless did not find propor 
to his dignity, I requested pen 
in respectful and sufficiently \ 
tones to appear as prorap 
possible before the juge d'inst 
He interrupted me in a di 
haughty tone : " Be silent, < 
You are here to listen to me, a 
to talk ! " 

I had never met with so hu 
ing a reception. It is true 
never been in the presence o 
lence personified. I imme 
drew from my pocket a num 
the youmal QffUid de la Coi 
which I had been carefully k 
for three days, and which cor 
a recent decree by virtue of wJ 
individuals arrested should 
before the jugc dUmtruction 



Tke Place Vendomi and La Roquette. 



241 



Kir hours or be restored to 

ihecl at fiist, sir," I firmiy re- 
10 solicit a favor, now I claim 
By vinuc of the decree of 
muoc which I am going to 
you, 1 demand the right to 
riihtn twenty-four hours be- 
fr ^'instruction** 
rrogant mandarin shrugged 
dcrs, and smiled, as if to say, 
X simpleton who still bclievca 
icrecs of the Commune ! " 
UD, conduct this citizen to 
Wis hu only reply. On 
ay, the twenty-fourth of 
half past seven in the cve- 
potimi through the bars of 
my mandarin transformed 
iloodthirsty tiger, crossing 
of \jl Roquette and giving 
r the im(iic<ii.'iie execution 
Bchbbhop of I'aris, M. Bon- 
l>^uerT}'| and their three 
Bits. 

inuuion assumed a more 
pect than I had anticlp.il- 
kd beeu arrested as one of 
hoslages, and was at the 
\ band of nilTians who were 
ked to madness by the ap- 
'thc Vcrjaiiles army. I did 
courage in my misfortunes. 
»d by the example of the 
who had robbed me of 
Lt I still had one means 
my lot, I henceforth 
my confidence in the in6- 
of God, wTihout forgetting 
distribution of pieces of a 
ftous. ] iramedia'.ely slipped 
|lhe hands of -Oiy jailer, who 
his bows, and gave me 
\ icstunony of his graii- 
n way, by shutting me up 
tlwl lutti been occupied by 
I told him that, lack- 
ig. I must absolutely 
cU that evening, and 
not to send my letter 

L XIV. — 16 



through the office. As he objected, 
I told him I needed money, and, if 1 
were not at once supplietl, 1 should 
not be able to acknowledge, as was 
my practice, the kiud services of the 
good officials with whom I liad to 
deal. At this, what had t}een im- 
possible was instantly effected. 

I wrote to ilie rrcsbytcre of the 
Madeleine for money and other 
cftccts; then I added what I con- 
sidered very important, and wished 
not to be seen at the office, that they 
must not speak to any one of my 
arrest, or write me a single line, or, 
especially, take any steps for ray re- 
lease. To pass unjKrceived and 
confounded in the crowd of prison- 
ers was my only chance of safety. I 
remained faithful to this principle to 
the end. 

Having had no food since ten 
o'clock in llie morning, I asked for 
something to eat. They told me it 
was t^o late, that tlie dinner was at 
five o'clock, and the regulations al- 
lowed nothing afterwards. The same 
accident occurred severid times, and 
owing to other obstacles I was no 
more fortunate about sleeping. 1 will 
say, for the edification of those who 
wiih to get an idea of the r/gime of 
the Commune, that at the end often 
days' imprisonment I returned home, 
after having dined twice an<i slept 
two hours an(i a half. My friends 
declared that 1 looked ten years old- 
er ; but, knoft-ing the truly Krench 
elasticity of my temperament, I con- 
soled them with the assurance that 
ten days of freedom would make rae 
ten years younger, which has proved 
true. 

During the night, prisoners were 
continually being brought in. Among 
them were some members of the na- 
tional guards of the Commune, who, 
through insubordination and drunk- 
enness, became my companions in 
captivity. They kept up a terrific 



242 



The Place Venddme and La RaqiutU, 



noise. Some cried as loud as they 
could bawl : " Vive la R6publique I 
Vive la Commune !" Others thought 
they were at a club, and, all speak- 
ing at once, advocated in discordant 
tones the abolition of capital, the 
death of the priests, the freedom of 
woman, and other benefits of social 
revolution. 

Just after midnight, a confederate 
officer was brought into one of the 
neighboring cells who was indebted 
to too copious libations for the elo- 
quence of a Demosthenes and the 
strength of a Hercules. This patriot 
thought himself confronting the Prus- 
sians, among whom he made frightful 
carnage. " Now it is your turn, you 
bully of a Bismarck I Now you, Wil- 
liam, you rascal I Vou shall see 
what a patriot and a repul>lican can 
do !" Then he would throw himself 
on to the door of his cell, and pound 
and kick it. This continued till day- 
break. The heroic avenger of the 
national hoaoi made me forget for a 
time the singular insolence of Ferr^, 
and more than once I laughed at his 
manly eloquence and glorious feats 
in battle. I took pleasure in retain- 
ing, in the midst of the extravagan- 
ces and crimes of the Commune, a 
bitter remembrance of the crushing 
and humiliating proceedings of Prus- 
sia. 

On Saturday morning I wrote to 
M. Moir^, the j'u^ dHnstntctiort^ 
asking to 1)C heard in the course of 
the day. At half-past three I receiv- 
ed a reply. It was an order to Ma- 
zas. No illusion was longer possible. 
The advocates of legal forms must 
expect to be shot without form — a 
respect for which would doubtless 
have been a poor consolation in fall- 
ing under the bullets of assassins, but 
it is well to observe that such judicial 
modes are unknown among the can- 
nibals themselves. Among the pri- 
soners who accompanied nic were, 



with other ecclesiastics, the 
Laurent Amodru, the vicar of 
Dame dcs Victoires, and thi 
de Marsy, the vicar of St Vin 
Paul. Both came to me and 
fested a sympathy that began t 
the gloomy perspective of 
M. de Maisy was full of anii 
and his cordial devotedness 
more benefit to us in a moral 
material sense. And I beca 
separably attached to M. 
Amodru. He was roy neighbc 
at La Roquette, and his encoi 
example, even more than his p 
religious ministrations, aided 
enduring the greatest trials 
fearful abode. I wish to givi 
public testimony of my profou 
titude. We were transported 
of those cellular vehicles, t): 
sight of which inspires hon 
disgust, and arrived at Mazas 
past five. They kept us s 
nearly two hours in a kind of 
cage, which made me wish J 
of those which contain th 
beasts in the Jardiri des Plant 

Though separated from oi 
ther, we were able neverUw 
exchange some words. " li 
indignity," exclaimed a young 
al guaitlsman, who had refi 
serve the Commune, " to shu 
in this way as if we were robl 

" Cheer up," replied an ol 
with a cultivated and sym; 
voice. " In these days, hom 
are placed here, and robbers 
without." 

Exhausted with fatigue, I 
neither sit down, lie down, c 
read. I can understand thes 
rous precautions for the disci 
Cartouche, Troppraan, and 
lard. Would there have bo 
great social danger in shutting 
in an apartment where there 
bench ? I learned afterwai 
the Archbishop of Paris had tl 



The Place VenMmi and La RoquetU. 



ceicniany to undergo, 
rednced him to agony, 
y turn came to go to the rc- 
fficc, 1 was very much cx- 
and not at all disposed to 
my disMLi^factian ; and I 
to cbserve that mildntrss 
ttticnce only served to aggra- 
fur trouhles with the ciniasarics 

fTonimune, while a timely nnd 
\ prut&itation obtained some 
Dn. The registrar, in taking 
and n)jnute description, de- 
ed my name — " 'l*hc Abbe 1-a- 
Vicar of ihe Madeleine." I 
fled to articulate this liUe 
■. It cdifietl some, irritated 
id proved to all that by my 
I did not necessarily be- 
ihe family of those accused 
y, brigandage, or assassina- 
whoin the prison of Ma^as 
ided. 

ig entered the eiitablishment, 
ted toward a door. I sup- 
was my cell. By no means : 
-im. As vagabonds 
: - not always models 
IS and hcaJili, I understood 
iity of making them take a 
icir eoirance into prison. I 
ipTcIicnd that recourec may 
to iriis easy means of asccr- 
LTcrous criminal has 
a his clothes some 
ftonic document that may 
LiK him. When the warden 
me to undress in order to 
lii, I was for a moment con- 
Tlie sight of a dirty bath- 
.1 a smoking rag, that pcr- 
just wijicd the body of 
il vagrant of the barriers, 
ored niy energy. 
not take a Laili," 

require it: you 

yuu once for all, that I 
fcc n h.iili. if Vi"m shoot 



" Well, in your place I would act 
the same," replied tiie warden in a 
most friendly tone. "I am disiresied 
at all that has been going on here 
for some lime. Only, as the director 
of the prison is a furious panisan of 
the Commune, if he were aware of 
your resistance, he might subject you 
to rigorous trcatraait. I will dose 
the door for a few minutes, and you 
will be reported as having taken your 
bath." 

I thanked him warmly. Some 
warder»s of the former administration 
still remained at Mazas and La Ro- 
quette. They not only manifested a 
cordial respect for us, but rendered 
us the most valuable assistance. Of 
ail the marks of sympathy that I re- 
ceived after my deliverance, none af- 
fected me more than the letters and 
calls of my oUl wardens of Maxas 
and I^ Koquette. Among those 
who came to see rac was tlie warden 
of the bath-rooms at Mazas. There 
were then, among the hordes of the 
Commune, who were a disgrace to 
the liuman race, some meu who ho- 
nored it by their conscientiousness, 
their courage, and their moral dignity. 

Atlliough tlic day was nearly at 
an end, 1 was not at the end of my 
tribulations. The cell in which I 
was shut up seemed most objection- 
able. It was exceedingly cold, and, 
as I had been laid up with an attack 
of bronchitis, it might bring on in- 
l^ammation of the lungs. It was on 
the ground, and imniodialely facing 
the interior entrance to the main 
part of the prisoii. 1 knew the po- 
pulace might lakeMaKas by force 
and give a second edition of the days 
in September. I should then be one 
of the first at hand. Finally, and 
tliis was decisive, I had fallen into 
the hands of a CommunLsl warden, 
who, seeing me exhausted, having* 
had no nourishment since morning, 
gave no other proof of his solicitude 



244 



The Place Venddme and La RoquetU. 



than examining my pockets, my 
books, and even my portemonnaie. 

The next morning I asked to see 
one of the physicians of the prison. 
It was Dr. de Beauvais's day, whom 
I had already seen at the Madeleine. 
As he was under the surveillance of 
the agents of the Commune, I made^ 
no sign of recognition. I made 
known to him the intolerable treat- 
ment I had received, the bad state 
of my health, and the physical im- 
possibility of remaining in my cell. 
I added that I simply wished to in- 
form him of my situation, but by no 
means to claim a favor. 

He replied that, in consequence 
of my state of health, I had a right 
to change my cell. He ordered one 
to be given me in the first stor)'. 

Tlie energy of my language had 
such an effect on the infirmanan and 
pharmaceutist of the prison that 
they hastened to manifest their sym- 
pathy. My new warden was perfect. 
In spite of the severity of the disci- 
pline, I could, thanks to them, ob- 
tain news of M. Deguerry, Mgr. 
Darboy, Mgr. Surat, and of M. Bayle, 
the vicar-general of Paris, who was 
in my neighborhood. Hitherto I 
could only give an idea of their trials 
and those of the other hostages of 
the Commune by relating my own, 
only most of them had been incar- 
cerated seven weeks, and I only four 
days. 

Sunday was, relatively speaking, 
a comfortable day. I guessed, on 
Monday morning, from the general 
sound of the tocsin, that the Ver- 
sailles troops must have entered Pa- 
ris. The pharmacist and wardens 
confirmed the supposition. ** Cour- 
age," they said to mc, " perhaps in 
a few hours, or to-morrow at the 
latest, you will be free." 

I offered up my thanksgivings to 
God, and hailed the fi<rst dawn of 
Eght on Tuesday as the happy day 



of my deliverance, and the 
ance of all my compantoD* i] 
vity. 

III. 

LA ROQUETTE — MASSACRE ( 
HOSTAGES FOUR DAYS Qf J 

A brilliant sun lighted th( 
of Mazas. We were, then, a 
return to Paris, from which w 
ed a thousand leagues distant, 
within its limits; we were to 
once more those who were 
us, and endeavor, according 
measure of our strength, to 1: 
moral and material wounds n 
the most shameful and odi 
r/gimes that ever burdened a < 
people. I forgot all my fatig 
my sadness, all my anguish, 
reawakening of hope and 
prayed with the enthusiasm 
exile who had despaired of r 
ing his country again, and \t. 
he was, by an unexpected 
about to be restored. 

At a quarter before ten, tl 
of my cell was opened. A w. 
did not know ordered me to 
my effects and go down. Hi 
verance, then, was nearer a 
than I had hoped. All my 
were packed in a few mini 
took all the money out of m 
except enough to pay for a c 
and give the driver a generou 
boire, I was too happy not I 
to make those around me hap 
descending I distributed all tl 
ney I possessed. They shut 
in one of the compartments 
prison parlor. After some n 
they took me to the directc 
asked me if I had any obser 
to make. " None," said I, * 
that I am ignorant why I am 1 
here." 

His face, and the faces 




Tiu Plact Venddtne and La RoqueUe. 



surrounded him, seemed 
rociotis. but I knew they had 
iflebted to the insurrection for 
Hces at MjjLa.s, and must ihere- 
: dissatisfied to see Paris re- 
to France and to itself. In 
It I pardoned all the ill that 
Den done me. Ncrenheless. 
ig jL&tooislied me, that I did 
Mgr. Darboy, M. Ueguerry, 
Olivaini, or any of the priests 
ud been transported with me 
! prefecture de police to Ma- 
spied a warden X knew. I 
where J mii^ht expect to 
of the Madeleine. He 
tears in his eyes : " He 
ling with the archbishop 
other gentlemen! May 
ich over you !" 
Id not describe the imprcs* 
\t on the happiest of men 
mysterious reply and the 
pearanceof the warden, 
him, but he disappeared 
;c» What had happened 
mipanions ? What was go- 
Lsppen to me ? . . . I 
.n explanation to this mys- 
I it wa* lieyond my coinj>re- 
Suddenly a word, a single 
onounced, I know not by 
ki>ow not where, resounded 
like a thunderbolt : ** La 
»r . . . To this voice 
ihout, an interior voice in- 
rcpUcd : '• La Koquettc, the 
of those condemned to 

frightful thunderbolt, which 
ted uie into an abyss a ihou- 
ttci more fearful than that 
jch r thought I had issued, 
]gh to dismay a nature more 
tempered tlian mine. I was 
nkcn down, and yet, 
; griefs and enervat- 
li^c9 th;« had overwhclm- 
monihs, 1 had at least 
Uge of knowing my certain 



245 

fate. My conscience gave me the 
consoling testimony that I was a vic- 
tim of my fidelity to duty ; my cour- 
age revived at tlie thought of the 
numerous and illusiriuus captives who 
had sufiered more than I. and whose 
examples I only had to follow 10 die 
as a priest and a Frenchman. I 
cried with the royal Psalmist : " But 
1 have put my trust in thcc, Lord; 
I said : Thou art my God, my lot is 
in tliy hatids." 'J'his lifting of my 
heart to God sut^ced to give lue 
firmness and the screiiity of Chris- 
tian resignation. 

WJiLMi ilicy shut me up in one of 
the grated cages in the vestibule of 
Mazas, the warden charged with this 
painful task secretly pressed my hand, 
and informed me that the Archbi- 
shop of Paris, the cur6 of the Made- 
leine, and most of the other hostages 
had gone to l^ Roquette, where we 
were now to be taken. His pressure 
of my hand and the consternation of 
his face were more eloquent than ail 
he could say. It was a comfort 
truly providential to find the Abb6 
Amodru again in the cage next 
mine- Our impressions were the 
same. Thanks to tlie signs we 
agre«I upon when we left the pre- 
fecture de police, we could give each 
other absolution. We must find our- 
selves in the presence of death to 
comprehend the nothingness of all 
human things ; there is then no long- 
er any difficulty in praying, in repent- 
ing, in pardoning our fellow-men, and 
in trusting wholly in the mercy of 
God. 

One by one the cages opened and 
shut with a lugubrious noise, and I 
was surrounded with hostages destin- 
ed for La Roquette. I was suqjrised 
to find several under complete illu- 
sion respecting our situation. Some 
lliought we were about to be restored 
to lilK-Tly, and others did not seem 
to comprehend the significance of 



246 



The Place Venddme and La Roquttte. 



our being sent to La Roquette. It 
was not best to enlighten them yet, 
but I resolved to do so al a later 
moment With almost certain death 
staring us in the face, I thought it 
proper, and especially more Chris- 
tian, to modify my attitude. Until 
now I had taken an' energetic stand 
against the agents of the Commune, 
and sometimes expressed my indig- 
nation. I now resolved to speak but 
little, to pray a great deal, to encour- 
age those of my companions who 
should need it, and to arm myself 
with patience and meekness toward 
our persecutors. 

The charitable young pharmacist 
of the prison, who, the night before, 
so gladly announced our approaching 
liberation, was stationed in a comer 
of the vestibule to give us a last proof 
of his sorrowful sympathy. This was 
not only a kind but a courageous 
act at a moment when a single smile 
of compassion might be regarded as 
treason. A week after, a young 
man, kneeling by the body of M. 
Deguerry in the lower chapel of the 
Madeleine, stopped me to express 
his joy and his grief. It was the 
pharmacist of Mazas. 

An enormous cart, surrounded by 
armed national guards, awaited us in 
the first court. I at once bethought 
myself of the carts that during the 
Reign of Terror conveyed the vic- 
tims of the committee of public safe- 
ty to execution. And we too were 
to go in the same direction, toward 
the Barriere du Trone. Such coinci- 
dences could not fail to strike any 
one familiar with our revolutionary 
history. Fifteen prisoners mounted 
the cart, among whom I noticed M. 
Chevriaux, the principal of the Lycee 
at Vanves, who bravely wore his rib- 
bon of the Legion of Honor ; Pfere 
Bazin ; M. Bacues, the director of 
St. Sulpice ; an honest workman, and 
some members of the national guards, 



guilty of not having sacrifia 
idol of the day. They wer 
ecclesiastics. 

We were told that the rt 
had not been sent to La Roq 
night before with the first hos 
patched was that a third vehi 
not be procured. Mgr. Darh 
Deguerry, Mgr. Surat, and ] 
jean had suffered very much a 
the prolonged severity of tli 
discipline had, in particular 
the archbishop's health. T 
been obliged, only a few h 
fore his departure for La S 
to apply blisters to him. J 
all showed themselves, by th 
ness and patience, superior 
sad condition. 

At the sight of M. Pemy 
Houillon, apostolic mission 
China, whom the Commune 
pidly arrested on their way 
Paris, M. Deguerry said ■ 
Darboy : " Only think of th 
Orientals coming to seek ma 
in Paris ! Is it not curious 
the way, they had to encou: 
threats and outrages of a ral 
Men en blouse^ ragged child 
women, or rather furies, wi 
stop and enter the vehicles : 
les chouans ci Us cahiins /"- 
we wish to cut them in piece 
It was revolting, monstro 
yet something still more hide 
reserved for us. We were 
in our turn, not by the mi 
but by the national guards w 
charge of us. I could unc 
the threatening attitude of a 
excited mob, led away by its 
stincts and the speeches of 
gogues, but I had never ! 
thought it possible, that an 
force could basely insult and 
en those whom they were c 
deputed to escort to a place 
ishment, I had not suspect 
a degree of vileness in human 



The Pia€€ VcnddtHC and La Koquitte. 



Hx rather huroUiated than in- 
lit. **AhJ citizen," said one 

tligers amieU with a k/pi anJ 
pot, " jou reckon on Llie arri- 
tlic Versailles assassins ! Well, 
orning we cut them off at the 
d'Auicuil with our mitrailleus- 
jtouty thousand prisoners are in 
inds, The (houans and ihcir 
|)1irc$ will have the fntc they 
' An ecclesiastic of the Kiu- 
' St. Antoine, who had been 
CTcd by his trials, wished to 
f> for the Versailles army. I 
> nuke him comprehend that 
( and silence were the safest 
Da ^ ■ )UTse for us. 

heed 'luL guardsman at 

ht the qu-irter he was from, 
ilied that he belonged to the 
m of Charonne. It was more 
Dre manifest that the old sub- 
f Pnris ruled and kept Paris 
Dr. The quarters St. Martin, 
loine. and St. Marceau were 
;cr nilers of this great city, but 
yens of Belleville, Montmarlre, 
ctte, M^nilmontant, Charonne, 
ontrouge, that is to say, the 
t that a few years ago were 
art of Paris, that had miinici- 
aud material interesLs di.stinct 
^Bxts. and had made a most 
a resistance to their annexa- 
ihc city. But the head of the 

empire conceived a pri<le in 
over a capital containing 
i!ir»ns of inh-ibilants, and the 
'settled suburbs were violently 
to Paris. He wished to 

Bal>ylon and ancient Rome. 

p h\< way through his capi- 
■ boulevards must be 
. :_dby sumptuous cditi- 
I seek the fresh air of the Bois 
ilogne, he must traverse im- 

vcnues peopled with all the 



247 

wealthy idlers in the world, and con- 
sequently new legions of workmen 
were summoned from every point of 
tlie compass, who concentrated them- 
selves like an army ranged in battle 
iii the annexed zone. 

A humble journalist, I had poiot- 
ed out, as a great social danger, Ihe 
tendency of the empire to separate 
Paris into two parts, one peopled by 
the aristocracy and bourgeoisie, and 
the other by workmen, outcasts, and 
the dissatisfied from the entire world. 
My criticisms and sad forebodings 
were recompensed by officious re- 
monstrances, domiciliary visits, and 
the seizure of my papers. Tiie course 
of'lhe empire had, then, been fatal to 
France in a political point of view, 
since compression had only served to 
debase its inhabitants and organize 
all kinds of social conspirations ; fa- 
tal in a religious point of view, for 
the affairs of Rome alarmed the con- 
sciences of Catholics, and the clergy, 
so respected in 1848, became the ob- 
jects of prejudice and hatred, the bit- 
ter fruits of which we were reaping ; 
and fatal in a military sense, for 
France was humbled and crushed by 
a foreign power. 

I will declare, fur tiic political hon- 
or of the eminent men whose opposi- 
tion to tlie empire I shared, that at 
the time I thought 1 was about to be 
put to death in prison and rende 
the Supreme Judge a strict account 
of my actions, far from regretting 
a stand that some of my friends 
and ccclcsiasdcaL superiors had 
blamed and treated as "/ij/xwfw/tf/V- 
fiifHt" everything at Mazas and La 
Kmiuette, everything in Paris and 
the whole of France, assured me I 
had not taken a wrong course; that, 
on the contrary, I had served the 
cause of religion and of my country. 



TO Ml COKDKL'KD. 



248 



The Dollinger Scandal, 



THE DOLLINGER SCANDAL. 



nOU THS HIST01II9CH-POUT1SCHB BLAnTm. 



During the course of the year 1857 
we published in these pages an ex- 
haustive article on the philosophy of 
Baader. Before the article was sent 
to press, the editor of Baader's com- 
plete works gave to the public the 
author's correspondence in another 
volume, the appearance of which oc- 
casioned the most painful surprise 
among the admirers of the great 
thinker. The book showed that, in 
his later years, Baader's mind was 
out of harmony with the church ; and 
that his tone towards it had grown 
to be one of bitterness even. As 
was wont to be the case in those 
happier days, the editors of these 
pages turned to Dr. Dollinger for an 
explanation of the glaring contradic- 
tions between the earlier and later 
views of Dr. Baader. The result was 
a postscript to the article above re- 
ferred to, written by Dr. Dollinger, 
and which may be seen in the fortieth 
volume of the JUstorisch-J^Htische 
Bldtier,^. 178. 

In this postscript, Dr. Dollinger 
pointed out from the correspondence 
itself what were the reasons of the 
change, and showed that Baader's 
animosity against the church rested 
only on extraneous and accidental 
causes, and had nothing to do with 
his philosophy. " No further key " — 
these are Uollinger's concluding words 
— ^"will be needed to understand 
how the broad chasm that separates 
the calm convictions of the ripe man 
in his prime from the passionate, al- 
most childlike, outbursts of mental 
impotence of the old man in his de- 
cline, was overleaped." 

These lines were written by Dr. 



Dollinger thirteen years ago, ai 
have often read them since. St 
step, he has himself proceeded 
course towards the church whi 
so severely censured in the ph 
pher of Munich. 

The fall of the two men is 
certain extent the same. The 
haired church historian, too, is 
rated by a great chasm from wl 
was in his prime — at a great du 
from the convictions that guide 
when he was in the zenith of 1 
tdlectual power. 

His deportment and languaj 
tray signs of ungovernable pa 
incompatible with the self-poss 
of a man who understands hii 
mind. 

We have a right to seek j 
case, also, for a psychological 
tion of the change that has le 
the very reverse of what he wa 
his case, as in that of Baader, 
be seen chat the reasons have n< 
to do with his erudition as a c 
historian ; that they are of a | 
" extraneous and accidental cl 
ter." But, indeed — and this i 
great difference between the tn 
Baader's case, the motives wer 
private, domestic nature ; in th 
of Dollinger, they are of a publi 
political nature. To express il 
word, it is the spirit of the time 
of the world that has carried £ 
ger into the fatal gulf. Dolli 
fall, his breaking off from all fa 
in the past, is only a piece c 
political history of Bavaria durii 
last twenty years. The Counc 
the definition of the tSth of 
have only hastened the matter; 



The DoUit{gtr SiandaL 



249 



\y given the disease, in its 
acute form ; but, without 
break would btill have 
e ; for a current gf thought 
in Dbllingcr's mtnd which 
;vc DcccssiiatcU it. When, 
we arc a^ed how it hap- 
a highly learned and highly 
man, like Uollmger, in (he 
it of a completely inde- 
positton, could cast himself 
:nt tunning counter to 
previous life, our answer is 
pie ; for, from the very bc- 
of a certain period in the 
f Bavaru, every true Catno- 
liBed upon to bear his cross 
idiuffch ; and it is not given 
one to choose being put in 
ground when he needs only 
|tn order to reap his share of 
& is world. 

6 ^ 1 a doubt impossible 
ngcr to add anything to his 
D for learning. Was he not 
and omoiuent of the Catho- 
1 of Munich ? And, by (he 
|s b cynnd a doubt that that 
^Ki taught as a body, con - 
PRcx taiheiitd decisions of 
r See, neither more nor less 
low ret^uired by the decrees 
ouncil of the Vatican. Wit- 
Ut be found for every day 
r, from atnung the students 
itunicli theological faculty, 
p Bishop of Mainz down 
humblest parish priest, to 
mi their notes and memo- 
lat Udllingcr himself taught 
ifhat the Archbishop of Mu- 
uircs him now to sul^cribe 
oevo questions the infalli- 
cfe« Papal decisions contra- 
present and past testimony 
ihoich. and must deny the 
ly of the church itself — such 
view of the whole Munich 
was Dblliugcr's own 



If Dijliinger's present views were 
correct, the immunity of the church 
from error could not for a moment 
be maintained, no matter where it 
might be claimed its infallibility re- 
sided. Doliinger subordinates the 
church to science and the decisions 
of the church to the final judgment 
of the learned, more esyjecially to the 
final judgment of historians. Such is 
his theory, and such, practically, his 
answer to his ecclesiastical superiors. 

Not without reason, therefore, does 
the Archbishop of Munich in his 
pastoral, dated Palm Sunday, say : 
" In this manner the church's divine 
commission and all Catholic truth is 
called in question.*' It cannot for a 
moment be doubted that a man who 
spc.iks .is does DoMinger in his de- 
claration of the 28th of March last, 
lias lost completely the Catholic idea 
of the church. The only dificrence 
between him and the Protestants is 
that, in addition to the Itible, he ad- 
mits tradition, " the unanimous con- 
sent of the fathers," to be a source 
of religious truth ; and this a Protesl- 
ant may also do, provided no exter- 
nal authority be constituted ilie court 
of final appeal ; and Ubllinger in 
fact claims that there is no such 
court, since he subordinates both 
Pope and Council alike to what be 
calls " science." 

In point of fact, however, even 
if not expressed in precisely those 
words, these were Dollinger's views 
years ago. We long since foresaw 
what was coming, and just as it has 
come. It was then a matter of no 
little surprise to us that his course 
caused no unca.siness even iti eeclcsi- 
astical circles; and that no impor- 
tance was attached to the remarkable 
revelations to which we now call 
attention, although the circumstances 
attending and the persons concerned 
in them were calculated to invest 
them with a character of the highest 



250 



The DolHnger Scandal. 



importance. We have already refer- 
red to the revelations in question as 
throwing light on the internal history 
of Bavaria, and on DoUinger's dan- 
gerous complication with certain ten- 
dencies of the late government; but 
we must return to the subject, and 
treat it more particularly. We refer 
■ especially to the academical oration 
held by Dr. DoUinger on the 13th 
of March, 1864, on King Maximi- 
lian II. 

In his oration, he happens to speak 
of the remarkable interest felt by the 
deceased monarch in historical re- 
search, and reveals to the world a 
very strange, ** a more secret " motive 
for the royal interest. The reader, 
to understand the full bearing of the 
history which we give below entire 
on Dbllinger himself, must bear in 
mind the peculiar characteristics of a 
man who has lived more among his 
books than among men. It would 
be hard for any one to be more sub- 
ject to external influences than Del- 
linger is, and, at the same time, to be 
less conscious of their presence or 
effect. He unconsciously puts forth 
to-day, as the result of his own ex- 
perience, what he happened to hear 
expressed yesterday by another. Dol- 
linger is always the product of his 
surroundings, and hence his change, 
as he lost his old friends, one after 
another, by death or by alienation, 
and fell in almost exclusively with 
the society of the so-called " Bem- 
fenen." This explains also how it 
came to pass that many younger 
men, and the members of the scien- 
tific guild — for example, his little 
Mephistopheles, Huber — exercised so 
unwarranted and increasing an influ- 
ence over him. Bearing all this in 
mind, it is impossible to overestimate 
the effects and influence of the over- 
tures which King Maximilian made 
to Dr. Dollinger. He was complete- 
ly intoxicated by them, and his new 



friends found means to prr 
return to his sober senses, ' 
pression made on Dollingei 
conference in question nou 
been the more lasting, as D 
the acknowledged head of th 
montane party, could not h: 
ed to stand any higher in hi 
ty's favor than any other 
abused class. To express tl 
matter in a few words, we ; 
vinccd that the careful obse 
discover the later as oppost 
earlier DOHinger in the folio 
count, or in his cradle. 

The following extract is 1 
oration above referred to : 

"As I have permitted n 
refer to the deeper thought 
guided the king in his gov* 
and especially in his attitude 
science, I may also recall 
other communications whlc 
ceived from his own mot 
upright, faithful Christian, he 
in the lasting future of Chr 
and, therefore, could not 
that its divisions and the str 
the different confessions she 
tinue for ever; that Christian 
waste their powers in mutua 
The division, he was of opin 
had its time, and God had p 
it for some high purpose; : 
time, even where not enlin 
was near its end; and he 
firmly that in spite of all p 
bitterness, in spite of the son 
of self which had intruded it 
the controversy, the day of t 
Christian nations would co: 
the promise of one fold and o 
herd be fulfilled. And the gre 
siastical bodies of the We 
once reconciled and work 
more than redoubled intellect 
or upon the Gneco-Russian 
the latter would not long r 
powerful magnetic influence 
Or, on the other hand, wh 



The Ddihnger Scantia/. 



251 



la of the Catholic and Ana- 
churches was eflecled, the 

Protestant sects wauhl be 
\\j drawn into the current and 
leir brethren. 

llurally, however, the attention 
king was cJaimed in the first 
ic by whatc\'cr could be look- 
in as tending in a proximate 
oic degree to the recondiia- 
ihe Kiist, and particularly of 
ly. He saw that the future 
:ould not be a simple, unac- 
Klating mechanical coming to- 
of the separated confessions. 
r did he think for a moment 

absorption of one church 

tber. It was necessary, he 
I, ihat both bodies should 6rst 
D a purgative process, and 
ch should acknowledge that it 
Wceive, though, perhaps, in an 
I degree, some good from the 
that each might help to free 
K*r from its peculiar defects 
:- sided nesses, and supply what 

ling in each other's ecclesias- 
id religious being ; that each 

cal the other's wounds ; and 
icr should be required to 
lylhing which its life and 
proved to be n positive 
Under these conditions, soon- 
er, the process of rcnoncilia- 
of union would take place 
of iCurope, in Germany. 
arly were the thoughts 

iC king developed to me in a 
inversation which I had with 
id which 1 never can forget. 
A how far Schelling's 
. embracing church of 

c gave form and shape to the 
lefrs. It is a matter of fact, 
r^ that that thinker Iiad excrt- 
eat influence on the mind of 
{ long before his accession to 
one. At the same time, the 
,w that this idea of a future 

enicrtained by Leibnitz and 



by Germany's greatest men was re- 
cognized as a necessity, and conli 
dently hoped for also by his eminent 
andenlighienct! kinsman. King Fred- 
erick William the Fourth of Prussia^ 
A German patriot, he saw in this re- 
tmion the salvation of Germany; a 
Christian, he saw in it a bulw;irk for 
the defence of the Christian faith, now 
so fiercely menaced. 

" And here he believed his own 
Bavaria was called to take an active 
and initiatory part, and the Bavarian 
king not only to point out the way 
the country was to go, but to guide 
it in that way. It was not a matter 
of mere chance the Frankish race, 
the numerically predominant race in 
Bavaria, was about equally divided 
between the two confessions, and that 
in no country, not even in Prussia, 
were the local mixture and intcrrela- 
tions ol Proteslanis and Catholics so 
intimate and extensive as in Bavaria. 

" In the second place, as far as the 
king himself was concerned, he could 
and it w.« his duly to do something 
to bring Germany a litde nearer to 
the desired goal. He had been 
obliged to establish a perfect ei)uality 
of rights and of political standing foci 
the professors of both confessions, to 
the end that no portion of the people 
might feel oppressed, or grow em- 
bittered, or think themselves kept in 
the background, for wiih such feeU 
ings on the part of any portion of Ui«' 
nation, all coming together, all under- 
standing, was impossible. 

** And here he was of opinion 
science, and jjarlicularly historical 
science, was called upon to accom- 
plish much; for religion itself wa.>- 
history, and only as a hi.<itorical fact, 
and in accordance with the rules of 
historical criticism, could religion be 
understood or appreciated. In his 
own view, historical science was the 
kingdom in which, in the words of 
the sacred wTitings, peace and justice 



253 



The Ddllinger ScandaL 



would kiss ; for only through history, 
as established by the most thorough 
reffiearch, could men know their own 
past and others' past, their own and 
others' failings ; through it only was 
there any hope of begetting a con- 
ciliatory and pacificatory frame of 
mind. 

"Thus the field of historical science 
seemed to the king like the Truce of 
God in the middle ages, or like a 
sacred city in which those elsewhere 
at variance found themselves at peace 
together; and, urged on by the same 
desires, endeavored to slake their 
thirst at the same fountain of truth, 
and grew into one communion. 

" Out of the scientific fraternity of 
historians would one day proceed, 
so he hoped, after the trammels of 
confessions had been done away with, 
a higher union, embracing all histori- 
cal, all religious truth, a brotherly re- 
conciliation, such as patriots and 
Christians alike hoped and prayed 
for," 

All this Dr. Dollinger spoke with 
all the warmth of personal conviction. 
Although the whole is evidently a 
thrust at the idea of a confession and 
against the church as an organization, 
Dollinger does not append one word 
of correction in the name of the 
church. We cannot, however, help 
wondering that a critic so acute, a 
thinker so profound, as Dollinger 
should have surrendered himself to 
such a politico-religious system. It 
is easily seen that there are three 
separate, and in part contradictory, 
ideas in the royal programme, and all 
three have this in common, that thty 
are totally irreconcilable with the 
idea of a divinely instituted and 
saving church. 

In the first place, there is mentioned 
St. John's church of love, Schell- 
ing's church of the future, on which 
subject Dollinger was otherwise per- 
fectly innocent. An ideal which con- 



templative enthtisiasttc diarac 
.King William the Fourth migl 
ish, and which might also c 
place in the thoughts of the 
nan king, could scarcely hav 
attraction for Dollinger. Bui 
otherwise with the second ide: 
King Maximilian had elabmut 
is, with the idea of a German i 
church; and, finally, with th 
idea, that of the absorption of 
confessions into a universal r 
of savantSy and the church 
world-academy of science, h 
thread of the supernatural i 
pletely lost, though, perchan 
king himself was not aware of 
is this not the most utter ratiot 
If, now, we look at Dolling 
claration of the 38th of Mai 
will find these two ideas stand 
in bold relief. The odious an 
of Germanism and Komanisi 
indeed be in harmony with thi 
ing political spirit ; it certainl 
compatible with the idea of t 
tholic Church. Whoever pr 
in the name of nationality to 
of any member of the church a: 
" Roman party," either knows n 
he is doing or must wish the " ( 
national church" in schism, 
this there is but one step, ai 
not a hard one for the pride of i: 
or the haughtiness of science, 
position occupied by Dbtlingei 
declaration to the archbish 
which he places the scientific 
nity of historians as the high 
thority over the church, and ir 
the court of final appeal in mat 
faith. And yet the learned geni 
although he signs himself 01 
Christian,", will have usconsid 
a Catholic. 

It is impossible to look in 
abyss into which this once clear' 
has fallen without a feeling of 
Is it not sufficient to open th 
of every one that the apost 



Tht DoUingit Seandal. 



253 



lolKism and free religion, 
ichl»ert Rau and an Usw.ild, 
^ called the attcntian of the 
to their already publishcH 
san ** interesting commentary 
Zollinger's protest " ? 
trae that DoUinger has noth- 
lonuoon with tltose men in his 
i liis relations to God ; but 
E must remember these gcn- 
are only drawing their own 
lences, and Dollingcr has lost 
: to 6nd fault with the conse- 
[ ihcy draw. 

unwarranted inlroduclion of 
ism into ihc idea of the church 
ibtJess Dullingcr's first stq> 
I. This gained, the disturbers 
eace of the church soon pos- 
temselves of the whole man. 
IQ be nothing more hostile to 
spirit of Catholicism than this 
nciple of nationality; fur the 
ic church, in a spiritual point 
is to smooth away all nation- 
ncest and bring the different 
nto one fold. 

ah, at a time like the present, 
c fanaticism of nationality, if 
be allowed the expre5;sion, is 
to alien;) te still more the 
of different rations — to wish» 
kl such a time to destroy the 
that hokls them together, is 
r the wildcat party lanaticism 
tie; 

U) ttXidcrstasid what the cry 
ruiim national church means 
[kulhsof iho&c modern Neros, 
ralists — in the mouth of any 
, we cannot understand it. 
sow very well that Uollinger 
^ far from desiring a schism 
\ spoke at the Linger Cathu- 
ng in 1850* upon ibe subject 
ac^ of German nationalism 
^ttrch. It was somewhat 
e in his declarations in the 
Conference in 1S63. There 
|-poiDt was discoverable. 



A short time previously, the at 
first purely scientific difference with 
the " Roman party," or nco-scho- 
hislics, had arisen. DoUinger had 
roused the suspicions of these lat- 
ter ; but we feel certain that at that 
time there were no grounds for their 
suspicions. He was, it was platu, 
only a little too susceptible to the in- 
fluences of a certain kind of liberalism, 
and extraordinarily anxious to do 
awny with any suspicion of adhering 
to the Ultramontane party. 

The tlanger [jractically and in 
point of fact bc^an when he became 
entangled in Bavarian pulitics, es- 
pecially in what concerns the ques- 
tion of the relations of science to 
ccclcsiabtical authority. " Genuau 
science" now became the focus in 
which the more or less conscious ten- 
dencies of Dollinger were concentra- 
ted. It is in 1865 that we must place 
the real tuniiog-point in Dollinger^s 
career. 

About the end of the year iS6i^ 
the writer of these lines went to Frank- 
fort-on-the-Main. He visited Boh- 
mer, and will never forget a scene he 
witnessed on the occasion of that 
visit. The great historian was sick 
at the time, fresh in mind, it is true, 
but in a repining condition, and 
almost bitter. Our conversation 
turned on the condition of the Uni- 
versity of Munich under the re'^me 
of the so-called " Benijungen." Boh- 
mer expressed great regret at what 
was going on in Munich, but reserved 
the vials of his wrath for the celebri- 
ties of the mouth uf March previous. 
Especially, he made Dollinger respon- 
sible for it that so favorable a time 
had not been used for the fountling 
of a historical school in the interests 
of the church, h was well known 
that Dr. Dollinger had had many 
scholars during his long career as a 
professor; bi;t he had founded no 
school. It might be said, even, thai 



254 



The DiiUinger SeandaL 



he did not leave a disciple after him. 
Whilst he expatiated in the endless 
world of book in a manner hitherto 
unparalleled, perhaps it became im- 
possible for him to prepare the 
living materials which young men 
needed, and lost the gift of socia- 
bility. 

Bohmer became more and more 
aggravated as he proceeded, till, 
finally, his anger culminated in 
the following anecdote: He said 
that, when Dollinger visited Frank- 
fort last, he had had a walk with 
him through the city, and Dollin- 
ger had spoken to him about his 
literary plans. He, Bohmer, remon- 
strated with him, and inquired why 
he did not fulfil his older promises ; 
why he did not continue his unfinish- 
ed church history. Whereupon Dol- 
linger, stopping and swinging his 
cane, said with a smile : " You see, 
I can't^o that; for now my research- 
es have brought me to such a pass 
that I cannot make the end of my 
history tally with the beginning ; the 
continuation of my church history 
would be entirely Protestant." I see 
Bohmer this moment before me with 
the same grim visage which he wore 
as he closed this story with the 
words : " He— he said that !" 

Still, in i860, Dollinger's great 
work, Christianity and the Church in 
the time of their Foundation^ appeared. 
Embracing the results of the latest 
research, and written in the most 
charming manner, this book touched 
and strengthened many a Catholic 
heart, as it did my own. But Dollin- 
ger has made that same beautiful 
book a sad memorial of his fall. He 
had written the book when he was 
sixty years of age, but when, in 1868, 
the second edition of it appeared, it 
was discovered that he had omitted 
some of the principal passages of the 
first edition, bearing upon the pro- 
mises to and the establishment of 



the primacy ; and what he h; 
omitted, he had changed in 1 
terests of liberalism, and all f 
giving any ground for the altei 
without a single note even. 

Dollinger has a wonderful m 
for everything in the world ol 
but very little for what conce 
own person or his own acts. 
he wrote his declaration to the 
bishop of Munich, he seems t< 
quite forgotten the intentional 
rections " of his celebrated 
Otherwise, he would not have r 
to the approval which it mi 
from the whole of Catholic Ge 
and raised the question, Whic 
he meant — the true one of i 
the altered, not to say the fe 
one of 1868 ? Moreover, he, 
inspirer of yanus^ recalled, i 
last-named book, the little I 
left in the edition of 1868 fai 
to the primacy, for the reason 
" contradicted all opinions ' 
fathers, and the principles of 
tical theology." In other 
yanus has completely and fla 
nied the primacy. 

It is hard to calculate \i 
blessing Dollinger might hav 
the means of to his contemp 
and to posterity, had he cor 
to make the rich treasures 
knowledge accessible to Christ 
as he had done in his work of 
The Almighty, who had pre 
him upright during the wai 
passions of these later years, 
have decreed him doubtless 
old age had he remained true 
resolution not to divide his ] 
to live an unprejudiced vot; 
science. It was to be oth 
That book was the last fruit 
professional activity of the hi* 
The historian was now to I 
the bitter party-man, not to i 
future Bavarian senator, an< 
writer, a mere political pamp] 




The DiiUingcr Scandal, 



255 



career as a man of science 

I the fall of 1 86 1 appeared 
U Tke Chunh and the 

etc. It was a kinil oi co- 
logy for the two wel]-known 
Xturcsof tl^e fifth anU ninth 
of the same year, on the 

power of the ])opes. In 
ttues Dollinger has come 
ft the rtiiif of the politician— 
ich he was never intended 
m account of his too great 
Kxpressions had crept in- 
tfctures so Hule savoring of 
painful to Catholic hearts, 
irorst was feared for Dullin- 
'Jesiastical circles. U'e also 
e cDnKquenccs. Ublllnger 
ra.4 evidently staggered at 
)ectcd impression of his, to 
Bit, unexplained appearance 
a character. The book 
(lowed, in other respects a 
r historical information, was 
Iwt a powerful eflbrt to 
Dielf from the consequences 
tp. 

cas expressed in the royal 
ion alrove referred to are 
ignizablc, more particularly 
^tnxluction, as wcU as the 
!to harmonize them with the 
I of the chtirch. It would 
tery diflirul t to allay the 
hich Dulhnger has endea- 
Ikwaken concerning the me- 
luich and the Papacy in his 
tnanuensis's) letters on the 
i the AUgjemcine Zeitung, and 
bs "declaration," from his 
ir of i86i. The Encyclical, 
[cularly the doctrine of ihe 
lOn the relations of church 
^Diay t>e both explained and 
I by the assistance of the 
^ DdlUngcr then knew 
! how 10 vindicate the true 
io decrees and bulls of 
while the nicdiscval 



relations of the church 10 the state 
were yt-t in force ; he well knew then 
how to separate what is transient from 
that wliich is eternally true. If, at 
that time, any one had come to him 
to tell him that Napoleon III. in- 
tended to take advantage of the Bull 
" Cum ex apostolatus officio " against 
the Protestant princes of Germany 
and Prussia, with what shouts of 
laughter would he not have received 
him t Now he himself is guilty of 
just such an absurdity ^ — and how 
grave he is withal I 

The question of the relations of 
science to church authority became 
now ill Bavaria a practical question, 
and Dollinger was called upon to 
prove the strength of his principles 
by overt acts. One difference fol- 
lowed another in that country, and 
Dollinger was as interested in them 
as he could be in mattc-rs entirely 
personal to himself. Like a general, 
lie felt himself responsible fur the 
result of all those contests, and never 
thought of examining closely the 
claims of those who crowded around 
him and offered him their services. 
In this way it was that lie became 
the'protector of one so unworthy as 
Pichier against the arcliicpiscopal 
ordinary. At this time, even, he had. 
his fia.ssionale turns, which gave rise 
to serious misgivmgs, but which he 
Mas sure to regret himself before any 
length of time had expired. 

At this period the episcopal con- 
ference at Pulda resolved to take 
steps to revive action in the matter 
of the establishment of a " free Ca- 
tholic university." Dollinger could 
see in this nothing but the proof of 
a dark conspiracy against German 
science. 

He was unaliie to sec that the 
anti-ecclesiastical, not to say the an- 
tichrist, spirit which had crept into 
the universities, was more than even 
he would be willing 10 be accounta- 



2S6 



The Doiiinger Scandal, 



ble for were he the chief pastor of a 
diocese. 

The opinion expressed in an ap- 
peal to the Catholic ladies of Ger- 
many on the subject of the higher 
schools, made him lose his patience 
altogether. The outbreak of the 
Seminary question in Spiers was in 
his view another attempt of those 
infected with the " Roman " spirit 
against free German science, and it 
found him, even if not publicly, on 
the side of the decided opponents of 
the bishop's rightful claim in the 
matter. 

Very nearly at the same time, the 
then Bavarian minister of worship 
made a report to the king on the 
occasion of a vacancy in the theolo- 
gical faculty of WUrzburg, in which 
he painted the clergy educated in the 
German College at Rome in no flat- 
tering terms. An accidental circum- 
stance threw suspicion on Doiiinger 
as the instigator of it. The pamph- 
let " for the information of kings," 
which appeared in the beginning of 
1 866, represented Doiiinger, although 
only under the general name " of the 
Munich school," as the real actor in 
the minister of worship's puppet-play. 
There was a report that in the Spiers 
matter, speaking of the attitude of 
the bishops, he had said : " They are 
attempting to misuse the king's 
youth !" How much of this had its 
foundation in truth, to what extent 
the statements of the pamphlet were 
based on a change or mistake be- 
tween the ministry and cabinet, must 
remain undecided. 

The pamphlet referred to created 
no small excitement, however; and, 
precisely two years before the ap- 
pearance of the notorious articles on 
the Council, was exhaustively replied 
to in the AUgemeine Zetturtg. The 
style and other accidents would lead 
to suppose that the " amanuensis," 
since known more of, had here made 



his d^but The reply was noi 

futation. It was made up off 
of counter-complaints, and, wi 
exception of the attacks on t 
suits, the Roman party, and thi 
seminaries, these articles conta 
kemd of the articles again 
Council published two years 
In spite of all this, however, ] 
ger is represented in these arti 
of the same unaltered mind wii 
er members of the faculty. Ha 
and Reithmayer. 

" If there was no ground of 
cion during all these long ye 
reason to believe that thes( 
were hankering after dangero 
velties, how comes it recent! 
such suspicions are aroused, 
that they have always been 
same mind ?*^ It is now certa 
this unanimity has since ceasei 
it is clear that Dollinger's moi 
accusation — " not a soul belir 
— must have been unjustly b 
by him against his colleagues, 
articles also quote the words 
Tiibingen theologian : " The su: 
has spread further — Dollingt 
Michelis are no longer inm 
What says the Tubinger of thi 
ing of these two men to-day ? 

On the first of January, i8 
Hohenlohe ministry took cha 
the ship of state. 

It will not be claimed that '. 
ger's influence increased with 
cession of his old friend Print 
henlohe to the ministry ; it * 
more probable that the prince 
have found the learned prof< 
powerful obstacle in his way, 
]>rince had formerly been con 
unexceptionable in his religiou 
and relations ; but in order b 
pate the bad odor in which '. 
in the highest circles, suspec 
he was of favoring Prussia, h« 
no better method than to enc 
the superstitious fear of the Ulti 




Tk^ Di^Hn^r Scandal. 



/ 



«3/ 



ihe )mirts which for 
lutJ reigned ortthin the 
»}-al palace at Munich, 
htch had made Or. 
so interesting z. subject 
was regenerated from the 
of Ulttaraontanistn. 
Munced by such a man, it 
Ight ihe discomfiting of the 
party" would l»ea lessdan- 
terrtiion than effecting it by 
Ml-ibr alliance with the parry 
ws. 

^aplaios how Princ« Hohcn- 
lie head of the foreign de- 
, wa« determined to serve 
r in every way possible 
IC •* Curia " and all matters 
bit 

£uiiotisarTicle<i on the Coun- 
ued in the AU;^mcinc Zeit- 
I the loth 10 the 15th March, 
ider as anunymous name. 
on was made to conceal the 
tnd even to mislead the pub- 
> who he was. The real 
>utd not conceal himself as 
! wcrt concerned ; but it re- 
i long lime to convince the 
id great was the surprise of 
r^udiced minds ac the disco- 

! meantime, the preparation 

\ n yafttti was undcr- 

li irculatorj' dispatches 

Huhcnlohc made their ap- 

on the 9th of April. i8€r), 

GOUT%Ct Dollinger could not 

tcribe as their author. The 

of ministers, of course, was 

ulted in the matter ; and the 

wn fivc <iucstions put by 

lohcnlohc to the theological 

of Munich and Wiirrburg, 

Dg the future council, were 

pcred to the minister of 

afibir^ by some secret 

r name of the majority of the 
t>f Munich, Dollinger was 
Tou XIV.— 17 



called upon to answer his own ques 
tions. In contniilisiinction to the 
clear and frank separate vote of Pro- 
fessors Schmid and Tlialhofcr, and to 
the incisive opinion nf the Wiirz 
burger faculty, that exposition was 
but the unworthy production of a 
time-server. It was impossible for 
any one to discover the real meaning 
of the opinion. The only thing 
plainly discoverable was the ambi- 
guity by which the author sought to 
shield himself from trouble. 

The absence of conviction in the 
whole affair is so evident that we 
rnay wcH yet remain in douht con- 
cerning the position of Dbllinger's col- 
leagues; and that in spite of the 
fact that the libellous articles of the 
Allgtmeiuf Zfitung arc to be found \n 
the widespread pages of yanus. We 
have already looked into this depart- 
ment of the litcniturc of our day ; 
wc have done so already. Not only 
was infallibility condemned in it; but 
the primacy, at least since 845, is 
there made to appear as an infinite 
scries of deception and forgeries, or» 
as yanus expresses it, as a sickly, 
uncouth, consumptive-engcndenng 
excrescence on the organism of the 
church. Not only was the future 
council condemned before it was 
held, but the Council of Trent was 
turned into " a should-bc oecumeni- 
cal council," which was arbitrarily 
governed by legates, in which the 
Roman party alone had sway, and 
which, in a word, was nothing but 
an assemblage of fools and pick- 
pockets. This view of the Council 
of Trent Dollinger sccras to have 
forgotten, when he wrote his decla- 
ration of the zSth of March of the 
present year, in which he refers to 
the Tridentine article of faith which 
he had twice sworn to, and in which 
he leaves out the essential part of 
the oath, namely, the promise to in- 
terpret the Holy Scripture only "in 



258 



The Dollingtr ScatidaL 



the sense approved by Holy Mother 
Church." 

The foreign office and its zealous 
co-operator, the learned professor, now 
began their campaign against the 
Council. The reporter of the Leipzig 
Gremboten of the 24th of June, 1870, 
thus expresses himself on tlie sub- 
ject : " The alarming circulatory dis- 
patches of Prince Hohenlohe have 
turned to political account the re- 
sults obtained by ^anus, and intro- 
duced them into governmental and 
diplomatic circles." The Bavarian 
ambassador, a man of no distinction 
and one who favored the " Curia," 
was recalled and replaced by Count 
TaufTkirchen, the most talented diplo- 
matist at that time at the disposal of 
the government. 

His operations in Rome were very 
influential ; and if the matter furnish- 
ed by the events in the Council be- 
came immediately the subject of dis- 
cussion in the press and in the lite- 
rature of the day, the Bavarian Em- 
bassy is not entitled in the least to 
the merit of it. The rest was ac- 
comphshed by Dollinger, as is now 
well known, and by his intimate 
young friend Lord Acton. 

About the end of the year appear- 
ed the pamphlet, Conspirations for 
the Bishops of the Council on the 
Question of Papal Infallibility. This 
time he appeared again anonymously, 
but without making any extra effort 
to conceal himself as the author. A 
little later, he appeared under his own 
name in the official organ of the new 
Catholic theology, the AUgemeine 
Zeitung, in the *' Declaration in the 
matter of the address touching Papal 
Infallibility," on the 19th January, 
1870. From this declaration, says 
the Lepzig correspondent more than 
once referred to above, proceeded his 
agreement with the views of ^anus. 

The publication of his name was 
no sooner made than the party of 



progress took it as a signal to 
him their own entirely. 

This had already been done 
press; now it was accomplisl 
the House. 

On the 7th of February, Dr. 
a deputy, seized the opportimit 
sented by the debates on the 
dress" to drag Dollinger int 
field against the " patriotic " n 
ty. He read the most objectic 
and most venomous parts of the ' 
siderations " and " Declaration, 
imputed these views to the ma 
of the House as their own opi 
endeavoring to drive them to d 
themselves for Dollinger and aj 
the Pope and the Council. 
" patriotic " majority had taker 
not to embitter the debates by 
ducing questions ecclesiasticid 
them j but now a defence was 1 
for. The stenographic repoi 
scribes the scenes, which were i 
with the following words from D 
Torg: 

" I have been on the most int 
terms with the gentleman 1 
Deputy Volk so formally parad 
fore the House, for years. I b( 
acquainted with him shortly 
the time of the 'genuflexion 
tion ' in Bavaria ; and, surely, n 
then imagined that a time 1 
come when Dr. Dollinger wou 
thus quoted before the whole I 
by Dr. Volk. I consider it a te 
misfortune, and accept it as ; 
yes, gentlemen, as a personal n 
tune. Dr. Dollinger was an aatl 
for me; he is such no longer; 1 
has fallen the victim of blind pi 
and lost the calmness necessa 
the forming of an opinion; ax 
is no longer in a condition to k 
late a dogmatic question as a tb 
gian ought to be able to fonn 
one." 

But that is not what DSD 
wants. He now stands in dre 



The Dollinger Seandat. 



QUS Critics, his own 

ificil acumen being enlire- 

ttkcs the definition of Papal 
ty a monstrous bugbear, and 
nstrance prevails to prevent 
ng the bugbear more terrible 
\i and others. The worst 
in the whole is his passion 
the temfwral power. He 
ling in his opponents that is 
luU They use the infallible 
depose the nionarchs who 
suit them, to absolve sub- 
m their oath of fealty, to 
V couititutions, to annihi- 
ry right. L»r. Dollingcr en- 
by the most unquali^cd dc- 
m to lell the new German 
-elsewhere he always says 
! doctrine was never known 
lany : " I cannot dissemble 
doctrine, in consequence of 
ihe former German empire 
, in case it should obtain 
long the Catholic portion of 
loan nations, would sow the 
' an incurable disease in the 
iroded German empire." 
iiat now ? As we have al- 
pinted out, the matter did 
a out as those interested 
t would. 

E expected that Dollinger's 

K would have carried the 

pan of the clergy and inli- 

Ihe bishops ; thus it was hop- 

IHiC much danger would be 

jrihc (diiect which, although 

defined in every particu- 

aced, at all events, theannihi- 

UUramontanism.ofthe" cle- 

ly," and of the Jesuits in (icr- 

Jt was hoped to accomplish 

without the always, as was 

frdged, dangerous assistance 

irty of progress, through the 

ight of IJbllrnger's name and 

; Rut his name has not 

ished what was hoped it 



would. The auxiliaries wished for did 
not come; the others who were not 
expected came in crowds. Scarcely 
h^ the national liberals rested froni 
other arduous tasks than they en- 
listed under Dollinger's standard for 
the accomplishment of ihcir next and 
greatest task, the destruction of the 
Catholic Church in Germany. We 
are far from denying that at first, under 
the pressure of slanders and denun- 
ciations, some well-intentioned men 
were carried away. We have hopes 
for their return, and do not wish to 
wound the feelings of any one. But 
when l)r, DoUinger sur\-eys the chaos 
of tlie *' address," and considers how 
it would fare with hira could he hear 
the confessions of all these " Catho- 
lics," I do believe he would blush 
at such adherenis, for F do not be- 
lieve he has quite lost the power of 
distinguishing moral t\irpidily from 
virtue. 

He need not know the state of the 
consciences of his Munich colleagues 
who signed the address, in which they 
hesitate not to give the lie to the 
whole Catholic episcopate ; he knows 
iKtler than anybody how many of 
them have a moral right to speak in 
the name of " Catholic Christen- 
dom." 

Viewing the matter in this light, we 
have in one way wondered nt the 
signing of many, in another way wc 
have wondered at the signing of only 
a few. And in the face of such phe- 
nomena, Ur. Dullinger desires a 
church the duty of whose bi.shops it 
shall be simply to declare that which 
all believers, represented by scientists, 
will have thought or believed upon 
a question of the faith. 

ll is easy to say what the ne^t 
thing sought by those who follow be- 
hind Dollinger's banner is. The po- 
lice regulations required by the gov- 
ernment against llie decrees of the 
Council are a matter of secondary 



26o 



The DuHinger Scandal. 



importance. And the great storm 
of an ovation given to DoUioger is 
meant not so much for Dollinger 
himself as for its influence on the 
king and his government 

llie king must a second time be 
made to serve the cause of German 
liberalism. We said it in the begin- 
ning : as soon as the little German 
Empire is established, the party 
will want a " German National 
Church " for their little empire. 
We did not think, indeed, that 
any attempt at this would be made 
so soon ; for, a year ago, men who 
knew what they were talking about 
assured us that so long as the old 
king lived he would not permit the 
peace of religion to be disturbed; 
but that it would be otherwise with 
those who came after him. But now 
that the king has become German 
Emperor, unanimous reports of the 
contrary come to us. " The idea of 
the establishment of a German Na- 
tional Church is taking deeper root, 
to all appearances, in the government 
circles." So a relatively unprejudic- 
ed Berlin corresijondent lately re- 
ported. The rest of the tale is told 
by the debates in the chamber of 
deputies. 

The party are anxious to strike 
the iron while it is hot; not without 
reason was the party battle-cry spoken 
during the war — all our noble blood 
were shed in vain did not the stroke 
which freed us from France sever 
the Catholics of Germany from 
Rome — " War against France and 
against — Rome I" Even Dr. Miche- 
lis joined in the cry. 

If it was very desirable that the 
Bavarian king should take the ini- 
tiative in the matter of the imperial 
title, it was also very desirable that 
the first step for the establishment of 
the " German National Church " 



should proceed from the 
Munich. 

The King of Bavaria 
to the "new Luther" wl 
Frederick of Saxony had b 
ther of old ; and on that a 
is promised the surname o 
This is the meaning of tb 
telegram of the tenth of \ 
Dresden — " him, the e 
thinker who publicly pre 
dissatisfaction with the doj 
pal infallibility I" When tb 
tatives.of high offices in M 
to set themselves up public 
manders in the military ec 
society, one need not be st 
the progressionist intrusivt 
rashly sporting with the m 
principle itself. Thus on 
understand how any one c 
bold as to encourage the 
fall by insinuating a pro- 
no one might fear a ma 
Could the necessary numb 
church servants have be 
the programme was that tl 
Bavaria should give the 
National Church " its first 
the Munich places of woi 
wish to be excused from 
further the plan which fin 
make true the saying : " 
to misuse the king's youth 

We are not deceived, i 
plan fail, another will be 
accomplish what is intern 
linger has been in relation 
sian diplomats since i3< 
ever, neither he nor the nc 
Empire has the divine proi 
the church has; and wher 
and the bishops are, thi 
church. 

Let all Catholics gal 
closely yet about the cent 
We can do no better sen 
worUl. God will take care 




Ghost Stifry of the Revolution, 



STORY OF THE REVOLUTION. 



36e 



many haunted spols 
mpire Slaic, or even in 
and very few genuine goblin 
such 35 once upon a time, 
he fireside, m.idc one afraid 
behind him ; delightful old 
plicitty believed In liy narra- 
[isleners, and casting over all 
k of utter and indefinable ler- 
bt that ghosts have ceased to 
It they are things of course 
d their position with regard 
lis in the flesh is entirely 
; the territory of spirit-land 
a part of it) has been anncx- 
uiy say, to our free and inde- 
ihirty-scvcn states ; a regular 
sc has been opened ; and, as 
igiblc parties in the compact 
Qiient and passing invitations 
[earthly visits at certain S|>e- 
siods, it is no more than civil 

Mirait until they are ex- 
ars gone by it was quite 
so far from being invited, 
universally shunnefl ; man, 
godchild tied at the slightest 
i of their presence ; and as 
it. it was next to impossit)le 
I to put in a single word be- 
t error-stricken mortal hod 
away, far beyond all hcar- 
pt much seemed the gain to 
le by those interviews; occa- 
some rogue was known to 
I his ill-golten pelf in conse- 
jof the midnight apparitions 
phantom things, a warning 
Qcnd his ways ; or some 
perhaps grew faint, and 
ne ceased to beat, un- 
§dcft that it had received a 
tBummons to the unseen 



world ; but generally speaking, the 
shock of an intense an<i overpower- 
ing affright was about all that ac- 
crued to the sight-seer from the 
meeting — a terror so genuine that he 
was able to impart it to many a cir- 
cle of eager listeners for an incredibly 
long period after the adventure. 

Bui what attraction has modern 
America for sprites, spooks, brownies, 
fairies, and all that dainty ethereal 
tribe that may be met in the CM 
World ? Or what, for the more sol- 
emn shadows that haunt dilapidated 
galleries, in the tumbledown ruins 
of ancient transatlantic castles ? ^V'hat 
homes have we for " elves and little 
people," that dance for years, yes for 
centuries, on the same greensward 
in the Highlands of Scotland ? 
Alas I in an incredibly short period 
grass here gives place to wheat* 
fields, and fairy rings would be dis- 
respectfully ploughed up and plant- 
ed. Let any sociable brownk plan 
a visit to old friends, she would pro- 
bably find the whole liunily, hag and 
baggage, moved off to the far West, 
and only strangers round the hearth- 
stone. They love things old, and 
here all is new and cheerful under 
the tireless march of improvement. 
We have no black forest, no 

"CaitUd cng of Dnchcnfch," 

but the primitive woodland yet 
clothes the mountain that " frowns 
o'er the wide and winding " river. 

The nearest approach to a haunted 
castle is to be seen sometimes in travel- 
ling over the Western States. There, 
in some lonely inconvenient spot 
which no prudent man would have 
chosen for a homestead, an tmfinished, 



362 



A Ghost Story of the RevtUutiom. 



overgrown, weakly-looking wooden 
house tells its story, not of greatness 
gone by, but of greatness planned and 
never accomplished — a pitiful com- 
ment on the uncertainty of human 
affairs ! It happens thus : Some set- 
tler, sadly miscalculating his resources, 
projects a palace in the wilderness on 
a scale of city splendor; that is, with 
parlor, dining-room, kitchen, bed- 
rooms, and the little elegances of 
pantries and closets. The sides are 
enclosed, the roof is on, and the 
revenues he counted on as certain 
are not forthcoming. Then do pa- 
pered walls and panelled doors 
with brass knobs, and visions of 
portico and piazza, all float away 
to the blue clouds; the hapless 
dreamer fits up one comer room for 
the reception of his whole household 
until he can find another location, and 
take a new start in the search af^er for- 
tune, and so abandons his rickety pa- 
lace to the lord of the soil. As the 
boards blacken in wind and storm, and 
one end blows down perhaps in some 
rough northwester, it gains the name 
of being haunted; and to ride past 
such" a skeleton thing by moonlight 
or in the dim twilight, with the utter 
desolation of all around, and the 
yawning blackness of cavities which 
should have been doors and windows, 
it requires no great stretch of imagi- 
nation to picture an unearthly head 
peeping out here and there. Very 
bold yeomen are known to always 
whip their horses to a full gallop as 
they approach and pass the fearful 
spot; and as for women and chil- 
dren, under that strange fascination 
by which the supernatural repels and 
yet attracts, they always gaze intently, 
and as surely *' see something " ! 

Although goblin visits in our land are 
just now rather on the decHne (except 
in a regular business way), there was 
a time when strange sights were seen 
and strange things happened; and. 



although it may seem almost 
ble, it is a fact well establi 
history that it was gcnendly 
Dutch settled here, to that 
headed, reasoning nation, s 
likely to be deceived on any i 
that most of these revelatioi 
made. 

This certainly ensures for t! 
the firm belief of all mankind, 
an imaginative Hibernian or % 
light-hearted Gaul announce 
sion, it must be taken with son 
allowance for flights of fancy, et 
but when a phlegmatic, coo 
ed Hollander declares he has 
spooky you may believe as if 
your own eyes. 

For the precise period mo6 
fie in signs, sights, and drea 
must go back to the early d 
our state, yet not to theyf/y/ : 
Hieir troubles, so numerous tl 
scarcely possible to number 
had their origin in things ta 
and so closely did these tioubli 
daily on all sides, that the tl 
of the first colonists were < 
engrossed by the things of 
To such a point did this doi 
tendency reach, that they : 
at times in danger of relapsii 
heathendom, as may be see 
the reports sent back to Amsf 
and yet extant among colon 
pers, that they possessed 
school-houses nor churches, 
did possess, however, three u; 
sources of annoyances and 
— an Indian warfare, neight 
their eastern boimdary cf un] 
ed audacity, and domestic bic 
in the perpetual strife kept 
tween Manhattan and Ren 
wyck. 

What might have happene* 
Indians had been treated wit 
mon justice and honesty can 
only conjecture; but their 
began at the beginning. It is 



A Ghost Story of the Rt'volution. 



263 



le gtoncs of the adventurous 
icht Haij-Mihtn that her very 
tck through the waters of the 
iccnt Cahobat^a {now the 
n) was marked with ihcir blood, 
ssly and wantonly shed, 
drtk Hudson and his crew 
, wc arc told, on the western 
the great bay, which was lined 
men, women, and children, by 
hey were kindly received, and 
ed with tobacco and dried cur- 
' A little further on were " very 
people and very old men, by 
iic Kuropcans were well used." 
Kought in their canoes to the 
sorts of fruit and game, 
occasion of a visit made 

men to iheishore they broke 

ows and threw them in the 
xpress their jiacific intentions. 

itc all this, when the vessel 
[vanced only a few miles, one 
w fimi and killed an Indian, 
least warning, for at- 

steal a pillow and some 

itjenis.f No satisfaction was 

to the territied savages, and 
ishcd off for the shore in their 

but they vowed a vengeance, 
ykept the vow; so that, when 
nt years later one ship after 

brought the enteqirising in- 
Is who first unpacked tlit-ir 
>ld utensils and (ann tools in 
IT World, they entered upon a 

existence already prcparcfl 
n. It was not a glimpse of 
or goblin that people feared 
Junter in the lonely by-patlt, 
c stealthy tread and dark 

of some lurking savage, 
atchful and merciless, ever 
[ hand when least expected, 
ten in the silent night, in how 
ittic hamlets, in how many 

buta, women and children 



listened in speechless terror to the 
war-whoop, that fearful yell, and were 
made to feel Indian retaliation for 
the evil doings of fathers and hus- 
bands! Small time had they for 
ghostly fears. When the savages flctl 
before European firearms, it was only 
to return. More tliau two thousanf! 
of them appeared in their canoes at 
one time before the little block-house 
at Manhattan, because Hcndrik von 
Dyke, with an impriidence and wick- 
edness perfectly disgraceful in a myn- 
heer, had killed a squaw for stealing 
apples in his orchard. His orchard 
was on the present site of Hector 
StreeL 

But, though the Dutch colonists 
were generally at fault in provoking 
contention, they were also valiant, 
after some preparation, to meet it. 
When Claes Smit was ruthlessly 
murdered by the natives, some time 
about 1642, and ihey refused either 
to give up or punish his murderer 
because he had tied and could not 
be found, the colonists consented to 
march to battle, 

" proridcd the director himself (Von 
Kiffl) acconipaDit;<l them (o prevent dis- 
order, a!»D that be futnish, in addition to 
powder and ball, provision necessary 
for the expedition, such as bread andbut- 
li-r, and appoiiii a steward to lalcc 
cliarife of the same, so that all waste he 
ptevenlLtl. 

" If any person require anything more 
than this hrfod iInJ butter, lie |q provide 
bimself thcrcwiih."* 

Finally, however, gunpotrder pre- 
vailed ; and the aborigines retreated 
to forests beyond the reach of the 
Paif 'faces / schoolmasters and minis- 
ters had been sent over from Holland, 
and the inhabitants of Manhattan 
Island, as well as the other Htilc settle- 
ments up the river, began to live a 



^HM.JffW .Vfth,., vol. i. p. 37, 



• O'CkllKclun. m»L TOL i. M. 111. eh. 9. 



^ 



A Ghost Story of the Revolution, 



mOtQ spintual life, and to gather 
around them by degrees all that 
troop of unearthly beings well-known 
in the mother country. Little cliiU 
dren were encouraged to be good 
and expect Santa Klaus, and bad 
ones were no longer frightened into 
propriety with the threat c^ being 
devoured by some hideous Waran- 
ancongyn with tomahawk and scalp- 
ing-knife. 

One of the spots first renowned 
for ghostly adventures was a plea- 
sant little valleylike place, on the 
northern limits of the town, called 
Medge Pailje (now Maiden Lane), 
where a clear stream ran between 
grassy banks, so gentle and noiseless 
that it carried the gazer's heart back 
— far back over the ocean to the 
canals of Faderlandt, and was a per- 
fect relief from the lashing waves 
of the great North River. Hither, 
on pleasant summer afternoons, many 
a gude vrow would turn her steps with 
her troop of sturdy urchins, and, work 
in hand, knitting, knitting, all the way. 
But they were always careful to re- 
turn before dark ; for such fearful 
tales had been told, principally of a tall 
woman in white who always vanished 
in the direction of Golden Hill (now 
John Street), that no one cared to 
make her acquaintance. 

Long years after this, when the 
palisades marking the extent of the 
city had been removed as far north 
as what is now Warren Street, and a 
field of barky flourished on the Hee- 
rewegh (now Uroadway), somewhat 
about the present City Hall, we again 
hear of the same api»arilion. The 
Rev. John Kimball, passing along the 
little stream rather late at night, heard 
steps, and, looking behind him, saw 
the spectre j of course he fled. 
Doubtless she was the bearer of sonic 
important message from the spirit- 
land which she was anxious to com- 
municate, but, as no one ever stop- 



ped to listen, what it was can now 
never be known. 

Mr. Watson, in his Annals of Nem 
York, relates a story given by a mili- 
tary geoUeman c^ his own encounter 
with an apparition in that same place. 
The captain declares, and doubtless 
believed, that he bravely attacked it, 
and discovered only a mischievoui 
mortal in disguise; but it is haidljr 
probalie tliat any mortal in his sensa 
would be personating a ghost at 
midnight on haunted ground, so that 
the tale, being rather one-sided evi- 
dence, is doubtful. 

Another solitary place was Wind- 
mill Lane,* which led from Broadway 
between Conlandt and Liberty 
Streets down quite a steep hill, m 
a northwest direction, to the riv- 
er edge, where stood a windnulL 
There was a time when this lane 
was the most northern street in 
the settlement; then house after 
house began to be built around the 
old mill, and the city crept up grad- 
ually in that direction. Among 
those who made their homes there 
was a French lady, Madame Blom- 
peaux, who had crossed the ocean 
to teach the rising generation all she 
knew — French and embroidery. Two 
paths led to her establishment, one 
through the l<ane, the other throu^ 
a wheatfield, where now is St. Paul'i 
church, and both were beset with 
s])ectres. Alas for the scholar kept 
in after the others were dismissed! 
Lightly did the offended majesty of 
madame weigh in the balance com- 
pared to what might possibly bc- 
league the path homeward. There 
was a legend of a tall Indian who 
was always digging about for his 
bow and arrows, and a little short 
Dutchman about a foot high in 
breeches and cocked hat, who, the 
moment he found them, sprang into 

* Watson's /^mjui/j^AVtc Vm-k. 



A Gh^t Story of the Rcvoluiton, 



m somewhere an<] ktcketl the 
: them, and the Indian began 
h again t* 

he section of country most 
for spcctraj manifestations 
region about the Kjiatskill 
iiks. Darkly wooded glens, 
;ly streams, and deep ravines 
the most ample facilities fot 
ofsigns and wonders. Indeed, 
ih settlers that dwelt in that by- 
existence, on the little clear- 
th*it here and there dotted 
bcape, were so quiet and or- 
I £ar removed from the corn- 
that agitated the river colo- 
wonder ethereal beings found 
npnaionship most congenial, 
ectlcrs liatl removed thither 
f from the neighborhood of 

Ke, and principally, nay, I 
|dy« in disgust at the ge- 
IT and discomfort which 
everything in proximity to 
1, unrlcf the joint dommion 
Vacroon of Rensselacrwyck 
agent )r who resided there, 
[Ctor-Gencral Pctrus Stuyve- 

fulminated his bulls &om 
h end of the Hudson; the 
tonry edicts of the rival par- 
tg aU'jiys diametrically op- 

1 each other. 

nith i& thai« from the moment 

' SCayvesant landed at Man- 

ippoi»te<l there by the States- 

of the L'nited Netherlands, 

carried matters with such a 

\: t'ver)'thing succumb- 

The boldest spirits 

tiK rule, and (to continue the 

»r) he walkctl over them. His 

la law without reason or ex- 

a. lie had even been known 

:n a Ituubiesome state audi- 

icaring up the documents 

tit^inii tlie deputation. 



'tUr of Uik pntiiwri ivn plecet of cn- 
oot b]r oai «( ■mUibb'i papUs. 



Thus ruled the governor at Man- 
hattan ; but when Brant Arcnt Van 
Slechtcnhorst was sent over from 
Holland as agent for the heir of the 
last palroon— J ohannes Van Renssc^ 
laer, a minor — Pctrus Stuyvesant 
met his match. Commander Slech- 
tcnhor^t was in popular estimation 
" a person of stubborn and headstrong 
temper."* 

When Stuyvesant directed Carl 
von Brugge to quarry stone and cut 
wood for repairs on Fort Orange, 
nearly destroyed by a freshet, Drant 
dared the deputy to touch stone or 
stick at his peril, cither for fortifica* 
tion or firewood ; for the trees, root 
and branch, all belonged to his em. 
ployer the patioon ! He further fur- 
bade any of the inhabitants tu aid 
tliem with horses, etc., while at the 
same time he was building a house 
himself not a pistol-shot from the 
fort. The news being carried to 
Manhattan, the director sent some 
soldiers to demolish the offending 
house now being built, and arrest ' 
tlic offender. Tiiis was more easily 
ordered than accomplished, so the 
.soldiers held a parley with him, and 
were cautioned, among other bits of 
good advice, to take warning by one 
Jacob Jansen, who had not long be- 
fore cut two fir-trees — eight days after 
he was seized with hii> plunder on 
the river by the patroon's officer, andJ 
duly punished! with the stunning] 
point to the climax: " Can't he do so , 
now ?" All this being duly reported ] 
to the great director at Manhattan, 
it was deenieil best to seek supplies 
beyond the domain of Rensselacr- 
wyck, *' stones from the mountains, 
rocks, and plains — timber from any- 
where within the limits of New Neth- 
erlands— to have a wagon made, and 
take the horses of Jonas Bronck, who 

• OXalkiglwii, mtf.y vol. IL p. fa. 



366 



A Ghost Story of the Revolution, 



was in debt to the company," and 
whose opinions on the subject were 
of course of no consequence. As 
for pulling down the house recently 
erected, Herr Van Slechtenhorst point- 
ed to the fact that Fort Orange stood 
on the very soil of his employer, and 
that it was his intention at some lei- 
sure day to annihilate it. So went 
matters, until at last, when Stuyve- 
sant ordered a solemn fast, and Van 
Slechtenhorst absolved all in his lati- 
tude from obedience, human patience 
could stand it no longer, and the in- 
sulted autocrat rushed to Albany in 
the swiftest sailing sloop that could 
be found ; there, as has been said, to 
meet his match. 

But our business is not with these 
belligerents, but with those peacefully 
disposed burghers, who had grown 
tired more and more, year after year, 
with this turmoil, which seemed now 
to have reached its height. Armed 
soldiers were in their midst (for sev- 
en had been sent up from Manhat- 
tan), and when the talk was of razing 
houses, why, even tlie neighboring 
Indians came crowding in to ask 
what the SwanncHns were about. 

Happily another home opened to 
them, and very many packed up all 
their worldly goods and migrated. 
This home was the region about the 
Kaatskill. One part of the mission 
of Herr Van Slechtenhorst when sent 
over the ocean was " to acquire by 
purchase the lands around Kaatskill 
for the greater security of the colo- 
nic, as they were forming companies 
to remove thither." • 

On the land thus obtained, they 
had nothing to fear from Indian 
opposition, and the kind of domes- 
tic life they coveted is pictured in 
a lease yet extant in the Van Rens- 
selaer family, dated 165 1, wherein 
the tenant binds himself to "read 

• O'CallAClua, Hitt.^ toL il. ch. ir. 



a sNinon or portion of Sci 
every Sunday and festival t 
neighboring Christians, and tc 
hymns before and after p 
after the custom of the C 
of Holland." Years in that 
nook of creation brought few 
chang'es; their habitations had 
to be grouped together somt 
town fashion, and were dignifii 
a name much too long, and u 
nounceable except by a Dutch to 
but well loved because traceat 
Holland; and there life aftei 
passed away like great waves 
stream — one disappears and an 
takes its place. 

Such were the mortal inhab 
of the place ; but the invisible 
tion of the community — their 
was Legion ! It seemed the 
place of refuge- for all sorts of 
less personages who had been t 
ed and expelled from other pi 
indeed, if a census had been take 
cording to the old wives' stories, 
aggregate numbers would have 
up near half the population ( 
village. 

In one portion of the spot 1 
might truly have been callet 
supernatural reservation was a 
ravine, which bore traces of b 
once been the bed of a moi 
stream. At this period 1 
time before the old French wi 
sole inhabitants were a moro 
looking woodman and his age 
ther, and their dwelling-place 
miserable hut perched on rock 
so hidden by gnarled and twiste 
and a dense undergrowth of ! 
as to be almost invisible to ai 
its occupants. Why they estat 
themselves in that uninviting 
or what were the events of thd 
previous to their appearance 
their unintelligible English £ai 
communicate, nor was there ai 
the sullen taciturnity of both 



A Ghesi Story of the Revolution, 



■presence of a siranger, or in 
and tearful bickerings heard 
I m thetr hovel by the passer- 
it orated a dciirc to fathom 
Kery. When the news arriv- 
; French and English bad met, 
ftcasls in the glen, strange to 
jprc tlie only ones in the settle- 
hose lurtiiocs seemed in any 
be afiected by it. Their dis- 
ere heard louder and more 
than ever before, to end, 
a tragedy. The man, tired 
of his monotonous existence, 
ing Also to belter his for- 
as desirous of joining the 
war, yet, feeling at the same 
essity of his support to 
ilher, he strove to wring 
a consent to his departure, 
sought in vain. The aged 
to her consciousness of utter 
Btess, added doubtless a na- 
ire for his safety^ and con- 
I withheld. Opposition gond- 
and in a moment of passion 
dc her Hfelcss to the ground, 
iiniscrable parricide fled, and 
USi in rains. Time passed 
war was ended, and peace 

row, when the tragedy of the 
y\ grown to be an old story, 
d by a winter evening's 6re, 
to be whispered — and it 
itrificd the senses of every 
-that Dark Rob, as he was 
or his spectre, had returned 
Id abode t 

ine cared to investigate the 
very closely. A light was cer- 
icn flickering in the ruined 
a phantom-like thing in 
glided about the spot, 
would choose to remain 
, so it must be the shatle 
Rob, on lh« theatre of his 
\ crime! 

an evil deed was related of 
biii second sojourn in the 



hut ; but one of the most evil, becaus 
passing ail comprehension, was the^ 
strange influence he contrived to ac- 
\\\x\xv: by ways unknown over a stur- 
dy farmer named Janscn Van Dorp. 
How they first met was perfectly in- 
explicable; for goblin Rob had never 
been visible in any of the ordinary 
paths of the setUemenl, and, although 
Jans was one of the very few who 
laughed to scorn the idea of a ghost, 
he would scarcely venture in his 
sober senses to penetrate the dark 
shadows of the haunted hovel unin- 
vited. In whatever way it happen- 
ed, events proved their close intima- 
cy ; his steps were watched, and trac- 
ed night after night to the hut, where 
they held their unholy orgies. 

As a matter of course, the worldly i 
affairs of Jans Van Dorp became di»-* 
jointed things. His vrow had always 
borne a close resemblance to the 
helpmate of Socrates, and it is not 
to l>e supposed that such doings oa J 
the part of her truant spouse added' 
to her sweetness of temper. 

The most irritating part wa.s the 
sudden taciturn spirit which seem- 
ed to possess the mynheer. Taunts, 
sneers, questions, reproaches, all were 
in vain ! This was both new and 
alarming, because on no ])revious oc- 
casion had he ever been backward in 
contributing his share to the Babel 
din of their wordy skirmishes. It 
confirmed, alas! her worst suspicions,, j 
namely, that he was In toils and] 
snares beyond all mortal power of 
extrication. 

Great light was thrown on the 
affair by a shrewd neighbor, Effie 
Dcmson, who, having migrated to 
America from the flighlands of 
Scotland (and by some otid chance 
wandered down to the K..iaiski1t), 
was allowed to be esfiecially vers- 
ed in hobgoblin ethics. She affirm- 
ed that she had often heard from 
reliable authority that, whenever a 



268 



A Ghost Story of the RevolutUm, 



mortal is aamitted to the society of 
spirits, an oath of secrecy is imposed 
luider a penalty few would care to 
brave. She cited the cases of several 
imprudent individuals who, having 
violated this compact, suffered fear- 
ful consequences. One was Alice 
Pearson, of Byrehill, somewhere about 
1588. Having been introduced to 
the invisible world by a friend, and 
joined them in " piping, mirth, and 
good cheer " (to use her own words), 
she was warned that, if she ever re- 
lated what she had seen, '* she should 
be martyred." One day, when she 
began to speak of these things, an 
unseen blow took away her breath 
and left an ugly mark on her side \ 
heedless of the warning, Alice con- 
tinued her revelations until she was 
burned as a witch, thus fulfilling her 
doom.* Every one in the Highlands 
knew, too, the terrible visitation that 
had lighted on one kirk for having 
pried into secrets merely to publish 
them. Every one knew that he was a 
mere wandering gypsy in the uni- 
verse, and would be to the end of 
time. 

EfRe generally concluded her ora- 
cles with the remnant of an old song, 
written about fairies particularly, but 
equally applicable to any unearthlies. 
It was called 

"CvdttMtrcjr IV HI. 

" To be iud; or whistled to the tune of Mta- 

iov) Brow by the learned ; by the unlearaed, to 
the tune of Fortmne, 

" A telKtale in their companie 

They nerer could endure. 

But whoio kept not secrecy 

Their deed was punished sure. 
It was s. just and Christian deed 

To pinch such black and blue." 
Etc., ete., etc. 

Pott tea SIremnia. 

As this bore the antique date of 
1648, and was written by Corbet, 



■ TV/ifA /«"» tAt Crimimmi R»c*rtU m/ Scot- 
JkfHl. By R. PitcaJrn, Esq. 



Bishop of Norwich, it was coi 
ed good authority for anything 

This, then, explained the u 
silence of Jans Van Dorp, i 
also half-reconciled his gnde vi 
endure her unsatisfied curiosit) 
wonder and to be afflicted nigl: 
night by his truant absence wa 
enough, but to have seen him 
in blue smoke would have 
worse. 

Things were passing thus ii 
sequestered little spot, white th( 
world without was agitated 
mightier events — the opening : 
of the Revolutionary war. It is 
ful whether the faint rumors 
which penetrated the seclusion 
would have excited the least 
tion, except for the fact that 
the only earthly topic on whic' 
Van Dorp nowadays man 
the least interest. Every Dut 
lager, whose business led him 
great cities, was questioned anc 
questioned on his return as 
precise state of things, with 
nuteness which would have do 
nor to that renowned lawyer 
Adrian Van der Donck, the fir 
landed in the New Netherland 
one little gray newspaper that 
ed weekly, and had hitherto ci 
ed among his neighbor until 
quite illegible, was now pack 
mediately in his great-coat 
and taken to his ghostly partn 
this was a perfect labyrinth of 
ry, and furnished texts for n 
sage conjecture and dubious 
of the head. Some hinted th; 
Van Dorp might mean to 
execution the threat he had t 
often heard to hurl at his in 
helpmate when her vexatiou 
bility exceeded all bounds of 
ance — that he'd be off to son 
But time puts an end to all 
although it does not always 1 
things to universal satisfaction. 



Tki RtUgi&us MtnH'vunt in Germany. 



369 



Qn thought or meant 
B(bom<;(J, but some 
matters ot hUtory ; and it 
cd £act that the very mo- 
little dingy newspaper 
tidings that the first canaous 
hod boomed, Jan^en Van 
prted as if his doom was 
f conneclcd with it. It waa 
\ darlt ami stormy, hut he 
b hat, and rushed from tlK 
glow of his own home to the 
Eirkncss without, and they 
id he was bound to the 
I hovel I Too probable, for 
I hour neither Jans nor spec- 
Iver seen there more, 
luld ratlier be said, never 
luortol <tfu/t/ be seen, for by 
I was still considered an in- 
|of the selUement, although 
ver to his hnple^ vrow. He 
her in dreams, and warn- 
^f scvuething she could not 
tmcniber, but very terrible, 
oa these occasions such 



diverge accounts of himself, it was 
hard to tell what to lielieve. To Kf- 
fie he bad frequently prcscntetl him- 
self She bad seen him in the cotfee 
dregs, in leaves at the bottom of her 
tea-cup, in a mirror which she had 
cut triangular for that express ptu-- 
pose, and, finally, in a tremendous 
thunder-storm, standing close beside 
her. 

As he gave no sign on these oc- 
casions, her charitable conclusion was 
that he had nothing very good to 
relate of himself. 

Many months after this, one of 
the most intelligent mynheers of tlie 
settlement, having been called by 
business to a far eastern city, declar- 
ed on his return that, among a troop 
wf soUlicrs marching to the frontiers, 
he had recognized Jans Van Dorp 
and Dark Rob; but, as he failed in 
speaking to them, his assertion pass- 
ed for nothing, and his story was 
dismissed as mere moonshine, too 
absurd to be believed. 



aiGIOUS MOVEMENT IN GERMANY. AND THE 
\I:RACTJ0N DU CENTRE IN THE GERMAN 
PARLIAMENT. 



TRANH-AntD r«OH TMS lUkX'i. CSHSIIAU. 



!tic calm generally suc- 
political agitation at the 
" lativc sessions. An ex- 
is rule prevails in the 
?fnpire, inasmucli as the at- 
linst the Frailion tin C^nire^ 
tgan during the session, in- 
io an actual storm at the 
the diet. Most of the for- 
nals have spoken of this phc- 
Iwt in so unsatisfactory a 
pcrha[)5 a more minute 



account of the movement will not 
be displeasing to the readers of the 
Rauc C/ii/rale. 

I have already indicated in a gen 
eral way, in an account of the par- 
ties in the German Parliament, tin. 
attitude and tendency of the Catho- 
lic party, or the so-called Ftaetion du 
Cenftr. 

Tlie bases upon which it is found- 
ed are as ioHows : 



270 



The Religious Movement in Germany. 



The Fraction au Centre in the Ger- 
man Parliament limits its activity by 
the following principles : 

" I. The fundamental characteris- 
tics of the empire as a confederation 
{Bundesstaai) shall be maintained. 
Conformably to this principle, all ef- 
forts shall be opposed that tend to 
modify the feder^ character of Che 
constitution of the empire, and the 
spontaneity and independence of the 
several states in their interior affairs 
shall only be sacrificed when the ge- 
neral interests evidently require it. 

" II. The material and moral wel- 
fare of the popular classes shall be 
urgently insisted upon. The civil 
and religious liberty of all the sub- 
jects of the empire shall be secured 
by means of constitutional guaran- 
tees, and religious associations, in 
particular, shall be protected against 
legislative encroachments. 

"in. The Fraction weighs and 
forms resolutions in accordance with 
these principles, upon all questions 
submitted to the deliberation of the 
parliament, but without forbidding 
isolated members to vote in the as- 
sembly contrary to the decisions of 
the Fraction.^* 

The Fraction remained faithful to 
these principles during the session of 
the pariiament that has just closed. 
It avoided all extreme views, and 
manifested no systematic hostility to 
the government. Nevertheless, the 
very fact that it is composed of Ca- 
tholics firmly resolved to defend the 
rights and liberties of the church 
against all attacks, and that these 
Catholics were elected from the most 
prosperous and intelligent sections of 
Germany, where pseudo-liberalism 
thought its rule immovably establish- 
ed, sufficed to excite against the 
Fraction a coalition of all who were 
opposed to the church. Their in- 
vectives began with the debates on 
the address. The form of address 



proposed by the national liber 
ty contained, besides some c 
sions in praise of the historic 
of the adversaries of the Papai 
following sentence : " The ds 
interference with the national 
of other kingdoms will, we 
never return under any pret< 
under any form." This sentea 
structive of all national right 
evidently aimed against Roi 
was partly acknowledged : tl 
lian revoluHon was not to be 
ed by diplomatic representati 
the accomplishment of its <j 
against the visible head of the c 
Naturally, it would not have 
red to any one to impose al 
passiveness on the powerful G 
Empire in its relations with 
boring states. The party of th 
tre drew up a counter-schedule, 
did not contain the prop<siti 
absolute non-intervention wc 
just referred to, but which was 
theless in conformity with the t 
of the liberals, lliis counte 
dule did not demand, either <: 
or indirectly, any intervention 
vor of the Pope : it containec 
ing that clashed either with th 
emment or the other partie 
consequently was not the obj 
criticism in any quarter. So 
this, that the Allgemeim Zeit 
Augsburg, the chief organ oi 
religious liberalism, could m 
guise its preference for the sc 
of the Centre as to its subst: 
well as form. Nevertheless, ' 
the Centre remained wholly < 
defensive, and its orators ex 
the greatest moderation, a rea 
of invectives was raised again: 
and the church by the jouma' 
all the other parties and by tl 
liament. Even the so-called > 
vaiives took sides against the 
whose motion, thanks to the 
cries, only obtained sixty vol 



Tlu Reiighus Movettunt in Gitmanjf. 



271 



n made shortly after by 
r in the interesis of civil 
I tlic same faie. This pro- 
od for its object the admis- 
ifvcral principles into the 
in of the German Empire 
1 been sanctioned by the 
onstitution. As ttiese prin- 
ranteed the independence 
lurch — the Evangelifai as 
ic Catholic (.'Vrt. 15, Pruss. 
he proposition was opposed 
ftnc bitterness, even by a 
trity of the Catholic dcpu- 
iid not belong to the /r*'- 
'en4n. Among these was 
I Fnuikenberg, of Silesia, 
e tsiember had given his 
written promise to vote in 
e with the proposition of 
iw du Centre, But in the 
t made against it, he de- 
It he did not consider the 
en by the Fraction as op- 
In his ignorance of Judi- 
th he probably is not fami- 
the adage : Quoii sine dU 
\tim dtbttur, 

■action du Centre made no 
L'pendent motions during 
k tliat could incur any at- 
iit the ** clerical parly " was 
be more vehemently at the 
so the Centre found itself 
ked to a cross fire. The 
liir has been related in the 
We will confine ourselves 
tient that gives a tolerably 
ca of the majority, 
the election of Dr. Schiit- 
muiutcd from the district 
rg, and belonging to the 
IW Centre^ the curate of a 
A within that district aa- 
rom the pulpit, after divine 
^' -'r. ._• of his parishioners 
'~e in him couki as- 
>ftcr church to 
.vas preferable, 
[his opinion. This in- 



vitation appeared to the majority an 
iutolerable infringement on tilccioral 
liberty as well as an abuse of the 
pulpit, and the election of Dr. Schiit- 
tinger was annulled. A new ballot 
gave the same candidate a thousand 
more votes than at first. At the nejtt 
session, the validity of this re-election 
will be submitieil to the decision of 
the parliament, and the question 
arises if the majority will be fully 
satisfied respecting the electoral lib- 
erty of the district of Bamberg. But 
the Belgian Cadiolics know by long 
ex[>erience what their adversaries 
mean by electoral rasiuuuvrcs, 

In all the occurrences we have re- 
ferred to, the government showetl it- 
self entirely passive, so there was no 
real conflict between it and the party 
of the Centre. When the debate 
look place respecting Alsace* Lorraine, 
our party proposed to ensure to those 
provinces the most independent ex- 
istence possible, and a sejwirate con- 
stitution. Prince Bismarck did not 
exactly agree with this, but his opin- 
ions coincided far ofloner with those 
of the deputies Windtliorst and 
Rcichensperger than with tliose of 
the leaders of the other parties. On 
the whole, no instance can Ik men- 
tioned in wliich the Frtutton du Cen- 
tre is in flagrant hostility to that pow- 
erful statesman. It even openly op- 
posed an interpellation respecting the 
Konian question, in order not to ex- 
cite any irritating debates and ap< 
pear suspicious of the goud intentions 
of the emperor and chancellor. In 
spite of this, it was reported during 
the session that the Fraction du Cen- 
tre had incurred the disapprobation 
of the chancellor of the empire. The 
Deutsche Hetchscorrespondenz, the or- 
gan of the so-called liberal conserva- 
tives, gave some foundation (o this 
report by pretending that the Count 
dc TautTkirchen had, according to 
the instructions of Prince Bismarck, 



272 



The Religious Mavetfunt in Germany^ 



accused the Fraction 4u Centre to 
Cardinal Antonelli of having assum- 
ed an attitude hostile to the govern- 
ment of the empire, and that the 
cardinal had expressed his disap- 
proval of this attitude not only be- 
fore the Count de Tauifkirchen, but 
in a letter addressed to the leaders 
of the Fraction, lliis assertion be- 
ing repeated in several quarters, the 
said leaders denied it in the journals. 
Driven to the wall, the Deutsche 
Reiehscorrespondenx then brought up 
the case of the Count de Franken- 
berg already mentioned, and at last 
Prince Bismarck himself declared the 
blame really proceeded from Cardi- 
nal Antonelli. This induced the Bi- 
shop of Mayence to ascertain the 
correct account of the matter from 
the cardinal His eminence replied 
that it had been incorrectly reported 
to him that the Fraction du Cetitre 
had insisted upon the Emperor of 
Germany's intervention in favor of 
the Pope, and that, under the exist- 
ing circumstances, he had declared 
such a step inopportune. At the 
same time, the cardinal assured the 
Bishop of Mayence and his friends 
that he had a particular esteem for 
the members of the Fraction du Cen- 
tre and its proclivities. Thus failed 
the effort made at the court of Rome 
to bring discredit on the Fraction 
among Catholics, for at once a great 
number of Catholics gave in their full 
adhesion to the Fraction, and be- 
sought it to persevere courageously. 
This effort had, moreover, a comic 
side, for until now the Fraction had 
been represented as the servile tool 
of the Roman curia, whence it re- 
ceived its orders on all important 
questions. 

No general interest would be felt 
in all these facts, if they were not 
the clear prelude of an act the con- 
sequences of which cannot be fore- 
seen. It is not the acts of the Frac- 



Afn du Centre that provoke tl 
lent attacks against it : it is il 
existence that is considered a 
Those hostile to the church h: 
culated, without distinction of 
that the very first diet of the G 
Empire would aim a blow at 
manism " in Germany, on th( 
of which would afterwards 
national German church, that 
finally end in a cosmopolitan 
manitarianism," without d< 
without sacraments, and withi 
tars — the very beau itUai o 
masonry. Everything, in fact 
ed propitious for the realizat 
this hope. The two principal 
lie nations successively con( 
the Roman race suffering fii 
cessant convulsions, the head 
Catholic Church a prisoner 
Vatican, and, finally, a schisi 
seemed likely to arise on acco 
the dogma of infallibility — all s 
to form a breach by which 
hoped their opponents wou 
overcome. Only, as an ancient 
says : " Man proposes, but G 
poses!" 

The election of the Prussi 
puties and the members of th 
man Parliament has already 
lyzed the action of these regen 
of humanity, by rousing the i 
lies to an energy not easily 
surmounted. The complete 
of the representatives electei 
their bold stand, showed it wo 
quite useless for the legislati 
semblies at Berlin to make i 
rious charge against Catholicisi 
the contrary, it was hoped at 
that the initiative would be ta 
Munich, where " the Luthn 
nineteenth century " had rai 
standard of revolt against tl 
man Pontificate. But Muni< 
likewise under the influence ' 
sions. It was supposed thai 
Hefele, the Bishop of Rothi 



The Religious Movement in Ccnnany. 




ihe saactioa of episcopal 
to the influence of the 
D&ssor DoUinger, and ititis 

COUI5C. It was still more 
tt a great number of the 
be theological scniinancs 

fto the appeal of JJol- 
able adherents. Diil- 
tt&y be remembered, had 
^red that thousands of 
■^ exactly as he did. 
1^ Hdcle remained faith- 
Pope, and the German 
IDimou&ly declared that 
aaertion was a calumny. 
of Bavaria himself, who 
Itliiiger so many proofs 
Kbesitated a long time 
I his support, because 
help seeing that the 
movement was 
bjra political party whose 
Aly tended to meciiatize 
g houses of the second 
ranks in order to form a 
centralized Gcnnany, in 
\ the empire of Napoleon 
w efforts naturally met 
■tiavorable concurrence 
H the democrats ; for an 
PS kind, established on 
id " hbcral " basis, would 
art of fatality, lo a rcpub- 
ly u llicy first succeeded 
Q.y with the religious and 

iitipps. 

^v after the closs of the 
^%-e was opened at Rer- 
" clericals," and cspe- 
Fmcticn du Centre. 
rnals did their best lo 
*' moilem progress " 
Jl the obstacles that 
, and to increase the 
that had so l<jng 
iu influence on the 
[let. The whole German 
exception of a dozen 
ally joined in the cho- 
goi) AD attack on the 
i3 



Catholics, the like of which had not 
been witnessed since the Archbishop 
of Cologne was sent under guard to 
the fortress of Minden^ under the 
pretext that he had conspired with 
tlie two revolutionary parties against 
the Prussian government. 

The Gertimn Catholics are accus- 
tomed to these kinds of accusations, 
which have passed through all possi- 
ble variations. Thus, the Catholics 
of the Rhcnisli proviijces have been 
successively accused, according to 
the circumstances of the moment, of 
jiloiting with France, Belgium, Ba- 
varia, and Austria, against Prussia, 
and of considering the Pope as their 
legitimate sovereign. Foreigners can 
hardly credit what 1 am obliged to 
relate here, and, if they should, it 
would excite their risibility. Unfor- 
tunately, these absurdities have a 
serious side for the Prussian Catho- 
lics. Independently of the circum- 
stance that these perfidious calumnies, 
systematically repeated, might per- 
vert public opinion in those sections 
of Germany where Protestantism 
prevails, they serve as a pretext for 
practically refusing Catliolics the 
open equality which they should 
share with the adhereuts of other re- 
ligions. For example, all the higher 
olticcs of influence are, with very 
rare exceptions, filled by Protestants, 
who, as a matter of com^e, specially 
favor the ititerests of their co-religion- 
ists in every way, and, so to speak, 
are obliged to do so, because genu- 
ine Catholics are officially designated 
as unpatriotic An exact list of the 
functionaries of the German com- 
munes and government, drawn up 
with reference to the religion of each 
one, would be a valuable statistic, 
because it would incontestably es- 
tablish how far the principle of sunm 
cui/iue^ which constitutionally recog- 
nizes the c<iuality of Christian sects, 
is really applied. It is evident tbat 




2^4 



The Religious Movement iu Germany. 



such a report will never be published 
or drawn up by the authorities, con- 
sequently the formation of a private 
agency to cflccl such an object is an 
urgent necessity. Perhaps this report 
might at last put an end to the 
constantly repeated accusations of 
the base ingratitude of Catholics 
against the Prussian government 
The clear judgment of Frederick 
William IV., and the constitutions 
that sprang from the events of 1848, 
guaranteed a liberty of action to the 
Catholic Church and its organs 
which had not existed in any German 
state since the peace of Westphalia. 
The Prussian Catholics displayed a 
lively gratitude for this, and flattered 
themselves Avith the hope that several 
crying injustices which weighed on 
them would be removed, espceially 
in the conferring of public offices 
and the nomination of professors at 
the universities. This hope was then 
the more reasonable, because, in the 
war against France, Catholics, as 
well as Protestants, shed their blood 
on the battle-fields, and submitted to 
the heaviest requisitions. The reli- 
gious orders particularly signalized 
tlieniselves by their services, as the 
recently published report of the 
Knights of Malta (Catholics) prove. 
Unfortunately, this \\o^ has already 
given place to serious preoccupation. 
Prince Hismarck appears no longer 
able to endure repose. Having van- 
quished our foreign enemies, beseems 
to aim, unless all appearances de- 
ceive us. at making adversaries of the 
C"athoIics of Ciermany and causing 
them to feel the weight of his hand. 
Perhaps he is influenced by the con- 
sideration that military unity, to be 
on a S(»lid basis, should be founded 
on, or crowned by. political anil reli- 
gious unity. At all events, this is the 
opinion of the liberal party, whose 
course involuntarily recalls the ex- 
pression of Tacitus, " Kiurc in sef'i- 



tium /' whereas, while M. de fiisnuidt 
was rising to power, they abused hui 
beyond all bounds. These worshippea 
of success have for allies the Catho> 
lies who are not willing to submit to 
the decrees of the Council of the W 
tican. In the jargon of the liberals, 
these Neo- Protestants are designated 
as old Cathohcs, while the immeiue 
majority of Catholics who now, « 
formerly, consider the authority of 
the Pope and bishops in religion 
things as higher than that of cenaii 
professors, are styled Neo-Catholio, 
absolutely as if they had abandoned 
the Hiith of the church. A foreigna 
would find it difficult to understand 
how it is possible to give a complet6 
ly opposite meaning to the real rig- 
nification of a word, and this in a 
country like Germany, which prida 
itself on its intelligence. 

Itut it is not the anti-religious jow> 
nals alone that take this liberty. M. 
de Miihler himself, the Prussian miih 
ister of the public worship, treats the 
Catholics, who remaui faithful to tbe 
decrees of the Pope and bishops a5^^ 
bels to the government. Inimediitdj 
after the suspension of the couocil, be 
took under his protection the profe^ 
sors, even those who were priests, who 
refused to submit to the decisioDS of 
the council and the bishops, and en- 
couraged them in their revolt against 
ecclesiastical authority. Recently, i 
Propos of the aflair of the Dishop of 
Krniland, he went so far as to submit 
to the ministry of I'russia, composed 
exclusively of Protestants, a resoludoi 
to ascertain what Catholics should 
be considered as orthodox, and he 
ordered a priest named Wollmann, 
who had been excluded from the fold 
of the church by major excommuiii* 
cation, to retain his professorship as 
religious instructor in the Catholic 
college of IJraunsberg. The students, 
unwilling to receive religious instrac- 
tion from a i:dlen priest, left the cd* 



Tke Keli^hus Movement in Germany. 



275 



'were ihus obliged to 
lost of their studies, as tliere 
:r eitablishment of the kind 
(berg. It should also be re- 
hat the College of Brauns- 

foiiiulcd by a bishop and 

by Catholic foundations. 
,&notl)cr priest named Katn- 
twisc excommunicated, was 
I to a church that he might 
tbc divine service for those 
ested against the Council of 
au. In a word, everj- where 
ayreoson, or even a pretext, 
Bpjil authority is sacrificed 
Who refu<« them the obe- 
►Icmnly sworn lo them, or 
pnfaithful 10 the church by 
ie episcopal crosier the b^- 
)olice of^ccr. On all sides 
latations, more and more 
ig, that an end must be 
•*ilomanism," that Gennan 
lould take the place of ido> 
Bpistry, and the echo of 
I to be found in the papers 

their inspiration from the 
\ bureaux. 

spite of the great power of 
ian government, theccntral- 
thcir severe mortification, 
ibilul about succeeding in 
iniztng a persecution against 
dHcs unless the other Ger- 
rcmiuenls, or at least the 
lortant of them, declare war 
he church. The ^^^urtem- 
cnimctit was so wise as to 
rom the first that it would 
e decisions of the Council 
tican as long as no one was 
1 by it against the laws and 
on of the kingdom. As this 

would never be the case, 
tcmbcrg ministry, if the na- 
tcrals who have just begun 
r in tbc assembly of rcprc- 
[ ai Stuttgart do not im- 
fliercnt policy on thera, will 
remain 



with respect to the church, as is the 
case in Belgium, Holland, England, 
the United States, and every country 
where genuine liherty prevails. The 
statesmen who govern those coun* 
tries do not allow their slumbers to 
be disturbed by the decrees of the 
Council of the Vatican, and deem it 
beneath their dignity to regard them 
as a pretext to form a kind of Cae- 
saro-papism, 

.As we have remarked, the course 
of the Ravarian government in the 
ulterior development of this agitation, 
will be of great importance. The 
pressure brought to bear on that 
government by Prussia and all the 
liartics inimical to the church has 
led to the retirement of ^Count Bray, 
whose devQtedness to the church is 
well-known. Nevertheless, (he king 
has not fully decided to create, by 
an open rupture with the religious aa- 
thorines, unforeseen comphcations in 
his kingdom, already so shaken, and 
to recompense by moral Wolence the 
fidelity of those of his subjects who 
have shown themselves the most de- 
voted partisans of the dynasty of 
Wiltelsbach. This question, so pain- 
ful for the majority of Bavarians, will 
be doubtless decided before this ar- 
ticle is published. 

Having given a general outline of 
the present state of affairs, I am led 
to ask myself what, before the end of 
the year, will be the stand of the Ca- 
tholic representatives who arc still 
faithful to the church in the legisla- 
tive assemblies of Prussia and the 
German empire. The reports of 
those deputies to their electors ap- 
pear to me adapte<l to strengthen 
them in their resolution to continue 
to struggle courageously against the 
supremacy of the slate as well as 
against revolutionary absolution, and 
to remain defenders of the church 
and of all constitutional rights against 



itnctly passive the false apostles of liberty and an 



2y6 



The Religious Movement in Gerniany, 



arbitrary ministry. At all events, I 
imagine these deputies will smile 
with pity when they hear themselves 
styled unpatriotic by some parties in 
imitation of a part of the journals 
hostile to the church, or even accus- 
ed of conspiring with foreigners or 
the Interftationale, Some papers, in 
Cact, have not shrunk from the ridi- 
cule attached to such foolish accusa- 
tions. Does not this having to re- 
sort to such imputations prove the 
want of any serious charge against 
the members of the Centre ? They 
are evidently not credited by those 
who make use of them, nor is any 
attempt made to convince others of 
their truth. 

The members of the Fraction du 
Centre figure, for the most part, 
among the notabilities of their dis- 
tricts. Many of them have occu- 
pied or occupy some public office 
with honor: and several have, for 
many years, showed their constant 
zeal ift^the old Prussian house of leg- 
islation, where they had a scat, and 
gave theii devoted support to the 
government in the crisis of the year 
1848 and the following year, often 
at the expense of their popularity. 
They were often known to defend 
the authorities against the attacks of 
those who are now endeavoring to 
excite the government against them. 

In support of what I have just 
stated, it is sufficient to recall the 
names of those whom the confidence 
of their colleagues chose as a com- 
mittee of the Fraction du Centre in 
the German parliament and the Prus- 
sian house of representatives. I 
will mention M. de Savigny, the son 
of the illustrious jurisconsult so well- 
known throughout the whole worid, 
who was funncrly Prussian minister 
at Brussels, and latterly the repre- 
sentative of the King of Prussia at 
the Diet of Frankfort ; M. Wind- 
thorst, who was president of the 



house of representatives in 1 
and twice minister of justici 
kingdom; the Baron d'An 
vice-president of the upper 
the kingdom of Bavaria ; M. 
linkrodt, the counsellor of tl 
Stan regency ; the Prince < 
wenstein ; the Count de Lai 
Velen, a hereditary merobei 
Prussian house of lords, etc 
haps I may be permitted to 
also my brother, a counsello 
Prussian Court of Cassation, 1 
one of the most active leadei 
conservative party when the 
ment was the object of the m 
lent attacks.* 

He who consecrates his ti 
strength to the cause of just 
religious liberty, or uses thei 
arena of political combat, sh( 
expect to reap any gratitude, 
leaders of the Centre and theii 
could not foresee that they 
be exposed to the calunmies 
alluded to. The only app 
grievance uttered against the 
verian and Bavarian roemi 
their Fraction is, that the fori 
approved of the annexation > 
country to Prussia, and th< 
used its influence to prevent '. 
from joining the new Germa 
pire. But these deputies ha^ 
ed publicly that, these m 
having been decided by vot 
were ready not only to fall 
the new order of things, but 
deavor to strengthen it, whi 
not be the case if the r 
liberal party is not opposed, I 
dent tendency of which is n 



*The modesty of Uie cmioeot Bath 
article did not perroit bim to mention 
name amonK the most Illustrious memb 
h'raeiioH du Ctnirt. It would be uoi[t 
to suppl>* this omission by uddinji to It 
champions enumerated abore the ■■ 
multiplied labors, marked by his supeH 
gence and ardor of feeling, are at ooce 
to Gannany and the church.— (AWr 4/ 



Tfif Religious 



>tt in GcrmaHy. 



fortify the conslitution of 
►ire, hieing directed against ihc 
fc-e pnndple, which is the 
mtal charoctCTLiitic of this con- 
I No one has a right to sus- 
stntcmcnts and character of 
len who merit ihc esteem of 
orablc people for having dc- 
in a purely conservative sense, 
all I«gal means, the tra<lidons 
Ancestors, to which tliey re- 
ihful, and which ihey wi^ to 
1 OS long as their duty evi- 
tequires it. 

je Fraction tiu Cetifrt in the 
ParUamcnt belongs also M. 
g, the leader of ihc Catholic 
kcnt of the ministry of public 
^ which has just been diasolv- 
liis division, composed of 
Dunsellors belonging to the 
: faith, was organized by Fre- 
V'UJiam IV. M'iih the bcnevo- 
mtion of giving Uie Catholics 
lia A sort of ^'U.'trantee for the 
adniuii^tration of the funds 
ic worship : it was not wished 
h matters should be decided 
Dtestant government without 
listening to the advice of the 
functionaries. (The lead- 
B Catholic department of pub- 
iiip had only a consultative 
The existence of this divi- 
\ a pledge to the Catholics, 
a^suranco that their religious 
wudil never fall iota hostile 
ereuL hands. If we except 
cc de Hohcnzollern, no Ca- 
rer had a seat in the ministe- 
Scil, and especially no Caiho- 
as ever appointed minister 
imtruction. The auppres- 
iit& division, decreed on the 
i \xA July, is the more sen- 
mptom that it has been ap- 
by the juurnals opposed to 
rdi, an<l with a joy equal to 
liimcd at the measures talc* 
Usace against the brothers 



devoted to instruction and against 
the Catholic press. The party of the 
Centre will naturally oppose with all 
its might the current of opinion which 
these acts prove to exist in the region 
of power. Its voice, it is true, will 
be stifled by the majority, but it will 
not be raised the less energetically 
for liberty and justice, with the hope 
cf seeing a better day dawn, and, 
whatever the event, with the convic- 
tion of having fulfilled an obligation 
of conscience not only toWAfd thti 
church, but to the state. 

The hope of soon seeing the clouds 
disperse that luvc been accumulating 
of late around Germany in so unex- 
pected a manner is founded on the 
political prudence, the experience, 
and the opinions of the Emperor 
William. It is not possible for this 
monarch crowned with laurels, after i 
having established peace with foreign 
powers through the bravery and tide- 
lity of the whole German nation, to 
authorize the persecution of millions 
of Germans on account of iheir faith, 
and consent to sacrifice the national 
peace — the peace which is especially 
due to his royal brother, whose me- 
mory is still blessed by Catholics. 
There is no doubt but the appeals of 
the Catholic population will l>e heard 
and listened to, as soon as they reach 
the foot of the throne. The states- 
man who, in such an unparalleled 
manner, has been so highly exalted 
to the very steps of that throne, and 
whose celebrated name is displayed, 
without his consent I am persuaded, 
on the standard of the enemies of 
the ciiurch, cannot be ignorant that, 
when these troubles shall have as- 
stjmed more formidable proportions, 
it will be more difficult to overcome 
moral resistance than to triumph 
over physical obstacles, and that 
measures of policy will be powerless 
against the former. He will h.irdly 
consider it chivalric; with all the 



278 



The Mountain. 



enormous material resources of the 
state at his disposal, to enter into a 
combat against people who can and 
will only oppose him passively, as is 
suitable in the defence of a cause 
which represents the most powerful 
interests of humanity. 

But perhaps all these hopes are 
illusory; perhaps we are about to 
see in our Fatherland the beginning 
of a sad and fruitless struggle, such 
as has so exhausted the strength of 
other countries by giving a free 
course to the most dangerous pas- 
sions. In this case the Catholics of 
Germany should prepare themselves 
to endure a long succession of con- 
tradictions, for their moral courage 
will be severely tried. They will 



have to make sacrifices of a 
for their faith, recalling the 
of the Gospel that comni! 
not only to render to Cae 
things that are Caesar's, but 
God the things that are God*: 
ever may happen, whatever i 
the consequence of such a si 
the church of God, which 
ways been victorious throuj 
tience, will never yield either 
assaults of unbelief or the atu 
a false science, that in its 
seems to declare anew : Krit 
Dfus, Truth is great, and it w 
vail : Magna est Veritas ct 
lebit. 

A. Reichensperi 
Cologne, Aug., 1871. 



THE MOUNTAIN. 



The mountain's sides are green anear, 

In clouds is lost its snow ; 
And he who climbs that Alpine height 

Shall earth and heaven kuow. 
Lo ! like a temple to the skies, 
For toil, for prayer, for sacrifice. 
Its green and snowy heights arise. 

A thousand pilgrims wander up 

To yonder blue abode, 
And some are lost, and some are slain, 

Or robbed upon the road. 
Far up the holy hermits dwell. 
And sounds the monastery bell 
The safe and ancient way to tell. 

And they who mount that highest steep 

Are tired and sad and poor, 
But lo ! a starry house is there, 

And angels at the door. 
Rich joy for poverty and pain 
They give, that summit to attain : 
All earth they leave all heaven to gain. 




Cohr^iti Poetry and Prose. 



279 



COLOR— ITS POETRV AND PROSE. 



jthree primary colors, accord- 
|Lhc latest condusioDs of u:i- 
^ /»/. ^re/ty and bhte. 
ed, in one of the chapters of 
■ in J^'ufurr, gives us a litUc 
I lo show how the compUmtH- 
<hamit€mHc combinations 
\ Me proiiuccd. 

The co- 
lors op- 
posite m 
the figure 
complete 
each oth- 




c r ID 
white, 
hence 
are call- 
ed com- 
tiy colors — red and green, 
^T)d blue, yellow and violet. 
it the harmonious colors, 
^lors, between which there 
6nc intermeUiale color, con- 
baractcristic combinations of 
I Goethe calls ihcm — for in- 
led and yellow, yellow and 
me and red — and are the 
kioDS most common in uni- 

ud to the symbolism of co- 
itcd gives the following enu- 
: 

fitly typifies innoienee: the 
snow and summer clouds, 
ic analogies of nature, sug- 
completing its signiri- 
•Ic, which, as the with- 
light, denotes loss of tife- 
iwer, as in night, and to 
added in the storm-cloud 
gloom and desofation, 
prialely for Uie color of 
Red is the color of love, 
of the blood, to which 



is united the idea of the heart, heat, 
and intensity of life. VcUow dciioiis 
falsehood, as indicating i}ie deceit- 
fulness of that which shines, also as 
the color which, when it departs 
from purity, soonest becomes disa- 
greeable. Green symbolizes hope, 
the green of spring in nature giving 
token of the frmiton of summer. "If 
we consider also," says Oersted, ♦' the 
satisfaction with which the eye can 
rest on it, we should call it the color 
01 trust. Blue," he adds, " is called 
the color of fitlelity, but since faith, 
hope, and luve are so fretjuently 
named together, and the two last 
each has its symbolical color, we 
might assume tliat one of the colors 
belonged to this noble quality. It 
is evident that blue, since it indicates 
distance, vacuity from matter, there- 
fore the immaterial is suitable as a 
symbol of faith. It is the color of 
the sky also, and this leads us away 
from the earthly. Then the repose 
in blue, and the feeling that of all 
colors it is the least splendid, with 
the exception q( violet, which, when 
unmingled with red, really the vio- 
let of light, is so feeble, and 
has in it so little power, that it is 
not much considereti. Goethe sa>'3 
that blue is a ' stimulating ttegii- 
iion^ \Vc Icam from natural science 
that blue united with violet is reflect- 
ed back every time that light passes 
through a less occupied space, name- 
ly, a vacuum, hence Goethe's ex- 
pression. Violet and blue also indi- 
cate darkness, since they are the co- 
lors which have the least light in 
them, and the pigments which they 
represent are easiest converted into 
black. 



28o 



Color — its Poetry and Prose. 



Faith, which looks up out of the 
blackness and shadow of death into 
the full-orbed splendor of the sun of 
righteousness, may not inappropriate- 
ly take for its symbol the *' stimulat- 
ing negation " of the poet. 

Thus do the three primary colors, 
blue, green, and red, represent the 
triad of Christian graces, the primary 
virtues of the Christian life — faith, 
hope, and charity, or love. 

But leaving the poetry of color, we 
come to the subject of its place and 
function as it imprints itself on the 
myriad forms of the organic world. 
The question has been asked, Are all 
these tints of nature in the flower and 
shrub, the gorgeous plumage of the 
bird, only meant to please the eye of 
man and to gratify the artistic 
sense ? Is there a deeper, subtler 
purpose running through all this ap- 
parently wanton pageantry, aside 
from the delight which it affords the 
mind of man, and looking only to 
the perfecting and preservation of the 
organism itself ? 

A utilitarian age has answered in 
the affirmative, and the researches of 
Darwin, Wallace, and others are dai- 
ly opening new vistas into this inte- 
resting field of inquiry. 

Darwin was the first to establish 
the fact that the bright coloring of 
flowers is for the purpose of attracting 
insects in order to accomplish their 
fertilization, and deduces the gene- 
ral rule that all flowers fertilized by 
the wind are of dull and inconspicuous 
colors. In the animal kingdom the 
principle of assimilation guides and 
modifies coloring in conformity with 
surrounding nature, and it is, there- 
fore, to a great extent, protective. 

The lion inhabiting the desert is 
of the color of the sands, so as hard- 
ly to be distinguished at a short dis- 
tance. The leopard lives in jungles, 
and the vertical stripes on its body 
harmonize admirably with the verti- 



cal reeds of its tangled la 
completely conceal it from vie 

In arctic regions, white is t 
vailing color, as here reign pe 
snows; therefore, it is that tl 
is only found whiU in this [ 
the globe. 

The curious fact that amor 
the female is usually of a du 
tral tint, while the male mon< 
the bright colors, is accounted 
the principle of protective ct 
the female needing the obsci 
forded her by her sober pi 
When there is an exception 
rule, the protection is affor 
some other way. And this li 
to the subject of binis^ rusts. 

Wallace, in a chapter on th 
ry of birds' nests, divides the 
two classes, those in which tl 
are protected by the shape < 
tion of the nest, and those in 
they are left exposed to view 
then gives the following law : 
when both sexes are of strikin, 
and conspicuous colors, the 
of the first class, or so as to < 
the sitting bird; while, whenev 
is a striking contrast of cok 
male being gay and conspicu( 
female dull and obscure, the 
open and the sitting bird exp 
view." 

In connection with the sut 
protective coloring, the phenc 
of mimicry is not the least c 
Wallace gives several instan 
butterflies, moths, snakes, etc. 
the coloring of protected fan 
imitated by weak and unpr 
ones not in any way allied to 
A large and bright-colored bi 
the heliconidie of South Ai 
which is protected by a disag 
qualitj' affecting its taste, thus 
ing it secure from insect-eatinj 
is imitated by a smaller and 
family, resembling it so con 
as to be quite indistinguishable 



Ntw Publications, 



3Sl 



fiom the former. Thus ic is 
I and enabled to perpetuate 
' borrowing the colors of its 
nd powerful neighbor, 
ilaps among venomous snakes 
ler instance where protection 
dcd through mimicry to a 



harmless snake that would otherwise 
be dctenccless. The claps ontJ the 
s|>ecies that copy its coloring are 
found only in tropical America, and 
are peculiar as being the only snakes \ 
marked in the same manner by red, 
black, and yellow rings. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



RKS OF AVRIXIPS AUGfSTINE. 

'Of Ulf^po. A New Translation. 
by the Kcv. Marcus Dods, M.A. 
iWil 11. The City of God. Ed- 
»; T. & T. Claik. For sale by 
Ibolic Publicalion Society, New 

tessrs. Clark, of Edinburgh. 
known and honorably titl- 
ed amonf; publishers for 
its of a high class of scienti- 
itcrary worth in sacred litc- 
which they arc regularly 
r oul tn the best style of the 
jhic art. Besides their sc- 
rorks by the most cmtiiont 
Pruteslant theologians uf 
odox school, some uf which 
ly valuable to tiie Catholic 
they arc issuing a set of 
ions of the Ante-Nicene Fa- 
nd have now commenced a 
Iransl-T lions from St. Augus- 
ch ihcy design lo extend to 
eighteen volumes. We 
icicntly rejoice in the 
D of these patiistic works. 
can produce an equally 
i| impression in favor of the 
Church on serious and edu- 
tads with the perusal of 
s and extensive works 
from the early Christian 
The two volumes before 
every sense of the word. 
ic editor has prefaced 
trnduclidii, whose style 



reminds us of Mncaulay— while its 
matter is excellent, interesting, and 
in all respects unexceptionable— in 
which he ffives an account of the 
nature and the circumstances of the 
great work of St. Augustine, and of 
the various judgments of etninent 
scholars upon it. So far as a merely 
cursory glance can warrant us in 
judging of the merit of the transla* 
tion, it appears to us that the ex> 
Ireniely dilTicult task of rendering 
the Latin accurately into good Eng- 
lish has been successfully accom- 
plished. The work itself has been 
considered by some eminent schol- 
ars as one of the great nustcrpleccs 
of human genius. It is the first 
great work on the philosophy of 
hi8tor>' which was ever written. It 
was the fruit of the latest and most 
mature period of the great doctor's 
life. Its plan embraces a comprehen- 
sive defence of Christianity against 
the objections of the Roman states- 
men and philosophers of the fifth 
ccntur>'. A vast number of interest- 
ing topics iire treated in it, so that, 
apart from the philosophical value 
which il possesses, it is most inte- 
resting: and curious as a museum of 
antiquities from the epoch when 
paganism was passing away to give 
place to Christianity. It is to be 
hoped that Catholics as well as Pro- 
testants will patronize the truly 
noble and useful undertaking uf the 
Messrs. Clark and their literary ffl/- 



282 



New Publications. 



laborateurs, to enrich our English 
libraries with these splendid patris- 
tic translations. 

A Life of St, Augustine is also pro- 
mised to accompany the selections 
from his writings. From this we can 
scarcely expect as much satisfaction 
as from the other parts of the under- 
taking. The theology and opinions 
of the writer must unavoidably pre- 
vent him from understanding and 
correctly representing a Catholic 
bishop and doctor, and giving a 
perfectly complete and correct ac- 
count of tlte state of the church 
during the period in which he lived. 
No one but a Catholic can achieve 
this task with success, although a 
Protestant who is sufficiently learn- 
ed, accurate, and skilled in the art 
of composition, may make a per- 
fectly satisfactory translation of Ca- 
tholic works. It were much to be 
desired that some competent Catho- 
lic scholar would give us a biogra- 
phy of St. Augustine so complete 
and perfect that it would supplant 
all others, and take rank as the 
standard history of his life and times. 

Light in Darkness. A Treatise on the 
Obscure Night of the Soul. By the 
Rev. A. F. tlewit, of the Congregation 
of Si. Paul. New York : Catholic 
Publication Society. 1871. Pp. 160. 

This is a very small volume in 
bulk, and of very modest preten- 
sions, but of great merit, and treats 
with much truth and justice a very 
important subject. It belongs to 
what is called Mystic Theology, and 
gives us in a small compass the sim- 
pler elements of the science of the 
saints, and cannot fail to interest all 
those who are entering upon a life 
of Christian perfection, whether in 
religion or in the world. The " ob- 
scure night of the soul," as St John 
of the Cross calls it, is experienced 
in some degree by all whom the 
HolySpirit is conducting through pu- 
rification, not to be effected without 
pain and sorrow^, to the highest and 
closest union with G«od possible while 
we are still in the flesh. It is a depri- 



vation of all sensible sweet 
devotion, a desolation, a d* 
of all but the very highest f 
of the soul, in which all is 1 
hard, and the soul discern: 
ray of light to relieve the d 
that seems to pervade and 1 
her every act, and everythin; 
listless, prayer demands an 
and brings no consolation, a 
dilation is painful and fruitlei 
obscure night of the soul, 
times called passive purga 
supernatural, the gift of tli 
Ghost, and is intended to 
soul, to test its faith and con 
to purify it, and enhance it 
by bringing it in the end int 
union with God. 

If carefully distinguishe 
sadness and melancholy, wh 
spring from the physical c 
tion and a variety of natural 
this inward desolation, in wb 
soul longs for light, for spirit 
and to behold the counten; 
the Lord, is a great good, 
proof that the Holy Spirit 
left us, but is present within 
preparing us for the joyful c 
will dawn in the soul, and p( 
to ascend tothe Mount of Visi 
the saints. Sensible sweetne: 
visions, which are not scldor 
rienced by one just entering 
gious life, are baits to lure u 
to save us fromdiscouragem 
they cannot create in us a 
and solid piety. Whom the Li 
eth he chasteneth, and sc> 
every son that he receivet! 
more profitable to the soul 
obscure night in which th 
hides his face from us, and le 
desolate, and yet does not h 
nor cease to love and care ft 

Father Hewit explains th 
ces and solidity, the certaii 
infallibility, of the science 
saints ; shows the princif 
which it rests ; describes th 
lation of the soul due to tl: 
pline to which the Holy Spi 
jccts the aspirant to Christ 
fection ; gives plain and sii 
rections to distinguish it fro 



Niw Publications^ 



or taelancholy. and for 
lavior of Ihe s<jul while 
:,and /or deriving the great- 
ble spiritual beiictit from it. 
pivcsus acritcrion by which 
Mions oi the Holy Ghost 
lisiinj^isherl frum visionary 
tent by Sntan to deceive 
llic soul, which the spirit- 
e so much of. His remnrks 
Jsm arc just and opportune, 
sdinfj^ty valuable, and should 
;red by every Catholic. The 
of spiritism are fearful, 
ork is addressed solely to 
8, and wc thtnk young and 
enced confessors and <lirec- 
lind much in it to aid them 
Qoble but arduous duties of 
[■ souls in the way of per- 
To the class of Christians 
n it is specially intended, it 
re as a valuable and trust- 
pride, and will assist them 
t by the many larger and 
latises on the spiritual life 
Kcellcncc is unquestionable, 
out superseding them. We 
ic author fur the rich pre- 
las made us. 



les OP THK West. rroM Sr. Be- 
to St. &E&.NARI). By ilic Count 
laletnbcTt. Boston: Patiick Do- 
tBjs. 3 TO'.S. 

I 

^'RA American rcprintofthe 
transl.nlion of Count Monta- 
B great work. The English 
M not only very splendid, 
y costly. Mr. Donalioe's 
s compressed into two vo- 
t ihc reduced price of eight 
and is nevertheless very 
icly printed, with type sulB- 
large and clear, and in all 
sspccts vrell brought out. 
::ome its appearance as a 
rtunate event, and recom- 
c work most heartily as one 
swry inlelligciil Catholic 
3 read as a glorious monu- 
his religion, and every lile- 
a as one of the finest histo- 



rical and literary productions of the 
age. 

It is without a question that the 
Count de .VIontalembert was one of 
the greatest and noblest men of this 
centur>*, whether in or out of the 
C^ithulic Church. The present work 
is the most complete and splendid 
monument of his genius and piety 
which he has left to perpetuate his 
fame. It is no mere compilalion of 
biographies of the common sort, 
but a history of the great monastic 
institution in the West, of its stu- 
pendous works, and of the civiliza- 
tion of which it was one of the chief 
organizing powers. It includes some 
most important and little kn<}wn 
chapters in the history of the chief 
nations of Christendom. Its copious 
and exact erudition is only equalled 
by the majestic eloquence of the 
style in which it is written, and 
which the translator has well ren- 
dered into English. There arc a few 
passages in the introduction in which 
the author has allowed a certain bit- 
terness of feeling to- disturb the or- 
dinarily pure current of his senti> 
ments, and has betrayed some signs 
of his sympathy with the errors of 
the party of so-called Liberal Ca- 
tholics. Wc do not consider this 
blemish, however, sufficient to de- , 
tract seriously from the value and i 
merit of this great work, or to make 
its perusal in any way dangerous. 
It is a work thoroughly Catholic, 
and pervaded with the same spirit 
of loyplty to the Holy .Sec which, 
the illustrious author has expressed 
in his dedication of the work to 
Pius IX. Whatever he said or did 
in a contrarj' spirit was a lamentable 
inconsistency, which wc trust God 
has pardoned, as the Holy Father 
has done in so tender and m.ignani- 
mous a manner. 

pETESs's Catholic Choir, A Monthly 
Magaxine devoted m Catholic Church 
Music. New York : J. L. Peters. 

The purpose of this publication 
is to offer in a cheap form selected 
musical Musses, hymns, and motets 



284 



New Publications. 



for the use of our church choirs. 
The selections, from a purely musi* 
cal point of view, are as good as 
publications of this nature generally 
contain. 

The Pictorial Bible and Church 
History Stories. Abridged. A Com- 
pendious Narrative of Sacred History, 
, brought down to the present Time of 
the Church, and complete in one Vol- 
ume. By the Rev. Henry Formby. 
New York : The Catholic Publication 
Society, 9 Warren Sl 1871. 

This is a book which deserves to 
find a place as a text-book in all Ca- 
tholic schools, and to be put by all 
Catholic parents into the hands of 
their children. Even the very little 
ones will be found capable of com- 
prehending the easy and familiar 
English of the narrative ; nor can 
too much stress be laid on the im- 
portance of thus familiarizing them 
from the start with the history of 
God's dealings with men, For this 
purpose, the plan of acquainting 
them with the Bible history simply 
is far from sufficient It leaves too 
great a gap between the past and the 
present — as if sacred history had 
virtually come to an end eighteen 
centuries ago, and since then every- 
thing had been merely secular and 
profane. A well-instructed child 
needs to have the whole of sacred 
history, from the creation of the 
world to the usurpation of Rome by 
Victor Emanuel, laid before his eyes 
in a series the connections of which 
are plain and unbroken. Such a 
simple historical knowledge will be 
apt to prove the best safeguard of 
his faith in a time when there is no 
longer any great temptation for him 
to abandon it in favor of misbelief, 
but when open unbelief in the pro- 
vidence of God is fast becoming his 
only real enemy. The task which 
Father Formby has undertaken, of 
presenting this history in an easy 
and compendious form, is one which 
he has very satisfactorily accom- 
plished, and for which there seemed 
to be a cr}'ing need. 



We can only hope that An 
Catholics will make haste t 
themselves of the results of 
bors. The book is an att 
one, very fully illustrated t 
tures which, if they are not 
called artistic, have at all 
the merit of being often sug( 
and the letterpress will be 
good reading by older reac 
well as by the young ones. 

The Illustrated Catholic Fam 

MANAC for the UnITED Sta 

THE Year of our Lord 1872. 
latcd for different Parallels of I 
and adapted for use through 
Country. Illuminaied cover 
pp. 144. New York : The ( 
Publication Society. 187s. 

There are many good work 
done for our Catholic comt 
and here is one of them, i 
annual at a trifling price, yet 
per, typographical executio 
illustrations, wonderfully atti 
now finds its way to over i 
thousand Catholic homes, an 
to perhaps a quarter of a mil 
Catholic readers informatit 
struction, and entertainment 

The material is new and heal 
is a commentary on the comi 
of saints. Catholics are nol 
state or country, of one age 
tury. We are a brotherho 
bracing all. The young grofl 
wish to know of the past gk 
the church as the old love t( 
of them ; and all desire infor 
of the actual life of the chur 

God's hand is not shortenet 
nineteenth century. He ovi 
the great and wise, and revea 
self to little ones, now as 
Bernadette Soubirous, whos 
ness is given, kneels there, 
cluster round her to hear SX 
derful history of Lourdes. Th 
martyred Archbishop of Pa 
be viewed with interest, a 
sketch of him will be imprii 
all minds. The beautiful p 
of Adelaide Procter and Eug 
Gu^rin bring to mind the repj 




New PubluaiioHS. 



28S 



en of the church in our day. 
i know is to love : and m:iny 
p4 will here begin to appre- 
Ise two beautiful souls. Jn 
pry of the church in Ame- 
I will feel that Catholicity 

Snger in the land when we 
re us the rumatns of a 
in Greenland, built in the 
Jcntury ; a bishop in Florida 
IKtrcnth, predecessor of the 
i% C&rroll in the last, and 
|ly Flaj^et tn our own. 
fi, the fatherland of 50 many 
lour Holy Mother, is not 
y. The ruins of religious 
f caused by hate, and the 
\ portrait of the Liberator, 
}\\. <:hnw the close union 
li Cath'dics of all lands and 

jBle attractive bouquet 

5?lc flowers, rich with the 

if f:ir!h will, by its suggcs- 

Mtion, and its ere- 

. .lice alone, keep 

nd stimulate the true 

feelini;; and there can be 

r work than to disseminate 

snd more widely in every 

nljl it finds its n-ay to every 

family in the land. 

rilC RCVEKEND MorHER JL'UA, 

CSS and FiiM Stipcrior of the 
of Notre Danic, of Namur. 

Lted from liie French. With iho 

P of the Ofdrr in the United 
New Voik : The Catholic Pub- 

I Society, 9 Warren Street. 1871. 

Rose Julia Billiart, the 

13 of the Sisters of Nttlre 

Ls bom at Cuvilly. in Picar- 

V5i,and died in 1816. Tlic 

p which this is translated 

published in 1863, for the 

rs, but will be found 

rest to the general 

U is certainly so, or at 

Mild be. in this country. 

icy are so widely diffused, 

f no much for the cause nf 

^n, and arc so well 

I Julia was als<i a 

■1 the lives of the servants 



of God arc always interesting, espe- 
cially when told in a natural and 
unaffected way. Her whole life was 
an extraordinary one, though her 
congregpition was not established 
till 1803. when she had reached the 
age of fifty-two; its foundation be- 
ing;, ns it were, necessarily delayed 
by the disturbances in France during 
the Revolution ; but of course the 
greater part of this memoir is occu- 
pied with her last years, which were 
tnore abundant than those that pre- 
ceded in visible service to others, 
though not perhaps in merit to her- 
self. At her death, the order was 
firmly established, though not with- 
out passing through many trials 
and difficulties, and had a number 
of houses in France and Belgium, 
It was brought to this country in 
1840, and to England three years 
later; it now has seventeen bouses 
there, and twenty in the United 
States, having the care, in these 
two countries alone, nf more than 
thirty thousand children. The latter 
part of the bock, as staled in the 
title, ts occupied with its fiMiadation 
and establishment here : also an in- 
teresting account is given of its 
introduction into England and Gua- 
temala, to which latter place they 
were sent in 1S59. 

We have before us a list of the 
houses of the Sisters in Massachu- 
setts, nine in number, at which 
nearly seven thousand children are 
instructed, as well as over a thou- 
sand night-scholars: they have also 
more than five thous.-ind attending 
Sunday-school. It is ver>' much to 
be desired and hoped that so useful 
a body of religious may be every- 
where as abundant as in this favor- 
ed state; and yet there arc not 
enough even there, and probably 
never will be. The words of our 
Lord are always verified : " The har- 
vest indeed is grc.^t, but the l.ibor- 
crs are few." Still, there will, no 
doubt, be vocations when they are 
really asked for. 

The Life .y Moikrr JnU^i is well 
and clearly printed, and beautifully 
bound ; and Ute translation was 



286 



Nciv Publications, 



made by an American lady fully qua- 
liticrl for the tusk. 

An excellent portrait of Mother 
Julia embellishes the book. 

TiiK FniR Gkf,\t Evils of tiik Day. 
Bv Henry Edward, Archbishop of 
>Vostniii)stcr. London : Diirns, Oatcs 
& Co. 1R71. Pp. 142. For sale by 
The f'alholic Publication Society, New 
York. 

The Kuur Great Evils exposed 
in thoso four lectures are the Revolt 
of the lnii.'lloct aj^ainst God. the Re- 
volt «if the Will against God, the 
Revolt of Society against God, the 
S]iirit of Antichrist. The author 
shows how the revolt against the 
Roman Church and the Vicar of 
Christ results in atheism, immorali- 
ty, social anarchy, and the disrup- 
tion of the whole fabric of Christian- 
ity, involving the destruction of the 
hiiman race, and of the world, the 
Catholic Church excepted, which is 
preserved by miracle to the end of 
time. lliL'se lectures are very time- 
ly, and oui;lit to be read by every 
rellectini; jHTson. The Archbishop 
of Wesimiiistcr is cijual to the great- 
est . our modern prelates in his 
clear in>it;iit into Catht.tlic prin- 
ci]iles. ami th.trough knowk-dge of 
the atlicistii" and communistic ten- 
dencies of Protestantism. Hence 
the respect, tear, and hatred with 
wliicli he is regarded by the ene- 
mies of t!u' church. (.)nc thing 
esju'cially noticeable in these lec- 
tures, aii'l which wc have oh- 
sei\ed with peculiar pleasure, is 
the exhibiti.'n of the intellectual 
as well as m-^r.il degradation of mo- 
dern iniidi.l-.ty. The supcrstitivin 
an-: .^b:^uuii!y iiuo wlii^-li tl'.e proud 
rcbelli'"!! I'l' t':c mind against the 
auih.Mity "f t:".v' church lias plun:;- 
od it is iih '\\'!i '""v ArchbisV.'.^p Man- 
ning, in a t'.i!Ve-.ent way Ir.ini ihat 
cmplove-. by I>:". Newii'.an. but wiih 
a f'rce cijua^Iy :: resistible. We ic- 
comTnen/: .i!'. v ;ir intelji:e:;: ri'.uiers, 
and we ;i:\>u:!-..' llial a'! ■.n:: tvai:-.-;;! 
are ini^-:;:i;ei'.:. wini i:cs!re t » mai- 
ler the Hue an.: pure jTiiicipIes I'l 



the Catholic religion in their iclatioa 
to the errors and disorders of the 
day, to obtain and study carefullr 
all the works of the Archbishop of 
Westminster. 

A Critic.\l Greek Axn Encmsii Cox. 

CORDANCE OF THE NeW TEST.IMEJTT. 

Prepared by Charles F. Hudson, under 
(he dircciion of Horace L. Ha«iiDp 
editor of The Christian; rcvif^cii aid 
coinplclcd by Ezra Abbot, LL.D.. Ai- 
sistant Librarian of Harvard UniTeni- 
ty. Second edition, revised. Phi)*- 
dtlphia: J, B. Lippincott & Co. 1S71. 

This handy little volume is evi- 
dently the result of a good deal of 
jiainstaking and conscientious labor. 
As the production of several hands, 
it is a monument of somewhat hetfr 
rogeneous scholarship. It professes 
to be "critical"; and critical and J 
scholarly we are sure it is, so farai | 
it is indebted to the contributioiu j 
of Dr. Ezra Abbot, a gentlemiB 1 
whose minute bibliographical kno«> 
ledge is only equalled by his rait 
modesty, and by his readiness to 
place his learning at the disposal of 
others. To his careful hand, we 
take it, is due tlie collection of \i- 
riuus readings as given by Cries* 
bach, Lacbmann. and the latest edi- 
tions of Tiscliendorf and Tregelles. 
The student will find in this compi- 
lation a mass of information which 
wc do not remember to have seen 
in so compact a form elsewhere. For 
the rest, the work will doubtless 
fulfil the purpose announced by the 
editi)r-in-chicf, as a " book available 
to the mere English reader," and 
will be welcomed by evangelical 
ministers of all denominations who 
may have felt more or less keenly 
the need ofsupplenieniing the defects 
in their early classical cducition by 
siinie e.isy artificial helps. Ho« 
Ci.Mivenient, f.^r example, when irt 
run against the w^rd jii-^. to fioJ, 
on tiie authority of Messrs. Hastings 
.i;5il Muds.in. (hat. in a given number 
■ -' p.i^sages. the iv..ijoriiy in fact, il 
5 gr.irio^ :. .-'.J/:. uiidnibtedly-VMiBi. 
wiiereas in several other given pas* 



New PtthHcatiaus, 



287 



: Cor. \\. 5. it means 
;rh there may be 
it;i\tr[i^> about the ■• m:ir- 
Hiether or not it be " critt- 
er cover of scliolnrstiip, to 
bposed Creek concordunce 
linf{ more nor less than a 
picAtion of the accuracy of 
I James Version, we leiive it 
kry unbehcvcra to deter- 

hfW RuN^'AN, with Noiiccs of 
\ his Cod temporaries, and 
^5 of Ills Sryle. By D. A. 

M.A.. author of "Life of 
loddrijfc. D,D.," cic. Phila- 

J. U. LippincoH & Co. 1871. 

suppose, is more like* 
the ordinary Calhutic 
iposjng him even to waste 
books of the kind. 
at meagreness .ind 
what are known by Pro- 
>s rclif;ious lives. Even a 
ic. like Mr. Matthew Ar- 
sonte where commented 
pcriority of Catholic bio- 
tu Piutcstaut oucs. with 
r easy insolence which has 
I anything but a pleasing 
ar coiitcmpliition to the 
>f his countrymen and co- 
ts. 

rslia's life of the allc^riz* 

r of Bedford can boast of 

tage in this respect over 

>it3 of the same general 

m- U is not, we should 

fault of ihc biographer. 

s to ha^-e genuine religious 

Und to be principally hain- 

Ihis ignorance of what true 

,y means, and the poverty 

icrial he works in. These- 

arc in his position neces- 

K>k has other faults for 
U more actively responsi- 
fnan who wonders that 
iioold have been molested 
Ugious views under what 
ip« facetiously, calls the 
le of Cromwell " (a cha- 
ion that John Evelyn 



would have been as slow to endorse 
as any Cntholic Irishman of Zedah) 
nnd is puzzled to account for his 
freedom during the reign of the 
Second James, needs somethinj; be- 
sides an acquaintance with the Pit' 
grim's Progress and Bunyan's ser- 
mons to qualify him for ll»e task 
of a biographer. Perhaps, however, 
a thorough knowledge of history 
would be as successful an agent In 
the work of un-ProtestantizIng a 
sincere man as any other merely 
human one that could be named. 

GRADI7AI.R DB TiMPOHK CT DR SANCTIS, 
juxia Kilutn Sacrosanct^! Romanoc 
£cclc»hc cum canlu Pauli V. Pont. 
Max. Jussu reformaio cui addiia sunt 
offiri;i pnslea approb.Ha Sub auspicils 
Stnciissimi Domini Nosiri Pii PP. 
IX. Cur;intc Sacr. Riiiium Congrrga- 
tiouc, cum privilcgio. Ratisbonn, Neo- 
Kburaci cl Cincinnati! : Siimpltbus, 
chaitis ct typis Frctlcrici Pustct. 

About the time of the opening of 
the CEcumenical Council, the firm 
of F. Pustet were permitted by spe- 
cial indult to publish a revised edi- 
tion of the Gradual known as the 
Medicean. A commission was ap- 
pointed by the Sacred Congregation 
of Kites to undertake this revision, 
but the suspension of the Council 
and the political troubles ensuing 
prevented the completion of their 
labors. A dispensation, however, 
was granted to Mr. Pustet to pub- 
lish and sell the work, odding the 
portion yet unreviscd as it stands in 
the original edition. We reserve a 
fuller notice for some future date, 
when we hope to lay before our 
readers a critical essay on the va- 
riou.s editions of the Gradual and 
other books of chant publislied in 
Europe and Canada. 

Ttic Gk.vxd DEMOSSTRATior* in Balti- 
more and \V.i5hington, D. C, in honor 
of ihc XXViIi Anniversary of ihc Elec- 
tion of Pius IX. to the Chair of Si. 
Pcicr, Juno 17. iS. rg. A.n. 1871, Balti- 
more : John Murphy & Co. 

It would be scarcely possible to 
add anything on the general sub- 



288 



New Publications, 



ject of this handsome brochure— 
the theme of so many thousand 
eloquent pens and voices. The cele- 
bration in the Province of Rilti- 
more, however, was an exception- 
al one, as became the oldest See in 
the United States. Besides the ad- 
dresses, letters, and resolutions, 
etc., which we naturally look for in 
such a publication, it includes en- 
cyclical and other letters from His 
Holiness, and some historical and 
chronological matter which the 
reader will find highly useful. 

The Martyrs of the Coliseum ; or. His- 
torical Records of ihe Great Amphlthe. 
atre of Ancient Rome. By the Rev. A. 
J. O'Reilly, Missionary Apostolic at 
St. Mar>''s, Capetown. London : Burns, 
Oates, & Co. 1871. For sale by the 
Catholic Publication Society, New 
York. 

The basts of the narratives of 
this volume is furnished by the an- 
c\^x\\. Acts of the Martyrs. The story 
of several of the most illustrious 
martyrs of the early ages is told by 
the author, according to history and 
legend, with some embellishments 
of imagination, poetry, and fancy. 
There is also an account of the his- 
tory of the Coliseum itself, as far as 
knowledge or probable conjecture 
can furnish it. The author's style is 
warm, exuberant, and brilliant. The 
volume is instructive and entertain- 
ing, and ought to be a favorite, with 
young people especially. 

Maniiat, of Piety, for the use of Semi- 
imrians. Second American Edition. 
Baltimore : Published by John Mur- 
phy & Co., 182 Baltimore Street. 1872. 

This is a newedition of an excellent 
and well-known manual far semi- 
narians. It can hardly be too high- 
ly commended either as regards 
matter or form. It contains an im- 
mense amount of matter in a very 
small space, and the type is clear 
and beautiful. 

Mr. Robert Copdinoton has in 
press, and will publish about Christ- 



mas, The Vicar of Christ; m 
iures upon the Office and Prerof^ 
0/ our Holy Father the Pope, b; 
Tnomas S. Preston, pastor 
Ann's Church, New York, and 
cellor of the Diocese. It w 
published uniform in style wit 
other volumes of Father Pre 
lectures. 

The Catholic Publication S( 
will publish, November i, . 
Queen of Scots, and Her Latest £ 
Historian, a narrative of the prii 
events in the life of Mary S 
with some remarks on Mr. Fro 
History of England, by James f 
line. This work will contain 
only the thorough criticism o 
Froude's History of England i 
as made in the five articles o 
subject in The Catholic Wo» 
articles which have attracted 1 
ral attention, and put Mr. Fi 
upon his defence — but also a 
plete narrative of the life of 
Stuart, with a review of those 
umes of Mr. Froude's histor] 
noticed in the articles. 

Mr. p. Donahok, Boston, will 
publish To and from the Passion 
at Oberammergau, Bavaria, fron 
pen of the Rev. George H. Dc 
Chancellor of the Diocese of 1 
ark. It will be dedicated tothi 
Rev. J. R. Bayley, D.D., Bishoi 
Newark. 

Kelly, Piet & Co. announc 
in press The Martyrs of the C^Ut 
by Rev. A. J. O'Reilly. 



BOOKS RECEIVED. 

From Cii^KLKS Sckibver A Co« New ' 
The Holy Bible according to the Aotk 
Verxion (a.d. i6ii\with u EipUnW 
Critic»l Commenury, And %. ReTiiioa 
Translaiion, by Bishops and other ClV 
the Anitllctn Church. Edited bT 
Cook. M.A., ra.non of Exeter. Vol. L 
I. Gen»is— Kxodut. 

From Kay A BkOTHKit, Philadelphia: 1 
lection of Leadinif Casei lo the Law O 
tinns in the L'liited Sutes, with Nous « 
fcrenccs to the latest Avthonttes. Bj 
erick C. Brightly. 



THE 



ATHOLIC WORLD, 



VOL. JCIV., No. 8i.— DECEMBER, 1871. 



THE RECENT EVENTS IN FRANCE. 



have no occasion to dwell on 
sastrous events of the war of 
econd French Empire with 
a, nor on the still more disas- 
•esults of the feeble efforts of the 
vised republic to drive back 
erman armies from French soil. 
are too painful to be dwelt on, 
re, probably, as well known to 
eaders as to ourselves. We 
lowever, remark that we regard 
I mistake to represent the war 
nprovoked by Prussia. The 
that declares the war is not al- 
responsible for it. Prussia, by 
uplicity, her aggressive spirit, 
er menacing attitude to France, 
to the French government am- 
;ason, according to what has 
>een the usage with European 
is, for declaring the war. 

have never been the partisans 
tuis Napoleon; but it is only 
; justice to say that by his con- 
ns of January, 1870, he had 
I to be the absolute sovereign 
mce, and had become a con- 
>nal monarch, like the Queen 



of Great Britain and Ireland, and the 
declaration of war against Prussia 
in July of the same year was not his 
personal actf but the act of the Lib- 
eral ministry and the French people, 
influenced, not unlikely, by the secret 
societies that had sworn the Empe- 
ror's destruction. Perhaps, when the 
facts are better known, it will be 
clearly seen that the Emperor had 
really no alternative but war with 
Prussia, or the loss of the French 
throne for himself and dynasty. 
Though unprepared, he chose the 
war, as offering at least a chance of 
success, and it is not improbable that 
the result would have been less dis- 
astrous both for him and the nation 
if he had been loyally sustained by 
the French people, and had not had 
a more formidable enemy in his rear 
than in his front. The influences 
that compelled him to consent to the 
declaration of war were unfriendly to 
him, and both' before and after the 
declaration were, not unlikely, indi- 
rectly controlled by that astute but 
unprincipled diplomatist, Bismarck, 



, aooonUnK to Act of Coneress. in the year 1371, by Rev. I. T. Hkckbb, in the Office of 
the LituurUn of Congress, at Washington, D. C 



290 



The Recent Events in France, 



at present Chancellor of the new 
German Empire, and through whose 
adroitness Germany has been Prus- 
sianized. 

It now also appears that the disas- 
ter of Sedan was far less the fault of 
the Emperor than of his marshals, 
who acted without his orders, and 
without concert with one another. 
If Marshal MacMahon had fallen 
back on the capital, as Trochu says 
he advised, instead of attempting to 
relieve Metz, and given the nation 
time to rally and concentrate its 
forces, it is probable the empire 
would have been saved, and the 
Prussians been ultimately defeated 
and driven beyond the Rhine. Even 
after the disaster of Sedan, the integ- 
rity of French territory might have 
been saved, and peace obtained on 
far less onerous terms than those 
which were finally impqped by the 
conqueror after the surrender of Paris, 
but for the Parisian mob of the 
4th of September, which compelled 
the Corps L^gislatif to pronounce, il- 
legally of course, the escheat of the 
Emperor and the empire, to proclaim 
the republic, and to suffer a so-called 
government of defence to be impro- 
vised. The disaster of Sedan was 
great, but it was a mere bagatelle in 
comparison with that of the revolution 
effected by the Parisian mob acting 
under the direction of the secret so- 
cieties, whose destructive power and 
influence were so well and so truth- 
fully set forth by Disraeli in his Lo- 
thair, one of the most remarkable 
books recently published, and which 
shows that its author fully understands 
the great questions, movements, and 
tendencies of modem society. That 
revolution was the real disaster, and 
Paris, not Prussia or Germany, has sub- 
jugated France. The French, except- 
ing a few lawyers, journalists, literary 
dreamers, and the workingmen of 
the cities and towns, who demanded 



'* la r/pubiique democratique 
date," had no wish for a rc] 
and were, and are, decidedly a 
publican at heart. The men 
posing the so-called govemm 
defence were, for the most par 
who had not, and could not i 
it, the confidence of the nation 
men without faith or solid prii 
theorists and declaimers, utterl 
titute both of civil and milita 
pacity, distrusted, if not detest 
all Frenchmen who retainec 
sense of religion or any love of 
try surpassing their love for the 
theories. France, perhaps, 
have been saved by a loyal si 
of the empire, and a hearty co-i 
tion with the Imperial gover 
under the Empress- Regent, eve 
the disaster of Sedan, but n 
overthrowing it, and plungin 
nation into the revolutionary 
The government of defence 
hastened the catastrophe by d 
ing the Imperial government, c 
niating it, and publishing ever 
of falsehood against it that i 
could invent or render plausii 
the event has proved, and a 
world is beginning to see and : 
But for the socialistic revolut 
is now known that, even afte 
surrender of the Emperor, the '. 
rial government could have ob( 
peace without any mutilatioi 
French territory, and on ten 
hard, at least such as coul 
borne. France would have su 
the mortification of defeat, and 1 
have been compelled to indei 
as a matter of course, Prussia f< 
expenses of the war; but she 1 
have suffered no loss of territofj 
would have remained, defeate 
deed, but not conquered. E 
would have mediated effectua 
her favor, for the balance of \ 
requires her preservation; bu 
European nations could not 



Tk€ Recent Events in Fratue. 



291 



vor of a revolutioD which 
Ace to each one of them- 
I Prussia would not and 
treat with a revolutionary 
hat had no legal existence 
'er to bind the nation. 
rrcction of Paris on the 
arch, 1S71, against the 
ovemrnent, wus only the 
tinuation of that of the 
imber against the empire, 
■larty that made the one 
her. An omnibus would 
• all the republicans in 
. differ essentially or in 
)m (he Paris Commune, 
tpnession after a fearful 
he condemnation of the 
lat overthrew the empire, 
the goveniinent dial sup- 
Its suppression, so abso- 
Mtfy if France or I-rcnch 
I subsist, was simply tlie 
:ondenintng and killing 
jovemment can be found- 
rvolulionary principle, for 
le is destructive and can 
ig ; and hence it is that 
ition is compelled to de- 
and to he able to rccon- 
laintain political or socinl 
H deny its own i)rinciplc, 
13 possible undo its own 
Ihe Conmmne is only 
lot killed," and will rear 
in in the tirst moment a 
X crisis comes. A repulv 
)d ortler, respecting and 
the rights of person and 
:has we regard our own, 
t impracticable in every 
rope, with the single ex- 
twitzerland, for it ha-s no 
interior life, the antece- 
manners, customs, and 
: people. It was by the 
rpublican France that the 
iTgenls were put down, 
i^urope no political via 
as yet between the 



absolutism of Csesar and tlie abso- 
lutism of the people. Either Cxsar 
is in the place of God, or the people; 
and the only religion this nineteenth 
century tolerates is either monarchi- 
cal absolutism or popular absolutism ; 
and European society, as we see, 
only swings like a pendulum from the 
one to the otlier, and finds no liberty 
or chance fur free development un- 
der either. Its real progress is sus- 
[lendcil. 

At this moment, France lies pros- 
trate with the iron heel of the con- 
queror on her neck, and that conquer- 
or, Prussia, a power that ncv^r was 
known to have a noble or generous 
sentiment, and that has iSoC to 
avenge. Prussia has not yet relaxed 
her hold on her prostrate foe, and 
will not of her own accord, so long 
as a single sign of life remains. 
France has now no legal govern- 
ment, no political organization, and, 
what Ls the worst, recognizes no 
power competent to reorganize her 
suciety, and reconstitute the slate, 
and has recognized none since the 
revolution of 1 789. Since that world- 
m'de event, slie has had no govern- 
ment which she felt herself bound in 
conscience to obey, or towards which 
she had any genuine sentiment of 
loyalty. No goverruncnt has becnable 
to count on the national support if it 
became unfortunate, and ceased to 
gratify the national pride or vanity. 
'I'he principles of 1789, avowedly ac- 
cepted as die basis of bis government 
by the Emperor, are destructive of 
the very sentiment of loyalty, and 
deny the obligation in conscience of 
the peuple to obey authority any 
longer than it suits their convenience. 
If a plebisciium or the jiopular vote 
could cre.ite a legal government. 
Louis Napoleon was and is still the 
legal sovereign of the French people, 
and, through thcra, of France. Hut 
the nation never had any ser.timent 



292 



The Recent Events in France. 



of loyalty towards him, and abandons 
him as it did his greater uncle the mo- 
ment he becomes unsuccessful. It 
never felt that it owed him allegi- 
ance, ancWiow could it since he pro- 
fessed to hold from it ? His govern- 
ment was based on a plcbiscitum, and 
could it bind the nation ? It was 
created by the people, was their crea- 
ture, and can the creator be loyal to 
or bound by his own creation ? The 
nation can be bound only by a 
power above itself and be loyal only 
10 an authority that comes from a 
source independent of the people. 

Louis Napoleon held from 1789, 
and had the weakness to believe in 
plebiscitums. He seems never to 
have understood that unive);sal suf- 
frage can only create an agency, not 
a government. He was a disciple 
of the political philosophers of the 
eighteenth century, who erected re- 
volution into a principle. These 
jjhilosophcrs of the eighteenth centu- 
ry made no account of the continuity 
of the national life, of national habits, 
customs, and usages, and assumed 
that the convention might draw up 
an entirely new constitution accord- 
ing to an abstract and preconceived 
theory, without regard to the antece- 
dents or past life of the nation, and 
without any support in the spiritual or 
supernatural order above the nation, 
get it adop'ed by a plurality of votes, 
and safely rely on VinUrct Men enten- 
du, or enlightened selfinterest, to pre- 
serve it and secure its successful 
practical workings as the fundamen- 
tal law of the nation. The whole 
history of France for nearly a centu- 
ry, without any reference to our own 
experience, refutes the absurd theory 
of the philosophers, or sophists, rather. 
A French gentleman, still living, toUl 
us, before the recent colla]>sc of tlie 
second French Empire, that he had 
witnessed seventeen revolutions or 
changes of government in his native 



country, and he is in a fai 
living to see the number inc 
least to a score. No gc 
created by and held from th 
can govern the people ; an 
son alone or the calculation 
rest were sufficient to sustai 
emment, no government • 
cal constitution would be r 
Paper constitutions are worth 
so far as they express the li' 
stitulion of the nation. " 
tions," Count de Maistre has 
" are generated, not made"; 
merit of the American coi 
is in the fact that it was b 
the American people, not : 
them. 

France was originally co 
by the king, the nobility, the 
with some feeble remains of 
Roman municipalities, subs 
revived and expanded into 
dtat. The balance of her 
constitution had been disturl 
true ; the church and tiie nob 
been greatly enfeebled by the 
ate growth of monarchy on 
hand, and the expansion of 1 
munal power on the other; 1 
four fundamental elements 
national constitution still sub 
more or less force down to 
volution of 1789. That re 
swept away king, church, 
bility, and proclaimed th 
^tat ihe nation, without an; 
cal organization or |>ower t* 
stitute legal or legitimate gbv< 
No nation is competent to c 
itself, for till constituted it i 
mass of individuals, incapabi 
legal national act. Since thei 
h.is been trying in vain t 
something out of nothing, a 
continually alternating betw 
mob and despotism — ilespoti 
]>ressing the mob, and tl 
deposing despotism. She 
moment has no legal govt 



The Recent Events in France. 



2P3 



nch people recognize 
able to reconsiitme ilie 
! Her old monarchical con- 
B, tempered by the church .md 
1 nobility, and restrained by 
M customs, u&agcs, privileges, 
Bnchiscs, is swept away, and 

i remains of her political life 
serve as the gcnn or basis 
^ganifalion, or Ihc re es- 
pent of authority, com]>e- 
gally or inorally, to bind the 

Rre order, and protect 
n all else is tlie fact that 
itept away the chtirch ns a 
hi Uie state, and left the state 
Ki to ronsuiwtc without any 
lupport, or i>ower not depcn- 
jithe nation to sustain it. It 
(he management of public 
into the bands of men and 
that had no faith in God. 
ked or despised rclijiion, and 
I only in themselves and the 
^ilitjf of the siwdes. This 
^greatest evil of all. A nation 
f politically disorganized, and 
|^l>le to recover and re-cbiab- 
!gal government, if it retains 
as an organized power, inde- 
of the nation ; for it then re- 
lOwer that has its source in 
icmatiiral, above the people, 
(r to bind the national will in 
;^ive consistency and 
n to the national or- 
pr The first Napoleon had 
plough to see something 
|iAnU to understand ihat he 
jiol reorganize disorganizerl 
JMrhhout calling in religion lu 
he therefore solicited a 
,t from the Holy Sec, and 
the church, jltut he 
|K enough to see and un- 
even the church coubi 
if holding from himself, 
d m her administration 
the national will. He 



committed the u.sua] mistake of secu- 
lar sovereigns, that of insisting on 
keeping the control of the ecclesias- 
tical administration in their respective 
dominions each in his own hands, 
of using the church to control his 
subjects, but allowing her no authori- 
ty over him.self. 

Nothing can exceed the short- 
sightedness of secular sovereigns in 
seeking to keep religion in ibeir re- 
spective dominions subject to their 
will as an adjunct of the police, rather 
than an independent power holding 
from (_k)d, and alike supreme over 
sovereigi>s and subjects. The pre- 
sent hostility to the church, even in 
old Catholic nations, is in no small 
measure owing to the fact that the 
sovereigns have sought to use her to 
preach submission, resignation, and 
patience to their subjects, and to up- 
hold the autliority of the govern- 
ment, hoivever forgetful of its duties, 
tyrannical, or ojipressive. They have 
sought to make her their instrument 
in governing or, rather, misgovern- 
ing their subjects, without the liberty 
to exercise the power vvliicli, as the 
representative of the divine aulhorily 
on earth, she holds from God, to re- 
mind thent of their duty to govern 
their subjects wisely and jusliy, to 
rebuke and place them under in- 
terdict, and even to declare their 
])Ower forfeited when they per:>istent- 
iy violate tlie law of God and op- 
press the people. Tliey thus render 
Iter odious to the lovers of freedom. 
Hence we see the revolution far 
more bitter against the church than 
against the sovereigns, who, having 
rendered her odious by denying her 
the freedom and independence which 
are her right, and, without which she 
can render no service either to power 
or to liberty, have everywhere al>- 
andoned her to the lender mercies 
of her enemies, in the vain hope of 
coiicilialing the revolution and saving 



«94 



The Rtcent Extents in France. 



their own heads. They throw her 
now as a sop to Cerberus. 

The power of religion to sustain au- 
thority against the insurrection and re- 
bellion of subjects, and liberty against 
the tyranny of the prince, is in her 
being an organic power in the nation, 
but independent of the national will, 
holding from God, not from the na- 
tion or its sovereign, and free to de- 
clare and apply the divine law alike to 
prince and people. Nationalized, she 
has no support outside of the nation, 
no power not derived from it, and 
can give the nation only what it al- 
ready has in itself. It must follow, 
not lead the nation, and share its 
fate, which it has no power to avert. 
What can the Russian Church do to 
restrain the tyranny of the Czar ? 
Or the Church of England to check 
the progress of the revolution now 
going on and threatening to sweep 
away king, nobility, and the church 
first of all? What can it do before 
the democracy become omnipotent? 
AVhy is it that no Gentile nation has 
ever shown any recuperative energy, 
but because Gentilism, as the name 
implies, is nationalism, and the jia- 
tion has in it only a national religion, 
and nothing outside, above, or inde- 
pendent of the national authority ? 
The Gentile religion, deprived of 
catholicity, had to follow the nation, 
and to share its corruption and its fate. 
When the nation fell, it fell with it ; 
and the nation, when it fell, fell for 
ever, and disappeared from the list 
of nations. Protestantism in its es- 
sential principle is a revolt against 
catholicity, and the subjection of reli- 
gion to the national will. It is essenti- 
ally a revival of nationalism, or Gen- 
tilism, and hence a Protestant nation 
has no recuperative energy, and, were 
it to fall, its fall would be like that 
of a Gentile nation, a fall without 
the power to rise again. So it must 
be with every nation that has only 



a national or a nationalixf 
gion. 

Napoleon, who wished the 
only as an adjunct of his own 
never understood anything of 
He saw that the church wi 
conservative than Protestantt 
in fact so by virtue of her Catl 
that she had a stronger hole 
French people, and could se 
better than any Protestant $e 
he did not see that the church 
for a political end, is nee 
powerless even to that end, a 
she serves a political end onl 
she is sought for her own s 
cognized and supported for 
gious end, or as the free an 
pendent kingdom of God oi 
Not understanding this, he 
her unrestrained liberty, and 
by his own legislation to subj 
in his own dominions to I 
will, and to compel her ei 
support his policy or to feel 
weight of his vengeance. SI 
support him, wear his liveryj 
bidding, hold his enemies to 
enemies, or he would not tolei 
at all. She, as the church < 
could not accept this positi 
sink into a mere national 
however powerful the natia 
asserted her independence, i 
independence alike of him an 
he professed to govern. H 
manded her to obey him : sh' 
ed. He quarrelled with her, i 
her supreme pontiff from his 
despoiled him of his estates, 
soned him, was excommunica 
came powerless before his < 
was defeated, lost his throi 
was sent by his conquerors 
his life away as a prisoner c 
land on the barren isle of St 
leaving French society bar 
disorganized than he found it 

'ITie Restoration which f 
was a return toward legitimi 



77t«' J^rcoti /it'eufs in France. 



oadcr it France actually recuperated 
wiiii a rapidity which seems innrvellous 
Itoiinbdicven. Hut it humiliated the 
dlion, becjuse it w:<s iiiipused oti it 
i>y IbreijOi bayonets, and its work of 
fcpAmlion and expiation necessarily 
Ade it unpopular with all who had 
ofitcd by the plunder and coiilisca- 
ota of the Revolution, or by tlie 
i of the Empire. The sj>iTit of 
I789 still possessed a large portion 
ibe population. The Dourbons 
Qed, also, with the old (jalli- 
tradicioiis of the relation of 
burch and state, which liad lu&t 
: monarchy, and prepared the puo- 
for the old revolution. 'I'hcy 
ould have the church, indeed, but 
r would never recognize her right- 
supremacy ; and, though giving 
nee really the btst government 
I had hail for a long tinio, they at 
ngih felt before the intrigues of a 
Dungcr branch of the family, sup- 
by the combined factions of 
• BooapaniiiU, republicans, and so- 
ilists. 

The monarchy of July or the Bar- 

ad« was, notwithstanding the pre- 

CC4 of the jus/r milUu^ or doc- 

s, a purely revolutionary gov- 

nent, improvised in the interests 

disorder, without a shadow of 

^,aud without anything, in the 

or in religion, on which it 

buld rest ; and from the first it was 

oed by the legitimists, the old 

ODol nobility, by the peasantry, 

iger part of the republicans, 

pported only by the bffitr^eoi- 

: business classes, and the Uo- 

iists, the latter of whom hoped 

make it a stepping-stone to the 

itoniion of the Napoleonic empire. 

had no hold on the nation, no 

rer to reconstitute it on a solid 

perm.Tnfnt basis; and so, as a 

:i appeared on the 

Bgc, I nout a struggle lufore 

' |*ariaan mob. it was inditlerent 



rather than avowedly hostile to the 
church, but it gave free scope to the 
infidel press, warred against the Je- 
suits, and maintained the infidel uni- 
versity in the monopoly of education. 
It, however, indirectly served the 
cau^e of religion by the little court 
favor the bishops could obtain, and 
who, in consequence, retired, and 
looked after the interests of religion 
in their respective dioceses, so that 
when a Parisian mob overthrew the 
citizen-king in February, 1848, and 
proclaimed the republic, the church 
was really more influential in France 
than slie had been since i68j. She 
had influence enough to displace the 
parly that made the revolution from 
the control of public affairs, to defeat 
and crush the reds and communists 
in the terrible days of June, 1S4S, to 
save French sociL-ty from utter disso- 
lution, and maintain order under a 
republic proclaimed by the friends of 
disorder. We are far from being con- 
vinced that, if the bishops and clergy 
had continued lo show the energy in 
supporting the republic that they did 
in wresting it from the control of the 
infidels and destructives, they would 
not have been able to reconstitute 
French society on a Catholic and a 
republican basis, to the advantage 
ahke of religion and society. 

Certain it is, the church, though 
not officially suppcrtcd by the re- 
public, and had many and bitter 
enemies in France, was freer un- 
der it than she had been since the 
great Western Schism, and had a 
fair opportunity to prove to the world 
that she is wedded to no particular 
form of government or political or- 
ganization, and can subsist as well, 
to say the least, in a republic as in a 
monarchy. We thought at the time, 
and we still think, though no enemy 
to monarchy and no blind defender 
of republicanism, that the French 
bishops and clergy committed a grave 



296 



The Recent Events in France. 



blunder in abandoning the republic 
and surrendering French society to 
the nephew of his uncle — a member 
of the Carbonari, a known conspirator 
against the Pope in 1832, and a fa- 
vorite with the red republicans and 
socialists. It would be difficult to 
estimate the damage they did to 
France and to the cause of religion 
throughout the world. It will cost, 
perhaps, centuries of bitter struggle 
and suffering on the part of Catho- 
lics, to repair the sad effects of that 
blunder. Cut French Catholics had 
for ages been accustomed to rely on 
royal support, and they lacked the 
robust and vigorous habits under 
God of self-reliance. The bishops 
and clergy could easily have march- 
ed to a martyrs' death, but they 
had with all their experience never 
learned tlie folly of putting their 
trust for the church in princes. They 
remembered the Reign of Terror; 
they remembered, also, the flesh-pots 
of Egypt, and slirank from the hun- 
ger, thirst, and fatigue of the desert. 
The new emperor found the French 
people dividcil into three princi[)al 
parties — tlie church or Catholic party, 
which included tlie Bourbonists and 
the better part of the Orleanists ; the 
republican party, properly so-called ; 
and the socialistic or extreme radical 
party, represented in the recent civil 
war by the communists of Paris and 
of all Euro|)e. His policy on com- 
mencing his reign was avowedly to 
keep the control of all these parties 
in his own hands, by leaving each 
party something to hope from his 
government, and allowing no one to 
gain the ascendency, and, as far as 
possible, engrossing the whole nation 
in the pursuit of material goods. 
He acknowledged tlie sovereignty 
of the nation, professed to hold from 
1789, and favored universal suffrage, 
which was in accordance with the 
views of the republican party ; he 



adopted measures to secure en 
ment to the working-men ol 
cities and towns, among whon 
the great body of the sodalis 
communists, by his encourage 
of expensive national and muD 
works; and, to retain his ho! 
them and to protect himself ftp 
assassins of the secret societit 
made his Italian campaign, 
the Austrians out of Italy, and 
pared the way for Italian unific 
and for despoiling the H(Jy I 
of his temporal possessions an( 
ereignty ; raised the salaries p; 
clergy as servants of the state 
repaired churches and abbeys * 
tional monuments at the nation 
pense, to please and secure the c 
party. , But he suppres-sed the 
dom the church had enjoyed 
the republic, maintained the " 01 
articles " of his uncle, and all th 
Gallican edicts and legislation z.\ 
the freedom and independenc 
the church in full force, tn 
that she would see a compens 
for her loss of liberty in the incr 
pomp and splendor of her wc 
or the gilded slavery to whic 
reduced her. 

The recrudescence of infic 
atheism, or materialism was a m 
feature under the Second Ea 
and the influence of religion 
and hourly declined ; and all th( 
dom and energy of the govern 
seenjed exerte l to despirituaiu 
we may be allowed the word 
French nation, to extinguish ' 
ever remained of its old chi' 
sentiments and its old love of | 
once so powerful in every Fi 
heart, and to render the nation i 
only on things of the earth, es 
His policy, being always that o( 
measures, disguised as moden 
was not suited to make him 
friends. His Italian campaign af 
Austria was pushed far enoO| 



^f Rectnt Evet^^n France. 



297 



ns his enemies, but 
to make friends of 
is consent to ihc an- 
:Unia uf the Itahan 
ic Ncai>olitan kin(j;<loni, 
|j£milian provinces of the 
1^ ^as enougji to alienate 
^ of international l.iw, and 
I sU consen-jtives and 
J who had any sense of 
ligion ; but not enough, so 
jc protected the Holy Fa- 
f sovereignty of the city of 
'^ain him the gooii-will of 
|s, communisLs, secret so- 
fc>f the partisans of Italian 
k policy of never pushing 
I extt"emes, and of winning 
>ning all parties, by leaving 
fething to hope from him, 
What any one sjjetially dc- 
fcssarily resulted, as might 
foreseen, in offending all 
in gaining the confidence 
He ha<l by his half-and- 
suci:cedc<I in alienating 
France, and, by his Cri- 
hts Italian policy, and 
ue with Bismarck to drive 
iermany and increase 
id power of Prussia, 
c»]«any well in losing 
icc of all the European 
h which he had any rela- 
IQ finding himself without 
L friend. 

Ltions of 1869 disclosed 

insaiisf;U"tory fact that he 

no party in France, and 

but hiii own creatures, and 

itatncd a feeble majority in 

r vote, say of five hundred 

rotes out of an aggregate 

>ns and a half, it was from 

another revolution, rather 

any attachment to him 

or to his fiovcrnment. 

n to ft new line of policy, 

I ftruma/ government, to 

ons to what is 



called seir-govcmm?nt, and to throw 
himself into t!ie arms of the appa- 
rently nioderatc liberals, as distin- 
guished on the one hand from the 
church party, and on the other from 
the socialists, communists, or destruc- 
tives, tliat is, of the feeblest and least 
po[nilnr party in France, and consent- 
ed to the war against Prussia as his 
only chance of recovering, by military 
success, if he gained it, his populari- 
ty with the nation. His miliiury ex- 
pedition having failed, bcr.iusc he 
had, so to s[>eak, unmarluilizeti his 
empire, and because he was not real- 
ly backetl by the French people, he 
was obliged to surrender liimself a 
prisoner of war with his army at Se- 
dan, and his dynasty was expelled by 
a mob. He had abandoned the Holy 
Father in order to serve the liberals 
at home and abroad, deserted the 
cause of God, and God, anti even 
the liberals, deserted him. 

France is to-day not only prostrate 
under the iron heel of the Prussiaji, 
but is without any government in 
which any party in the nation has any 
confidence, and, if she recovers at all, 
her recovery must be slow and pain- 
ful, and subject to numerous relapses. 
Prussia, as we have said, will not 
readily let go her hold, and never, 
so long as she can help it, suffer her 
to rise from her present coailition. 
The remote cause is 1789, or rather 
the causes that led to thai uncalled- 
for and most disastrous revolution; 
but the proximate cause we must 
look for in tlie lack of wisc,and prac- 
tical statesmanship in Louis Napo- 
leon, who sought to govern France 
according to a preconceived theory, 
workeit out in his closet or his soli- 
tary studies. When he took the 
reins of government, the Catholic 
party were rcaUy in the ascendant ; 
and, had he been a wise and prac- 
tical statesman, he would have :ieen 
that the only chance of reorganiz- 



29S 



The Recent Events in France. 



ing and governing France was not 
in laboring to maintain an equilibrium 
of parties, but in throwing himself re- 
solutely on the side of the party, in 
studying and sustaining, without any 
compromise with the enemies of 
God and society, real Catholic in- 
terests, and in surrounding himself 
by thorough-going Catholic states- 
men. Catholicity alone offered any 
solid basis for the state or for au- 
thority, order, or liberty. The other 
parties in the nation were all, in 
varying degrees, the enemies alike 
of authority and liberty, and none of 
them offered any solid basis of gov- 
ernment. He should, therefore, have 
placed his whole confidence in Ca- 
tholic France, and set them aside, 
anfl, if they rebelled, have suppressed 
them, if necessary, by armed force. 
Had he done so, and acted in concert 
with the Holy Father and the reli- 
gious portion of the nation, he would 
have reorganized France, given soli- 
dity to his power, and permanence 
to his throne. But from policy or 
from conviction he chose to hold 
from 1789, and was incapable of un- 
derstanding that no government that 
tolerates the revolutionary principle, 
or is based on infidelity or the rejec- 
tion of all spiritual or supernatural 
authority above the nation, can stand. 
So-called self-government, without 
the church of God, teaching and 
governing all men and nations in 
all things spiritual, is only a delusion, 
for the nation needs governing no 
less than tlie individual. 

But as we have already hinted, 
there are remoter causes of the pre- 
sent condition of France, and, we 
may add, of all old Catholic nations ; 
and Catholics must not throw all the 
blame of that condition on the gov- 
ernments or the revolutionary spirit 
of 1789, still so rife. They have 
been and still are the great majority 
in all these nations, and why should 



they not be held responsib 
prevalence of the revolutio 
it, and for the bad seculai 
ments they have suffered t< 
the church ? Why have th 
ed an anti-Catholic public 
grow up and become pred( 
Why have they suffered t 
and interests of religion to 
ficed to the falsely suppos 
and interests of the secula 
Can they pretend that no 1 
taches to them for all this ? 
France has, at least s 
death of Philip the Second 
been the foremost Catholic i 
the world, and for a mud 
time the leader of modem civ 
and in her we may see th 
that have produced her owi 
that of the other old Call 
tions. France, in this her 
moment, has not, we bi 
single Catholic in the ad 
tion. The president is a bi 
no religion ; the minister o 
affairs is no Christian, and I 
a man of very small abilii 
minister of worship and u 
says he is moral, but he is 
no Catholic. The transitioi 
ment, opposed as it is by all 
er parties in the nation, ( 
must at present seek to gain 
port of the bishops and c 
what we call the church pi 
Spain, though the majority 
tholics and have votes, the 
ment is in the hands of the 
of the church. In Italy, a hi 
infidels and miscreants t 
though the great body of tl 
are Catholics and have vote 
trol the nation, to violate wi 
nity every principle of priv 
and of international law, I 
cate the property of the ch 
of religious orders, and t< 
the Holy Father, take pon 
his capital, and bold him a 



^eernt Eit»ts in France. 



299 



atace. Why is ihis suffered ? 

trance and every olhcr old 

\ nation ruled by men who 

> regard for the church ami 

Dsccl to hCT freedom and in- 

tncc? Whence in modem 

^es this undeniable political 

of Catholics? Why is it 

pular literature, science, and 

ppiuion are throughout the 

tddeiily anti-Calholic ? 

inly this is Tint owing to the 

de of Catholics as such ; for, 

all the ages from the fall of the 

I Roman Kmpirc to the taking 

stantinople by the Ottoman 

B the fifteenth century, Catho- 

b the governing class, and in no 

i human history have civili/u- 

I the progress of society so 

uivonced as during this period, 

hgby calls the Ages of Faith. 

; again, owing to any loss of 

Igor in the church herself, as is 

by the success of her mis- 

n Proieiiant nations and 

savage and barbarous tribes. 

^ in old Catholic nations that 

ich loses ground, and this 

'that the cause is not in 

: can be traced to no Catli- 

ise, but must be traced to 

tefcct in the Catholic ad- 

pon in these old Catholic 

flhemsclves. Catholics pro- 

Mbolic interests better, and 

Bfc influence in public affairs 

ia, in Crrcal Britain and Ire- 

, Holland, and the United 

uin in Austria, France, Spain, 

Why is this? 
reason we may perhaps find 
allure of pious and devout 
» lo consider the difference 
I tlicii duties in a Catholic 
d what were their duties in 
y 3g« under the pagan em- 
Undcr the pagan emperors, 
raa in the hands of their ene- 
it IS in infidel, heretical, and 



schismaticalnationsnow, and they had 
no political responsibility. All that 
was incumbent on them was to culti- 
vate the private virtues, lo do their 
best to sanctify their souls, to obey 
the constituted authorities in all things 
not contrary to the law of Ciod, and, 
when the laws of the empire or the 
edicts of the emijerors commanded 
them lo do what the Christian law 
forbids, to refuse obedience and 
submit cheerfully to the penally of 
disobedience, which in most cases wc 
know was mariyrdcm. But when 
the empire became Christi.in, and es- 
pecially when Christendom was recon- 
stituted by the conversion of the bar- 
barian nations that succeeded to the 
empire, the position and duties of Ca- 
tholics or Christians in some respects 
changed. Power passed to their hands, 
and lhe>- became responsible for its ex- 
ercise, and it was their duty to keep it 
in their own hands, and conform the 
national legislation and administration 
to Uie law of t'hrist. Calliolifs then 
incurred as Catholics a political re- 
sponsibility which they had not under 
tlie pagan emperor, and which they 
were not free to throw off. The po|jes 
always understood this, and acteil 
accordingly ; but the ascetic disci- 
pline which enjoined detachment 
from the world was by many de- 
vout and earnest souls construed to 
mean detachment from alt part or 
interest in the political order or the 
government of Christendom. In con- 
sequence, the affairs of stale fell, as 
under the pagan empire, into the 
hands of Ca>sar, or of those who 
were more ambitious to acquire hon- 
ors and power than to protect and 
promote the interests of religion. 

This has been more especially the 
case since the opening of modern 
history or the rise of Protestantism ; 
and we find among devout Catholics 
intent on saving their own souls a 
feeling that there is an incompatibility 



300 



The Recent Events in France, 



between politics . and religion, and 
that he who would serve God must 
leave the affairs of state to men of 
the world; which is, in effect, to de- 
liver them over to the control of men 
who are servants of Satan rather than 
servants of God. The state has, 
therefore, been given over to the 
Hnemy^of souls, because Catholics 
were led, through a one-sided asceti- 
cism, to neglect to keep it in their 
own hands, and the church has been 
suffered to be despoiled, her pontiffs, 
priests, and religious have been suffer- 
ed to be massacred, for the lack of 
a httle resolution and energy on the 
part of Catholics to defend their re- 
ligion and the sacred rights of their 
church and of society entrusted to 
their courage and fidelity. Thus a 
handful of Jansenists, IVotestants, 
Jews, and infidels in France were per- 
mitted to establish a reign of terror 
over twenty-five millions of CathoHcs, 
exile their bishops, massacre or banish 
their priests and religious, suppress 
religious houses, close the churches, 
prohibit Catholic worship, abolish 
religion itself, decree that death is an 
eternal sleep, and substitute for the 
worship of the living God the idola- 
try of an infamous woman, placed 
upon the altar and adored as the 
goddess of Reason. All this time, 
while all these horrors were enacted in 
the name of the nation, the twenty- 
five millions of C'atholics, except in 
Brittany and La Vendue, made hard- 
ly a show of resistance, and suffered 
themselves to be led as sheep to the 
slaughter, forgetful that they owed it 
to France and to Christendom to sus- 
tain and govern their country as a 
Christian or Catholic nation. It is a 
duty to pray, and to pray always, but 
sometimes it is a duty for Christians 
to fight, and to have not only tlic 
courage to die in the battle for a 
holy cause, but to generous souls the 
far more difficult courage, the courage 



to kill. We have observ 
French Catholics no lack > 
against a foreign foe, even 
of more than doubtful nc 
justice, but a fearful lack < 
against the domestic foe, 
late communist insurrectioi 
They seem restrained by i 
conscience. 

Another reason may pr 
found in the fact already h 
the mass of Catholics 1: 
trained and accustomed t 
external authority ; to look 
tion and support not to God 
selves, but to the secular gc 
They have not been accu 
rely on spiritual authority ah 
the secular sovereign as a so 
pus externus. This had nc 
sequences so long as th 
sovereign was faithful, and . 
under the direction and au 
and in concert with, the 
Pontiff; but it had a most 
effect when the sovereign 
ecclesiastical matters in 
name, and when he tumc 
the Pope, and souglu to st 
church in his dominions t( 
control or supervision, w 
not seldom the case. But 
and people, accustomed to 1 
secular authority to guarc 
against the entrance of th 
became slack in their vigil 
remiss in acquiring habits 
liance, and, with the inspirad 
Holy Ghost, of self-defence 
quently, when kings anc 
ceased to keep guard, or » 
turned wolves themselves, 
Protestant revolt, the fi 
powerless, knew not to whoi 
for support, and had no res 
to yield themselves to be 
by schlsm,Jieresy, or aposta- 
is now the case with the g 
of the Catholic people in a 
tholic countries. With the ■ 



The Recent Bveufs in France, 



301 



tlialmg the revolution and 
ing iheir ihroncs, the sover- 
Europc, without a single ex- 
have abandoned or turned 
Ihc church, and there is not 
whom the Holy Father can 
He is alone, with the kings 
nccs of the earth either hostile 
ificrcnt to him, while the old 
of relying on the secular 
y for support, for the nio- 
c least, paralyzes nearly the 
body of Catholics in aJI old 

nations. 
her reason, growing out of 
may be found in the habit 
grown up since the rise of 
Bnit&m> nf relying on the ex- 
dtnost to the exclusion of the 
authority of the Holy Ghost. 
>!y Ghost dwells in the churchj 
-hes and governs through her 
external organ ; he dwells 
ihe soul$ of the faithful, and 
and directs them, and gives 
obostness, and self-reliance to 
ty. Protestantism assailed 
amal authority of the church, 
:1c it necessar)' for Catholics 
ihexr attention to its defence, 
show that no spirit that dis- 
it, or tliat does not assert it 
BJorm to it, can be the spirit 
1, but is the spirit of error, io 
anti-Christ, who, ihe blessetl 
John tfilH, was alrcidy in his 
the world ; yet il may be that 
tnce of what we call the ex- 
iut)u)rit>' of the Holy Ghost, 
nity of the church as a tcach- 
niing body, has caused 
in the great body of the 
of the interior inspirations 
ncc of the Holy Ghost in 
ual soul. No Catholic will 
d us. VVc appreciate as 
any one can the exicmal 
' h, her suprcma- 
if- ; we accept ex 

Ihe supremacy and infalli- 



bility of the successor of St. Peter 
in the See of Rome, as dchncd in the 
recent Council of the Vatican, and 
should be no better than a Protestant 
if we did not ; but that external au- 
thority is not alone, or alone suflici- 
cnt, as every Catholic knows, for the 
soul, and its acceptance is not suffi- 
cient for salvation. The Holy Ghost 
must dwell in the individual soul, 
forming " Christ within, the hope of 
glory." We do not mean to imply 
that any of our ascetic writers or 
spiritual directors overlook the need 
of the interior inspirations and 
guidance of the Holy Spirit, or fail 
to give it due prominence, but that 
its aulhorily has not had due promi- 
nence given it in our controversial 
literature and in our expositions of 
Catholic faith intended for the public 
at large. 

All these reasons have combined 
to reduce France, so long the fore- 
most Catholic nation in the world, to' 
her present pitiable condition, hardly 
more pitiable than that of Italy, 
Spain, Austria, and the Spajiish and 
PortugucsL' slates of this continent 
What is the reinedy, or is there none ? 
We do not believe there is no remedy. 
We do not believe it, because the 
church proved her power in France 
under the Republic of 1848, which 
originated in hostility to her still 
more than to monarchy ; we do not 
believe it, for we see CallioHcily still 
able to convert the heathen ; we do 
not believe it, because we see Catho- 
licity Wgorous and tlourisliing, and 
every d.iy gaining ground in Protest- 
ant nations, where the church has no 
external support, and receives no aid 
from the stale, and is thrown back on 
her own resources as the kingdom of 
God on earth, as she was under the 
pagan emperors. These facts prove 
that she is by no means effete, or in- 
capable of malting further conquests. 
Her decline in old Catholic nations 



302 



The Recent Events in France. 



is no sign of weakness or decay in 
her, but is due to the imperfect train- 
ing, to the timidity and helplessness 
of her children, deprived as they are 
of their accustomed external sup- 
ports. 

The remedy is not, as De Lamcn- 
nais contended, in breaking with the 
sovereigns and forming an alliance 
with the revolution; but in training 
her children to those interior habits 
and robust virtues that will enable 
them to dispense with the external 
props and supports of civil society, 
and in asserting for herself in old 
Catholic nations the freedom and in- 
dependence she has here, or had in 
pagan Rome, though it be done at 
the expense of her temporal goods 
and of martyrdom. The people of 
God, under the Old Law, sought 
support in an arm of flesh ; the arm 
of flesh failed, and they were carried 
away into captivity. The arm of flesh 
fails the jjeople of God again. 
There are C'liristians, but there is no 
longer a Christendom. Modern soci- 
ety is hardly less pagan than the an- 
cient society the church found when 
she went forth from Jerusalem to 
convert the world. There is no reli- 
ance to be placed in the horsemen 
and chariots of Egyi)t. The whole 
world is' to-day, as in the time of 
the apostles, a missumaiy world; and, 
perhaps, the greatest embarrassment 
of the Holy Ivither is encountered in 
the fact th;U Catholics in old Catho- 
lic nations cafinot see it, but persist in 
being trained and governed as they 
were when there was a Christendom. 
Everywhere the church is by the de- 
fections of the governments become 
again in all nations a missionary 
church, and her bishops and ]>riesis 
need everywhere to be trained and 
formed to be wise, persevering, and 
effective missionaries. Cathnlics must 
everywhere be made to undcrstaml 
that it is not the church that needs 



the state, but the state that needs the 
church. 

France without the church has no 
power to reorganize the sute. She 
has not yet subdued tlie revolution- 
ary elements which have so confused 
her, nor loosed the hold of the cod- 
queror upon her throat, and her pre- 
sent improvised government deserves 
the confidence of no party in the 
nation. In itself, the Thiers govern- 
ment is utterly powerless. It needs 
the church, and cannot stand without 
her. French Catholics should un- 
derstand this, and boldly assume the 
lead of public affairs, if they arc roea 
and love their country, and make, as 
they now can, the republic, under an 
emperor, king, or president, it mat- 
ters not much whidi, a truly Catho- 
lic republic, and France, now so low 
and weak, may become again the . 
nucleus, as under Clovis and St, 
Clotilde, of a reconstructed Chris- 
tendom, constituted differently as to 
politics, it may be, but unchanged 
as to religion from tliat which has 
now passed away. Tlie church never 
dies, never changes, and cannot be 
other than she is ; but the poli- 
tical organization of Christendom 
may change with time and events. 
It changed when the barbarian iii-< 
tions displaced the Roman Empiie;, 
it changed when Charlemagne dosed 
the barbarous ages, and opened the 
way fur the feudalism of the middle 
"i^es ; it changed again when, through 
the revolution inaugurated by Lutb-, 
cr, absolute monarchy succeeded to. 
feudalism in Catholic hardly lirss than 
in .Vrotcstant Europe; and it nsf 
change again when order sucoeedl 
to the present revolutionary duoL 
It is not likely that Christendom wiD 
be reconstructed on its old poHdcil 
bxsis, whether it is desirable thst it 
should be or not, and, for oursdveii 
we think that all who hope to see it 
so reconstructed are sure to be <£>■ 



The Recent Events in France. 



303 



We think ii not impro- 
wheii Christendom is re- 
tted, k will be [loliiicaily, on a 
ean ami anti-monirchical ba- 
mt absoluli&in, whether tlut 
■ or that of the peo[>te, is 
■Qjle with the rcco^nitiuu of 
Be sovereignty, and conse- 
Irith religion. Neither fonn 
Btitisni can fomi the poh'tical 
* a re<-onstructcd Christendom ; 
f jirobabihties are thai, when 
Ule into their places, and 
|urdcr begins to emerge, it 
ascd on some form of tc- 
>. in \vhich the organic 
Hit take the place of the 

esent condition of things is 

sad; but we see nothing 

should lead us to despair 

lure. Catholics in old Ca- 

lions have needetl, and jicr- 

necd, to learn that this 

%tk subsist and conquer the 

hout any external support 

government, but that 

rninenl cannot subsist 

Ea^e properly its duties to 

thout tlie chunrli. We nho 

staiu countries, and see 

lily dissolving before our 

no need to be taught that 

jc have already Icametl it 

But the mass of Catholics 

kthohc nations, even of the 

[oA well as the uneducated, 

Aly im[>cn'cclly understand 

onso^ucnily rentier it diffi- 

^t impossible, fur the church 

ully and promptly the mca- 

[might judge tlie most pro- 

•ct the wants of ihc times. 

Dot sec that the old Christen- 

I gone, beyond the hope of 

Providence, it seems to us, 

nitte<l the present sitnte of 

iry lu disembarrass 

-;r mopportunc con- 

, ood 10 force them to learn 



and profit by the Ifisson which every- 
day becomes more and more neces- 
sary for them to heetJ, if the jirospcr- 
ity of religion is to be promoted, the 
s;ilvatii)n of souls to be cared for, 
and the preservation of society as- 
sured. The measures taken are se- 
vere — very severe, but there are 
scholars that can Iw made to learn 
only by llic free use of the ferula. 
Especially do the Catholics of France 
need to Icani this lesson, for in no 
other country have Catholics made 
their religion so dependent on the 
secular order. 

The fall of France, notwithstand- 
ing Ihc faith, ]>iety, and charily of 
so large a portion of her people, will 
probably prove only a temporary in- 
jury to Catholic interests. France 
has fallen because she has been false 
to her mission as the leader of mo- 
dern civilization, because .she has led 
it in an anti- Catholic direction, and 
made it weak and frivolous, corrupt 
and corrupting. Providence is se- 
verely punishing her ; but he has not, 
we trust, cast her off for ever. She 
has in her bosom still millions of 
Catholics, and these have only to 
come forward in the strength of their 
religion, displace the enemies of God, 
take themselves the management of 
the affairs of the nation, and show 
the wisdom and energy they did jn 
1848, when they put down the red 
republicans and socialists. They will 
Uicn enable France, in spite of the 
grasp of the contjueror and the fierce 
opposition of the destructives, to re- 
cover, slowly and painfully, it may 
be, but nevertheless to recover, and 
to prove herself greater and more 
powerful tlian ever. When France 
becomes once more a really Catholic 
nation, the revolution will be extin- 
guished, iufidchty will lose its popu- 
larity, atheism will no longer dare 
show its head, and a reaction in fa- 
vor of the church will take place, so 



304 



A Memory, 



strong and so irresistible that the 
whole world will be affected by it, 
and the nations that have so long 
been alienated from unity will be 
brought back within the fold. 

The only obstacle to this grand 
result which we see is in the timidi- 
ty, in the lack of energy on the part 
of Catholics in the assertion and de- 
fence of their religion, or in their want 
of courage to confide alone in God 
for success. Adversity, we think, can 
hardly fail to reform and reinvigorate 
them, and to direct their attention to 
their true source of strength as Ca- 
tholics or the children of God, They 
will learn from it to adhere more 



closely to the Chair of Peter, s 
rely more on the internal dii 
of the Holy Ghost, and less < 
aid of the secular order. No < 
the present state of things impo! 
ditional labors as well as sufl 
on the bishops and clergy in 6 
tholic nations, and requires son 
dihcations of the education < 
priesthood now given in our 
naries. Our Levites must be ti 
for a missionary world, not 1 
old Catholic world; but this 
alarm no one; for the greati 
labors and sacrifices in the sen 
God, the greater the merit ai 
reward. 



A MEMORY.* 

TwAS only a prayer I heard 
In that vast cathedral grim. 

Where incense filled the air 
And vesper lights burnt dim. 

'Twas only a woman's form, 
Kneeling with upturned face, 

That looked through the pictured altar 
Up to the throne of grace. 

Clasped in her small white hands 

An amber rosary telling ; 
While from her glorious eyes 

Teardrops fast were wcelling. 

No thought for the world without, 
No thought for the stranger near, 

As pausing and sobbing she murmured, 
" O Mother of sorrows, hear !" 

And I, in a land of strangers, 
Joined in the pleader's prayer : 

Praying for her that I knew not, 
To Her who I felt was there. 



* By oae who is not x Cntholic. 



The House of Yorke. 



30s 



THE HOUSE OF YORKE. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



characters are tou narrow 
variety," says Walter Sav- 

pdor \ and, we add, so much 
for them 1 for that variety 

[a bitter dower to its pos 

\ of one idea may be caUcU 
^sector of humanity. He is 
Ded, prompt, and uncompro- 
I he walks over people who 
his path, and will not listen 
pinions of otliers, except in 
controvert them ; and he 
ccomphshcs something that 
s«^. The man of two ideas 
arc a little, and turns out 
listens to people now and 
man of three or more 
and lets live, believes that 
may come out of Na2a* 
not only listens to others, 
nctimes convinced by them ; 
uttb curves somewhat, hint- 
in orbit. In him you first 
thu growing humanity aims 
icle; and as, with the cres- 

trnt wc ^^y ^^^ ^^ ^^^ 
tntly outlined, so this man 
> more than he is. For it is 
at least not here, what Car- 
, that ^ what a man kens, he 

ere ts another kind of man, 
:D, who rounds the circle, 
eyes and sympathies for 

111 nadir, sun^t and sunrise, 
' fttarry fugn. His thought 
every door, feeds at every 

(d listens to every tongue. 

tlcas to the few of one idea 
few of two ideas, and the 
throng of those who never 
XIV. — 20 



liad an idea, he is, oftencr than not, 
a fool, or a knave, or a lunatic. He 
is eccentric, iuconsistent; worse than 
all, unpractical. Doubtless, he Is 
wicked as well, since he is likely to 
eat of all the fruits in the garden. 
For, though original sin may have 
touched them with blight on the one 
check, on the other, to his eyes still 
lingers that paradisian bloom it 
caught on the sixth day. when the 
Creator looked, and saw that aU wai 
^d. This perfected nature, there- 
fore, which needs only \\\^ fiat btx of 
failh to make it a sun, is appreciated 
and hailed by him only from whose 
one limit to the other stretches the 
connecting glimmer of prophetic half- 
knowledge. 

AVe do not pretend to say that 
Carl Vorkc had one of these univer- 
sally sympathizing natures; but he 
was various enough to be hard to 
get attuned, especially since hia pro- 
gramme had once been interrupted, 
and his harmony temporarily discon- 
certed. 

When a man has looked upon 
happiness as his first object in life, 
he finds it hard to give it the second 
pLice, or to leave it quite out of bis 
plans. Moreover, we do not repent 
till we have transgressed, and it must, 
therefore, be far more difficult to save 
the tempted than the sinner. Of ac- 
tual, heinous transgression, Carl was 
innocent ; but he had slipped around 
the outer circle, where first you lay 
the oars aside, and the smooili- back- 
ed waves become your coursers. Then 
a man fancies himself a god : not 
Neptune himself seems greater. One. 



306 



The House of Y&rke. 



may more easily tear himself out 
from the central whirl than draw back 
from that smooth outer circle. 

Besides, there was cloubt. He 
who can do many things must needs 
choose, and, where circumstances are 
passive, choice may be tlifficult. 
Carl inherited his father's talent, and 
had more than his father's force. 
He sketched and painted exquisitely, 
and, when he drew the portrait of one 
he loved, the jjictiire breathed. Ma- 
ny a lady, disap[>ointed with the stiff 
presentment of her beauty achieved 
by other artists, had entreated him in 
vain to become her limner. 

*' Ransorae paints my nose, and 
hair, and shoulders all right," one 
said. " I cannot find fault with a 
line. But for all the soul he puts 
into them, my head might as well be 
a milliner's block. I suppose it is 
because he thinks that a fine body 
docs not need any soul. Such a'con- 
trast as I saw in his studio, the other, 
day ! He had two or three portraits 
of Mrs. Clare, paii^tcd in different 
po.-)itions, and he displayed them to 
me, going into ecstasies over her 
beauty. ' Yes, yes,' I answered ; but 
I was not enchanted. ' She is one 
of the few dangerous \vomen,' he 
said, meaning that the power of her 
lovc'iness was irresistible; but I could 
not understand his enthusiasm. Pre- 
scntl\', I cijpied, in a corner of the 
room, on the floor, half-hidden by 
otlKT I'iilurcs, a face that made nic 
!-t;.rt. 1 (lid not think whether or 
not t!ie features were perfect, the 
hair j-rotusc, the tint e^(lUl^ite. I saw 
only a hiring, fasrjnaiing creature, 
who, with he.id halfdronping and 
lips halfsmiling, gazed at mc over 
her shoulder, 'rhcrc were no red 
and white. The fare looked out from 
shadows so prolound. they might bo 
of a midnight garden at midsummer, 
when the moon and stars are hid in 
sultry cloud, or from the shrouding 



arras of a lonely cl^aunber 
wicked old palace, or from 
hanging portal of the bettor 
I would walk through fire t 
back one I love from follow 
a face. * It is wonderful !' I 
ed. ' Why do you hide it 
by far superior too anything 
have here.' I thought that I 
some did not seem to be muci: 
ed by my praise. * I did not 
he said. ' Carl Owen Yoi 
Of course, I could not say a 
The situation was cmba 
' Would you think that 1 
same as these ?* pointing to 
traits of Mrs. Clare. I coul 
resemblance. 'They are th 
he said, looking mortified, i 
I knew what he meant in sa) 
she was a dangerous womai 
did you paint that, Mr. Vorl 
lady asked abruptly, tumir 
Carl. 

" In order not to be=attr; 
it," he replied gravely. " D 
Ie.ave on you the impression 
thing makelike ? In painti 
I broke the spell. Alice M 
me to paint it. She said, ' 
fascinated only by that which 
not analyze. Catch the tr 
the power is gone.* She w 
She is always right. Nothi 
shallow as an evil fascinatior 

Vet, in sjjite of ever\- pre 
success, Carl turned aside fl 
He had found out that ll: 
above all, needs happiness, 
study, think, and work, w 
heartstrings arc strained to b: 
but he who, with his hand i 
pen, the brush, the chorde< 
or the chisel, waits till thc«i 
influences wliich he is giftet 
ceive stiall move him, ms 
every pulse stilled by a peri 
tent. Tain distorts his work. 
tunes his music, blurs his coI> 
ens his thought, and makes 1 



The House of Yorke. 



307 



cwcrvc. N V is this in purely natural 
an aUmc : fur Uiu artist nhust: strug- 
Mjul Ignores all else to grasjj 
ipcmauirai gives only a. blunt- 
ed ray through a turbul medium. 
Ttic |>cn»l Uiling, there was dip- 
y, and hteraturc, particularly 
^liszu. Something must be 
HiA idle and aimless life had 
lie a torture. Therefore he 
; I ■<!, and read, giving much time 
! ■ ^ i.::;iiiges. "Languages," he was 
v^ut.; io say, "are as necessary to a 
man who would always and cvery- 
wucre have liLs forces in hand, as n 
ing 01' key* is to a burglar." 
A ct'iivct^aiion which Carl held 
ihEdiih, jiKi before she left Uos- 
nuy have been iustnimcutal in 
ling him. 'Ilie two stood to- 
, in one of the lancc-windows 
d Hester's library. Hcs- 
. mother were up-stairs, and 
wo one else in tlie room 
. —Jo-nc CIcaveland and his little 
icr. Hester's chiUL The little 
was gravely and patiently striv- 
Co pick up. with dim(iled fingers, 
itpcam of pink liglit that fell on the 
through a f>aiieof colored glass 
Uie window-arch, and Eugene was 
l^veJy explaijiing to him why he 
lid not. 

'* .<\od so," said Caxt, aAer a si- 
iciiLC, " Mr. Rowan is your ideal 

-. his way of intimating his 
-• of existing circumstances, 
jke carelessly, watching the 

' ideal of man," Edith 

, and, after a moment, 

ddcd ; " \ person maybe excellent, 

^hout being ideal" Slie thought a 

»ncnt longer, then said: ** Men 

I xxan have (o be set at a certain 

•nee Ufrire they shine to us. I 

I but Tennyson could 

-TO of a poem of UirJ;. 

ic has bttoic qualities. 1 do not 

\ 



analyze nor criticise my friends, but 
1 perceive this in hira : he is capable 
uf proposing to himself an object, 
and following it steadily. Kvery one 
is not." 

Carl Yorke's countenance changed. 
And yet he knew well tlmt she 
had not dreametl of reproaching 
him. 

" What arc you studying Spaniili 
for?" Miss CiinUHi ini)uired fretful* 
ly, one day. " You might as well 
learn to dance the minucL" 

" When one has so many cosdes in 
a country, one would like to know 
the Language," he said. 

'• I'shaw !" exclaimed the old lady. 
*• Don't waste your time. No lan- 
guage with a guttural in it is At for a 
well-bred pereon to speak. Besides, 
to speak Spani.sh properly, you must 
wear a blouclicd hat and a stiletto, or 
a rud and fciiher. I have no pa- 
tience wuU this inaiiia for tongues. 
English and I-rench arc enough fgr 
any sensible person. Italian is bon- 
ed turkey. What book is that you 
have brought in ?" 

" De Maistrc, Lfs S&ir/cs 4e Haittt- 

Miss Chnton laughed disagreeably. 
" * The prophet of the past,' is it ? 
Who is it says that he has ' uncpunde 
vigufur^ twit pas Je raison, mats de rat- 
sotntcuurU ' / Are you studying so- 
phistry or Ultrrtmontanism? A fro- 
/vs, there are pretty doings in tlial ab- 
surd little town where youT pcople 
live. That ungrateful paper which you 
used to edit has been abusing your 
lather like a pickpocket, on Editli's 
account, I suppose. You wouldn't 
tcU me, but Uird found out ; and she 
says that he doesn't dare slir out- 
doors." 

" It is not Iruc that he is .ifraid," 
Cad said; *' but he is insulted. In 
Se.iton, ' the pen is mightier than l!ic 
sword,' without doubt. I would like 
to see it tried if the horse-whip might 



3o8 



The House of Yorke. 



not in this case be mightier than the 
pen." 

" You see, now," the old lady said, 
" what mischief all these religions 
make. The basis of every so-caUed 
religion is hatred of every other so-call- 
ed religion. And here you are poring 
over De Maistre ! Pshaw ! Read 
The Age of Reason. Here it is." 

Carl was silent a moment, strug- 
gling with himself. Then he said, 
" I have gone round the circle, and 
come back to d faith in faith, and 
the sneers or arguments of the athe- 
ist have no more effect on me. I have 
found that mocking, is neither noble 
nor manly, still less womanly; and I 
look back on my days of scepticism 
as on the freaks of a presumptuous 
child, who fancies itself wiser than 
its parents, when it is only more fool- 
ish. I have done with Tom Paine 
and his brotherhood." 

It is always hard to even seem to 
exhort our elders, and especially so 
when they are our intimates ; and 
Carl spoke with such an effort that 
his words seemed to be a passionate 
outburst. 

Miss Clinton looked at him a mo- 
ment in silent astonishment, then 
laughed shrilly. " ' What is this that 
hath happened io the son of Kish V" 
Tlien changing suddenly, she rang 
her bell. " Bird," she said, when 
that person appeared, " I want you 
to read the paper to me. There is a 
beautiful case of poisoning, this eve- 
ning. Young Mr. Yorke is too pious 
for secular reading. He has turned 
preacher, Bird. You and he can sing 
psalms together." 

" Alice, I accept one dogma of 
your church," Cart said afterward to 
his friend. " I must believe in pur- 
gatory, for I am in it." 

" I am rejoiced to hear it," she 
replied, yet looked at him sadly. She 
would so gladly have spared him 
any pain. " Purgatory is the high- 



road to heaven. Of courv 
you are getting your moral | 
tive arranged, you must feel 
fortable ; but once started in 
will arrange itself." 

" Suppose that I should iz 
asked. 

"I dare say that you will 
one sense," she replied. " M 
propose to themselves great < 
ways do meet with a sort of 
as the flower fails in erder i 
place to the fruit. Each gn 
cess, being unique of its kind 
in its own way. You canno 
surely, but success must come, 
or later." 

" You speak as if I had all 
ty," he said, not without imp; 

She looked up vividly. " Yc 
all eternity, Carl !" 

He made no reply. 

'* Let me quote a favorite of 
she said : 

"'That low mtn Koes on adding one i 
His hundred's soon hit. 
This high man, aiming at a milUoa, 

Misses a unit 
That, has the world here — should 
the next. 
Let the world mind him ! 
This, throws himself on God, ui 
plexed. 
Seeking, shall find him.' " 

" I understand you," he sai 
a slight shrug. " But, do I I 
apostle ?" 

"You might be," she ans 
" You could influence a class 
the preachers cannot reach, 
gion has been too much confi 
ascetics, or to those who um 
mate the power of the be 
What we want most now are 
tians who can outshine sinr 
grace, fascination, and leamin 
these reckless days, people n 
receive a check from those 
they know would gladly imp 
utter prohibition ; but one o 
own might put a limit. W( 
scholars who will acknowledg 



Tht House of Yorke. 



309 



it bcTond which spccu- 
luUJ not go and reason can- 
want iicrompltshcd leaders 
IT wlio are nul asliained to 
themselves before God; and 
gcntlcmca to encourage 
in women. You see there 
field" 

gifld /' Carl exclaimed. '* to 
luboiic own that a rich and 
I person caa do some good 
Itch besides giving money. 
ilhc sermons I have heard 
Uie impression I have re- 
I that clean linen und a 
e of the alphabet are obstu- 
racc Never once have I 
tnt or culture spoken of ex- 
I reprobation." 

^ou exaggerate!" she said. 

le, llic ]>oor need constant 

ind the rich constant w.irn- 

it is equally (rue that the 

Ignorance, combined wiUi 

pust be more pleasing to 

pi the finest intellect and 

Without charity." 

I is precisely the point," 

eagerly. '* And my expe- 

d belief are that the liner 

Wid the culture, the greater 

ty, and vici versa, * Tmt 

It t^rtt tmtt aimer' X hke 

■ ■ ' "/s thought: 'Those 

iirt whose judicious 

110 his works returns him 

[eofaieaniedadmiration.'" 

Idc no reply. They had 

\s, and they now 

; I's door. '■ Are you 

H^kctl, noticing that iJie 

UftUjJIy pale. 

athei tired." she answcre<l 
Good-by !" 

jc turned away, she stood 
I him through the side light, 
^ hr w:ts no longer vit>iL'le, 
i to her ctianiber. 
-- . :- -1, and very ill. Her 
as to lie down, but she 



hesitated, then refrained. " All is 
ready," she said, looking about her. 
" I do not think that there Ls any- 
thing to do." 

She put up a small truiikful of 
clotliing with feverish haste, rang 
her bell, and ordered a carriage. 
" Drive to the Hospital of the Sisters 
of Charity, in South Boston," she 
said to ihe driver. And, sinking back, 
knew no more tUl she had reached 
her destination. 

" 1 think I have come here to die," 
she said to the sister who received 
her. " And I have a few wishes. 
Send back word immediately where 
I am. I did not tell thciu, for I 
could not bear any struggle. My 
worldly aflairs arc all in order, and 1 
have no last worrls to say to any 
one. Let no person come near me 
but the sisicr and the pric:»t, and do 
not mention any person's name lo 
me, nor tell me who comes to in- 
quire. I know they will all be kind; 
but all my life has been a sacrifice 
to others, a sympaihiiing with and 
loving of others^ while ray own heart 
starved, and these la^t hours must 
be given lo God alone. No earthly 
being has any claim on them." 

Perhaps in all her life she had 
never before spoken so bitterly, 
but her words were true. She had 
given to the poor, and worked for 
ihcui, and their gratitude had been 
but the 'lively sense of favors to 
come.' She had been solicitous for 
friends, had mourned over their sor- 
rows, and symp.iUii/cd with liiem al- 
ways, and their selfishness had grown 
upon her unselfishness. So sweet had 
been the sympathy and love she 
lavished upon them, they had never 
slopped lo inquire if she were im- 
poverishing herself, or if she also 
might not wish suiiiclimes to receive 
as well as to give. 

Bui the thought of how keen would 
be tlic revenge of this utter with- 



310 



The House of Yorke. 



drawal at the time when they must 
have been startled into thinking of 
her in some other way than as pen- 
sioners, never entered her mind. Be- 
sides that momentary and almost 
unconscious complaint, she had but 
one thought : God alone had loved 
her, and she must be alone with him. 
She could no longer do anything for 
any person; and since no one belong- 
ed to her more than to any other, 
nor so much as to others, no one had 
any claim to intrude now. 

The sisters were faithful to their 
charge. Of the many who came 
with tardy devotion, she heard noth- 
ing ; of Miss Clinton, sitting in her 
carriage at the door, with two men 
waiting to carry her up-stairs in a 
chair as soon as she should have 
permission, the attendants did not 
speak to her; of Car! Yorke, haunt- 
ing the place, and sitting hour after 
liour in the parlor, waiting for news, 
she never knew. 

One day, when Carl had sat there 
long, with only one prospect of news 
before him, the priest came down, 
and entered the room. Carl lifted 
his face from his hands, and looked 
at him, but could not speak. 

" Let us think of heaven !" said 
the priest. 

Of some actively religious persons, 
we might think that they parody the 
paradox, and say, Give us the luxu- 
ries of piety, and we will dispense 
with the necessities ; but this woman 
had been other. No great work 
could be pointed to that she had 
done or attempted : her life had 
flowed like an unseen brook, that, 
hidden itself, is only guessed at by 
the winding line of verdure which 
betrays its presence. She was one 
of those piteou'iiy tender and gene- 
rous souls whom everybody makes 
use of, and nobody truly thanks. 
Seldom, indeed, do we find one so 
just and truly kind as to think for 



those who do not deman 
thoughtfulness. It is the ch 
and the pushing who poss 
land. 

A part of Miss Mills's fort' 
given to the church, the r 
left conditionally. She kne 
Clinton's caprice well enough 1 
it possible that Cari might 
unprovided for at the last n 
In such a case, he was to 
heir, after a few legacies ha 
paid. But if Miss Clintor 
should be favorable to him, i 
was to go to Edith. 

On Miss Clinton, the effect 
death was terrible. She alte 
refused to believe that it ha< 
place, and reproached them \ 
ing her of it. When Bird ti 
discreetly to draw a pious 
from it, the old lady flew into 
paroxysm of rage that she fri^ 
them. She seemed to be 
point of having convulsions, 
went to the funeral without 
where he was going, and tht 
was never again mentioned 
hearing. 

But that silence was not fo 
ness, they saw plainly; for, frc 
time, Miss Clinton never : 
herself to be left alone a m 
Bird read to her till far ir 
night, watched her fitful shi 
and was ready with cheerful in 
whenever the old lady open 
frightened eyes. The light 
went out in her room, but wj 
brightly burning — a small 
screening the face only of the s 
By day, Carl had to read to hei 
ing stories or tell the gossip 
town. 

When spring came again, s 
unable to leave her room, an 
short time, was confined to hi 
and from querulous became 
headed. 

Carl made a desperate effi 



Tht House of Yorke* 



311 



ber to see a priest or a 
(every argument in bis 
egging her to cunsent 
.«. lie was not sure that 
or nmlersiucKl all that he 
bough she sometimes took- 
a witli intent, wide-open 
[lancc oi'tco wandered, 
fou afraid?" she asked 
hen he paused for a reply. 
i am airaid," he answered. 
( no bravery ui defying 

f-Ultcd herself from the 
er brows contractetl with 
9 frown, and she looked 
I room ns if in seanh of 

I He was startled by the 
iber face. " Do you want 
^' he asked gently. 

she called out, as if he 
iway and out of her sight. 
s it sai*l, 'O God I — if 

God — save mv soul — if I 

not look at him, but lean- 
bed, staling wildly round 
He tried to soothe hcr^ 
her back to her pillows 

I I Mid it ?" she asked cx> 
l^ig him, and sitting up- 
^pit I said it ? It sounds 
Be&'t it ?" 

g the bell, and Bird came 
boy could do nothing with 
pushed tliem aside, leaned 
(cd, and searched the room 
jjjI^Mis, then looked up- 

lliat the priest is gone, we 

p." said the Seaton paper. 

having driven the priest 

e poor snuU were 

■ >' . consolations and 

ftigion, having destroy- 



ward, and seemed to shrink, yet con- 
tinued looking. " W.1S it 1 said it, 
Alice ?" she rried out breathlessly. 
" It soimds like me, doesnt it ? *0 
(iod ! — if there Is a God— save my 
soul — if 1 have a soul !' " 

"She is gone I" Cart whispered, 
and laid her back on the pillow. 

So Carl Yorke was at last ricJi 
and free, with the world before him. 
There was but little for him to do 31 
present When winter should be 
near, ilie family were to tome up and 
take possession of their c;ld home, 
which would then be ready for ihem. 
Now that it was summer, he would 
go down an<l stay with them a while. 
If rest and pleasure were to he had 
there, he would have ihem. He felt 
like one who has travelled over a dus- 
ty, sultry road, and longs to plunge 
into a bath, and wash all that heat 
and dust away. He wa,ntc<l to hear 
again at the home gatherings gentle 
voices, to see tender, thoughtful 
ways, to refresh his soul in that ijuict 
yet rich atmosphere. 

" I will not turn my back upon 
delight, and invite drj-ness of life by 
looking for it," he thought. " If the 
Bible does not proclaim my right lo 
pursue happiness, the Declaration of 
In<lc|>endcncc does, and I will give 
myself the benefit of the daubl. 
When the summer fails, I must look 
about nie, and think of work, and re- 
member the curse of Adam; but 1 
wU! give myself a few weeks of lotos 
eating— if they are to be had." 



CHAPTER xvtil. 

CHOOStKG TIU PATH. 



ed their school-house, so that there 
seemed no possibility that the school 
could continue after the cold weath- 
er should set in, there appeared no 
more mischief to do. Lailiolicisni 
was, apparently, dead in Seaton. 



312 



Tke House of Yorke. 



The Catholics did not raise their 
voices. Those who mourned their 
deserted altar, mourned in silence ; 
the rest went back to their whiskey- 
drinking, their quarrelling and steal- 
ing. That was what the atheists 
meant by peace. " The lion and the 
lamb had lain down together," but 
the lamb was inside the lion. 

On the surface of these halcyon 
circumstances, Carl Yorke found his 
lotos-flower growing. Everybody 
was smiling and conciliatory. Con- 
gratulations, not always overdeli- 
cate, on his accession to fortune met 
him at every hand, and callers became 
more frequent, in spite of a reception 
as cool as politeness would allow. 
In fine, the Yorkes, having suffered 
a temporary eclipse, shone out again 
with dazzling lustre, regilt by iheir 
new prosperity. If they bore them- 
selves rather haughtily in the face of 
this subservience, we can scarcely 
blame them. Wc can forgive, we 
may not care for, the frowns that 
darken with our adversity ; but the 
smiles that brighten when fortune 
brightens, must, in a noble nature, 
awaken a feeling of involuntary dis- 
gust. 

Dr. Martin and his wife called a 
few days after Carl came home. It 
was rather an embarrassing call, for 
there was scarcely a non-explosive 
subject on which they could speak, 
but by dint of careful management 
on the part of the ladies, and a de- 
termination on the part of each gen- 
tleman that he would not be the ag- 
gressor, no accident hai)pened. Mr. 
Yorke and the minister exchanged a 
few remarks on agriculture, Clara 
hovering between them, and volubly 
smoothing the fisperities of their up- 
hill talk. Mrs. Martin and Meliccnt 
were kindred souls on the subject of 
worsted work, and grew quite inti- 
mate over a new pattern and a rain- 
bow package of wools. Mrs. Yorke 



acted as presiding daty, and i 
ped a smUe or a word at the 
time, and Carl was somewhat 
cally amused by the situation, 
therefore amusing. The visitor 
asked for Edith, but she dedu 
come down. When they had 
however, she spoke kindly c 
Martin. 

" He asked me once," she 
"if, when I came to die, I ! 
need any one but Christ. I 
not answer him, for I did not 
stand then that he was attack! 
doctrine of extreme unction, a 
timating his belief that Ca 
think only of the priest, and 
all of God. But I noticed tl 
showed a great deal of feelin 
when he said, ' If you have 
you need no one else,' then 
tears in his eyes. Since then, 
liked htm. I think he is mu 
rather than malicious." 

Mr. Yorke looked gravely 
niece. " I sometimes thin) 
said, " with Pope, * that th 
nothing needed to make all i 
and disinterested people in th< 
of one religion, but that they 
talk together every day.' If 
would ask what you believe, x 
ten to you, instead of tellii 
what you believe, and abusin 
much strife might be avoided. 
'• I think that Dr. Martin's 
in coming here was good, 
Yorke said. " He knows t 
are going away, and wishes i 
in peace." 

" Carl, have you settled wl 
are going to be ?" Edith vent 
ask when he joined her after 
the garden. 

" No," he answered, with 
tion. " Something depends. 
at the north pole, and al 
lead south. Meantime, I 
idle." 
She waited for him to o 



Tkt House of Yorke. 



313 



Kaid no more, aud she fell 
pnd morcined at having ques- 
tUo. No one m the world 

curious concerning the pri- 
UTS of others than Edith, an<i 
tt asked a question, except 

fcding of tender interest. 
le fihe considered herself re- 

U are you studying now ?" 
Pcird, nftcr a moment, the 
1^ awkward, 
-t given up hooks," 
icd quietly, and the hands 
di she was weaving a morn- 
vine into its ircUis were not 
wly. 

he would only question her, 

si on knowing everything. 

I in deep waters, and she 

D lell him all, and ask the 

of her doubts. With a fine, 

tn)<tinct which she felt, but 

ndcnitand, Edilli could tol- 

ihought of no oilur conJi- 

ec a great barrier stood be- 

She could go frankly 

if she had anything to say 

ul Carl was different. She 

1 him nothing, unless he 

'. Besides, he never told her 

Now she tliought of it, ex- 

ic silent motions of sympa- 

intercoursc had been very 

Slie knew nothing of his 

ami yet he, too, w.is at the 

choice; in some things, and 

re much to say to one he 

and trusted, blie waited a 

then walked lowanl the 

R, ihcy scjiarated rather 
(1, indeed, dropped the 
physical science, but she 
:n up another, and it per- 
icf sorely. Within the last 
had been striving, witli but 
», to learn something oi the 
f like heart. What was this 
, fa«d started up in her path, 



and demanded to be listened to, and 
returned ? Shu had written as frank* 
ly OS she could to Father Rasle, tell- 
ing him of her promise to Dick Row- 
an, and his answer had disappointed 
her. She read some of the moral- 
ists, and her soul recoiled. If that 
was love, why were the stories of 
Jacob and Rachel, and Esther and 
Assucrus, told without sign of repro- 
bation? She went to the novelists, and 
ihey pleased her but little belter. In 
despair, then, she went to the poets. 
Eureka! Here was what she want- 
ed : the affection at once pure and 
impassioned, heroic and lender, de- 
manding all, yet sacndcing all, proud 
yet humble, iuexplicablc save by the 
poet and the lover. It was fitting 
that the poets should be its inteq^re- 
ters, for it was above common life, 
as song is above speech. Grapes 
were not sour because they grew 
high, nor things impossible because 
rare. 

" Dear Mrs. Browning !" she whis- 
pered, as she read Aurora IMgh. 
'• What a pity she had not faith ! 
Her nature is glorious. How she 
spurns the low !" 

She read Tennyson, and sighed 
with delight over the faithful Enid, 
and wept for Elaine dead, and float- 
ing down the river to Launcelot, her 
letter to him in her hand. 

So, with the liel|i of the poets, 
Edith escaped the danger of being 
contaminated by the efforts made to 
save her from harm. With her intui- 
tive beliefs confirmed by these pro- 
phetic singers, she refused to let that 
yet unfolded blossom of her life trail 
in the mire, but held it up nith a 
proud, though trembling hand. To 
lier, loving was a very holy and beau- 
tiful thing. 

Uut she longed to know what 
Catl thought of it. 

Carl kept up his regular hours of 
study, and he set up his easel, and 



314 



The House of Yorke. 



made a crayon group of his father, 
mother, and sisters. Mrs. Yorke in- 
sisted that he should paint his own 
portrait separately for her. Being in 
a bitter mood one day, he sketched 
himself as Sisyphus standing on the 
hill-top, and watching the great 
stone, which he had just rolled pain- 
fully up hill, roll down again of itself. 
Edith sat by him, saying a word now 
and then, and watching his work. 

When his hand paused to let his 
imagination picture first the dull 
misery in the face of the dazed and 
baffled giant, she said quietly, " What 
great bovine creatures the Titans 
were, after all! I did not admire 
them much, even when you read 
me the translation of the Avmefheus. 
All that splendor of soul was ^schy- 
lus, not the fire-stealer. But wasn't 
it a beautiful verse : ' Stately and an- 
tique were thy fallen race ' ? 

" Still, the mastodon is stately and 
antique, too. The Titans were too 
easily conquered. They cut like 
great melons. If their spirit had 
been equal to their size, they would 
have snapped the Olympians like 
dry twigs beneath their feet." 

Carl knew full well that she was 
talking ai him, but he was in no 
mood to be either shamed or inspir- 
ed. He wanted to be coaxed. The 
manliest man has his time of not 
only wishing, but needing, to be 
coaxed, if only he would own it. 

She blrctched her hand, and softly, 
inch by inch, drew the porte-crayon 
from his yielding fingers. " Please, 
Carl ! The picture would haunt me, 
though it were out of sight." 

It was better than a wiser word. 
Carl's face cleared. 

" I am going to paint your por- 
trait in oil," he said, " and keep it 
myself. Shall I ?" 

*' I will be your rich patroness, and 
you a poor artist," she said. " I or- 
der my portrait of you, and will 



pay — let me think what! 
be a red gold medal of tl 
maculate Conception, or a lit 
ny crucifix, with the figure i 
whicliever you choose. The 
be a poor lady, and you a ric 
and you shall buy the pictui 
and — what will you give m< 
I know what I like that you 

" What do you like ?" asl 
placing a large sheet of c 
board on his easel. 

"A tiny brooch, that yoi 
wear, with a carbuncle in it 
fess to you that I have longe 
It is like a coal of fire. It 
beautiful. You know 1 hav( 
sion for gems. Flowers m. 
sad, but gems are like heave 
and hopes that never fade. ' 
no object in nature that deli; 
like a beautiful gem. They 
good acts of the earth. A 
an act of love, a sapphire ai 
faith, an emerald an act of 
diamond an act of joyful ad 
Pearls are tears of sorrow 
dead, opals are tears of sor 
sin. The opal, you know, is I 
gem that cannot be imitated.' 

" So you wanted the carl 
Car] said, much pleased, 
didn't you say so before ?" 

" I waited till I knew tl 
cared nothing about it," Et 
swered. 

" But I do value it ver] 
now, young woman ; and if yc 
where it is, you will bring it t 
once. I am impatient to see 

She went out and got the 
It was a smooth, oval stoi 
deep-red color, with a tin^ 
flickering in it. The lapid: 
been too true an artist to sj 
stone with facets, and the re 
a Utile crystallized poem. Ec 
it on black velvet, and held it 
Carl to see. " There !" si 
It had never occurred to him 



Thf House of Yorkt\ 



315 



Dt now its beauty was 

fighted tn give it to you, 
; said affectionately, and 
,e velvet ribbon round her 
it. 

niled «t each other, well 
rhen she sat down by him, 
:hed while he began to 

it odd, Carl," she said, 
I and I should be rich peo- 
we were so poor a short 
? Only I did not know 
(fcre poor. I always felt 
I came here." 
' remember a fairy stor)*," 
, "It is of a fair)' who 
*ls around a sunbeam, or a 
n, to prove to her lover her 
s power. I am going to 

as that fair)'. Shall it be 
( or a moonbeam, milady ?*' 

it a tropical full moonlight, 
give mc a palm-tree to 
tt. It would be refreshing 
n the midst of such a scene, 
anvas."' 
riist sketched lightly and 

* Here, at the right, a troop 
^all dance, only half seen. 
Oj a thin arch of a waterfall 
t, and drop, and lose itself 
and gather so slowly, .and 
' so slowly, that the stream 
: like a vein of amethyst 
ned into the turf, not a rip- 
t bubble to be seen. The 

on flower-trumpets, 
pmiles of bluebells 

• of- the -valley, are hidden 
nstruments beside this wa- 
id their music makes the 
E waver as it drops. The 
lifts itself against the mnon, 
I to be on fire with it, and 

a verdant c.iscnde above 
' feather)* plume fire-fringed 
, But only one beam, like 
diamond, hhall pierce that 



foliage, and there you slan<l, with 
your arms uplifted, braiding pearls 
an^und it. You arc smiling softly. 
your hair is down, and filmy sleeves 
drop back to your shoulders. As 
you braid, the light priaone<l inside 
changes the pearls to opals." 

" You will never be able to make 
me look like a fairy," Edith said. " I 
see a moral in everything. Fairy 
stories and mjlhs always setmtomc 
Christian truths in masquerade; as 
though the truths, jealously M-ishing 
us to prize them, put on dress after 
dress, to see if we would recognirc 
them in each. ' If you really care 
for nic, you will know me through 
any disguise,' that is what they say. 
Why, Carl, if you and I were at a 
masquerade, and you did not know 
me, I should Kcii\ hurt.'* 

" We will try that some night m 
Venice," Carl said, smiling to him- 
self. 

" Yes. But this moonbeam hid 
in pearls — to me it is like a true 
thought well spoken ; or, no, it is the 
Immaculate Conception. Anrl now, 
good-by. I must go to my school." 

Since she could not be permitted 
to instruct Catholic children, Edith 
went four times a week, and every 
Sunday, to the Pattens, an<l taught 
them whatever Ihcy seemed to be 
most in need uf. The town-schools 
were far awny, and the mother too 
hard worked to do more than feed 
and clothe her children, and these 
ministrations were thankfully receiv- 
ed. Edith held her school on n 
large flat rock near the house, so as 
not to interfere M-ith Mrs. Patten, 
and embarrass her in her work. Only 
on Sundays did the young lady enter 
the house, and then there was a 
grand dress parade, to which the 
family looked forward all the week. 
On these occasions the children were 
all washed " within an inch of their 
lives," as Mrs. Yorkc's Betsey ex- 



3i6 



The House of Yorke. 



pressed it ; their best clothes, given 
by Mrs. Yorke, were donned ; and 
their hair combed down so smoothly 
that it seemed to be plastered to 
their heads. Woe to that child who 
should rumple a hair or disturb a 
fold when all was done ! Since her 
accession to fortune, Edith had given 
the family, among other things, a 
clock — they had formerly reckoned 
time by the sun — and, at precisely 
half-past nine, Joe sat himself in the 
south window to watch for the teach- 
er. According to Mrs. Patten's no- 
tions of propriety, it would be inde- 
corous for any of them to be seen 
outside the door on Sunday till after 
the instruction. The house was as 
clean and orderly as such a place 
could be made ; the sacks of straw 
and dry leaves that answered for 
beds were made into two piles, in 
opposite comers, and used as sofas ; 
the calico curtains that divided the 
bedrooms were artistically looped ; a 
vast armful of green boughs con- 
cealed the rocks of the rough chim- 
ney, the sticks laid there to be light- 
ed to get dinner by, and the pots 
and pans in which that dinner was 
cooked. Green vines and flowers 
and moss were placed here and there, 
and the door by which Edith entered 
was always made into a sort of tri- 
umphal arch, where she stood a 
moment to exchange her first saluta- 
tion with the family. They were 
drawn up in two lines, to right and 
left, the girls headed by their mother, 
the boys by their father, and as that 
pretty creature appeared in the door, 
with her air of half-conscious shyness, 
and wholly unconscious stateliness, 
like a young queen appearing to her 
subjects, the feminine line dropped a 
short courtesy, and the masculine 
line achieved a simultaneous bow, 
both so crisp that they gave a sensa- 
tion of snapping. What a beautiful 
salutation was that low, deliberate 



" Good-moming I" of hers j and 
could equal in grace that slight 
ing, half bow, half courtesy, 
which she greeted them 1 Op 
the door was a little stand, v 
chair behind it, and the whole 
pany stood till Edith had takt 
seat there. She never did so 
out a blush of humility. 

To one less earnest, and le: 
occupied by the real work sh 
to do, this ceremony would 
seemed suSiciently ludicrous, 
perhaps, we should say, rath 
one less tender of heart. But 
Yorke saw only the eager gra 
and desire to do her honor, tht 
pie earnestness and good fait) 
that mingling of poverty and 
which silently showed all the i 
of poor Mrs. Patten's life. F 
that was done was hers. W 
her, the children and their 
would have been almost as dot 

There is a certain arrogani 
affability with which the rich 
times approach the poor, as tl 
wealth and education constitut* 
essential difference which the 
elaborately anxious should no 
much humiliate their proUgcs. 
the intelligent poor arc very 
to perceive, and inwardly, i 
outwardly, to resent. Others a' 
the rude manners of those > 
they would benefit, in order t 
them at ease — a good-natured 
take, but one which inspires cont 
and weakens their influence. 
Yorke's quick sympathies and 
cate intuitions rendered it impc 
for her even to make either of 
missteps. She carried herself 
perfect dignity and simplicity; 
kind, and even affectionate, wi 
lowering herself into a care^i 
miharity, and thus gave tlu 
s;;mplc of exquisite demeanor, 
at the same time, set them as 
at their case as it was wdl 



The House of Yorke. 



317 



^If people of rude man- 
ic always perfecUy at case, 
lold never improve. Mrs. 
rho was often on her giiarrl 
licent, pronounced Edith to 
feet lady ; and when an in- 
ipoor person gives such a 
rilhout hope of favor from 
perhapx, about as good a 
r social nobih'ty as a lady 
vc. 

Ind Sally were still at " the 
pre Meliccnt considered them 
tcial subjects, and taught 
>se3Son and out of season ; 
I there were still nine chil- 
bome. Polly, the baby of 
I ago, is now a stolid lassie 
tftod there arc two younger. 
Illy six months old. 
bt Sunday in July, Edith 
IB feminine procession with- 
icad. Everything else was 
' but Mrs. Patten sat in a 
I'the room, holding her sick 
\ had been sick all the week, 
9t had \n.siled it, and sent 
1^, but this morning it was 

keed not interrupt your dis- 
bongh/' Mr. Patten said. 
Isn't notice anything." 
ise Sunday lessons, usually 
If of Bible instructions, his- 
Ithe saints, and explanation 
jjan doctrine. Kdith had in- 
pod deal of Catholic truth, 
farming her hearers. She 
bbtained permission to teach 
fesi to bless themselves, and 
Rail Mary; only Mrs. Pat- 

tislied that Mother of Chriit 
5ul>aiuated for Mother ef 
I 

^as not Christ God ?" asked 
If teacher. 

LMiss Kdith." the woman 
It Mary was the mother 
kmture only, not of his 



"You cannot separate them," Kdith 
said. '* He was not bora a mere 
m.m, and deified afterward: his birth 
was miraculous, aiitl (rod was his 
Father. She was the mother of all 
that he was. To be a mother is not 
to create. You did nut make that 
child's soul, yet you are his mother. 
You would not stop to say that you 
arc the mother of his body, and that 
his soul came from God. You arc 
his mother, because you gave him 
human life ; so Mary did for Christ. 
fiesi<les, you will always be your 
child's inother, though his body will 
turn to dust, and be regatlicrcd again 
at the last day. But tlie body of 
Christ never was destroyed. It sits 
now at the right hand of the Father, 
the same human form that Mary che- 
rished, iis you do that child." 

Boadicea w.is silent. *' They shall 
say N[other of Christ, then, if you 
prefer," Edilh said softly. Hut the 
next time she came, they said Mother 
of God. She made no verbal com> 
ment on the amendment, but bent 
and, for the first time, kissed the fore- 
head of the child who gave the title, 
tears of Joy shining in her eyes. 

On this July day, after taking her 
scat, and watching the family arrange 
themselves to listen, Edith hesitated 
on what subject she should speak. 
She had one prepared, but presently 
concUided to change it. 

" I will tell you what baptism is 
to-day," she said; and then gave 
them a clear and simple explanation 
of the sacrament. 

Joe sat on a low stool, with a rhilii 
in his anns, tears dropping down his 
cheek now and then, as he glanced 
from the speaker to his sick child. 
Mrs. Patten's face showed only a 
quiet endurance. 

" So necessary is baptism," Edith 
concluded, her voice slightly tremu- 
lous, *' that even a baby must not 
die without it. If one should be in 



318 



Tlie House of Yorke. 



danger of death, any person who 
knows how can baptize it." 

She said no more, but, after dis- 
tributing some little presents to the 
children, as her custom was, and sit- 
ting by the baby a few minutes, went 
home. The mother was very pale. 
She sat looking at her child, and 
seemed indisposed to speak. There 
was even a sort of coldness in her 
manner when she took leave of her 
visitor. 

The c^iildren went out, and looked 
after the lady as long as they could 
see her, then gathered in a whisper- 
ing group about the door. They 
felt, rather than knew, the impending 
sorrow, Joe went, stool in hand, 
and sat down by his wife. Her lips 
began to tremble. She was only a 
woman, poor sou) ! and wanted com- 
fort, not only for the grief before her, 
but for the new and terrible fear thait 
had risen up in her heart while Edith 
Yorke spoke. 

"Joe," she said unsteadily, " that 
girl is very learned. Dr. Martin can*t 
ecjuai her. She makes everything 
awfully clear. She leaves no hole 
for you to crawl out. If baptism 
isn't what she says, then there isn't 
any sense in baptism." 

" Yes," sighed Joe, " she's a migh- 
ty smart gal." 

" Then," the mother whispered 
sharply, " if what she says is true, 
what's become of our other children, 
Joe?" 

He looleed up with startled eyes. 
He had been thinking of their pre- 
sent sorrow, not of the past. It is 
only the motlicr who for ever carries 
her children in her heart. 

" There are three chiKlren gone, 
Joe," she said imploringly. 

He dropped his eyes, and consid- 
ered anxiously, not so much the fate 
of his lost children as the fact tliat 
Sally looked to him for help. \ 
shallow head goes with a shallow 



heart, and bis first thou 
merely how be should e* 
weight of his wife's dependc 

"Oh I you broken reed! 
claimed, with suppressed pi 

Thus apostrophized. Jot 
desperate, and that desper 
parted to him an air of ) 
decision and authority. 

" I tell you what it is, \ 
said, " these rules and r( 
are very well for learned 
they're to blame if they d 
'em. But 1 don't believe 
Lord is going to punish w 
young ones for what we d( 
nothing about. He km 
enough that we'd a had '* 
soul of 'em, baptized, if 
thought he wanted us to, 
I don't begrudge the young 
ing baptized. So don't yoi 
Sally, but he'll sly 'em in s 
poor litde crcters! Why, 
s'pose that) while we wei 
here and crying over our 
bies, and saying, • The L< 
and the Lord hath take 
blessed be the name of tt 
that just at that time he't 
out of sight somewhere, 
pinching on 'em and hurtin, 
for his own amusement, » 
scared little faces looking uj 
It don't stand to reason, Sa 

The first tears she had sh( 
from the mother's eyes 
down her cheeks. "Joe," 
gratefully, " you've got son 
tion in you, after alL" 

Edith went home that d 
troubled heart. Two or th 
on the way she stopped, ha 
a mind to turn back, but 
She was too agitated to k 
or to cat. One thought I 
mind : a soul just slipping a 
earth waited on the thresho 
should open for it the gate o 
The thought was overpowei 



The House of Yorke. 



319 



tbe afternoon, Mrs. Vorke and 
feat weot to see the sick cltild, 
Bg cver\llung llicy thought 
be needed. Edith had sent 
e (locior again, and he Ciiuic 
Miey were there, and accompa- 
hcin home. She listened to 
s Ik, And beard them say that 
iid could not live more than 
four hours longer. They spoke 
and they Ji;id actcil kindly, 
II j-irred tenibly on her. Of 
;hes« interest at i>iake, of the 
bus possibility that Hhe saw, 
lew nothing. Dared she wait ? 
X tea her resolution was taken. 
vent down-stairs, and found 
icing to and fro at the foot of 
race. He threw the end of 
af away as she approached 
Bl did not take any further 
of her till it became evident 
B wantfffl him. 

rl," she said, " I want you to 
r to the Pattens' with me." 
ruinly r* 

did not annoy her with tjues- 
HDT exclamatiotis, nor expos- 
is; he simply and promptly 
, 'lliey avoided the family in 
When one is in suspense, it 
cssing to have to explain to 
ifao cannot help and do not 
and the need. 

Kt going to baptize the baby, 
vill let roc," Edith said, when 
Acred iljc wood, 
only answered, "Yes!" He 
BOugh of Catholic doctrine to 
B.nd the importance which 
cbcd to the ceremony, 
lua had gone down in a splen- 
TOte-color, and all the forest 
if»ctl with it. The silver stems 
I ' ■ red like rubies, 

[ ir.d springs hlush- 

thcy had newly been chang- 
inc for some great marriage 
A lirook ran toward iheui all 
y be«de ihcir path, hkc a 



breatlUess messenger bidding them 
hasten at every step, Tiien that airy 
llood of light ebbed down the west, 
and left a new moon stranded tliere, 
and stars sprinkled all through itie 
blue. When ihcy cauic out into the 
clearing, it was deep twilight. The 
cabin window slionc out red through 
the dusk, and from the open door a 
lurid path of light stretched across 
tlie garden-plot anil plunged mto tbe 
woods opposite. 

Like most people who live in the 
woods, the family kept early hours, 
but lo-mght none of them had gone 
to bed, nor were the beds prepared 
for them. The children were hud- 
dled together near the lireplacc, whis- 
pering, and casting frightened glances 
to where their father and mother 
crouched on die floor beside the cra- 
dle, in which lay their dving babe. 
They had no lamps nor ca.n(lles, but 
a pine-knot, fixed in the fireplace, 
sent a volume of inky smoke up 
chimney, and made a crimson iUu- 
mination in the room. In that light 
every face shone like a torch. 

The .sick child lay in a stupor, 
sometimes holding its breath ko long 
that the mother started and caught 
it up. Thus partially recalled, it 
breathed slowly again. Tlicrc was 
no sound in the room but that low 
breathing, ajid llie hissing of the 
flame in the chimney. 

Hut presently there was a sound 
outside of steps coining nearer, and 
as they looked at the door Edith 
appeared on the Uireshold, all her 
whiteness of face, dress, and bandii 
changed to pink in the light, as Cha-' 
rily might look hastening on he 
errand. Her eyes were wide-open-^ 
and startled; her hair, which had 
fallen, caught Jn the low hough of a 
tree as they came, was drawn over 
her left shoulder, and twisted about 
her arm. 

After the pause of an instant, she 



J20 



The House of Yorke. 



came swiftly in, and knelt by the 
cradle, leaving Carl standing in the 
doorway. 

" Thank God ! I am in time," she 
exclaimed. " I have come, you dear 
parents, to baptize this child, if you 
will permit me. You were not to 
blame for the others, because you 
did not know. But now you know. 
Consent quickly; for it is almost 
gone !" 

"Y^, yes!" said the mother. 
*• Make haste !" 

Edith called the children, and 
made them kneel about the cradle, 
with their hands folded, palm to 
palm, and she scarcely noticed that 
Carl came in and knelt behind them. 

" I am so anxious to do it right- 
ly," she said, with one swift glance 
round the circle. " I never did it 
before, but it is very simple. I am 
very unworthy, and am afraid. All 
of you must say an Our Father for 
me." 

Edith put a crucifix in the father's 
hands, and, as he held it up, bowed 
herself, and kissed the floor before it. 
Then she lighted a wax candle she 
had brought, and gave it to the 
mother to hold. Lastly, she knelt 
by the head of the cradle, and pour- 
ed out a little vase of holy water. 

" What is the child's name ?" she 
asked, quite calm by this time. 

Mr. and Mrs. Patten looked at 
each other. There had been many 
discussions between them on the sub- 
ject, and at this moment neither of 
them could call to mind a single de- 
sirable name which had not been 
appropriated by their children, living 
or dead. 

*' I would like to name him for my 
father,'* Edith said. And they con- 
sented. 

The words were spoken, then Edith 
leaned quickly, with a triumphant 
smile, and kissed the new-made saint, 
and whispered something to it. 



The child had been lying 
stupor for several hours, bu 
whisper he opened his eyes, 
ed them in a solemn and stei 
on her face. There was so 
in the look significant and* 
like; and, so looking at her,! 
ly died. Only a sigh, and 
half-drooped, that was all o 
But who shall say what it 
heaven ? 

It was quite dark when 
went home again. The si 
was still, and perfumed wii 
fern and wild violets, and tb 
ran along with them now 
sound like a child talking ' 
They walked hand in hand 
by that sound. 

"I am very, very happ> 
Edith. 

Carl said nothing, but 
short. 

" Have you lost the trac 
asked. 

There was still a momet 
ence, then he said in a stifie 
" I have found it again." 

Poor Carl ! his finding 
path was heroic. For an ir 
flower- wreathed wicket had se 
swing across his way, and a 
delight to lead from it. H 
it, and walked on. 

After a minute, Edith rec 
that she had brought a secc 
die. They slopped and lig 
then resumed their walk. S 
the candle in "her right ha 
left she placed in Carl's agai; 
air was so still that the yello 
waved only with their moti 
the hght of it made a hal 
them, and brought out lea 
flowers, and drooping brand 
shone a moment, then disapi 

That ancient forest had 
over many a human group 
the unknown centuries of 
dusky hunters in the chase o 



The Houst of Yorkr. 



321 



I pale-&£ed pioneers, glanc- 
and left for ihc savage foe, 
Dlic missionary, amied only 
'crucifix, yet with that wca- 
i with his pleading tongue 
^g the hatctiet and the to- 
j children and youths going 
L yet never did it ovcrsha- 
rer group than this. 
kg don'n at Edith, Carl re- 
the thought of iwinting her 
"J he would paint her walk- 
igh a dark forest, with a 
I bcr hand. " Perish civil- 
Jhc said suddenly. " 1 wish 
I Dot a hou^e between here 
fachusetts Ray !" 
smiled, but said nothing, 
lot speak till, ton soon, they 
l\e house. There she stop- 
Iter by the side door. *' I 
p this way," she said. " I 
feh to speak to any one cbc 
I Ftease tell thera what I 

going, when she softly 
back. "After he was 
said hurriedly, " I 
told him to pray for 
e when he reached hcav- 
l-night, Carl !" 
[btt forenoon Kdlth went up 
iiinibcr to dress before din- 
t bmitie*! her hair, put on a 
:lUun, and fastened a vcl- 
around her tliroat with the 
rbunclc. She was blissfully 
scarce knew why. Never 
n conscious of such de- 
low sweet, how beautiful 
said to herself. *' Thanks, 
I 1 am so happy !" 
Dked smilingly over her 
oward the door, for Clara 
running up the stairs and 
her room. 
"•she said breathlessly, " he 



has come! Mr. Rowan has come! 
He is down in the parlor with papa, 
and mamma, and Mclicent" 

Kdiih did rot change her portion 
nor say a word. She looked steadily 
at Clara, and waited. 

" He is as handsome as a ]>rince,** 
her cousin went on with cnthusi^ 
asm. " He gave me tliis slip of 
paper for you. Will you be right 
down ? " 

"Go and tell him (hat I will come 
down in a minute," Kdith said 
quietly, and still looked at her cousin 
tilt she went out of the room and 
shut the door. Then, overcome by 
a sudden weakness, she dropped on 
her knees. 

" I am very glad," she said so- 
lemnly, and liftetl her ^rcs. " I 
thank thee for bringing him safe 
home again. Help me !" 

She unfolded the slip of paper, aod 
read the line it. cont-iined : " Don't 
come down, Edith, if you arc going 
to say no to me." 

She had never thought of saying 
no to him. 

\ minute later she stood in the 
door of the parlor, where they all 
were. She \vas very white, but her 
lips wore a sweet and resolute smile. 

nick came to meet her, his face in 
a fme flame, and she placed her 
hand in his, " It is youra, with their 
consent," she said. 

For a moment he was unable to 
speak. He looked at her scarching- 
ly, his eyes full of tears. " Arc you 
willing, Kdilh ?'* he asked. 

" I ain more than willing," she re* 
plied. 

He led her to Mr. and Mrs. Yorkc. 
" I would not dare to ask you for 
such a precious gift," he said, " if 
God and herself had not already be- 
stowed it." 



TO as COKTOtV>D . 



xir.— 21 



$22 



An Engiishman in China, 



AN ENGLISHMAN IN CHINA.* 



In November, 1867, Mr. T. T. 
Cooper, an English gentleman who 
describes himself as a " pioneer of 
commerce," undertook an overland 
journey from Shanghai to Calcutta 
with the hope of discovering some 
shorter and more direct line of com- 
munication between India and China 
than that lying through the province 
of Su-tchuen and Eastern Thibet, the 
only route at present open. The 
undertaking was not a successful one, 
Mr. Cooper having been stopped 
and imprisoned at Weisee-foo, in the 
province of Yunnan, in July of the 
following year. This detention was 
the work of the Thibetan lamas, who 
have no desire for a free trade which 
will interfere with their monopolies, 
and who are, as a matter of course, 
violently opposed to the introduction 
of a religion which will weaken their 
own hold upon the people. Mr. 
Cooper, although an English Protes- 
tant who was contented to describe 
himself on his travels as a disciple 
of Confucius, and who took pains to 
inform the lamas that he could readi- 
ly sympathize with their dislike of for- 
eign innovations in religious matters, 
did not fail to share the effects of that 
distrust of foreigners which is so care- 
fully keptalive in China by the govern- 
ing classes, the literati, and the priests. 
While imprisoned at Wcisee-foo, his 
interpreter, a Chinese Catholic, over- 
heard the folh)wing conversation be- 
tween two Mandarins, one of whom 

• Travth ef a Fientfr e/ Commerce In Pigtail 
and PttticoAti ; or. An OftrUxnd Journey friim 
China toTifard India. Uy T. T. Cooper, Ulc 
Agent for the Chamber ofrommerce at Calcut- 
tK. With Map and lUustrailuiiB. London : John 
Murray. 1671. 



was Mr. Cooper's jailer, wh 
to say the least of it, not rea 

*' Just as Philip took his p 
der the window, Tien a^ 
Atenze Mandarin if he had i 
foreigner who had passed 
Atenze on bis way to Tali-i 
ing, * We have him here in 
mun.' His guest replied, ' 
cursed barbarian 1 what is 
heard he was writing all the 
was in my town, and drav 
country. The son of a d 
writes with a pen that req 
ink. I suppose he has con: 
the country; and his peo 
come to taJce it by-and-b 
have got him here; why dt 
kill him?' To this my friei 
replied, ' Why, it's no use to 1 
he has no money. We have 
ed him; he has nothing; a 
we arc considering what to 
him.' \Vhen Philip had got 
he was so completely overr 
that it was several minutes b 
could proceed : when he hac 
ered a little, he went on 
late what the Atenze Manda 
in reply. The rufhan evidei 
ed foreigners, for he said, * < 
him. Vou dispose of hit 
when T return from the figh 
kill those sons of dogs, the n 
ries on the Lan-tsan-kiang: i 
fast converting the Lu-tsu, a 
will very soon be masters 
country, and we shall be kil 
kill them all, I say.' " 

A day or two later, our t 
who seems to be very plucky 
of courage, managed to effcc 
cape, but only to retrace his 



An Englishman in China. 



323 



i. His account of his travels 
enlertaming. and as it con- 
great deal which will be in- 
to the general reader, as 
much which is especially so 
olics, we propose to make 
extracts from it. The book 
1 not been reprinted here, 
English edition is so cxpen- 

it is hardly likely to be as 
' read as its merits deserve, 
troject of undertaking this 
I perilous journey had sug- 
self to our traveller's mind 
igo as 1862, but various cir- 
:es rendered it impractica- 
r^n it until 1867, when the 

support of influential Shang- 
chaots made Mr. Cooper 
tt about him for ways of sur- 
l the slill remaining difiicul- 
lese were the well-known 

manifested by Chinese offi- 
ard strangers ; the uild tribes 
in the rooiiniains ; utter ig- 
of the language of the coun- 
[ the danger of carrying so 
sum of money as would be 
t for the expenses of the 
After a month of perplexi- 
^oopcr concluded to address 
o M. I^monier, the procu- 
, the Catholic missions at 
i "I knew," he says, ** that 
( of the French missionaries 
i in an unbroken chain to 
he western border of China ; 
tU convinced that only by 
Ip could I hope to pass 
the empire. M. Lamonier, 
iy, as are all the Caiholic 
rks, to forward all useful pro- 
xm dispelled n)y anxiety 
p carriage of specie, for he 

to give me * letter of credit 
mdred tacis f^i8o, the sum 
len ' lit for travelling 

), a . . .to the mission 
tin Vunnaii, Sz-chuan, and 
t; so that it would not 




be needful to carry a large sum in 
silver, until after passing beyond 
their posts. He also proposed a 
feasible plan for surmounting the dif- 
6culty of the language. A party of 
young missionaries were expected to 
arrive from France toward the end 
of the year; if I accompanied them 
to Sz-chuan, I could hire a house in 
some village containing a mission 
station, and, under the protection of 
the missionaries, set to work, and ac- 
quire a sufficient mastery of the lan- 
guage. This arrangement would pro- 
long my Journey by six months; but 
the delay was unimportant, so long 
as the difficulty of the language was 
got over. %Vnd thus, before leaving 
M. Lamonier, the two great obsta- 
cles which seemed for a time to ren- 
der my journey impossible were dis- 
posed oC" 

A part of tliis plan, however, was 
not destined to fulfilment. The 
French consul at Hankou, wlipsGi 
dignity had been touched by somtf" 
remarks made upon him in the Han- 
kou Tlmfs by its English editur, re- 
solved to avenge himself by prevent- 
ing our Englishman from availing 
himself of the services of the mission- 
aries, and compelled them to leave 
Hankou without him. The French 
consul-general at Shanghai, Vicomte 
Brcnicr de Montniorend, on being 
appeale<l to, found means to soothe 
his subordinate's rufHed temper, and 
although he lost the promised escort 
of the young missionaries, Father de 
Carli, the head of the missions at 
Hankou, obviated this dilTiculiy by 
providing him with two native Chris- 
tians to sen'c as interpreter and 
guide. These were both trustworthy 
men, who joined him rather for the 
sake of the missionaries than for any 
liking for the journey, but who, for 
tliat reason, served him so much 
the more faithfully. One of them. 
George Phillips, whose name Mr. 



324 



An Englishman in China, 



Cooper contracted into Philip, for 
convenience's sake, was the eldest son 
of a family which had been Chris- 
tians for several generations. " His 
superioreducation rendered him, save 
in dress and manner, quite different 
to ordinary Chinamen, whose natural 
superstition and prejudice were re- 
placed by intelligence, strengthened 
by the study of European philosophy 
and theology, while a knowledge of 
the Latin, English, and Chinese lan- 
guages made the term of interpreter 
in his case no empty title. Such was 
my interpreter, who proved, as I ex- 
pected, a useful servant and intelli- 
gent companion." 

Having procured the'teervices of 
these men, however, Mr. Cooper 
found it impossible to induce them 
to start from home until after the 
Christmas holidays were over ; so 
that it was not until the 4th of Ja- 
nuary, 1868, that he finally left Han- 
kou for the interior. He had previ- 
ously taken the advice of the Eng- 
lish secretary of legation at Pekin 
to conform himself in all respects to 
the line of conduct pursued by the 
missionaries, and had, during his 
month of enforced inaction, been try- 
ing to accustom himself to the pig- 
tail and petticoats in which he was to 
introduce himself to the Chinese 
public. He had also been obliged 
to relinquish the idea of making 
scientific observations while on his 
journey, in order to avoid shocking 
the inveterate prejudices of the peo- 
ple against the use of instruments for 
that purpose. Even in keeping a 
daily record of his travels, he found it 
necessary to be constantly on his 
guard against their suspicious curi- 
osity. One amusing instance of his 
caution in this respect, characteristic 
alike of our traveller and of his 
friendly enemy, is worth quoting : 

" Round the fire of the little courier 
hut where we put up for the night, 



we were joined by a lama, w! 
he said, en route for Bathang. 
the unwelcome addirion of 1 
dier spies to our party, it had 1 
necessary for me to wait rill i 
asleep, to write up my joui 
was hard at work about m 
when the lama returned to thi 
pretending to have left his 
book behind ; and seeing me c 
in writing, he became very 
to know what I was doing, 
owned to recordbg a simple 
rive of the day's journey, he 
have reported that I was takir 
of the country for some sinisi 
pose, so I replied that I was 
my prayers, a ceremony whic! 
formed every night. This is 
common occupation of the 
themselves, but he was surpris 
a merchant should write pray 
I told him that I always 
them after they were writte 
would commence as soon as 
finished. He waited, and 
commenced to read my joum 
in a monotone like that in wh 
lamas recite their litanies, 
reading thus for nearly half a 
I stopped and asked my fri 
recite his prayers for my bene 
mising to pay him for the se 
and off he started and kepi 
without ceasing until dayligl 
morning, when he awoke m 
received his fee of one rupe 
declared that I must belong 
Yellow rcHgion, but I assur 
to the contrary, merely sayir 
my religion much resembled \ 
He was evidently puzzled, bu 
cd at my having made use 
services as a priest, and begj 
to allow him to keep under ra; 
to Bathang." 

His inability to serve the i 
of science was perhaps not a 
of a nature to be very serioi 
by our traveller, whose chid 



v4« Englishman in China. 



325 



Qg his journey was a 
iol one, and whose quick 
DS and readiness to adapt 
3 circiimstancfs were a fair 
: that be would neither run 
iry risks nor let any availa- 
; of inTormatiDn pass unex* 
His book, which is very free 
thing hke unpleasant self* 
ness, shows liim, notwith- 
to have plenty of English 
\ determination, accompa- 
I very un-P^D(;l)sh freedom 
udice. One could find it 
eait to wish that in passing 
ccncry so impressive as that 
•n Thibet, lie might have 

his other good qualities as 
V something more nearly 
ng artistic perception than 
«Te exhibits. The absence 
igofthe kind has, however, 
of making his narrative 

free from any appearance 
'lional book-making — a re> 
i is very like a perfect com- 

'SU, which he reached to- 
middle of January, after a 
more of rather unpleasant 
;pericnce, Mr. Cooper made 
£quaiutance with real Chi- 
ty, which he describes very 
with some characteristic re- 
breakfast, I paid a visit to 
>Uc mission agent, Chee- 
r name, a wealthy merdiant 
in an extensive trade with 
with whom I had to arrange 
Is ibr our journey to Chung 
Ve were shown into a lililc 
! Ujc tounting-house, where 
I several Cliristians, mcr- 
un Chung Ching, smoking 
I, each with his cup of tea 
ill table before him. As 
sesued myself, a little boy 
,^^-cup before me, ana, 
piudi of fragrant tea. 



poured in boiling water from a large 
kettle, which he took from a little 
stand over a charcoal fire burning in 
an iron brazier in tlxe centre of the 
room ; having thus helped me to tea, 
he took my long Cliinese pipe, and. 
tilling it with tobacco, handed it to 
me with a light, and then took up 
hLs place behind my chair. Nothing 
could exceed the quiet f>oHtcne5s ajid 
quickness with which this little fellow 
served me ; to every one in the room 
I was a perfect stranger and a for- 
eigner, yet, being in a house of busi- 
ness, no distinction was made between 
mc and any of the Chinese present. 
, . . After waiting about half an 
hour, the merchant came from the 
counting-house, and, saluting me very 
courteously, apologized for having 
kept me waiting, and after a few 
remarks on tlie crops and weather, 
inquired my business. On learning 
the object of my visit, he appeared 
quite pleased, and expressed himself 
delighted to be able to do anything 
for a friend of the tithers, and, lead- 
ing nic into his office, he paid me 
over the sum I required, merely tak- 
ing from nie a receipt for the amount. 
We then went back to the waiting- 
room, where he introduced me to 
several of the Chung Ching mer- 
chants, and explained to his guests 
that I was a foreign, merchant under- 
taking a great journey to open up 
commerce, and complimented me on 
my courage in starting alone on so 
great an enterprise. We all sat 
smoking and drinking tea for neady 
I no hours, when I rose to go; but 
my host said that dinner was just 
ready, and he would be glad if I 
would join himself and guests, apolo- 
gizing at the same time for his home- 
ly fare, saying that, if he had known 
I was coming, 1 should have had a 
proper dinner. 

" I was so charmed with the manner 
of this Chinese gcnUcman — for such 



^26 



An Englishman in China. 



m bearing he really was — tliat I ac- 
cepted his invitation, and sat down 
again ; and in a few minutes all the 
other merchants, except two young 
men, who were permanent guests, 
left, and a serving*raan then laid out 
the table, placing a pair of ivory 
chop-sticks, lipped with silver, for 
each of us, and brought in the din- 
ner, consisting of fish-soup, boiled 
aud fried fish, stewed ducks, mutton, 
aud fowl. We took our seats — the 
host last — and were then handed 
cups (about the size of a large break- 
fast-cup) of rice, and in the interval 
before the soup and fish were brought 
in, baked melon-seeds were placed 
before us on small pbles ; these we 
nibbled at for a few minutes, until 
our host, taking his chop-sticks up, 
put their points into a plate of fish, 
and, looking round the table, bowed 
to us, whereupon we simultaneously 
helped ourselves, and commenced 
nur meal. I kept up a hvcly con- 
versation on the subject of foreigners 
and their wonderful inventions dur- 
ing the dinner, which 1 thoroughly 
enjoyed. When we had finished, we 
all stood up, holding our chop-sticks 
by the tips with boTh hands horizon- 
tally in front of our foreheads as a 
sign of thankfulness, and also respect 
to our host, AVe then sat down 
again, and Uttle kettles of hot Samshu 
were brought in, and we commenced 
to drink wine with each other. The 
two young merchants soon became 
very lou<l in my praise, saying that I 
was quite difE^rent to the foreigners 
in Hankou, I wa.s more like a China- 
man ; but were very anxious to know 
if I was of the same religion as 
tliemselves ; and when 1 told that I 
was a Christian, repeatedly embraced 
mc, calling me a brother. We sat 
over our Samshu and smoked for a 
long time, the absence of anything 
like constraint among us, and the 
genuine hospitality of our host, mak- 



ing the hours pass quickly, 
that I was seeing Chinese life I 
standpoint hitherto unknown K 
Europeans, especially Englid 
and 1 fell much gratified with tl 
first admission into the private 
the people whose manncraaodoi 
I had adopted. During the limi 
in the house I s.aw no feaial< 
the exception of a servant, noi 
ever in the house of any respt 
Chinaman meet the womankin 
ing the greater part of a year 
among this people. . . . 
was going toward the hotel, I 
not help reflecting on the si 
had just left, so different in 
spects from any previous idea 
formed of the Chinese chorac 
which, though I had dwelt foi 
in their country, 1 confess with ( 
1 had until now known nothu 
cotUd not help contrasting the 
tion my host had given mc, I 
stranger and a foreigner, will 
which he would probably h4 
ceived at my liands had he > 
me in Shanghai, when, as \i 
with us Knglishmcn, he wouli 
likely have had to come iol 
office without the least polite « 
agement from me, and have 
actea his business standings 
which I should probably hat 
missed him with a gesture of 
tience. It seems a great pity tl 
Englishmen, being such a great 
inercial people, do not oasueiaD 
selves more with the people ait 
whom we trade. In China, we 
do wisely to remember the old 
which tells us to * do in Rome 
Romans do/ and to meet th( 
nese more on a footing of e<}t 
in fact, adopt as much as pi 
their ways of buaness, and b 
means do away with that sy9» 
go-betweens which is so detiil 
to us in all our dealings wit 
people, of whom we realty 




An EngiisJuuan in China, 



327 




"Ry lietng brought more In 
'ith them, we should pick 
language, and instead oi 
he mercy of thai villanous 
inn under tlic name of 
re, we should at once prc- 
dignity, and enter into 
umt And profitable relations 
"ple whose closer acquain- 
iter uonli cuttivaiing than 
laiionai itisuLarity are prone 

easant experiences, which 
repeated, were not always, 
ic onler of the day u hen our 
let ihc individual popular- 
the *' heathen Chinee." 
iti'Slaiions, or wherever 
ilatedChri^itians, he 
c most cordial hos- 
icc even the jealous China- 

ring Catholic, becomes 
itan. 
Ching, where Monsei- 
lecbes sent a swell Chinese 
'x> be his escort about the 
per visited a newly- 
beautiful Taouist tem- 
g to a sect differing 
n the Buddhists, and which 
L-s as representing the an- 
(hcism of the country, as 
nd engrafted with a pecu- 
^y of Laotsc, tlie great 
^fuctus. Here also he 
ffitaybreak on a Sunday 
. the sacrifice of the Mass, 
hincsc priest and Chi- 
and listened to a Chi- 
The devout behavior 
[gation, many of whom 
id him after the Mass 
on learning that he 
olic. naturally express- 
les that he mipht soon 
maile a great impres- 
traveller's mind. He 
says, avoid being in- 
tern, nor help offering 
yer for the success of 



the Catholic missions in China. He 
finds the present power of these mis- 
sions a '• most striking instance of 
the inutility of coercion directed to 
restrain freedom of mind in religion. 
'I'he fearful persecutions that assailed 
the missionaries and their converts 
during the eighteenth century, failed 
altogether to arrest the spread of 
Catholic Cliristianity, which now, but 
a hundred years later, numbers its 
adherents by hundreds of tliousands, 
to be found in all the provinces of 
the empire." 

Apparently both the missions and 
the missionaries impressed him much ; 
and he gives a lengthy account of 
them, prefacing it witli the remarit 
that whoever deems it irrelevant is at 
liberty to skip it. In his judgment, 
as in that of every intelligent obsen*- 
er, it is the literati and the governing 
classes who are the promoters of all 
the persecutions of the converts — the 
people themselves are neither so 
jealous of foreigners nor so attached 
to paganism as is often supposed. 

The converts arc principally re- 
cruited from the well-to-do middle 
classes, although there are in the 
villages many Clyistian communities 
composed of the industrious pcisan- 
try. When Mr. Cooper was in Chi- 
na, the missions were enjoying perfect 
toleration, but from his observation 
of the marked dislike of the Chris- 
tians displayed by the ofHcials and 
the literati, he was apprehensive that 
this apparent peace might be at any 
moment exchanged for all theperils of 
persecution — an apprehension which, 
as all the world knows, has since 
been most fearfully realize). We ex- 
tract a few passages from his account 
of the missions, as recording the im- 
pressions of a candid observer as to 
the success of a work of which he 
was yet capable of lamenting that the 
devoted men who labor in it " are 
not the apostles of a simpler and 



328 



An Englishman itt China. 



purer faith." Yet when lie meets 
" apostles " of what he supposes to 
be a " simpler and purer faith," he 
can hardly preserve a decent gravity 
in contemplating either their methods 
or their results. *' By their fruits ye 
shall know them " is naturally the 
last reflection suggested to the mind of 
a Protestant when he considers mis- 
sionary work. The application of 
the text would be so speedily fatal 
to his Protestantism that the instinct 
of self-preservation keeps him from 
making it : 

" The SocieiJ tfvs Aftsiiotis Etran- 
g^fvs, which from its headquarters in 
Paris directs the aftairs of this mission, 
is most careful in the selection and 
training of the candidates for mis- 
sionary life. As their work lies much 
among the wealthy and educated, 
though the poor and ignorant are by 
no means neglected, every missiona- 
ry sent to Sz-chuan is specially edu- 
cated for die purpose of meeting the. 
Chinese Hterati on eijua! terms. 
They land in China generally as 
young and newly-ordained priests, 
under vows by which the rest of tlieir 
lives is dedicated to the S/-chuan 
Alission. Once having entered 
upon their work, they never aban- 
don it, nor return to their native 
country ; indeed, it is impossible for 
them to do so, for I have good rea- 
sons for stating that any recreant who 
may seek, in violation of his engage- 
ments, to cjuit the country, is certain 
to be apprehended by the Mandarins 
and sent back to the jurisdiction of 
the mission, 'ihis has an ai)parent 
connection wiili the edict of Khang- 
hi, which acconled toleration to those 
missionaries only who w(nild swear 
never to return lo Kurope. Tlie 
young missionary on entering China 
strips himself of his nationality ; he 
shaves his head, and adopts the Chi- 
nese costume, and conforms in all 
respects to the Chinese mode of life. 



His first two years are spent eilhei 
at one of the principai mission &u- 
tions or at some out-station, inclose 
attendance on an old and experienc- 
ed father, under whose care he sys- 
tematically studies the language uid 
the manners of the people tu whose 
service he has devoted his life. He 
is also trained in the working of the 
mission, and, as soon as he is a pto* 
ticient in the language, is appointed 
to a permanent post under general 
orders from the bishop of the district 
to which lie has been sent from PanL 
1 1 can easily be imagined that a mis- 
sion numbering its converts by tens 
of thousands, and carrying its labois 
over such a vast extent of countrj- as 
\Vestern China and Eastern Thibet, 
must be a well-organized institution 
systematically administered. Takinn 
advantage of the division of all the 
provinces into districts, each district 
is worked by the mission with more 
or less activity, as the disposition of 
tlie people will allow. The apostolic 
bishop resident at Chung Ching exer- 
cises a metropolitan authority over 
four odicr bishops, who reside at Cheu- 
tu and Swi-foo, in Sz-chuan, Yun- 
nan-foo in Yunnan, and in Kwei-cheu, 
and IJishop Chauveau at Ta-tuu- 
loo. Tlie latter lias charge of the 
mission stations of Eastern Thibet 
established at liathang, Yengin, and 
Tz-coo, on the western banks of the 
I,an-tsan-kiang. I was informed 
that there were, in i S68, three hundred 
French missionaries, besides native 
l)riests and catechists, engaged in the 
missions working in the above pro- 
vinces. The pay of a missiooaiy 
varies. from one hundred taels* per 
mensem — the salary of a bishop— to 
twenty taels, the scanty stipend of 
the simple fathers. Out of this they 
provi Ic themselves with everything 
At small out-stations, of couise, the 

*Not quite (170. 



An EnglisktNan ia China. 



329 



many presents of food, 
I then the pay is so trifling, 
d wilh the salaries drawn by 
It missionaries, that one can 
ider how these French mis- 

manugc to exist, and it is 
n their self-denying and ab- 

mode of life is witnessed 
dequate idea con be formed 
ission^iry work, 
strict s)'stcra of reports, coni- 

every missionary in charge 
;rici through liis bishop to 
opoliton bishop at Chung 
le afiairs of ilie raiiision are 
ired with the regularity of 
;;ii)i2ed government. Close- 
'iiig tiic Chinese customs, 
H>s assume the title of Ta- 
cellcncy,' and the fathers, 
; to their precedence in the 
Ta-low-ya. 'Circal Kldcr," 
r-ya, * ICIder.' Kvery con- 
ng into the presence of a fa- 
iged to bend the knee, a cus- 
i a recent able French writer 
he has himself heard the 
i complain of as unbecoming, 
ng this apparently slavish 
lotuage from their flock, the 
nitatc the magistrates, and 
euns, as well as tiy the in- 
ley naturally acquire in the 
of dvil affairs among their 

ihey very jnobably excite 
Vf and hatred of the govern- 
bs. As an illtislratiun of 
ay quote the words oi an 

experienced father : * We 
persecuted on religious 
on political, because 

influence over the pco- 

im my own experience of 
ue, I must sny that (how- 
gD&Dt to our Western ideas) 
ion of the utmost respect 
converts is absolutely ne- 
the aiainlenance of the 
Authority of the clergy, for 
;, as ycU know no inter- 



mediate step between servile submis- 
sion and insolent independence ; and, 
when compared with that of any 
Protestant mission in the world, 
their success is so wonderfully great, 
that I feel inclined to give them the 
full credit of knowing fruui experience 
what is best for the interest of their 
mission. . . . Tlie eduiation of 
the young is a special object of care ; 
at all the princijial mission stations 
there are separate stliools for boys 
and girls, i'he boys are taught to 
reaci and write Chinese and Latin, 
besides geography and other useful 
informalitiii, which lends tg dispel 
their Chinese prejudices. Promising 
candidates for the priesthood are usu- 
ally sent to Macao and Hong-Kong, 
and occasionally to Rome, to receive 
their professional education. The 
girls are taught to read an<I write 
Chinese, and are instructed in sew- 
ing, etc. At Chung Ching and 
Cheutu there are boarding-schools, 
wliere young girls are educated till 
they are marriageable. These pu- 
pils are eagerly sought for by the 
converts in marriage, and are reput- 
ed to make excellent wives. The 
native Christians, as a rule, are re- 
markable for their good character ; 
their houses arc distinguished by 
their superior cleanliness and order. 
. . . , I cannot but record how 
forcibly 1 was impressed by their de- 
vout attention to the offices of their 
religion, and this is not merely super- 
ficial — they are staunch adherents of 
their faith, but few being ever found 
lu apostatize e^ en under the pressure 
of persecution ; and having myself 
witnessed the bcnet'icial effects of 
their labors, 1 conclude with wishing 
the utmost success to the pious and 
laborious agents whose self-denial 
has been rewarded by such extraor- 
dinary results." 

On reaching Ta-tsian-loo, at that 
time the headquarters of Bishop 



330 



An Engiishman in China. 



Chauveau, to whom Mr. Cooper 
graicfully records his many obliga- 
tions, jind whom he calls ihc ablest 
man and kindest friend he found in 
Western China, he made acquain- 
tance with some of the Thibetan 

llamas, and visited their lamasery. 
of which he gives an interesting ac- 
count. The chief lama paid him a 
visit at his hotel, and, as he showed a 
good deal of curiosity concerning his 
intentions, Mr. Cooper proccetled 
to define his position by remarking 
that he had heard that the lamas 
were averse to French missionaries 

[■entering their central kingdom, and 
added that he was not surprised that 
a great religious country like Thibet 
should object to the introduction of 

^a new religion. The lama, unused 
the easy way in which a travelled 
Englishman can carry his religion, 
was ama/cd, but on learning that 
Mr, Cooper was not a Frenchman, 
but professed a different faith from 
theirs, being in fact a simple disciple 
of Confucius, quite indifferent to new 
creeds, ami disposed to look with 
friendly eyes upon all religions what- 
soever, he became at once more cor- 
dial, invited him to tlic lamaser}*, 
warned him of a conspiracy against 
his liberty, and cautioned him to 
avoid identifying himself in any way 
with the Catholic missionaries. Mr. 
Cooper's return call upon his new 
friend was not in alt respects plea- 
sajit : 

'* Crossing the courtyard, the lama 
led me up a flight of stairs into his 
room, which differed from those oc- 
cupied by the other lamas only in 
its furniture and superior cleanliness. 
The other rooms were dirty, and con- 
tained nothing save a small stove in 
the centre of the floor, and a large 
wooden bucket, somewhat like an 
attenuated chum, and containing the 
everlasting butter-tea of the Thibe- 
tans. My host's room, however, had 



in it several chairs of Cli 
and round the stove was s 
thick woollen carj>ct, on y 
was invited to squat. Havii 
fortably seated myself, a jroi 
ed in lama robes brought 
cups, one of which my b< 
with butter-tea, and, as an 
mark of hosjiitality, broke ot 
huge pat of rancid butter a 
large as his 6st, and put it 
cup, which he politely ha: 
me ; then, filling his cup in I 
way, he invited roe to dri 
him. Good manners oblige 
drink, and 1 succeeded in sw 
a mouthful of the greasy m 
well- feigned pleasure, which, 
observing, nodded his Xxa 
bending gracefully forward 
flourish, stirred round the [ 
butter in my cup with his HtU 
and again pressed me to d 
would have given worlds 1 
been spared this second tri 
calling up all my resoluti<m, 
another gulp, and hastily t 
my pipe, while my hospital 
sipped his melted butter 
much gusto as an aldemui 
his full-bodied port. 

** Expressing a wish to v 
lamasery, I was shown ov* 
the lama, and visited the el 
temple, where he daily offi 
prayers to the Grand Lama 
said ; meaning, I presume, J 
It was a superb little place, 
end a railing, richly ornamefi 
gilded, fenced off intnidcn 
gilded image of Buddlia, ab 
feet high, sitting in a comet 
posture, enveloped in a wfa 
pcry of silk gauze. Roond i 
walls were rows of niches, 
gcon-holes, about a foot sq 
each of which was a small 
of solid gold, about two inch 
There could not have been It 
a hundred of these imager I 



j^u Englis/anan in Ckina. 



31» 



ion was ihat they were 
It; but the lama pointed 
1 to iiic as gold, and several 
which I handled were made 
precious metal. ... I 
from Bishop ChauVcau that 
le Chinese conquest the la- 
1 to ntarry, but that the Chi- 
iring the i>ower of the sacer- 
jstc. procured an order from 
I enforcing celibacy on all 
Notwithstanding this, at the 
ime, out of the population 
.ree kingdoms of 'Ihibet, 
n one-third are lamas. It 
imagined, therefore, what a 
e priesthood has over the 
In almost every family one 
of the sons arc lamas from 
on. In a family of, say, four 
! chief lama of the district 
jraily insist upon two becora- 
s, and, .it tlic age of between 
md fourteen, the boys are 
the lamasery, where they are 
and, when grown up, ad- 
ito the priesthood. If the 
ibject to give up their sons 
riesthood, the threat of an 
from the lips of tlie chief 
the grand lama at Lhdssa, 
rnl to overcome all opposi- 
os the ranks of the priest- 
B constantly recruited and 
irer sireiiglhencd. 'Hie jio- 
owing to this, is ^aduatly 
. and the lay people are (he 
rt% of the lamas» who live in 
; idleness, for each lamasery 
i enormous estates, as well 
venues drawn from the lay 
m in the shape of tithes on 
both of cattle and grain." 
Ibangt which our traveller 
I May, 1868, he made still 
[!quaintancc with the lamas, 
% to tinve found no cause to 
favorable opinion of 
lamasery which he de- 
id the town of Bathang it- 



self, have since been destroyed, as 
readers of the Annals of the Pr&pa^- 
tioit of the Faith will remember, by 
an earthquake which occurred on 
the tith of April, 1S70. 'ilie valley 
of Bath.ing seemed to Mr. Cooper a 
sort of liide Eden, by reason of its 
great fertility and beauty. The town 
contained, according to him, some 
6,000 inhabitants, including the la- 
mas, who livei.t just out^de iL Bi- 
shop Chauveau, however, whose in- 
formation is of course more accurate, 
rates them at 8,000 or 9.000. Of 
these at least 3,000 were killed by 
the earthquake, including 430 of the 
lamas. One of these men had for 
some time been prophesying some 
fearful calamity as a judgment from 
the gods upon the frequent conver- 
sions from lamantsin, and he induced 
the people to renew some of their 
heathenish practices, and it was dur- 
ing tliese performances that the town 
was destroycti, and the prophet him- 
self killed. None of our missionaries 
were injured, and the ill falc of the 
lamas and their lamasery has had 
the fortunate cftccl of making the 
|>eople look with still greater disfavor 
upon them. The gods, they say, 
seem to be getting tirerl of the lamas. 
Mr. Cooper being admitted as witness 
against them, such a disposition on 
the part of their deities would appear 
to be only natural : 

*' My arrival at the gates of the 
lamasery caused a great hubbub. 
Hundreds of lamas swarmed on the 
f^at roof of the buildings which com- 
poseil the square block enclosed by 
a high wall, while numbers hurried 
to and fro through the courts and 
passages in a stale of great excite- 
ment. Dismounting outside the gate, 
I left my pony in charge of the gate- 
keeper, and entered. Scarcely, how- 
ever, had I passed the inner gate, 
when a lama, addressing mc in Chi- 
nese, inquired my business. I in- 



332 



An Ettgiiskman in China, 



formed him that I was desirous of 
seeing the building, and, giving him 
my card, desired him to present it 
to the chief lama, with a request for 
permission to view the lamasery. He 
requested me to remain at the gate 
until his return, and took my message 
to the chief lama. . . . From 
where I stood I could see but little 
of the interior building. As much, 
however, as was visible proved that 
the fame of the Bathang Lamasery 
was justly deserved. In the centre 
of the block of buildings, the roof of 
the sacred temple was plainly visible, 
its massive gold covering flashing 
and gleaming in the sunlight with 
dazzling brilliancy. On the roofs, 
and, indeed, everywhere, the place 
was Uterally alive with roosters, which 
kept up an incessant crowing, blend- 
ing in a chorus with the chants of 
the lamas. These birds are sacred 
to Buddha, and number, I was told, 
more than a thousand. None are 
ever killed, and their ranks are con- 
stantly swelled by the donations of 
the country people, who bring the 
chickens to the lamasery as religious 
offerings. The birds are all capons, 
and, Uke the lamas, live a life of 
celibacy. Not a single hen is allow- 
ed to come within the building. Eve- 
rything in the sacred edifice is dedi- 
cated to the worship of Buddha, and 
supposed to be free from the conta- 
mination of the outer world. 

"I noticed several nuns about, 
with shaven heads, but dressed in 
the ordinary garb of Thibetan women, 
with this difference, that the color 
and material of tlicir dress were the 
same as those of the priestly robes of 
green stuff. These nuns are the ab- 
ject slaves of the lamas, performing 
all the drudgery of the house in 
common with youthful novices or 
deacons. They, however, in the 
outer world enjoy, like the lamas, a 
superior social position, and command 



considerable respect aom 
of the lay people. The 
shut themselves up entirel; 
series, like cloistered nuns • 
mish religion, but often 
their families, and work at 
hold duties and in the fielc 
nuns, like the priests, pi 
strictest chastity, dedicati 
selves entirely to the wc 
service of Buddha, But, 
own observations, and from 
ly expressed opinion of tht 
bitants of Thibet, which 1 
quent opportunities of hear 
is a thing unknown among 
hood, and the lamaseries an 
ter than dens of debauchery 
had begun to be impatie 
long absence, the lama retu 
a message that my prescnc 
desired within the build 
would unsettle the priests 
devotions, but if I wished 
an offering in the shape i 
or anything else, it would I 
ed. As this concession oi 
of the chief lama was me 
expression of good- will, I 
messenger a tael of silver, 
a feeling of disappointment 
home. I afterward found t 
reason to congratulate mys 
exclusion from the lamaser] 
of its inmates were suffei 
small-pox. This fearful dis 
mits great ravages among t 
tan population \ of whom air 
fourth person is disfigure 
effects. . . . When ca 
in a town, the lamas co 
families attacked to remo- 
mountains, and seal up thei 
Should the sick persons b 
to bear removal, they are s 
the house, all communica 
tliem being prohibited, an( 
to die or recover, as the < 
be." 

It was in a great measu 



Ah EngHshmnn in China. 



333 



Mr. Cooper owed the 
of his joumey, although, 
Et of It becoming known, the 
Egovemment also was Inter- 
' preventing its accomplish- 
c with a new trade route 
fbreign enterprise, the ex- 
nopolies would of course 
tA. " Nothing," says Mr. 
"a more contrary to the 
the Chinese government 
thiti the introduction of 
. The Chinese on their 
the loss r>f their valuable 
monopoly, to maintain 
give the Umas the mono- 
ic retail supply ; who, by 
bold in absolute subjec- 
leople, lo whom tea is a 
,ry of hfe. Tlie lamas, 
art, fear that, with the in- 
of British trade, the teach- 
Dcw religion would come, 
de and free thought com- 
kld overthrow their spiritual 
. . I myself was destin- 
aow and in a subsequent 
;o espericnce their dcter- 
lo prevent the intrusion of 
sd Palin." 

[ would be easier than to 
r quotations from tliiii in* 
traveller, every page of 
wk is entertaining. On 
ithang, the impossibility of 
male Thibetan to act as 
had made it necessary for 
:lcr to hire an elderly fe- 
cook; but Mr. Cooper, 
losing that he was merely 
at an impromptu picnic, 
self unexpectedly married, 
3ue Thibetan form, to a 
e maid, who, her parents 
loded, would he an excel- 
itute for a servant. He 
iged to return her to her 
mi not until after an amus- 
ince viih the religious 
new bride, which we 



must let him relate. They were pass* 
ing one of those cairns of prayer- 
stones which the piety of the tra- 
velling Thibetans erect along the 
road. N'o Buddhist passes Uiem with- 
out adding a stone and muiicring a 
prayer : 

'• Lo-tzung, having contributed her 
quota of stones and prayers, gave 
me to understand that, in order to 
secure our future happiness, she must 
have a couple of Khntah cloths to 
attach to the fiagsiaffs;- and there 
was nothing for it but to unpack one 
of the baggage-animals and get out 
the ' scarves of felicity ' (?) Having 
given thctn to the young lady, I was 
inwardly congratulating myself that 
now, at least, we sliouUl be able to 
continue our march, for the afternoon 
was wearing, and our station for the 
night still distant. But my matrimo* 
nial embarrassments had not yet end- 
ed. It was necessary for me to tie 
one of the 'scarves of felicity' to 
the flagstaff, and kneel in prayer with 
my bride. This I peremptorily re- 
fused to do ; but poor Lo-tzung shed 
such a torrent of tears, and informefl 
me with such heart broken accents 
that, if I did not do this, we should 
not be happy, and that she especially 
woukl be miserable, that there was 
nothing for it but to comply. And 
there, on the summit of a Thibetan 
mountain, kneeling before a heap of 
stones, my hand wet with the tears 
of a daughter of the country, I mut- 
tered curses on the fate that had 
placed me m such a position," 

It hatl bfcn Mr. Cooper's inten- 
tion to take this little girl along with 
him to Calcutta, since to cast her off 
would have given dire ofience to the 
Thibetans, and there hand her over 
to the care of the Catholic Sisters. 
The hatred of the lamas, however, 
pursued him on his journey, and, by 
prohibiting the people from sheltering 
itim or selling him food, they so 



334 



An Englishman in China. 



nearly reduced the party to starva- 
tion that Lo-tzung was only too glad 
to leave him and take shelter with 
an uncle. I-ater on, at Weisee-foo, 
as we have already related, he was 
imprisoned, and narrowly escaped 
with his life, only to begin at once 
to retrace hts steps homeward. On 
reaching Kiating, on his return jour- 
ney, he met for the first time traces 
of Protestant missionary work, and 
tells an amusing story about it : 

" On the second day, a Chinese 
Christian called upon me, from whom 
I learned that a Protestant mission- 
ary had visited the city in the early 
part of the year, and had distributed 
a. good many religious books; one 
of which, in the possession of the 
landlord of the hotel, proved to be a 
copy of the New Testament in Chi- 
nese. The owner produced the vol- 
ume, and, adjusting his spectacles 
with a solemn air of wisdom, turned 
up the passage which runs as fol- 
lows : * It is easier for a mule [the 
camel in the English version] to pass 
through the eye of a needle than for 
a rich man to enter the kingdom of 
heaven/ Having read these words, 
he looked over his spectacles at me, 
and asked in a very contemptuous 
voice if it was possible for any man 
to believe such a statement, and if 
foreigners really did believe the state- 
ments made in this book ? It had 
been my invariable custom since 
commencing to travel in China to 
avoid religious discussions, and al- 
ways to proclaim myself a disciple of 
Confucius, so I now replied that I 
was not a teacher of religion, but 
only a humble disciple of Con-fu-dzu, 
but as to the statement about the 
mule passing through the eye of a 
needle, I thought I could explain 
that ; and then proceeded to interpret 
the word ' needle ' as used in the 
passage referred to. This somewhat 
mollified mine host, who remarked 



that he had no doubt that 
teachers found great diffic 
writing the flowery languaj 
it would perhaps be as well 
did not write religious books 
Chinese under such circum 
When I was alone, I could 
regret that the praiseworth} 
of the missionary in Kiating 
been more successful. Hov 
soon as it becomes safe for £i 
to travel in China, there 
doubt but that the self-deny 
hard-working Protestant mis: 
will enter upon a new and e 
field of labor, in Which their 
devotedness, and well-knowi 
influence will doubdess win fi 
if not success, at least ad: 
from their supporters at homi 

After leaving Hankou for 
hai, he again came upon the 
— apparently without great g 
tion: 

" As we steamed past the 
Yang-chow, in the province o 
hoei, we saw the British flee 
had been sent up to demand 
tion for an outrage commi 
some Protestant missionarit 
had been beaten and othern 
•■eated. The sight of a Bril 
on the Yang-tsu for such a 
was curious indeed, and 
have no doubt, have don 
toward convincing the pe 
Yang-chow of the force of 
tantism, if not of its pacific 
For myself, I remember the 
French missionaries, whose 
source had been flight into at 
fastnesses, and then recall thi 
given by the Master to the 
for drawing his sword aga 
high-priest's servant ; and it 
hard to reconcile the presec 
fleet at Yang-chow for sue! 
pose with the doctrines ptofi 
his serv.ints. Probably, I 
times have changed sine 




The Island of Saints. 



335 



Id Christ cruci6ecl, and suffer- 

nnluni ; and It may now be 

iftore expedient lu proclaim 

bel from the cannon's mouth, 

Mnon gunboats to exact rcpa- 

It our modern mart}TS.*' 

[we take leave of our travel- 

bfic unfortunate experiences 

[prevent him from undcrtak- 

aiUr journey, though by a 

^Toute, in the following year, 

a like unsuccessful result. 

u ver>- well worth reading, 



simply as an entertaining record of 
travel in a little known country ; al- 
though to a Catholic it has the fur- 
ther interest of furnishing another of 
those involuntary testimonies from 
Protestant pens, which record llie 
unvarj'ing failure of their own mis- 
sionary enterprises in producing any 
beneficial effect upon the heathen, 
and the exceeding heroism and devo- 
tion and the uniform and great suc- 
cess which as invariably character- 
ize OUT own. 



THE ISLAND OF SAINTS. 



E has been lavish in her gifts 
vely island, once so famous 
ursii]g- school of the godly 
led. Though fallen from her 
Me^ though no longer the 
d land of science, she is still 

riUbcAuiy ^ml romnntit: ihapcft. 
IcrBtt TAllcys HcO <jl slutm;- ciipca ; 
~ [hi itardaa ^oA rhc unglcd br«k«, 
atDHUamuhl the sunlit like r* 

precipitous cliffs protect 
., while her shores are in- 
the most magnificent bays 
IS. Her bosom is stored 
cioua meials, and the moit 
it in the world crowns her 
lasc. Her very geographical 
t!» an advantageous one, for 
Kccd, as it were, an advanced 
the outskirts of Europe — 
\ the route to the great 
orld, and she offers the first 
■ 'i American manner. 
:ind green, her land- 
iid; " pellucifl lakes 
. I (for the hills, rocks, 
on their margins; here 
iting plains of unequalled 



verdure ; there, garden-like tracts 
where the myrtle, the rose, and the 
Uurel need no culture; where the 
evergreen arbutus, in wonderful luxu- 
riance of growth, appears to be indi 
genous ; where every spot is enamel- 
led with flowers and fragrant herbs. 

Beautiful Iretancl ! most pictu- 
resque land on the face of the globe! 
Alas! why not also the richest and 
happiest ? 

Religion and learning early found 
a welcome home in this " emerald 
gem of the ocean." Even in the dark 
days of paganism, the jiricst-and-poct 
Druid of Erin appears to have been 
superior in intelligence and culture 
to his brethren of England and of the 
Continent ; and when Chrialianlly was 
first ]>reached in the land, no other 
pco]>lc ever welcomed it with such 
ardent enthu.siasn) as did tlic Irish ; 
no other people ever clung to their 
faith with such inviolable fidelity as 
Irish Catholics have since fionc. 

During the Jive centuries that fol- 
lowed the apostolic labors of Saint 
Patrick, so great was the multitude 
of holy personages who trod in the 




336 



The Island of Saints. 



way which he traced out ; so eminent 
the sanctity of their lives ; so illus- 
trious their learning, that Ireland re- 
ceived the proud title of " Island of 
Saints and Doctors." The number 
of her churches was infinite, and her 
monasteries and convents were at 
once the abodes of piety and the 
sheltering homes of the poor and ihe 
stranger. Her theological schools 
and colleges were the most renowned 
of Europe. Their halls were open^ 
to the students of every clime, " who," 
says Moreri, " were there received 
with greater hospitality than in any 
other country in the Christian world." 
Hither, as to the " emporium of H- 
terature," the youth of France, Ger- 
many, and Switzerland repaired in 
search of knowledge. But to the 
English nobility and gentry especial- 
ly, the Venerable Bede tells us Ire- 
land showed the most cordial hospi- 
tality and generosity, for, great though 
their numbers, they were all most 
willingly received, maintained, sup- 
plied with books, and instructed with- 
out fee or reward." 

And the tide of sanctity and learn- 
ing overflowed the shores of the holy 
isle ; many were the pious missiona- 
ries who, in those days of religious 
fervor, went forth to labor for the 
salvation of souls among the nations 
of Europe. The memory of their 
works is still jjreserved in the coun- 
tries which reaped the fruits of their 
zeal. 'J'he Italian town, San Colum- 
bano, still bears the name of tiie 
great Columbanus, a native of Lein- 
ster; and St. Gall, in Switzerland, 
still reminds us of his friend and disci- 
ple Gallus. The hermitage of Saint 
Fiacre, another Irish saint, is still 
one of France's consecrated spots ; 
and the memory of the Connaught 
man, Saint Fridolin, " the Traveller," 
is still blessed on the banks of the 
Rhine. The famous universities of 
Paris and of Pavia owe their origin 



to the learning and industr 
ment and John, both 1 
From Ireland the Anglo-Sa 
rived their first enlightenn 
till the thirteenth century t 
ture of Scodand was the spt 
vince of the Irish clergy. 

" When we look into thi 
astical life of this people," 
learned Gcirres, " we art 
tempted to believe that son 
spirit had transported ovei 
the cells of the Valley of the : 
all their hermits, its monast 
all their inmates, and ha< 
them down in the Western 
isle which, in the lapse of t 
turies, gave eight hundred 
saints to the church; won 
Christianity the north of Bril 
soon after, a large portion c 
pagan Germany; and, whi 
voted the utmost attentioi 
sciences, cultivated with esp< 
the mystical contcmplatioi 
religious communities, as w 
the saints whom they produ 

Numerous vestiges are si 
found in Ireland of those da 
thusiastic faith. Ivy- grown 
and churches, and the habit 
saints; and the emblem of 
creed, now rudely cut on pilh 
now exquisitely carved in fin^ 
tions, are to be met with scatti 
the whole length and breadi 
land — " memorials," we are 
celebrated archaeologist, " p< 
the piety and magnificence ol 
whom ignorance and prejuc 
too often sneered at as b; 
but also as the finest works < 
tured art, of their period, n 
ing." 

In the wild and lonely % 
Glendalough, County Wick 
yet to be seen the remain 
noble monastery, *' once the 1 
of the WeLtem world," found 
beginning of the sixth c« 



The Island cf SatHls. 



337 






Ke\*in, around which a city 
jnirishcd, and decayed. GIqo- 
BBtains encompass the silent 
V almost uninhabited glen, in 
tosom lie the niins of shrines 
learly thirteen centuries ago 
lised in honor of their Cud 
I joyous and thankful ui the 
lof certain immortality — men 
filtheni in their youth rever- 
Ihe Druid as a more than 
counsellor. 

filed wvre < -vni iludn 

Miotly for ^ lattcJ, 

•l]r men at! ! 1* 

bumble twfc, Butl ljc«vcaly-4ieute<] I" 

' are assembled dismantled 

SB, crumbling oratories, broken 

chattered monumental stones, 

nbs, no longer to be distin- 

, of bishops, abbots, and re- 

And near the wasted remains 

jboly piles, one of those mys- 

editices, a tall and slen<ier 

Tower, stantis, still strong and 

^ like a sentinel guarding the 

of the past. It is impossible 

ine a scene of sterner, more 

grandeur. Un the shore of 

ehc two lakes that He em- 

in Uie glen, rises a beetling 

a cavity of which Saint Ke- 

to have lived while pursu- 

coursc of study and contem- 

for which his name is even 

In this same cavern, 

known by the name of 

Kevin's Bed," the illustrious 

patriot Laurence OToole 

ed to have ofttimes mused 

lyed when he was abbot of 

lUgh. 

county of Mcath we find 
ins of Saint ColumVs house 
Columbkille, the elegant poet, 
founder of so many monas- 
bigh stone-roofed construe- 
tlngular arcliitecturc, seeming 
inc the purpose of an oratory 
t of a habitation. 




On the celebrated Rock of Cashel 
stands a group of ruins unparalleled 
for picturesque beauty and antiqua- 
rian interest. The most ancient struc- 
ture, with the exception of the Round 
Tower, is Cormac's chapel, built by 
Cormac MacCarthy, the pious king 
of •' deep- valley ed Desmond," in the 
beginning uf the twelfth century. It 
also is a stone-roofed edifice, with 
Norman arches and an almost end- 
less variety of Norman decorations. 
Near it rise the magnificent cathe- 
dral founded by Donogh O'Brien, 
King of Thomond, about 1152; and 
on the plain beside the rock, Hoar 
Abbey, tlic ancient castle of the 
archbishops, a jierfect Rountl Tower, 
and numerous crosses. 

And one of the grandest of these 
ancient holy piles, Newtown Abbey, 
now lies a crumbling heap on the 
banks of the Boyne. What it once 
was may, however, still be conceived 1 
of from the exquiiiite beauty of some 
of the remaining capitals, vaulting, 
and shafts, and from the many frag- 
ments of its noble windows which! 
arc strewn about the neighboring 
cemetery. This, alas ! like many 
another of the magnificent ruins of 
Ireland, has been used as a tpiarry ; 
not by the unlettered peasant, who 
is rarely found wanting in a de- 
votional feeling that leads him to 
regard antiquities, and especially 
those of an ecclesiastical origin, witttj 
a sentiment of profound veneration ; 
but by contractors for the crectiott' 
of new buildings, and sometimes 
even by men of station and educa- 
tion, who seem to have forgotten 
that age and neglect cannot deprive 
structures once consecrated to God, 
and applied to the service of religion, 
of any portion of their sacred charac- , 
ter. 

Bective Abbey, not far from New-1 
town, is anotlier wonderful wrecl^' 
which seems to combine ecclcsiasti- 



338 



The Island of Saints, 



caI with military and domestic archi- 
tecture in the most singular manner. 
It presents indeed a striking evidence 
of the half-monk, half-soldier charac- 
ter of its founders. Battlemented 
towers, cloister- arches, and rooms 
with great fire-places; the flues car- 
ried up through the thickness of the 
walls, and continued through taper- 
ing chimney-shafts, seem to have 
made the Abbey of Bective a^kind 
of monastic castle, and previous to 
the use of artillery it must have been 
a place of great strength. 

Perhaps one of the most beautiful 
edifices ever erected in Ireland was 
the church of Killeshin, near Carlow, 
once decorated with richly sculptured 
capitals representing human heads, 
the hair intertwined with serpents. 
This magnificent building was more 
hardly treated by the destructiveness 
of an individual who, about forty 
years since, resided in the neighbor- 
hood, than by the storms and frosts 
and thunderbolts of ages. The de- 
testable vandal wantonly defaced the 
exquisite capitals, and almost entirely 
obliterated an Irish inscription which 
extended round the abacus ! 

On the romantic shores of the 
beautiful Lake of Xillamey stands 
the venerable ruins of Muckross Ab- 
bey. No vestige of its former gran- 
ilcur remains ; " its antic pillars massy 
proof" are all ground into dust, and 
a magnificent yew-tree that has grown 
in the very centre of the wreck spreads 
its mighty, somlire branches like a 
funereal i)all over the fallen temple. 
And in the lake on the " holy is- 
land " of Innisfallon, on a gentle ver- 
dant slope, surrounded by thick 
groves, are still to be seen the few 
crumbling stones that mark where 
stood the abbey once so renowned 
throughout Christendom for its learn- 
ing and piety. 

But it would be a vain task to at- 
tempt to enumerate all the beauti- 



ful memorials of Ireland's ^ 
whose ivy-grown ruins still adoi 
land they once made so famoffi 

" Her temples grew as g^owi the fru 

and popular tradition tells U£ 
numbers have been hidden 
mortal eye, ever since the 
monks who prayed within then 
barbarously driven forth or slai 

" In yonder dim and pathless vrood 

Strange sounds are heard at twilift 
And ptals of solemn music inrell 

As Irom some mioster'a lofty town 
From age to age those sounds are ht 

Borne on the breete at twilight hoi 
From age to age no foot hath found 

A pathway to the minster's tower ! 

Mingled among the mossy m 
of fallen altars; among the roo 
ing stones and the rusted 
of crumbled cloisters; beneat 
*' churchyard's bowers " ; by the 
hillsides; on the margins of th< 
lit lakes, or under the shadow 
mysterious Round Towers, Ue,a 
countless, the defaced, mutilate 
blems of Ireland's heart-deep £ 
broken crosses — innumerable b 
crosses — eloquent of the pici 
those by-gone days, eloquent < 
ruthlessness of the devastator, 
are found scattered over the 
island, and are as various in 
styles as in the perfection of 
workmanship — some, difleni 
nothing from the pillar-stones i 
pagans, save that they are i 
sculptured with a cross, to mai 
graves of the early Irish sai 
others have the upper part < 
shaft hewn into the form of a y 
from which the arms and the U 
tend. Crosses, highly sculp 
appear to date from the ninti 
twelfth centuries. In these the < 
instead of being simply cut inl 
face of the stone. Is represented 
ring, binding, as it were, the 
arms, and upper portion of the 
together. There are scores of 
beautiful remains in Ireland, b 




The island of Saints. 



339 



s, are those at Monas- 
near Droglieda ; they arc 
larly symInet^i^^al and artis- 
;have excitL'il theenihusiastn 
(earned arclixologuit who lias 
tn. 

jwere originally three crosses 
btcrboice; uvo still exist, 
^rved; the third was brok* 
(ion says, by Cromwell. The 
fthe two nearly perfect cross- 
ftifcs twenty-seven feet in 
ind is composed of three 
pie shaft, at its junction with 

Its two feet in breadth and 
three inches in thickness. 
ded upon the western bide 
\ into seven compartments, 
^hich contains two or more 
It figures, now much worn 

rt and wind of nine centu- 
sides of the cross are oma- 
kith figures and scroll-work 

r- 

Btnaller cross, fifteen feet 
exquisitely beautiful," says 
Leman, in the Archizolo^a 

["and has suffered little 
cfTects of time. It stands 
perfect as when first erect- 
indred years ago. The fig- 
ttn almost all their original 
I and beauty of execution, 
>e circular head of the cross, 
^crn face, our Saviour is re- 
sitting in judgment. A 
angels occupy the arm to 
of the figure. Several hold 
hsInJTnents, among which is 
icient small and triangular 
The space to the left of 
is crowded with figures. 
which arc in an altitude of 
,n armed fiend is driving 
before the throne. The 
cnl immediately beneath 
re weighing in a pair of 
a smaller figure, the 
ling to preponderate in 
One who appears to have 



been weighed and found wanting is 
lying beneath the scales in an attitude 
of terror. The next compartment 
beneath represents apparently the 
adoration of the wise men. The star 
above the head of the infant Christ is 
distinctly marked. The third com- 
partment contains several figures, the 
action of which we do not under- 
stand. The signification of the sculp- 
ture of the next following compart- 
ment is also very obscure. A figure 
seated upon a throne or chair is 
blowing a horn, and soldiers with 
conical helmets, broad-bladed swords, 
and with small circular shiu-Wls ap 
pear crowding in. The fifth and 
lowest division illustrares the Tempta- 
tion and the Expulsion. An in- 
scription in Irish, upon the lower 
part of the shaft, desires '• a prayer 
for Muiredach, by whom was made 
this cross." 

We can imagine how, when this 
nittstcr[)iece was pronounced finished 
by the gifted artist, the chicfe and 
abbots, the bards and warriors, the 
monks and priests, and may be many 
a rival sculptor, crowded around it, 
full of wonder and admiration for 
what they must have considered a 
truly glorious, nay, unequalled work. 
And Muiretlach most certainly was 
not refused the boon he craved. 

We have mentioned pillar-stones, 
and though they do not belong to the 
Christian vestiges of tlie Island of 
Saints, still they are so mingled with 
the holier relics that they cannot be 
passed over in silence. Obscure, 
mysterious in their origin, many hy- 
potheses have been fonned respect- 
ing them by the learned, and they 
have been supposed by turns to be 
landmarks, idols, or monumental 
stones. Some of the Irish pillar- 
stones arc inscribed with the Ogham 
character, a kind of writing belicvcil 
to have been In use in Ireland be- 
fore the introduction of Christianity. 



340 



The Island of Saints. 



Stones very similar, but perforated, 
are also found in Ireland, in Scotland, 
and even, it is said, in India. What 
may have been their origin is com- 
pletely unknown. 

The most remarkable of the pillar- 
stones is found at the celebrated hill 
of Tara, in the county of Meath. Dr. 
Petrie thinks that this monument is 
the famous Lia Fail, or Stone of Des- 
tiny, upon which, for many ages, the 
kings of Ireland were crowned, and 
which is generally supposed to have 
been removed from Ireland to Scot- 
land for the coronation of Fergus 
Mac Eark, an Irish prince — a pro- 
phecy having declared that in what- 
ever country this stone was preserved, 
a king of the Scotic (ancient Irish) 
race should reign. The learned Doc- 
tor refers to some MSS., not earlier 
certainly than the tenth century, in 
which the stone is mentioned as stlU 
existing at Tara. " If this authority 
may be relied on," says Mr. Wake- 
man, " the stone carried away from 
Scotland by Edward the First, and 
now preserved in Westminster Abbey, 
under the coronation chair, has long 
attracted a degree of celebrity to 
which it was not entitled, while the 
veritable Lia Fail, the stone which, 
according to the early bardic ac- 
counts, roared beneath the ancient 
Irish monarchs at their inauguration, 
remained forgotten and diregarded 
among the green raths of deserted 
Tara." Deserted Tara ! thirteen cen- 
turies have passed away since the 
kings and chiefs of Ireland were 
wont to assemble in the royal city — 



" Tara, where the voice of music suni;;. 
And many a harp and cruit responsive rung, 
And many a bard, in high heroic verse, 
Tbe deeds of heroes gloried to rehearse. 
And many a shell went round, and loud and 

long 
Rose the full chonis of the festive song. 
Ah ! who can tell how beautiful were they— 
The Fenian cbiefii—how joyous, young, and 

gay[ 
Each ttood a champion on the battle-field. 
And but with life the Tictory would yield." 



Thirteen centuries have \ 
away since the work of decay t 
and nothing now remains of r 
cient grandeur. AH ha$ been 
away, save some faint indicatic 
the site of the noble banqu 
hall, whose magnificence w: 
vaunted in bardic song and 
and the raths upon which the f 
pal habitations stood. 

These raths or duns, whic 
found in every part of Ireland, 
consist of only a circular inti 
ment, but most frequently fo 
steep mound, flat at tlie ta[ 
strongly intrenched. The work 
ally enclosed a piece of ground 
which, it is presumed, the hou; 
lesser importance stood, the n 
being occupied by the dwelling 
chief. The circular enclosures 
rally contain excavations of s 
hive form, lined with uncem 
stones, and connected by pas 
sufficiently large to admit a 
These chambers or artificial ci 
are supposed to have been 
houses for food and treasure 
places of refuge for the womei 
children in time of war. 

In the centre of the pri; 
mound of Tara, the Forradh, 
stands the Lia Fail — the great | 
stone — the stone of destiny — n 
from its primitive site to its p; 
in order to mark the grave- 
croppies' grave," it is called — of 
men killed in an encounter 
British troops during the risii 
1798. 

By the side of the hoary rui 
the earlier monastic houses 
most invariably seen one of 
singular and, for many cent 
mysterious edifices, the S 
Towers. The question of the < 
and uses of these remarkable ve 
long occupied the attention of 
quaries. They were supposed tc 
been built by the Danes, or to 



The Island of Saints. 



34» 



or Indo-Scylhic origin, 
lave contained the sacred fire 
ce all the fires in the king- 
annually rekindlctl. Thcie 
ost as many theories con- 
them as tlicrc were towers, 
succeeding theory appeared 
the subject in deeper mys- 
evcf — a mystery that was 
until dispelled for ever by 
Dr. Pctrie. This gentle- 
d*!cided that the towers are 
and of ecclesiastical ori- 
were erected at various 
tween the fifth and thir- 
enturies — that they were 
to answer, at lexst, a twofold 
ly, to serve as belfiies, and 
or places of strength, in 
\t sacred utensiU, books, 
id other valuables were dc- 
and into which the ecclesi- 
whom they belonged could 
■ security in. cases of sudden 
tnd lliat they were probably 
, when occasion required, as 
and walcli- towers. These 
ins were arrived at after a 
patient investigation of the 
aral peculiarities of the 
overs, and also of the reti- 
uctures generally found in 
in with them, and the vexed 
rest. 

if a hundred and eigh- 
hcsc buildings have been 
tlic greater number in 
L of some only the foun- 
:ciDain; others are almost 
external shape. They vary 
ity 10 a hundred and ten 
ight, tapering gradually to 
it, and terminated by a 
[I stone roof. The Tower 
, near Dublin, i« nearly 
t perhaps the most noble 
is found at Monastcrboice, 
combines, with the magnifi- 
tses we have described, and 
'wn ruined churches, to 




form a group of sacred antiquities 
unsurp.issed in interest and pictu- 
resque beauty. 

i'rightful OS were the devastations 
of the Danes in Ireland — the unhap- 
py land bore the brunt of their fury — 
and frequent as was the pillage of 
religious property, there have been 
found many beautiful relics of sacred 
objects belonging to the sacked and 
ravaged abbeys and churches. In 
newly-ploughcd lands, in the beds of 
rivers, in Ihc heaps of crumbled 
stones around the ruins, in the bogs 
have been discovered, among many 
other interesting evidences of earljr 
Irish civilization, pastoral crooks and 
crosiers, cltalices of stone and of sil- 
ver, and ancient quadrangular bell* 
of bronze and of iron. These last ap- 
pear to have been in use in Ireland as 
early as the time of St. Patrick. Some 
of them, we are told by Cambrcnsis, 
were so highly reverenced that both 
clergy and laity were more afraid of 
swearing falsely by them than by the 
Gospels — " because of some hidden 
and miraculous power with which 
they were gifted, and by the ven- 
geance of the saint to whom they 
were particularly pleasing, their de- 
spisers and transgressors were se- 
verely punished." 

The crooks and crosiers are ni 
general of exquisite workmanship, 
exhibiting a profusion of ornament 
of extreme beauty. Among these 
relics has been found one which af- 
fords the most striking evidence of 
the proficiency that Iriah artificers 
had arrived at in many of the arts 
previous to the arrival of the English. 
It is known as the Cross of Cong, 
and was made at Roscommon, by 
native Irishmen, about tlie year 1 133, 
in the reign of Turlogh O'Connor, 
father of Rodcrich, the last king of Ire- 
land, The form is most elegant, and 
it is completely covered with minute 
and elaborate ornaments, a portion 



342 



T^te Island of Saints, 



worked in pure gold. The orna- 
ments are, for the most part, tracery 
and grotesque animals fancifully com- 
bined, and similar in character to the 
decorations found upon crosses of 
stone of the same period. In the 
centre, at the intersection, is set a 
large crystal, through which is visible 
a piece of the true cross, as inscrip- 
tions in Irish and Latin distinctly 
record. 

The copies of the Gospels and of 
the sacred writings which had been 
used by the saints of Erin were often 
preserved by their successors enclosed 
in cases of yew, or some wood equal- 
ly durable. Some of these deeply- 
interesting evidences of Irish piety 
and learning have come down to us, 
and are to be seen in the collection 
of the Royal Irish Accademy at 
Dublin. One of them, the Caah, is 
a box about nine inches long and 
eight broad, formed of brass plates 
riveted together, and ornamented 
with gems and chasings of gold and 
silver. It contains a rude wooden 
box enclosing a copy of the ancient 
Vulgate translation of the Psalms in 
Latin, written on vellum, and, it is be- 
lieved, by the hand of Saint Columb- 
kille, " the Apostle of the Picts." It 
seems to have been handed down in 
the O'Donnell family, to which the 
great saint belonged. 

Another most interesting relic, also 
in the collection of the Academy, 
is the Domnach Airgid, which con- 
tains, beyond a doubt, a considerable 
portion of the copy of the holy Gos- 
pels used by Saint Patrick, and pre- 
sented to him by Saint Macarthen. 
This MS. has three covers ; the firet 
and most ancient, of yew; the se- 
cond, of copper plated with silver j 
and the third, of silver plated with 
gold. 

Beautiful — sadly, solemnly beauti- 
ful — are the remains of Ireland's an- 



cient grandeur; but though he 
dor may have passed away ; 
she be no longer " the school o 
tendom " ; though her abbe 
monasteries, her churches and 
and sculptured crosses, lie 
heaps of wayside ruins, still "h( 
her wondrous faith, is fres 
strong as in those bygone agt 
it was in those days of old w! 
fervent piety of her sons led i 
distant lands, apostles of religi 
science, so is Ireland's faiti 
warm and active as ever. In 
struggles, in all her sorrows, h 
has stood by her side to i 
consolation and to ward off d> 
O lovely, unhappy isle! 
chief of reliquaries," thouj 
shamrock be watered with te; 
thou hast the better part ! 

** And if of even: land the guest, 

ThiDC exile back returning 
Finds still one land unlike the re 

Discrowned, disgraced, and mt 
Give thanks! Thy fiowers. to 70 

Transferred, pure airs are Lasti 
And, stone by tione, thy temple 

In regions crerlasUng ! " 

Will " the bound and suflfei 
tim " ever again breathe freely 
religious freedom and politic 
dom ever again stand hand : 
on the dewy turf of Erin ? — 
Lia Fail ever again roar bene 
seat of an independent Irish n 
these are questions whicli Tim 
can answer. But whatever fa 
be reserved for long-tried Ire 
the future, however disconsol 
present, every Irishman's heart 
glow with pride and love w 
remembers the glory of he: 
days — glory such as no other ( 
ever possessed — glory of wh 
centuries of relendess tyran 
deprive her — the glory of 
been, when all was dark arou 
home of learning and the fatl 
of saints ! 



TJke Legends of Oisin, Bard of Erin. 343 



THE LEGENDS OF OISIN, BARD OF ERIN, 



BY AUBREY DE VERE. 



II. 



THE DEATH OF OSCAR.* 



" Sing us oncie more of Gahbra's fight, 

Old bard, that fight where fell thy son :" 
Thus Patrick spake to vexed Oisin, 
And the old man's wrath was gone. 



*' Thou of the crosier white ! whoe'er 

Had seen that plain with carnage spread, 
Or friend or foe, had wept for Eire, 
And for her princes dead ! 



There lay the arms of mighty chiefs : 

There kings in death with helms unbound. 

A field of doom it was ; a place 
By deadly spells girt round! 



Upon his left hand leaned my son : 
His shield lay broken by his side : 

His right hand clutched his sword : the blood 
Rushed from him like a tide. 



" I stayed my spear-shaft on the ground : 
O'er him I stooped on bended knee : 
On me my Oscar turned his eyes : 
He stretched his hands to me. 

le scbftanec or this poem will be found xmong the tnoslatlons of the Irish Ossianic Soctetf. 



344 T'Ar Legends of Oisin, Bard of Erim. 

" To me my Oscar spake — my son — 
The dying man, and all but dead : 

• Thou liv'st ! For this I thank the gods ! 
O father!' thus he said. 



" * Rememberest thou that day we fought 
Far westward at the Sith of Mor ?' 
Caoilte spake : ' I healed thee then, 
Though deep thy wounds and sore :— 

'* * No cure there lives for wounds like these.* " 
Here ceased the lamentable sound. 
Five steps the old man moved apart; 
Then dashed him on the ground. 

" My Oscar stared upon his wounds; 

To fields long past his thoughts took flight i 
' My son, I cried, thou hadst not died 
If Fionn had ruled the fight !' 

" O Patrick ! I have sung thee lays, 
Emprize of others, or my own ; 
Where he was bravest all were brave ; 
But his, and his alone, 

" The gracious ways, the voice that smiled, 
The heart so loving and so strong : 
The women laughed my harp to hear; 
They wept at Oscar's song ! 

" All night we watched the dying man : 

To staunch his blood we strove in vain : 
We heard the demon-loaded wind 
Along the mountain strain. 

" All night we propped him with our spears : 
To staunch his blood we strove in vain : 
Till, drenched in faUing floods, the moon 
Went down beyond the plain. 

" Alas 1 the dawning of that mom, 

My Oscar's last I With barren glare 
It flashed along the broken arms. 
And the red pools here and there. 



jf 



Tkt Legends of Oisin^ Bard of Erm. 345 

" Then saw we pacing from afar, 
A kingly form, a shape of woe : 
King Fionn it was that toward us moved 
With measured footsteps slow: 



King Fionn himself; and far behind 
Came many warriors more of Fail,* 

Down-gazing on Baoigne's clan, 
Death-cold, and still, and pale. 



There lay all dumb the men of might ; 

There, foot to foot, the foemen, strewn 
Like seaweed lines on stormy shores, 

Or forests overblown ! 



" Oh ! then to hear that cry far borne 

On gales new-touched with morning frost 
As though he heard it not, the king 
Came, striding o'er that host, 



" Seeking the bodies of his sons. 

So on he strode through fog and mist ; 
And we to meet him moved; for now 
That Fionn it was we wist. 



" ' All hail to thee. King Fionn ! all hail !' 

He answered naught, but onward passed 
Until he reached that spot where lay 
My Oscar sinking fast. 



" * Late, late thou com'st : yet thou art here. 
Then answered Fionn, ' Alas the day ! 
My reign is done since thou art gone, 
And all this host is clay.' 



' My Oscar gazed upon his face : 

He heard the words his grandsire said : 
He heard, nor spake : his hand down fell ; 
And his great spirit fled. 

•"InU£UI"— Irelud. 



34^ The Legends of Oisin^ Bard of Erim, 

" Then all the warriors, far and near. 

Save one that wept, and Fionn, my sire. 
Three times upraised a cry that rang 
O'er all the land of Eire. 



" Fionn turned from us his face that hour : 
We knew that tears adown it crept: 
Never, except for Bran his hound. 
The king till then. had wept. 

" He shed no tear above his son ; 
Tearless he saw his brother die : 
He wept to see my Oscar dead, 
And the warriors weeping nigh. 

" This is the tale of Gahbra's fight. 

Where all the monarchs warred on one ; 
Where they that wrecked him shared his fate. 
And Erin's day was done. 

" On Gahbra's field the curse came down : 
Our voice is changed from that of men : 
We sigh by night ; we sigh by day : 
We learned that lesson then, 

' Oh ! many a prince was laid that day 
In narrow cairn and lonely cave : 
But all the fair-famed Rath thenceforth 
Became my Oscar's grave. 

Patrick, I pray ihe Lord of Life — 
Patrick, do thou his grace implore — 

That death may still my heart ere long : 
This night my pain is sore." 




ainvetl at La Roquette, 
e no steps by which to 
a the cart, (lie nalional 
*ho had not insulted us, 
^en in getting out, but 
: to the turn of the priests 

their assistance. They 
for more than an hour 
t a narrow room which 
y hold us. It was ucatly 
ncc wc left our cells at 
QC aged priests — pardon 
m details concerning the 
ill kinds we underwent — 
»bown to a retired place. 
; Uiem wait a long time, 
x repulsive bucket in the 
he room. During our 
; La Roquette, a hundred 

ecclesiastics, and sonic 
rdsmen had no other — 
iglish and Gcnuans call 
euphemism " a closet or 
1 an article of the same 

in the middle of an in- 
tment in the third story, 
uflcring from an inflam- 
c bowels, brought on by 
CISC, of nourishment, and 

passed in tliis anteroom 
We became acquainted 

uraged one another. In 
misfortune, people Icani 

nicative, and to overlook 

if age and social rank. 

did not anticipate any 
Bger were undeceived. 
I show how profoundly 



liope Is graven in the heart of man, 
that the strongest pessimists easily 
yielded to tlie influence of the opti- 
mists. Not one was wanting in firm- 
ness and patience. 

At last the door of the anteroom 
opened, and a citoycn with re»i pan- 
taloons, a red girdle, and red cravat 
called over the prisoners. It was 
Citoycn Francois, the Director of La 
Roquette. Those familiar with the 
history of Paris know that, at the eml 
of the Empire, the post of the sa- 
peurs-jiompiers of La Villelte was 
taken by assault by a handful of 
demagogues, who killed several sa- 
peurs'pompicrs. The leaders of the 
insurrection were no other than Gene- 
ral luuies, a nieml>er of the Com- 
mune, and Citizen Francois, the war- 
den of La Roquette. The citizen- 
director of Mazas had still greater 
claims on the confidence of the Com- 
mune. IC will be seen that the hos< 
tagcs were well guarded. 

I,a Grande-Roqueite, so called to 
distinguish it from La Petite-Ro- 
quetle, which is opposite, and where 
young prisoners are confined, is the 
prison of those condemned to death 
and to the travaux forces. It is di- 
vided into two distinct parts : the 
eastern and western buildings. Sepa- 
rated by a spacious interior court, 
they are united on the street by a 
third building, in the lower part of 
which is the jailer's office ; and, on 
the opposite side, by a sufficiently 
Urge chapel, which was, oi course, 



348 



Tke Place Venddine and La RoquHU. 



closed and stript of all the exterior 
emblems they could destroy. 

Some of us were confined in the 
first story of the western building 
where the hostages were who came 
the night before. The second and 
third stories were occupied by those 
sentenced by the court of assize of the 
Seine. 

The remainder, and I was of the 
number, were sent to the third story 
of the eastern building. The first 
story was occupied by about forty 
Parisian guardsmen, prisoners of the 
Commune; the second story by a 
somewhat larger number of sergenis 
de viiU^ who were found at Montmar- 
tre in the affair of the eighteenth of 
March. In consequence of the de- 
fection of a part of the line, they fell 
into the power of the insurgents. 
There were also on the same story a 
dozen artillerymen, likewise prisoners. 
The third story, where I was con- 
ducted with seven ecclesiastics and 
three laymen, was already occupied 
by a hundred soldiers, some of whom, 
on their way through Paris at the 
time of the proclamation of the Com- 
mune, refused to serve it, and others 
had been taken prisoners in the en- 
gagements between the insurgents 
and the regular army. The follow- 
ing night, three vicars from Belleville 
and St. Ambroise were imprisoned 
with us. 

The cells of La Roquette are ex- 
tremely plain. They are about one 
mfetre and a few cenlimfctres wide 
and two and a half mfctres long. No 
chair, no table: the only article of 
furniture is an iron bedstead. Neat- 
ness is the least thing to be remarked 
concerning them. It was very evi- 
dent that several generations of crimi- 
nals had occupied them without ren- 
dering them any more agreeable. 
This was not alL The first night I 
found myself among two kinds of 
insects whose names are unmention- 



able. When in the warm cli 
the East, and in the villages i 
them Spain, I found myself a 
ses with these nocturnal enei 
had at least the consolation o 
ing my taper, of complainii 
next day to the hostess, a 
changing my room or the inn 
at La Roquette none of these 
was possible. Having no c 
sit on, I remained seated on n 

I must, however, mention c 
vantage at La Roquette of wl 
were deprived at Mazas : the ' 
discipline was not as rigorous 
prisoners could at certain m 
of the day see each other in thi 
or in the passage of the sto: 
occupied. Each window ligl 
cells separated by a strong ps 
but between the partition ai 
grating of the window, comr 
both cells, is a space through 
the occupants can talk, and evi 
a book. I could thus exchang 
pious thoughts and fortifying 
rions with my neighbor, the 
Amodru. During the day w( 
of God, of death, eternity, of 
sistance we could render our ci 
ions : during the night, we re 
with horror the lugubrious fir 
seemed to be devouring the 
city. 

The very night of our an 
battery of seven large marine 
set up at Pfere-la-Chaise be 
discharge shells and petroleum 
on different parts of Paris. A 
only a few mfetres from our 
it shook our cells and stun 
with the frightful detonatio 
the whir of the projectiles 
above our heads. This battt 
not cease its incendiary m 
the following Saturday, the \ 
seventh of May, at hal^past 
the moment when the reguU 
gained possession of the ce 
Some days before my arres^ 



The Place Vcndwne and La Roqneite. 



349 



lin aproclamation, 
iced, that the miserable ad- 
of tlie government of the 
F Sq>tenit>er, rcaJy in words 
d tt£ against the Prussians 
!ie forls, ramparts, and barri- 
|h1 given everything up to 
nt the Communists would 
icmsdves faithful to ihcir 
iefcncc against the royalists 
the nunparts, the barricadesj 
barricades, the houses; after 
psj fire and the mine." This 
pninal should have kqit his 

fcrmittcd on Wediiesday 
id comiuuntcation with 
Jxcr. But the director gave 
est orders tliat there should 
irhatcver between us and the 
When the soldiers were not 
\ the courts of the prison, we 
t up in GUI' cells. 
ETvcd M. I'AbbL- Bcyie, one 
)arboy's vicar-generals, in one 
'lAdows of the first stor)- of 
cm building. He immedi- 
Dgnixed me, and informed me 
1^ intelUgible signs that Utc 
I would have recreation to- 
► one of tlie courts, and tliat 
licny would be very glad to 
Kkd obtain news of the pori&h 
tadelcine. 

i>n the wardens ordered us to 
[ I was aff<--ctL'd at the thought 
ps about to see our archbisli- 
H'icor-gcneraU, my cure, and 
1 my friends belonging to the 
pd religious orders of Paris, 
tied my^f before the door 
, which Uicy would come out 
restcm buiitiing. The arch- 
^as the first to appear. He 
illy recognizable, such fright- 
^ had privations and suffer* 
flight on his frail and delicate 
He was immediately 
L by the priests of the eiujt- 
The laymen were not 



less eager to manifest their respectful 
sympathy. While he was address- 
ing me a friendly word, and I was 
kissing his hand, M. Deguerry en- 
tered the court, I had been for 
ten years one of his vicars at the 
Madeleine. Knowing his great need 
of an active life and a certain im* 
pressionability of his character, I 
expected to find him enfeebled, dis- 
couraged, and ill after two months' 
confinement in the cell of a prison. 
Happily, there was nothing of the 
kind. His face was fresh and healthy, 
and his conversation cheerful and en- 
livening. In spite of his seventy-four 
years, he was as erect as ever. He, 
as well as the archbishop, had under- 
gone mudi suffering, but privations 
and trials had made no inroads upon 
his strong constitution. 

With llic exception of a quarter of 
an hour I passed with Mgr. Surat, 
Pfcre Olivaint, M. Baylc, M. J*ctit, 
the chief secretary of the archbishop, 
M. Moleon, the curfi of St. St'vcrin, 
and some other confrircs^ 1 passed 
the whole time of recreation with 
M. Deguerry. He was desirous of 
news concerning his clergy and p.irish. 
The closing of the Madeleine greatly 
distressed him, but, when he heard 
that nothing had been injured or de- 
secrated, he resumed his serenity. 
He said litUe of the humiliating treat- 
ment of Raoul Rigault, and the ennui 
and sufferings of his long imprison- 
ment in the cells of M.^cis. So far 
from retaining any bitterness in bis 
heart, he wished *' to consecrate the 
fctv years he sHUhadU Ove in doing as 
much good as possible to those who 
had been persecuting the clergy and 
injuring the cause of religion; in 
adapting the cliarities and the minis- 
try of the times to the exceptional 
wants of Paris ; and in sliowiug that 
by abandoning Jesus Christ and liis 
holy teachings, peoples, as well as 
individuals, only meet with deceptive 



350 



The Place Venddme and La Requeue. 



illusions and material and moral 
ruin." 

We quote these words to show that 
M. Deguerry had no grave fears re- 
specting his situation. The arch- 
bishop and he both knew that the 
death of the hostages had been dis- 
cussed by the Commune, but they 
were convinced that these threats 
would never be executed. What rea- 
sons had they for such an assurance ? 
Had they received an absolute pro- 
mise ? Were they ignorant of the 
revolutionary orgies of Paris, and the 
brutal hatred of its tyrants ? Did 
they think, having nothing to reproach 
themselves for, that no one could con- 
ceive the idea of putting them to 
death ? I was vainly endeavoring 
to find an explanation of this assur- 
ance when Mgr. Darboy joined us. 

If his health was affected and his 
body enfeebled, his mind was un- 
doubtedly clear and sagacious. He 
not only took broad and correct 
views of the events and men of the 
times, but he displayed an acuteness 
almost caustic. The consciousness 
of his ecclesiastical dignity and his 
intellectual strength suggested to him 
many observations, full of animation 
and reality, respecting the incredible 
humiliations that he liad received 
from Raoul Rigault and other heroes 
of the club, or estaminei^ who thought 
they were aggrandizing themselves 
and acquiring claims on the admira- 
tion of posterity by their absurdity 
and impertinence. He bitterly de- 
plored the weakening of the pubhc 
sense of respect for authority, and 
thought, without a reformation in 
this respect, Paris and the whole 
of France would never recover from 
their misfortunes. To support these 
observations, Mgr. Darboy recalled 
the conclusion of one of his last pas- 
toral letters, in which he predicted 
that, if society persisted in disregard- 
ing the precepts of the Gospel and 



abandoning the principles of i 
and morality, it would be liab 
terrible overthrow. 

I, in my turn, recalled to 
collection that a democratic ; 
had not hesitated to condem 
language as bearing the impi 
exaggeration, so desirous was 
Paris should be divested of 
ligious belief or practice. ] 
membered the article spoken 
seemed pleased to hear it quo 

The archbishop knew I ha 
been arrested the week befoi 
was aware that, in consequent 
former functions, I had frequ 
tercourse with the political 
After questioning me respect 
religious condition of Paris i 
parish affairs, and inquiring 
Mgr. Buquet, who, notwithsi 
his great age and notoriet 
bravely remained at Paris, rei 
quite providential service in t 
cesan administration, of which 
the only member free after th 
and incarceration of M. Joui 
the Conciergerie, and M. I< 
the Prison de la Sant6, Mgr. 
added, in a tone that exclu 
personal preoccupation : 

" What is thought of the si 
and fate of the hostages in th 
cal world of Paris ? " 

" Thanks to the confidenct 
ed by the Commune, hone 
monseigneur, are daily takin) 
When the committee of publi 
came to prove my mistake in 
lowing in their traces, I on) 
four persons in Paris with ir 
could converse, and that nt 
the events of the day : — M. L- 
chief secretary of the CrWit I 

M. G , a former depui 

Seine-et-Mame; the Count de 
an old officer; and M. G— 
president of the Conseil de F 
at St. Eustache, imprisonet 
short time, though eighty-lbi 



The Place Venddme ami La Roquet te. 



551 



lau&e a supply of bread und 
ts found at his bouse which 
the boldness to distribute to 
:of the Quartier des Ualles. 
(ore, you wish lo know the 
in& of the political and di- 
world now at Tans, you 
kcarly reduced to mine, and 
oestioD if my modest r/^i 
apt monscigiicuc's appetite." 
rceive," said Mgr. Darboy, 
•(hat ihc Commune has not 
time to depress your spirits, 
iling for an answer (o my 

w 

1 

lersons of honesty and intcl- 
»ndemn your arrest, mon- 
and that of the other hos- 
)nly the Prussians and the 
e arc capable of reviving 
irous custom. 1 have been 
But the representatives of 
>reign powers have taken 
free you from danger, and 
i the government at Vcr- 
I the impossibility of directly 
Ig, will consider it a duty to 
e these efforts." 
\ aware of this," replied the 
ip with marked satisfaction. 
doubtless under this diplo- 
assure that Protot declare<l 
Ij if tlic Commune had taken 
it was in obedience to the 
[uiremcnts of the lowest de- 
s, and if they should poasi- 
der an execution necessary, 
Id choose one or two officers 
ICC, or sergenls de ville^ and 
ans a member of the clergy, 
le restf 1 have entire conh- 

the goodness of God and 
aoay of my conscience." 
r. Darboy ended these words, 

half-past two, the warden, 
rdcd us. gave the signal for 

to our cells. His confi- 
□mshed me, and would have 
td my apprehensions if, after 
er to l<a Roquette, 1 had 



not firmly resolved not to yield lo my 
illusions. Ai^i afterwards, in writing 
an account of this final interview to 
an eminent friend of the archbishop 
and my cure, I said: "While they 
seemed to have no fears, I had no 
hope." 

This was on Wednesday, the twen- 
ty-fourth of May. Some lime after, 
about seven o'clock, I observed, 
through the bars of my cell, a strange 
movement in the large interior court, 
'i'here was a great dillerence between 
Ma/as and La Roquette. At Mazas, 
the prison discipline was in sufficient 
vigor, but at La Roquette tliere was 
DO order and no discipline. This 
prison, placed between tlie Faubourgs 
St. .'\ntoinc, Mcnilmontant, and Cha- 
ronnc, was at the mercy of all the 
wild beasts of these quarters, who 
knocked around and roared without 
any restraint. Some men of sinister 
appearance went from the office t<i 
the western building where the first 
hostages WLTC kept, some armed witli 
revolvers and others carrj-ing myste- 
rious documents. The director of 
the prison, with his red girdle ami 
pantaloons, gave, or rather received, 
orders with an air that might be re- 
garded as embarrassed or salisfied, 
according to one's idea of his princi- 
ples. The bad wardens did not con- 
ceal their joy, the good ones disap- 
peared in consternation. A citoyen 
of imperious manners and wild as- 
jjcct, before *vhom some bowe<l and 
others trembled, proceeded like a man 
in a tit of madness or intoxication 
towards the western building. 1 had 
not then sufiicient presence of mind 
to recognize him, but I was con- 
vinced afterwards that it was Fcrri; 
otliers, with less probability, declare 
it was Raoul Rigault. These two 
rivals of Robespierre would figure 
equally well at the post of infamy. 

Must of tlie windons were closed 
in the first story of the western pdtt 



352 



Tlie Place Venddme and La Requettc, 



facing us, where the principal hosta- 
ges were incarcerated ; a few were 
open, reveahng empty cells. At the 
same time, the windows of the second 
and third stories, occupied by those 
condemned by the court of assize, 
were filled with prisoners who were 
wondering, with a lively curiosity, at 
the meaning of the unusual spectacle 
which had struck us. 

My anxiety became more and more 
intense, when I saw an officer of the 
insurgents half open the door that 
led from the court to the office, and 
say, with a solemn voice : " Are the 
homtties de gtterre ready ? " Without 
being thoroughly initiated into the 
military language, I understood they 
were about to shoot the whole or a 
part of us. I threw myself on my 
knees to implore God to grant us all 
strength and courage. A few minutes 
past eight, I was stunned by a horri- 
ble firing. Six almost simultaneous 
discharges of chassepots, succeeded 
by some single reports, resounded in 
the prison court. A deadly silence 
succeeded this noise, and revealed to 
me that only a few steps distant had 
been committed one of those mon- 
strous crimes that constitute an epoch 
in the history of the human race. 

From the prayers for the dying I 
l^assed to the prayers for the dead. 
Never had I so thoroughly sounded 
the depths of God's mercy. I no 
longer conjured him, but claimed an 
indemnification, worthy of him, for 
the victims of so base and execrable 
an outrage. I never could have sur- 
vived tliis excess of man's iniquity, 
if I had not felt myself sustained by 
an assurance of the eternal goodness 
and justice of God. 

When I rose, the mournful noise 
of the clarions and drums, and the 
dismal rumbling of a cart towards 
Charonne, seemed to put an end to 
this tragedy. 

Wednesday night was truly a night 



of torture for me. Every ins 
outer and inner doors of the 
were opened to bring in, c 
away, victims. A court ma 
rather banditti under the g 
judges, held a session in th 
The unfortunate men, who w. 
pected of " complicity with ti 
ans at Versailles," or who rel 
die for the Commune under 
ders of old criminals, were mi 
ly sacrificed. With the so' 
drums and trumpets mingi 
noise of the carriages that ! 
the suspected to La Roque 
carried to Pfere-la-C liaise the 
had been shot, and the bomt 
irok. At the same time th( 
tery battery did not cease its t 
and the flames that were cor 
the monuments of Paris ca; 
lurid gleams into our cells, 
reader for a moment take mi 
and he will feel that no desi 
could equal so overwhelming 
tacle, • 

Being on the eastern side 
prison, which has no dircc 
munication with the western 
still ignorant on Thursday o 
of the names of the victims 
night before. Two faithful ■% 
came at an early hour to an 
the fatiil news, and give me 
the same details of this sad 
According to them, the emiss: 
the Commune were the only ^ 
es of the execution : it was tl 
difficult to obtain a precise, : 
l)ecially, a complete accotmt 
of these wardens, who went : 
as lie could to the place of 
lion, received orders to aid tl 
cutioners in placing the bodit 
a cart which was to take the 
comer of Charonne, at the ea 
of P^re-la- Chaise. It is to 
tails, and those of other m 
and the prisoners of die weste 
that I owe the following paiti 



The l*lace X'enddme and La Roqiteite. 



3S3 



of the prefecture of 
inied hinueif with some 
insurgents in the first story of 

ern side, uttering horrible 
The royalists are assSssi- 

c republicans : it is horrible ! 
be stopped !" Then lakinj; a 
rkcd with a red pencil, hc 
|aloud voice: " Citoyen Dar- 
aloycn Degucrry ! citoyen 
\ I citoyen Ducoudray ! cito- 
rc \ citoyen AUard !" 'Ihey 
I &tx victims ^vcn up to the 
refuied demagogues. Kvcry- 
Dows the three first. Pcrc 
ray, of the Society of Jesus. 

superior of an educational 
tmcnt in the old Rue dcs 
and devoted himself lo the 
n of good Christians and 
rcnchmen ; P^re Clerc, also 
, and formerly a naval offi- 
! orw of the directors of the 
ItaWishmcnt; and the Abb6 
(in old apostolic niissianary, 
■ been devolint; his time to 
ke of the ambulances and 
e the armlet and cross of 
national society of Geneva, 
one replied in .1 firm and re- 
voice: '■'■ I'fcscnl." I learned 
|day from Mgr. Surat, the fin^t 
■ml of Paris, that the Jesuit 
lad received two days before 
Dsccrated hosts, and the Fa- 
ucoudray and Oerc were 
his critical moment lo give 
res the Holy Communion. 

gave him two sacred hosts 
rival of their murderers, one 
k he offered M. Deguerry, 

1 met death with the Chris- 
tude and the boundless trust 
bread of life confers. 

ng down, Mgr. Darboy and 
ean, who showed an invinci- 
CS6 to the end, locked arms, 
all overwhelmed with 
00 their way to the 
ution. An obscure cor* 

QL. XIV. — 23 



ner had been chosen, on the circular 
railway that separates the main pris- 
on from ihe outer ramparts. The 
victims were able tu give one 
another encouragement and final 
absolution and benediction. Some 
words have been attributed to the 
archbishop, the authenticity of 
which 1 cannot vouch for : I am not 
even sure that he spoke at all. It is 
very probable that, in the presence I 
of death, they presen'ed a religious ; 
recollection, replying only by their' 
silence and forgiveness to ihc insults 
of their murderers. What is beyond 
doubt, they all displayed an unalter- 
able calmness and dignity. 

Their murderers could not have 
been numerous, or else their state of 
intoxication and fury must have pre- 
vented their correctness of aim. 
Some of their victims, in fact, receiv- 
ed only t\vo shots. When their bo- 
dic.« were discovered, I had that of 
.M. Oeguerry exaniinetl by three 
physicians— I-)rs, de Bcauvais, Mois- 
senet, and Raynaud. A round ball 
had passed through one side of the 
eye into the skull, where it was im- 
bedded in the fractured bones. It is 
preserved at the Madeleine. The 
other ball passed through one of the 
lungs. The physicians thought that 
his death must have been instanta- 
neous. At the moment of being 
shot, M. iJeguerry, with an impulse 
in accordance wiili his military turn, 
opened his cassock and exposed his ' 
chest lo the .lim of his murderers;. 
the ball which entered his lung only 
passed through the back part of his 
cassock. 

The wardens informed me that, be- 
fore throwing the bodies into the 
cart, they were stripped of a part of 
their clothes, which were burned on 
the place of execution. I can testify- 
to the exactitude of tliis, having 
twice seen the spots covered with 
the burning clothes. I also ascer-^ 



354 



The Place Venddme and La Roquette. 



tained that the money of the six vic- 
tims was afterward stolen from their 
cells, and their books and papers 
cast into the fire. Some weeks after 
a half-burned breviary was seen in 
one of the closets of the ante-room 
of La Roquette. It is thus the Com- 
mune respected the last wishes and 
testamentary dispositions of its vic- 
tims. 

Those who were shot on Wednes- 
day and the following days, and all 
the prisoners whom the committee of 
pubhc safety reserved for the same 
fate, were victims of their devoted- 
ness to two noble and grand causes. 
They were persecuted through hat- 
red of religion, the abolition of which 
the Commune had inscribed in its 
sacrilegious programme, and through 
hatred of the country represented by 
the French army and the national 
assembly at Versailles, who were de- 
fending order, liberty, honor, civiliza- 
tion, and the faith against barbarians. 

After the massacre on Wednesday, 
the hostages could entertain no fur- 
ther illusion as to their fate. This 
was only the commencement of a 
bloody drama. Everything convinc- 
ed me it would only end with the 
last of the hostages. Then we enter- 
ed upon a long agony of four days, 
the sad changes in which no human 
tongue could describe. I will con- 
fine myself to enumerating without 
comment the most remarkable inci- 
dents. 

On Thursday noon, we were al- 
lowed recreation together in the 
same court as the day before. Our 
faces were sadder, but our hearts 
were as courageous. The laymen ma- 
nifested a cordial sympathy for the 
clergy and a like serenity. It was 
evident that all put tlieir confidence 
in God — a confidence that is not 
vain. I conversed twenty minutes 
with P^re Ollvaint. Smitten in his 
dearest affections, he still had a gra- 



cious smile on his lips. I 
attempt to depict the expre 
his face or repeat his conv 
His face had something abo 
ly supernatural, and his wot 
those of an angel. At the 
tion of Mgr. Surat, M. Ba 
P^re Olivaint, the priests 
vow, if God would deign U 
them from the jaws of death, 
brate a Mass of thanksgiving 
or of th6 Blessed Virgin on 
Saturday of every month 
space of three years. I 
among the laymen a face fai 
me. I inquired his name. 
that of one of the most in 
and most courageous comn 
de police. It was he whom 
ernmcnt appointed in Januai 
to make me a domiciliary v 
seize my papers, by way of e 
my support of M. Thiers as ; 
date, and my opposition to ( 
sures that had brought de* 
on the empire and threatcne' 
very moment to cover Paj 
blood and ruins. By a stran 
of fortune, our struggles in < 
directions had brought us to t 
fate, which neither of us had 
anticipated. If I had n< 
afraid of recalling a delicate 
brance, I would have assui 
of my absolute forgiveness 
my devoted regards. Towards 
of our recreation, one of th 
from the battery of Pere-la 
broke, with a loud explosion, 
in the wall under which » 
walking. In ordinary tic 
should have shuddered am 
fliglit, but now it scarcely ex< 
tcntion. In separating, we b 
anutlier farewell till we met . 
below, or in heaven : we t 
know which. 

In the evening we notic< 
fires in Paris, and learned t 
insurgents were setting fire tc 



Tfu Place Vendvme and La RoquitU, 



355 



of those quarters where 
been repulsed by the army 
wiles. These fires disue&sed 
^icralcdme. Forgetting the 
1 was in, I broke out in bitter 
nls before my companions, 
uld not succeed in calming 
vos indebted to the heroes 
Icum, picraie, and glycerine 
only moments uf irritation 
jpondcacy I felt during my 

- 

Daoming they shot M. Jeck- 
cclebmled Mexican banker, 
)url of La Roqueitc, and in 
tning a icfactor)- national 
lan ag;unsllhe outer wall, 1 
icnded the execution of the 
It that of M. JecUer would 
irmal lo me an atrocious 
1, if we had beea on earth 
in the realm of demons. At 
clonk. A wanlcn notified M. 

anil my^flf to descend to be 
"^tnUum esC ''All is finished," 

kind neighbor lo me. We 
[«rti by the window common 

cells, and gave each other 
»n. The [MJ.soners who un- 

ihe wanlen's order regard- 
tin their cells with ruriosity. 
t cynical laughed at the i>ray* 
ere making in view of imme- 
Llh. I put on my sacerdotal 
Vt wrote my relatives, friends, 
"V/yj a few fiircwell lines, and 
my brcviar)* the prayers of 
ig. After half an hour, I 
they- had made a mistake, 
Kid of exi^sing M. Amodru 
iclT to the range of loaded 
iU» two laymen were lo be 
rforc A court-martial, whicli 
d to the- same thing, if i ex- 
icneiaice of irial. 1 learned 
>ni an under - officer and 
|pn»/j </rf vUIf^ that the agenls 
T' me nnnounccd, more 
prisoners were about 
adding some lime after 



with a malicious smile that they 
would lose nothing by waiting, and 
the ceremony was merely deferred 
till tiic next day. 

I passed a part of the night in 
regarding the fires. 'I'he whole hori- 
zon was aflame toward Bcrcy. The , 
battery at P^re-la-Clu.ise, encour- 
aged by the progress of the flames, ' 
redoubled its violence. The firing 
of arms and the booming of die 
cannon at the same time retiounded 
in the direction of Montmartre and 
the Hotel de ViUe. 1 wondered if 
I was awake or under the influence 
of a horrible nightmare. .\comj..ele 
exhaustion of physical strength jirc- 
venied me from fully deciding. I 
only mention lliis strange sensation 
because my companions in captivity 
also experienced it. 

On Friday morning, at an early 
hour, my neighbor and myself re- 
ceived a visit from one of the subal- 
tern employees of the prison. At 
first we felt some confidence in him, 
and wc gave him two or three francs 
a day, as much from a wisli to do 
a kind act, as a reward for his ser- 
vices, whicli were in a state of pro- 
ject. It did not require profound 
sagacity to discover that he was at 
the bottom only a spy and an ac- 
complice of the Commune. The 
equivocal manner in which he pre- 
tended lo console us in relating the 
progress of the Versailles army, show- | 
ed he had the highest ideas of our 
simplicity and candor. Finding us 
more depressed and reser^-ed after 
tJie catastrophe of Wednesday, he 
said to us in that lone, at once ban- 
tering and polite, which the Parisian 
Tvywtf has at command : '* Is it iioshi- ' 
blc you give credit to the stories in 
circulation respecting the death of 
the Archbishop of Paris and thn Cure 
of the Madeleine ? They are simply 
absurd. Some of the national guarils;' 
who had been drinking too much, 



356 



The Place Venddme and La Roquette, 



were amusing themselves in discharg- 
ing their guns against the prison 
walls : I assure you, no one was shot." 

Then, knowing we were to under- 
go the same fate in a few hours, he 
eagerly proposed to the clergy of 
our story a lottery which, according 
to his delicate calculations, would 
procure him some profits without de- 
priving him of the objects of art he 
was proud of fabricating. For eight 
days I was obliged to swallow such 
humiliations, which revealed poor hu- 
man nature in quite a new aspect. 
The selfish proposition of this deceit- 
ful employee was rejected promptly, 
but we concluded to continue our 
daily gratuity, in gratitude for services 
he was always promising, and which 
were never performed. 

When he left our story, he always 
went directly to the office to give an 
account of what he had seen or 
heard. We had not only to resist 
ferocity, but also craftiness and du- 
plicity. 

It was in the plans of the Com- 
mune that none of the hostages 
should escape death. The next Sun- 
day, the first object that struck my 
eyes at the office of I>a Roquettc was 
the list of their names. There was a 
horizontal mark against the names 
of those who were to be shot : when 
the execution was accomplished, 
they added a vertical mark, thus 
forming a cross. Kvery name had 
a horizontal line before it. If my 
memory docs not deceive me, they 
followed the order of the list in the 
executions. 

About two o'clock, three shells 
from the battery of Pfere-la-Chaise 
hit the prison roof only a few metres 
above our heads, and covered the 
court with tiles and fragments of the 
chimneys. Some of the prisoners 
protested against the danger of these 
projectiles exploding in their closed 
cells and had the doors opened ; 



others did not seem to h( 
stunning incident : absorbed i 
er, they were more preoccupii 
eternal than temporal things. 
The shells that hit our prise 
an indication of the rapid p 
of the French troops, but tl 
gress threw us into the most \ 
ing and intolerable of situatioi 
could only expect our safel 
the Versailles army ; we ougb 
in consideration of the generi 
csts of civilization, and our < 
terests, to desire ardently its ti 
But it was no less evident t 
nearer the army approach- 
more imminent became our enc 
the perspective which was oi 
hope of safety, inevitably ann 
at the same time our destructi 
the illimitable consolations of: 
had not raised us above our 
tunes, we should have been 
to the anticipated horrors o 
lasting woe. In such cruel ht 
comprehend the words of th( 
Man, who, in the garden of < 
mani and on Golgotha, drani 
dregs the chalice of all humi] 
all sorrows, and every kind of a 
in order to sanctify them. 
God, my God, why hast thoc 
doned me?" should not be se 
from these other words, which 
all despondency and presage 
derful recompense : " Fatht 
thy hands I commend my spi 

IV. 

I.A ROQUETTE — INSURRECTIO 
LIVERANCE — CONCLUSIO 

The close of the day on 
was exceedingly gloomy. Tl 
events took place in the 
court of the prison as on Tl 
evening. At the sight of the 
rious agent who held a list 
hand, each one said to himsell 



The Place Vatdunu attd La Roquttte. 



357 



ibably inscribed on that 
^ God have mercy on me !" 
beard the fatal interrogation 
riuoutti of an insurgent ot)i- 
e the soldiers at their post ?' ' 
\ cells in the buildmg oppo- 
\ friendly hands indicated to 
gns that the number to be 
luntcd to twelve, fifteen, six- 
I . . It was hardly a fourth 
nninotated to die hatred of 
irouDc. Unfortunately, the 
t each one witnessed were 
IS cue horizon was rcstrietcd 
or comers of our cell, or at 
a part of the story we were 
[ one, therefore, could only 
e particnlars of the changes 
e and the victims exccutcil. 
lurday morning, one of the 
is of (he librar}'. who niani- 
lotidtude beyond all praise, 
I with tearS) in liis eyes, the 
lute details alwut the c:xtcnt 
^ event. At five o'clock, 
uy of the Commune enicr- 
Bt story of the western side, 
J out: " Ciloyens, attention 
I : here, fifteen are wanted !"' 
licsc victims were the Jesuit 
OUvaint, Caubert, and Dc 
pc four piincipal Fathers of 
ttf of Pirpus : Abb^ Sabat- 
bccond vicar of Xolre Dame 
t«": Alihc! Seigncret,a younj; 
nary of Sl Sulpicc ; 
' iiat, a genuine mis- 
krbo displayed all the zeal 
Ktic, not in China or Japan, 
Ig the working-classes of the 
( St. Anioine- About furty 
\k, soldiers, officers uf the 
id Parisian guardsmen were 
pinneii, the most of whom 
dsoneil in the first story of 
ii^5 I.) die east. They were 
d to Belleville, jireceded by 
■■IS, into one of the 
liaxo. All t/ie long 
crowd, Among v.hom 



women made tbemiielves conspicuous 
by a frenzy bordering on drunkenness, 
vomited forth threats and impreca- 
tions. After shooting them with 
chassepots and revolvers, they muti- 
lated their bodies with kicks and the 
butt-end of their muskets, and after- 
wards threw them pell-mell into a 
cellar, whence they were taken out 
three days alter in a stale of advanc- 
ed putrefaction. 

The most incredulous saw tlicir last 
hour approaching, ami I prepared my- 
self once more lo die. The insurgents 
stole or burned the things left in the 
cells. I pUced my watch, papers, and 
ray tesiameniary dispositions in the 
care of the employee at the library, 
\vith the names of the persons to whom 
he was to transmit them. I earnestly 
desired my body might receive a 
suitable burial, and, not knowing 
what means to take that it might be 
recognized, I communicated my anx- 
ict)' to the .Abbe .Amodru, my neigh- 
bor. He had foreseen, and jirovided 
for, the difficulty, and, following his 
example, 1 wrote my name ui legible 
characters upon several small slips 
of paper, which I put into my shoes 
and the diflferent pockets of my habit. 

It was the eve of Uhii-Sunday. 
Having no longer the strength to 
kneel, I scatetl mysdf on my bed, 
and Cook sometimes my breviary, and 
then The I'oiiawin^ af 'Christ in my 
hands. I prayed God for courage 
and a spirit of sacrifice. In reading 
the Thirtieth Psalm, 1 wasstruck with 
these words : " Let me not be con- 
founded. O l^rd, for I have called 
u|)un thee I . . . 'I'hou shalt i)ro- 
tect them in thy tabernacle from the 
contradiction of tongues, illesscd 
be the I^rd, for he hath shown his 
\vanderful mercy to me, a fortiiicd 
city." But 1 immediately ihstrusted 
the hopes that so readily pervaded 
my souL 1 wished to remain facing 
the sad realities of death. 



358 



The Place Venddme and La Roquette, 



The constantly increasing noise of 
the firing announced the approach 
of the contending parties. '^ he bar- 
ricades of the Ch&teau d'Eau had 
been valiantly taken by the Versailles 
troops : the Commune, in session at 
the Maine du Prince Eugfene, was 
obliged to beat a retreat. By a great 
eflfort, the scattered members suc- 
ceeded in gaining the office of La 
Roquette, to conduct the labors of 
the cosmopolitan banditti. Between 
the army of deliverance and us were 
still those men of blood, whose last 
ravings were so many decrees of 
death and incendiarism. It is said 
that Ferr6 sprang like a tiger about to 
lose his prey, crying in a hoarse voice : 
" Make haste ! shoot them, the 
chouam / Cut their throats, the rob- 
bers ! do not leave one standing ! 
Citoyens and citoyennes of the fau- 
bourgs, come and avenge your sons 
and your fathers, basely assassinat- 
ed!" The unhappy men had no 
time to lose; the Versailles troops, 
on the one hand, were entering the 
Boulevard du Prince Eugfene ; on the 
other, they surrounded Pfere-la- 
Chaise ; but, by an intolerable fatali- 
ty, the source of our safety was at 
the same time that of our destruc- 
tion. 

A few minutes past three, the 
heavy bolts of our cells flew back 
with unaccustomed quickness. I was 
on my knees, saying, with a voice al- 
most extinct, the office of the Eve of 
Whit-Sunday. My neighbor quick- 
ly opened the door of my cell. 
" Courage," he said, " it is now our 
turn; they are going to take us all 
down to shoot us!" 

*' Courage," I replied, " and may 
the will of God be done ! " I had on 
my clerical costume, and advanced 
into the corridor where priests, sol- 
diers, and national guards were all 
mingled together. The priests and 
national guards appeared calm and 



resigned, but the soldiers c( 
believe in the fate that await* 
" What have we done t< 
wretches? we fought agai 
Prussians ! we fulfilled oui 
What are they going to shoot 
No, it is not possible ! " Son 
ed cries of anger, others rt 
silent and motionless as if th 
in a dream. The priests kne 
tify themselves by a last abs« 
one of them urged the soh 
imitate us, and addressed the 
words of encouragement. 

A voice with a metallic ri 
denly rose above this confuse 
" My friends, those ignoble 
have already killed too mj 
not allow yourselves to be mi 
join me; let us resist; let i 
Rather than give you up, I 
with you ! " It was the voio 
warden Pinet. This generou 
Lorraine, aghast at so many 
could no longer stifle his indi 
Charged to open our cells slo 
deliver us two by two to th 
gents, who were waiting for u 
he had fastened the door of l 
story behind him, rapidly ope 
cells to advise us and aid in 
ing a resistance, ready to saci 
life in aiding us to save 01 
first, I could not believe in s 
heroism. The Abb6 Amodi 
in his turn, and joined his | 
tions to those of Pinet : " \a 
submit to be shot, my frienc 
defend ourselves. Have co 
in God; he is for us and 1 
he will save us ! " 

There was a difference of > 
some hesitated. To defend o 
objected one, would be madi 
should only incur a more crut 
Instead of being simply s 
shall be slaughtered by a 
consumed in the flames. *' 
call up the national guards,** 
ed a sim]>le fellow (I had 



The Piacc Ventfvmf and La RoqiietU, 



159 



nah'et^ possible at La 
Ic), '*at»d prove to them that 
honest men, an<l not robbers 
assins." "His not fl«r lives 
ih," cried a soldier, whose ini- 
miihfulness renders it obliga- 
I mc to repeat his words, and 
id AS little discernment as 
Icnse^ "it is only the iure's 
ve a grudge against; let us 
Ke our lives in trying to de- 
are!** 
not yet nllered a word, but 

I with an anxiety, easy to 
lend, the phases of this strange 
I. Some of my brethren asked 
fre was to fear or to hope for. 
*yf«/j de viile who are below 
osed to defend themselves," 
le warden Pinel, whom the 

II rendered more energetic 
PC eloquent. ** Do not allow 
ea to be shot by ihat band 
rs.'* I was already convinced 
sunce« the success of which 
It more than improbable, was 
less the most suitable mea- 
be taken, from the cigh- 
f March I had not ceased to 
Igainst the silence and giving 
>nesl men to criminals; and 
myself to the end faithful to 
rarome, I emerged from my 
I inaction. M. VValben, an 
lirr 4e />ai.t, and the Abb6 
he Vicar of Belleville, sug- 
utc a hole should be made in 
lo open communication with 

rrrfs <fe i^ille imprisoned on 
md story, and they immedi- 
t to work with boards and 
t that we wrenched from our 
Joine<I them. I, who in the 
had no longer strength 
to stand, and who had not 
a a mouthful of bread, broke 
n pieces and twisted off the 
t ifTcsstibIc facility I In live 
'^ opening xvas ra3<le 
»nd and third stories. 



TTie s^rgejtU de viUe were ready to 
pay dearly for their lives. The un- 
der-ofRcer Teyssicr hoisted himself 
through the opening to aid Pinct in 
the command of the insurrection. 

The interior court of the prison was 
crowded by an abject multitude come 
to witness our last sufferings. It is 
easier to imagine than to dejiict the 
appearance and the threats of this 
crowd. We put mattresses against 
the windows as a protection against 
bullets. There was a young man in 
the crowd who ordered us to come 
down, and aimed at us with a cool- 
ness that attracted my attention. 
" Sec that wretch," said the warden 
Pinet to me, " he is one of the two 
condemned to death by the court 
of assize of the Seine 1" 

"The barricade is on 6re," ex- 
claimed some soldiers. ** We are 
stifled ! Help ! " 

Two enormous barricades had been 
constructed against the twn doors of 
the story, with our beds and the flag- 
stones torn up from the floor. I ran 
to the barricade on fire, and found 
myself in a cloud of smoke. " Do 
not be alarmed," said a soldier, whose 
skill and presence of mind I admired, 
" I constructed the barricade, and 
took care to place only mattresses in 
front: bring rac some water." In 
fifteen minutes the fire was extinguish- 
ed. I hcanl the insurgents, who 
somcdmes threatened to set fire to 
our building, to blow it up, or order 
the batteries of Pfere-la-Chaise to fire 
at it : .sometimes they perfidiously 
cried: " l^tvihi Hgmr / surrender, and 
we will set you free I " The massacres 
of those who trusted to their promises 
proved how sincere they were. 

At that moment, something as un- 
expected as fortunate took place in 
the prison. While we wen; organiz- 
ing a desperate resistance, and the 
soldiers, more bold than prudent, 
were cr)ing, " Let us go down to 



36o 



The Place Venddme and La Roguetie. 



the office, and boldly attack the Com- 
mune I " the Communists, frightened 
at our resistance and the rapid pro- 
gress of the French army along the 
Boulevard du Prince Eugfene, hastily 
fled from La Roquette in the direc- 
tion of Belleville. The rabble, as- 
tonished at this sudden removal, were 
convinced of the great danger, and 
fled after tliem. The prisoners were 
restored to liberty, and naturally 
cried : Vive la Republique / vive la 
Commutie / 

Availing themselves of this confu- 
sion, the lay hostages who were to 
have been shot with us escaped from 
La Roquette ; almost all succeeded 
in crossing the barricades or hiding 
till the next day in the late haunts of 
insurrection. Some of the clergy im- 
itated them ; others, particularly Mgr. 
Surat, who was dressed as a layman, 
hesitated. The wardens, from motives 
more praiseworthy than prudent, 
urged them to fly. This course seemed 
to me disastrous. The neighborhood 
of the prison was in the hands of the 
insurgents, whose irritation knew no 
bounds. I thought it ray duty to 
warn the first vicar-general of Paris, 
and said to him through the bars: 
"Take care; to leave is certain 
death ; to remain, uncertain ! " I as- 
certained afterwards that I had not 
been heard. In going out of the 
prison, he was murdered in a fright- 
ful manner, with M. B^court, the 
cure of IJonne Nouvelle; M. Houil- 
lon, a missionary of the Missions Et- 
rangferes, and a lay prisoner. Some 
l)riests succeeded in concealing them- 
svjlves in the l-aubourg St. Antoinc, 
and some returned to the prison. 

Notwithstanding the departure of 
the iiLsurgents who were to put us to 
death, wc were still exposed to sud- 
den attack and every danger wliilc 
tlie prison gates were unfastened. I 
therefore protested in violent terms 
to the two wardens, who, frightened 



at tlie terrible consequeno 
would result from a return of 
surgents, urged us strongly to c 
and go out. " We will not g 
I replied; " the Versailles troc 
be here in a few hours : if ai 
fortune happens to us by you 
on you wlU fall the responi 
Fasten all the prison doors, an 
open them to the Versaillais." 

They warmly reproached : 
an obstinacy they thought musi 
fatal to us, but they faithfully < 
my orders. 

At eleven o'clock at nigt 
firing, which was not far oif, ( 
The frenzied demagogues n 
uttered powerless threats agai 
We kept a strict guvd, and se 
began to hope. At a quarter 
three, the firing recommenced I 
Pfere-la-Chaise. Every houi 
seemed an age. Tliere was a 
dable barricade in the Rue 
Roquette in front of the prison 
tacked on the side of the B 
it would have opposed a form 
resistance on account of its stec 
but, owing to the winding and a 
trie course of the French army, i 
surgents, stormed from the heig 
cupied by our troops, left the bai 
in disorder, and a battalion of n 
took possession of La Roquette 
resistance, that at first was onlj 
ncss, ended miraculously. I 
the great festival of Whit-Si 
After four days of the greatest 
that can be imagined, we wer( 
trary to all expectation, resto; 
Hfii and liberty. 

While some of the prisoners 
" Vive I'armee ! Vive la Fra 
the most of them, affected by 
of sleep and the mental tortui 
no human tongue could expres 
sisted in regarding our liberal 
insurgents disguised as marines, 
began a singular negotiation be 
the prisoners and the raarin 



Tht Place Vendume and La Roquctte. 



361 



nicr, more incredulous 
Tlinmfl*. saw nothing but 
'^i^rwith immovable 
■il to requirements 
almost puerile. The arms, 
cs and papers o\ the bat* 
c demanded. The marines 
, but the prisoners, blinded 
sed, were still far from bc- 
ped concerning the identity 
rincs. 

r my companions and my- 
6u1d not believe a disguise 
so perfect, were distressed 
longed hesitation, far from 
to our courageous deliver^ 
induced our companions 
( to go out, that they might 
b our renrption what course 
omwives. At Ihe sight of 
s who nish toward us, not 
je ua, but to shake our 
I rejoice over our deliver- 
;onfidcncc of our compau- 
cd, and they came to re- 
share of cordial s^-mpathy. 
Irise was great when 1 heard 
finoy's aide-de-camp ea- 
lite for Mgr. Darboy and 
fny. " Where are they ? 
they do?" It was four 
I they were massacred by 
une, and the frightful rcali- 
M unknown at Versaitlcft 
I Knowing the profound 
f the brave General V'inoy 
:hbishop of Paris, his aide- 
begged me to give him 
let details, which he inime- 
tspaiched to the general 
fsailles. 

ere siill fighting furiously 
I R.O'|uelte. We were 6b- 
rait nearly an hour at the 
re we found, in fearful dis- 
(idgcs, cigars, swonis, guns, 
h li*^!^, proclamations, and 
\pirtng Commune, 

by an escort bearing 



before us the French flag, we set out 
in a botly by the heights of the Fau- 
Ixjurg Sl Anioine, the Jardm des 
Planics, and the quais on the left 
bank of the river, toward our homea. 
At each step wc had to struggle 
against the roost poignant emotions. 
Here, in the l>oulevarih, were heaps 
of men and horses who had been 
killed, with pools of blood beside 
piles of cartridges and broken chasM- 
pots. There, trees were broken down 
and houses shattered by shells. The 
few inhabitants^ we met seemed 
confounded and in despair. P'urther 
on, we uttered a cry of horror at the 
sight of the Hotel de Ville, the Pa- 
lais de justice, the entrance of the 
Rue du Bac, the Tuileries, and the 
palaces of the Conscil d'Ktal aud 
of the I-6gion d'Honneur in flames 
or in ashe:i. 

In tlie Rue des Saintes-P6res, a 
gentleman and lady whom I knew, 
but whose names I could not recall, 
stopped to oak if 1 was one of tlie 
Jesuit Fathers, and if 1 came from 
La Roquette. They wished news of 
P&re Caubert. 1 uiformed iJiein he 
was shot on Friday with I'l-re Oli- 
vaiut. At this, the gcndeman raised 
his eyes to heaven, while the lady 
made an eft'ort to overcome her emo- 
tion. '• \'ou see before you," said 
he, " Ffere Cauberl's sister!" It was 
M. Lauras, one of the directors of 
the Orleans Railway, and Madame 
Lauras, «*V Caubert. , 

I accompanied the soldiers, who 
had iiarlicipaicd in my captivity, to 
the Palais Bourbon, and after a fra- 
ternal grasp of the hand 1 turned 
toward the Madeleine. The Place 
de la Concorde wa.s upset, ami a 
pan of the Rue Royalc burned down 
with petroleum. I found the Xtade- 
leine standing, and my residci^c in 
the Rue de la Viile-rEvdque, but 
both injured by the firing. No one 
knew of, and what was more strange, 



362 



The Place Venddme and La Roquette, 



no one would believe in, the horrible 
deaths of Mgr. Darboy and M. De- 
guerry. My two confrires at the 
Madeleine expressed the same doubt, 
the same incredulity. When at ves- 
pers I was about to ascend the pul- 
pit to recommend the victims to the 
prayers of the faithful, they advised 
me to defer it, hoping the fatal news 
would not be confirmed. 

I had told it to more than one 
hundred persons, begging them to in- 
form, in their turn, the other parishion- 
ers of the Madeleine, but when, in an 
affecting but cautious and brief man- 
ner, I requested the faithful gather- 
ed at the foot of the altar to pray 
for the pastor of tKe diocese and the 
cur£ of the parish, basely shot on the 
twenty-fourth of May, in the prison 
of La Roquette, a cry of grief and 
horror escaped from every soul ; the 
men and the women rose up in con- 
fusion, as if to protest against it ; the 
gravest and most reverential for a 
moment seemed to lose their balance. 
Among the confused voices around 
the pulpit, these words were the most 
distinct : " No, no, such a crime is 
not possible !" 

My moral conclusions will be sim- 
ple and brief. It would be an insult 
to the reader to dwell on the great 
lessons to be drawn from such sor- 
rowful and overwhelming catastro- 
phes. 

First Lesson, Divine Providence 
never chastised and enlightened a 
nation by severer blows. It behooves 
us therefore to consider the grave 
and exceptional malady that is afflict- 
ing society, and seek an efficacious 
and permanent remedy for it. We 
are all suffering from the evil, and we 
all should be preoccupied about the 
means of recovery. 

Some days after leaving La Ro- 
quette, I wished to revisit the places 
where I had been imprisoned, in or- 
der to retrace, with precision, the 



events that took place in 
days of the Commune. I i 
one of the most intelligent a 
religious ju^s d'imtrudwn 
bench of the Seine. I vis 
him the places of> the grea 
rest, Mgr. Darboy's cell, anc 
on the circular road where 
der of the six principal hosta 
place. ITie warden tool 
Troppmann*s cell " I supj 
within a few days," said J 
magistrate of the Seine, ** th 
nals like Troppmann were < 
species that required fifty 
years to develop in the 
grades of society. After the 
I witnessed at La Koquett 
convinced they are to be f 
thousands in Paris." T 
d' instruction replied that all t 
istrates who studied the i 
of those grades had the sa: 
viction. It would therefore 
ply folly not to consider the 
most suiuble to counteract 
disorder. 

Second Lesson. In the hoi 
tastrophe that has just revi 
many material or moral son 
one is more or less responsi 
culpable. Every one shoulc 
med culpd, and seek to becom 
The most guilty are certai 
turbulent working classes, th 
gogues, the International, th 
societies, outlaws, and gove 
without morality, but they a 
not guilty. Literary men i 
fuse in their pernicious publ 
the poison of scepticism and 
raHty; artists who are wantir 
spect and decency ; the joui 
the rich and influential bot 
which defend the principles of i 
conservation, while by their 
on the Holy See, the clerg)', 
church generally, they sap tl 
foundations of morality ; po 
who brutally proclaim, with 



The Piace Vt*td6wc aud La Roqnette. 



363 



as and the gratification 
cuj)idii\% the primacy of 
inst right — should disiavow 
:t their errors. Pious peo- 
he clergy should redouble 
Itude and energy in extend- 
rengthening their intluence, 
y in the most populous 
There arc no other means 

Lesson. The reign of the 
I hss revealed a frightful 
r wicked men in society ca- 
evcry excess. They have 
inder fool ihcvcry first prin- 
mtUTdl order and social life, 
: Keign of Terror would 
fd to disregard. The exe- 
I.a Roquette, without pre- 
without discussion or pre- 
rial, were a thousand limes 
strous than the executions 
evolutionary tribunal. In 
Pantons and Rol>espierres 
Kturs, more or less iinpos- 
■ Catilincs of wicicnt Rome : 
re have hart Raoul Rigault 
I, the Catilines of the gut- 
tdous beasts are not rea- 
b — tficy are muzzled. So- 
tfore should have a power 
repression proportioned to 
. that threaten it. 



Blit .*is the material order of things 
is founded on the mora) order, the 
great principles of reverence for God, 
a respect for others and for ourselves, 
should be diSiiscd and practised. It 
has been wished to estabhsh society 
with no rehgious behcf, make laws^ 
found institutions, and keep the peo- 
ple in order, without reference to the 
teachings of the Gospel : this is build- 
ing the social edifice upon quick- 
sands. How can an economist, a 
[politician, however incredulous, help 
understanding that while the luass 
in the great cities, espcci.illy at Pa- 
ris, do not find in the faith, in the 
observance of religious duties, and in 
the eternal recompense of a future 
life, a source of morality, strength 
and consolation in view of the in- 
equahties of fortune and social posi- 
tion, in view of the enjoyments and 
leisure of the fortunate ones of this 
world and of the unforeseen trials 
and sufferings that too often beset 
them, there can be neither securi- 
ty nor repose ? 

Jesus Christ and his Gospel are 
still ihe salt of the earth and the light 
of the world. To i^ithdraw society 
fi-oni this divine and guiding influ- 
ence would condemn it to sorrow, 
crime, and shame. 



3^4 



God is our Aid* 



GOD IS OUR AID. 

A CHRISTMAS STORY OF '6j. 



In the dim twilight of an October 
evening, a rich man prepared to leave 
the vast treasures accumulated by a 
fruitless life. Fruitless, I say, for 
though his increasing millions ranked 
him a merchant prince of the great 
metropolis, yet the gold had harden- 
ed and crusted and metallized his 
heart — fusing a subtle poison that 
destroyed the softer instincts of his 
nature. Therefore, instead of bear- 
ing upward a Godward soul on pray- 
erful incense, those last pulses con- 
centrated in one bitter feeling against 
the daughter whose faith had won 
from him the intense hate of his life. 
The owner of millions each year in- 
creased his avarice, bowing him low 
before the god of the nineteenth cen- 
tury, and inciting the struggle, the 
sacrifice, the sin, for place and sta- 
tion and gold, literally proving the 
poet-king's cry,* " Quo/iiam omnes dii 
Gentium dcemoma / " So, while the 
stormy gusts swept up the avenue, 
and the lowering sky increased the 
night, the old man gathered his fail- 
ing strength for the last great effort. 
*' Hold me, William, support me ere 
it is too late. Quick ! give me the 
pen, I must sign while yet my hand 
has jjower." Then they put the jien 
in his trembling hand, his stalwart 
son supporting him, and all the fier- 
cer passions played upon that cold 
face, and in those cruel eyes, as he 
wrote the signature disinheriting the 
child of the wife whose fair face look- 
ed in silent reproach from tlie por- 
trait opposite. And William Stan- 
field folded the jjapcr and locked it 

* " For all the gods of Ihc Gentiles arc rievils/' 



in the escritoire, and old Tt 
the iron heart " slept the la 
But this Stanfield, he of the s 
tan stock, had not always b 
First, he married his wife a 
boy of twenty — a gende New 
girl — who had left William 
William, so staunch in his 1 
the heritage left by the A 
stock. But Thomas laid h 
love to rest within the quiet 
acre " of the village church, 
wandered to New York to 
fortune. Fate dic^ not with 
favors from this sturdy son, 
and conquered her; for he 
termined to succeed, and dii 
And strange to say tha 
time human softness yet liv 
the dross and corruption of tl 
for Thomas Stanfield was 
means indifferent to certa 
ences. So, one bright C 
morning, he found himself 
Orleans, and, stranger still 1 
his partner, Mons. Cricy, p 
him to listen to the magnifi 

vice at Church. The n 

exquisitely appealing, thril 
nobler attributes of man's b" 
ture ; and so this worldly m 
forgot to speculate or dream 
for two long hours, and i 
while his soul absorbed it 
inspiration. If there is s 
when the hardness of hunu 
solves and merges into its 
essence, it is when music g« 
it to its higher affinities, and 
en rapport with God. And 
man of gold listened to th« 
prano, and far beyond the 
grating caught a glimpse 



God is our Aid, 



^*, 



\ haunted htm long after the 
ended. And when Eliennc 
tsJccd him to dine at the 
" Ills plantation near the 
otcejited, scarcely realizing 
\ did till he found himself 
1 pair of splendid bays, with 
leans far in the distance. 
mliny, bright-skied South al- 
B^ht a pleasant Christmas, 
^H^bung golden on tlie trees 
led the grove leading to the 
ad the sweet breath of the 

perfumed the air. This to 
therner, accustomed to ice 

at this season, was a most 

contrast ; and his siroll over 
itiful grounds aflTordetl real 
Then they rested on the 
, or gallery, as it is called 
ana, and talked of business 
hen suddenly Mons. Cricy 
d that his guest was strange- 
E, for a clear, soft voice was 
, to an accompanying harp, 

Stan6eld recognized the 
cr tones that had absorbed 
ing the morning service. 
Tm f^ccafa niu/n/i^ suscipc de- 
w n{istr%^mr fell earnest and 

his car — it was, it must be, 

and he turned to M. Cri- 
is my daughter Madelaine," 
oM man ; and at dinner he 

same fawn-e>'es tliat had 
\ from behind the grating 
d church. And those shy, 
s found a place in the heart 
dd New Knglander, and in 
5 he bore h..*r a bride to his 
home in New Vork. 
years passL-d, and only the 

shared their household, 
uble attended the marriage, 
Irish priest. Father Jean, at 
cU 10 unite her with such an 

heretic. But the maiden 

son of the Puritans, so 

gtiotlc in6ucnce or 

?as pcrtcveiance overcame 



the scruples of the good [jriest, and 
'I'homas Stanfield finally triumphed, 
giving some vague promise in refer- 
ence to the children. He fully in- 
tended evading tlie fulfilment of the 
promise, for soon after his marriage 
he acknowledged thus much to his 
wife, who, with tears in her dark 
eyes, said she would only pray for 
God's grace lo change him. So, al- 
most as a curse it seemed, for three 
years no child came to bless the 
marriage, 'iVuc, the young wife was 
very dear lo this stem husband, but 
the clement which had strengthened 
his forefathers siill waxed strong 
within him, and the self- asserting 
dogmatism heired from John Car- 
ver's band sounded in the stem words 
that answered his wife when, with 
quivering lips, she told him of his 
little daughter's advent. He kissed 
the pale young mother tcnfierly and 
lovingly, but even in that hour he 
did not restrain himself from reply- 
ing, "She belongs to me!" and 
Madelaine understood too well what 
those words implied. So she only 
whispered, as tier white face grew 
whiter, '■ / tvifl U-nvf her to God. 
May our Holy Mother care f:tr her! " 

Tlien the gentle soul departed M'iih 
the cross upon her bosom, and those 
last words on her lips, and many, 
many years after Thomas Stan6eld 
heard rc[)c;Ued in his dreams, " God 
shall help her." 

And a judgment rested on ihc rich 
man's harvest, for this warm-hearted, 
earnest .Southern wife was very dear 
to him. liut the child grew in love- 
liness, and her impulsive nature felt 
the need of more than her cold fa- 
ther accorded. Firnj as he had been 
in reference to the child, it seemed 
strange that he eviijced so much in- 
difference lo her education, for 
though she had lieen baptized in his 
own church, and sent to Protestant 
schools, yet very little care was be- 



366 



God is our Aid. 



stowed upon her religious instruction. 
When she grew old enough, she ac- 
companied her father to church, and 
through the long sermons her wea- 
ry little eyes would often close. She 
went merely from habit, because her 
father wished her with him, for there 
was nothing in the cold, formal ritual, 
if that bare service can be called a 
ritual, to attract or warm her heart ; 
but it was part of her duty to go ; and 
so she went. Thus her childhood 
passed, and so her girlhood opened. 
Children rarely exert the reason- 
ing faculties, accepting with bound- 
less trust what is proposed by their 
elders. Faith and confidence are 
largely developed, therefore a grave 
record is written of those intrusted 
with these young immortals. But 
when reason waked and the heart 
expanded, this warm loving nature 
asked for more than what was offer- 
ed, and her soul felt starved, hungry 
for the food it found not. Thomas 
Stanfield was now devoted to his 
business, from nine in the morning, 
when his coup(f drove ftim to his of- 
fice, to six in the evening, when his 
key opened the massive door of his 
palace — his whole soul entered into 
the fascination, the strife for increas- 
ing millions. And at night, as he 
sat silent in his high carved chair, 
the closed eyes and set features told 
that the scheming still continued. 
Was it strange, then, that the young 
girl yearned for something more than 
her home offered? Well, one Sep- 
tember evening, soon after their re- 
turn from the country, the servant 
handed in a card, bearing the simple 
inscription, " Kenneth C. Arnaud." 
Then Mr. Stanfield, disturbed in the 
midst of some speculation, testified 
by a grunt his welcome to a distant 
relative of his wife. "This is Miss 
Stanfield, my daughter," he said, as 
he seemed to remember that anotiier 
person occupied the room. The 



stranger was a courtly, Y 
gentleman, and started as 
rested on the young girL 
like my cousin Madelaine," 
" as I remember her in n 
hood." For the first time 
man seemed to realize thi 
blance, and turned to exat 
fair girl who was his c 
" Yes,*' he faintly assent 
the conversation dragged tl* 
half-hour's duration, when 
naud rose to go. But this 
his last visit, for he passed tl 
in the city ; and many evenin 
him at Mr. Stanfield's hous 
Madelaine sang to him the : 
loved best Then a new lift 
to the young girl, and her h 
a strange happiness it ha 
known before. 

The Advent season came 
of joy and gladness in the < 
that celebrate this season, bu 
ly remembered or noticed in 
ing congregations, and on 
Sunday that Mr. Ajiiaud for 
of the family party, he propc 
Madelaine should accompan 

St. *s church, as the mi 

always attractive there. < 
Stanfield was half asleep, « 
name of this Roman Catholif 
startled him. " Only to list* 
music, papa !" she iaughinglj 
to his frown, and she wei 
ritual was new to her, the s 
strange mystery, but she ; 
watched it all, listening to th 
site bursts from the choii 
sounded the " Alma " with i 
cadence, and the heart of t> 
girl thrilled within her. SI 
not explain, but she felt a sti 
traction that drew her aga 
will to this beautiful ritual 
came the lovely benediction, 
devotion of the kneeling h 
the solemn censer*s cloudlil 
ing, the elevation, and the 



God is our Aid. 



367 



1 whtcb a bush swept lilic 
gel's presence over llie rapt 
ids. It was all a lovely 
(o this young enthusiast, and, 
her eyes, trooiw of seraphttn 
CTubim seemerl prolonging 
Is— 



^'Tftntuin inio Sacramcatun > 

TcBCfemiir c«rouL" %k 



rued lo her home Ailed with 
!lifc, and for the first time 
I feit its thralls. She was 
rt that night, aiid even her 
marked the change. Poor 
c had uecded all that had 
lied to her, and the star\'cd 
s just tasting of the food im- 
Is it not often thus in life, 
;haim, a mere instinct, leails 
e path for which we have 
inly striving ? Give me 
wt ! was the ciy of the Holy 
10 the footsore and weary, to 
iought fonwilution ftoni that 
»re<ui ; and the lisienmg an- 
[ht the etho of that cry, and 
\\> lo the great Fonliff, who 
,B Comforter to spread the 
ngcd dove on the troubled 
t calls for peace ! 
pring came, after the long, 
tcr, and Kenneth Amauil 
he old maji fur his gen- 
[hler. But Mr. Sunfield 
ays regarded Madclaine as 
chilli, and seemed shork- 
angty at the reciuest. He 
gotten that eighteen years 
Md since his sofi-cycd wife 
Fpered, *• 1 leave her to God " 
)w a Catholic ha<l asked his 
marriage! He did not an- 
L* young man for several 
ul till the sweet eyes of his 
id been dimmed with 
and her childish heart 
, painfully felt, the first 
of her life. 



" It iteems strange that my faith 
should prove an objection, Mr. Stan- 
fiflil, for not very many years have ] 
passed since you gave your owq4 
example." 

The old man looked him steadily 
in the eyes, and replied : 

"And the great unhappiness of 
ttial union was the education of the • 
children that were to come. What | 
say you of this ?" 

" That, your daughter shall deter- 
mine." 

" Vou can speak this with safety, ' 
Mr. Amaud, for my daughter has 
proved a quick pupil," 

" 1 can scarcely comprehend you, 
Mr. Stanficid, and, as a gentleman, 
will not understand the accusation 
implied." 

'* I do not accuse you of influenc- 
ing ray daughter, but her bias in 
favor of the Romish Church is a 1 
!;ubject that cannot afford me happi- 
ness." 

The conversation was serious, and 
very painful 10 both, and at last Mr. 
Sianfield closed the interview with 
this remark: "As my daughter's 
happiness is concerned, I cannot with- 
hold my consent, but I wish you to 
cleaHy understand that, when she re- 
nounces the church of her forefathers, 
she also relinquishes all right to her 
father's estate." 

A pFoud smile curled the young 
man's fips as he replied, " I feel pri- 
vileged to claim her, even though 
(he conditions were far more capable 
of inflicting unhappiness." 

And so they were married, and 
the old man and his sun William 
bowed before the golden calf, and 
worshipped it, offering their souls as 
homage at its shrine. 

For the young wife, one brief year 
of happiness passed, and yet there 
was unrest cvci» then within her soul, 
fur she craved with hungry longing 
die new life which she feared to tas:e, 




368 



God is our Aid. 



because the ties binding her to her 
father appealed to her heart, and 
she dreaded an anger which she 
knew would never forgive what he 
considered so fearful an error. 

But one cold morning in the win- 
ter of *6i, the telegraph bore to New 
York tidings of the secession of Lou- 
isiana, then the sons of the sunny 
South rallied to her standard, and for 
four long years a bloody war deso- 
lated that section. She, the young 
wyfe, had never given her thoughts 
to politics, nor did she understand 
why hate and bitterness waged with 
such deadly strife between the two 
portions of a country which she so 
dearly loved ; but her husband de- 
cided for her, and, feeling that her 
life was only a part of his, she follow- 
ed. And those were years fraught with 
agony — years that recorded suffering 
that aged more than time had power 
to accomplish ; for over each battle- 
field brooded a great host of prayer 
— prayer born of love intensified, and 
of partings which would know only 
the meeting above ; and the race 
schooled by those years grew, de- 
veloped, lived, more than generations 
ordinarily experience in a whole life- 
time. 

Col. Arnaud won a soldier's rc- 
l>utation, and the autumn of '64 found 
him, with his fine regiment, encamp- 
ed a few mileS below the Confederate 
capital. Madelaine soon followed 
him to Richmond, bringing her little 
family, her boy Kenneth and a baby 
(laughter. The winter was very try- 
ing to this delicate woman, for the 
city was crowded with refugees from 
all parts of the Confederacy ; every 
square inch was occupied, and there- 
fore comfortable accommodations 
were impossible to find. Then the 
depreciated currency rendered the 
price of necessities almost fabulous, 
so that barely to live required great 
sacrifice and control. But the cour- 



ageous wife and devoted : 
gathered her Httle ones, and c 
ediy dwelt in one small room, 
to welcome her husband wl 
his brief furloughs allowed 1 
spend a day with her. But tfa 
culmination approached, ar 
troAps that wore the tattere 
were soon to furl the cross 1 
that had proudly waved ovei 
a gallant fight \ and on or 
wintry morning she heard th 
boys shout " Extra ! extra !'* ai 
Franklin Street was echoinj 
news of the fierce battle beloi 
mond. Madelaine had not si 
husband for almost four wee 
her heart sank as she listenc 
will get a paper," she said, an 
ing her nurse with the childr 
descended to the street to pi 
one. 

Poor young thing — she little 
ed how literally she had folio* 
Scriptures, for she had forsa 
things,, and he, her brave hi 
was all she had to cling to ; ai 
— but she was too truly a won 
control, and she fainted whi 
read the cruel words that told 
husband's fate. A night of 
followed, and the roll of the 
lance in the early gray of th 
morning startled her from h( 
bled sleep. They, those of I 
gade, in their faded gray boi 
to the small chamber whc 
young wife waited, and pa] 
ghastly she saw him laid upi 
bed, where he was soon to ^< 
long pulseless sleep. AU thai 
could render to sweeten the f 
dying was offered, for die j< 
rang with the grand charge 1 
led, and his deeds of daring 1 
household words in the crowdc 
federate capital. But the gre: 
had gone forth, and the priest 
church came to offer the last 
lations. 



Cod is an- Aiti. 



3<5y 



t true wife," and he sum- 
be boved figure, the frail 
who knelt beside him. 
j^ «yes were dim wiili tears, 
|, voice Wis tremulous with 
\& giief. His left ami drew 
D, for the right was cruisbed 
^less, " I am about ta ask 
act from you, iny darling ; 
Ittunk that you can please 

fcic anyiliing, Kenneth, only 

mc. Oh ! do not leave me 
t burning tears blinded her. 
jraysnre not thy ways, nor my 

Ihy thoughts': do you re- 
ihcse words, my own wife ? 
H — only a hide \\ hile, when 
meet where the for evermore 
ptl be eternal 1 But not of 
l| I wi&h to speak, Elaine. 
id he hesitated — '* if my faidi 
mught to my litde ones ?" 
I not reply at first, but, with 
( of devoted, earnest love, 
|d, and kneeling by Ins side, 
yreok precious hand clasped 
f own, she repeated : " And 
[> Lord, thy servant into thy 
[ch, for which her heart hun- 
Lnd he answered, " Amen ! " 
B was no sudden desire in- 
py ber devotion to her hus- 
j, six years before, when she 
ifed to the sweet vesper ser- 
) latent hfe had wakened, 
jKlumtter had seen sleep no 
tihc . "Wake to thy 

I^L : her soul, and 

^■0tme thrilled its amen 
pBt then she had been pc- 
intuated, and shrank from 
^ anger in her father, as she 
^ow ver}' stern he could be 
il'U himself aggrieved. But 

heart told her she must no 

isitate, the great crisis asked 

and she felt that all world- 

Tsuons must be forgotten 
sband, and her own 

, XIV. — 2\ 



heart also, called for a decision which 
shaped her life. So she was baptized 
by the holy father beside the bed 
where her husband lay tl}iiig; and the 
priest's voice was very tender as he 
welcomed this stricken daughter 
Christ had given to his fold. 

Only a few days after, she laid her 
Iiusband to rest beneath the [K)pl:irs 
at " Holley wood," wljcrc many of his 
comrades were lying ; and then came 
the gloomy, slonny March, and the 
sad April when the snowy flag was 
folded, and it was during this season 
that the widowed mother was receiv- 
ed into her husband's church. 

The war had closed, and we all re- 
member the fearful wreck that fol- 
lowed when Madclnine .-Vrnaudfounil 
herself battling with tlie prim wolf 
whose shadow darkened her door. 
Her husband's fortune was all gone, 
and the delicate, dependent woman 
felt that she had but litde to hope 
for from her father; still .she wouhl 
not believe that he cuuhl entirely 
forsake her, even though she had be- 
come a member of the church his 
soul abhorred. So she wrote in her 
extremity and asked for advice. 
Many anxious days and nights pass- 
ed, and no kticr came ; a fortnight 
intervened, when, one morning, sl»c 
opened the envelo|>e handed to her 
by the postman, and read : 

" You have chosen your way in life, 
and, when you forsook your father's 
faitli. lie also separated from one who 
had joined herself to idols. I enclose 
all that you may ever claim from me. 
"Thomas Stanfielp." 

Slie found enclosed the last note 
written by her mother, only a few 
hours before her death, and a silvei 
crucifix, wiih the name " N[adclaine 
Cr^cy, La.," inscribed on the back 
or flat side of the cross. 

She was very young lo be left so 
entirely alone, for she was not yet 



370 



God is our Aid. 



twenty-five, and two children depend- 
ed on her for support What could 
she do, and how must she act ? In 
her agony, she cried, " Save me, O 
Father, for witliout thine aid I am 
lost!" Then the crucifix fell from 
her letter, and, clasping it, she drew 
her boy to her, and, kneeling, prayed : 
" Lord, thy enemies and mine have 
risen up against me : I therefore cast 
myself at thy feet to implore tliy 
succor." 

The soft eyes of the little one gazed 
into her own, and, nestling closer, he 
asked : 

" What makes mamma so sad ? " 

There are seasons in life when 
suffering is too great for expression, 
when tears refuse relief, and the over- 
charged heart, paralyzed by pain, 
seems incapable of pulsation. Then 
even speech fails ; and the poor, deso- 
late woman only pressed her child 
closer, and appealed to her God for 
protection. 

Thus days passed, and she seemed 
unable to act, for at the South all was 
poverty and desolation, while slie 
ilared not anticipate wliat awaited 
her in New York. But the few dol- 
lars -^vere growing less, and her chil- 
dren required food, so she decided 
to try the great city, and thither with 
her faithful nurse she journeyed. 
Her mother's note gave her strength, 
and she often re-read the faint trace- 
ry on the faded paper. 

" For, my darling child " (the note 
read), " should you ever wander into 
the dear fold of your mother's church, 
feel always tliat my blessing will rest 
upon you, and though I may not live 
to guard you, yet my prayer will be 
then as it is now for God to be with 
you. 
" Madei.aine Crecv Stanfielh." 

And though she did feci crushed 
and desolate on that stormy September 
evening which found her in the great 



city, still a strength came 
which she had never known, 
felt that God would prot 
Through the crowd at the d 
wended her way, and thenc 
midst of a pouring rain to 
boarding-house, where she p; 
night. The next morning < 
an old servant who had kn 
as a child, and, with tears st 
from the old eyes, she took 
small but respectable houst 
town-part of the city, where ! 
ed two rooms, and commen 
new hfe. A touching sight ii 
see her in her sad moumin 
she so fair and fragile, yet 
that three depended upon hi 
tions, she rose to the emergei 
determined to succeed, or di 
service. She had brought a 
a priest of her church, and 
she applied. He was very k 
promised to do all that he co 
at the same time told her tha 
were not easily obtained, and 
mended her to watch the new 
And she did search the jourr 
voting herself to answering a( 
ments, but, save a few ques 
replies, nothing came of this i 
Meantime she began to 1 
pinchings of want, and vent 
try sewing, but how was she 
tain work ? " Go youreelf, r 
young mistress," said the gc 
negress — "go yourself; and 
kiiul Lord bless you ! " And, si 
and nervous, she applied to 
chant down-town. She could 
ly find words for her request, 
pale face appealed, and sh 
away her parcel. Tireless w 
continued efforts, and all t 
snow and ice she persevered 
work. " (Jod will help her 
dying mother had said, and t 
the darkness of her life's sto 
tried to comfort herself with 
surance. 



God is our Aid. 



37 » 



' banl to realize lh.it her 
cumulated useless thousands 
d. in princely style at the 
1 of the city, while, only be- 
e believcU in her mother's 
I must suffer anrL toil with 
ones, needing comfort, and 
en bread. Then the old 
tr and, ere he died, the scene 
ch this story oiHms shanietl 
tours. 

B exposure of three winters 
this delicate wotnan, und, 
I ielt her strength waning, all 
Drs of starvation frii^hlenct! 
she knew that there were 
help her. She had moved 
tr down-town, and into a 
room, and there, with her 
iirse, she endured life. Hut 
•ecame a lime when, though 
B strong to do, the physiciue 
Ipport, and the brave heart, 
K to conquer, feels despair 
its vitals, and thus it was 
tdelaine. The autumn of 
In early, and November was 
1 cruel to iJie poor. She, 
ihan she had been, felt her 
bccdcd cough increase, and, 
cembcr came, was too ill for 
ttion. Hitierly the winter 
M)ow covered the city, the 
^ ami merciless swept the 
kdUms the Christmas week 
^Kth the httle ones dc- 
PHb she uuerly helpless. 
penny hail been expended, 

RJren were wailing wiili 
ad looked into her own 
|rcs, and whispered, '• Dar- 
tmA, I will pray to Our Lady, 
[will ask CJotI to help you.'* 
' kJsse<l her brave, tru.stful 
t had no strength for utter- 
Bo, when the chill night 
the city and darkened the 
0)amber, the child picked up 
ier's rosar>', and, throwing it 



arourd his throat, held the crucjfijc in 
his infant hands, and, kneeling besiiie 
his mother's low, poor bed, pleadeil 
that ihe blessed Virgin wouKl be kind 
to his dear mamma ; and then the 
sweet child went to >leep murmuring 
Our l.atly's name. 

The dawn wns fast breaking over 
the city when the child kissed hei, 
and said, "She has heard my prayer, 
mamma, for I dreamed that a beau- 
tiful angel like the jiicture in your 
prayer-book came to me, and said, 
' God will help her! ' — and does not 
that mean you, mamma?" * 

" I hope that our kind Father will 
help us, my darling ; therefore we 
must Xxy to deserve his help." 

" Oh! he will help you, mamma, 
and I will help you, too." 

The day wore away, the last slice 
had been divided, and there was 
literally nothing else in the house. 
Hunger, starvation, was before them, 
and God, only God, could help 
them. 

The snow fell heavily, the wind 
blew, and even the elements seemed 
warring against her, for she had not 
even fuel to keep off the cold. 

Two o'clock chimed from Trinity, 
and, turning, she missed Kenneth. 
He was now eight years old, ami 
often wentout alone, but. with an in- 
stinct plainer than words, her heart 
rose to warn her of danger. 

'i'hree, four, five o'clock came, but 
still the child did not retunu The 
lamps glared in the dark streets, and 
the niglit seemed too cold for human 
life — when — crash ! a shriek, and a 
pair of horses dashed madly down the 
streets, throwing the occupants of the 
coach senseless upon the sidewalk. 
.\ crowd soon gathered, and bore the 
crushed and suffering man into the 
gloomy room where the sick woman 
lay. Her room opened on the street, 
and so ihey laid him on t'lc small 
bed where the nurse slept. 



372 



God is our Aid. 



" Bring a light," sounded a gruff 
voice. 

" Don't you see dat de poor chile 
has no light for herself? Stonishing 
de fools dat libs in dese parts !" 

A kind voice asked, " Is there no 
money ? Take this and buy a can- 
dle." The speaker was a shabbily- 
dressed man, but the whole aspect 
showed that he had known better 
days. He remained with the injured 
man, and while they go to find a light 
I leave them. . . . 

The snow was falling in great 
white feathery flakes, covering the 
dark alleys and darker tenements 
with its soft downy covering, and the 
little ragged, barefooted gamins of 
the great city were shrieking and 
screaming with delight ; but not to 
build mimic forts or to join the army 
of snow-ballers did our little wander- 
er pause. " Mamma shall have some 
money," he said, *' and I will begin 
to work for it, so I will go to the 
streets where the fine houses are, and 
there the men will give me work." 
Only eight years old was this little 
soldier in the grand army, but his 
noble face was radiant with the work- 
ings of his soul, which no poverty 
could injure. His little clothes were 
patched and scanty, and his poor 
little frozen toes came through the 
holes in his worn shoes; but the eyes 
shone with a light that could not be 
dimmed, and the firmly-set lips told 
that he was quite determined to do 
his best on that afternoon. At first 
he shrank from the cutting wind that 
swept from the East River, but, with 
hands in his pockets and cap pulled 
down, he ran on till he came to 
Broadway. Crowded with the happy 
crowd of the vast metropolis, the 
great highway was gay with bright 
faces on this eve of the feast of joy. 
Windows bright with presents for the 
favored children of fortune, shops 
thronged by smiling mothers eager 



to gratify their pampered d 
and child-infant as he was, tl 
one paused to look at the pretl 
but tears filled the large blu 
and he said, "Oh! I can't '. 
these things, for poor mamma 
and wants food." At that m 
a gentleman passed, and th 
went up and pulled his wan 
coat, " Will you give me som 
sir ? " But the creature, a ( 
able young fop in tights, sho 
off", and passed on. Then 
another, this time a respectabl 
haired worthy, and, running ii 
the same appealing voice asl 
same question. But the sui 
merchant, hurrying home, wai 
upon some new speculatioi 
suddenly disturbed, was nc 
amiable, as he replied, " Be { 
httle vagabond!" 

This time the policeman ca 
and taking him by the arm 
ordered him to move on. An 
on the eve of this blessed i 
when the great city joyed i 
household, there was no grain 
wee waif, no crumb for thi 
cstray, who was struggling agai 
power of the ebb which fa 
sent to test his strength for th 
after. On, on past the Fifth i 
Hotel, through Madison Square 
ing at the glittering icicles or 
ing snow-drifts, shivering ov 
frozen pavements, on he tra 
faintly trying for that which s 
for ever denied to him. 

" / will find it for her," h 
" for the beautiful angel, our 
Mother, told me that she she 
taken care of, I see her now 
in tlie clouds." And up in the 
sky, far beyond the pure, be 
flakes, he gazed, half-hoping tl: 
Mother of Christ would smile ( 
again. And did she not evei 
hover over the young boy-wj 
Did she not pray that he, too. 



God is our Aui, 



373 



Igthened in this hard fight 
lis isiiiutt powers essayed ? 
if earn J^eus.'* the dying 
lad prayed, and his praini!;es 
Dt fail. At last, far up the 
hrhen the cold, sffadowy tni- 
c on the great city, he paus- 
i a stately mansion. Cur- 
iSk and costly lace draped 
lows, aod liveried servants 
ng on the box of the hand- 
Etch awaiting the master's 

Then the heavy door of 
Mon^Ec opened, and the mas- 
r descended the broad steps. 
jrou will help me, won't you ? 
ve me some work, for I want 
Boney for my mother !" 

that little beggar away/' 
rritable rebuff, and the foot* 
Ig him aside, not heeding 
i fell. The carriage rolled 
a no thought was given to 
^ human bundle, roughly 
torn the rich man's i>ath. 
ght darkened over the city, 
rtnrs, God's clernal scnii- 
rded earth as ihey had done 
ccnturie-s before when they 
the birth of the incarnate 
nd beneath the same shim- 
ght the boy-warrior lay, all 
in Che strife, as thousands 
Ul^orc, and all uncon- 
jBhe cruel hearts that 
l^^n. The torn Httle cap 
n off, and the fair golden 
ded the pale, childish face, 
?ward as if in appeal to the 
Mother he had seen in his 

Pl^ she watching still, and 
I eyes j>ec the irucifix 
die poor cold hands — 
|fix with the dead Christ, 
rth the morrow would cde- 
But the soft feathery flakes 
Qy on, covering the sweet 
Irigtie one. Ah ! Go<1 of 

IfetuUhelp hcc." 



infinite love and goodness, will the 
great anny with the ranks of sin, and 
greed, and lust, prosper and thrive 
and live, while this young soldier, this 
infant of purest soul and lion heart, 
lies all unheeded, dying, the victim of 
cruelty and selfish forgetfulncss ? 

But see — a policeman tramps near, 
and he comes with stalwart tread, 
swinging his buHy arms, and clap- 
ping his gigantic h.-uids to keep tlie 
fingers from frec^ing. for verily death 
seems to breathe out in the siealUiy, 
deadening cold. Bravely he glanc- 
es with searching look up and down 
the broad avenue, then |>au3es sud- 
denly by the side of the obstruction 
just without the pavement. 

'• God and his holy saints forsake 
me, if tills same bundle ain't a child ! 
Ugh ! but it's an ugly night for this 
small s[»ecimen to be left here ! But 
come, let's sec, my little man," and 
he tried to move him. " St. Patrick 
save mel if I ain't afraid that he'll 
never feel again !" And he <.lroppcit 
the little arm he held, and the cruci- 
fix, falling, lay dark agamst the glit- 
tering sno^■. 'I'he siglit of the cross 
at on«:e touched the stout Irishman, 
and this sturdy six footed son of the 
Green Isle, tins huge guardian of the 
great city, gathered the stray lamb to 
his bosom tenderly, pityingly, as its 
own mother, and bore it to the sta- 
don-house. And, full of the warm 
impulse of his race, he diafed the 
poor little hands, and lingered by the 
pallet on which he .lay, till great 
tears fell from eyes that bad not 
seldom looked unmoved on the 
misery of the meiropolis. He rais- 
ed the child's crucifix to his lips, 
and though he hurriedly summoned 
a physician, he muttered, " Poor lit- 
tle lamb, if he does come hack to 
life, it will only keep an angel long- 
er from Our Lady's home I" 

The man returned to his duly, ami 
hours passed before he was relieved. 



374 



God is our Aid. 



but ere he returned to his own home, 
and the young wife waiting him, he 
went back to the station-house to 
look after " the pretty youngs one " 
who had died with the cross in his 
hand; for he fully expected to find 
him dead on his return. 

" We have had hard work to bring 
him back, Murphy," said the doctor, 
as the man walked up to the child. 
" Only five minutes more, and the 
cold would have reached the little 
heart, which was losing all sensation. 
We have had a time of it, and he 
has just fallen asleep. These are 
what we found on him. The card 
was fastened to his worn jacket, and 
the crucifix has also a name engrav- 
ed." And picking up the card from 
the table the policeman read, " Ken- 
neth Amaud, 312 East Street." 

On the back of the silver cross was 
the name, " Madelaine Cr6cy, Au- 
gust IS, 18—." 

"Poor little child! said the po- 
liceman. " I'll take him home, for 
his house is near my own." 

So he wrapped the sleeping child 
in an old blanket, and carried him 
through the storm. A light glim- 
mered on the first-floor front room 
as he approached the house, and the 
man stepped in to inquire about his 
young charge. As he opened the 
rickety door, the wailing voice of a 
woman smote him with the agoniz- 
ing pain it expressed. " The gentle- 
man may remain," she said, " but for 
God's sake find my child. O sir ! 
bring me back my child !" and her 
sobs and moans were heart-ren<iing. 
The negress rocked to and fro with 
the little girl, trying to keep her warm 
and still her feeble cries for bread, 
chanting the wliile in dull monotone, 
a habit peculiar to her race, and 
which at this time increased the op- 
jiressive gloom of the place, not at 
all relieved by the flickering tallow- 
candle, nearly burned out — on the 



small bed in tiie comer the w( 
genUeman lay groaning in ; 
and impatiently awaiting a mes 
he had summoned — a sad ev 
that announced the blessed fes 

At this time the policeman 1 
with his club, but receiving 1 
swer, and not caring to wait 
cold, he once more opened tht 
Standing mute on the threshc 
the scene at first deprived h 
speech, then walking to the 
of the room, he asked, " Is tl 
ther of Kenneth Arnaud here 
I have found a child of that 
who wore a crucifix on whic 
engraved * Madelaine Crecy.' ' 

With one wild scream the i 
answered, " He is mine !" and, 
clasped him to her heart, ih 
eyes unclosed, and the feeblt 
voice whispered, " Darling m: 
I asked them all for work 
might buy you bread, but — ol 
head hurts, for a wicked man 
me away from a gentleman wh 
in his carriage. But, mamma, 
cry, for she — the one with the ■ 
— will care for us. Oh ! I hav 
seen her, and I waked to fint 
own eyes where hers had 
Dear mamma, keep me with 
away from the cruel man, and t 
oh ! the cold snow !" And hi 
frame shivered with the rccolli 

" Madelaine Crecy !" the sic 
muttered on his couch in the c 
And the policeman approached, 
sir, that was the name on the 
fix, and I thought the little 
was dead when I picked him 
front of the millionaire's hou 
Fifth Avenue." 

" My God ! and it was my s 
who cast him from me ! Wi 
take a message to that hous 
good man ? Do not refuse n 
gold shall pay you well. I- 
that millionaire, and an avengin 
has crushed me." With his 



God is our Aid* 



375 



tf he drew out a card from 
ct, and said, ** Take rhis to 
^cc, and (ell my house- 
CT>mclo meat once." Then, 
m e^jjle, his own valued 
cce, in the policeman's hands, 
1 him to hasten his errand, 
e mother's weak voice also 
e kind Irishman. She had 
thing of the conversation, 
tas absorbed with her ilar- 
I in broken Mords had told 
tory. 

•e nothing to give you, fsir/* 
tears streaming down 
s. '* The rosary was my 
and besides this 1 have not 
:1 for my children. Rut I 
for you, and God will bless 
rd you, »ir; he will grant 
nnot give.'* 

.sped his rough hand.whirh 
fcD upon, and he hurriedly 
K>ni, for his own eyes were 

and varied arc the phases 
; great city presents to these 
Liiw, but in his fifteen years* 
e none had touched him 
1 this. 

Sed the cloor afler him, and 
iry candle burned to its 
tt was now past midnight, 
ng silence ensued, broken 
the snores of Ojc ncKress, 
ir\'ed infant had cried itself 

The bruised stranger for- 
rn suflfcring xs he contem- 
e surrounding mbery, and 

time the stillness was pro- 
\\ last he muttered, " Maile- 
tyj Madtlainc Cr^cy I can 
arac I Then God have mer- 

sonll" 

caUs my mother's name ?" 
U^ woman, 

^^Bthcr's son, Madelaine 
T7 your brother, who de- 
l_And sold his life fur gold, 
vfeiu: trembled with 



emotion — "but who will devote that 
life to you now, if you will alli>w it. 
to atone for the cold selfishness of 
the past." 

•' I should be no daughter of the 
dmrch which you despise, William 
Stantield, if I bore anger to my fa- 
ther's son. I teach my little children 
to pray, ' Forgive us, as we forgive 
those who sin against us,' therefore 
must my heart refuse all malice 
against God's creatines, else would 
my own prayers avail not." 

He could not answer then, for he, 
the bigot, the scomer of that church 
which he had ridiculed, felt now the 
beauty of her teaching when, even 
in the midst of her sufferings, this 
desolate woman could forgive one who 
knew that he was responsible for so 
much that might have been alleviated. 

"Elaine!" — ay, it was the first 
time that she had listened to her 
old name since the night when her 
brave husband had spoken his fare- 
well, and the sound thrilled her with 
strange memories — *' Elaine, your 
roof has sheltered me to-night, and 
saved from destruction one who 
claims as a proof of your forgiveness 
acceptance of the home which he 
will share with yourself an<l little 
ones." 

And, ere she answered, the chimes 
of Trinity heralded the dawn of that 
thnce-blessc<! morning when the 
angels sang, *' Glory to God in the 
highest, and on eartli peace to men 
of good- will." And that message of 
the Incarnation brootled with its holy 
evangel on the troubled hearts within, 
.is,whcn ihcChri-simossun shoneovcr 
the snow-covered city, the carriage of 
the rich merchant bore its precious 
freight to his home, and light, and life, 
and joy succeeded the gloomy night. 
And she, when her prayer ascended on 
that night of shelter and rest, realized 
the fulfilment of her mother's bene- 
diction; *' Adjuvabit earn Deus!" 




376 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM. 



NO. XII. 



THE COSMOS IN TIME AND SPACE. 

The supernatural moment unites 
created personalities to the infinite. 
By the moment of substantial crea- 
tion the first duality is established 
between the infinite and the finite. 
This duality is brought into harmony 
and unity in the Theanthropos, who 
knits together the finite and the infi- 
nite in the oneness of his single per- 
sonality. But as the hypostatic mo- 
ment united only created natures to 
the infinite, another moment was 
necessary, namely, a medium be- 
tween theTheanthroposand substan- 
tial creation. This is the supernatu- 
ral, which, by raising created persons 
above their natural sphere, enables 
them to arise, as it were, to the level 
of the infinite, and establishes a com- 
munication and intercourse between 
them. This we have shown in the 
preceding article. The question 
which now remains to be treated of 
at present is the following : Who er 
what is to be the medium of commum- 
eating the term of the supernatural 
moment to created personality ? 

Although Gotl, in acting outside 
himself, niiglit have eflected every- 
thing immeiJiately by himself, with- 
out allowing any play to second cau- 
ses, yet, following the law of his wis- 
dom, he exerted immediately by him- 
self as much power as was required 
to set second causes in action, and 
then allowed them to tlevclop tlicm- 
selves under his guidance. The law 
of wisdom is the law of suftkicnt 
reason, which implies that no intelli- 



gent agent can, in acting, 
more power than is absolute! 
sary to attain its object; fc 
otherwise would be to let the 
of action not necessary to a 
object go to waste, and be e 
without any possible reason, 
the necessity on the part of 
nite to admit secondar)- a^ 
the effectuation of this moraer 
ever that was possible, in i 
observe the law of wisdom, 
ing this theory to the externa 
we see that the substantial 
hypostatic moments were 
immediately by God himself, 
no secondary agency could 
ployed therein ; but the supe 
moment was effected by God 
the agency of the Theanthro] 
merited it by his own acts oj 
value.* Hence, as theTheai 
is the meritorious cause of th 
natural moment, he is pre-ei 
its mediator, and therefore tJ 
urn of communicating it to 
personality. This consequf 
Christ being the medium oft 
munication of grace, in fore 
being its meritorious cause, i; 
dent that we know of none ' 
ever disputed it. The only i 
whicii remains to be solved— 
tioii of the greatest import: 
this : When the Theanthro] 
living on earth, he would co 
rate the term of the supe 
moment in the personal inti 
and intimacy in which he h\ 

• Council of Trent 



CatkoHcitv and Pant/uism. 



^77 



but SL& he has with- 
'risible presence and inttr- 
B the c.irih, how is the 
i: su|)em.iniral moment to 
lic:itctJ to human persons 
and !^j>ace ? 

Iirer In* laying down the 
Winciple : This metftum 
n ai tvill preserve the lU^- 
stives of the TTttan- 
/it the iuiture of hu- 
'aftty, as iviH fulfil the ob- 
ihe supertujtuntl fenri is irf- 

M ihc medium which is 
?s not fulfil these condi- 
locs not maintain the dig- 
■epogalives of the Thean- 
r it docs not befit the 
\ constitution of human 
; if it frustrates the ends 
jmatural momcm instead 
; thcrn. it is evident that 
dom co\ild never have 
ithout contradicting itself. 
>Ie is, therefore, evident. 
can this medium be in its 
:h fulfils all these rondi- 
can be nothing else than 
*tLU extensu}n of the Thean- 
Hnu and spate. In an- 
ich a principle, the reader 

aware that we rctiuire 
af presence of the Thean- 
thc cosmos extendi ng to 
\ to all space. 

b meant by sacramental 
and why should it be 

rr this question, let os get 
e metaphysical idea of 
lent. The term sacra- 
thenlogical language is 
conveying the idea of an 
of grace. Hence, to get 
we must incptire into the 
Inimeni. Now, what is 
ent ? It IS an organism 
a force. And what 
^e[ng one of the fuvt 



elements of our thoughts, can be de- 
fined but imperfectly, less by its es- 
sence than by its eltccta. !i might 
be defined to be the energy of a 
being retaining its existence through 
the means of an efTnrt of concentra- 
tion, or ilitfusing it outwardly by a 
movement of expansion, livery act 
nf force must be reduce<l to thLs two- 
fold movement: either we shut our- 
selves, as it were, in ourselves to 
concentrate our life, and give our- 
selves the highest possible scitsntion ; 
or we expand ourselves to commu- 
nicate our life to others, and accord- 
ing to the tlcgree of this double ten- 
sion we exhibit the phenomenon of 
force. The hand contracted or clos- 
ed is the symbol of the force of con- 
centration; the hand open to give is 
the image of the force of expansion. 
The force of concentration in its 
liighcst possible act is etomiiy — the 
possession of interminable life all at 
once. He alone possesses it who in 
an instant— one, indivisible, and abso- 
lute — experiences in himself and for 
ever the plenitude of his being, and 
says, / am ivho am ; the sublimest 
idea ever conccivcfl and ever uttered. 
The force of expansion at its highest 
possible act is the external action ; 
and he alone possesses it who, abso- 
lutely sufiicienl to himself m the 
plenitude of his beJny. can call to 
life, without losing of his own, n hum- 
soever anil whatboevcr he lists — bo- 
dies, spirits, worlds, and for ever in 
ages without number, and in space 
without limits. 

Now, God, in giving us being, has 
given us force, without winch a be- 
ing could not conceive itself, and 
has given us this force in its double 
clement of concentration and expan- 
sion : the one, which enables us \^ 
continue its existence, an<l to develop 
ourselves ; the other, which enables 
us to propagate ourselves : the one, 
by which we tend to the act of eter- 



378 



Catholicity and Pantheism, 



nity ; the other, by which we tend 

to the act of creation. 

But there is this difference among 
others between us and the infinite, 
that he possesses in himself and by 
himself the force of concentration 
and expansion, whereas our force is 
borrowed and communicated to us 
by means of instruments^ which his 
infinite wisdom has prepared. Life 
is kept in us by something forcing to 
us the instruments to which God has 
communicated the power of sustain- 
ing and repairing it. 

We subsist by the invisible force con- 
tained in an organism. The same must 
be said of the force of expansion. We 
cannot act outside ourselves, on any 
being at all capable of resistance, by 
the simple direct act of our will, but 
must make use of instruments, among 
which our body is the first. 

Now, the reasons of this are, that, 
if we possessed the force of concen- 
tration and expansion in ourEelves 
and by ourselves, it would follow 
that, as these two forces constitute 
the essence of life, we should have 
life in ourselves and by ourselves, we 
should be to ourselves the reason of 
our being and subsistence, and con- 
sequently we should be infinite and 
not finite. Hence, pantheism, which 
admits the unity of substance inde- 
pendent and self-sufficient, and all 
else as phenomena of this substance, 
rejects all idea of instrument in me- 
tapliysics, and all idea of sacrament 
in theology. 

Nor would it do to say that God 
might cominuiiicate that double force 
to us imincdialely by himself without 
the aid of any instruments, I'or two 
reasons we must reject such a sup- 
position : I'irst, the law of seconda- 
ry agency, whicli requires that created 
substance should act, and it would 
not for any purpose do so were 
God to do everything immediate- 
ly by himself Second, the law of 



communion, so necessary to tl 
ty of the cosmos, which is f< 
exclusively upon the action 
element upon the other, e 
communion would be merely i 
ary and fictitious. 

We conclude : An instrumei 

metaphysical idea is an or 

containing a force of concei 

and expansion. A sacramen 

an instrument, must therefore 

organism containing a force 

centration and expansion ; an< 

organism is something outw: 

senisible, it follows that a sac 

must be also outward and s< 

And as the force which the 

ment is designed to convey 

gether supernatural, it follows 

sacrament must be an instrun 

conveying supernatural forci 

may, therefore, define a sac 

to be a sensible instrument or 

ism containing a supernaturti 

of concentration am 1 of expan 

But it is evident that no instr 

no organism in nature, is caps 

conveying a supernatural fo 

concentration and of expansit 

that would imply an act su[>e 

its nature, which is a contrat 

It follows, therefore, that this 

natural force must be conimui 

to the organism by the The; 

pos, otherwise it could neve 

its destination and office. Th 

anthropos, in order to be the 

of communicating to all hum; 

sons in time and space the su 

tural term, which is nothing e 

a supernatural force of concen 

and expansion, must commi 

and unite his infinite energy a 

tion to an external organisr 

thus liimscif convey through t 

ganism tlie supernatural life. 

this union of the infinite energy 

'I'hcanthropos with an outward 

nisni must not be successive c 

porary, but permanent and : 



Calhoiicity and Pantheism 



%79 



let is 10 convey l)ie su- 
il force to all human jiersons 
r and in all space. 
; ihe sacramental extension 
IlKanlhropos in time and 
B coniinuation upon earth 
|rpostatic union, the filling 
were, of his incamaiion, a 
Icamaiion ; not of the Word 
ian nature in the unity of 
Itality, but an incarnation 
Theanthropos, the Word 
n, with visible, omward, cx- 
iruments, in the unity of one 
tal being, lo convey to men 
Es and spacer the supema- 
E)f grace. 

(rramental extension of the 
Dpos must be dividc<l into 
komenl^, owing to the re- 
ts of the object for which it 
Id. The object of the su- 
\ moment is to reproduce 
klhropos in all human per 
% similitude of his nature, 
|l, and attributes, and by 
km with and transformation 

re. 

Bnile, from all elemity, un- 
llttislcnce of |(rfmary, unbe- 
ftivily and principle, begets 
eives inteltertnally a simili- 
[himself absolutely perfect 
\ subsistence of intellertnal 
Q. A»r^( or \N'ord. This ac- 
ipU twgelting the 
s '.all the essential 

i of generation, constitules 
ble — Father ; and thebegot- 
li in his works ad extra, 
(p, in effetiing the myster\' of 
italic moment, docs nothing 
iicxalt the cosmos, as reca- 
lie human nature of the 
very same dignity 
in his Ijosom when in 
his eternity he begets bis 
I'cir the Thcanthropos, 
Inrti made man, is not the 
figuratively, or by adop- 



tion, or by any other action than that 
which begets him from eternity. He 
as man-God is the Son of God 
really, i^atiirally, and by the same 
identical action which eicmally en- 
genders him. Hence, the cosmos, 
as abridged in the human nature of 
Christ, in force of the hypostatic mo- 
ment, is really, naturally, and by the 
same eiemal action of the Father, the 
Son of God Almighly. 

The inhnitc wishes to extend tliis 
divine Sonshi/t of the cosmos, as 
recapitulated in the human nature 
of Christ, to human persons also. 
'ITiis of course cannot be effected ex- 
cept by an ailoption founded upon 
the following cltnicnLs : 

I. A perfect similitude of the na- 
ture, properties, attributes, and \-irtues 
of the Thcanthropos. 

3. A real union with him. 

3, A communication of his life. 

4. A communication of his beati- 
tude. 

In olbcr words, a repro*luctipn of 
Christ and his nature, his attributes, 
his life, and his bliss. 

To effect this reproduction are re- 
quired: Virst, a similitude of the na- 
ture of Christ ; a similitude ofhis inlel- 
lect;asimilitndenf his will: a sharing 
in his feelings. Second, a real ai»d 
substantial participation ofhis life, in 
onicr that this similitude may be sus- 
tained, and that, initial and germinal as 
it is in this world, it may grow ami de- 
velop itself by communing with tbs 
proper object, anil thus become perfect 
and ab!e to attain a particip;iiion ofhis 
bliss in palingenesia. 

Ihus the eternal Father, seeing all 
human persons bearing the image of 
his Son, having his mind, his will, 
his feelings, communicaiing with his 
life, extends to them the feeling of a 
lather and the inheritance of children." 

• "OuM preadrit e(pre<le>tinaTU cDufortaei 

fieii iiiuninl fihl sul, ut l|j»e alt priniOKcnitUi 
inmultiofratlhtlv" Knm. vUl «q. 



Hence, the difierent muments of 
the sacramental trxtcnsion of the Tlie- 
anthropos : 

1. A moment of supernatural gen- 
eration by which the Theontluopos 
attaches his infinite energy to :i visi- 
ble instrument, pcnnaner.i in time 
and space, ami through which he 
confers a similitude of himself and 
the other divine persons ; a simihtude 
in essence, in intellect, in will, in feel- 
ing, in aspirations, in an initial and 
germinal state, £;nd which establishes 
the incipient and germinal union of 
human persons with the Trinity. 

3. A moment by which the Ihcan- 
thropos attaches Iiis infinite energy 
to a visible instrument, ami through 
whicl) he c:irrics that initial and in- 
choative similitude and union to a 
definite and determinate growth. 

3. A mumeiit by which the 'J'hcan- 
tliro]>os attaclies his infinite energy to 
a sensible instrument, in order lo 
communicate to human persons the 
power to perpetuate his sacramental 
cMeusion in time and space. 

4. A moment by which the 'ITieau- 
tliropos conin\unicatcs Iiis infinite en- 
ergy to human persons, to exalt their 
natural forte of expansion, and en- 
able them to propagate the human 
and supernatural spcLies. 

5. A moment by which the Thean- 
thrupos attaches and unites the rea/ 
sufis/itn/taj praenu oj hh fxrson^ that 
is, of humanity ami divinity, both sub- 
sisting in his single divine ]>crson, to 
a sensible instrument, in order to 
communicate to human persons his 
real, substantiid, theanthropic life, in 
order to put all human persons of all 
time and space in real living com- 
munion witli each other, by meeting 
in him and through him as a common 
centre, and in order 10 rcfiidc conti- 
nually in the visible cosmos. 

The third and fourth moments fol- 
low nccessanly from the others, both 
liaving the like ofHce. 



The first of Uiem is ioien^ 
perpetuate the sacramenul at 
of Christ. An urgani.iim to b4 
motion requires the agency o( 
persons ; consequent] ■, . ■ 
ral organism or the r 
tension of Christ, in order to 
plied to human persons, ttqui 
agency of human persons, q 
ed and fitted for such office 
otlicr visible instrument to it 
Iiarticular iheanthropic encrg 
tadied. 1 

'lliis tliird moment is dei| 
also for another object, that 
transmitting whole and eniit 
without any error, by a perw; 
lercourse, of the whole body 1 
trines which arc the object 
. supernatural intelligence l)esto 
the first moment No other \ 
way can be thought of trauflj 
whole and entire the whole b 
doctrines, the object of ihc »t 
turoi tnlclligence, than a perw] 
tercourec, the only safe, natun 
losophical manner of trami 
doctrine. Hence, for this , 
also, a moment was re ; ' ' , 
the TheaDthropos, att.i 
itc energy to a particuLu iiiTtiF 
would tit human |>ersoiis to le| 
fallibly thcwliok budyof doctii 
came to reveal, and to pu 
sacramental extension. 

The fourth moment rcl, 
natural union of sexes in icferc 
generation. | 

Human i^ersons being exiUj 
the first moment to the supeq 
order, iheir personal acts musii 
sarily become supernatural i 
more the liighest po&itblc p< 
act of cxp.tn!»ion, which is tin 
fusion of their united life into 4 
Consequently, it was betiuinglt 
Theanthro]xis should atuch ap| 
lar supernatur.-il energy to the 
of the sexes with a. view to the 
gcueratioHt in onier to cxal 



-el^ 



Catholicity and PantJtdim, 



381 



and thus enable ihcm not 
icTAie as penions exalted to 
lUirat Ma(c, but to bno^ up 
ring in the ume :»upcrnatu- 

r moments nf the sacrnincn- 
sion of Christ but the fifth 
KTsonal action of the 'I'he- 
. attocheil to each particular 
luting the moment. 
«:n\. alone implies a 
Ifexntiai presence of the whole 
If the TheanthrojMJs uiuicr 
K instrument. This requires 
■^and proof, since it has 
^Bvilh the fierceness end 
EToppo^ition which ditl not 
d not comprchcnJ the gran- 
sublimity, Uic magnificence 
rratiun of the cosmos, by 
if the hyj}09iatic moment. 
y hold<i: I. That, though 
tithropos has withdrawn his 
cscncc from Ihe cosmos, he 
it still, not by a spiritual, 
I, phenomenal presence, but 
, substantial presence of hi.i 
■rjtf//^ that is, of his body, 
ml. and divinity — a presence 
ndrr the mnditications ol 
d wine. 

t the manner according to 

is real, 5ub*itantial jiresencc 

leanthropos is obtained, is 

nge of the substances of 

id wine into the sulistance 

dy and blood of the Thcan- 

cot slit) ant) dead, but as 

»y his soul and divtnit)' : a 

iffected by the sacramental 

pie^^nited with the infinite 

the nicanlhR>|>os, .and ui- 

the iiiiujsler ovtr the ele- 

bc changL-d, 

he iiue»iun arises : Is this 
I presence of the Ihean- 
tecessary? Is it metaphy- 

( l-mn otb«r tnnmcsli. Iuila» llic^f 
irMilafl of «tII. thcr »l»ll tke Untcd 
■UiK of ilMt iiueMluii- 



stcflUy possible in (he manner thai the 
Catholic Church admits it ? 

As la the first qucsition, we observe 
that such a jiresence is not absolutely 
necessary when cunsidcre*! of itself, 
indepciidem of, and previous to, the 
adojition of the present plan of the 
cosmos by the infinite intelligence of 
God. But considered In relation to 
tlie present plan of the cosmos and 
as a complement of it, it is necessary. 
Infinite intelligence miglii have se- 
lected another plan, but, having once 
chosen the present plan of the cos- 
mos, the real presence becomes ab- 
solutely necessary as a complement 
bringing it to perfection. This we 
shall cntleavor to prove by tlie fol- 
lowing arguments : 

First, the end of the action of the 
infinite outside himself is the highest 
possible manifestation of his infinite 
excellence. To attain this end, an 
infinite cH'ect would have been ne- 
cessary, liul as an infinite eftcct 
was a contradiction in terms, infinite 
wisdom was to find means whereby 
to effect the highest possible mani- 
festation of himself, in spile of the 
onlological hniteness of the cosmos 
to be effected. This means was to 
produce a variety of moments; to 
iiring the whole variety of moments 
to the highest possible unity in the 
person of the Thcanthropos. 

1. To protluce a variety of mo- 
ments, in order that Uie tnjinity of 
the perfections of God, which could 
not be expressed by the terms effect- 
ed in inkmity of U:ing, might be ex- 
pressetl in (xUmkm and number. 

2. The highest pos<!:ib]e unity, in 
order that the infinity, sijnplicily, and 
oneness of God might be portrayed. 

3. In ihc person of the Tlieaa- 
thropos, in order that, if this variety 
brought into unity could not be on- 
lologically infinite, it might be infi- 
nite by a union and communication 
the highest possible. 




3S2 



Catholicity and PantheisfH. 



These are the three leading priact- 
pEeSy according to which inAnite wis- 
dom resolve<l the problem of the end 
of the txtenial action : liighest pos- 
sible variety, highest possible uuity, 
highest possible communication. 

Now, let us see if and how the 
effectuation of real cosmos was gov- 
erned by these principles. 

In view of tliese principles, God 
effected substantial creation and the 
hypostatic moment, by which the 
whole substantial moment was united 
to the person of the Word in the 
bond of his divine personality. 

Was the problem of the highest 
possible variety and the highest jkjs- 
siblc unity and communication in 
the person of the 'I'hcanthropos re- 
solved ? It was, so far only as na- 
ture and substance were concerned ; 
because the hy}X)static union only 
we<ided human mrfur^, and through 
it all inferior natures, to the person 
of the Word. Hut this unity and 
enmmunicitlian excluded, and had 
to exclude, all human personalities. 
It excluded ihcm in the fact; it had 
to exclude them, otherwise human 
personality would have ceased to 
exist. Here the problem must be 
resolved anew — how to raise human 
personality to the highest possible 
union and communication with the 
Theanthropos. Another moment 
was effected to initiate the solution 
of the problem; and this was the 
su[>eniatural moment. By it human 
personality, by being endowed with 
a higher Muiilitudc of the Trinity 
and the Theanthropos, and by re- 
ceiving higher faculties, is brought 
into a real and particular union with 
the Word, and through him the oth- 
er persons of the Trinity. But the 
bupcmatural moment does not resolve 
the problem yet ; because the union 
which results thereby is union be- 
tween human persons and the ^Vord 
85 God, not a union between human 



'orJJl! 



persons and the 
Word made man. 

A real and efficient ^ 
two terms requires a real rcUtj 
tween them. Now, the supen 
tenn eslablialics a relation bi 
human |>ersons and the Wui 
not a relation between ihcm i 
Theanthropos, because it it 
spiritual and incorporeal, i 
relation between persons pm 
uf boiiy and suul must be a 
not spiritual only, but abo ccN 

Hence, '\\ we exclude the H 
stantial i}rescnce of the T 
as such, wc have a unic 
pcrstms united to the Wor 
real ethtacious union uf hum] 
sons umtcil to the Themt^ 
On this supposition, the i 
would lack the highest posal^ 
and communication, and wol 
to realise the end of ihatextet 
tion. llut, admit the corpoi 
sence of the Theanthropos j 
and space, a<.1niit that presd 
corporating and individoa 
in human persona, and| 
wisdom and beaut)' of 
flashes at once U]>on your I 
the whole cosmos, as . ! 

human nature of Chn- 
by the hypostatic utiioa irl 
VVord ; all human persons i| 
rated l>ody and soul into tta 
and soul of the I'heantliropoi 
up into his body and suul, tral 
cd, as it were, in theiu and tj 
them, and in them coming' 
closest |H>ssiblc communicabd 
the divinity which a ^ 
tain. In this plan only 
holds togetlier and pr 
harmony, and beauty. 

llut, if the real substant 
of the Tktiinthropos wa 
in order to bring human 
to the highest possible nnid 
communication with the infioil 
thus realize the end of diell 



sayil 
f fli 




ini^H 
ui pai 



*Cathoiifit\ and Pantluism. 



383 



also rciiuired thai ihe 

d actions of human perso- 

.^ht be cicvaled to ihe diynl- 

Icnrc. and value of thetinihro- 

Xami <tcis. In the hyposlalic 

umatt nature and all the in- 

hturea which it eminently 

, as connected in the person 

V'ord, are deified, and their 

c the value and dignity of 

rts. 

r, so fcir, the end of ihc ex- 
ciion which is to raise the 
tt it3 nature and acts to an 
jigniiy by union and com- 
DHr is attained. But human 
ity, not being an element of 
3btalic union, could not ac- 
its being and in its acts the 
ind excellence of divine be- 
•els, and conseciucnily the 
*c external action could not 
jrposlatic moment be rcaliz- 
gards the same personality. 
[other problem arose in the 
nind — how to raise human 
iiy to such a union with the 
ropos 3S| without infringing 
nature, to raise its being and 
to the value, excellence, and 
of ihcanlhropic being and 
i thus (o exhibit in it the 
hrfect image of the infinite, 
pblcm was resolved by the 
ntion of the Theanthropos, 
le modiftrations of bread and 
human persons. This plan 
t imply an hypostatic union, 
ould do away with human 
jty, bat a union so strict, so 
rl so intimate, as merely to 
I of the hypostatic. For, in 
vf it, the Theanthropos, iho 
rje man, in his whole person, 
U of body, soul, and divinity, 
^Mled in human personali- 
^Hpct of eating, and his bo- 
Mws their bodies, his blood 
s in their blood, his soul in- 
OD and clings to their soul, 



his divinity purifies, sanctifies, enno- 
bles, exalts their whole being, and, 
like fooii, results in a transformation 
— a transformation not indeed of Ihe 
Theanthropos into the flesh and blood 
of the human person, as it happens with 
ordinary food, but a transformation 
of the human person into the body, 
blood, soul, and almost divinity of the 
Theanthroi>os. " Cresce et mandu- 
cabis me, nee tu mc mtitabis in tescd 
tu iTiuiaberis in me.*** The fathers 
have endeavored to express the ind- 
inacy of the union by adopting vari- 
ous similitudes. Some have likened 
it to a piece of glass when impreg- 
nated by the rays of the sun, and 
appearing like a smaller sun. IJthers 
have compared it to the action of 
fire upon iron, which, when heated 
and become red hot, looks exactly like 
fire, and could fulfil the funclioits of 
fire. St. Cyril of Alexandria has 
chosen the similitude of two distinct 
pieces of wax, which when melted 
and mingled together are so inti- 
mately united as to form one single 
jiiecc, defying every possible recogni- 
tion of their former separation. But 
all these similitudes, possible as they 
may be, can ne\-er express the mys- 
terious intimacy and closeness be- 
tween human personalities and the 
'Hieanthropos in die eucharistic ban- 
quet. 

Now, how does this resolve the 
problem ? Most perfectly. The in- 
finite intends to exhibit in human 
personalities an image, an expression 
of himself as pure and as perfect as 
possible — .III image of hii^ being and 
of his life or action in obedience to 
the end of the external action, al- 
Wiiys preser^'ing the conditions of 
human personalities. Now, what 
does the cosmos of personalities when 
united to the Tlieanthropos in the 
mystery of the Eucharist, when per- 

•St. AugvsllM. 



384 



Catholicity and Pantheism* 



vaded by him, when so closely and 
so intimately united to him as to feel 
his flesh come in contact with their 
flesh, his blood glowing in their 
blood, his heart beating against their 
hearts, his mind illumining and 
guiding their minds, his will capti- 
vating and mastering their will, his 
divinity ennobling and exalting their 
whole being and faculties — -I say, 
when the cosmos of personality is 
thus united totheTheanthropos, does 
it not represent most vividly the infi- 
nite being of God ? Does the infi- 
nite in looking at such a cosmos see 
anything but as it were one Thean- 
thropos filling and pervading all ? 

As to expressing the action of the 
life of the infinite, and thus raising 
the acts of a human person to the dig- 
ly and value of thcanthropic life, it will 
appear evident if we recollect that 
the life of the infinite establishes the 
eternal religion in the bosom of God 
which expresses itself in the mystery 
of the ever blessed Trinity. For the 
Father, in recognizing himself intellec- 
tually, and as it were theoretically, 
produces an intellectual image of 
himself, absolutely perfect in every 
sense. Both in recognizing themselves 
aspire a practical acknowledgment 
of themselves, the Holy Ghost, who 
completes tiie cycle of infinite life, 
and perfects the eternal religion. 

Now, this eternal religion are hu- 
man persons destined to express, to 
realize in themselves, that they may 
be a n»st perfect image in their ac- 
tion and life of the life of the infinite. 
This tlu'v could never do either na- 
turally or supcrnaturally. Naturally, 
because such acknowledgment re- 
quires an infinite intellect to appre- 
hend the infinite excellence and per- 
fection of God, and an infinite pow^r 
of appreciation to value, esteem, and 
love it practically. Now, naturally 
these faculties of human persons are 
simply finite. Kven the light of 



grace, which strengthens Ac t 
intelligence, and the supen 
force, which corroborates tht 
cannot do it, because in their 
also finite. It is, therefore, I 
nite intellect and will of the ' 
thropos which alone can app 
him intellectually and love 
he deserves. Now, the rayst 
the Eucharist enables huma 
sons to partake of this intellect 
volitive recognition of the infi 
their union with the Thcani 
When, after the solemn aad 
moment of feeding upon the fl 
blood of the Theanthropos, 
myself to adore God, to rent 
the homage of adoration w 
owe him as creature, then I z 
alone with my limited underst 
and will. It is with the inte 
the Theanthropos, which p 
and illumines my intellect, 
recognize theoretically his infir 
fections. When at the same r 
I turn to him to offer him the 
of my love, I cling to him th 
with the finite, limited, circu 
ed power of my natural or si 
tural will, but of a will un( 
guidance, the mastery, the 
sion, the infinite power of exj 
of the will of the Theanthrop 
der the immense weight of hi 
and when I yield my heart t 
berant joy and complacency 
infinite loveliness and bliss, ii 
the little vessel of a heart, 
can contain but a finite joy, 
heart under the pressure of 
jubilee, which gushes up frt 
heart of the Theanthropos ani 
tlows into my heart, and m 
swim in a joy and a deUght 
to those alone who have ta; 
Thus, with the Theanthropos 
bosom, per\-ading my mind, m 
my heart, my flesh, and c 
me toward him even as the 
groom draws his bride to hii 



Catltolidiy oud Pantheism 



3«5 



otiicr presses her offspring 
icr bosom in the intciisity 
ial lox'e, 1 know and 1 feel 

adoring God as pcrfecily 
la pcxson could possibly do, 
fiaiie personal act of my 

becomes intinilc bccaube 
liil) the iiitinite act of the 
»pos. 
the Eucharist is necessary, 

resolves the probleui, how 
c human persons to the 
fct image of God by iiicor- 
hc Tlicaiithropos in human 
nil] shying with itietn his 
\ and his acts. 
R-c have proved the neccs- 
; real presence, because, in 
Dcnd of the external action, 
36, not only in the natures 
onRiins, but in the person- 
,re<|uiied to Ije brought to 
t pu^iblc union and coni- 
n wit}i the infinite. 
II prove tiie same necessity 
j^Rirements of supernatu- 

Ipcmatural term conferred 
un persons, conisisling of a 
^ence engrafted on their 
^nce, and of linpcmatural 
fuust live, tiiat is, act and 

fe, in the highest metaphysi' 
itatioQ of the term, consists 
Hjoa — the cumniuning of a 
^Kn object. In lite in- 
^Hnmunication is active. 
^Jprinciple hves inasmuch 
pmtinicates his life to liis 

Kd both transfuse it into 
It as the fmitc cannot 
\ itself, it must com- 
I with as object in order to 
|c it to itself. K person 
to the sufiemalural moment 
trefore live, except by com- 
•ilh the objects proper to 
EDt Now, what is the pro- 
the supcmaturat fjcut- 
XIV.— J5 



tics of intelligence and of will ? For 
the intelligence, it is an actual appre- 
hension of the infmite and the fmite 
in all their relations, inasmuch ait 
they arc intelligible and inasmuch 
as the faculty is able to apprehend 
ihcni. i*"or the will, it is the infinite 
and the finite in all their relutiuns, in- 
asmuch as they arc lovable. Hence, 
tiie supernatural intelligence must 
apprehend and come in contact with 
the infinite, his nature, hi.s perfections, 
the mystery of his life and of his 
bliss, with the infinite, inasmuch as 
he acts oulbide himself, and, hence, 
with all the moments of his action 
an<l tlicir terms. *ihe same must be 
said of the supemaiural will. This 
communication must be real and 
effLctive. otherwise the life which 
would tlow from it would not be 
real, but fictitious and unsubstantial. 
But how to put the supernatural 
faculties of elevated persons in real, 
actual, substantial communication 
uilh the infinite and the finite in all 
their relations, so that the supernatu- 
ral teiTQ may live, be unfoldedj and 
transformed into them ? By the 
real sutntance, presence, ami com- 
munication of the Theanihropos, w ho 
in his single individuality realizes the 
infinite and the finite in all their re* 
lations to each other. By commun- 
ing actually and substantially with 
him, the essence of the supernatural 
moment comes in contact with the 
essence of the infinite, with his attri- 
butes, the eternal mystery of his life; 
it comes in contact witli all sul^stan- 
tial creation as abridged in the hu- 
man nature of Christ; it conies in 
contact with the supernatural term, as 
Clu-ist contains the fulness of it in 
his soul. Supernatural intelligence 
comes, therefore, in contact with all 
the objects which it is intended to 
appropriate, that it may expand, 
grow, and become perfect. The 
same happetu to the supernatural. 



386 



CaUtolicity and Panikeisuu 



will. Thus, in union with the Thean- 
thropos by the eucharistic presence, 
they come in communion with all 
the objects which are to bring them to 
perfection by a gradual development 
and transformation. 

Take the corporal presence of the 
Theanthropos away, and the super- 
natural faculties would only be in 
communication with the infinite, but 
not with the finite ; with God, but not 
with his cosmos ; because these fa- 
culties could never come in contact 
with the whole cosmos, except inas- 
much as it exists and lives in the 
Theanthropos. 

This argument introduces us to 
another. Every elevated person, to 
live fully and perfectly, must be in 
communication not only with the in- 
finite and the finite as to nature, but 
also as to personality. Every ele- 
vated person must commune in a 
real, living, actual, quickening man- 
ner with elevated persons in time and 
space. The perfection of unity of 
the cosmos claims this communing, 
as it is evident ; and the fulness of 
life of each particular person de- 
mands it, because life in its pleni- 
tude* results from communing with 
all its proper objects. 

Now, how to bring together all ele- 
vated persons living at a distance of 
time and space — some in the initial 
and germinal state, others in the state 
of completion and palingenesia ? We 
come into communion with things 
and ])ersnns distinct and separate 
from us by time, space, or individu- 
ality, by a ma/ium common to us 
and those things or jK'rsons we wisli 
to enter into communion with. Thus, 
I come into communication with per- 
sons at a certain distance from nie 
by the mediums of light and air. 
which are between me and them, and 
common to both. Suppose I was 

' Wcsp«Kk of initial plenitude. 



speaking, the air which ed 
tween nic and my hearers w 
the common naedium of comi 
tion. In articulating, I woul 
the air which surrounds me, 
strokes would be transmitb 
particle to particle in every ( 
until they would reach the 
my audience, and thus a com 
tion by speech would be est 
between us. If, therefore, 
vated persons must come in 
with each other, there must I 
thing which will bring the 
ther — a medium common i 
all — to make them commu 
each other. Now, this mc 
the real substantial presenci 
Theanthropos incorporating 
in all elevated persons. 1 c( 
with the Theanthropos, with 
nity and his humanity, with 
telligence, his will, his he 
body : I appropriate him to 
another communes likewi; 
the Theanthropos; and thus 
brought together, we come in 
we are united in the same lifi 
gence, will, heart, body; thus 
and live in one common ihea 
life. This is the foundatioi 
of that sublime, magnificen 
bling doctrine of Catholic 
commuuion of Jrt/fl/f^-comrau 
all i)ersons elevated to the su 
ral moment. Communion ! 
the medium which brings the 
ther ? It is the real, living, 
tial presence of the Theanthi 
corporated in them, and oi 
they have fed and shall feed 
nity* 

How beautifully, how divii 
this communication of the Th 



* U'e hold thkt «n elcTated penoa ( 
to ihc substance of the ThcftDthrop 
not ahvBYS actually uaited to hii bod 
thb sacramcatal union only lasts as 
species would naturally last, yet is < 
so united in a spiritual tbough not la 



Bf tons iu ihc shape of food 

i banquet! Men in all times 
I places, by a prophetic in- 
InplajiceU in them by the 
have recognised the ban- 
Ihc supreme aniJ the be^st ex- 
of union ami comraunicalion ; 
U ir:is to appropriate, to drink 
pc common source, from one 
I food. In tiie cuchariiyiic 
this is realized truly. Im.i- 
lnquetinfi;-hall as unbounded 
^ and a b^inquet as long as 
Ippoiic millions Upon nuHions 
jed persons entering the ban- 
bdU tu partake o( the same 
[it is nothing less thnn the 
|t blood of the Thcanthropos, 
|, but living and quiclccning, 
idwcLling of his soul and ilt- 
ider tlic appearance of the 
and most primitive elements 
tread and Mine. All pail;ike 
jpenetrates and fills them all. 
o( iheanthropie life runs 
their superualural being ; 
ematural intelligence grows 
ai the llashes of his infinite, 

illigeoce; their will expands 
embraces of infinite and 
dincss; llieir hearts swell 
ues under the pressure of 
t of Jesus ; their affections 
kcd, cleansed, ennobled, di- 
nt ihc contact of ihe afil'ec- 
c&us; their very flesh isspiri- 
at the touch of his (le>h ; 
germ of tmmortaltty is sown 
bud and blossom in the 
nc. They live ; not they, it is 
nihropos who lives in iheni. 
1 wonder is it, then^ that their 
:otii'ng incontactin him, their 
itcs meeting in him, their 
loniiing in him, their hearts 
lOgcihcr m him, their emo- 
ingting in him, tiieir flesh 
in him and through him — 
■nclcr, ! »ay, is it, then, that 




CiUholkity and PitutJinsm, 



they should communicate with each 
other, and that their virtues and 
their very merits should become com- 
mon ? Those who have never real- 
ized such a doctrine may often have 
marvelled, on hearing a Cathalic 
speaking of those who have |>asse(l 
from the initial and germinal state 
to the slate of palingencsia, as if they 
were prvscnt to him, as if he were 
aetunily holding sweet converse with 
them. This doctrine explains it all. 
.•\ Catliulic feels truly that the life 
of die apostles and evangelists glows 
in his bosom, that the blood of mai- 
tyrs runs in his very blood and en- 
nobles it, that the guileless simplicity 
and innocent loveliness of the virgins 
l>eams on his countenance, that tlic 
virtues of all the saints are transfus- 
ed inio hmi ; because at the eucha- 
risiic banquet he can meet them liv- 
ing in the eternal mediator of all 
things, the Tlicanthropos, and in him 
and through him he mingles with 
them, associates with them, comes 
into the closest possible communi- 
cation with them. Utopians have 
dreamt of a universal society, in 
which everything woulil be common. 
It is the eucharistic doctrine of the 
substantial prtrsencc of the Thean- 
thropos which alone realizes this uni- 
versal, sublime, ennobling society of 
all elevated spirits in one common 
medium, and having everything 
common in the only mediator, Jesus 
Christ, iu all lime and space.* 



• We have xirca ihe real prtwncc. aatl ilia 
ijoiiimunion nl i)ie fl«li anilliloMlaf J««ucChri^ 
04 tlic raiiDiIall'>ii of tbe cvititnudlun of lalnl*. 
Tu this ii)<tbt be objected that all the suntaof 
Wtc Old Tetiament. and many el«raicd pcraooi^ 
fcurh a<i ctindren tHinx irtcr hap:i»ni. and Krawn I 
pecHona wb's tirvcr could C'lniinunii'itc. nevc' 
wrtd uoitcd to the Tlv«a[illir"[io« in the Eiiclia- 
risl, ami c^inKquvntlv would lie eirludcil irnm 
tho communion <.<t »lnLi. WcBii\wer. 6i«l, llial 
we have only nude tba real prencnce furtly the 
fnunilatlon ot llie rommnnlnn n( aiintx. Second. 
wc ipcak of llio [leffet \ Vate of (he cowmo*, und 
co[iK>tucnlly not of Ok iiiipcrfrct and laclplcnt 
sute; net) as wai ttio aute ot eleratwl p«noiw 



388 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



Wc feci that withal the argu- 
ments we have brought forward in 
vindicating the beautiful and sublime 
dogma of the real presence of the 
Theanthropos in his cosmos will have 
no effect on some minds, unless we 
remove the metaphysical difficulties 
which are raised against it, and show 
consequently its possibility. There- 
fore, we willingly hasten to the task. 
And as these objections are very po- 
pular, we shall put them in the popu- 
lar form of a dialogue. The dialogue 
is between W, and D., the first a 
Protestant, and the other a Catholic. 

W. I shall begin by a very strong 
objection. I cannot conceive the 
possibility of the body of a full- 
grown man being within the small 
portion of space filled by a wafer. 
Christ was a full-grown man. He is 
so now. How, then, can he reside 
or be contained in such a small par- 
ticle of space as the host ? 

D. You will be kind enough to 
observe what the Catholic Church 
teaches, that it is the substance of the 
body and blood of Christ, which is 
under the modifications of bread and 
wine. 

\V. Suppose it is ; what difference 
does that make ? 

D. All the difference in the world. 
Pray, what is a substance ? 

W. It is that part of a being 
which remains immutable amid all 
the vicissitudes and changes of the 
being. These changes or vicissitudes 
are called accidents or modifications; 
that which remains always the same 
and immutable is called substance. 

D. Right; and, pray, has substance 



in the Old TesUment, who were united to ("hrtst 
by fmith ftnd rharity. As to chililrcn and (truwn- 
up persona who never communicated, wc an- 
twcr that we are giving the [rcneral law, and 
not accidental cases. The foundation, therefore, 
of the communion of saints is the union with 
Christ, Teal and actual, of the supernatural facul- 
ties. The perfection of the communion of saints 
U the real presence uid incorpontion. 



any dimensions, has it leagtb,l)r 
height, or depth, or is it what 
sophers call a simple being? 

W, It must have no dime 
because dimensions may chanj 
vary, and the substance must 
ways the same. 

D, Then substance is a sim 
ing, that is, it has neither 
depth, length, or breadth. 

W. So it would seem, am 
I recollect aright, all the met 
cians worth the name hold it i 

D. Right again ; and, if j 
member, Leibnitz calls it a mt 
a unit, and distinguishes tw( 
of substances, the simple a 
composite. The simple is oi 
stance; the composite is an 
gate of simple substances oi 
Thus, bodies are an aggregate 
stances or units. 

W. Well, suppose that bo 
to substance are an aggregate 
pie units, what of that ? 

D. Why, then your objec 
answered. 

W. How? 

D, Did we not say that t 
tholic Church teaches that it 
substance of the body and bli 
Christ, which is under the mi 
tions of bread and wine ? 1 
not agree upon the theory th 
stance has no dimensions ? 1 
not admit that a body is an 
gate of simple units, as to sut 
and that consequently in that 
it has no dimensions ? Then 
tcrs not how large or how sm. 
may imagine the wafer to be, 
not make the least difference; 
that our Lord's body in tb 
Eucharist is there in its subst; 
as an aggregate of simple UR 
consequently has no dlmensia 
occupies no space whatever 
remark, that what happens 
particular case happens in evi 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



389 



under tlic class of bodies, 
lance or the number of sim- 
% forming a body occupies no 
|rhatevcr. and is whole and 

rdcr each and every modifi- 
What is particular lo tlie 
\kX is that the substance of the 

F Christ lies not under its 
under foreign modifications, 
^st you see no dillicully in 

pot much ; the main dif!i- 

space being rcmo^ei?, I can 

conceive that God cuuld 

.use a sub.^tance to appear 

reign modifications ; fur I 

intradiction lo any csseiUiid 

^ of a substance in appearing 

be garb of the mod iti cations 

Icr. IJut what I cannot con- 

:this: if we admit composite 

to be an aggregate of 

is, of beings having no 

iDft or parts, how do you 

[for the phenomenon of ex- 

A moaas, or unitjs like a 

ical point, that is, a cipher 

;anl to extension; multiply, 

E, the units as much as you 

the result will always be 

r with reference to space. 

Icn, do you explain the phc- 

B of extension ? 

It of all, you will be kind 

[Q understand that it is not 

loHc Church who is bound 

the phenomenon of exien- 

is the mctafihysidans who 

theory, though it is the only 

It is enough for the church 

our l>est and most ujiiversal 

that a body is an aggrc- 

imts devoid of extension. I 

lltat my dogma agrees per- 

;h your iheor)*. But it may 

to mention the cxplanaliuu 

;C metaphysicians just men- 

ivc to the objection. They 

extension, as it fnlls under 



the senses and the imagination, is not 
real, but phenomenal, and that the 
real objective extension is nothing 
more than the constant relation of all 
the units of a nature to produce in a 
sensitive being the phenomenon of 
the representation of space.* 

U\ But the greatest difficulty re- 
mains yet. Nobody can be iu differ- 
ent places at the same time. You 
hold that the body of Christ is in as 
many places as there are hosts in the 
universe. This would estabiisli tUe 
astounding phenomenon of a body 
in millions of diH'eretit places at the 
same lime. This is certainly absurd, 
and I conceive that you wi'l find 
much more trouble in ex]j|:ilning 
away this difficulty than you did the 
first. 

D. I must beg leave to call your 
attention again to Ihe fact that the 
Catholic Church teaches dial it is 
the substance of the body of Christ 
which is in different places ai the 
same time. 

W. Oh ! you are there again with 
your substance I I must own you 
have .in ingenious way about you, 
and, if you succeed in making me see 
how tbis circumstance removes the 
objection, as •\\. did the first, I give it 
up. 

• We hare flreo tie« tho theory of iHc b«rt 
ofnioOern pliIlosophefR. Itui any use >c<iuaiiil- 
ed with itic Kbolaitio wiU %\ inii-c i>cr*;cn-« lh»l 
llieir theory ustcci iicrfctily wiih tlic «boYe, 
Tticrunitamcnial )dci.<i[ ilic icIiDla-Hics in rtrfw 
eiHx* li> mailer U that it \s xomethins ahsoluuly 
InitctetininKie, >»btch Ihey eiprc<* l>y saytnic 
lliat tl h iicitlici qunntltv nor qualrty. etc . anil 
tlutllt txcorrm tictenaindtc by the form, whiili 
lb fiumethinii altojietber unique and devoid i>l 
dimciiKioii. Milter they fompare 10 potent)- 
klity, sonicthiri; only |>os*Jlilc, ibe rorm to the 
act or nctuality. ^*"c 8ut>j<>ln a few exUacit 
from St, Ttioma*: 

" Maleiia prima alicino modo ett quia c« In 
potenUa. Sicul Oiroc qund ett in pfiterilia po- 
test AtcK mAletia ita oiDac a quo tiatwi klltiuiil 
et^c potcal did turitia. Forma dai esse ma- 
teria:." 

n ift clear, ihctcfore. that. »ccor*Tine to the 
tchnlatiic tlieory. what ffivcs beinK lo iiMitcr 
1( ilic Tann, wmelhldK aliagathorsiail'leanil un- 
cxiCDkled. 



390 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



D. But it does remove it. And 

let me tell you that you Protestants, 
in fighting against the dogmas of the 
Catholic Church, commit two very 
serious faults : First, you do not 
provide yourselves with philosophy 
enough to cope with her. Secondly, 
you do not sound the depth of her 
statement. Then it generally hap- 
pens that, when you think you are 
proposing your strongest objections, 
and you are very sure you have her 
in a comer, you are merely combating 
a phantom of your own imagination. 
Now, let us see if the substance of 
the body of Christ can be in differ- 
ent places at the same time. To do 
this, we must examine the other 
question, How can a simple being re- 
side in space ? Metaphysicians teach 
that a body may reside in space in 
two ways, according as it is consider- 
ed either in its phenomenal represen- 
tation or in its real objective nature 
and substance. In its phenomenal 
representation, a body resides in space 
by contact of extension ; in its real 
objective nature and substance, by 
acting upon it. 1 lay my hand flat 
upon the surface of a table, and 
suppose I consider both my hand 
and the table in their phenomenal 
extension. Under this respect, all 
the points and parts which form the 
phenomenal extension of my hand 
come in contact with all the respec- 
tive parts of the table which my 
hand is able to cover.* Under this 
respect, a body naturally cannot be in 
different places at the same time 
without a contradiction, because the 
supposition would imply that the 
parts of my hand which are in con- 
tact with the respective parts of the 
table are also in contact with parts 
of other bodies at any given distance. 

* "Corporalik sunt In loco per contactum 
quantitis."— 5/. Tkoma*. 



But if we consider a bod; 
its phenomenal extension, b 
real objective nature and si 
the case is different ; becaus 
have seen, the body as to 
stance is simple and une 
and therefore, as such, it ca 
side in space by contact of e; 
inasmuch as its parts touch 
nomenal parts of space ; fo 
no parts which may touch, 
it follows that it resides in 
every other simple being, th 
acting upon it.* In thiscas- 
in its substance and objectivt 
does not r^ide in space ex 
its action upon it. 

Now, naturally, a body ir 
jective nature and substance 
ed in its action to a certain 
space, and cannot extend it 
beyond it. But there is no 
contradiction in supposing 
body may be endowed by ihi 
with the power and energ) 
upon any indeterminate am 
space at the same time. 

Now, with regard to the 
our Lord, we have seen tha 
the holy Eucharist in its ( 
state, and consequently is the 
real action. The miracle in 
is, that the infinite power of t 
to which it is hypostaticall; 
intensifies its natural sphere < 
upon space, and makes it e> 
thousands of places at the sai 
To conclude : The question, 
body of Christ be in differen 
at the same time ? resolves it 
this other : Can the substanc 
body of Christ act really ai 
in different places at the sam 
Who could give a reason wo 
thing to show that it cannot 
could prove any contradictio. 

* '^Incorporalla non sunt in loco p 
turn quantitis sed per conUctun. virtx 



FA/ Liiptefaelion of t/if Biood of St. JaJtuarius. 391 



I ? There woiiM be a con- 
in saying that the phe- 
dimensions of the Ixuly of 
It the same time that tliey 
te dimensions of one deii- 
ZJC, touch also the dirocn* 
nambcrlcss oihcr spaces. 
no contradiction in say* 



ing that the subsiancc of tlic body 
of Christ can act by virtue of the 
Word, to whom it is united, in num- 
berless places at one and the same 
instant. 

The completion of the theory of 
the cosmos in time and space will be 
given in the next article. 



LIQUEFACTION OF THK BLOOD OF ST. JANUARIUS. 



NO. IV. 



the very full and detailed 
n of the facts of the liquc- 
as millions have seen them 
last — as tens of thousands 
d do still, see them each 
t question forces itself on 
Is a miracle, as the Neapoli- 
evc, and as many earnest 
cat examiners from other 
re been led to hold, after a 
id candid investigation into 

of the case ? Is it a siis- 
of the ordinary laws of na- 

an inter\'eniion of the su- 
t] power of the Most High, 
g an effect above and be- 

ordinary course of nature ? 

liquefaction a phenomenon 
rithin the sphere of natural 
her the result of some law, 
nation of laws, producing 
I; or i& it the result of thc 
kiU of men ? One of these 
Fkusi be : cilher the spontan- 
tt of some natural laus, or 
rial result of human trickery, 



or a miracle. The decision must de- 
pend on the character of the facts. 

The Neapolitans, and, with them, 
Catholic writers generally, hold it to 
be a miracle. On the other hand, 
such a visible substantiation of the 
claims made by the Catholic Church 
that miracles do continue in her fold, 
as the Saviour promised, and ore the 
seal and confirmation of her divine 
authority, has nut failed to arouse 
the opposition of those who deny 
that authority. 

In meeting the argument, or the 
facts of the case, I hey have not 
always followed the same line. Two 
or three centuries ago, they contend- 
ed that the liquefaction was a lymg 
wonder produced by witchcraft or 
magic, or by the power of Beelzebub. 
A little later, natural philosophy was 
appealed to. This liqut-factioH of 
the blood, when the vial was brought 
near to the head, arose, they said, 
from a law of sympathy in nature, 
akin to if not merely a peculiar form 



392 The Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius, 



of that law which causes blood to 
flow from the wounds of a corpse if 
the real murderer lay his hand on 
the dead body. 

These replies, or attempts at a na- 
tural solution, are antiquated. We 
need not seriously consider them. 

In the last century, the objectors 
took a very different ground. The 
whole thing, they said, was a device of 
the priests. Some called it a " trick 
of long standing and great ingenui- 
ty " ; others stigmatized it as " one 
of the most bungling tricks ever seen." 

This style of objection still holds its 
own. 

During the present century, another 
style of objection has come into 
vogue, based on the ever-increasing 
spirit of rationalism. The laws of 
nature, we are told, are invariable 
and supreme. No violations of them 
are possible. All miracles — in the 
sense of occurrences above and be- 
yond those laws of nature, occasional 
interruptions in the grand scheme of 
universal order, law, and causation — 
are to be at once rejected. *' The 
idea of M<r/r possibility can only occur 
to those who have failed to grasp the 
great inductive principle of invariable 
unifonnity and law in nature." " It 
is hardly a question of evidence. 
The generality of mankind habitually 
assume antecedently that miracles 
are now inadmissible ; and hence, 
that, in any reported case, they must 
in some manner be explained away. 
. . . . Of old, the sceptic pro- 
fessed he would be convinced by 
seeing a miracle. At the present 
day, a visible miracle would be the 
very subject of his scepticism. It is 
not the attestation, but the nature of 
the alleged miracle, which is now the 
l)oint in question. It is not the falli- 
bility of human testimony, but the 
infallibility of natural order, which is 
now the ground of argument." (Rev. 
Baden Powell, Order of Nature) 



We have not the space to 
this theory at length, and ? 
that it is at bottom anti-cbris 
pantheistic, contrary to the £ 
principles of true philosoph 
is it necessary for our purpo! 
so. All the philosophical 
tions in the world will not pr 
man having eyes that, becau 
laws of nature are imniutal 
miracles are therefore imp 
the blood which stands in 
puila was liquid when taker 
is solid at the conclusion. 
that it was hard, and sees tl 
now fluid. He will laugh 
philosoi)her and believe h 
eyes. 

Neither is it necessary to 
at length the opinion accc 
blindly by Protestants, that 
of miracles has long since p 
that miracles have entirely 
since the days of the apost 
God can work miracles, wh 
can limit him in the exercise 
power, either in time or place 
did not the Saviour promise 
tinuance of signs among th« 
believe — a continuance to w 
put no limitation ? 

The assertion that the ( 
Cliurch is erroneous, and tha 
quently there can be no mil 
her fold, is more than akin 
words of the Pharisees to tl 
man, whom our Lord had 
to sight : " Give glory to G 
kiwiv that this man is a sinner. 
appropriate answer was: "/i^ 
sinner^ I know not : one thing 
that whereas I was blind, noi 
(John ix. 24, 25). 

We therefore leave the gene 
jcct of miracles to be tres 
others ; and we confine ours 
the fact of the liquefaction, 
as in every other case of 
miracles, the decision depend 
ly on the character of the te 



Tie Li^uf/action of the Bhai of St. yanuarius. 393 



he iuituf« of ihe facts which 
mony establishes. 
alimony in this case is o\'cr- 
; iiiniiiuuiit and iininipeacli- 
harartcr. The liqitcljp^tion 
narked features and ilel^ils 
rly established, Wc have 
^ek its cause. 

uc 10 the regular action of 
raJ laws which, under the 
:uuistances. produce the li- 
1, inflct»endenily of any sjie- 
*i men designed to Lnring it 

How docs a solid body 
pa$s into a fluid condition ? 

body may become fluid by 
;nctf. Certain substances 
water fkoni the atmosphere 
icm to such an extent as to 
Itrid. I'hcy arc said to de- 

I ti epic faction a ddiqucs* 
Most assuredly not. 
I Bubstanoe H'tliin the am- 
I^Mluraicd bluod — so far 
^■ui judge of it, through 
ffr the amputla and the 
B of the Tclif|uary. bears no 
KC to any of ihe substances 
\ known to deliquesce. 
process of dcliqitcsccncc is 

Rand is not to be mis- 
' gradual ; and the ex- 
lleliquescing subsinnce, 
immediate contact wiih the 
,nng atmosphere, is always 
first to the liquefying 
ic water. On the con- 
ction is often instan- 
Co/fH' ii'occhio ; in un 
!ual and not in- 
i, 1 iicesare raark- 

upjMTT ]>ortitm will become 
liquid while the lower por- 
tns still hard ; or the lower 
III liquefy while the upper 
li»mfi iKi hardness ; or, again, 
twcr portions may 
.'. while the middle 
fccomcs fluid ; or the middle 




portion will continue hard and solid 
while they become perfectly liquid: 
sumctiracs, the outer surface next to 
the glass sides of the ampulla will be 
seen to soften and lit|uefy first — in 
this case following the course of a 
deliquescence; sometimes precisely 
the reverse occurs — llie ccniml por- 
tion U seen to become liquid while 
the exterior remains hard and uii- 
liquefieJ. When we add that occa- 
sionally one sitlc or lateral half liqiie* 
fies while the other preserves its 
hanlncss, and also that, while fre- 
quently the entire mass becomes li- 
quid, yet. on many occasions, a cer- 
tain portion remains hard for hours 
.ind days and thenliqueiies — perhaps 
gradually, perhaps only after the en- 
lire mass h.os become hardened again 
— it will be seen ttiat this liquefaction 
presents every posablc mode and 
shade of dinTerence 10 distinguish it 
from the single mode of deliques- 
cence. 

The difficulty becomes greater if we 
consider the obstacles to a freer com- 
munication between the outer atmo- 
sphere and the substance wiihin the 
ampulla. The ampulla is a tightly- 
closed glass vessel, and is itself held 
within the reliquary, another lightly- 
closed vessel of metal and glass. 
This twofold barrier must forbid any 
ready and rapid passage of atmo- 
spheric water from the air to the sub- 
stance within ihe ampulla. 

Again, no connection whatever 
c.tn be discovered between the super- 
abundant moisture or the dr)'ness of 
the atmosphere at Naples and the 
o<xurrence or noo- occurrence of the 
lifjuefaction. We may t.-*ke a series 
of twenty days, which the diary 
marks as very rainy, or occurring in 
a long-continued rainy season; and 
a scries of twenty others, when the 
weather was dry — so dry, they were 
praying for rain. It will be seen that 
the phases of the liquefactions for 



394 ^'^ Liquefaction of the Blood of Sf, yanuarims. 



each series are so alike that they 
might be interchanged. The general 
hygrometric condition of the atmo- 
sphere evidently has no perceptible 
influence for or against or on the 
liquefactions. 

Nay, more, it frequently happens 
that the blood, after liquefying, grows 
solid again on the same day, and 
then liquifies, perhaps solidifies anew, 
and liquefies a third time. All these 
changes have sometimes taken place 
within one hour. Now, did the at- 
mosphere, during that hour or during 
that day, pass through corresponding 
extreme changes of its hygrometric 
condition ? Ordinary men did not 
feel ihem. Meteorological observers 
have not noticed them. Registering 
instruments do not record them. 
And yet, the habit of watching their 
neighboring and often threatening 
volcano has made the people of Na- 
ples as observant of such changes as 
sailors at sea, and has given to that 
city one of the ablest schools of me- 
teorology on the Continent. 

We may well conclude, therefore, 
that the liquefaction of the blood of 
St. Januarius is not the deliquescence 
of a solid body, arising from humidi- 
ty of the air to which it is exposed. 

Is it the melting of a solid sub- 
stance through the action of heat ? 

This is a more important question. 
Many of those who charge bad faith 
and trickcrj- on the " priests and 
monks " officiating at the exi>05itions, 
maintain that it is by an adroit appli- 
cation of heat that the liquefaction is 
brought about. Others, who admit 
the sincerity and good faith of the 
Neapolitan clergy— which, knowing 
the men, they feel cannot be im- 
]>ugned — still attribute the liquefaction 
to the heat of the altar, all ablaze 
with lighted tapers, and of the crowd 
thronging the chapel, and packed 
most closely just in the sanctuary 
itself and around the altar. 



We undertake to show th; 
liquefaction is in no way pre 
by or dependent on heat 

I. Often, when the crowd is 
est, iSid the heat most intens 
in September — the liquefactior 
layed for hours ; perhaps do 
occur at all, or only a portior 
fies, while another portion r 
solid. 

II. On the contrary, it has 
red quickly and for the entin 
even though the crowd was ( 
ratively small. This is esj: 
seen in the extraordinary expo 
even in winter, when not a s( 
persons were present. 

III. It has taken place in th 
air, while the reliquar)*, plac" 
right in an open framework, ar 
aloft above the heads of tlie ] 
was borne in procession throu 
streets; and this in the winter i 
of December and January, : 
as on the vigils at the beginn 
May. 

IV". It has occurred on davs 
siiow covered the streets, or th 
was so excessive as to cause tl^ 
a! procession through the str 
be dispensed with. As the ch 
in Naples are not heated, th 
perature within the cathedra 
have been very low, probab 
above 45" Fahrenheit. 

V. This very question ha; 
submitted to scientific in%'esti, 
The professors of the Royal I 
sity of Naples, headed by Dr. 
ias Fer^la^ the most eminent 
cist of the faculty, instituted a 
ber of interesting observations, 
Dr. Fergola published. We 
from his work a table giving I 
tual temperature in a numbei 
stances, as shown by a standar 
mometer which they stationed 
altar in close proximity to U 
quary at the time of the fii 
tion : 



The Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius. 395 

TA ULE. 
Rations for TSMrKRATt'RE AM> TIMK AXD CtlAKAcrtK or the LlQl<LI-'ACTtON 

HE Hi.(K)p OI-- St. JA^UA■IL's, maue by thk Professors ok the Royal 

MSITV. NaI'LES. 



•u: «. 



teopMttitre. A»4r,.- C, Dumtwraf mlnntes wblch elap«e<l ffooi Ihecomtnencc- 
^Uaralkaoa tbcjiUmr, uolll the llqitefactiiHi of tut blood; D, cbancur oi 



A. 


a 


»7* 


D. 




8o* 


FcoDi baril lo perfeciljr liquid. 
" " litiuid. 




So 


21 




80 


ig 


It «t *t It 




79 


24 


•> It II a 


33 


77 


25 




XI 


75 


s 


II (1 ir II 




80 


10 


II •< « tl 


26 


77 


s 


X ••»<<■ 


Mav. 3 


76 


13 


" " " «emi-Iiquid. 


3 


76 


3 


" " " perfectly liquid. 


4 


77 


41 


" " " liquid.* 




Bo 


22 


« <t If ■■ V 




75 


12 


t* t* 11 •! • 




76 


n 


• 1 ti 11 II • 




77 


2<J 


11 M •• n # 




80 


3J 






67 


15 


» .. 1. M « 




74 


25 


" ** " '* with fli'kaiing lump. 




78 


26 


" " " perfectly liquid. 




Si 


27 


t. 11 It II •! 




7S 


25 


II It If (1 II 


33 


80 


34 


•• H <■ M ■■ 




81 


33 


■ 1 It •• •( I) 


as 


78 


IS 


" " •' " " 


36 , , 


74 


3 


•1 <• •• I, ■■ 


e six days in May, marked • 


nutes or delay were counted. Thrice 


uary was pl.irud on its sum 


it was 76°; and the limes were 2 


altnr about mid-day, for thi 


: minutes, 12 minutes, and 29 minutes. 


n interinis!>ions. A silk vci 


Four times it was 77** ; the liquefac- 


twa over it : and it was lef 


t lion occurred after a lipse of 5. 2<;, 


bed wniil after 3 i-.m. A 


I 29, and 41 minutes, rcKjiec lively. 


or, the biood was found hart 


Five times the thermometer srooj 


^ ; and subsequently it lique 


at 78" ; and the times of liclay in the 


in, during the 


altemi: 


)on ser 


several rases were 5, 18, 2.4. 25. and 



I foregoing very important ta- 
caks for itself. Once the tcm- 
re stood at 67^, and the Hque- 
I took place in 15 minutes, ul- 
"|thc day before, with the ther- 
r Handing at 80^, it had been 
fmOR! than twice that time, 
hennomctermarked 74*; 
tion was delayed in one 
pOTly 3 minuics; in Ihe other, 
iinuic5. Once the tcmpcra- 
75*. In that case 12 mi- 



z6 niinutcs. Seven timc^ it stood at 
So* ; and the delays were respective- 
ly 10, 19, 21, 22, 24, 27, and 33 
uiinuics. The highest point obscrxied 
at the time of the liquefaction was 
81". It was reached twice. Here 
again the limes differed. On one 
occasion the liquefaction \vas delayed 
27 minutes; on the other, 32 mi- 
nutes. 

In view of these varied results from 
so many careful testii, the conmiission 
of professors could only report, as 



39^ 



The Liquefaction of the Blood of St. jfanuariaiSi 



they did, and as Dr. Fergola main- 
tains in his essay, that the liquefac- 
tion of the blood of St. Januarius 
evidently does not depend on the 
degree of heat to which it is subject- 
ed during the expositions. 

VI. The same conclusion may also 
be reached by a single consideration. 
When a solid substance is liquefied 
or melted by heat, it will continue 
liquid if the heat is kept at the same 
temperature or rises. It will resume 
its solid condition only when the 
temperature falls below that degree 
which is the melting point of the 
substance. 

Now, in those summer days which 
we have spoken of — such as the six 
days of May, 1795, marked in the 
table of Fergola— days on which the 
Neapolitans seek the repose of a 
siesta — the hottest hours are from 
12 M. to 3 P.M.. During these hours, 
the temperature is naturally higher 
than it was at 9.30 or 10 a.m., or is 
afterward at 4 p.m., or later. Yet 
the blood, wliich liquefied at 9.30 or 
10 A.M., aunost invariably becomes 
solid again during these hottest hours, 
if the reliquary be placed on the 
altar and a silk veil thrown over it, 
and it liquefies again during the after- 
noon exposition, although the heat 
of the day is then sensibly diminish- 
ing. 

The more accurately and carefully 
the facts of the liquefaction are stu- 
died, the more clearly do we see 
that it does not depend on tempera- 
ture, general or local. It is not pro- 
duced by the action of heat. 

Tliis exclusion of tlic agency of 
heat has " considerably exercised " 
some of the opponents of the lique- 
faction of the blood of St. Januarius. 
Confident that all miracles arc, now 
at least, inadmissible, and that this 
and every other alleged miracle is 
susceptible of a natural explanation, 
if we only knew it, they eagerly 



catch at any, even the most 
ed and improbable theories, 
them forward wiih equal in 
ateness and confidence. 

We have heard it said : < 
pies is an exceptional, vole 
trict. There may exist th< 
occult or obscure volcanic 
which suffices to produce t 
faction ; who can tell what 
results may come from a con 
of all the volcanic agenciei 
work in that vicinity ? 

Is Naples the only vole 
trict in the world ? Does a 
volcanic district present anyt 
this liquefaction, or calcu' 
throw light on it ? Even in 
is there another similar e 
And has not this liquefact 
tinned regularly, even when 
was quiescent for a long 
years. Previous to Decemb 
the volcano had slumbered i 
tranquillity for nearly two < 
A French traveller tells of t1 
of cattle he saw browsing w 
very crater itself, then a va 
valley sunk in the plateau 
the top of the mountain, 
this while the liquefactions c 
as they had done before, an( 
have done ever since, in 01 
sons of quiet, and in seasons 
volcanic eruption. 

And then, we ask, what o 
or indication is there giving 1 
of this natural influence or la 
what sort of a natural lav 
which acts only on one sii 
of blood, and has not actec 
tiiousp.nds of others in the sa 
ditions. 

Again, it has been urged, 
the same strain, that our kn 
of the laws of nature is still 
jjcrfect. Many laws are asy 
covered. Every year is ma 
some advance in 'our knowl 
them. It by no means folk 



Liqutfaction of the Blood qj Si. Jamtarius. 397 



DO is mtraculotis, mere- 
as yet we arc unable to 
ic precise bw or laws of na- 
ph govern it. Perhaps, some 
p will discover ihem. Then 
be plain. Until then, Uiey 

philosophy requires us to 
refully and accurately the 
]lhc case, and to wait for 
iplanaiion or solution of 
lie future. 

always well to take note 
pts, ajid to nuke our thco- 
jdinate to those facts. What 
lluU with our opponents for, 
^stion, is that they do pre- 
l re\-erse: they fix a theory 
liuds, and if the facts of the 
not agree witli thcii thco- 
Duch the worse for the 



BRF o 



on the laws of nature. 
(' there may be many of 
t have now no knowledge, 
^w may hereafter iliscov- 
^^fao know some. I'hcsc 
^^ilennenied^they cannnt 
kdicted or reversed by any 
jjiftcr to be discovered. The 
k conclusions bxsed on the 
mowledgc which wc have, 
[to be impugned or held 
ItUtil we discover other 
\t do know, for example, 
b a man's heatl is severed 
\ body, he dies. All the 
tad unknown laws of nature 
Uke him ^\ii again. 
not do to base an argument 

rtgraph on the invariable 
of law and order In na- 
in the next, to luaintain 
le as yet all at sea about 

the ivell-knnwn and un- 

aws i)f nature by which 

guided in our argument, 

|1 which have a close con- 

tlh the iubjcct before us. 

:o thcni. 



I. We know that solid bodies be- 
come liquid by increase of tempera- 
ture ; for each hotly, there is a cer- 
tain meliing-paint. Above that, the 
solid body becomes liquid; below that, 
it reiii;uns solid, or returns to solidity, 

U. The same liquid, at the same 
temperature, has the same volume.or 
occupies the same space. It is on 
this law that our thennomcters are 
constructed. 

These two laws arc known and 
established beyond doubt, if anyfhing 
is known or established bcyoml 
doubt in physical science. I.el us 
consider them in reference to the sub- 
stance which is seen to liquefy in the 
vial or ampulla in the reli(|uary. 

I. This substance has no fixed 
melting-point. Looking at Fergola's 
table, we see that it liquefied one 
day at 67" iu 15 minutes, while the 
day before, at So**, it liquefied only 
i^ J3 rninutes. One day at 76" 
it licjucfied pericctly in 2 minutes, 
and ihe next day at 77" it occupied 
A,\ minutes. It has liquefied in the 
month of January, during a proces- 
sion in the public street, while it was 
borne aloft on a stand, and freely 
exposed to the general tem|>erature 
— then probably between 50' and 
60°, if not lower. At other times, in 
midsummer, with a temperature over 
So**, it has remained sohfl and unti- 
quefied for hour^ and for days. Nay, 
, after having beconieliquid, it frequent- 
ly solidifies again, just at the hours 
between 12 \\. to 3 r.M., when llie 
heat of the day reaches its maxinnira. 
It is clear that this liquefaction com- 
pletely sets aside the first-mentioned 
law of the melting-point. 

n. The law of volume is set aside 
with equal peremptoriness. As you 
look at the liquid in the vial, you 
see that it changes in volume, either 
increasing ordecrea.sing. Sometimes 
the liquid occupies only about three- 
fourths of the space within the vial. Be- 



398 Tke Liquefaction of tfie Blood of St, yanuarius. 



' fore your eyes, it will increase, some- 
times with froth, sometimes even bub- 
bling more or less violently, sometimes 
retaining a perfectly tranquil and level 
surface; sometimes rising very slow- 
ly, sometimes rapidly ; and it may 
continue to rise until it fills the vial. 
Or again, if the vial be full, or near- 
ly full, the liquid within it will sink, 
either suddenly or gradually, hour 
by hour, with or without froth or 
bubbling, until it occupies perhaps 
three-fourths of the space. These 
changes take place in summer and 
in winter indifferently. They are 
entirely independent of the tempera- 
ture. They evidently set aside the 
second law we have recited regard- 
ing volume. 

III. A third law of nature is, that 
her steps are forward and not back- 
ward. A movement once made is 
never revoked. Chemical changes are 
progressive, and, so long as the in- 
gredients and agents remain the 
same, they never go back to repeat a 
combination which has once been 
made and then changed for another. 

Yet continual repetitions of the 
same forms, combinations, or condi- 
tions of the substance within the am- 
pulla are a special characteristic of 
the liquefactions. 

We will produce, hereafter, in a 
fitting place, evidence that for cen- 
turies the ampulla has not been open- 
ed, and consequently that its con- 
tents have not been changed. Nev- 
ertheless, the alternate hardenings 
and liquefactions, the variations of 
color, the frothing, and the ebulli- 
tions, and the increases and decreases 
of volume, have continued to suc- 
ceed each other, and to be repeated 
hundreds, some of them thousands, 
of times. 

Nay, leaving aside for tiie moment 
these longer periods, and confining 
our examination to the ten or twelve 
hours of a single day, during which 



the ampulla is all the while 
the public gaze, and any inted 
of chemical art with the cont 
absolutely impossible, we sti 
these repetitions of the same i 
combination. The blood wa 
when first taken out, it lie 
stood liquid for an hour o 
solidified again, and again lie 
Perhaps it solidified a third tir 
a third time liquefied. It con 
ed to froth, and it ceased, thei 
raenced again, and again cea 
changed color, and again n 
to the prestine tint. It chan 
bulk, either increasing or dea 
and again returned to its 
level. 

This reiteration of some o 
of these changes, in a sing 
while the ingredients in the a 
are evidently neither ad<led 
diminished, is contrary to the 
of nature. The opposition i 
the same in character, but 
fested in vaster proportions 
evidence compels us to 
that the substance in the a 
has not been changed or n 
with for years, and even foi 
tunes ; while yet these reitt 
ever continue. The argue 
the same in both instances. 

There is no uncertainty as 
facts of the liquefaction or th 
known laws of nature which \ 
referred to. Nor is there an] 
that the facts are violations o 
laws. Other laws of nature, 
be discovered, may fill gaps 
knowledge, and may coniplen 
laws already known. None 
discovered to contradict oi 
them. It is as vain to wait 
discovery of some unknot 
which may account for the 1 
the liquefaction, as it would 
look for some other unknowr 
nature in virtue of which 
lived again, and came forth I 



The Liquefaction of tiu Bhod of St. Januarius. 399 



lUw which. curiously enough, 
■d to act just at the moment 
ir Saviour stood before the 
Jd cried out: " Lazarus, e&me 

nything be more absurd than 
Dry which, with words of 

scientific caution and of 
lilosophic views, would attri- 

liquefaction to the action of 

yet undiscovered laws. In 
ut sort of a regular natural 
uld that be which niani- 

unslukaLle untformlly by 

or other corning into pl.iy, 
ducing the liquefaction, just 
precise days, hours, and 

hich men have from time in 
Bcted, because convenient to 

suited to their thoughts of 
—a law which caused the 
liquefy regularly on the 
January, each year, so long 
by was celebrated as a festi- 

skipped hack to December 

a new festival on that day 
)^iiiuled in5tea<i — -tthich is 
\ put off the liquefaction from 

of December to the Sunday 

;, whether the delay be of 
. three, four. five, or six days, 
g to the day of the week on 
le i*'>th may fall, and con- 
s complaisant action for the 

of a century during which 
archbishops of Naples prc- 

celebration on the Sunday 
a celebration on the i6th of 
ler itself j an<l which was 
ody to go back again to 
Ig the blood on the i6th of 
as soon as another arch- 
lectded to return to the oUl 

hich is equally accommodat- 

i always commences 

\ r.ictions for nine con- 

daris precisely on the Satur- 

re the first Sunday in May, 

sof whether it fell on April 

y day after up to aid in- 



cluding May 6 — and which, stranger 
yet, has been known often to adapt 
iiaelf to the joumeyings of strangers 
coming to Naples, mid to bring into 
play its power of liquefaction on the 
very days and hours when these 
slrangen could come to the tfsoro 
chapel, and the ecclesiastical and the 
civil authorities had come to an 
understanding, and the relics were 
brought out and placed on the altar? 

It is useless to multiply words. 
The theory of general law must be 
rulcvl out, as utterly incon^tcnl with 
the facts of the case. 

Whenever the liquefaction occurs, 
it must be each time in conseijuence 
of something done or occurring on 
that occasion ; either l>ec^use of 
something done by man inieniion.-illy 
and advisedly for the express pur- 
pose of producing the liquefaction, or 
perchance unintentionally — that is, 
without a knowledge of the effect to 
follow — or else Iwcaiise of the exer- 
cise on the p;»rt of God of his super- 
natural power, in answtr to the faith 
and earnest prayers of a believing 
people. In this rase, it is a miracle, 
as the Neapolitans and those who 
agree with them steadfastly hold it to 
be. 

We have already stated facts am- 
ply sufiiciciit to exclude o\\\t arm of 
this alternative. The liquefaction 
cannot be the natural result of any 
action of man, whether intentional or 
accidental. Any li<|ucfactiun pro- 
duced by the art of man would of 
course be within the sphere of natu- 
ral action, and would necessarily be 
subject 10 the natural laws of lique- 
faction. If produced by heal, the 
law of the melting-point would be 
observed. If it in any way depentled 
on the mutual action of chemical in- 
grcdicnis, the laws of such action 
would never be seen to be reversed 
and set aside repeatedly, even in a 
isinglc day. In whatever way the 



400 



7/w Princeton Review on Dr, Faber. 



liquid was obtained, it would observe 
the law of constant volume at the 
same temperature, and would not so 
frequently either decrease or increase 
its bulk. In one word, man has no 
power to set aside the laws of nature 
as we plainly see them set aside in 
this liquefaction. We are forced to 
conclude that it is not his work. 
The liquefaction which is seen at 
Naples is not, and cannot possibly 
be, the natural result of any art or 
skill, or of any blundering of the 
Neapolitan clergy. 

This will be made still clearer if 
circumstances allow us to examine 
somewhat in detail, as we hope to do 
in a closing article, the various solu- 



tions which have been proposec 
the attempted imitations of this 
faction. Their signal failure in 
instance serves as practical con 
tions of the conclusion to whi< 
have been already led. If wil 
aids of science and skill at their 
mand, men have failed to repr 
the liquefaction of the blood 
Januarius, is it not clear tha 
priests and monks of Naples x 
competent of themselves to pr 
the original ? 

The liquefaction must be, ; 
Neapolitans hold it to be, a i 
— a fact contrary to the laws • 
ture, wrought by the pow^er o 
for a purpose worthy of himsel 



THE PRINCETON REVIEW ON DR. FABER.* 



Twenty years ago, Dr. Newman 
delivered a scries of lectures on " The 
Present Position of Catholics in Eng- 
land." The scope of these lectures 
was the exposition of the English 
Protestant view of the Cathol i c 
Church. Dr. Newman showed, with 
an ability, skill, and cogency of ar- 
gument, a mastery of language, a 
wealth of illustration, and a keenness 
of satire which even he has rarely 
equalled in his voluminous writings, 
what is the nature, origin, basis, and 
life of this view. Its sustaining pow- 
er, he proves, is tradUiou, its basis 
fable^ its life prejudice^ its protection 
ii^norance. We take the liberty of 
recommending this volume to the 
writer whom we are now intending 
to criticise, to the conductors of the 

• Tkt PrimcttpH Rfview, October, 1371, Art. 
II.: Tkl Lift and I.rtf€rx »/ Frtdtrkk IfiiHain 
Faher. By Rct. WillUm Scribncr. 



distinguished review for whi* 
writes, and to the clergy and k 
laity in general of his eminent 
spectable denomination. The 
nation to which the British Lio 
roused, and the fierce assault 
he made upon the illustrious a 
who entered his cage and too 
by the beard of prejudice, so 
of such ancient growth, and s( 
erable in his own eyes, is an evi( 
of the power of Dr. Newman'i 
and the efficacy of his weapon. 
exposure which he made of 01 
the apostate traducers of the C 
lie religion, after whom the Ei 
public for a while ran open-mou 
gave occasion to a prosecutio 
libel, as the result of which Dr. 
man was condemned to a fin* 
im])nsonment. It was a striking 
tration and confirmation of wha 
Newman had so boldly ded 



Princeton Review on Dr. Faher. 



401 



iscqucncc has been that the 
whom Dr. Xewmnn was 
by the English jury to have 
sLmtU just where he tlid be- 
senlcnce was pronounced, 
U Dr. Newman himself is 
Vpon by the Britisih Lion with 
the affection which another 
for Androcles whtfn he drew 
from his paw. 

.old Protestant tradition or 

lout Ca'.holioi lingers still 

ancient haunts in Kngtand, 

ibly survives in the minds 

jorily of the Knglish people. 

is, however, diminished, and 

ige is waning, thanks, in great 

Pt. Newman, but in a cun- 

mcasure also to his gifted 

friend and disciple, Dr. 

In the United States, the 

t view and tradition about 

vras coloniiccd along with 

r Uritish institutions which 

settlers transplanicil from the 

country. It has given way 

iihin the last quarter of a 

and with more facility than 

d. Yet it sldl retains an 

an<l strong hold upon our 

needs many vigorous efTorts 

Ihat it may be wholly uj>- 

The article wc arc reviewing 

tance and an evidence of the 

D in which this old Protestant 

lying at itresent in a large 

B minds, of whom the author 

! taken as a representative. 

Dnc band, his whole tone and 

thought and reasoning is a 

illustration of the thesis of 

iwnun's lectures. On the 

s nianncr of spcakinj^ about 

tx nnd his writings shows the 

g of a caving-in of the great 

prejudice even among the 

ind more old-fashioned Pro- 

.fVs in the way in which a 

: should endeavor to open a 

fi>r the tide through this heap 

r vol . XIV. — 26 



of sand, Or. Ncwnian has shown it 
to such perfection in his aforesaid 
lectures ihat wc can only follow out 
and apply his method, and push for- 
ward in some new directions the 
work which he has substantially com- 
pleted. We will, therefore, begin by 
a somewhat long quotation from one 
of these lectures, as the basis of the 
remarks we have to make ourselves, 
in which we shall endeavor to make 
the line of argument ailoptcd by Dr. 
Newman be.ir more direcdy and in 
detail ii{x>n certain specific topics 
brought to view in the article under 
notice : 

" PREJt'UICE THE I.IFSOFTIIE PKOTBSTAST 
VI tw. 

" Itl attributing the extreme aversion 
anil contempt in which we Catholics arc 
held by this great Protestant coimiry to 
the intiucncc of falsehood and inisrepre- 
Sfnlation, encigclic in its operalion and 
unbotindeil in its FXltnl. I belit-re in my 
hean I liare referred it lr> a cause whicli 
will be acknowledged to be both rt:al and 
tircessarj* by thu inajoriiy of thaughtfol 
minds, Catholic or not, n-ho set thorn, 
selves to examine the state of the case. 
T.ikc an educated m:tn, who has seen the 
wnrld.and interested himself in the rt-> 
ligioiisbodics, disputes, and events of the 
day — let him be ever so ill-disposed to- 
wards the Cutholic Church, yet I think, 
if he will btit throw his mind upon the 
subject, and then candidly speak out, he 
will confuss Ihat the arguments which 
lead him to his |>re?ent state oi feeling 
about her. whatever they arc. would not 
fcf sufficient for the nmliilude of men. 
The multitndc, if it is in be nnested and 
moved, icqiiiici altogether a difTcrent 
polemic fioRi that which is at the com- 
mand of the man of letters, of thought, 
of fcelini;, and of honor. \\\% proofs 
against Catholicism, though he considers 
them stilGcient himself, and considers 
that they ou^'hl to be sulBctcnt for the 
nuiltitudc, have a sobriety, a delicacy, an 
exactness, a nice adjustment of parts, a 
width and breadth, a philosophical cumu- 
lativ'cncss.an indirectness and circuitous- 
ncss. which will be lost on the generality 
nf men. The pn.>blem is, how to make 
nn impression on thuse who liavc never 



402 



The Princeton Review oh Dr, Faber. 



learned to exercise their minds, to com- 
pare thought with thought, to analyze an 
.trgumcnl or lo balance probabilities. 
The Catholic Church appeals to the im- 
agination, as a great fact, wherever she 
comes; she strikes it : Protestants must 
find some idea equally captivating as she 
is, something fascinating, something ca- 
pable of possessing, engrossing, and o^'er- 
whelming, if they are to battle with her 
hopefully: their cause is lost unless they 
can do this. It was, then, a thought of 
genius, and, as I think, superhuman ge- 
nius, to pitch upon the expedient wliich 
has been used against the church from 
'("liriit's age to our own; to call her, as 
in the first century HecUebub, so in the 
i-ixicenth Antichrist ; it was a bold, 
politic, and successful movd. It startled 
men who heard ; and whereas Antichrist, 
hy .the very notion of his character, will 
counti'rfuit Christ, ho will therefore be, so 
far, neccss-irily like him ; and, if Anti- 
christ is liJvC Christ, then Christ, I sup- 
pose, must be like Antichrist ; thus, there 
was, cveu at first starting, a felicitous 
plausibility about the very charge whiclt 
went far towards securing belief, while it 
cuniuKuided attention. 

" This, however, though much, was not 
enough; the cliarge that Christ is Anti- 
rhiist numt not only be made, but must 
be susuiiued ; and sustained it could not 
possib y be, in the vastiiess and enormilv 
of its idc.i, as I ha%*e described it, by 
means uf irutii. Falsehood, then, has 
ever been the indispensable condition 
of the impeachment which Protestants 
have made; and the impeachment they 
make is (he indispensable weapon where- 
witli lo encounter the antagonist whom 
thev ciimbal. Thus you see that calumny 
and oblotiuy of every kind is, from the 
naiuro of ilic case, the portion of the 
churt'h while she h.is enemies — that is, 
in oiiii'i words, while she is militant — her 
position, that is. if she is to be argued 
with .11 .ill ; and argued with she must 
lii\ bciMusi- man, Ironi tho verv force of 
his luoial I'oiistimiion, cannot content 
hiiU'-vh in his w.uiaie, yX whatever kind, 
with the nuMO \ise of bnUt: force. The 
lion u'luis Ins puy. and gives no reason 
loi dojuji so; liut man cauTuit pcisecute 
without as*i,i;niii); to hiiii<i-l: a n'asi-n lor 
his act ; he must si-tl!e it witli his con- 
^. ienoi" ; he must have siii^iolent riMSons. 
and, ii t-ood ua>.Mis aio not |.m|1k-.vii;!1.;, 
theie i-i w^t htip lot ii ; he mu<t jmt up 
with lad. Mow to contiict vvuh t;:e ni-.^iai 



influence of the church being i 
the problem to be solved, nothh 
but to misstate and defame ; the 
alternative. Tame facts, clabora: 
tions, subtle presumptions, will 
with the many ; something which 
a dash, something gaudy and 
something inflammatory, is the 
in request. He must make up I: 
then, to resign the populace to t 
of the Catholic Church, or he m 
der her to her greater confusion; 
maintain, ii the case ; this, I ■ 
must be the case ; bad logic, fal 
and I really do think that candic 
whatever persuasion, though t 
not express themselves' cxactli 
words I have used, will agree w 
substance ; will allow that, putii 
the question whether Protcstani 
be supported by any other met' 
controversy — for instance, by sin 
blishmcnt, or by depriving Call 
education, or by any other violt 
dient — siill,if popular controvcrs 
used, then fable, not truth ; calu 
justice, will be its staple. Strip 
fallacies and its Action, and w 
you ?"• 

Wiierc would the Rev, Mi 
ner be if his article were ! 
of its fallacies and its i 
What would become of the 
ion Review if it sIiouUl publis 
and favorable account of the 
writings of Dr. Faber, with 
potent antidote administerei 
with that sweet' draught oi 
waters which might otherwts 
too alluring to some of th( 
and candid members of the 
tcrian flock ? The writer of 
cie, who has evidently been e 
in the old-fashioned Protestai 
tion about the Catholic Chu; 
fallen in love with Dr. Faber 
works, and with the grcates 
ness and candor has opened 1 
to the public. We can see 
rejected in his pages the a 
ment which came over hia 
began and went on from to 

* .:<-./«r</r., p. m6. Dubhn. TUi 



Tk£ Princeton Rcvicio on Dr. Fabcr. 



403 



of ihc writings of ihc elo- 
Onxtorion, and from page to 
cf his charming biography. 
see, with equal distinct- 
low be fell back on the olil 
ant view, the old prejudice. 
son of violent cfTurt, in order 
lect himself against the new 
hich had beamed on his mind 
ic new sentiments wliich had 
unbidden into his heart. 
^cr, -iincc he coutd not deny 
the pleasure of conimunicat- 
new taMsurc he had found 
fellow- Pre5l)ytcrians, he could 
[1 feeling that they also nced- 
uV^ard, and could tind none 
(uld answer except the old 
;ind whose shelter he had hid- 
Bisclf. Suppose that a nura- 
eamest and inquisitive Prec- 
is should be induced, by read- 
sketch of iJr. Vaber's life and 
; furnished by one of their own 
to purchase or borrow the 
hich he so much delights in ? 
; they should come to the 
ion that the beautiful charac- 
". Faber is a fair specimen of 
, which the Catholic religion 
'~ That his doctrine is 
truly the Catholic doctrine 
ws from the lips of all our 
re and from the pens of all 
ual wnicrs? Suppose these 
,s sliould meet with some 
wing somewhat of the 
►irit «ilh K. Faber, should lis- 
lis conversation and hoar his 
or should perhaps attend a 
or retreat ? U'e ask the 
not as a Catholic, but as 
niiKlit ask it, and simply 
at it as a question of the 
Joss of vantage-ground by the 
parties. Does not any 
/tlut whereas we have ".ced 
ling more than a fair chance 
►arc the evidence, the exccl- 
« atlrortivcncss of the two 



religions, in ortler to hold our old 
ground and gain new, the Presbyte- 
rian has lost the greatest advantage 
he has hitherto possessed, as soon as 
the frightful cloud of odium which 
the old Protestant view has thrown 
around us has been dissipated P 
Therefore, that odium must be kept 
U[); that antecedent iin(>ossibilily 
that there can be any truth in the 
claims of the Catholic Church be- 
cause It is so very wicked, must be 
placed as a bar to the ingress of 
every argument. So has the Rev. 
Mr. Srribncr reasoned and acted. 
We will not impute to him a delibe- 
rate and conscious purpose to fal- 
sify or calumniate, and are willing to 
admit that he is probably in a great 
measure the victim of the gigantic 
fraud which he indorses and recom- 
mends. His language about the 
Caihollc Church and her hierarchy is 
of that kind which might justly cause 
the cheek of any one not steeled to 
the endurance of the grossest insults 
to mantle with indignation. But, 
when we reflect on the fact that 
many honest, candid, and well-dis- 
posed minds are duped to such an 
exietil by this fraudulent Protestant 
tradition that they are almost inca- 
pable o^ seeing anything except 
through its medium, wo arc more in- 
clined to i)ity than anger. It is a 
great misfortune, even when it is not 
a wilful fault, to be under the control 
of this horrid delusion, this gloomy 
nightmare, whicli besets the very 
cradle, haunts the nursery, antl sits 
brooding ami glowering on the breast 
of so great a multitude of our fellow- 
Christians. We will, therefore, \xfi 
to do something to relieve them of * 
this incubus, and to lead them to 
think and feci more rationally and 
justly about Catholics and their re- 
ligion. We w ill take the expression 
of tiie common Protestant view by 
the author before us in its objective 



404 



The Princeton Re^new on Dr. Faber. 



sense, without reference to his perso- 
nal and subjective motives in repeat- 
ing such ignominious charges, and 
simply examine them in themselves 
and with reference to the grounds on 
which they rest. 

Tlie first passage we quote is the 
last sentence of the article. It is 
expressed conditionally as lo the 
form, because the direct statement 
of the author was quite different, and 
apparently contrary to it. Yet it 
does not appear that the author en- 
tertains any doubt, or at least intends 
to suggest any doubt, of its truth : 

" Wc may admit that the Papacy is the 
Mystical Babylon, the Scarlet Woman, 
the Antichrist drunk with the blood of 
the saints, 'the great Whore which did 
corrupt the earth with her rornication,' 
and yet believe that God has a people In 
tlic Church of Rome who live and die 
within her pale." 

Here wc have what Dr. Newman 
calls the ** expedient of superhuman 
genius," the startling, fascinating, ter- 
rifying idea, the Trotesiant view, 
which forestalls all argument by pre- 
possessing the imagination with a 
nightmare of preternatural horror. 
'I'hc writer has had this image before 
him front a child. He alludes to it 
as something well known to his read- 
ers. It is like the " Old Smoker'' in 
the chimney, or the goblin in the 
garret, or the mad bull around the 
ciirner, wailing to execute vengeance 
on naughty little girls and boys who 
ask qiiestions. We find it very- difti- 
cult la argue seriously against this 
chimera. It is like arguing against 
the odd fancy of the cvccniric Jesuit 
llarxlouin, that the North American 
Indians arx* the de^tcr.viants of de- 
vils. It is ro\ oiling or l-.iiijcr.nis .-.s 
it is liH^kivi at in J.itVcrcni lights. I: 
appears :v> our mind to be v;;lcar. 
silly. suporsiiiious. and fanatical. No:. 
of wurso. because it is the use q\ 



language and imagery tak 
the Scripture, but because 
wholly arbitrary, fanciful, a 
warrantable use and applic 
such language and imagery 
like the grotesque use of S 
names and images by the far 
the Cromwellian revolution, 
assumed as something cert 
well known that the Papacj 
told and described in these p 
visions and predictions, as 
and well known as the interj 
of Joseph's dream, the dr( 
the chief butler and chief 1 
Pharao, the vision of Nab 
nosor,or the Messianic predi< 
Daniel. Nothing short of th 
justify the manner in which 
tant writers apply these tern 
Roman Church, and shut 
calm and sober consideratioi 
claims and doctrines by an 
to the prophecies respectin 
Christ and Babylon. You ca 
gue from a mere hypothesis 
were a fact or a certain tn 
this case, the entire probabili 
hypothesis depends on first 
that the Roman Church re; 
sesses and exhibits the qualiti( 
must belong to the objects 
prediction. A sober and rati 
quiry into the real meaning < 
sublime, terrible, and obsci 
phecies exacts, first of all, 
of the interpretation of the 
It requires, moreover, an exar 
and due appreciation of the 
tions of Catholic commentat 
must be dispassionate and s 
in its character. Now, the 
Proiestant application of tht 
phecies to the Roman Chu 
none of these characterise 
tinds no countenance from a 
crs before the time of the s 
Reformation. It was inveni 
used as a convenient and 
weapon of assaiUt It is rejc 



The Princeton Review oh Dr. Fader. 



Wti eminent scholars of the 

uit persuasion. On >vhat does 

I On DolUiag but the coiijcc- 

Itrpretation of a certain num- 

idividuals. We should find 

:uit)- in [ifovinj; its absurdity 

ity if wc cbuse to undertake 

, But thai is not our object. 

contend for at present is, 

et an irrational ami abusive 

lent of terms to call the Ro- 

urch by the nanies of syin- 

soiis or objects in the pro- 

BS if it were certain that thi» 

mt is just and true, and that 

;nes neei^only to be repeat- 

Icr to de>ignatc the Cathohc 

as a detestable monster, 10 be 

and tied from, but not to be 

ic<l and fearlessly examined. 

» Rev. Mr. Scribner has been 

&om infancy by these Apo- 

monsters. and has always 

id them in his imagination 

Roman Church, it is quite 

hat distinctive Catholic doc- 

kHild appear to him clothed 

same alarming and hideous 

semblance of monstrosity. 

, he says that, 



If tbe sincerity of some who 
% ' ' rti convened Co tlic be- 
lt Hi 4<xtr\nei of Iransub- 
in, lie v.icriAcc uf the Mrm, llio 
1/ of the Pupc, puignlary. the 
if ibe saints, and the aJoiaiion 
'iffiD, niu&i be aJmiticci, still 
I sotno who have secict doubts 
I po&s-ibilitv of such persons be- 
PifiMiaiis" (p. 316). 

are these doctrines called 
y/ Doubtless, ail error is 
less monstrous, as a greater 
istortioi) of the truth. 1 licre- 
C who considers these doc- 
roneoiu mi^bi mean no mure 
Ig tliem monstrous than if 
they are great errors. But 
us tiiat our author used 



405 



express an antecedent, grown-up 



obvious monstrosity of some sort, 
which makes these doctrines incredi- 
ble in themselves, without any refer- 
ence to tbe fact of their being either 
proved or disproved to be parts of 
revealed doctrine. Now, looking at 
the matter as if we were mere in- 
quirers or philosophers, what is there 
more iitcrcdibic in the doctrine of 
transubstantiatiun than in that of the 
Incarnation, in the sacnficc of the 
Mass than in that of the Cross, in the 
supremacy of the Pope than in the 
supremacy of the twelve apostles, 
in purgatory than in hell, in the wor- 
ship of the saints and the Virgin 
than in the divine adoration of the 
humanity of C'hrist ? Whoever will 
lake the trouble to read our philoso- 
phers and theologians, will {w\i\ thai 
tlicy demonstrate the futility of all 
the antecedent objections which can 
be made to the crcrlibilily of any 
Catholic doctrines. As to ilic argu- 
ments in proof of these doctrines 
from Scripture, tradition, and reason, 
whoever mamtains tliat they are so 
obviously proved to be false by the 
contrary arguments, tlut it is only a 
monstrous ignorance, folly, credulity, 
or wickedness which can induce any 
one to hold them as Christian doi:- 
trines, had belter favur the public 
with a clear and succinct treatise 
containing the rea.sons for his opinion. 
It might, perhaps, answer the ]>ur- 
poseof a Protestant End of Contrpvtr- 
sy, which has been a great ilcsidera- 
turn for a long time. 

When he incidentally hits on the 
subject of relics and miracles, our 
estimable author is still more over- 
come. Dr. Faber, in his eyes, is 
always a charming, grown-ui» infant, 
who is only made more lovely and at- 
tractive by believing everj'lhiiig. But 
not so with those who cannot claim 
his sympathy for their sweet simpli- 
city, and nmst be considered as 
men: 



4o6 



The Princeton Review on Dr. Faher. 



"With the exception of a few such 
men ns Fabcr, it is not to be believed for 
a moment that the educated prelates and 
priesthood of the Romish Church have 
themselves a particle of faith in what 
they teach the people concerning their 
Popish legends. We do not know what 
to think of the man who does not feel 
intense indignation at tlie bare thought 
of Pope, cardinals, and priests all en- 
couraging the people to reverence the 
disgusting pretended relics with which 
their churches are tilled. Let it be re- 
membcred that the highest Romish autho- 
titles in all countries continue to this 
day to give their sanction to what they 
know to be imposition on the credulity of 
the people ; and can it be doubted that 
even the most liigotcd person, if he knew 
the real facts, would question the truth 
of a system which rests so extensively on 
known and deliberatcdeception?"(p.528). 

There is something which seems so 
honest and unpremeditated about 
this outburst of indignation that we 
are disposed to give the author the 
benefit of that excuse of childHke 
sinipHcily which he so kindly makes 
good in behalf of Dr. Kaber. He 
has no thought of proving his asser- 
tions, does not seem to think they 
reiiuire any proof, or that they can be 
t|uestione;i by any one who is not 
ignorant and bigoted. Ixt it be re- 
tnembereti^ he says, as of something 
learned in childhood, Hke the rules 
of grammar or the date of the dis- 
covery of America. Evidently, here 
is the old Protestant view, the old 
tratiiiion. which has all the force of 
an inhillible authority. Now, it is 
nin the t'.iiih of Presbyterians and 
other Protesi.mts that they have had 
this piviuiiiic insiillod into their 
inind-i in youth. W hile their ignor- 
ance i-i in^ incibio, it is also inculp- 
abk-. l>nt if they adlicre to it with- 
out reason, iiiroiich supine indilVer- 
enco to in:tli or atilvtii^n for iiicir 
old prejuvii^cs. vvi:en ihcir attev.tiv^n 
has been » allod t.i t)ie ro.isons and 
nuui\c> li>r iKui'.>; .j;ul e\amin.;'.ion. 
thov Ihvouic nh'>railv Matnewoithv, 



A simple denial of the trudi 
accusations made in the fon 
paragraph, on our part, is enoi 
destroy all their prestige in tht 
of any candid and intelligent I 
terian who is not ignorant or b 
Our word carries as much 
weight as that of the conduc 
the Hinceion Review. And w 
emphatically, invoking God as 
ness to our sincerity and truth 
item of the foregoing accusati< 
is an atrocious calumny, anc 
who have uttered it are bo 
prove it or retract it, even 
have been themselfts deceive 
have had no intention to calut 
This is all the reply we have ti 
to the attack on the personal 
and integrity of the Catholic 
hood. But in regard to the top 
of relics and miracles, we wil 
word out of charity to our bew 
and indignant friend, and to ; 
him who are willing to hear th 
side. 

Disgti sting prt tended relies. 
is the sense of that word dis^ 
Does it mean that real relics : 
gusting, or that pretended rel 
disgusting because of the impo 
If it mean the former, we < 
understand the feeling any 
than we understand the feeli 
one who is disgusted with tl 
niture which has been in the 
for a long time. You cannot 
the question in that way. Tf 
way of arguing the matter at a 
discu:js the matter itself. If th< 
of the saints are entitled to re\-< 
and have a secret, miraculous 
the feeling of disgust is simply 
normal and senseless feeling, 
ou^lu to be suppressed by an 
the will. If it is a question 
the genuineness of the relics, 
who is not grossly ignorant of 
can be unaware of the fact tha 
tlie second century down, it 



Thi Princeton Rrvicw on Dr. Fabfr. 



40; 



saints have been highly 
and religiously preserved. 
bs never been any difficulty 
iriag genuine relics in abund- 
[ihe contemporary saints. As 
'the relics of the cross, and 
lies connected w-ith the per- 
iva Lord, the Blessed Virgin, 
Ides, and the most ancient 
Btrious saints, we must rtfer 
^us reader to hooks for infor- 
\Ve can only strike, so to 
\ few random blows at llie 
k which encrusts the Protes- 
U, and endeavor to crack it. 
pAy wish to convince our 
|of the absurtliiy of their 
id wiiolcsalc condemnation 
potivcs, spirit, doctrines, and 
L chat they mny think it 
[hile really to examine the 
rith seriousness. So, without 
to any general examination 
Imiversally, wc will just take 
etance of a particular case 
in the house where ive .ire 
M an exampleof our ordinary 
bttcat conduct in respect to 
^n an oratory which is used 
Jte devotion, there is placed 
be altar a large and onia- 
^pophagus, the front and 
^■Ich arc oi plate glass. 
ffF'wax figure of a Roman 
dining on a crimson couch, 
11 crimson silk, crowned with 
K of (lowers, and with the 
led IS if he had just died. 
be breast is a reliquary, with 
r fl body token from the 
ptacombs. In the comer is 
^arketl with a red ribbon, 
|ch once contained blood. 
|re the relics of Justinus, a 
jnartyr of Rome, which are 
A officially authenticated as 
wen taken from the Cala- 
Now, whoever knows any- 
Rtimau archicology knows 
most leartied nnrl cartful 



antiquarians give us certain marks by 
which the remains of martyrs may be 
identified, llie Rev. Mr. Scribner 
will not hazard his reputation as a. 
scholar, we presume, by classing the 
folios of Oe Rossi and other savants 
of Koine among the impostures of 
priestcraft. We have, then, the relics 
of a true martyr, arranged and placed 
in such a way as to make an object 
of contemplation to the eye of taste 
and of Christian faith, which is pleas- 
ing, instructive, and fitted to excite 
pious emotions. What is there dis- 
gusting in this ? 

ilut then there are the legends 
about miracles v.rouglit by tlic relics 
of the saints, and other miracles. 
Very true, my dear friend, and, no 
doubt, very puzzling and startling to 
one who has been accustomed to 
believe that the marvellous and 
miraculous passed away with the age 
of the Bible. Bui, reflect for a mo- 
ment on the full extent of the admis- 
sion you will have to make to the 
inlidcl rationalist, to the enen>y of 
Christianity, who makes our whole 
religion mythical, if you reject all 
this f^tortion of tlic belief of Catholics 
as fiiuniled on the fabulous. Read* 
Uctlc's Kciksiasikal Hisl\}ry cf Kttg- 
tami, the twenty-third book of St. 
Augustine's Oty &J Goti, Su Am- 
brose's description of the discovery 
of the relics of SS. Gcrvasius and Pro- 
tasius, and Isaac Taylor's Afident 
Chrisiiatfity . Vou will find that we 
modem Catholics are in the same 
Ixiat with the fathers, the prelates, 
the Christian people of the til'th cen- 
tury. We float or sink together. It 
seems to us, however, that before one 
resolves to follow the shallow and 
sophistical Isaac Taylor and his ser- 
vile copyist, the translator of the 
City o/Goti^ in condemning our Chris- 
tian forefatliers as the authors or the 
dupes of a gigantic system of iinpos* 
ture, and before one pronounces 



4o8 



The Princeton Review on Dr. Faber. 



a similar sentence on the whole 
body of their modem descendants, 
it would be well to examine some- 
what carefully the evidence in the 
case. For instance, to confine our- 
selves to modem times, there are: 
the liquefaction of the blood of St. 
Januarius ; the ecstatic virgins of the 
Tyrol, and the recent similar case in 
Belgium ; the miraculous conversion 
of the Jew Ratisbon ; the case of 
Mrs. Mattingly of Washington; the 
miracles of Lourdes ; the miraculous 
cure of a young lady at St. Louis, 
attested by three physicians; the 
miracles wrought by the relics of F. 
Ohvaint, the martyr of Paris; the 
miraculous conversion of sixteen Mo- 
hammedans at Damascus, one of 
whom has suflfcrcd raartyrdora ; and 
many other events, believed by a vast 
number of intelligent persons, upon 
grounds of evidence, to be supema- 
tural and miraculous. We do not 
ask our Protestant friends to believe 
these things on our word or without 
evidence. We simply say that it is 
the part of good sense and necessary 
for you, if you expect to sustain your 
own cause against us, that you should 
examine these things, and, if you 
deny altogether this whole class of 
professed facts, should give good 
reasons for it. Will you rule the 
whole case out of court by a sweep- 
ing principle that these things are in 
themselves impossible and incredible, 
and therefore false ? We defy you 
to do it without subverting the whole 
basis on which rests the belief in the 
miracles of the Old and New Testa- 
ments. Moreover, we defy any one 
10 evade or rebut the evidence of 
some of the miracles we liave men- 
tioned, es|)ecially the cure of IJourri- 
ette at Lourdes and of Mrs. Mattin- 
gly at Washington. We mention 
these, because we have given the 
evidence of the former in our own 
pages, and of the latter in the edition 



of the works of Bishop Englai 
pared for the press by the au 
this article more than twent 
ago. The authority of the 
Church, nevertheless, and tl 
of the Catholic faith, do not 
manner rest on any one or all t 
of the visions, revelations, or i 
in question as their basis, an< 
ground of a divine faith. 
highest value, even when fully 
is to confirm and enliven our 
truths of which we are pr 
certain. 

The Rev. Mr. Scribncr sf 
great truth that " one grea 
taught by this biography 
FaberJ is the lesson of c 

(P* 530* ^^ >^ ^i^<^ so o' 
correct in his remark that " 
does not require us to adrail 
be true which is false," that \ 
der he took the trouble to i 
Moreover, we cannot and 
wish to dispute his right " 
nounce a flaming Roman ( 
professor a child of the dc 
shows himself to bp one." 
wish tu add to his statemi 
more, which is that justice i 
as well as charity, that one 
not make atrocious charges ( 
opprobrious epithets witho 
quate proofs and motives. 
reverend gentleman conside 
coolly and deliberately, and 1 
Protestant reader of this arti 
sidcr and judge of the f< 
sentence : 

" It would not he cnlightcnei 
^^hicll would m.ike \is think t 
h:ips, after all, the liceniicHs Rom. 
lie pticsts of Spain and Italy^ amJ 
ptit-its of JrtliiHd, are Christta 
(p. 531). 

Charity ! We do not a 
charity. We spum with ind 
;uiy such despicable countc 
cluiritv as that which is hcr« 



Tkt Princeton Rnncw on Dr. Faba-. 



409 



! Catholic Churcli does 
,ny maiitle to throw over 

who are either " licen- 
" brutal." Let the juris- 
cr clerical ilelinqucnts, 
tfnily belongs to her. be 
bil susiaineil by the civil 
ts, and she n-iU treat ihutn 
}ht kind of charity, by re- 
cm IroDi all power to stn. 

theoi an opportunity of 
ince. Civil govemmetr.s, 
have been engaged in a 
li the church, and I'rotest- 
§, have always been ready 
-Qcouraj^e, to employ, and 
hcse outcasts of tlic priest- 
ipostura who l»ave falsely 
tu be priests. By their 
cstimony. the British gov- 
<nged Olivet Flunkctc at 
For tlie sake of aiioilier 
tie sort, an English jury 
nprisonei] the most honor- 
Uitrious writer in KngUnd. 
acarcr home are not want- 
e notf we 8up]>ose, quite 
en. All those worthle<» 
f the priesthood who have 
aced, or who descr\'e to 
tc to bear by themselves 
ent both of men and of 
on what evidence are Ihe 
:^)atn and of Italy culled 
ind unqualified terms " li- 
ind the priests of Ireland 

W'c would like to know 
rtunity Auicrii:aii I'resby- 
« of knowini* accurately 
an of the Spani>h clergy*, 
'hitc, » Dr. Newman 
vsAitn no testimony which 
d to prove any such as- 
I that of our very confident 
Scribncr, In regard to 
ere any teiituiony givci» 
thy, confipetent witnesses, 
Hved there long enough 
the cluraiter wf the 
Ihmg which the vio- 



lent enemies of the church in Italy 
have been able to establish against 
the clergy, which warranis the op- 
probrious epithcu applied to thctu 
in the elegant pasitage we have 
cited above? That the busybodies 
who are trying to make mischief 
in Italy, and whose prcKccdings are 
viewed with intense disgust by some 
honorable Protestant clergy uien» 
keep some very disreputable com- 
pany among the Italian clergy, wc 
have no doubt. We suppose there 
are more than one hundred thousand 
priests in Italy, and, as we have seen 
two such specimens as Guvaxzi and 
Achilli, we cannot wonder if there 
are some scores of similar individuals 
who are able to keep their places 
under the protection of so detestable 
a government as that of Victor 
Emanuel. These are llic men who 
consort with Protestant emissaries, 
and who malign the virtue uf their 
brethren, which they hate and envy 
liecause of their own wickedness. 
But, as Dr. Newman remarks, those 
who leave the Catholic Chiuch, and 
yet retain some moral probity and 
gentlemanly honor, do not furnish 
iVotestants with the evidence they 
want in order to sustain thdr defa- 
mation of the Catholic priesthood. 
Men like U'harton, Hlanco While, 
Lonl Dunboyne, CiolK-rti,' Cajies, 
Hyaciiithe, and Dolhnger, do not 
answer the puqiose for which they are 
wanted, because they will not utter 
the gross calumnies or invent the start- 
ling, sensational lies which certain in- 
famous scribblers like Maria Monk, or 
mountebank lecturers like Eealiy and 
the last new Baron, manufacture for 
ilie greedy ears of a credulous public. 

• We rto not laiend to aKnn |>os]llv«ly that 
Cilob«ni fnttnmWy renounced ihr corntDiininn kiitl 
falih at the f'alliolic C'burcb. m mailer about 
wlitch Uieie hannii * (rval obscuritv. itut lits 
viiilcnt enmity to tbc Jc%uil« ami hi> rci-oluuoo- 
■ ry priDttpIcA la fencTal mouM have cfrtainir 
led him to aiuck the cl«iKy anil Uie cxUllnff or- 
der m the moii ruloenbtc put. 



4IO 



The Princeton Review on Dr. Fabtr, 



The insult offered to the clergy 
of Ireland is equally offensive and 
touches us still more closely. It is 
not so bad an epithet which is ap- 
plied to them, but, while it is vague 
enough to make it difficult to seize and 
expose the precise calumny which 
the writer intends to fasten, it is 
forcible enough to make it as insult- 
ing and opprobrious as any epithet 
which a gentleman could well use, 
or a refined and scholarly periodical 
suffer to appear on its pages. It is 
like the gross caricatures of Harpers 
Masazin€. We blush at the thought 
of noticing such an aspersion on the 
Irish clergy. The priests of Ireland 
bniiiil? The Irish people are not a 
brutal people, and it is impossible 
that a brutal clergy should spring 
from them. The clergy are loved by 
their i)eople^ they cannot therefore be 
brutally cruel ; they are respected by 
them, and therefore they cannot be 
brutally vicious. They are educated 
men j they meet noblemen and gen- 
tlemen on equal terms. Irish society 
is cultivated, refined, and polished, 
and the Catholic priests of Ireland 
are respected by the respectable 
Protestants of Ireland. Such an ac- 
cusation as this could not be made 
in Dublin, or on the floor of the 
British House of Commons, without 
rallinj; derision on the head of the 
unlucky person who ventured to use 
a sort oi' language about Catholics, 
whifli ;>olite society is beginning to 
reg.ird .is unfit for its ears. 

It is no wonder that a gentleman 
so prfiuijiccd against tlie Catholics 
and tlicir religion as Mr. Scrii)ner has 
shown himself to be. slioiild be as- 
tonished or pU7zIcii ;u the conver- 
sion> which h:ive uikun [ilace in the 
past twenty-five years: 

" ll.'w one CvliKMlfvi in iho Protfscint 
laith c.ta lu-comci sinccir I'apisi it is i.!i!fi 
cult for us to un-.ioi"itaiid. .nut lo m.iny 
minus the t!iingsecmsimpossible"ip.? 1(1'- 



He tries to diminish, and ; 
possible to shirk the diffic 
laying the blame on Anglican 
Puseyisra : 

"It must be remembered thi 
Anglican or Puseyite to become 
lie is a very different thing from 
version to Romanism oranyolh* 
gent Protestant." 

The perusal of Dr. N. 
Lectures will show that the 
tant view and the Protcstar 
dice have had as deep and : 
hold in the English Establish 
in the Kirk, and, therefore, t 
culty remains where it wa 
although w^e may allow that 
churchman is logically near 
Catholic than is a Presbyterij 
are plenty of cases of the coi 
of those who were brought u] 
other Protestant churches. 
Phillipps,Stolberg,ar.d l)e Ha 
Lutherans. Mr. I^ucas was a 
and F. Baker was brought uj 
thodist ; Dr. Brownson was : 
rian, and Judge Burnett w.is ; 
bellite. There are numbers 
verts in the United States fi 
Lutherans, Presbyterians, Me 
Baptists, Unitarians, ami oi 
nominations. It docs not a 
case that some of the best kr 
the converts who were broug 
various sects became Episci 
first, and afterwards Catholic 
as our author asserts, they 
by that step "almost Cat 
And how did they first beco: 
vinced of those " almost C: 
doctrines, and altogether < 
principles which they only 1 
followed out when they beca 
tholics ? Then, again, we h 
two Drachs, the two Ra 
Hermann and Veith, who wct 
iies. Infidtis, too, have be 
venod. as well as Protests 
lows: men of every countr 



412 



Tlu Princeton Review on Dr. Faber, 



He was no adherent of any softening, 
modifying, minimizing school. He 
was not like any of those whom Pro- 
testants are wont to regard with favor 
as belonging more to themselves than 
to us, as a sort of secret, unconscious 
Protestants, who are only externally 
united to the Roman Church, while 
their spirit is alien from her spirit. 
There was nothing of Pascal, Mar- 
tin Boos, or Hyacinthe about him. 
He was not even one of those who 
stopped short at the line of strictly 
defined and obligatory doctrine, as 
if afraid of being extreme Catholics. 
He was no Gallican, no rigorist, no 
advocate of anything that might 
be called Neo-Catholic or Anglo- 
Catholic. Even in regard to minor 
and accessory matters, to modes 
and ways in which there is great 
room for variation in opinion and 
practice, he preferred those which 
characterize the genius of the 
Italian and Spanish nations, and 
which seem to the colder and more 
reserved temperament of the English 
to be the most remote and foreign to 
iheir tastes and intellectual habits. 
He endeavored to divest himself of 
everything which bore the semblance 
of conformity even in accidentals to 
Anglicanism, and to throw his whole 
soul into what he considered to be 
tlie most perfectly Catholic mould. 
He outran in this many both of the 
old English Catholics and of his 
fellow-converts. Especially in regard 
to tlie devotion to the Blessed Virgin 
Mary, he made himself the champion 
of the most exalted views concerning 
the jiower anti glory of the Mother 
of Cod, and the importance of her 
cuUus in the practical teaching and 
piety which is directed to the end 
of tlie conversion and perfection of 
souls. He followed St. IJernardine 
of Sicana, St. Alphonsus, and the 
V. Louis CriL;non de Montfurt, and 
his entire spiritual doctrine is derived 



from similar sources, as 
flowing from the very topmost 
of mystic contemplation, at 
clouds, and far remote from t 
and ken of ordinary mortals, 
theology, which is remarkat 
for accuracy and depth, he 
follows those authors whose 
accords with the strictest crit 
Roman orthodoxy. It is n- 
anything in Father Faber \ 
peculiar and self originated, c 
he brought over from his Pi 
education, and has mixed witl 
lie doctrine as a clarifying ing 
that makes his books popul 
Protestants, and has excited 
miration of the writer in the i 
Review. F. Faber's doctri 
sanctity are purely Catholic p 
The homage which he has < 
is homage paid to the school \ 
he learned, and the mast 
models he followed. The 
shows the quality of his pa 
the fineness andwhitenessof h 
" Men do not gather gr; 
thorns or figs of thistles." 
reverend friend were more 
iar with the lives of the Sai 
the works of Catholic spiritual 
he would cease to wondei 
Faber and his works. We ci 
him to whole libraries of n 
whicli the characters and act 
a multitude of similar mi 
women are depicted, and 
countless forms of the same 
truths and holy sentiments ; 
sen ted. Those who "practu 
terities " to the greatest poss 
tent, the solitaries of the dei 
lioly monks and nuns, the sj 
the most heroic type, are p 
those who were marked at th 
time by their entire conformit 
doctrine and spirit of the 
Church, their profound humil 
their ardent love of the gre; 
and Saviour of ro^kind. Con 



The Princeton Rei'utv mt Dr. Faber. 



4«3 



T, «ntl others like him, with 

X body of fcrvenl Catho- 

if Ibcy hat! a •* different spirit," 

I body being ** full of sclf- 

fcuness," anH these select few 

' " no confiilcncL" in iheir own 

Ktoess/' is sheer nonsense, and 

caninR rattle of word*i. We 

all pretend to possess the 

the loveliness of chariicler, 

lordinarj- grares, or the exalt- 

lity of !■'. Knber. But all 

hold the genuine Cailiolic 

which our holy mother the 

leaches, and possess in any 

he genuine Catholic piety 

,c inculraitrs, are, so far. like 

The same sjtirit is in all, 

they he the frail and sinful 

their sins with contrition, 

though imperfect who are 

t'to keep God's comnland- 

ith more or less diligence, 

lore advanced in Christian 

id holiness of life. Those 

e a false and counterfeit 

lo indulge in the spiritti.il 

pride, sclfconfidencc, and 

who ;ire willing victims to 

ns of the devil, and seek to 

part of saints in onler to 

icir sclf-Iovc and win ajj- 

like other sinners, except 

have more of the hypocrite 

Tliey generally become 

or fall into ojjcn sin. and 

ing their wearisome part, 

ley are truly humbled anfl 

'Dicse are the persons 

It " different spirit " from 

h actuates the tnic children 

ihurch. That F. Faber 

the common chords which 

hrough the great Catholic 

shown by the fact that he is 

; popular spiritual writer of 

ury. Three hundred tliou- 

ie« of his works, in some six 

: languages, had been sold 

DC ago, and they still con- 



tinue to circulate everj'where. It is 
not a little remarkable that the same 
chord is obedient lo his touch in the 
hearts of so many rroteslanis. What 
genius, learning, reasoning, philoso- 
phy, cannot do, the faith and lovt 
which spring from pra>-er and pen- 
ance accomplish with ease. It is a 
remarkable fact, and we tall the at- 
tention of Catholic preachers and 
writere to il, as well as that of Pro- 
testants. One who ilisdained the 
thought of diluting Catholic doctrine 
to suit the delicate palate of the age, 
who was regardless of the opinion of 
men, who plumed his pinions for a 
kind of audacious flight into the lofty 
ether in which saints atone are wont 
to soar and poise in contemplation, 
who threw off all drapery from the 
glorious form of Catholic truth, and 
loudly called on all men to ga?:e and 
worship, is the one who win'; the 
confidence and captivates the hearts 
of the greatest number of the church's 
lost and estranged children. We 
tru:>t that his works will win their 
way, and exercise their gentle, at- 
tractive force still more extensively 
among evangelical Protestants. The 
reiomniendation of a I'rcshyicrian 
pastor, which goes forth under the 
s.anction of I'rinccton, will, we inisl, 
])roducc its full effect, anti excite the 
pious curiosity of a great number of 
readers to become acquainted with 
the biography and writings of the 
gifted, lovely, holy poet, priest, and 
le.'icher, who has been callcil the 
Bernardine of Sienna of the nine- 
teenth century. 

We have endeavored to bring out 
into strong relief what is really oi the 
greatest moment in the article of the 
Primehm Review, 2.\\\\ what the weak 
though violent counter-protests only 
make more prominent and definite, 
that tlie concessions to the personal 
and doctrinal purity of P'ather Faber 
are a yielding of the most grievous 



414 



The Princeton Review on Dr. Faber, 



of the charges against Catholics and 
their religion. It argues, we hope, a 
change in the spirit and manner of 
maintaining the controversy with us 
which is coming on. The teaching 
of Father Faber is admitted to con- 
tain the " essential truths of the Gos- 
pel," and his most distinctively Ca- 
tholic and Roman doctrines are ad- 
mitted to be *' not incompatible with 
piety." The conclusion is rigidly 
logical and irresistible, that Calvinists 
must consider the controversy be- 
tween us as one not respecting di- 
rectly^ but only indirectly^ the essen- 
tial, fundamental dogmas and pre- 
cepts of the Gospel and Christianity. 
Let them, then, realize this view to 
themselves, think in accordance with 
it, and regulate their conduct and 
language in harmony with it. Let 
them no longer ignore and practi- 
cally abjure the Christian church 
from the fourth century to the pre- 
sent moment, and confine their sym- 
pathies to an imaginary primitive 
period and the sphere of modem 
IVotestantism. Let them study an- 
cient, mediaeval, and modem Catho- 
lic authors, read history and theolo- 
gy, and leam to discuss the real issue 



with us. The Chinese mctl 
warfare, charging upon us with 
aloft, bearing the hideous fig 
the beast with seven heads a 
horns, with outcries and sho 
derision and vituperation, wi 
answer any longer. Thos« 
choose to follow such tactii 
soon be forced to throw theii 
into the air and take to flight. 
too late to frighten even Presb 
children with such nonsense, 
weakness and helplessness of tl 
Irish Catholics, and of the h 
of Catholics in England, mad 
for a long time the easy vict 
oppression and calumny. B 
day for treating the Catholics 
English-speaking world with 1 
tiness and contumely has pas; 
We desire, however, no revci 
retaliation. We ask nothing c 
testants except that they wil 
the tmth. In the words of 1 
lembert: "The truth, and r 
but the truth — jusrice, and n 
but justice — let that be our s 
venge ! " * 



• M^kt 9/ tk* Wttt^ loUoducUoB, 1 
graph. 



LIMITATION. 



Through limit and hindrance man works : no limit hath God, 

need; 
But his wind is musical only when prisoned in the cane of th 

Aubrey de Ve] 



Modern Opera, 



415 



MODERN OPERA.' 



uiNc better pictures on epoch 
»c art and literature which it 
Ks. The great characters, re- 
and political^ imruorlalized by 
^ have always been surrounded 
ustcr or noble geniuses, artistic 
lerary. The gcueroiaty and 
turoUy of heroes is rcjiroduced 
Eublime purity of the works of 
their cpotlu Nobility of art 
testimony lo the excellence of 
, Our century is no exception 
Confusion of principles in 
and religion is accompanied 
lalogousovcrturning of morals, 
and of literature. We are 
n a time of general depravity; 
:, it is so us regards those who 
I to march at the head o( 

I civilization. But tlieir de- 
literature, their shameless arts, 

t their disastrous intluence 
105* who would wish to resist 
rcot of the bad passions of the 

II is to them Uiat M. Stein 
raming of the danger, in de- 

tbe bad conditions into which 
uc music has degenerated. It is 
' of contemporaneous manners, 
much from an artistic as from 
ioos and pohtical point of view. 

LEJAEN : A few days ago, it 
lowti you here how consider- 

the inRucncc of the tine arts 
Ihc moral life of mankind ; it 
Icmonsirated how they can 
the human sentiment towards 
t cn<ls, gt.iod or bad. 

«iU permit me now Lo call 

ir* */ M S/tiit, Cmr-ttf of C^^Mti. 
t toinr* tbeOathftncConKr«4i ml DUi> 



your attention to a branch of the 
line arts which, more now than ever, 
and more than all others, exercises its 
influence on, the moral life of the 
people, and which mcnls thus the 
highest degree of interest from this 
assembly. It is dramatic poetry al- 
lied to musical art, that is, the Opera. 

You all kjiow the great extent of 
this branch, which hxs cajilivatcd the 
favor of the public to a degree per- 
fectly exceptional, and which has 
banished to the second place all 
other branches of dramatic art. 

The reasons of this extraordinary 
success are not so well known. The ex- 
cessive predilection of public theatre- 
goers for the opera is of quite recent 
dale. Only forty years ago, the 
masterpieces of dramatic poetry en- 
joyed the same favor as those of 
dramatic music. By the side of 
Mozart and Carl Maria von U'eber, 
Shakespeare and Schiller were found 
on a fooling of equality; to-day they 
must retire before Meyerbeer and 
Oftenbach, and be contented to re- 
main eclipsed by these favorites of 
the public. If you question on the 
subject enthusiastic lovers of the 
opera, they will answer that, in our 
day, opera has made progress so 
considerable, and attained to such 
perfection, that the understanding 
of music is so general among the 
people, that this predilection of an 
enlightened public for dramatic music 
is the most natural thuig iu the world. 
You know there never can be ques- 
tion of any other than an anlightened 
public; for it cannot be doubted 
that every man who frequents the 
theatre is a man of progress. Tlic 



4 



4ld 



Modern Opera, 



gallery represents the preparatory 
school ; the boxes, the pupils in 
I>hilosopby. 

However, it is difficult to believe 
that artistic taste and love of music 
are the sole motives which cause the 
public to fill the halls of the opera- 
house. Forty years ago, the works 
of Mozart, of Weber, and other mas- 
ters were well appreciated by con- 
noisseurs, but they did not meet with 
as much success from the public as 
modern operas enjoy to-day. Or is 
it rather that Donizetti and Verdi, 
Meyerbeer and Oftenbach, understand 
the art better than Mozart and We- 
ber, Spohr and Spontini ? We cannot 
admit it. The reason must be else- 
where, and surely, gentlemen, you 
wish to know it. 

In a pamphlet published ten years 
ago, Richard Wagner says : '* The 
essential foundation of art, as practised 
generally in our day, is industry: 
its moral end is gain, its aesthetic in- 
tention to kill ennui" 

Tliis richly endowed artist has in 
view his colleagues in dramatic music, 
the composers of opera. He knew 
these men well, and understood him- 
self how they set to work. But in 
the words quoted he has perfectly 
exi)lained the end and tendency of 
modern opera. 

The end is no other than gain j 
and, as means conducive to this end, 
uftVt I is necessary, which must be at- 
laincil at any price. Industrialism, 
that lyrant of our age. has also sub- 
miltcvi the opera to its power, and 
under its domination the art exhausts 
ilscif forcibly, because tied to the 
lly-wlicel of the artistic fabric. 
To produce effect, to surprise and 
'.)ring out something which has not 
yet iK-en scon — these are the objects 
of actual dramatic music. To this 
end is sacrifuod not only art. but also 
all that exists — religion, politics, mo- 
rality, and truth. This unfortunate 



course has been inaugurate 
Italians. In their dramati< 
Donizetti and Verdi have so 
for effect, theatrical success, 
this end have completely s 
dramatic truth. For love < 
they have trodden upon law, 
and even reason. The do 
of sense over mind is the 
teristic feature of their music 

But it is among the Fre 
this style has attained its 
perfection, and even among 
man composers, who, for 
effect, have Frenchified the 
The most skilful author of s 
operas, Scribe, has offered h' 
these greedy musicians for 
and shows his readiness to 
all to it. Scribe understooti 
risian public for which he 
He knew its weakness, and 
succeeded in imposing the 
taste of that public on th 
civilized world. 

In the texts furnished by S 
is intended for scenic el 
means are employed to re 
end. The requirements of 
truth and of morality, even 
sense, are sacrificed to the 
effect. Frivolous and ii 
allusions, which offer gross 
the impure fancy, and neces* 
the imagination ofinnocena 
ful scenes, as, for example 
Viavoio, where a young girl 
and goes to bed before the a 
scenes of the bath, as in thi 
nots ; scenes of seduction, i 
bert le Diable ; political ; 
exaltation of and homage 
revolutionary passions, as 
Miuiie de Ibrtki ; base fl: 
the irreligious opinions and g 
of the day ; even, in fine, » 
culiarly religious, that are 
the piece to produce strik 
trasts, and bring out tc 
scenes better — these are th' 



Irm Opera. 



4J7 



„ of which ihe&e poets and 
re have mode us«r to pro- 
Tect, and lo nuke luuney 
rffert. Thanks tu these in* 
of tiiC opera, it happens 
France a new opera has no 
iiancc of success, if it be nut 
;Uy proviiled with these 
[>r exciting bad passions, 
how is ii in Gennany ? The 
good-nature imitates every* 
which the French set tlie 
It allows itself to Iw 
1, c%'cn lo the point of finding 
Vhcre there is nothing but 
y. It diinks even that it 
cs a rcUgious character in 
faich do but abuse and vilify 
The German ^ood-naturc 
that these creators of French 
carried dramatic music to 
Kt perfection, whilst in reality 
merely skilful workniim, and 
nothing much worse. 

denied that our so-called 
and intelligent public is in- 
d with drinking from the poi- 
up of the French opera, it 
conceded that in Germany 
: still niony men who know 
art, and who therefore, at ilic 
nut sacritlce to this musical 
Ut render testimony to the 
3i regard to the modern ope- 
'.y do not trouble themselves 
,e shouts and railleries of the 
who arc unreflecting, and 
■rt only sensual enjoyment 
imc. 
mc here to recall the mc- 
generous man, a grand mas- 
rauw;al art, whom the city 
idorf formerly counted among 
ens — to wit, Mcndelssohn- 
f. From the letters he has 
know that, dunng his artis- 
', lie desirc«l earnestly to try 
ive power on the ojjera, but 
\\ sucoce<l because, notwith- 
his multiplied cBbrts, he 
- XIV.— 27 



could not find a text to please film. 
During his sojourn in I'arts, his father 
wrote him to emjiloy Scribe to furnish 
him a text, to make the composition 
at Farts, and lo have the joint work 
performed there. This letter of the 
father betrays a man well vended in 
business. In his answer, Mcndels* 
sohn lirsl speaks of the diDicuUies 
which arc raised against strangers 
who wish lo represent their works 
in Parisi then says : " It must be add- 
ed that, among the French, the prin- 
cipal condition is one to which we 
inubt always be opposed, even when 
the epoch requires us lo be ready to 
make concessions to the taste of the 
day. This essential condition is im- 
morality. I have no music for thai. 
It is ignoble. If the present agp 
exacts such requirements of the oi>e- 
ra, I renounce it for ever. J pn^er 
to compose religious music." 

Honor to the honest man ! 
Honor to the artist who m acting 
thus honored himself — who refused to 
gain money and to make himself fa- 
mous by selhng for so base a use the 
divine gift which God had given him ! 

As Mendelssohn inilicates here, il 
is particularly Meyerbeer who has de- 
voted himself to this bad style. In 
Itis youth, this tdcntcd artist had 
composed several operas which had 
not been favorably received. He 
had tried without success in the Ger- 
man school as well as in the Ita- 
lian. He gave himself up to the 
mercantile style, and his career was 
brilliant. Meanwhile, Meyerbeer cm- 
ployetl Scribe to write his texts, and 
these two minds understood each 
other wonderfully. The one fur- 
nished piquant scenes, without regard 
to the cxiptcncies of reason and mo- 
rals, aiui threw in a profusion of se- 
ductions for all Che passions, lie set 
to work all the wonders of decora- 
tion. The other illuminated the 
whole with seductive music, which 



4i8 



Modern Opera. 



sought but for effect, and had no re- 
gard to dramatic truth. In this man- 
ner, Meyerbeer has become not only 
the most famous, but also — and this 
is the principal thine- -the richest 
musician of the entire world. He 
knows his business, as no one before 
has known it. 

Meyerbeer is distinguished particu- 
larly for his predilection for religious 
scenes. With consummate skill, he 
uses them to produce striking con- 
trasts. None of his last operas fail 
in tliis spicy seasoning. As a Jew, 
he is impartial among the different 
Christian sects. He maligns and 
mocks them all. In Robert h Dia- 
Mt, it is Catholicism which is put 
under contribution to furnish material 
for his religious scenes ; in the ffitgite- 
nois^ he abuses Protestantism in the 
same manner and to the same end. 

Marcel, a personage insignificant 
and dull, a fanatical Huguenot, in- 
terrupts everywhere the action of 
the piece with a Protestant canticle, 
alwn)-s ino[)portunely and without 
reason, but producing always a 
grand effect by contrast. It is the 
air of the canticle of Luther: "Our 
tiod is a tower of strength." The 
siicrcss of the I/ui^uriwfs, this opera 
being so much a favorite, rests almost 
entirely on the contrasts produced 
by this canticle. 

In the first net, a merry company 
of cavaliers is found at table drink- 
ing niirl singing a riotous song. 
Mnrccl, the incomprehensible solitary, 
proceeds to thunder out. vith a loud 
voice accompanied with brazen in- 
Etnimcnts : " Hear me, strong God ! 
My voice is raised to thee." This 
canlicic, in the midst of jovial drink- 
ers, intermingled with the song they 
are singing — how can it fail of eflbct ? 
In the ss-^ond act, there is a very 
violent scene. At the instigation of 
Queen Margaret, the Count St. Bris 
has proposed his daughter to the 



Chevalier Raoul, who rcfi 
Valentina, the daughter, des] 
scorned, complains ; Queen 1 
preaches peace ; all shout ai 
and Marcel adds his chor 
thundering voice, " God, oi 
and protection, listen to oui 
Is not this a shameful prostit 
sacred things ? But it prod 
feet ; and our opera-going 
which boasts of its delicate 
enchanted with it, and imagt 
the violent impression prodt 
these contrasts is a rcligio 
edifying sentiment. 

In L'A/ricaint, the last pre 
of Meyerbeer, he introduces u 
diately, in the first act, to a si 
the secret council of the K 
Portugal. It is understood I 
grand inquisitor and a certai 
ber of cardinals pliy the p 
roie. Finally, Vasco de Game 
demned, loaded with chaii 
thrown into the deepest di 
Why? Because he has s 
the existence of distant and ui 
lands of which the Scriptui 
not speak. You know well I 
clesiastical dignitaries have 
had the habit of refuting with 
and a prison novel ideas anc 
tific discoveries. At least, I 
scene the public is convince* 
with the aid of stunning 
This same opera, so much ap; 
contains also a very piquant a 
intrigue. There are several i 
cs of prayer, then a large ve 
the stage, and finally a man 
tree, which spreads death. \\ 
agree that it is the possible i 
impossible. 

However, it is not the Jew 
beer who has pushed to the i 
his musical industr)'. Th' 
Offenbach has gone much 
The ibrmer speculated princif 
the curiosity of the unreflectii^ 
es ; but while his art is und 



rfSiTif Opera. 



to frivolity, he still seeks lo 
a certain decorum. But 
h has got rid of ihc last re- 
modesty and propriety. Yet 
ilian public besiege the work- 
id iip])laud w-itii frenzy the 

indei tn<ies of this industrious 

^n aux EnfcrSy Iji BfUe He- 
Vie BtrisUnne, such, for 
rears, have been the favorite 
ith a public in advance of 
TliCse operas have been 
every day for weeks and 
on every stage ; and often 
r disputes over the tickets for 
iprcseniations. Of course, it 
ing to the be.iutiful music. 
lhe:se impure works, dramatic 
as attained the extreme of 
lion. After having been low- 
Meyerbeer and the modem 
ys of France and Italy to 
of an tguestritnnc, who rides 
iC circus in elegant costume, 
of mu&ic lias been thrown 
demi-monde by Offenbach. 
d not fall lower, 
emcn, turrmit me to repeat 
,ion which was laid before 
die l)ci,'inning. What is the 
at modem opera has gained 
of ihe public lo so eniiiieiit 
that not only the cbssical 
' this kind, but also the nia:i- 
of declaimed drama, are 
from the theatre? Now, 
nnewrr xW^a (jQcstion. The 
:ig phenomenon 
n opera, art h»is 
,nto the ser>-ice of sensuality, 
all generous and elevalefl 
It has tasked itself to 
lublic depra\cd by pleasures 
kind—to satisfy curiosity, to 
ic bad piis-sions, the errors 
udiccs uf the age, and to 
bad u»c of the questions of 

who stiil doubt what I say 



have but to notice the intimate union 
of the ballet with the opera which 
the prevailing taste dictates as on in* 
cxorable law. Jn most cases, the 
ballet has no logical or artistic con- 
nection with the opera. It is a for- 
eign element which imposes itself 
upon musical and dramatic action, 
and which is given with the avowed 
intention of exciting voluptuousness. 
Reason is forced to despise the bal- 
let; moral sentiment condemns it ; 
musical art is obliged tu lament over 
it as a sad aberration ; nevertheless, 
modern opera has concluded an al* 
liance for life with this frivolous crea- 
tion of the present time. You know 
the proverb, ** lell nie what compa- 
ny you keep: I will tell you what 
you are." 

Our friends of the opera do not 
like to be told these things. Judg- 
ments like these are for them the ex- 
pressions of a mind opposed to mo- 
dem civilization, and lost in obsolete 
ideas. If one of tliese partisans of 
modem opera hears what I have just : 
sai.l, he wilt certainly say that the 
darkness of my ultramontane soul is 
blacker than the color of my robe. 
He will maintain that it is only a:s- 
ihetic education, aVtistic sense, en- 
thusiasm for music, which draws him 
and his equals to similar works; and, 
nevertheless, the old operas )vhich 
arc veritable works of art, but whichl 
do not contain any picjuant subject^ 
and little food for sen^iuality, leave' 
them cold and inditTerenl in the depth ' 
t'f their licarts. The symphonies of 
Beethoven and Mozart cause these 
lovers of art to yawn, and the name 
alone of an oratorio makes their llesh 
creep. 

What position have we Christians 
lo take, in order to oppose these 
alarming phenomena of the present 
t!ay ? A critic of the seventeenth - 
century, named Wehrenfels, has bid 
down this principle for dramatic art 



433 



Modern Opera. 



in general : " Finally, all our drama- 
tic representations should be such 
that Plato could tolerate them in his 
republic, that Cato could listen to 
them with pleasure, that vestals could 
witness them without wounding their 
chastity, and, what is more impor- 
tant, that Christians could listen to 
them." 

You will say this is too antiquated 
a principle. Among the greater part 
of our amateurs at the theatre it will 
only provoke expressions of doubt ; 
they will say that this poor Wehren- 
fels is far behind modern civilization. 
Notwithstanding, no one undertakes 
to refute this principle, to demonstrate 
that these requirements are ground- 
less. But as long as they are not 
refuted, we must consider thera justi- 
fied, and we ask if they should not 
be applied to the opera. Is not the 
drama when sung to be submitted to 
the same true moral and aesthetic laws 
as the drama recited ? 

To the phenomena of life as pro- 
duced before our eyes, we apply 
the scale of conscience and of rea- 
son. Why should it not be our right 
and our duty to apply them also to 
the opera, and to regulate our con- 
duct from the result of such an ex- 
amination ? No one will deny that 
this question is well founded. Ne- 
vertheless, it would meet with much 
resistance. Our enthusiasts of the 
oi)era have tacitly agreed that, where 
it is a question of opera, good sense 
and conscience should be silent. But 
ourselves, gentlemen, ought never to 
abandon these j>rinciples. We should 
no longer be Christians, if we did 
not apply to the opera the principles 
we practise in our lives. 

Let us, then, apply these principles 
to the music of our day. What must 
we do if it be condemned for frivol- 
ity, for immodesty and abuse of reli- 
gious things? If we find that the 
scenes are arranged solely with a 
view to effect, and in disregard of 



good sense and logic ? 
and conscience, by commt 
condemn this degradation 
the deception with which t 
dation is presented as ver 
What must we do, in pn 
these great accusations ag 
dern opera ? 

Would you condemn 
your reason and your cons 
cause you are promised am 
Would you wish, as a retur 
money, to liave sung on 
words you despise, words ] 
repulse if they were spoken 
you put a temptation be 
children, in leading them tt 
ra — these same children w 
tried to bring up in honesi 
gion, in piety, and the o 
of all Christian duties ? D 
lieve that at the opera, whe 
is made a plaything, where 
posed to contempt, attacke 
lumniated, they will learn i 
and to obey it? Will tl 
good morals, decency, and 
from the dancers of the ba 
is sufficient to place before 
questions J you will ansv 
yourselves. But why this s 
ticism ? W^hat will result fi 

Will my words succeed i 
dramatic music from its ba 
and making it enter on ; 
\ViU tlie thousands and i 
of individuals who find thei 
pleasure in modem opera 
ticc of them at all ? I do 
upon that. But I hope w 
dence, gentlemen, that n 
will engage you to exam 
closely the subject of whic 
been treating. You will 
your judgment from char 
criticism and enthusiastic 
of sensuality \ but you will 
yourselves, by vigorously 
your Christian principles, 
arc thus affected, my words 
borne fruit. 




The Study of Sacred History. 



4*1 



THE STUDY OF SACRED- HISTORY.* 



Ibeen said that a distinguished 
lady, rcmarliablc for her in- 
C in the treatment of m.iny 
affcciing the condition of 
jtarLin classes, and by whose 
iig efforts tl)c erection and 
eoi of rcfonnatories for ju- 
:nders, and industrial schools 
'vagrant portion of the com- 
nown in our civilized era 
•t Arabs," and who herself 
ly superintended most admir- 
tfoniK-iiorj- for young girls in 
Uras accustomed to say to her 
in reply to their astonishment 
Wonderful persc^'crance and 
•' Whenever I see anything 
in call radically wrongs I ne- 
ftatisfted till I can render to 
Rn intelligent reason why it 
e WTong; and then, when I 
bar the causes are. I set iny- 
Uic labk of [jrcvcnting, as far 
ible, the occurrence of any- 
I the same kind in the future." 
Practical view of the duties of 
:h provetl of such benefit to 
■ficiarics of that philanthropic 
mu to have been adopted by 
tr of the work before us, and 
'been applied on a more cooi- 
ve scale. Becoming con- 
after long investigation, that 
he evils which at present af- 
bety Arises out of spiritual ig- 
of the hUotry of tlie church 
the pre-Christian era, instead 
Krly contenting himself xviih 
hg tlie calamity, he set to 



^0H*t Bihtf an.t Ckwtk tiiitt>*y Slit- 
Bf the Rev. Ilciiiy Kotmbr- 
: The CaUioIm: I'ut»li»tioa Society. 



work and produced a hnok which, un- 
der its present modest title, contains 
a concise history not only of the 
Catholic Churdi, but of the ways of 
God's providence to man from the 
creation, as far as they have been re- 
vealed to us through the pages of 
Holy Writ and in the writings of an-r 
cient aulhorilies. The reverend au- 
thor by this admirable work hoped, if 
he could not contribute to di.spel the 
mist3 of doubt and dissent now so 
wides]>rcad in both hemispheres, to 
at least put into the hands of the ris- 
ing generation a preventive and an 
argument against those who would 
either deny the existence of a revealed 
law, or, admitting, wouhl pen'crt its j 
commands to their own wcuk or vi- 
cious puqioses. His success so far' 
has been proportionate to iiis abiUty 
and purity of motive. 

Wc arc all aware that the best part 
of the Christian people has been 
plunged into profound grief and stu- 
pefaciion by the recent murder, or, as 
tl:e Holy Father more emphatically 
expressed it, the parricitlc of the late 
Archbishop of Paris, and so many of 
his faithful clergy. Now, who werfij 
the perpetrators of that mo.st foul J 
deed? U\ one sense, certainly, not' 
a wild, tumultuous mnb, acting with- 
out system or guidance, nor yet pri- . 
vate assassins in the employment of ] 
the secret societies, or moved thercKjj 
by personal malice or revenge. On] 
the contrary, the dcc<l was done in the ] 
open day, by the arbitrary orders of 
wiial was claitned to have been a 
regularly establishefl government, 
and executed by its armed soldiery, 
two of whom, even when about to 



422 



The Study of Sacred History, 



obey the mandates of their supposed 
superiors, knelt at the feet of the holy 
prelate and begged his forgiveness for 
the crime they were about to commit. 
It is not claimed by the apologists 
of the Communists that their illustri- 
ous victims were guilty of any offence 
against the state, or that even the 
form of a trial was accorded them ; 
and yet there are to be found many 
persons, considering themselves ho- 
norable and intelligent, who openly 
or secretly applaud that glaring and 
cruel act of injustice, and who 
thoroughly sympathize with the Euro- 
pean revolutionists — those enemies of 
all law, who, if they had the power, 
would repeat in every city in Christen- 
dom the late disgraceful scenes of 
Paris. It is a melancholy fact that 
outside the Catholic Church the horri- 
ble murder of the venerable Arch- 
bishop Darboy and so many of his 
clergy has been the cause of ill- 
disguised congratulation, not only 
among those who are in direct affilia- 
tion with the revolutionists, but amid 
the sects who profess to regard the 
Decalogue as part of their fundamental 
doctrine. Have we yet heard from 
the thousands of pulpits and hundreds 
of newspapers, occupied and con- 
trolled by the various Protestant sects, 
one open and manly protest against 
the atrocious criminals who have so re- 
cently sullied the fair fame of France 
by deeds that would have disgraced 
the most degraded forms of savage 
life ? Not one. 

A fact like this, so patent and por- 
tentous, while it shows how large a 
portion of civilized society has fallen 
away from the plainest teachings of 
Christian charity and justice, must 
necessarily lead to the inquiry as to 
the best means of arresting, and, if 
possible, correcting so monstrous an 
evil. Recognizing it as such, it is 
our duty fearlessly and persistently to 
endeavor to correct it, for ''''Felix qui 



Potuis rerum co^wseere causa* i 
ways be a true maxim, even w' 
are engaged in the study of th< 
of human miseries and disaste 
a view to their alleviation. 

In contemplating the man 
which now afflict Christian soci 
creation and formerly the o' 
creature of the Catholic Chin 
must recollect that God hasnc 
to his church the gift of being th< 
ble preserver of the faith in ever] 
and at all times, no more than 
guarantee to all people civi 
and wise government. Ther 
doubt that the church is the trei 
in this world, the leaves of wh 
the health of mankind, "eiguis 
putavit si perierint nationes qui. 
cisti" {Wisd. xli. 12); but wh 
accuse her of countenanci 
disorders which have arisen I 
the rejection of her authority, 
which she has ever been strei 
opposed ? Our Lord himself c 
plates the rebellion of natio 
people against his doctrine, 
angel of the Church of Ephe 
Spirit said, " Be mindful from 
thou hast fallen : and do penan 
resume thy first works. Or if 1 
hold I come to thee and will m 
candlestick out of its place, 
thou dost penance " (Apoc. 
Even the presence of the prii 
among us in adequate numbe 
assurance against schism and 
lity. Though we may have 
confidence in their sanctity a 
soundness of their teachings. 1 
not always be certain that the 
of their holy calling will be per 
with uniform discretion, intell 
and zeal, or that the hearts < 
congregations will respond on a 
sions and amid all circumstai 
the teachings of their pastors 
true that at all times and in all 
the soldiers of the Cross have 
themselves the faithful guardi 



The Study of Sactcd History. 



morality, but it must lie 
tliat occasionally, pariicu- 
Burcipe, ihey have not at- 
ifficicnc imparlance to the 
of the iindlcctual training of 
^s And tf) ihc* wonderful ucl- 
thc huin:ui mind in abstract 
iLical sciences. What the 
ury wrote of a past genera- 
rtiallVf at least, true in Uiis. 
elace to his Historkal Cate- 
says: 

a CTcat number of dcvoui per- 
ibavc read great niimbcr» ur 
iiMik^, niuJ are famihsr wlib n 
jfy of dcvoilon.-i] praciircs. but 
ially ivjiiring in nn iindcrsiand- 
[irery groundwork o( rclii^ioit." 

I 

^ testiTnony receives a re- 

corruboration in the cir- 
s that, in the last century, 
IchdcU Uic traditional belief 
id in the Christian revcla- 
>red credit with ilie muhi- 
n **fs/>rU fort:* In short, 
7f there being so much as 
rfility of an ** esprit pri" 
!ved in God and who ex 
[>fcased tlic faitli of the 
I to be unknown, 
i notion in J-rancc 
nc ciimce consisted in being 
p'rouiaurstrong-mindci:! and 
Uudcr the influence of 
», lh€ principal part of the 
llation of Francx- fell away 
uth, and it has required the 
efli;irt$ uf at least two gene- 
phcsts, and with but par- 
j^Jo lead them back to 
^ndigioD in Great Krt- 
^at paikt century is known 
Irgdy taken its coniiilcx- 
france, and it is remark- 

Ike bulk of the Hngh^ih 
I a^Tectcd to form prccisc- 
j^oimate of it, and that it 
^Miiinical to the culliva- 
ffwdcnianUing anda dc- 



433 

cided enemy of knowledge and pro- 
gress. The same phenomenon ap- 
pears in Italy. The Italian people 
are still deeply attached to the tradi- 
tions of the Catholic faith, bui the 
]>opular idea of the Catholic religion, 
milled by the slanders and misrepre- 
sentations of the revolutionists, is 
that it is the religion of the timid, 
the feeble, and the pious, that its 
warns are limited to functions and 
processions, beads and prayer-books, 
or what would be rather scoffingly 
called *'ro6tt iHjiieta" Ax\i\ that it is 
in no way conscious of any wants 
proper to a manly understanding, and 
consequently never expected to take 
any pains to satisfy them. In Ger- 
m.iny, there are perfectly analogoas 
symptoms. CalhoUcs in some parts of 
that great empire b:ar the contemp- 
tuous name of Dunkelmmtur^ men 
of darkness J and ihcy are looked 
tipon, not merely by the posltise ene- 
mies Kii ;dl religion, but by the busy 
throng, as certainly no friends to the 
legitiinaK: progress and cultivation of 
the gifts of the understanding. 

The consequences of these disas- 
trous icndcntics to fall off from the 
practice of the Wrtues and observances 
of the church are apparent to all 
thinking men, and, if not checked, will 
have an equally marked effect on the 
morals and faith of future generations. 
To some extent, we humbly submit, 
they are due to a want of thorough 
education, not only spiritually but 
humanly, among a large number of 
Catholics, who, not deficient in piety 
and the desire to live according lo 
llie precepts of Christianity, arc too 
often led away by the sophistries and 
superior knowletlge — real or arTceted 
— of the ojiponents of their faith. 
Learning is said to be the liandniai* 
den of religion — and is never so brO- 
lianl as when employed in her service^ 
while religion, profiting by her assist* 
ance, moves on from one triumph to 



424 



The Study of Sacred History. 



another. It does not appear to be a 
part of the providence of God that 
man should dimply grow into a 
knowledge of the doctrines of the 
church, in the same manner as he 
advances to bodily maturity, but by 
intelligent and persevering leaching 
and diligent practice. In our world, 
every year brings new-comers on the 
stage, and the message to the Church 
of Ephesus was, *' Age pcenitentiam et 
prima opera fac^ The Cathohc cler- 
gy inherit a tradition, long anterior 
to that of the past century, of being 
the patrons and the cultivators of the 
human mind, and they still should re- 
member these true and ancient glories 
of their sacred calling. The language 
of the sacred liturgy on the day of 
Pentecost is beautifully expressive on 
this subject : 

*' Da tmUfidelihut 
Sacrum ttpttmariutm^' 

Sacrum Septenar'mm — the sacred 
seven gifts of the Holy Ghost, 
amongst which we find the "spirit 
of understanding and of know- 
ledge." All the gifts of the Holy 
Ghost doubtless require to receive 
their due share of honor and cultiva- 
tion. But in a generation which has 
gone so widely and so terribly wrong 
by the way of a perverted and de- 
reived intellect, the cause of faith in 
ihe world demands that the battle be 
foujilit with a special do termination 
on tlic ground of the intelligence. If 
Satan relics nn the i^crversion of the 
mind fur leading them nwny from be- 
lief in the truth and divinity of the 
revelation brought by Moses, and 
perfected by ilie coining and ministry 
i>f one greater than Moses. St. Mi- 
ihael must contend with Satan for 
the possession of tlie body of Moses. 
The more the spirit of tleee]>tion that 
has gone abroad seok-^ to discre- 
dit the Mosaic revelation, which is 
(he forerunner in the worKl of the 



revelation of Jesus Christ, tin 
we must diligently persevere s 
sist that all who are willing t< 
should stir up within thei 
the gifts of the spirit of underst 
and knowledge, and qualify 
selves to resist and confront tb 
of error wherever they meet 
and on all fitting occasions. 
Catholic family ought to be a 
or focus of Christian informatic 
every household there ought 
books containing the narrative 
works of God through the lin< 
great samts, beginning from 
cred narrative of Moses dow 
to the present time. Sacred 
is the true tower of strength 
cause of faith. 

This study should not, as 
heretofore generally been, coni 
ancient history ; for, though i 
find in the Old TesUment th 
derful working of God in hi; 
course with his creatures, and 
veloped and completed his woi 
promises to his chosen peof 
have, under the new dispei 
and in the history of the C 
Church, as indubitable proofs 
promises and fulfilment of then 
fulness of time by our divine '. 
The history of the Popes, for ex 
from St. Peter to Pius IX., is 
with providential incidents, as 
ing the worldly and baffling 
called wisdom of the sceptical 
perpetual rejuvenation of the i 
herself when apparently crusb 
disintegrated beneath the lo 
kingly oppression and the lawl 
of the mob, is in itself not i 
perpetual miracle, but the f 
fulfilment of the promises of the 
der to be with her all da\-s e 
the consummation of the world. 
lives of the grand throng of 
martyrs, confessors, and missii 
— the glory and pride of tbei 
— their sufl'ertngs, triumphs, am 



Tke Study of Sacrrd Histcry. 



4^5 



love of art and literature, 

nukn life holy and bcau- 

tugltt with lessons bcfure 

\ (be stOT)' of Abraham's 

1 Joseph's forgiveness sink 

■ativL' insignificraricre. Sa- 

should be read as a whole, 

ginning of time to ihe pre- 

iving to the more ancient 

per share of attcuUon, not 

s own sake but as pre- 

more perfect system of 

. But the histor)* uf the 

*erves and should receive 

t and most marked attcn- 

: of the Rev. Henry Form- 
under its simple title, con- 
rise and chronological nar- 
-red history from llie crca- 
jii our own times, in this re* 
of the most useful publica- 
As recently appearetl from 
press, and, though but an 
of a much more volumi- 
on the same subject, it 
i] the essentia.! features of 
1 with singular simplicity 
r of style. The title gives 
idea of its merits, fur in 
not a mere collection of 
ic general acceptation of 
>uc short, succinct, and cor- 
al sketches of events rcla- 
)ld Testament, and a con- 
I necessarily short liii>tory 
irch from its foundation. 
(eiDcnt of the subject is 
ami, in view of the vast 
ilical lore to be traversed, 
nierous historical facts of 
iporlance to be touched 
t in the confined limits 
tme, there are displayed a 
' narration, and a nice ap- 
»f ihe salient points in the 
aere^s of the human mce, 
' ' 'k easy lo be read 
._^ even the moj-t pr- 

:•! person. In fact, if 



the author had substituted " pictures '* 
for "stories" in his title-page, he 
would have been more correct. 

A general knowledge of the history 
of the creation, and of God's once 
cJioscn people, the Jews, as well as an 
acquaintance with that of the church 
herwlf, the perfection of what was 
imperfectly prefigured under the old 
ilis[iensalton, ought lo be an essential 
ingredient in the education of every 
Catholic c:hild and of every adult, no 
matter what may be his condition in 
life ; but heretofore the undertaking 
has been so laborious on account 
of the want of elementary l>ooks on 
those all-imr»ort3nt subjects, that but 
little wns generally known of the 
workings of Providence in ancient 
times, and the typical significance of 
many of the events related in the Old 
Testament, except by the learned few. 
Even the early histor>* of the church 
has l)een practically a sealed book to 
the English-speaking masses, who3« 
ideas of her long years of suffering, 
persecution, and final triumph have 
been of the most indefinite and often- 
times erroneous character. We have 
lo ihank Father t'ormbyfor supfilying 
this defect in our Catholic hicrature, 
and in future there can be no excuse 
for ignorance of at least the origin, 
latwrs, and progress of ihc religion 
we profess. In about one hundred 
and sixty pages, the Iialf of his book, 
devoted to the Christian era, he pre- 
sents lo us very complete and exact, 
if not very elaborate, \iews of the 
leading events in the history of the 
church for over eighteen centuries. 
In addition lo this, he has appended 
to many of the sections in the part 
occiij>icd with the pre-Christian period 
short moral reflections, and institutes 
comparisons between the old and new 
onler of things, which are not only 
edifying, but highly insinictivc, par- 
ticuliiily to young readers, tor ex- 
ample, with reference to the days of 



426 



The Study of Sacred History. 



the creation of the world, he re- 
marks: 

" Je&us Christ rested in the tomb from 
the work of redemption on the Sabbath 
or seventh day, and arose again from the 
dead on the first day of the week. For 
(his reason, the Christians no longer keep 
holy the original Sabbath, but the Lord's 
day, or first day of the week, in memory 
of the resurrection of Jesus Christ." 

And again, after relating the dis- 
persion of the builders of the Tower of 
Babel, he draws this beautiful com- 
parison : 

"The nations of the world suffered a 
great punishment upon their pride in the 
confusion of their speech, and in their 
separation one from another. Jesus 
Christ has in part removed this punish- 
ment ; for he has again made all (he na- 
tions of the earth one religious family in 
his church, under the supreme govern- 
ment of the successor of St. Peter, and as 
partakers of one and the same sacrifice at 
the ahar." 

In allusion to the well-known story 
of the sale of Joseph to the Egyptians 
by his bretliren, he says : 

"Joseph, hated by his brethren on ac- 
count of his love of virtue and innocence, 
and sold by them for a slave into the land 
of Egypt, is a striking figure of Jesus 
Christ hated by his own people on ac- 
count of his love of justice and sanctity, 
and delivered up by them bound into the 
hands of the Roman govcrtwr, Pontius 
Pilate." 

Father Forniby's diction and treat- 
ment of his subject are varied and 
suited to the epoch which he de- 
scribes. In the early pages of his 
book, he adopts the figurative orient- 
alisms of the Hebrew writers, but fur- 
ther on he sobers down to the less 
florid and more matter-of-fact style 
of modern times. His descriptions 
of the crusades and the origin and 
growth of the religious orders are ex- 



ceedingly graphic and c(nTed,f 
of course merely outlines oi 
would fill books enough to m: 
an ordinary library if written 
tail, and his summing up of 
called reformation is deserving 
ticular notice.- 

" There is something worthy 
carefully observed as regards 
testantism which began in the ! 
century to cause whole nations ; 
pies to renounce the faith and d 
of the Catholic Church. But 
great heresies, such ar that of Ai 
had a simitar ruinous effect in c 
great falling off from faith withou 
of the world following in their w: 
testantism cannot simply for (hi 
by itself be understood to be th 
which St. Paul refers. What is 
able, however, in Protestantisn 
though Dr. Martin Luther and tl 
who were leaders at the time fom 
the disciples of which called th 
by (he names of their masters — a 
rans from Luther, Calvinists froi 
— Protestantism has long ago ( 
be the name of any particular 
Luthcrans,Calvinists, Anabaptist 
ans,and all thedifferentsccts wh 
at this time, as regards what is i 
Protestantism, are just as gooi 
(ants the one as the other. T 
and do, dispute with each oth 
what is to be held to be true as ' 
doctrine, but as regards Prntt 
they are all quite agreed. He 
then, those )vlio are completer 
with each oiher about Christian 
to agree completely about' Proles 
The reason is, that Protcstanlisi 
has but one solilarj- doctrine and 
tary precept, viz., * Depart fivm t 
Church! All who satisfy this on 
entitle themselves to the name 
testani.' It is true that, up to th 
time, those vho have pratestee 
the Roman Church have geoei 
the credit of deserving to be, in) 
or other, known as Christians ; b 
rapidly ceasing to be the case. 
tantism' has now come to be the 
the confederacy of almost all wi 
rcption whose cry is, ' Depart : 
Roman Church,' so that there wo 
to be no rashness in recognizing 
departure UHiccssio) which St Pa 



pi indkofiag the world to be 
a close." 

ion loiiic merits nnd aitrac- 
is valu.iblc contribution to 
ancous Catholic literature, 
» thai most of ihc leading 
tcordcd in sacrc-J history 
ated by wooil-cuts very 
ly designed and cxeculecl, 
i eye as wcil as the under- 
ft made fatniliar wiih the 
Aaccs, incidents, and char- 
jht to bt poriraye<l, and the 



frontispiece is a large and excellent* 
ly clear engraving of Jerusalem. The 
growth of Catholic lilcralurc in En- 
gland, where even in the recollection 
of many of us Catholicity, confined 
to the humble minority, was banned 
and ostracized by author and reader 
alike, is one of the most healthful 
signs of the times, and it will be a 
great dereliction of duty on our part 
heie in America if we do not profit 
by the labors of our co-religionists 
abroad, hoping some day to recipro- 
cate the favor. 




NEW PUBLICATIONS, 



tTICAL AND HlSTOIirCAl^ By 

ity Ne*vtnan, formerly FcHow 
"ollegp. Oiford. Vols. I. and 
London: HnsM Moningii 
f. 19A PicCAdill)-. '871. New 
K wife by The CalhoUc Publi- 
*cicty, g Warren Street. 

essays, with the exception 

U wert; written while their 

ks Fellow of Oriel, and a 

\f the Establiihed Church. 

now, .ifter m.Tpy yeans, rc- 

L mainly for the following 

He cannot destroy wh;it 

cc pill into print : • Litcru 

inel.* He might suppress 

me; but, sooner or later, 

: over it will cease. And 

Is. cithrr in its matter or 

adapted to benefit the 

Ch it W.-IS intended to sup- 

1 it was given to the world, 

republished in spite of hts 

vowal of it. In order to 

the chance of its heing 

after his death, the only 

to bim is, while living, 

why it h:is ceased to :ip- 

:lf to his own judgment. 

accordingly. h:is b*;en his 

n the prei-ent edition of 

lyi. as f.ir as they demand 



it of him; and he is sanguine that 
he has been able to reduce what is 
uncalholic in them, whether in ar* 
gumcnt or in statement, to the posi- 
tion of those *di(iicultatcs * which 
figure in tiogm.itic treatises of theo- 
logy, and which are elaborately 
drawn out. and set forth to best nd- 
vant.nge, in order that they m.iy be 
the more carefully and satisfactorily 
answered." — AutAtfr's Pr^ftice. 

Anything fron» Dr. Newman's pen 
has a strong personal claim upon 
the interest of Catholics. The vol- 
umes before us contain fifteen es- 
says, written at different times be- 
tween the years iS^Sand 1846. The 
subjects are mainly connected with 
the intellectual progress at that 
time developing in the mind of the 
author. The volumes are necessary 
to a collection of his works, and 
also to a perfect aciiuaintancc with 
classic English literature. 

Tub Fourfold SovjaEroKTV or God. 
Hy Henry Edward, Atclibishop of 
Wrslminsicr. London; Biirn^, Oalcs 
& Co. For jalf by The Cattioltc Pufa- 
bcation Society, Ncvr York. 

The rapidity with which volume 
follows volume from the prolific 



428 



New Publications. 



pen of the Archbishop of Westmin- 
ster has often astonished our mind. 
From hints given in the preface to 
this last publication, we get, in part, 
an explanation. It appears that his 
Grace employs a skilful stenograph- 
er to take down and then copy for 
the press his extemporaneous lec- 
tures. In this way, one who has a 
mind stored with the acquisitions 
of a lifetime, and is gifted so unusu- 
ally with the copia fundi, can accom- 
plish what could otherwise be done 
only by a man of more leisure than 
is enjoyed by the active prelate of 
the London diocese. 

These four lectures make a pen- 
dant to the last four published, and 
complete the general view of the 
subject. They are like all the works 
of Archbishop Manning, of which 
our opinion has been so lately ex- 
pressed. We need, therefore, only 
to announce the publication of these 
new lectures, and our readers will 
understand for themselves the value 
and interest they possess. 

The TRAniTioN of thk Svriac Church 
OF Antiocu, concerning the Primacy 
and tlic Prerogatives of Si. Peter, and 
of his successors, the Roman Pontiffs. 
ByihcMost Rev. Cyril Holinam Benni, 
Svriac Archbishop of Mossul (Nine- 
veh). London : Burns, Oates & Co. 
1871. For s.ilc by The Catholic Publi- 
cation Socii'ly, () Warren Street. 

This unl()ue production symbol- 
izes the contrariety and unity of the 
Kast and West in a singular manner. 
It begins at both ends, and finishes 
in the mi<ldle. where the appendices 
usuiilly put at the end arc snugly 
sandwiched between the Svriac ori- 
ginal and tlie Engli^li translation. 
This tr.uislatirn has been made bv 
the Kow Joseph tiajjliardi. and is. 
of course, at tliat end of the volume 
which, to our t^ccidental habits of 
thought, appe.us to be the natural 
beginning. The Syri.ic begins at 
the opposite end. and thus both 
languages h.tve their own wav. 
and the bvK>k will answer evpullv 
well t"or tiie re.uici ia Ntneveh ami 
the one in London. Tlic tradition 



of the Church of Antioch, w 
Peter established bis first 
scarcely inferior in interest 
portance to that of the 
Church. The learned pre) 
gathered together the best a 
authentic testimonies to th 
macy of the Roman See fro 
ments ^oth ancient and 
liturgies, official acts, and 
of prelates and learned me 
Catholic and schismatical. 
ferenccs are most carefulh 
and the whole work is crit 
scholarly. It is published i 
handsome and ornamental si 
cannot fail to interest the 
the learned, and all who are 
ed in theological pursuits. 
timonies to the authority 
Holy See which it contains : 
valuable, and as they arc gi* 
clear English translation, i 
ically arranged, and accomp: 
full explanations, they are i 
ble to any person of ordin; 
cation. We cannot flatter 01 
that we have very many am* 
subscribers who will be 
appreciate the beauties of 
riac original. 

The Life of Jf.sus the Chri 
Henn- Ward Beecher. Ill 
New York : J. B. Ford & C 
Vol. L 

The publishers of this woi 
given it a very handsome e 
and adorned it with a nun 
excellent illustrations of see 
places in Palestine, The a 
at reprotlucing some of tb 
celebrated representations 
L«>rd are, however, not sue 
As for the work itself, it is a 
to imitate the fascinating am 
lar style of Renan in such a 
t<j satisfy those Protestani 
call themselves Evangelical 
the author has the art of p 
the multitude cannot be que! 
That he is an artist in the ! 
and truest sense we cannot 
And. so far as more solid q 
are concerned, he is not to I 
pared for a moment, in res 



New Pubiien/hns. 



429 



which brings inbbi* 
classical treasures to cn- 
strate the Evangelical 
ith Dr. Scpp. whose 
Bfttill remains both the 
iuble and the most inler- 
[ all works of this class 
produced, in spite of much 
pcifal itnd visionary. 
Soctrinc of this book were 
ts should hail its ptiblicn- 
y joy, even although we 
I consider it to be a Ulcrary 
KW. Even if it contained 
prrors common to Protes- 
[11, if it were sound on the 
tlrat truth of the Incarna- 
I might think it likely to be. 
preset v'irtf^ among Protes- 
truc doctrine of the divi- 
bumanity of Christ con- 
I ihcir formularies. As it 
lUSt condemn it as more 
bus and absurd than the 
IMM of Renan. Of course. 
iic wiio has any regard for 
principles will ever think 
g; for religious instruction 
Itlon in any book proceed- 
Mr. Beecher's pen. The 
h this shallow and utterly 
iptoduction, coming forth 
n taking guise, will cause 
l^mong Protestants. One 
them — those who swallow 
r with pleasure— will take 
Hy poison of heresy. An- 
|8S, who will look at its 
coolly and critically, will 
jthened in their tendenry 
Eilism and unbelief by its 
lurdity. 

bcber tenches a more gross 
nlrous doctrine than that 
Ncstorius, or Appolinaris. 
^ely. that God contracted 
inished his divine nature 
|i« mental and physical 
[ manhood. God became 
in soul of a human body, 
the anthropomorphism of 
t)qf- It destroys all true 
\n% both of the liiinian and 
nature of our Lord. I'an- 
iter than this. The 
exegesis on which 



this revolting doctrine is based 
arc not worthy of a moment's no- 
tice. All is mere superficial, rhetor- 
ical, sentimental talk, without a 
shred of philosophy or theology. 
We shall lonk with some curiosity 
to see what judgment the Kplscopa- 
lian and Presbyterian divines of the 
stricter sort will pronounce on this 
latest product of the pseudo-Evan- 
gelical school. What those <jf them 
who have some theoKigic.iI know- 
ledge will think, we know very well : 
but we are desirous of seeing whe- 
ther they will express their thoughts 
in clear and emphatic language, 
and caution the Protestant public 
af^uinst a doctrine which subverts 
llie Niccne Creed and the Presby- 
terian Confession of Taith, to say 
nothing of other formularies which 
are essentially the same with these. 
Behold a new proof of the utter 
insuflictcncy of the test of Scripture 
alone by itself even tu preserve the 
orthodox doctrine after it has been 
fully preseiiteti to the mind ! How 
much more, then, to give it at first 
hand t What the orthodox Protes- 
tants still retain of the faith is the 
faith of creeds, councils, and tradi- 
tion, and the exercise of private 
judgment on the text of Scrip- 
ture is destroying it fast. 

CiNKAS : OR. RoMK I'snER Nkro. From 
ihc Frrnch of |. M. Villcftanchc. I 
fnl, I2im). Philadclphin : Fclcr F. 
Cunningli.im. 1R71, 

If we except Fabiota, Calh'sta, and 
/>/>«, we feel no hesitation in saying 
that O'ftras is equal to any produc- 
tion of its kind yet offered to the 
English reader. Id this tale, his- 
tory and tradition arc interwoven 
with fiction, and the result is a 
graphic sketch of Christianity in 
the apostolic ages. The portico, 
the Pantheon, the temple, and the 
catacomb arc brought upon the 
stage, and made to represent their 
parts. The scene changes from the 
Circus Maiinius to the Maincrtine, 
from Rome to Jerusalem, from Jeru- 
salem to Athens : and at each 



430 



New Pubhcattofis. 



change of scene the infant church 
appears clothed in new beauty, in 
new holiness, in new strength. It 
is much to be desired that Catholics 
of the present day should become 
acquainted with the religious life of 
their brcthren-of the early church. 
No other study is so well calculated 
to enliven our faith, animate our 
hope, inflame our charity, and incite 
us to that heroic virtue so neces- 
sary to perseverance in the present 
age. O'neas tends to promote this 
study, and as such we welcome it, 
commend it to the perusal of every 
Catholic, and thank the translator 
and publisher for the care with 
which they have performed their 
respective tasks. 

TuF, Lettkrs of Madame de Sevignk 
TO Her Daughtf.r and Friends. 
Eiiiti-d by Mrs. Hnle. Boston: Ro- 
berts Brothers. 1871. 

The Letters of Lady Mary Wortley 
MosTAC.u. Ediifd by Mrs. Hale. 
Bostuii : Roberts Broihers. 1871. 

These two books, simultaneously 
issued from the same press and 
edited by the same author, bear 
strong marks of similarity and con- 
trast. Kach. in its way, has long 
been k>i)kcd upon as a model of epis- 
tolary correspondence in its appro- 
priate language, and cacti is defaced 
by that superlicial. not to to say 
anti-Christian, philosophy which 
prevailed among the " higher class- 
es " in France and England during 
the last and the preceding century. 
The French authoress, however, has 
somewhat the advantage of her 
Knglish sister, not onlv in the pos- 
session i.»f a language especially 
adapted, by itsgra^-e and llexibility. 
to this spocics of composition, but 
from the t'.u"t th.it she lived svir- 
rounded by a strong Catholic pub- 
lic opinion, which, witli all hor cy- 
nicism anvl t'.ishiotiable scepticism. 
she ctMihl not wholly <Usrcg:(rd. 
We find. thcrcf«.>re, in many ot" her 
loiters, particularly tiioso to her 
daughter. Ilashcs i>f true, genuine 
moral sentiment, which are the 



more striking from contr 
the worldly tone which g 
characterized her life am 
spondence. Lady Montagu 
contrary, was brought up 
hard, unsympathetic schoo 
was inaugurated \n Engtai 
the frenzy of the Reformat 
subsided, and with all her 
womanly elegance we cann 
upon her otherwise than a 
tellectual pagan. We may 
from cover to cover of Mrs 
edition of her correspond 
vain to find one religious se 
that would not have been a? 
priate in the days of Ho; 
Zeno as in the eighteenth 1 
of the Christian era. This 
more singular when we r 
that these gifted w^omen, mai 
husbands far their inferior 
tally, and, as it appears, me 
the sake of conventionalism. 1 
unnatural effort transferr 
love women usually bear 
partners of thcjr joys and ! 
to their offspring, and ceni 
their affections and hopes I 
children. With our childrer 
apt " to assume a virtue if w 
it not," yet still we find th< 
intellectual mothers writing 
daughters in strains which, 
positively immoral in the 
sense of that term, certainl; 
not actively conduce to strc 
them against the temptatii 
which they were constant 
rounded, or to elevate theii 
above the glitter and hollow 
tlie society in which they wer 
ed to move. Both these distinj 
writers were well-bred, thoi 
educated according to the i 
their times, and were the as! 
of generals, statesmen, poe 
artists, and their frequent an 
liar reference to the then 
men of their respective co 
are not only interesting. 1 
struclive, as giving us a vicn 
interior life of many emine 
s.m.iges hitherto known to ' 
by their public acts; but* 
consider how many uncxcept 



New Pubiiattiotts. 



431 



Itiis age of cheap print- 
it within our rench. and 
Ee&s of this busy life itself. 
, recommend to our read- 
iulnily the younjyer por- 
ipcruuilof cither votunic; 
te see the necessity of a 
pQ of wofks which are 
l-nnmental. without havings 
jof being innnciiouft. 

plON ov Leading Casks on 

Eoi» Elkctions in the 
ATRS. With Note* and Re- 
_j ihc laiesi autlioriiics. By 
kc C. Brightly, auihor of " Tlic 
IDigcst," "the United States 
' etc- Philadelphia: K.iy & 
)!; and iQ South Sixth Sirert, 
tfcfcllcrs, Publishers, and Im- 

..... 

^lUy, who has done so 

lis previous works to faci- 

S taw-student and the law- 

ur studies and preparation 

|by means of his admirable 

jicid digests and treatises, 

Required a new clahn upon 

jtudc of the sltident and 

pal man by his CoIUcdonof 

\asis on EUctiom. The nu- 

been must happy in the 

of his subject, for there 

ranches of the law so im- 

a free and representative 

nt like ours, as the law of 

tions. 

tty days of our Republic, 

^c was more conservatism 

Ircsent. only the most iin- 

Ivil ulTiirers of the Federal 

governments were clcc- 

c people, and the elective 

was not so universally 

in by the masses as at 

t lime. Then the cxecu- 

te-d by the people, was 

ilb the app'jiiiling power, 

exercised wttli (greater 

;in, catiuiiess.'and discrinii- 

n Is possible to the people 

e excitements and in- 

a. popular election. He 

responsible to the people 

est, f.uthrul. and Judicious 

if this high prerogative. 



But gradually the executive, elected 
by. and justly accountable to. his 
constituents, has been stripped of 
this power, and the same has be- 
come vested in or been resumed by 
the people, who, while possessing, 
according to the theory of the law- 
givers of Ancient Greece, a greater 
amount of purity of inlenlion, are 
swayed "more by impulses and the 
passions of the hour. The legisla- 
tive bodies then, as now, have al- 
ways been elected by the qualified 
voters. Then elections were compa- 
ratively few. and the Conle<its in the 
courts over executive, judicial, and 
ministerial offices, and in the legis- 
latures over the contested seats of 
members, were comparatively few. 

The law in such cases was sought 
for cntirciy from the analogies of 
the English common law cases and 
the parliamentary precedents and 
decisions. Now, while the Federal 
officca remain mostly as they were 
under our first Presidents and Con- 
gresses, in the States almost every 
office, from governor and judges of 
the highest courts down to mugls- 
tnites and constables, has become 
elective by the people, and the 
Slates, with whom, under the Con- 
stitution, rests the power of regu- 
lating the qualilications for the 
exercise of the elective franchise. 
have generally removed all qualifi- 
cations thereon, and conferred uni- 
versal suffrage, as it is called, upon 
the people. 

There is scarcely a function of 
government, from the most vital 
and momentous to the most tiifling. 
that is not discharged in our regard 
by elected officers; our lives, our 
liberties, our property, our castles, 
and <mr reputations are con5ded to 
the protection or neglect, if not 
abuse, of olTiccrs elected rt)r short 
terms ; so th.it every interest of life 
and of society Is thus gov*crned, 
controlled, and administered indi- 
rectly by the voting masses. 

Wc will give a single illustration of 
this: If we take tfiirty-three and a 
third years as the average span of 
human life, it may be said that in 



432 



New Publicaiions, 



every thirty-three and a third years 
[the time has been estimated as 
much shorter in regard to what we 
are going to statej, the entire pro- 
perty of the country, its countless 
millions, are administered or acted 
upon by a single officer, the Judge 
of the Probate Court, or other of- 
ficer of the law, elected by the peo- 
ple, and thus incidentally by the 
masses themselves. Thus the va 
rious elections, which we so heed- 
lessly disregard or pass by, are, in 
fact, the casts of the die that deter- 
mine the fate of the nation, its pros- 
perity, happiness, and honor. The 
importance, therefore, of the law 
regulating these elections in their 
varied relations may be estimated 
from this fact. 

That numerous questions and 
contests should have arisen in a 
country where so many offices are 
to be filled, and where elections are 
so frequent, is not strange, and that 
the decisions of our own courts 
upon these litigated cases should 
have become numerous and control- 
ling is a natural result. The law of 
elections has been greatly develop- 
ed and expounded in this country 
in recent years. The leading cases 
bearing upon these subjects have 
been skilfully and carefully collated 
by Mr. Brightl)\ illustrated by his 
own notes and references, and pre- 
sented to the legal profession and 
the public in the volume before us. 
He could not have selected a theme 
of greater interest or importance to 
our country, especially at this time, 
than the law of elections. He has 
handled it with the same accuracy, 
learning, and industry which have 
always characterized his works, and 
elevated his reputation as a jurist 
and author. The present work car- 
ries with it an interest far more 
general than professional works 



usually possess, and may 1 
with improvement and plea 
all who are fond of a p 
readable book, who seek fc 
knowledge on a matter of ^i 
lie import, or who take an 
in the purity of elections, a; 
general morals and welfai 
commonwealth. We comn 
their perusal. 

The title of Father Doa 
book is to be To and fron 
sion Play in the Sunttner oj 
will soon be published by 
nahoe, Boston. 

Mr. p. O'Shea announ 
press, and to be publishet 
scription, Tlic Lives of 
Bishops of the Catholic Chm 
United States, by Mr. Ri( 
Clark, A.M. The work wil 
lishcd in two large octavo 
and will be ready about thi 
December. These volui 
contain the biographies c 
deceased members of the i 
Catholic Hierarchy, from 
liest dawn of Christianity 
continent to the present 
will trace the history of th 
through the important C[ 
of Archbishop Carroll, an 
icle with graphic effect th 
sacrifices, and achievement 
fifty bishops who have be< 
to their reward. 

The Catholic Publicatior 
will soon publish a new e( 
Father Young's Office cf 
greatly enlarged and improi 

The volume oi Sermonsof 
ist Fathers/or 1870 will be 1 
delivery on the 25th of No' 




THOLIC WORLD. 



^OL. XIV., No. 82.— JANUARY, 1872. 



to IS TO KDUCATK OUR CHILDREN? 



day ihai passes over our 

witnesses tlie ra[>id increase 

>ulatioii of ihe country adds 

ituerest which attaches to 

trocal rights and duties ex- 
wcen the state and the citi- 
fax as the question of the 
diicatioQ of our children is 
d. It has become a matter 
ist vital importance, superior 
party cunsiJcraiion in the 
if this or that faction of poli- 
i)r in the proper appreciation 
ignitude and in its judicious 
Doanent settlement may be 
Be not only the future wcl- 
lis republic, but the suprema- 
ristianity itself on this broad 
[. The history of the church 
rery foundation is full of in- 
f the decay of religion and 
in one country siraullane- 
h tlicir growth or revival in 
It was ihus that the faith, 
Kafc in the farther East, found 
eatncsl professors in Italy, 
>n Gaul and the Spanish 
; succumbed to their pagan 



conquerors, the light of Ihe Gosppl 
was transferred to llie islaiuls of 
Britiiu and Ireland, and brightc^ned 
into an effulgence whicli, in a few 
centuries, penetrated the darkest re 
cesses of die then semi-barbarized con- 
tinent. In Europe to-day, the church, 
assailed on one side by Csesarism and 
on the other by the secret societies, 
can hardly liold herown, notwithstand- 
ing the justice of lier cause and the zeal 
ami learning of her champions; and it 
would seem to be one of l!ie myste 
rious designs of Providence that the 
theatre of her triumphs and conquests 
Is, for a time at least, to be transferred 
to tlie fresher and more vigorous \ew 
NVorld. The a.stonishing growth of 
Catholicity in America in our ow.i 
day is an evidence of this, but our 
present victories will be barren of 
any good results if we neglect the 
proper education of our children, 
who, as we gradually pass away, are 
destined to take our places for good 
or evil. 

The time has come when the ques- 
tion, Who is 10 educate our children ? 



Bortftag to Acl of Coami, In ihe year tSri. bf Ret. I. T. Hkcku, Id th« Office ot 
the IJbrarUn of Congrevs, ai WA^liinRtnfl, D. C. 



434 



Who is to Educate Our Children f 



should be definitively answered. Pul- 
pits, forums, and the press, in their 
respective spheres, have discussed the 
matter from almost every stand-point, 
and some of the ablest thinkers, par- 
ticularly in the Eastern States, have 
devoted their time and erudition to 
the elimination of order out of the 
diaos of crude and transcendental 
opinions which of late have filled the 
pamphlets and books of so many 
writers in Europe and America on the 
subject of education. Theories in- 
numerable have been advanced, and 
historical precedents quoted in favor 
of particular systems, without much 
approach to unanimity, and still the 
problem remains as ever unsolved. 

Amongst other expressions of opi- 
nion on this all-important subject, we 
have before us a long and very ela- 
borate essay in the Con^egaiional 
Quarterly of Boston, strongly in favor 
uf the continuance of the public- 
school system as received in that 
classical city, and as earnestly endea- 
voring to demonstrate that, unless the 
IJiblc, " without note or comment," 
prayers, hymns, and piety, be taught 
in the state schools in conformity to 
the statute of 1826, these institutions 
will become worse than useless, and 
should be discountenanced. In the 
language of the writer : " The school 
system wliicli requires the ethics can 
receive them only as indissolubly one 
with the religion, and the state that 
cannot sustain a statute like the Mas- 
sachusetts law of 1826, which requires 
the principles of jjiety as well as 
those (jt morality to be taught, can- 
ni;t sustain a common-school system." 

As a counterpoise to our New Eng- 
land contemporary, we find in tiie last 
number of the American Educaiional 
Monthly^ a magazine iiublished in this 
city, as stout a defence of secular e<hi- 
ration, while exhibiting a decided 
preference for tlie removal from our 
public schools of the Kible and the 



discontinuance of «U teachii 
religious character. Its an 
on these points, if less sut 
more practical than those 
Congre^tienal, and some of I 
it adduces in support of its vi 
thus plainly stated : 

" It is well to repeat here what ' 
in the beginning: that knowledf 
virtue itself, but only the handi 
virtue. This ia the lesson of Con 
statistics — a state having a first-cl 
vursily as well as the usual ncii 
common schools; in every ni 
seven-tenths marriages there is su 
one divorce. Ohio, which has 
versity comparable to Yale, and 
common schools are presumably 
tcr than Connecticut's, has but one 
in twenty-four marriages in a muc 
population. There are graduates 
mon schools who make it their t 
to procure divorces by obscrvii 
scribed forms, yet without the km 
of one or other of the parties — coo 
the spirit of the law." 

From the contemplation ol 
and other results of our cc 
schools, in which piety and tr 
are supposed to be taught, th< 
in the Monthiy concludes th; 
better for us to " leave devotio 
struction to those whose busi 
is — to parents and clergymen.' 

Another writer, the editor of 
the most widely circulated 
sectarian weekly newspapers, 
decided advocate of the pubnc> 
system as at present existini 
forward among others the fol 
novel argument for its pcrpetiii 

" We hold, therefore, that it is a 
sary and unwise to disperse or r 
Itute our common-school pupils ii 
iLitu'c with the dogmatic or eccles 
tean{i),t,'S of their parent* rctpcci 
that tiic inconvenience and cost 
doing would immensely overbaU 
lu-iiftiis. Wc should need fai 
scliiMils ; yet our children would I 
\\jl\m\ much further to reach one 
pictt-rrcJ theological stripe thu 



?f»ff is to Educate Our Chiidrtu? 



do not (leciUc lliat 5r>un(lncs3 
t»f liHle coiisequence^far from 
r insiisl lli4t piovision i« ahca- 
ar tbculogical instruction apart 
ommoa schools, :in(> that ilicic 
o( malcing eucb provision 
. Tbe Roman Catliolic and 
*-tant coincide with rcsi>n;i to 
ftnd grammar ; the Tiinita[i:in 
nitaiian arc in perfect accord :is 
tunics, at least in (bcir applica. 
|jitua<lan«aflikirs. Tlicn, wtiy not 
^ I to lead and cipttci (runi lt:c 
f booka on week days, and Icain 
I tbcir respective cliucclics und 
hools on the Lord's d.iy ? Tliis 
US the dictate of economy, con- 
I and good sense." 

(y O'cry week siiuilar effusions 
the columns of (iic so-call- 
us press, in which are enun- 
iniuns anil speculations as 
ihc above, ani;! yet as va- 
ic clashing &ccts ihey proftrss 
nt. On one point alone, 
a very suspicious one, are 
d — in a general (ictemiina- 
roJuce the children of the 
\A this country under the 
stem of pulilic instruction 
can neither encourage 
ucc. On the minor fca- 
this systcfn, with their usual 
unity, they widely di^cut 
I the other. 

wl'.eiK'e this confusion of 
out one of ihc plainest and 
lal requirements of a free 
peoples-education ? Does 
in llic utter niisappreiien- 
hat eduL.iiton really i?>? In 
iicH, education was sup|>uscd 
r accuKiulaiion of know- 
its own sake or for the fAi- 
j( conferred on its pa^sessor 
less tnstrucied fellows. It 
panli, earthy. From a 
I -f \ iew, its a^n», pri- 
ipally. is to facilitate, 
tnunnig and instruction, the 
I of our true happiness — 
ledge and observance of the 



laws of God here and eternal happi- 
ness hereafter. To the {>agan, this 
world was everything, and conse- 
quently he utilized his knowledge for 
worldly advantage olone. For ihe 
Christian, education is merely a 
means to a great end, and. as eternal 
bliss is inlinitely greater than any 
temporal cnjoyiiicnl to him, the train- 
ing of tiie soul, the immortal part, id 
the ways of religion is of paratnoun: 
and incomparable importance. Secu- 
lar education, wlit-n projKrrly applied, 
should not be undervalued, inasmuch 
as we have duties in this life to be 
jvcrfonned, to ourselves, our country, 
and our fellow-man ; but it should be 
tempercil and permeated, so to speak, 
with religious instruction, so that the 
learner, as his mental faculties ex- 
pand wi;h his years, may \yt gradual- 
ly but constantly led to the know- 
ledge of those divine truths which 
the church teaciies her children, and 
his character thus he tnsensiljly form- 
ed on a true Christian ba-sis. If we 
admit, as every professing Christian 
is bound to do, that man's chiefest 
abject in life is the salvation of his 
soul, if " the knowledge of God is the 
beginning of wisdom," it is the mer- 
est folly to suppose that this know- 
ledge, so all-important in itself, can 
lipjperly be imparted to our children 
after ordinary school-hours, when the 
young mind is fatigued and needs re- 
pose or recreation, or on one dayoul 
of seven, when so many dislr:;clions 
occur to call off the attention of 
most children. This would be to 1 
make religion distasteful, if not odi- 
ous, to our boys and girls, and lead 
them to dread the recurrence of \ , 
day which, to them at least, should] 
be one of gladness and innocent cii- 
jnytncnt. V\'c do not underrate the 
value of (Mrentil advice and example, ' 
or ignore the benefits conferred on our ' 
rising population by pastoral instruc- 
tions and Sunday-school training, but 



436 



Wko is to Educate Onr C/tiidren T 



«c assert the day-schools should also 
tdke their pari in supplying food to the 
cvcr-cxpanding anvl question-asking 
minds of the American youth. 

The fonnalion of character, one of 
the g^eat objects of education, should 
' be conducted on principles somewhat 
Ifiimilar to those of domestic economy. 
'We do not eat all the sweets at one 
time and the-sours at another, the sol- 
ids at one nieul and the dessert at the 
next, but by a judicious admixture 
of both proiluce a savory and salu- 
tary combination which gives health 
and strength to the body. It may 
be&atd that mere secular education — 
such as geology, geometry, histor>% 
natural philosophy, botany, astrono- 
tiny, etc., as taught in our common 
r^huols — presents no opportunity for 
f moral instruction. Nothing can be 
more fallacious. That great master 
' of dramatic literature, Shakespeare, 
whose knowledge of the springs of 
human action has seldom been equal- 
led, has told us that we can find 
books in running brooks, sermons 
in stones, and good in everything. 
Properly directed, the anatomy of 
the smallest insect^ equally with the 
contemplation of the vast lirmaraent 
with its countless planets and stars, 
nay become a silent and involun- 
ll&ry prayer lo the Creator of all 
'things. There is not a force, phy- 
sical or deduced, that is revealed 
to the mind of youth that ought not 
to be made to bear with it some 
conception of the unseen Power that 
presides over and governs the uni- 
verse, and the teacher who neglects 
tu place before the minds of his pu- 
r pils the moral to be drawn from 
' thoM symbols of the Creator's al- 
mightiuess does but half his woHt, 
and that the less nobler part. Leav- 
ing dogma and doctrine asi<le, are the 
generality of our public-school teachers 
capable or disi>osed to thus draw from 
nature the beautiful lessons of God's 



wisdom and power — I 
hook can adequately teach, bd 
should be before one's eyes (i{ 
fancy (o the grave ? | 

Some per^ions speak of vA 
connection with the educa|| 
youth as if it were a mere tn| 
sentiment or a holiday paitiri 
occasionally indulged m w! 
more &erious duties of mooc}'^ 
and political advancement h4 
complied with. On the cm 
is a matter of cver}'day Ufu, 
ling and guiding our intercoi 
mankind individually at wd| 
lectively, and as ne ore id 
for our actions cverTr consi-i^ 
ment of our lUe, so should il 
form or another be assodajj 
our every pursuit and act 1 
true among full-grown mcaj 
men, is it not apparent that 1 
tern of youthful tnining ih^ 
dissociate religion from sed 
dies in early life wouHl n 
the world vicious or ignoi3U]| 
who would either ignore a!| 
the practice of honesty, trul| 
and morality, or who in thi 
rancc would mnke these 
butes of Christianity su 
worldly interests and i>assii 
cation, therefore, that wouU 
religious instruction from our 
during their hours of study,' 
half of their young lives, » \ 
cation at all, at least in ibe 
sense of the word. It 
them expert iinancicrs or 
cians, but it cannot mike 
right, truthful, and bcnevol 
zcns. In this regard, we ajj 
the writer in the Cdttii:Trfitiieii 
he says, " We call atlen 
outset 10 the immense 
it be not the ab^nlutc 
of separating rcbgious 
frum any practtcai sywlen 
educaiiun." 

But we do not 



Who is to EdticaU Our Chiidnn f 



437 



^r the right and duty 
lie lo provicic this cduca- 
antcil that reHgJon is an t.-s- 
;tneui in educacion, who Is 
*t authority to inculcate it ? 
ot the state, for, in our theo- 
Mumcnt, the slate knows no 
lor under any pretence can 
ru to any .ipostohc author!- 
ch and teach the Gospel to 
na. That is a power far 
bo and above all existing 
nls. That the slate is or 
be religious in the charac- 
acts rannot be denicil, but 
ctcr should be derived from 
ngs of the church to its in- 
mcmbcrs, and gives it no 

prescribe to llie churc^h 
should tearh or allnw to be 
: the authority of the teach- 
1 is from Goi], and that of 
h>m man. It is true that 
wn law framed by out Ca- 
eston recognized the laws 
fch, as far as public moraH- 
le oliservance of Sundays 
lys were concerned, as part 
y of the land, but it was 
nded (hat the state should 
above the church in mat- 
iUil, much less to make it 
er and expounder of her 

This innovation was one 
its of the •* Reformation," 
ilc professing to liberate the 
nen from s[))riiual thraldom 
ithority of the popes, actu- 
:ied their consciences and 
uih to the whim of parlia- 
thc arbitrary dkia of local 
k Kven to this day, the 
Lords in England, com[>os- 
kostly of bymcn, and those, 
marlcable for their picly or 
K the court of Inst resort to 
and deride what are and 
Jctrincs taught by 

I ucr. 

lUe claim the right to ed- 



ucate our children, that right cannot 
be derived from tlic natural law; fur 
the state, being an artificial organiza- 
tion, cannot in its corjjorate ca[xicily 
have any natural law. Un the con- 
trary, the natural law bestows the poR- 
session, care, and custody of the chih! 
on the parent, and the duty thus im- 
posed cannot be relin(|uishcd or de- 
legated without a manifest infractioit 
of the first principles of that law. 
Besides, the state is only constitutwl 
to do for the citizen what he, from 
his want of ability, means, or strengtli, 
cannot do for himself. Its oifice is 
sunply the administration of justice, 
retributive and distributive, and tlie 
enactment of laws to facilitate that 
object. All outside of that is simply 
asurpalion, which may, an<l generally 
tloes, degenerate into tyranny. When- 
ever a state inVades private reservcil 
rights and uver%tci)s ihc bounds of 
its legiiimaie duties, Uw and justico 
are not only brought into contempt. 
but enactments in themselves ab- 
stractly just arc despised and evaded. 
'ITie futile attempts to enforce certain 
sumptuary laws in this and oihct 
countries prove this conclusively. 

Nor docs the stale derive its power 
to educate our children as it sees fit 
from the will of the people as ex- 
pressed in the fundament.nl law.s of 
the land. \\\ the Declaration of In- 
dependence, it is clearly stated that 
among thfr inaiUnabU rights of man- 
kind are life, liberty, and the pursuit 
of happiness. Now, who that hax 
been blessed with children does no; 
know that the care and custody, cii- 
ucaiion and maintenance, of his off* 
spring constitute the greatest happi- 
ness of his life, comparcil with whit^ 
riches, honors, and fame dwindle 
into insignificance ? One of the mot: 
powerful arguments against Soudicm 
slavery, now happily for ever abolish- 
ed, was that it separated the child 
from its parent : but what b the value 



433 



WAif is to Educate Our CbUdrtHf 



of freedom to me if, as the Congre- 
gatiofial suggests, 1 must see my 
child forced into a common school, 
to listen tn the reading of a Bible 
which I believe, at best, to Ur a inu- 
tilaicd anil perverted copy of the 
Holy Scriptures, and be obliged to 
repeat prayers and liynma that too 
often, ala!i ! are but blas[)hemies 
against the holy nanii: of hiin who 
died on the cross for man's redemp- 
tion? in one ca&c the body alone 
suffered, in the other the eternal sal- 
vation of immortal souls is imperil- 
led. Kvcn the framcrsof the consti- 
tution, that noble document about 
which so much is said and so little 
undenitood, having suneyed their 
work, and linding it defective in re- 
spect to provitUng guarantees for the 
perfect freedom of religion, hastened 
by an amendment to supply the de- 
ficiency. *' Congress," they ordained, 
" shall make no law respecting the 
establishment of rehgioii, or prohi- 
biting ihe free exercise thereof,"* 
and our own state, on November 3, 
[846, by its constitution, emphati- 
cally declares that " the free exercise 
and enjoyment y}i rclisious profession 
and worship, without di sc rim i nation 
or preference, shall for ever be allow- 
ed in this state to all mankind." (Art. 
I. sec 3.) 

Docs the state derive its authority 
to teach religion to our children from 
God ? If so, where is its authority ? 
The writer in the Con^s^re^itional cvi- 
dcndy considers the Bible on authority 
on matters of faith and discipline. Yet 
we fail to find in the inspired writings 
any authority for the slate of Massa- 
chusetts, or any other purely poUtical 
corporation, to teach the doctrines of 
Christ. Kul, if the slate have a right 
so to teach, it has a right also to de- 
cide what shall be taught, and this, 
of course, must depend on the cha- 

■ Amendment projumd March, 1^89. 



racter of the oHiciala tbr 
the state for the time being act 
as yet, unlike other and more 
ed Prolesiant counirict, we ba 
fixed state religion, .uid muu d 
on the ]iOpulnr eiecioral vote J 
faiih and ideas of morality.^ 
would like tlic advocates of ro 
teaching in schouis, "the . 
prayers, hymn^, and \ 
more explicit on this pi 
children to be taught rciigii 
cording to the parliamentary df 
of the ChurcJi of England, | 
total depravity notions of the 1 
ers of Calvin ; are they to l>e c 
to deny the divinity of CtuM 
the L'nitaiians, and eternal \ 
nients with the Universalists \ 
we, in fact, bringing childrei 
the world to be liable any day 
indoctrinated into the vagtr 
Methodism, Congrcgitionaliia 
byterianism, Muggleionianian, 
monism, or any other uf th^ 
sand *' isms " bom of that | 
mother of dissent, tlie much vl 
Kcfurmation? Or arc we t<| 
them treatc<l to a dose of cat 
every one in tuni as the pf 
wheel brings their profes&on { 
surface? 'Ihe idea seems p^ 
absurd, and yet it is ihc logiQ 
sequence of the Congir^dmi 
sition that the state cfui icaG 
gion in its schools; for ihe «:] 
ing liable to be controUe 
time by any of the belief 
" isms." must of necessity 
oivn ism, and, having the vA 
authority, who can dispute ilicj 
But, says the writer in the C^ 
/;<>Ntf/, and those who agree wi) 
we do not violate the rights ij 
science, we only 'hdvocatc tb^ 
ing of the Bible, " in which tl^ 
ist does not believe," • prayen^ | 

* See paf e jl;. Ovtobor nuaba af | 
StKU-Rvllglon lo lUtkboott." 



ne m 



H'JIw is to Educate Our Chiidrtn f 



m 



\ in what does the 
Congrcgationalists 
not in these very tnattt-rs 
y would insidiously intrude 
ttention of our children ?\ 
one believe, if the writer 
n, or those who believe in 
iicnts, had the control of 
Is, that ihc jtraycrs and 
'Uld be Auch as a Catholic 
Id conacientiously listen to ? 
e Ajjoslles' Creed and the 
be amonf? the forms, or 
e ^atat Mater^ Av€ Mftnn 
I Latin or KngliRh, or any 
the beautiful appeals to the 
■and protection of the Blcss- 
er which the church puts 
mouths and hearts of her 
s, find a place in schools 
over by the advocates of 
ind pifty, as prescribed by 
i 1R26? And yet, we ven- 
ly that more than one half 
ildren who attend the pub- 
Is in the vcrj' city in whi< h 
fz-r/iMs publislied are Catlio- 
born of Catholic parents. 
told that not only the 
It the religion of our chil- 
be at the mercy of poli- 
^-mselvcs the slate, 
1 to power by most 
itngues. Is there anything 
ly virtuous in the character 
;isbtars or the meml>ers of 
I of edufniion thai would 
to suppose that they were 
selectca by IVovidcnce to 
tawj and exjtound his doc- 
And still, for all praclical 
they are the state. They 
latt-a, aelett the school- 
point llie teachers, and pre- 
coursc of study to be jnir- 
ihcir appoinlccs leave out 
prayers, hymns, etc., the 
tcome^ in the language of 
the instruments of 
e political Protes- 



tantism of the land," while, if they 
do enforce tlic observance of thcK 
religious exercises, we have a new 
set of apostles annually or biennial- 
ly elected by political coteries to 
leach our children ! 

'the three great sources of autho* 
rity which all writers on the philoso- 
I>hy of government ascribe to the 
state arc, then, wanting, to justify 
these assumptions of the advocates 
of the right of the state to leach re- 
ligion to the children of its ciliwns, 
but the Congrrxafional still argues 
that it has a right to teai:h '• morality 
and piety." How arc morality and 
piety to be taught without religion ? 
What is its idea of morals abstracted 
from praclical religion ? Does the 
writer who adorns its columns believe 
thai the end and aim of all true edu- 
cation is to promote man's true hap- 
piness, and, if so, docs he believe in 
a hereafter of eternal rewards and 
punislimenlK, and how we are lu earn 
the one and avoid the other ? lie 
knows as well as we do that, of 
some dozen leading Protestant sects 
in this country, not two are agreed 
on the essential Christian duty and 
failh of man necessary fur his salva- 
tion. Wlio, then, is to decide but 
the state, which, as we have endea- 
vored to prove, has neither a divine 
mission nor even human consent to 
interfere in spiritual matters ? It may 
be said that the state docs not de- 
cide these questions, but it does. E\"C^ 
ry hour devoted to a child's itistruc- 
tion. relatively at least, involves the 
question uf man's true destiny ; for 
the religious question, which is Ihc 
question of man's (rue desliny. sums 
up all other questions. .As far a^ 
Catholics are concerned, they oliject 
to each and all such teachers, wheth- 
er appointed by the warring sc-.ts or 
by the temporal authority. For ex- 
ample, the writer in the Con^trxfi/itfu- 
a/, though evidently an intelligent 



440 



W/ia is to Educate Our CktUhrgn f 



and accomplished gentleman, would 
not be a very safe teacher in a school 
composed in whole or in part of Ca- 
tholic children. Any person who 
could endorse as he does Draper's 
absurd assertion that the Imitation 
of Christ was the forerunner of the 
Reformation, call the illustrious F6n- 
elon a Jansenist, style millions of 
his fellow-citizens by the cant epi- 
thets of " Romanists " and " Papists," 
and coolly declare that Catholics do 
nut believe in the Bible, is evidently 
unfitted to form a correct opinion on 
any religious subject, much less to 
be entrusted with the instruction of 
youth. 

" But," says the writer above quot- 
ed, *' the safety of democracy requires 
compulsory education. The work 
cannot be entrusted to churches, or 
to corporations, or to individuals." 
Now, this may mean very little or a 
very great deal. If it mean, as he 
hints in another part of his article, 
that the state has an absolute right 
to teach a particular religion or any 
religion at all in its public schools, 
and enforce attendance therein, for 
the preservation of our democratic 
form of government, we entirely dis- 
sent from his proposition. The very 
essence of a free government lies in 
its recognition of religious liberty 
and the natural rights of individuals, 
and our best guarantees of freedom 
rest on the tact that majorities, which 
for the time being repre>ent the pow- 
er of the slate, all [>otent as they 
may Ik-, cannot set aside the funda- 
mental law. r.nd dare not infringe 
on the livil or religious lilwrty of the 
citizen. No :>iate <o\\\\ or ought to 
attempt an cvcrcise o\ power so ut- 
terly dcspoiio anti foreign to the ge- 
ni.is of our iustliutivMis. 

Wo arc aware that *^{ late ii has 
l>ecn cu>toniar>- to denominate our 
form of education as the American 
s)-stem, for the purpose, doubtless, of 



exciting public prejudice in i 
The system is not by aoj 
American in the national k 
is purely local, and of Pt 
origin and growth. When 
England colonies by persecu 
violence secured for themsc 
formity of worship, such a; 
they established schools, i 
prayers, hymns, and piety we 
ad libitum, with all the raw-h 
bloody-bones anti-Catholic 
which the descendants of 
grims mistook for veritable 
Being all of one mind, such 
of training could have no 
ble evil effect on the pupi 
they did not hear intolera 
falsehood in the school, tt 
pretty certain to hear ther 
meeting-house. But timt 
strangely altered since thei 
writer in the Of/tgrf^fionai 
to admit. " The reason ou 
system had to be modified," 
" was not that it was/^r f^ri 
the day it was enacted, but be< 
foreign immigration and the 
of time had produced an 
revolution in the religious 
the people, and required t 
justmcnt of the civil creo 
school system." In no sen 
can this system of public e 
which is sought to be thrust 
be called American, except, 
as contradistinguished from 
England, France, Germany, 
and other so-called despoi 
tries, in all of which the 
national plan, more or le 
rally, prevails. In the la 
countries particularly, one 
and the other Protestant, tht 
of secular education has b 
and .abandoned, and the wi 
the new system has been pr 
yond peradventure. If it b 
can to tax citizens for the 
of schools and compd l 



W/io IS to Educate Our Childrtn f 



441 



ildreii to be called Ro- 
\2XvX iiloUiers, then is Ihe 
jjhool sybtcin entitled to that 
re appcilaiion ? Wc do not 
it it is. 
;e having no authority by 
or divine law to assume 
tf ihe education of our chil- 
ivhat other right can it claim 
may say, from pohtical ne- 
,t the state, in order to pro- 
n interests, must see to it 
in amount ot,' intelligence 
ltd among its supporters, 
\ whole question comes up 
fWhat is that intelligence 

I necessary to the preserva- 

r -ell-being ot" our free insti- 
ls it a certain knowledge 
Katies, geography, and the 
Sciences, or is it not probity, 
[and lawful obedience to the 
pd auihoriiies? Yet these 
les that can only be taught 
tcligion, and the state, hav- 
^ligion, cannot teach them. 
^ Che general interests that 
pd have stalw?rt, healthy, 
Ijbuid sober citizens ? And yet 
does not profess to enforce 

II plan whereby every one 
e provided with proper ejt- 
nploymcnt, medicine, food, 

and shelter. To do so 
ply be to attempt to real- 
pian dream of the social- 
still it wuuld be no greater 
ion of power than the de- 
Ishing our children with a 
tern of instruction, and, 
with a uniform religion. 
te, as it ought to do, requires 
amount of intelligence in its 
rt it make the presence or 
of that knowledge the 

fitiienship and the passport 
«if hnnor and public confi- 
^it to vole and hold 
i^ilc, is not an in- 
;ht, but depen'.U on many 



qualifications, such as sex, age, na- 
tionality, freedom from crime, ability 
to support one's self, and previous 
residence. Why not add ability to 
read and write intelligibly ? 

There are cases, however, in which 
we admit that the slate has not only 
a right, but is in duty bound, to inter* 
fere with the disposition and educa- 
tion of children. \Vht?n parents, eith- 
er through poverty, misfortune, crime, 
or any other cause, arc unable or un- 
willing to take proper charge of their 
children, the slate, for its own protec- 
tion and to save the community from 
the consequence of vice and idleness, 
is justified in taking care of them, for 
this does not violate the principle of 
ci\'il polity that a state is constituted 
to do only for the citizen what he is 
unable to do for himself. Hence, 
the establishment of almshouses, 
asylums, nurseries, feformatorics, and 
other benevolent institutions, which all 
wise governments provide as barriers 
against prospective crime and distress. 
But even in those exceptional cases, 
as much care as possible should be 
observed in following out the spirit of 
our free institutions, which are so 
strongly opposed to any interference 
in matters of conscience, even among 
the most humble and unfortunate. 

But while we are combating the 
arguments of our Boston contempo- 
rary in favor of compulsory educa- 
tion, it may be said that no compub 
sion is used or intended to be used in 
this or many other states in the Union. 
This is a mistake; there is compul- 
sion of the most practical kind. It 
is true that die oft'icet of tlie law 
does not come into our homes and 
forcibly drag our children to school, 
but the tax-gatherer docs so, almost 
as efttcienlly, if more silently. The 
masses of the people in this, as in 
most other countries, are poor. With 
the .\mcrican Catholics this is i)ecu- 
liarly so. They are taxed to nipport 




443 



TKAo is to Educate Omr Children t 



the public schools, and must either 
send their children there or paty for 
their education elsewhere. This 
double payment, in most instances, 
they cannot afford. How many tens 
of thousands of parents are there not 
among us whose scanty means will 
not permit them to indulge in the 
luxury of seeing their children in- 
structed in the ways of true religion, 
and who are consequently compelled, 
if they desire even a primary educa- 
tion for their offspring, to send them 
to schools which they neither admire 
nor would select if they had a free 
choice ! 

We are accused of being hostile to 
the Bible. Such is not the fact, and 
those who make the assertion are 
well aware of its falsity. The Bible 
has always been an object of especial 
care and veneration in the Catholic 
Church. It is one of the sources of 
her authority and the muniments of 
her holy mission. What we object 
to is the profanation of its sacred 
character by unworthy and profane 
hands. It has repeatedly pained us 
to see even *' King James's Version," 
imperfect as it is, scattered broadcast 
by the agents of tiie IJible societies in 
hotel and steamboat saloons, bar- 
bers' shops, and bar-rooms, not to be 
read, but to be devoted to the mean- 
est purposes of waste paper. The 
treatment of the holy book in some 
of our pul)lic scliools is little better. 
If anypcreon doubts that Catholics 
venerate and read the liible, let him 
go to our large Catholic publishing- 
houses and see the numerous and 
.splemlid editions of the Old and New 
Testaments which arc constantly be- 
ing issued from i^.ieir presses. 

Though on principle we decidedly 
object to the reading of the Bible in 
our public schools, our greatest ob- 
jection is to the schools themselves. 
We hold that the education that does 
not primarily include the religious ele- 



ment is worse than no edacati 
all, and, we hold, also, that the 
has no right to prescribe what 
of faith, doctrine, or religious pn 
should be taught to the chi 
of its citizens. We claim that C 
lie parents have a right to dei 
that their children shall be edui 
by Catholic teachers, be instn 
from Catholic books, and at all t 
particularly during hours of stud 
surrounded as much as possible 
ah the influence that the church, 
whose bosom they have been ai 
ted by baptism, can surround t 
This can never be done in our 
lie schools. However high the 
sonal character of the teachei 
those institutions, and wha 
may be the peculiar merits of 
discipline and success in tui 
out smart accountants and supei 
thinkers, we maintain that, in thi 
mation of character and the cu 
tion of the spiritual and better pa 
our nature, they have been and 
necessarily be failures. What p: 
can read without a shudder the fo 
ing extract from a Boston pap* 
garding the recent investigation 
savant who, it is well known, ; 
friend to Catholicity or the teac 
of the church : 

" Professor Agassiz has of late gi 
portion of his valuable time to an in 
gation of the social evil, its cause; 
growth, and the result has filled hirr 
dismay, and almost destroyed his fa 
the boasted civilization of the ntnel 
century. He has visited and noted 
tlie houses of ill-fame throughout tli 
of UoMon, and has diawn from the 
lunate inmates many sad life stories 
Ills uticr surprise, a large numier • 
un/tntuiiate ■n'OftteH anj girls traits 
fall to injtnenics ickich surtvuniieJ ti 
t.'ii- public schools" * 

It has been already stated, o 
authority of the Educatumtd Mo 

• Tkt PiM, Not. 4, il7t. 



IVJko is to Educate Our ChUdreti f 



443 



State of Connecticut, the 
f public sctiooLi and nun>ery 
K:ho()l teachers, there is one 
iniially to every nice mar- 
Ki now nrc have the un- 

Kiuuy of Agassi^r after 
aatton of the malign in- 
le schools in the sister 
there any reason to doubt 
ad Mate ul tnorals exists in 
s, and may he traced to the 
ce. and, if so, is it not time 
ublic system of instruchon, 
fcmoJcs, bhould be discon- 



in a material jmint of 

^Bunon schools have been 
WmRc^iv,. In the chbrts, 
>UB wc must bchcve, to 
sectarianism from the 
iks, the Buard of Education 
«e8 of our Cities have al* 
:royed their usefulness for 
)9C, The primary rules of 
Tiling, and arithmetic, and 
Us of pure mathematics, can 
with impuniiy, but, when 
branches of study are 
le rehgious question again 
Take geology, for exam- 
tnost interesting science, 
of which has led la more 
taa all the sophistnes of 
ir Volney. As at present 
Dur s< hooU, without expia- 
tion, it cannot help 
: I to the faith, and 
\j lo the morals, of the 
ll an<iisciplinc<) minds of the 
As to history, it is impofisi- 
irith the most careful revi- 
eproduce it uithoui con- 
»ct»ce to disputed events 
sctcrs, regarding which 
i vid Catholics can never 
,11 we imagine a history of 
uropc with the great facts 
Old World l.y 
;.hment of the 
wcr o! the Poi>es, the 




*' Tnicc of Cod " and the Crusades 
in the middle ages, the great rebellion 
against spiritual authority — miM:alIcd 
the Reformation — the i>enal [icrsecu* 
lion of the Irish Catholics, and die 
French Revolution left out ? At best, 
such a book would be a sorry com- 
pilation of dates and miscalled facts, 
anil yet to desr ribe those great 
epochs in European history with any 
degree of accuracy would necessarily 
oflund the opinions or prejudices of 
either Protestants or Catiiotics. If 
history be " philosophy teaching by 
example," we must look lor it some- 
where else than in our ptibhc schools. 

Hut, because we arc opposed to the 
exisience of common school*, are we 
therefore agamst popular education ? 
On the conir.iry. the efforts of the 
humbler class of Catholif:s through- 
out the country to secure e<lucation 
for their children independent of 
Slate interference nrc almost int^e- 
diblc. 

In this city alone twenty thousand 
children are annually taught in the 
free schools attached lo the various 
churches, at an ex|K:nse of a little 
over one hundred thousand dollars, 
indepcn<lent of the thousands who 
attend the pay-schools of the Chris- 
tian Brothers of a high grade.* 

Let us row sum uji in brief our 
objections to the further continuance 
of the present piiblic-srhool system : 

I. AH e<hiration should be based 
and conducted on true religious prin- 
ciples. 

il. 'J1ie state has no right to teach 
religion in its schools. 

HI. State or public schools with- 
out religion are godless. 

i V. As such, they are incioable of 
forming the character of our children, 
or teaching them morality according 
lo the Christian principle. 

* Vm the benefit and edification of our readei*. 

w« •ut>)oln an uffiiial ulmlar Mnlomcnt of lli« 
utteaUaiK-t on. sad caj>eiift«« of, the Caiholto frM 



444 



IVko is to Educate Our CkUdrent 



V. In endeavoring to avoid what is 
called secUriauistn, tliey defeat the 
ends of even mere secular education. 

Kow,ii may be asked, Wliat reme- 
dy do we propose for the evils which 
our public-school system has already 
produced ? What substitute are we 
prepared to offer that will both sacis- 
\y the dctnands of religion and the i 
requircmcnis of the state? We an- 
swer, by the establishment of denomi- 
national schools for Catholics, wher- 
ever practicable, under ihe supervi- 
sion of the proper ecclesiastical au- 
thorities, and likeuTse for such of the 
sectj as do not a{>prove of mixed 
schools. How arc these schools to 
be sustained ? In either of two ways. 
If the state will insist on levying a 
general school tax, let it be divided 
ffo rata according to the number of 



day Mchools o( lk« cf tf o( New York for the pre- 
uir year : 

Anniml 

W.uliacc. ^y' '•" 
•uppnrt 



LocaUonofScbooIs. 



Mm. 171 A 971 Mulbefrf Sl„ r.ioo 

H«rcl*r >nil Chufuh Su., . 573 

New Uiiweiy and JimcsSu., 1,400 

No. >T) MuU St.. . . . ■.«$ 
Noi. 54 ft tfi I'itt St.. ud tbA 

Midison SC. . . \)baa 

Nos. 9 A ID RtitireTi St., . t a5« 

L«roySl, .... x.vm 

Nos. 3-:<o A 10a tUut Eifhlb St. i.Coa 

NOA. Ill St t1\, «Qd tjl ft 1)7 

Secoad Si i,«av 

Noi, B A Id Thooipson Sl, . s4o 

No. «<*a Rut Knuith Sl, . tjoo 

No. 4ft Fourtll Ave, . atw 

Nm. sii * J13 Kau Mlh St. i.aM> 
No. v West tSUi St.. antl tii 

Writ lytbSt., . rao 
No. mS U'eni tfth St , and 

i}6 Wc»t idtti St., , , 140 

No«. 333 A ]}3 West sjtKSL, iy> 
No. «oq Wcit jalll St., and in 

WeU)iMSL, . . 400 

No. 14) Wc«t ]ISt St., . 400 

KaM 34iti St., B«ar Second 

Arc I.9S0 

No. 3o9Baat4itb St.. . . ija 

Kaat sDth St. and Jladtsoo 

A»e. ?s<> 

Gaat t4t)i St, ae*r Fourth 

.ivc, 56a 

Wen i3i« St., and Wfl« 

i]](] St.. near lolli .\ve., . 390 
Wcu n5th St. and Ninth 

At-e., i|a 



offtcavols 
#4.000 

3.M> 

4MWO 
3.J« 

QJOO 
5,000 
S.5OO 

7,000 

>>970 
J, MO 

6.ny 
■0.000 

l.I>D 
J^KPO 

1.600 

I. MO 

6.000 



l«,4^ 9i04.4fa 



pupils taught in each sch 
denomioaiionaj schools han 
proper proiHjrtion, and the Ui 
non-religious schools thcira. 
amount thus apportioned to \ 
tholic schools might be de 
with a board or other executive 
to be composed in whole or 
of clerics and laymen, and, if 
sar)', let the state appoint pcf^ 
cials to see that aix:urate rrt 
attendance are made. Thrf 
way, which to our nttnd is mti 
fcrablc, would be lo abolish 
iher the school tax, and ihfo 
the parents of all denomraaii 
of DO denomination the reipi 
ty of etlucating ilietr own d 
CompuJsnr}- education may i, 
well in countries where the su 
but an automaton liable at any 
be moved by a desj^jlic guvcq 
based on principles that ti 
pic are made for the govei 
not the government for the 
,-ind where the acquired iDtd 
01' the masses is merely used 
used for the benefit of a few 
lary rulers; but in a countTy | 
republic, the strength of wbi 
in individual effort, and wbcte 
fame, and honor aiv within tb 
of every one, even the b| 
who has energy and ability i 
to win them, we con haw 1 
that parents, and, lea--' 
lie parents, will be tl- 
duty in respect to the proper' 
(xiucation of their chUdteOj 
struggles they have made 4 
making lo support :' ' ' 
schools, dcs{>itc the i>i 
which ihcy are burden 
would be renewed wi! j.-i 
ergy if thai drain on tbcidl 
were removed. ^^ 

'riie advantages to be dcml 
the adoption oft' ' - 
manifold .ind int.. 

It wouUl sattfcfy ibe 




l^Aff is to Educate Our Children ? 



445 



:hosc pai^iits who const- 
^Chcy should not be required, 
Lor indirectly, tu send their 
I to t)ie public &cho(;ls, as at 
j conducted. It would not 
prance the material prospects 
Ipupil, by giving him a tho- 
education devoid of all the 
bns ai)d mutilations which 
^pt at fiiirness and the pro- 

i non-religious books have 

; vhile he would, gradually 
lOOt apparent effort, imbibe 

religious spirit that would 
j^idc and Iiest defence in af- 

It would also elevate the 
tr of the teacher by placirig 

Eiis true position, midway be- 
le divinely appointed mtnis- 
c* Gospel, and the instructor 
ten in matters purely secular, 
molding out to him a higher 
ier goal than that resulting 
personul ambition or the 
pecuui.iry reward, would 
icreose his zeal and efficicn- 
Ihc public generally, the 
[suggested would be equally 
The welfare of the state 
rest on piety alone, nor on 
ntcltigencti atone, but on bcitli 
>gcther, the latter, of course, 
bordinate tothe former. No 
» ' "hat may have been 

,j - was ever less brave 

less wise in council, lew 
g in commerce, or less loy- 
govcmment, because he was 
m his infancy to regard 
of religion as his first 
! ily. The desire of 
--S, Mmuch an instinct 
as the mode of securing 
of proper religious cdu- 
on a man's conduct 
liters exclusively pertain- 
;c things of the world, and 
to a more steadfast and 
in the discharge of 



But it would also have another 
and not less marked elTcct. It would , 
rid the community of a host of offi-J 
cials, many of whom are incompe- 
tent, and some of whom, we are sorry 
to say. arc corrupt, and it would also 
save the public treasiir)' vast sums of 
money, much of which is now use- 
lessly squandered. Who would be- 
lieve that in this great citj', where 
there is so much learning and ]>ublic 
spirit, the Board of Education, con- 
sisting of twenty-one persons, is prin- 
cipally composed of liquor and bil--J 
Hard saloon keepers, horse dealers, 
retailers of articles used in the schools, \ 
and of that nondescript class called' ) 
brokers? Yet this intellectual body 
exercises supreme control over (he 
public schools of New York, and 
prop(jsed this year to spend no less a 
sum than $3,150,000, or more than 
double the amount requireil for the 
same ])urposc eight years ago.* The 
way in which a portion of ihis mo- 
ney is spent may be inferred from a 
statement recently published in one 
of our daily newspapers, from which 
we extract the following paragraph : 

" Tlir next item is fncJdcalal expenses 
of ihc: Hoard r>r Kdiicniinn, including 
shop account. $r)0,ooo. What aic ' inct- 
dcaial ' expenses? It means cxpeudi- 
lures for whicli the ilcms cannot bv aiiit- 
cipatcd, or uf which it Is not agfccalile j 
ID furnish a sinlcmcnl ; it means siinplji' 
a f>cnenil fund to be expended bv the 
clerks and officers of the lionrd of Educa-« ' 
tion as they think proper ' incidenlallv.* ' 
Among these ' incidental ' expenses is 
what ts knairn as » tea room ; that is to 
say. the membcrrs hare a supper or re- 
freshments furnished to ihem ni their 
mcciitigs. and as they choose to order. 
Tliis Is never returned or charged un- 

*Tbt upenwsof Ut* fioftrd of Kducfltloil oT 
this city for six yean have l>e«ii as fallows: 

iS6^, $1,(50.000 

i86i, i.737/)oa 

18C-3 ■.■qStJot 

iBM, ■.♦« J»J J 

i»7 ■ ■ »«M-3*» 

■166, •,900^000 



446 



lyAo is to Educate Our Childr4,mf 



dec the head of tea-room, supper, din- 
ner, or board bill, but is covered up 
under the head of postage-stamps or 
other ' incidental * expenses. How much 
of the 960,000 goes in this way, it is, of 
course, impossible for us to know." 

Is it any wonder, then, that, in view 
of such extravagant use of the public 
money, of which the above is only a 
specimen, the education of about one 
hundred thousand children, the aver- 
age attendance at our public schools, 
should cost over three raiilions of dol- 
lars, or at the rate cf thirty dollars 
per capita^ while in the Catholic 
free schools one-fifth of chat number 
are taught at an expense of one hun- 
dred thousand dollars, or at the rate 
of only five dollars a head, per an- 
num ? 

Are the Catholics competent and 
prepared to assume the duties and 
responsibilities of the education of 
the vast number of children of their 
communion who now attend the pub- 
lic schools ? Most decidedly. As to 
our ability to teach, we point with 
something like pride, certainly with 
satisfaction, to ihe success of our num- 
erous colleges, seminaries, and con- 
vent schools, to the latter in particular, 
where are always to be found among 
the pupils a respectable minority 
composed of daugliters of many of 
our most intelligent Protestant fami- 
lies. We call attention, also, to our 
twenty-four city free schools, now in 
full operation, nuny of which, though 
of recent origin, will compare favor- 
ably with the oldest of our common 
schools. Besides the professors of 
our colleges, who are constantly pre- 
paring voung men for the ministry 
and for the scarcely less responsible 
duties of teachers, and such orders 
as the Christian Hrothers, we have 
raanv trained lay instructors reatly 
and anxious to ilcvric themselves to 
the goiul work of Chri>tian etluca- 
tion. Then, again, there are nuuil»ers 



of Catholic teachers now in tiH 
lie schools, male and female, 
of whom we know personally 
would prefer to give their sc 
exclusively to the training of di 
of their own fiuth if such an op 
nity presented itself. Said 
this class, a teacher of over t 
years' exiierience, on a late oc 
to the writer, " If I dared, I 
like to expose the dangers ai 
surdities of our school system ; 
cannot, for I would surely be 
out and dismissed, and then 
would become of my wife and 
ly ? I wish we had separate s 
for ourselves, and then I wou 
like teaching even at a less 
than I now receive." 

We submit the considerati 
this very grave and, in our mint 
important question to the serioi 
sideration of our patriotic and 
tive countrymen, no matter o 
creed or opinion, having an a 
confidence in their sense of 
and equity. To the fanatical ] 
of the community who will 1 
ten to reason, we have only 
say : Though you may prete 
to know it, and may even be 
scious of the fact, your iastin 
you that the present system < 
cation saps the foundation of 1 
tholic religion, and it is for this 
you hold so tenaciously to it; 
us add, the system itself, being \ 
undermines all religion and n 
likewise. But such is your 
tion and hostility to our religi 
to so undermine it you are wj 
see your own faith, whatev 
may be, ruined and wrecked 
as you can accomplish vour 
and the next generation becon 
ists and sceptics, totally dc 
ail faith. Holding the politii 
cr, and in spite of your boa; 
play and in defiance of the : 
our free institutions, you ar 



One Christmas Evt in La Vcndie, 



A4f 



uphold your system and tax 
support against otir con- 
agaitut religion, fretfdom, 
jltts, and the spirit of Anie- 
ns. Your cflbrts to 
were of our govemnieni, 
iinent of our natural, divine, 
ical rights, wilt ultimately end 
own confusion. They are 
thy of some half-crazed theo- 
ad follower of Kourricr and 
iniinists thin of a citizen of 
% republic. 'Hie government 



that robs a parent of his rights and 
his children is neither free nor de- 
mocratic, but is the aider and abettor 
of that system of frec-lovism which 
is said to have origiaate^l in pagau 
Sparta, and ha cnhminated in our 
own country at Oneida. But let il 
be understood that, as Catholics and 
free citizens, we proclaim our rights, 
shall resolutely defend them, asking 
for nothing which ne are not willing 
to grant to others, and being content 
with no less for ourselves. 




ONE CHRISTMAS EVE IN LA VENDEE. 



in '93 — that horrible '93, 
name makes uur blood 
(1 our hearts beat with a 
terror and security, as when 
m the painted panorama of 
eld or some scene of crime 
;er and despair long since 
but brought vividly before 
graphic power of eloquence 
Tlie words have a spell in 
: fascinates us, and defies us 
in without pausing to look 
memories ihey evoke. >\"el], 
this tragic '93 that I am 
kpeok. But not to describe 
L It only makes the frame 
try, a most veracious story, 
if ihe spirit of that wonder- 
where we sec all that was 
liest in humanity shine 
e of it-1 most criminal 
ling aberrations, 
ristroas eve fourscore years 
fertile soil of I.a Vendee, 
nis of patriot blooil, 
M'jr a deep quilt of 
\ ihc landscape slept as in 



a death-sleep under a pure white 
pall. Hills and plains were garmcnt- 
e<l in white. The snow had fallen 
heavily during the night, and its un- 
trodden purity was as hmooili and uni* 
form as the blue of the winter sky, 
that looked down upon it and grew 
pale. The cottages that dotted the 
fair expanse hardly l>roke its uni- 
fonnity, for they too were liveried in 
while, the roof thick thaiclied with 
snow, and the whitewashed walls only 
a degree less dazzling than the 
brightness of the ground. The hedg- 
es that divide the fields in La Vendue 
as in England were fille<i and covered 
with snow, and the hoarfrost like a 
fairy lace-work glittered and shone 
on the soft, unblemished surface, and 
the trees with rolls of snow resting 
on their bare gaunt arms held up 
clusters of icicles that sparkled like 
crystals in the tepid December sun. 

Tlie village of Chamtoce lay in this 
white landscape; and in the middle 
of the Village stood the cliurch, and 
close by the church the presbytery. 



448 



Oh< Christinas Eve in La VendS^. 



On the road that led from St. 
Florent to Charatoc6 a young, lithe 
figure was crushing the crisp white 
carpet with a long, elastic step. His 
£ace was concealed, the upper part 
of it by a cap drawn low over his 
forehead, and the lower part by a 
woollen scarf wound round his throat, 
swallowing up the chin and nose in 
its capacious folds. The weather was 
not cold enough to need this osten- 
tatious display of cacke-ne% ; true, la 
tiappe blanche He la Noil (white cloth 
of Christmas), as the peasants call it, 
was spread, but there was not a 
breath of wind, and it was not freez- 
ing. It had frozen during the night 
just enough to sprinkle the hoar-frost 
abroad and hang a thin fringe of 
glass from the roofs of the houses and 
deck the trees with icicles, but this 
was not what the Vendians called 
freezing. The Loire pursued its jour- 
ney majestically to the sea uncheck- 
ed by the icy hand of the black frost, 
the cruel black frost, that had but to 
blow with its bleak breath for one 
night on the strong deep stream to 
paralyze its waters and chill their 
moaning into icy dumbness. So, 
the cold was not bitter. The travel- 
ler knew it, too, for on coming to a 
point of the road where it turned 
abruptly, and disclosed the church 
with its slim, gray belfry, and, on the 
rising ground beyond it, a windmill, 
still as spectre suspended midway be- 
tween the white earth and the pale 
sky, he looked cautiously up and 
down the road, assured himself there 
was no one in sight, and then, raising 
his beaver cap, stood bare-headed in 
the attitude of a man saluting some 
object of love and veneration. 

" Nearly four years since 1 knelt 
under the shadow of thy walls, and 
now I have come home, and thou 
dost greet me with the same un- 
changed, unchanging welcome !'* 

He replaced his cap, drew it low 



over his face, and cootini 
way. 

" Home, did I say ?" he n 
presently. " Have I still a I 
come to ? Gaston most I 
gone, fallen like the best U 
La Vend^ in God's and th 
cause. And Marie 1" 

A sudden flush suffused tbi 
ed cheek. The pilgrim wa 
with a quicker step, and was 
the gate of the presbytery. 

" Ah ! here it is, just as I 
the little wicket that opened 
with a ready welcome. A goc 
to begin with !" 

He pushed it and walked oi 
door of the dwelling-hous 
ajar ; winter and summer it w: 
shut ; he pushed it open, anc 
ed gently at a door on the le 

« Come in I" said M. le Ci 

And Fran9ois L^onval 
and stood face to face with t 
father he had known on 
Nearly four years had pasi 
they had parted, and the ol 
who had baptized him, and 
him, and wept with him 
his mother's grave, was j' 
same as when he had left fc 
nign, cheerful, a trifle more 
perhaps and a good deal whi 
the same in everything else- 
was changed within. He lo* 
promptly, closed his book, as 
with a glance where " chari 
thinketh no evil " deprecated 
tain vague mistrust, he said : 

"What can I do for y 
boy ?" 

"Monsieur le Cur£! moi 
Is this the welcome you give 

" Francois! my son ! my I 
etl ; " And the old man hdd 
arms, and the two clasped eac 

" Ah ! my son T CKclaiin 
cure, when his emotion left hi 
er to speak, " this is an hoit 
suffering for; it pays me fo 



Ont ChrUttnas Eve in La Vcndie. 



449 



Aguish. Uctle did I dream 
such a joy before we met in 
My son I my boy S Bless- 
ed and Our Lady of Mercy, 
t\*e watchftl over you nn<i 
j'ou back to me I 1 never 
to Ke your Jlacc before I 

why not, mon pdre!" sakl 
laughing, and embracing 
; *• you know the prodigals 
;o return sooner or later; bc- 
promiscd to pray me safe 
not to go 10 heaven till I 
:k to get yoor blessing. 
'Ibi^et your promise ?*' 
il! Does a father forget 
But you have travelled a 
you will lell me all pre- 
lit first you must have need 
id warmth. Vicloire !" 
m old gouvemanlc appear- 
in recognizing Frani;ois her 
xpanded into a smile of 
clight, and she embraced 
man with motherly aflti!- 
overpowered him with ques- 
she never waited to hear 
while she bustled about 
B, running backward antl 
\o her kitchen, and niak- 
y with all speed the very- 
store couid supply. The 
Sal was soon spread, and the 
rhom. after the first outburst 
■ad subsided, her presence 
pnsnefKed relief, said with a 
r n his voice and look 

m Fran^'ois's heart : 
Kran^-ois, Francois, it was 
1o leave me all these years 
K sign or a word. Gaston 
for a long time that either 
caraped from the country, 
ou were still fighting, and 
'as in either rase only the 
itting us into trouble that 
you writing, or the want 
ly messenger, and 1 belicv- 
ilc I could ; but when two 
VOU XIV. — 29 



whole years went by. and still we 
had no news, what could I think but 
that you had fallen ? Victoire, put 
on your hood, and go— but slay — no, 
I had better go myself. We must 
run no risks : there is a price on your 
held, you say ? I ivill go myself. 
These are times »vhen we need the 
cunning of the serpent more than the 
innocence of the dove. Alas I what 
does innocence avail my little ones? 
IJut shame upon me for an ungrate- 
ful wretch ! Docs it not avail them 
the palm-branth and tlie crown, and 
are not the purest of the flock chosen 
for a sacrifice to plead for the guilty ?" 

Thus discoursing, he wra])ped him- 
self in his heavy serge cloak, and 
cluiched his stick, anil went in search 
of Gaston, but not without first speak- 
ing a word in Victoire's ear. 

And who was Gaston ? Gaston 
was cousin-german an<l adopted 
brother of Francois. They had been 
brought up from infancy together by 
(Jaslon's mother. When tlit^y were 
both sixteen, she died, leaving the 
lads to the care of the good God and 
Monsieur leCur^, and bidiling them 
love each other like true brothers, 
and live together in the comfortable 
cottage, which, being her own, she 
bequeathed them as a joint legacy 
till either should marry, and then, if 
ihey chose to separate, the one who 
left was to have compensation in a 
sum of money 10 be- kept by M. le 
Cure till the event entitled either of 
the youths to claim it. Besides the 
cottage, their mother, for both the 
lads looked on her as such, left two 
thousand francs, to be equally divid- 
ed between them when they came to 
be twenty-one. This was the wedding 
portion she had brought to Gaston's 
father, and as she had adopted Fran- 
cois, and given him a true mother's 
love, she wished to divide her all. 
share and share, between him and 
h< r own son. 



450 



Ont Christmas live in La Vendee. 



Gaston had a goodly inheritance 
oi land from his father, so she was 
not impoverishing him by sharing 
her own with hts brother, and he 
could never feel in after-life that she 
had wronged him. So Jeanne Lion- 
val thought, at least. And perha|» 
ahe was right at the time. But as 
l^years went on, Gaston saw things 
dififcrcntly; his ideas about the value 
of money changeii, and with them 
his notions regarding right and jus- 
tice, and he began to feel an unde- 
fined vexation and sense of injury on 
the subject of his mother's will. For 
Gaslun liad a wonn at his heart — the 
^worrn that entered the heart of Ju- 

s, and sucked it dry of love, and 
Ltnith, and mercy, and led him at last 
*to deicide and despair. He loved 
money, and he was growing to love 
it more every day ; it was Ailing up 
his Iteart, and making him hard and 
selhsh, and brushing off the bloom 
of his boyish freshness. He was 
growing into a miser. Nobody no- 
ticed tlie growth. Gaston did not 
suspect it He lived like other peo- 
ple, frugally but abundantly, in the 
homely manner of liis mother and 
tlie people of his class. He wore 
good clothes, and the same as those 
around him. But thougli he did not 
take to the ways and crotchets of the 
miser of the story-book, his lieart 
was none the less developing the 
miser's spirit, and growing rapidly 
absorbed, to the exclusion of all 
other aims, in the love of money. 
He grudged more and more parting 
with it, and he longed and pined 
more greedily after its possession. 
Frangois, who lived with him, saw 
notlung of this. He saw him indeed 
eager and active in turning his land 
and stot:k to account, vigilant to 
seize every opportunity for gain, sharp 
3t Striking a bargain, chary of spend- 
ing hts money on many innocent 
pleasmrs that tempted the self-denial 



of older and wiser heads; I 
was right and fair so £u, 
were plenty of idlers, and fel 
spend their money as fut 
made it, and it was well to i 
ton prudent and Uinhy, aa< 
by for the rainy day and t 
ones who would be coming 
by. So argued the bonesl 
handed Francois, who appro 
wisdom of his brother, but 
practise it, and never could 
franc in his pocket white he 
oneinwantofit. Quiteaskelf- 
as Gaston, he pinched him? 
a different motive. He savn! 
He gave to the widow wh 
l>c driven from her shelter il 
not come in time to pay the ; 
gave to the cold and the huq 
hearth wanted wood, nu raoij 
cd for bread, while Fnui^i 
supply both. Not a child iq 
lage but loved him, not an e 
smiled a blessing on the you 
as he passed. Gorton kncv 
forgave him. He loved h; 
enough to forgive bim eij 
share in his mother's tici t] 
coming to Francois one uf the 
But when the day came^ and 
the money that ought to ha 
his handed over to his coil 
disowned the brotherhood tj 
ment for the first time in hi 
Gaston felt the fiend wake yxp 
he felt he was badly treated, n 
and robbed of his due, and 
wrathful against Jeanne and 
<;ois. In the angry spint of I 
ment, he spoke bitter words « 
^ois, and reproached him for 
come between him aiid ha | 
But Francois, who retained lb 
lessness of a child, caned tg 
about the money to scifc tl| 
motive of Itis broUict's ugj 
thought it was an outbarst ol 
jealousy agamst the orpii 
who had come between 



One Christmas Eve in La Vcutice. 



451 



)f his mother's love, and, with 

tnth of a generous nature, 

■ forgave him his unjust re- 

B ; he offered to give up all 

unconditionally to his cou- 

I to leave the cottage, and 

compensation, provided only 

would give him back his love 

t. Gaston was not utterly 

1, and the generosity and 

»of his cousin disurnicd him, 

mcd him out of his unworthy 

nt; he embraced him, and 

am to forgive him, and they 

lie brothers from that out. 

ils of avarice Iwincd round 

■jAcart, 9 id choked his best 

^Rmd his finest impulses, but 

not crush out his love for 

That grew and flourished 

ily amongst weeds. So they 

logclhcr till they grew up to 

tate, and then an event oc- 

in :he distant town of Cha- 

t-lys which was lo make a 

in the lives of both. 

:c of the curb's died, leaving 

lan child, whom she implor- 

incle to receive and take care 

ie was alone in the world ; 

re was no one to whom thje 

could bequeath her except 

\ of Chamtoc^. Great was 

)lexity of the worthy priest 

received the intelligence of 

:'s death, accompanieii by the 

led legacy of a grand-niece, 

request that he would enter 

ssession at once. Victoire 

ed into council, but, instead 

\g him out of the difficulties 

Dsition, she staggered him by 

he meant to buy a cage 

ng la fe/ite in the window 

i Canary ? That was the only 

he saw of taking her in. Why, 

ifrerc so tight for room that 

i<:loirr, were not the wo- 

was. it would be simply an 

to fit herwlf and her 




effeets into the space allotted to her 
at the presbytery ; and where, in the 
name of common sense, did M. le 
Cur^ think she could moke room for 
another inmate ? The cur^ admitted 
the inexorable logic of this fact, and 
immediately proposed adding ano- 
ther room to the house ; this was the 
Vend^an's ready way of simplifying 
difficulties when his family outgrew 
his dwelling. Victoire said of course 
thai this remedy was open to lliem, 
but what were they to do with ia 
petite till the room was built ? Hang 
her up in the window ? M. le Cur6 
rejected the cage aUemalive, and 
suggested his niece be sent to one of. ] 
ilic farmers' wives' for the time being. 
" Which of tliera ? " Victoire begged 
leave to inquire. Mfcre Madeleine 
would take her and welcome, but she 
had four soas at home, so that would . 
not do. Then there were La Mfcre 
Tustine and La Tantc Ursule, and a 
great many other estimable matrons 
who would gladly give her a shelter, 
but between their hospitality an<i 
Marie's acceptance of il there stood 
some inipedirnettt in the shape of 
sons or brotiiers that shut the door 
on the young stranger. The cur6 
and his gouvernanle were puuling 
over the case, and seeing no way out 
of it, when Kr.'in5ois L6onval came 
in. The cure loved all his children, 
but, if there was one that he loved 
belter than all, it was the chiUl-hko, 
open-heartctl i-ran<;ois. He told him ' 
at once of his trouble, and askcil him . 
what he was lo do. Francois solved \ 
the difhculty instanter by offerings 
him the sjiare room at home — hia~ 
mother's formerly, and never occu-J 
pied since her death — assuring the] 
curi that he and Gaston and Ger-. 
volse, their old l*onn€, would takcj 
every care of his grand-niece, andl 
that, far from being in the way, shcj 
would be quite a godsend lo them all* 
in the dull cottage. The cur6 smiled 



452 



One Christmas Eve in La Vender, 



with a deeper thankfulness than the 
young man understood at the biblical 
simplicity betrayed in this propo- 
sal, and it took a good deal of argu- 
ment to make Kran9oi5 see that the 
scheme was not practicable; but 
when ultimately he did see it, he was 
ready with an amendment which the 
cure saw no fair reason for rejecting. 
This was that Mile. Marie was to 
be installed in her uncle's room, and 
he was to come and stay with the 
brothers while another was being 
added to the presbytery. This point 
settled, the first thing to be done was 
to get possession of Marie. The 
cur6 would have gladly gone to fetch 
the poor little orphan himself, but 
this was Saturday, a very busy day 
for the country priest, and to-mor- 
row would be Sunday, a busier day 
still, and when it was quite impossi- 
ble for hira to be absent. But Fran- 
9ois here again came to the rescue. 
He would drive over to Chapelle- 
aux-lys, put up for a few hours — it 
was a good three hours' drive — and 
be back by nightfall with the legacy. 
Francois L^onva! was perhaps the 
only youth in the village to whom 
such a mission could have been en- 
trusted without its provoking a stream 
of chattering comments on all sides, 
but the cure knew that not even that 
queen of g055i])S, Tante Ursule, would 
find a word to say against it in his 
case. So he gave his blessing to 
Fran<;ois, who ran home as fast as he 
could, i>ut the strong bay mare to 
the canole, and was soon trotting 
over the snow on the road to Clia- 
pellc-aux-Iys. This was liow Marie 
came to Ciuiintoie. 

In due tiuK' the roi-in was Imilt, 
the cure took leave nf the brothers, 
and returned to the preslniery. where 
Marie reii;ncHl heiucfonii with soft, 
dcsjioiic sway over himself, the stiti" 
old Yicioirc, and all who came with- 
in her kingdom. She was soon the 



acknowledged belle of Ch 

and the number of her admi 

the zeal with which they c( 

for her hand in the village d 

the honor of carrying her red 

CO Heures to and from ch 

Sundays and f£te-day5, be 

serious complication in the e 

of the venerable curi. Few 

loved him with the love thai 

out fear,'and had no seen 

him; old and young vent 

with their conjUences as a n 

course, and the rival candic 

Marie's iavors carried thei 

and fears and complaints of 

of each other to his symp 

ears with merciless garrul 

was no small thing to bear 

den of this confidence, to 

to these knotty cases, and 

advice and sympathy befittt 

particular one. The cur6, 

sure, had more experience th 

men in this kind of diploma 

ing been the bosom confidai 

the swains who had sighed 

belles of Chamtoc6 these for 

past; but he declared that 

lovers gave him more to do l 

whole generation together. 

were nine eligible partis goi: 

all nine were competing for hi 

good man was driven to 1: 

end. Marie remained serei 

different to them all, and nev 

a glance of encouragement 

above another, nor could he 

detect the faintest sign of prt 

toward any of them. He (< 

fugc, therefore, in perfect nei 

and refused to interfere in be 

any of the suitors. She was 

enough to bide her time a 

their fidelity before she adc 

choice so important to them 

herself. Marie was fifteen wl 

came to Chamtoc6. The 

tion had broken out in Paris I 

si)reading rapidly through d 



Ont Christmas Eve in La Vendee, 



453 



endie, which wns dcs- 
play such a noble part 
test tragedy the world ever 
sitll comparatively quiet : 
e Marie had spent two years 
V boaie, (he Royalist tiiovc- 
R firing the hearts of the 
t, and the enthusiastic spirit 
Mte and Caihelineau and 
OS fanning the flames of 
I and goading the peasants 
'and and univennil uprising 
Dry stands unparalleled in 
\ of chivalrous loyally. Tlie 
in soldiers, Us bleus, as they 
?d, were scouring the coun- 
»ulating villages, murdering 
s, and hunting down the 
■tiering off whole streets to 
bine in a batch, spreadinglcr- 
p\iistaiion everywhere. The 
had risen en masse nnd 
the Royalist troops, and 
ng their lives and their al- 
Chamtoc^ was not behind 
e patriotic movement. It 
Us goodly contingent of 
the king, and many were 
des of daring and self-de- 
ralty that marked llie pro- 
ihc Vendi^an cause in the 
jaceful village, 
i^as just seventeen when the 
itmeni took place. It was 
spring morning. She was 
the latticed window of the 
r parlor, a dark-eyed, tncrry- 
taidcn in a fan-shaped V^cn- 
I, vhoso «oft white cambric 
off her warm olive rom- 
dmirably, and made her a 
y picture as she sat singing 
inning-whecl, bobbing her 
a quick, graceful move- 
kept time to tlic play of 
and hantU. At a table at 
end of the rtwra the cur6 
B away diligently. He was 
ttbcorbed in his work to \vt 
by Ihe musical purring of 



Marie's wheel, or the broken snatch- 
es of song with which she varied the 
rond-romi and enlivened the pleasant, 
monotonous labor ; he knew shd was 
there, but her presence was no more 
hindrance to him than the sunshine 
that was streaming unbidden through 
the window, and filling the little 
room with ivarmth and brightness. 

Suddenly the rond-rond ceased, 
Marie looked up, and fixed her eyes 
on some distant object along on the 
road. Then she stood up, and said 
hurriedly ; 

•* Mon oncle! mon oncle!" 

'■ Well, my child ?'* answered the 
cure abstractedly, without pausing 
from his work. 

" I sec horsemen galloping toward 
the village. Sont-ce les bUus t" 

The word made the cwxh start like 
the touch of a spring. He dropped 
his pen and was beside her in an in- 
stant. They looked out steadily to- 
ward the dust-cloud that was advan- 
cing rapidly, and for one minute nei- 
ther spoke. Then the curA exclaim 
ed joyfully : 

" No ! Tliey are Charette's men!" 

And so they were. But none the 
less was there cause for Marie's cheek 
to grow pale, and the heart of the 
old pastor to beat with a great emo- 
tion. They knew what brought these 
Royalist soldiers to Chamtoc6. Cha- 
rette wanted men, and he had sent 
here to levy them. In less than an 
hour, every available man in the vil- 
lage was up on the place for inspec- 
tion. The difficulty was whom lo take 
and whom to refuse, for the brave fel- 
lows whose exploits and valor won 
for them later the sobriquet of peuph 
de g/atits (race of giants) were all 
clamoring to be enrolled under the 
king's flag, and to go forth and die 
for the king's cause. 

For the first time to-day since that 
outbreak that had bound them in 
closer brotherhood, Francois and 



Oh£ Christmas Ev€ in /^ h'endSr. 



Grtston quarrelled. Both wanted to 
go, both were equally good for the 
service ; the recruiting officer, unable 
10 choose between them, declared 
they must decide for themselves. The 
only way to do this was to defer it 
to ilic cur6. They walked off to the 
church, where the old man was speak- 
ing plain, &ouI-stJrrjng words of en- 
couragement and exhortation to a 
throng of men and women, the men 
exulting, the women weeping, but all 
of one mind and heart m the cause, 
and ready to give their best and 
dearest to serve uudcr the banner of 
the fleur-de-lii:. 

Marie was kneeling close by the 
altar, amidst a group of weeping 
mothers and sisters. Her eyes were 
riry, but dim and restless ; she spoke 
10 no one, but turned conslanlly to- 
ward the door, as if she were watch- 
ijig for some new arrival. When the 
brothers came in, there was a move- 
ment, the crowd made way for them 
as they walked u(t to ilie altar, and 
hushed their sobs to hear what they 
were going to say. 

** Monsieur le Curt'," said Gaston, 
" only one of us may enlist, and you 
arc to choose between us ; which of 
us may go and fight for the king ?" 

** Ah ! my children, what is it you 
ask of me! How can 1 choose!** 
exclaimed the old man, clasping his 
hands. " You arc both dear to mc ; 
1 would have you both fight for the 
king and win a crown of glory. If 
you fall fighting in defence of God 
and his aliars, yours will be the 
crown of the martyrs. Which is 
most pure at heart, strongest in faith, 
most worthy to serve in the cause of 
God ? He alone can tell !" 

" Francois ! Francois V cried ma- 
ny voices in chorus, and the people 
gathered round the poor man's friend, 
and blessed him, and bid him jo) 
of being chosen for the good fight. 

*<So be itr said the cw6; and 



1 



Francis knelt down. 
laid both hands ujion his 
blessed him. 

Marie was a silent aw 
spectator of the scene, 
still on her knees, clasping tbi 
raits with both handft so tighi 
the strain left them white and' 
less. Francois waited till th< 
had followed M. Ic Currf ) 
the cl>urch, and it was empty 
of the two, and then he weti 
up to Marie and knelt dowi| 
her. He diil not speak, and l| 
not look at him, but she Imi 
it was Francois. 

" Marie!" he said, 
hand on her arm. 

llien she turned and 
his eyes, and these tw^ 
they loved each other. 

"If I fall, you will rcro* 
Marie, and pray for roe," 
gois. taking her hand in 

" Vcs." 

" And, Marie, if I 

" We will come to thi: 
and bless God togeiher, fm. 

" You will wait for roc a 
a day ? 

" I will wait for you 
my life." 

They sent up one 
silence, then kissed 
parted. 

As Frain;ois left the church 
Ga«on, who was seeking 
great concern everywl»erc 
then walked home arm-in 
cpursing with full heirts of 
den and solemn pitting, 
entered the cottage, Franqol 
straight to his room, and cai 
with a small deal box in hb faj 

^-J-yhr," he said, "I hi 
much to trouble about in the 
property, but what I have 5 
keep for me. My savings at 
ing to speak of, seven h 
in all ; here Is the box. 




One Christmas Eve in La Vendee, 



455 



n that sum but for the 
c cattle at K.islcr. Do the 
ain (ur ine with it ; lay it 
k or {•ratn — whatever bnngs 
timefc go. The sheep were 
R investment the last two 
r wish I had done more in 
t; but 1 was never ovcrwise 
p nionc)-, ami this will thrive 
n your hands than in mine, 
»aly I would rather you didn't 
» out long at a time, as you 
your own ; gather it in soon 
good stroke, and let it grow 
a good sum ; it's not safe in 
ays to leave one's money 
^in any business." 
m's astonishment had grown 
iGiction by the time his bro- 
ught this speech to an end, 
t it mean, (his sudden desire 
money anil let it accumulate? 
had all his life been as care- 
luis-d'or as of carrots or 
;nd gave them away as read- 
ihc asking ; and now that he 
lUt to face the cannon, and 
trong chance of never need- 
again, he was smitten with 
ine desire to have them in- 
knd multiply. Though Gas> 
H nothing, Francois read this 
in his eyes. 

I't think I've put my heart in 
ney," he said, laying a hand 
Ion's shoulder, and looking 
' into his face ; " I'd hand it 
for yuur own, lo do as you 
th it, if I were alone in the 
but I'm v\o\.,/rere. I've an- 
think of now." 

rew away his hand, and avert- 
ace quickly, but Gaston saw 
uivcr, and the drops gather 
ave, truthful eyes. He saw 
\ a. glance, and followed the 
. figure. OS it <^lisappcarc(l 
Co his room, with an exprcs- 
bb face that it was better for 
LDCoift did not see ; if he had 



looked at his brother then he would , 
have read a secret that would have ^ 
pierced his heart like a sword. Gas- 
ton stood staring after him as if he 
had been turned to stone, his fea- 
tures lierce and hanlset, the veins 
in hLs forehead swelling and throb- 
bing, all his frame shaken by a vc* 
hement struggle. Gaston liiastered 
it, his face relaxed, and he went in 
after Francois. 

" ^tirr," he said, " you may trust 
nac," and held out his hand to 
him. 

Francois clasped it, but looking at 
his brother with a puz^led smile : 

*' Trust thee I " he repeated, " as if 
I needed thy pledge for that ! Bro- 
ther, I trust thee as I trust my souL" 

" /Vnd, /r^rf, as Monsieur le Cure 
said just now, the best and purest are 
chosen for the sacrifice ; if — " 

" Vive Dun tt U Moi /' cried 
Francois, raising his cap. Then he 
was silent a moment before he 
said : 

" If I fall, you will be a good bro- 
ther to Marie, and do what you can 
lo comfort her." 

•* iVnd the money, what shall I do 
with it ?" 

" Give it to her." 

The brothers embracetl, and set 
out in search of M. le Cur6. He 
blessed them all once mare, and the 
brave young fellows fell mto ranks 
wiih the soldiers, and marched off 
singing their batllc-psalm, their hearts 
beating with high hope and faith 
and courage ; while brave Vcndcaii 
mothers followed them out of the viU 
lage, speeding them with blesiiings 
and cries of Vive Dtcuet le Rai! It 
echoed through the gathering twi- 
light with a strange, inspiring pathos, ' 
Quiet and darkness fell upon Cham* ' 
loc6. the shadows died out of the sl« 
lent church, the red flame of the 
sanctuary lamp rose and fell, flicker^ 
ing like a crimson pulse in the gloom, 



Ont Christmas Eve in La Vettdie, 



His«d I would wait for 

jrour uncte — does his wish 
lotiiing ? Vuu knuw thathe 
Inoe given up all hope, and 
lottght of leaving you alone 
)rld Is embittering his old 
n getting old,* he said to mc 
I *but the only thing that 

dread death is this anxiety 
I Jiainre pttUe, \Vho will 
of her when I am gone ?' 
sd Fran<;uis I would, mon 
lid. • Then go and plead 
>r yourself and for me.' he 
bat Marie may let you keep 
ise.'" 

liked on in silence till they 
be gate of the presbytery, 
e raised her face to Gas- 
taid : 

me year more, Gaston, and 
u st'II wish, come and tell 
■will go home with you." 
I waited three years already, 
d wait .IS many mure towiti 
rored the young man; and 

hi5 face over hers — not a 
I Iacc, but illuminated now 
(at were liquid and beau* 

I boseechjng lore — Marie 
Mt, ftinre she must choose a 
n her uncle was gone, she 
ther share Gaston's than 

and that it might not be 
icttU thing tu love him by- 

fhtfWhen Gervoisehad gone 

II the place was quiet and 
ts drawn, Gaston took out 

money-hag and counted 
tontcnts. It was a good 
B DOW. He built Uf) the 
ilitllc piles and reckoned 
I then jwured them back 
kg; and the coins flashed 
tins in the Him light of his 
lid Gastr>n feasted his eyes 
Rc thrust his hand into the 
[gathering up a handful of 



coins, let them drip down through his 
fingers one by one, listening to the 
pure ring of the metal as if it had 
been music, as indeed it was to him. 
Now that Marie had promised to be 
his wife, this gold which was hers 
would soon be his, and before the 
year was out it would be a Mill big- 
ger hcajj. He IkuI not told her or 
the cur^ that Frant^ois had left any 
money in his charge, not from any 
idea of latent treachery to Francois 
— oh, no! Gaston was incapable of 
that; but it had been his drexun ever 
since Francois had gone to win Ma- 
rie and then settle this money on her, 
telling her, of course, whose gift it 
was. Partly from melhotlical habit, 
and partly from an unconfcssed plea- 
sure in the sight and touch of the gold, 
he had made a point of counting it 
all over after every fresh transaction, 
but from this night out he began to 
count it oAener. The fact that it was ' 
now to all intents and puqxjses his 
own atUU'd a new zest to the opcra- 
tiun, and the prosjject of it became 
by degrees the chief soUce of his 
working hours, till at last he came 
to cuunt it regularly every night and 
to long for the moment when he 
could lock his door and turn the 
flame of his lantern on the burning 
blaze of the gold. 

The rear came to an end. There 
was no news of Francois, and Gas- 
ton, being still of the same mind, 
claimed his promise, and Marie came 
home with him. 

Hut seven months later Francois 
was tramping along through the suow 
on his way to Chamioci, and now he 
Is sitting before the pine-wood fire in 
Monsieur le Cure's parlor. He had 
not asked for Marie, and the cur^ 
had not named her. The dumb en- 
treaty of Franqois' eyes smote him 
to the heart, and he had not the cour- 
age to tell the pilgrim that the light 
which had lured him on through toe 



45« 



One Christmas Eve in La Vfn{fee. 



smoke of the battle, in the dreary 
watches of the bivouac, in the many 
miseries of his soldier life, was u mi- 
rage that liad tempted hini along the 
desert path, only to mock him when 
he neared it, and fade out of the sky 
like a false and Ackle star. No; he 
had not the courage to tell him that 
Marie was his brother's wife. 

When the cur6 entered the cot- 
tage, he found Caslon silling down 
to his dinner alone. Marie had gone 
to nurse a sick neighbor's cliild. The 
cure was glad of her absence. It 
made his mission easier. *' Mon 
garfoH," he said at once, " I bring 
news that will startle you, and I am 
thankful to be able to break it to you 
before Marie hears it. Your brother 
is come back." The cur6 expected 
hij announcement to startle Gaston, 
as he had said, but he was not pre- 
pared for the effect it produced. 
The young man stood bolt upright, 
looked at the cur6 with wild, scared 
eyes, and dropped again into his 
chair without uttering a word. 

*' Have you told him ? " he gasped, 
After an interval of silence that the 
old priest felt himself incapable of 
breaking. 

'• No; her name was not mentioned 
by either of us." 

** Hal" Gaston drew a breath of 
relief; •' then perhaps — who knows ? 
He may take it less to heart than we 
fear ? " 

" I don't know. At his age, four 
years is a long absence ; st'dl we can- 
not tell. But at any rale, my son, 
you must come and give him a bro- 
ther's welcome, and do what a bro- 
ther's love can do to lighten (he dis- 
appointment to him." 

He took Gaston's arm, and they 
went out to the presbytery together. 

The curd's heart belicil his words 
when he held out the hope that 
Francois' love might not have borne 
unchanged the test of absence. He 



knew the youth too w 
it. And he was right. 

The meeting between the ti 
was quiet, but none the Ics t 
The cur£ told Fraa^ots how if 
happened ; how fiiithfulty M4 
kept her troth, hoping ton^ i 
and Gaston hail given up oH 
how at length he had urgetj 
listen to Gaston ; and bow^i 
and with a sad heart, she hadi 
to both their entreaties. l{ 
heard him to the end. ami th 
voice of heart-rending gentle) 
said : 

'• It was my fault, /r^ft / I 
blame thee. God's will be di 

He held out his hand, 
clasped it, and the brothers s| 
a moment face to face in 1 
Both were very pale, but it % 
Kran^ois who was the palet 
two. 

Gaston went home, and P 
watched his figure across \X 
garden and down the road tiil 
appeareil like a blue sjxrck* 
white background, and then 
upon the curb's neck and 
like a woman. 

Before many houis Chamtl 
on tiptoe nHth alarm and tt 
A shepherd had arrived in hl< 
the news that one of the I 
captains had pasM:d through \ 
in disguise, and been traced \ 
pelleaux-lys, whence ifs 6iei 
started in pursuit of bim ; ihi 
a large price on his bead; { 
i>/rus were so enraged agadl^ 
for his desperate cx|>loit3 li 
having baffled them so kwj 
they were resolved tu show d^ 
ter to the people that lurborf 
and would bet fire to the tuwa 
than let him escape. An oh 
lierd who had been bom and ( 
the service of the Ma^ 
cognized Francois L 
road, and, guessing whi 



Onf Christmas live in La Vendie^ 



459 



«nt .1 Irusty messenger 

nl of warning lo C'hamtoc6. 

was the only jjerson, be- 

cun^ and Vicloire, who 

his brother's arrival so far, 

Gcrvoise came in with this 

ich she i3ught from the vil- 

isips on her way from even- 

rers, his first imiiulsc was to 

[he presbytery, and warn his 

to start at once, and seek 

fer hiding-place. He went 

kly, but, as he had his hand 

ticket, he saw Marie coming 

the cottage. She was the 

Bon lie wished to meet ju!>t 

t he could not avoid her with- 

ting surprise in her mind, and 

suspicion. Su he tarried till 

e, wondering whyNhc walked 

fy, as if she did not make 
ras waiting for her, or as if — 
fi's heart whispered to him — 
Id rather he went without 
: to licr. Why ? Was it pos- 
trulh had come to her ears 
? He could not believe it, 
as with a painful quickening 
uise that be saw her at that 
pace. 

e you waiting for roe, Gas- 
te said simply. 

I am gomg In to Monsieur 
for a minute ; I will be back 

f. Are you not well, Ma- 

I mon ami^ quite welt, only 
I cold." 

nrw her shawl closer round 
I a little shudder, ami passed 
1 entered the cottage. Gas- 
on leaped up as if an adder 
tng it, aud then sank as 
r with a horrible faintness. 
led against the snow-stuffed 
Lnd felt as if the very life 
Ken within him. The blood 
D his throat ; he put his hand 
rehead as if a spasm of pain 
med htm ; I ut soon rousing 



himself from his absent attitude, he 
walked on to the presbyter)*. But 
he did not enter it. He did not sec 
it, in fact. He walked on and on 
like a man in a dream, looking neith- 
er lo the right nor the left, and when 
suddenly he remembered where he 
was, and whither he was bound, he 
had left the village more than a 
league behind him, and was standing 
on the sloping beach of St. Florent, 
under the shadow of its semicircular 
hills that look down u[>on the Loire. 

where the little islet of sits like 

a brooding swan midway in its wa- 
ters. The night had fallen, but the 
rooon was not yet up, and the dark- 
ness was only lightened by the snowy 
reflex of the landscape. A bank of 
cloud hung like a heavy curtain over 
the hill, and hid away the moon. 
Somehow Gaston was glad of the 
darkness. But it was in vain that 
he strove to make it dark within. 
No outer darkness could conceal 
from him the workings of his heart. 
He saw into its troubled depths as 
clearly as if a thousand moons had 
been shining in the purple vault 
above him. He saw the tempter 
busy with his fiercest instinct-s and 
he saw what a base and miserable 
tool he was. Ay, but des])erate as 
well as base. Much must be forgiv- 
en to a desperate man. Here was 
his whole life wrecked. His wife's 
aiTectioa and trust — he felt it had 
not yet grown to love — was lost to 
him ; his gold was lost to him — his 
precious, darling gold, that he had 
hugged to his heart till it grew to be 
a ])art of it, a second wife ; and he 
must give it up just at a moment 
when he wanted it as he had never 
done before, and had laid out all his 
money, and had not a louis to ring 
on his hearthstone except this gold 
of Francois". A curse upon the hour 
he took it! Fran<;ois woild never 
ask it back— never acce^\ xt^xv^osx 



460 



One Christmas Ez*€ in La Vrndtf, 



ikely, GistonfclL But Marie would 
never consent to kcci> it. No, and 
she would grow to h.ite him in spite 
of herself tor having conic between 
her and Francois, and forced lier (O 
brejdt her troth to him, His life, 
that was so bright and rich, how 
dark and wretched it had become 
within these la.st few hours ! And 
was there no rescue from it all ? Yes. 
He had only to speak a word, and 
he was saved. Let hiro start off 
now, before Marie knew of Francois's 
return, and meet Us birus, and they 
would come quietly to the prcsbyte- 
r)', and take him away in the night, 
and there would be an end of Fran- 
(;ois for e\-er, and of the misery he 
was going to cause. Treachery ? 
Bah ! His was the treadiery to come 
back after being as good as dead all 
this time. W.is it a crime to have 
married Marie, when he left her 
three whole years without a word of 
love or a sign of existence ? She 
was h.appy now, but if once she mw 
Francois she would never know hap- 
pine<« again. The sight of his mise- 
ry would fill her iicirl with remorse, 
and break it. What right bad Fran- 
cis to go away at all when he knew 
that Marie loved him? It was no 
doing of Gaston's that ; be wnnterl 
to go in bis (>tead. Would that he 
had ! Hut now he was to be a ruin- 
ed, blighted man to the end of his 
days. And to what purpose ? To 
save Francois from being shot a little 
80oner than he might be; for so 
•ureiy as he had a head on his shoul* 
ders, so surely would he have a bul- 
let through it some day. No one 
would be the worse of his having it 
to-morrow instead of a month hence 
or a year, and two human beings 
would be considerably the better of 
it. 

Gajitnn had flung btmself on a 
snow-hciip by the side of the river, 
his iace blirieil in his arras, while he 



m-orked out his wroDgs . 
spair to this rondusioD. Ff 
must die. There was no oth' 
out of it. Once he brought hi 
lo face this altemaiive and da 
it. there was no time to be l(»t, 
would be dangerous to go o' 
ground again. He must act j 
if he were lo act at uU. 
shook the snow from his ana 
sprang lo his feet. But 41 
had come over the scca«^ I 
could hardly realize tfiat it « 
same he had surveyed in U 
white darkne^is half an houi 
ously. The heavy bonk, of 
had meltcti away; only one 
patch reraamed, liringcd with 
rays that lighted up the sky I 
glory of a tabernacle.;; all re 
myriads of stars were twink 
the liquid depths of blue, and 
on their own brightness in ihi 
blue mirror of the Loire, thai 
bled lightly as the goUlen shal 
down through it and tllnmini 
cold, pure bosom like a secoi 
veil. ?resenily, the moon cai 
not " pale for wearincw of dii 
the steep sky. but radiant an^ 
liful, and shone serenely in til 
December heaven, and all tlii 
was bathed in silvery twilighl 
solemnity of the scene tlinltcd I 
Gaston's soul, and made hii 
beat with an unknown fear ; 
was the ennobling ixi:^t witU 
nature inspires us in her sri 
aspects — the reverent awetlMl 
the soul, nut the guilty lem 
casts it down, poralyxiag aiHl 
ingiL 

His gha^y prD]e<:i cowci 
fore him like a 6end tira^ij 
outer daricncss into the 3f>len 
tfod's sunshine. 'l*he divine 
of the world wiihout rcbt^ 
annihilated the foulness of Ihci 
within. No base ur irrsc 
thoughts could contemplate tb 



Ouf Christmas £vr in La Vendit^ 



41^1 



pury of that starry splendor, 
|]>crish. It drew the earth 
mt and made all things 
ll solemn. The meek. low 
) mighty ami nujesiic ; ihey 
* their ^lurc white peaks to 
tars, soaring high above the 
f men, as if they scorned 
f and would have naught in 
•with the [>ettiness, the guilt, 
Mly that had their dwelling 
lain. The very silence had 
ID it - mote powerl'iil thnn 
j It rang with inarticulate 
B through Gaston's soul — 
p», unuttered whisperings, as 
f hovering tr» and fro, bru^h- 
fcr)-st2l twilight with their 

ere there not angels near him 
^ of struggle? Did he not 
In pleading at his heart, 
his storni-to5i$cd spirit with 
Ing, beseeching eyes, weep- 
ips, over the impending ruin 
>d-iniagcd soul ? Surely, if 
Br weep, earth has no misc- 
Vortby of their tears. And 
f less powerful than the faJl- 
i who were fighting against 
(he noble pri.'c, or did tl:ey 

r» human creature less than 
hate him ? 

I called to mind the days 
I when he was an innocent 
I i ly night to his 

iying down lo 
I I the beautiful 

[f li the right side 

te cot, watching him while 
i It was many a day sincj 
payed, but now the words 
ton him with a strange, im- 
Dwcr, and played upon his 
khe notes of a longforgot- 
ly. They rose to his lips, 
piolced them down. He 
|Ict them pass. Wliora was 
&k to — an angel ? There 
Qf between the Judas that 



he was to-(]ay and the unsullied lit- 
tle child who used to breathe that 
prayer in an angel's ear. 

(jasion felt the scene was subdu- 
ing his soul to a dangerous softness, 
and unnerving him for his purjKec. 
What a fool he was to stand there 
moon-gazing ! He turned bis back 
on the river and the hills, and strode 
homeward at a rapid pace. He tried 
to Mng. but his voice jarred like a 
discord on the holy silence, and he 
checked himself. It was near ten 
when he re-entered the vilUge. 
Every house was closed and quiet, 
but not asleep. This was ChriMmas 
eve. The children were put to Iwd 
with many a promise that they ^^Iraulfl 
be called for miilnight Mass, but 
most of the elders were watching, 
saying their rosaries, or singing cau- 
tufucs in family groups while awaiting 
the summons of the bell to gather 
round the cnbof the new-born King. 
Gaston saw the lights gleammg from 
many windows, and wished tlicm 
out. He bad no mind to be seen 
prowling alone in the snow at this 
time of night, and on such a night, 
so he crept on stealthily under the 
shadow of the cottages, till he came 
to his own gate. He dreaded meet- 
ing Marie, and having to answer her 
questions as to why he had been out 
so long. But perhaps she would ask 
no questions. Was she really so pale 
when he met her that time, or was it 
his terrified fancy ? Anyhow, she 
could not know yet for certain that 
Francis was here, whatever fears or 
hopes — ^yes, Gaston must use the 
word— the gossip that had reached 
her ears may have suggested. But 
on entering the bright,spacious kitch- 
en where the table was spread for 
s'jp|>cr, all its pewter and dclfl glanc- 
ing in the light of the pine-logs that 
blazed menily in the broad chimney, 
he saw no one but old Gcrvoisc, sit- 
ting boll upright in ntx high-backed 



462 



Om Christfnas Eve in La Vender, 



chair in the chimney-comer, and nod- 
ding significantly at the knitting that 
lay on her knees. The noise he made 
drawing a stool to the fire awoke her. 
He asked where her mistress was, 
and Gervoise told him that Marie 
had come in fi>r a few minutes and 
then gone out again, and that they 
were not to expect her home that 
night, as the child was worse. He 
was glad of her absence j yet it fiight- 
ened him. Was it a pretext — was she 
shrinking from him, afraid or loath to 
meet him I At any rate, it changed 
his intention of starting at once ; he 
decided that he would wait till all 
the village was up and astir for mid- 
night Mass, and then he would slip 
off and ride hard, so as to reach 
Chapelle-aux-lys and be back again 
before daylight and Marie's return. 
He said he did not care to eat any- 
thing, and went up to his room. He 
locked himself in, lighted his lantern, 
and pulled out the fatal money-bag; 
he felt he must strengthen himself 
by thesight of the gold, and count over 
his treasure once more, to make sure 
'it was worth the price he was going 
to pay for it. This done, he flung 
himself undressed on the bed, and, 
worn out by the conflict of the last 
few hours, was soon sound asleep. 
But he had not been asleep long be- 
fore he was aroused by a long knock- 
ing at his door, and a rough voice 
demanded admittance. Gaston 

sprang to his feet. 

" Who's there ?" he said. 

" I^s bkus. Open in the name of 
the republic !" and the speaker dealt 
a blow on the door that neady broke 
it in. 

Gaston opened without further 
parley, and six men entered the 
room. 

"What do you want ? " he asked. 

" We want one Francois Lionval 
who is concealed in this house. Tell 
us where to find him and we will go, 



and do you no harm ; but if yo 
to shirk it — " The man sw< 
brutal oath, and pointed his pis 
Gaston's head. 

But Gaston L^nval had a 
dean's spirit withaL It was i 
dastardly personal cowardice tl 
would betray his brother ; he ft 
cold touch of the muzzle on hii 
head, and, quietly pushing it 
he told the man he might sean 
house, and he wished him jo; 
found what he was lookiof 
"We had better begin by th< 
houses and the garden," said tli 
who seemed to take the lead ; « t 
you stay inside to prevent any ' 
while we are outside." And I 
the room, followed by all ba 
soldier, who remained to t 
guard over Gaston. 

But a safer and stronger se 
was keeping watch by the wre 
brother, urging him with tenible 
er and show of reason to sa 
word that would fi%e him for 
Only an hour ago, he was res 
to run great risks to say it, and 
he had only to make a sign, an< 
no risk whatever, and he coult 
bring himself to do it Con 
that moonshine I It had made 
man of him. He went to dit 
dow and looked down into the 
den to watch the proceedings c 
soldiers. Then he heard them s 
ing the rooms below, banging • 
and overturning everythipg, and 
sently the officer came ap- 
again. 

" Hearken, m&n garfon, it's m 
trying to play hide-and-seek wi 
bleus" he said, " you won't finJ i 
swer. Now, once for all, wbe 
this Francois Lionval ?" 

" I tell you he's not here," it 
Gaston doggedly; "if he was, 
would find him." 

" Most likely, if we had tin 
lose hammering at the walls 



0ns Christmas Eve in La Vcndit, 




463 



•lb, nv> M>V IV> 

fill set a ligt 
e a litllc Ch 
if he's a coi 



up the chimDeys; but Us 

e a more expediiious way of 

work. When we can'i bag 

jke, wc 6re it. So walk out, 

light to the house 

Christmas lx>nfire 

coward, he'll soon 

jf / If he's a brave man, why 

tout in a blaze, and that's as 
death as another. So here 
^ me the light!" 
feized Uie lantern, look out 
St, and deliberately advanced 
tlie bed. 

d r' cried Gaston, clutching 
retch&l ann ; *' the man you 
arch of is not here ; he is at 
»ytcry." 

tw laid down the light. 
here/' he said to the soldier 
remained in the ruoro ; " we 
Ftle for you when it's time 

B." 

scended the stairs quickly, 

ton heard the door close, 

' the five figures disappear 

\ road, AAer that he sccm- 

into a sort of stupor, and 

iiout moving hand or foot, 

.olidly out of the window, 

soldier waited in silence for 

liscd signal, it came at last, 

the silence like the hiss of 

and Gaston knew that his 

iras iu the hands of the tor- 

ooer was he alone than a 
1 demons seemed to people 
[0, Ailing it with hideous 
[i voices, mocking and scofT- 
asking him what he had 
li his brother. He stamped 
ind ddshed his hands through 
and began to walk rapidly 
own. But the spectres keiit 
I him, grinning and hooting 
nt'mg with maddening itera- 
Vhat have you done with 
tlier ? " 
t had he done with him?" 



cried Gaston aloud — " why, only what 
Francois would have done with him- 
self sooner or later. And was he to 
lei his house be burnt down and 
his gold melted to postpone the 
day perhaps for twenty-four hours? 
Pshaw ! what an idiot he was to take 
on so about it. It w.is all that whis- 
tle that set his nerves on an edge. 
Why did it keep on hissing and 
hissing ? The hleui and their capture 
were half a mile out of earshot by 
this. Fate had been good to Gaston, 
and served him much better than he 
could have served himself. It had 
taken the matter out of his hands, 
and he had been no more than a pas- 
sive agent in its grasp, in the grasp 
of law and might — ay, and right too. 
When Fran<;ois came back like a 
simpleton and thrust his head into 
the lion's mouth, what could he ex- 
pect but that it would close on him 
and crunch him ? It was over now. 
Marie would never hear of his return 
and need never curse the dny she 
gave her hand to Gaston, and Gas- 
ton might sleep in peace, and without 
being haunted by terrors of his bro- 
ther's return." Thus did he argue 
with the tiend and strive to beat him 
off, and stifle remorse that had enter- 
ed his soul, and was gnawing at him 
with fierce, relentless tooth. But tt 
would not do. Across the legion of 
fiends there flitted visions of the past, 
that he could not shut his eyes to, 
struggle as he would. First, there 
rose before him a curiyheaded lit- 
tle brother whose small arms were 
round Gaston's neck, clasping him 
as they by in a little cot beside their 
mother, breathing softly in sweet 
child slumber ; then he beheld a 
frank, bright boy kneeling with him 
beside that mother's death-bed, while 
she blessed tlietu and promised to 
meet them in heaven. Then the boy 
W.1S a youlh who stood with Ills hand 
on Gaston's shoulder, and looked 



464 



One ChrisUnas Eve in La Vendee, 



into his eyes, and said : " Brother, I 
trust thee as I trust my soul ! " This 
faded away, and he saw the same 
youth bronzed and war-worn, and 
betrayed in his manly trust, but 
still holding out his hand to Gaston, 
and saying with the well-remember- 
ed voice, now husky with the strong 
man's agony : "I do not blame 
thee, brother ; God's will be done ! " 
Slowly but vividly the visions rose 
before Gaston's soul, and he could 
not but look on them, and, as he 
looked, sweet memories of his child- 
hood rushed upon him like a torrent 
and bore him down; his boasted 
courage was gone, his. pride, his love, 
his gold melted away like false phan- 
toms, and he was alone with his sin 
and his despair. He remembered 
Francois' noble unselfishness, his 
truth, his grateful love of their com- 
mon mother, his reverence for her 
lightest wish; he remembered his 
many acts of kindness to the poor 
and the suffering, and how he had 
seen him followe<l by blessings from 
the old and young whom his genero- 
sity had helped and comforted ; and 
oh I biticrest of all was the memory of 
their parting, when Fran9oisgave him 
his litde hoard in trust, and bid him 
take care of Marie. And this was 
the brother he ha<l sold ! O God ! 
It was all too horrible to be true. Gas- 
ton seized the bag of gold, rushed 
from the house and into the stable, 
antl, without waiting to saddle her, 
leaped on his mare's back, and dashed 
ofl" in pursuit of ifs bhus. They were 
only six. and he had gold enough to 
buy thcin if he only cime in time. 
The marc flew as if she knew what 
hung on her speed, dashing up the 
snow that spattered her flanks and 
enveloped herriderin a moving cloud 
as tliey galloped along. The moon 
was still magnificent, and the stars 
shone down with the same c.ilm 
splendor — the patient, far-away stars 



that 1793 years ago rang on 
glad tidings to the watchers 
hills of Judea : Glory to (rod! 
to men 1 Gaston, as he ftew pa 
scene of his recent struggle, 
chill of supernatural terror fireei 
to the marrow of his bones, 
stars stooped down till they S4 
to touch him, and pierce hin 
needles of fire; the hills, the 
uncompromising hills, shook 
pale brows at him, and tume 
ran with him through the wa: 
snow ; and above them, froi 
batdements of heaven, rang 
myriad voices in ecstatic song : 
to God ! Peace to men • Bu 
and anon, breaking the high h 
ny of that song, came a shriek 
a mocking fiend : " What hast 
done with thy brother ? " 

The mare took a longer strid 
put out her strength with a si 
increase of vehemence as they 
to a turn in the road where it 
the river and rounded the bi 
the hilts. Gaston's heart leaped 
his throat, as he caught the hai 
ing of hoofs ahead. Thank he 
he was in time. The hor 
came in sight. They slackener 
speed, nay, they were dismoi 
now. Out in the open road w 
shelter of any sort in sight ? 
did it mean ? I'he mare stroi 
A few more pulls, and she wox 
up with them. Gaston could < 
guish the trim figures of the s( 
and Fran9ois's loose peasant 
liut now he lost sight of them ; 
had moved behind a hedge. 
for a moment. Tlie six slim f 
emerged from the snowy foregr 
and six muskets gleamed hori 
in the moonlight. 

*' Hold ! in the name of he 
hold !" shrieked Gaston. 

He flung down the bag* that 
and sent the gold rippling 01 
ground — but it was too late; 



One Christmas Eve in Lo VfmUf» 



46i 



.ttic. and flash followed flash, 

mug rrom bis horse and 

ibctwccD the murderers and 

ber. FmiKOLS lay prostrate, 

in the snow, that his blood 

ling to crimson. Their eyes 

pne moment, and then Fmn- 

id for ever. Gaston fell on 

with a cry that was like the 

a condemned soul ; and 

felt a hand on his ami. 

arc the midnight bells 
said old Gervoisc, in a 
voice. " I have been call- 
ou through the door these 
tcs, and you wouldn't awake, 
t you were dead, so ] got 
key and opened it." 
, dazed and lerror-slrickcn, 
ibling still whetiier he was 
or waking, started ap, and 
oise not lo wait for htm, that 
follow her in a minute, 
fell upon his knees, and 
as a soul might do who had 
c gvite " where hope enters 
been snatched back from 
abyss. 

a vision to save me from 
of Cain. Blessed be the 
at has rescued me I" 
,hted a candle, opened a 
[in which he kept some writ- 
rials, and sat do^vn with a 
ns hand. He hid his face in 
and his lips moved con- 
m prayer for a moment, 
he bc^jan to write. It was 
He did not read the letter 
sealed it with a broad red 
then, with that strange force 
that asserts itself so unac- 
j in moments of supreme 
he carefully replaced the 
paper in the drawer. After 
id the letter on the table in 
tUe of the room, and, tiiking 
and cap, sallied out into the 

'hristmas bells were ringing 
VOL. XIV. — 30 



out their welcome to tlie new-born 
King, tripping in silver-footed chime 
on the midnight silence, grave and 
merry, full of giml pathos and exult- 
ing hope, and forebodings solemn 
and tender. And the hymns and an- 
thems of the villagers answered their 
call and swelled the chorus of the 
chimes; but the voice of a noble 
sacritice that went up from Gaston's 
heart mingled in diviner harmony 
with ilic pure joy-jargon of the bells. 
He entered the church, but, instead 
[)f going up to his accustomed seat, 
he stood near the door, half conceal* 
ed by the angel holding the bhtitier. 
He saw the stream of familiar faces 
flow in and take tlieir places, and 
then turn with eager expectniion to- 
ward the sacristy. The well trained 
voices of the choir, unsustained by 
harp or organ, intoned the glorious 
hymn, Adate Ftddis^ and old and 
young answered in loud-voiced cho- 
rus : I'enite adoranus^ Vcnite in Bfth- 
kht'm / The altar was wreathed with 
lights and flowers, every pillar and 
picture-frame sparkled with the red- 
berried holly; the little lowly crib 
with its suggestive imagery glowed 
with crimson lamps; and before it 
the loving prayer of simple hearts 
made a fitting welcome for the Child 
that was born in poverty, and first 
worshipped by shepherds. As mid- 
night suuck, the door of the sacristy 
opened, and Monsieur Ic Cur<^ in his 
gmndest vestments came forth ; but 
before the door had closed again^ 
Gaston caught sight of a figure knc^ , 
ing furtively behind it He gave one 
long look at the golden door of the 
tabernacle, signed himself with the 
sign of the cross, and slipped out of 
the church. 

Early on Christmas morning, a 
horseman rode in from Chapelle-aux- 
lys with a letter for M. le Cur^I It 
was signed Imson^ soldatdela R^puh- 
li^uej and its purport was to tnfom 



466 



Ont Christmas Eve in La Vendet, 



him that one Francis L6onvaI, who 
had bom anus for nearly four years 
against the republic, and taken refuge 
the day before at Cfaamtoc^, whither 
the soldiers of the republic were 
bound in pursuit of him, had^ in or- 
der to prevent the shedding of inno- 
cent blood, left his native village in 
the night, and of his own free will 
given himself up to justice. He had 
died like a soldier, worthy of a bet- 
ter cause, and had begged the writ- 
er to bear his last words to the cur£ 
of Chamtoce, which were that he was 
happy to give his life for God and 
the king ; and he prayed a blessing 
on his brotlier, and Marie his sister- 
in-law, and begged them and the 
cure to be mindful of him in their 
prayers. He fell crying Vive Dieu 
et k Roi ! which treasonable words 
had been enough to shoot him again 
if he were alive ; but being dead, the 
writer, who respected a brave man, 
though he was a traitor, conveyed 
them in fulfilment of his promise to 
Francois Luonval. 

Soon after this event the Reign of 
Terror <ame to an end. The fertile 
fields of La Vendee smoked once 
more under the furrowing ploughshare, 
and peace and plenty smiled upon the 
land. Absent ones returned to glad- 
den many hearts, and to tell the story 
of tlieir short and wonderful cam- 
paign, and brought back glory-laden 
banners, tattered and blood-stained, 
to hang in the village church, as tro- 



phies of Vend^an valor, to show fa* 
ture sons of La Vendue how thai 
fathers had fought the good ^u. 
Once more there was marrying and 
giving in marriage, and toil and {am* 
perity reigned in Chamtoci. 

When the winter snows had twice 
melted off the hills, and the sdov* 
drops peeped up' under the gtiiBf 
hedges, like white-robed little chorii- 
ters singing their glad good-by to tk 
winter, and the lusty young spring 
had laid his emerald finger on the 
earth, tlif bells rang out their fall, 
exhilarating peal, and a gay proco- 
sion wound its way to the chinch, 
whcure Monsieur le Ciu-£ in hii nr- 
plice and stole awaited the bridd 
train. ,« His voice shook, and big 
drops rolled down his aged dudfc 
as he laid his hand on the two bow- 
ed heads and called down the blenag 
of the God of Abraham on Marie an) 
Francois L£onval. This was his lot 
ministration. He tarried longenoil^ 
to bless the marriage of his two bett- 
loved children, and then he wtal 
home, 'lliey laid him to restboide 
a humble grave that was always fitdt- 
ly decked with flowers. It boie ^ 
white stone cross and a marble dab. 
on which it was recorded that Fns* 
9ois L<:onval in life was a biotbcr 
with a nobie heart, and in death %■ 
martyr who had died for a oobk 
cause, and that, like his Malta, 
" having loved his own, he loved then 
to the end." 



Tk^Hgkiis for the Wcmtn of the Titncs. 



^. 



rnOUGHTS TOR THE WOMEN OF THE TIMES. 



nr ONE or Tim«SKL\tus. 



voman of the niiietecnih cen- 
ics all the advantages of her 
osition to tlie Catholic Church, 
jisadvuntjgcs ofthjt position, 
■fc more or less 'justly the 
Df discontent and complaint, 
latural fruits of Ptottstantism. 
mary centuries, the church 
Bed a severe conflict against 
es, principalities, and powers, 
tust have baffled the trft'orts of 
a divine inetitutioti, to rescue 
from the depths of degrada- 
I which ihc iniquities of hca- 
had thrust her. It required 
Srhuman italicncii an<i energy 
tin animated by divine charity 
laincd by omnipotent power 
cute the struggle successfully, 
)Iace woman in the posilton 
;h she was designed by her 
So far as she has since 
d the high relations with her 
with the family, and with 
irhich were achieved for her 
itniggle, it has been by virtue 
imc power thai first effected 
Uion. 

hided and rtntagonisiic forces 

>iantism have been as ad- 

the interests of woman as it 

ibie for disjointed elements, 

tscordantly, to be. Fortu- 

it been for her that the very 

ncies of its moral elements 

crated in a great measure to 

e its influence. Since the 

ten the first Reformers (?) 

ccd the result of a solemn 

I their decision that the Land- 

'Hessc-Cisscl might live with 

■cs conjointly without com- 

g his character as a good 



Christian under the nnc re/igiaii^ and 
those of England exulted in the ac- 
tion of Henry VIIl. when he repudi- 
ated the saintly Catharine of Aragon 
— for twenty-five years his faithful and 
lawful wife — and took the wanton 
Anne Boleyn in her stead, the gene- 
nil tendency of Protestant influence 
has been to rob woman of the dignity 
with which the church had invested 
her, by loosening the obligations of 
the marriage bond and diminishing 
the sanctity of the conjugal relation. 
If it has not entirely succee*led in 
degrading her to be the mere victim 
of man's capricious whims, it liu<t 
done what it could. Want of harmo- 
nious action between its consiiiueni 
parts has been the best protection 
Protestantism has afiorded to woman 
against this result. 'Ilic boasted 
" progress " — originating in the revolt 
against divine authority cxcrciscil* 
through the church — so far as it af- 
fects tlie condition of woman, has 
been steadily in this direction, es- 
pecially during the present century. 

Women are conscious of this. 
They are aware that the ground upon 
which they stand is becoming, year by 
year, less and less firm, the guaran- 
tees of their rights more and more 
feeble and inoperative, while the 
chances of a conflict for gaining a morf 
.*;ecure footing are strongly against 
them. But while they are keenly 
alive to these facts, the cause for their 
existence is an enigma they have not 
yet solved — its remedy, a contingency 
they have not reached even in con- 
jecture. 

They could^t lie persuaded that 
it is the boasted " spirit of the age" 



468 



Thoughts for the Women of the Times, 



which is in fault ; t|^t its irrepressi- 
ble tendencies are fo raise one class 
by depressing another, and to .create 
a countless multitude of tastes and 
wants which can be gratified by none 
but the favored class who arc the 
possessors of great wealth. 

They fret vainly — beating against 
the little that remains of ancient bul- 
warks erected to shield them, as if 
by destroying these their condition 
would be improved — and indulge an 
idle dream that women's suffrage will 
remedy^the evils, real or imaginary, 
of which they complain. " Let us 
vote," they say; "let us have some 
voice in regulating our own affairs, 
and, if we do not succeed in shaping 
them entirely to our wishes, wc 
shall at least reduce the number and 
weight of our grievances, be enabled 
to open new channels through which 
we can attain the independence we 
desire, and, by making our presence 
felt as an clement of the body politic, 
be acknowledged as an existing fact 
that is of some importance to tlie 
nation." 

It is indeed an idle dream ! 'I'he 
mind of every inteUigcnt person must, 
upon a very litUe reflection, discover 
innumerable reasons why woman 
must cease to be woman, wife, and 
mother, before she can exercise the 
elective franchise to any purpose. 

As a true American woman, we can- 
not regard the clamor which has 
been raised upon the subject of wo- 
man's rights with the entire contempt 
it has met in many quarters. There 
is an invisible current of sad and 
mournful facts underlying this agita- 
tion. 

If " material prosperity '' is the 
key-note of Prutcstaiuisin — as tlic 
testimony of its ouii writers would 
sccni to prove — the dcveli)i)nicnt of 
material comfort and luxury is its 
iiighest expression, ^n all the a]>- 
pliances, arrangements, and habits 



of our domestic and social life, Aoe 
has been a constant and alansing 
increase of expense during the put 
fifty years. New fashions have been 
invented, new wants created lod 
multiplied, soxapidly that thesupplj, 
never exceeding the demand, hu il* 
together exceeded the meanior « 
great majority- of our people. Tk 
few who were able to indulge in eidi 
novelty as* it appeared have gone to 
surprising; .lengths; while the manj, 
whose menues were wholly iIMd^ 
quate, have c Strained every possible 
resource to keep pace with their 
wealthy leaders in expensive fi}l- 
lies. Crime, bankruptcy, widespreid 
ruin^.4nd desolation have followed, 
of cour;9Cv Multitudes have ben 
left in poverty, with all the habits 
tastes, and aspirations which wealA 
alone can gratify, and of these multi- 
tudes a large proportion are wobkb, 
Accustomed to affluence, they an 
determined not to accept poverty— 
the, synonym for ^/jr^/u'f in their di- 
cler-and eagerly cast about them b( 
some avenue of escape. Hence the 
frantic efforts to obtain entrance into 
new paths, hitherto untrodden by wo- 
man, for securing the object of thai 
ambition. 

Woman has a right to be all thti 
her M^ker designed when he aeated 
her as a " help" to man. He is not 
of more importance to society in hii 
own place than she in hers. H: 
would not render himself more li- 
diculous by forsaking his own duties 
and avocations for the care of tbe 
household, the kitchen, and tlie nur- 
sery, than she would by abandoDiiij 
these forthepubhc employments i^ 
men. The present state of affainis 
sufficiently deplorable, but I do iW 
see how such an exchange wouU 
mend the matter. Nor can we see 
any remedy, but by returning tooW- 
fashioned ways. Very corofortable 
ways tliey were, too, however «•• 



Thouglifs' for tfu Women of tlte Timts. 



4)69 



the Flora McFIimsys of 
times auiy loss their pretty 
d he«ds at the roere mention 

sensible woman would not 

e happy soiinide of a Eu- 

ic Gutrin — wliereof her pen 

ih so doquently that even 

ens fed by her hand sccni 

adcT like birds-of-paradisc — 

iloved Cayla, to all the mag- 

Ueakness, splendid miseries, 

-burning hvalries'loo often 

within the waUs of a palace 

ifth Avenue ? 

are still further causes of 

for women. 

yfour years of secuHty in 

certainties, and in the cnjoy- 

such countless consolntions 

from the acceptance of Ca- 

ities and guidance, have not 

from our memory the dis- 

fiormerly experienced from 

these. American won»en 

i abide the patronizing and 

ending tone assumed Lty the 

society toward ihem. Fbr 

1 part, the air of lofty con- 

Iv which it was exchanged 

r profc&siou of the Catholic 

s truly refreshing in compa- 

IThcy want no such ostcnta- 
ilcraiion. They glory m the 
Bsuess that woman may claim 
Enable a right to l>e aliarply 
[1 as men enjoy, and have no 

for such forbearance and 
■Kuntiy nonsense as would be 
d to a spoiled child. Nor 
Ben offer it, if they possessed 
)USt hardihood and manly 
(5 of their grandfathers. 
■ women, many of ihem in- 
[ and thoughtful, are restless 

unrest which comes from be* 
led upon the heaving waves 
le uncertainty from point to 
without the power to attain 
d position. 



Men regard their efforts to gain 
tara firma with a blending of pity 
and contempt — in which the con- 
tempt is ill concealed and largely 
predominates — and the question 
whether a party rope shall be thrown 
out to draw them ashore, only to of- 
fer them before llic car of some new 
political Juggernaut, hangs in the baV 
ancL". , Woe to the women of Ameri- 
ca should that* question be decided 
in the affirmative I 

In all the perplexing •' changes and 
chances of tliis mortal life," itis much 
lu stand upon the finn basis of a well- 
dedned and secure position, with the 
assurance that, so long as one is true 
to the duties and requirements of that 
position, a power fully competent to 
sustain its own guarantees is pledged 
to shield and protect it in every exi- 
gency. 

This is the situation in which the 
Catholic woman is placed at the pre* 
sent juncture. Site occupies an ele- 
vated standpoint, from which she can 
watch with great serenity and confi 
dence all the strifes nnd agitations, 
moral, social, and political, that con- 
vulse this nineteenth century. She 
knows that the firm and consistent 
action of the church of Christ, as the 
champion and protector of woman's 
rights, from the period of its lirsl es- 
tablishment to the present time, is a 
sufficient assurance of its future 
course; and she need not fear tliat 
an institution through which the Al- 
mighty swa>*s the moral forces of the 
world so potently as 10 bring to 
naught the raging of (he heathen, 
and render all the fractional efforts 
of Protestant tsm powerless, will prove 
a broken reed to lean upon in the 
hour of danger. 

But the church requires from her 
daughters a quid pro quo. Nor does 
she leave them in doubt as to its 
character. Kvery duly of the Ca- 
tholic woman of whatever age, rela- 



4^ 



Thoughts for the Wi>men of tht Times. 



lation, or state in life is so simply 
and clearly defined for her, tliat to 
mistake or err is impossible, except 
trough wilful dereliction : For the 
child, reverence and submission to 
parental authority; for the maiden, 
humble devotion to the plain every- 
day duties of home, and a modest 
reserve that seeks the seclusion from 
which she must be 

"Wooed, 

Ai^^ot unsongtit be won " ; 

for the married woman, respect 
for him who is " her head, even as 
Christ is head of the church " ; entire 
devotion to his spiritual and tempo- 
ral interests; and a loyal fealty to 
the sacred gift of maternity, by which 
the First Great Cause brings her into 
most intimate communion with him- 
self; permitting her through its pe- 
nalties, as one of Eve's daughters, 
to offer her portion of expiation for 
the sin of that first parent, before his 
holy altar. For the mother, this ten- 
der Mother of souls provides abun- 
dant consolations and counsels in 
every hour of need, with measureless 
grace and strength to enable her to 
discharge perfectly every duty to- 
wards the young immortals com- 
mitted to her keeping. 

In no feature of the maternal care 
and solicitude with which the church 
surrounds her daughters is the con- 
trast with the cold neglect and in- 
dilTerence of Protestantism more strik- 
ing, than in the treatment extended 
by each system to those women who 
remain in a state of celibacy. 

The condition of such under the 
Protestant r/gime is truly pitiable, 
and the very title of "old maid," 
with rare exceptions, entails odium 
and contempt more surely than mo- 
ral depravity. 

Hence the dread entertained by 
the girl in Protestant society for a 
sin^e life, and the universal impres- 



sion that to be married is I 
great object of her T^'^tT'Kir. 
that escape, from the sacred 
some duties involved in th 
should too frequently be the : 

Even mothers encourag 
daughters in this view of the 
and enter inta their conspin 
securing husbands with mi 
zeaL Very little reflection is 
to the question whether the 
are suited:!^ each other, or 
tual attachment sufficiently si 
enable thefp to bear jointly tb 
rous and inevitable trials wh 
tain to every state and cund 
life.' The attention is chiefl) 
ed to considerations of a wic 
ferent character, relating wt 
pecuniary aflfairs. It is a mos 
lar fact, in connection with th: 
of our subject, that — the great 
ratum once secured — the you 
too ' generally begins at once 
gard and treat the husband 
she has been so anxious to j 
thq. adversary to her intercj 
happiness, instead of adopti 
old-fashioned idea that he is 1 
friend. Strange as it may see 
is a very common mistake ii 
days, and the source of much 
tic discord and misery. 

A lovely young mother — 
the fairest and most intclligen 
mens of the modem Americ 
man whom we are so happji 
know — said to us, the othe 
" My boys are well provided 
any event, and, if they were d( 
could fight their way in the 
like others ; but, I assure you, 
bestir myself to make such pr 
for my girls as will secure thei 
being ground to powder b] 
husbands ! " 

This from a most devoted i 
emplary wife, happy in a hi 
who dotes upon her, was suA 
surprising. 



Thoughts for the Women of the Times. 



47* 



nd we, " you would not on 
int have your daughters re- 
larncfl ; and wouM you be 
> give tlictn 10 men with 
M ^oald not tnisi their 

' BheTcplied, *'I should pro- 
fy upon th^ir securing re- 
good treatment with jilenty 
own money at command, 
an empty purse." 
led as we inquired mentally 
be that our American men 
ly becoming so 'mercenary, 
hog the old-fashioned doc- 
perfect community of inte- 
vcen husbands and wives, 
much whether ' amities 
by sucii maxims, and homes 
from the start upon such 
would more abound in tlie 
elements of oldpfastiioned 
han those wherein the wife 
)f yore — yea, and su|ireine- 
y lhcoUl,oUfa&bion o{Uve/ 
Ltholic maiden of advaocfcd 
a place as secure, and a 
action as respectable, in 
society as the married wo- 
, the very spirit and eflfect 
gion is to ensure for her in- 
aspect on account of her 
to celibacy. We know of 
udful instances where such 
re the beloved and guiding 
households embracing all 
the beneficent patrons of 
hborhoods. 

is favored with a vocation 
■jous life, how many homes 
to her happy choice, where 
honor, aiid countless op- 
5 for the exercise of angelic 
d charities await her [ 
the Catholic maiden cce<l 
ir if she has no vocation for 
y I She knows she does 
remaining single than she 
entering the married stale 
Ach vocation. These c^ues- 



tions are, therefore, made the subjibdbi 
ol long, serious, and prayerful con- 
sideration. The Catholic wife en- 
tere that state, forewarned' and fore- 
armed for all the painful triLite and 
anxious cares it involves, with the 
full knowledge that she can evade 
none of them, however trying to Scab 
and blood or irksome to her ttistes 
and habits, and remain guiltless in 
the sight of the Arbiter of her desti- 
ny, before whose tribunal she appean> 
as often as she approaches the holy 
sacrament of penance. 

She takes up the tender and health- 
ful dLiighls of maternity with joy, 
and bears its pains and penalties with 
cheerful courage and patience. Al- 
ready the Catholic mothers uf Ame- 
rica may glory in the fart that their 
children will form a very large pro- 
portion of the future citizens of our 
great republic Let them, then, rise 
to the level of their destiny. Let 
them Ece that those children arc 
thoroughly instructed in the princi* 
pics of their religion. No station is 
so humble and no lot so hard as to 
prevent the mother from teaching 
die children God has given her, if 
she is earnest in her wish to do so. 
In no way can her boys be better 
prepared for exercising their elective 
franchise intelligently, and no one 
can deny that a woman's suflrage 
offered through a fine group of boys 
will be £ir more efficient than her 
single vote. 

Catholic women are inexcusaUe if 
they do not put aside the alluremcnbi 
of the world, spurn the glittering 
kaleidoscope of fashionable vanities. 
and, clinging with ever-increasing 
affection and allegiance to the an- 
cient andmighty Mother, who is their 
best, their only sufficient, friend and 
protector, keep themselves aloof 
from all the agitations that distract 
their less favored sisters in the fruit- 
less attempt to build up womatv''^ 



472 



Ever. 



rights upon the ruins of her ancient 
safeguards. 

Woman's suflrage — should they 
obtain it — will only betray their feet 
into a political slough, and bespatter 
them with political defilements from 
which none but an omnipotent power 
can rescue and cleanse them. Wo- 



man has everything to lose and no- 
thing to gain in this movement, In, 
after all, men will manage afiaits to 
suit themselves. The Almighty pro- 
nounced no idle decree when be said 
to the woman : " Thou shalt be un- 
der thy husband's power, and be 
shall have dominion over thee." 



EVER. 



The steadfast gaze brings out the star. 

That, like an eye 

Set in the sky, 
Its sweet light shedding from afar, 
At morning dawn, and still at even, 

The night alway, 

And livelong day, 
There twinkles ever, deep in heaven : 

Thy constant prayer so reacheth Love, 

That, like the star. 

Seeming so far. 
Its glad strength sending from above, 
To youth's fair dream, and memory's smart, 

To griet's sad moan. 

And joy's sweet tone, 
Aye bums for us, deep in God's heart. 



Tht House of Yorkf, 



473 



THE HOUSE OF YORK.E. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



HALCYON DAYS. 



; gh*cn their consent to 
Dgagcment, ihe Yorkes ini- 

adoi>tecl Dick Rowan as 
( lliey were not i)eople to 
ly by halves. Even McU- 

propitious, and, wlicn she 

what pleased surprise he 
idvances, became still more 

Clara, who lived in a rarer 
re, effervesced more readily, 
i not enough praise her cou- 
^ Hester insisted that he 
»ve the hotel, and stay at 
I SI»e was completely won 
Imosc boyish affection and 
fith which he treated her 

his first and only former 
^nton, and by his fondness 
ildren. 

'orke, beginning by talking 
rdcr to study him, and know 
ly what sort of man she had 
her niece to, found herself 
iffectionale toward him, and 

probing his mind, but un- 
cr own. In after-years she 
red these confidential inter- 
m honor, which, at the time, 
scarcely appreciated. The 
fa told her all his hopes and 
ied her advice in everything 
Ig Edith, and listened eager- 
she explained to him the 
[nt3 of a delicately bred 

mother is the only wo- 

ive ever Hved in the house 

■l; "and, of course, 

I ' [o be dainty." 

d this rather sa^Uy, but with- 



out a taint of humility. Mrs. Yorke 
was impressed by the dignity of that 
character which would not be 
ashamed of anything but its own 
wrong-doing. 

One confidence led to another, and 
Dick was afterward surprised on re- 
collecting that he had related the 
story of his whole life to Edith's aunt, 
and spoken more fr<:*ely to her of his 
early struggles and sufferings than 
even to Edith herself. Not only this; 
but, seeing tears in her eyes when he 
tuld of his father's despairing efforts 
to reform himself, and hearing the 
pitying word she spoke for him whom 
others had mocked, he told her the 
end of it all, and where thai father's 
desolate grave had been made. 

" You poor, dear boy 1 " she ex- 
claimed, holding out her kind hand 
to him, *• I don't wonder that Edith 
loves you ! " 

•' 1 do not pretend to understand 
the designs of God," Dick said un- 
steadily. "When I think ot my fa- 
ther, all is a mystery. But for my- 
self, I think I can see that suffering 
was good. My nature is to go straight 
to any end which I propose to mj self. 
without much regard for the wishes 
of others, and no regard for onliuary 
obstacles. 1 might have been cruel, 
I should have been selfish; but suf- 
fering has taught me to be more ten- 
der of other people." 

*' Yes," Mrs. Yorke said ; and, 
recollecting her own early trials, 
thought that they had helped lier to 
be more pitiful of his. 



4W 



7%f H&mst 9f Vorie. 



Then, led on by her sympathy for 
him, she told her own past, there on 
the spot where it had occurred. 

These confidences drew the two 
together, and formed a bond which 
was never broken. 

A man's manliness can scarcely 
bear a severer test than when he be- 
comes the pet of woman. One is 
sometimes astonished to see how 
characters, apparently fine, deteriorate 
under that insidious influence. But 
Dick Rowan was too grateful and 
modest, and too little selfish or vain, 
to be injured. 

"He is not quite like us," Mrs. 
Yorke said, " but he is more natural 
and original, and is, altogether, a re- 
markable young man. Edith has 
reason to be proad of his homage. 
He certainly behaves exquisitely to- 
ward her." 

Mr. Yorke, refiising to be influenced 
by feminine raptures, was &in to take 
Che young man out of the house, in 
order to talk with him uninterruptedly. 
He displayed the improvements he 
had made in the place, his avenues, 
now as hard as cement, his terraces, 
smooth and green with turf of velvet 
fineness. There were vines here and 
there, disposed for effect, like drapery 
in an artist's studio, and many a flower 
which bloomed now for the firet time 
under Seaton skies. They stopped 
at last beside a clover-plot, thick with 
crowded trefoils and blossoms. Its 
surface was unsteady with bees, mu- 
sical with a low hum, and all the air 
was sweet with the breath of it 

" If I were not disgusted with Sea- 
ton," Mr. Yorke said, « I should like 
to spend my summers here, and carry 
out my plans for the p^ace; but 
when we go away, probably in Octo- 
ber, I shall never wish to see the town 
again. There is no security here." 

Dick leaned thoughtfully on the 
fence, and watched the bees come 
and go over the clover, and took off* 



his hat to shake his hair loo 
fragrant air. " I think, sir, 
ton may be in future all the 
this trouble," he said slowly 
tone of the place is low, 1 1 
well, but it is in a fair way ( 
ing ashamed of itself, and so, 
ing. When people have wn 
and stand by them stubbon 
to have them go on, and fii 
themselves what their ptinc 
to. C<Hiviction reaches t> 
through their ovn experien< 
you hear no more about th 
It is, of course, a slow way. 
sure." 

Mr. YoAe made a grin 
quoted President Mann: " 
mighty is not in a hurry, ar 
Carl had gone to Brag 
went quite unexpectedly, 
Dick Rowan came, and 
see Edith's lover till he ha 
week in Seaton. He came 1 
evening after tea, when tl 
people were in the cupola 
down the bay, for die 
They waved their handker 
him, and his mother ran oui 
him. 

"My dear son!" she ej 
embracing him as joyfully 
had been gone a year. " I » 
watch for you, lest I should 1 
pointed. I pretended I dii 
pect you. But you may kr 
a hypocritical pretence it « 
I say that your supper is a 
though, to be sure, break&si 
and supper have been kepi 
every day." 

While speaking, she led hi 
little northern parl<»-, which ' 
summer dining-room. 

Carl looked at his mothe 
smile, but tears rose to his c^ 
was not one to take even a 
devotion as a matter of coi 
just nov he found it pecuKni 
ing. 



Tht Home of Yorke. 



^1% 



'. lookert ver)' frail and 

sat opi>osite her w>n. 

3p of a fact, the pale bloe 

tied loosely ibout her neck, 
cU cods hanging over her 
ks, the fall of Lice fastened to 
|by a rosebud — all made a 
Iture. To the inherent loveli- 
Use mother, she added the 
tthe exquisite lady. 
lu do not need that apostle 
^our chair — " her son sug- 

ledistely dismissctl Paul 

;d Carl was free to say, 

:U me the state of affairs. 

ent I take for granted ; 

1 got to endure the spccta- 

pair of cooing lovers ? 1 

khcr leave the country." 

(uoment Mrs. YoHce was too 

^upied to give any reply but 

shake of the head. Eating 

the fine arts with her, and 

ft point of having the cir- 

of that odious opcra- 

as possible. Having 

accnrate square of currant 

glass plate, where it lay like 

k stolen from Solomon's 

ures, and filled a gorgeous 

cup with coffee, into which 

; tiny cube of loaf-sugar and 

tl of cream, she was ready to 

■ 

B ts no necessity for any such 
nt, my dear. Edith is very 
to him, but she surrounds 
nth a fine reserve which he 
t break through if he would, 
as soon fancy a gentleman 
ling familiarly the Queen of 
They are very little alone 

It rididous coffee r Carl 
di and immediately began 
inctdenu of his journey. 
they heard the others coui- 
ips, they went to meet 
!e3iccnt came first, with Mr. 



Rowan, and all saw with pleasure 
that the two young men njet not 
only with courtesy, but friendliness. 
Carl's invariable, haughty silence- 
whenever Dick Rowan's name was 
mentioned had given ilicm some 
uneasiness regarding the meeting. 
Indeed, could they have found fault 
with him for anything, it would have 
been for what ihey considered this 
excess of pride. 

The two passed on, Clawi follow- 
ing, and, quite in the rear, cnme 
Edith, alone. She was half-smiling, 
and came slowly down, step by step, 
with a touch of feminine coquetry 
as innocent and natural as the tricks 
of a playful kitten, lingering as he 
wailed. Yet her bright cheeks and 
shining eyes told that the approach 
was a delight. 

But for some reason, Carl cho« 
to l>e displeased all at once, and, by 
a slight change of attitude and ex- 
pression, to be wailing, not to gree« 
her, but to go up-stairs. 

" Pardon imc for being so slow," 
she said, becoming instantly a cour- 
teous lady. " 1 think I am getting 
old and dignified. The wings have 
gone from my feet." 

The Hainan had come, and the 
Yorkes immediately made the ac- 
quaintance of its master. I>k'k and 
Edith went down to the ship to see 
him, and persuaded him to go home 
to tea with them. The big, bashful 
sailor was not accustomed to ibe so- 
ciety of ladies, and had the impres- 
sion that there was something caba- 
listic in good-breeding. But he 
found himself quite at ease with the 
family, after a while, and was con- 
vinced that they were not aware of 
the few blunders he committed in the 
first embarrassment of meeting them. 
Some diversion had alwa)-s taken 
place at precisely the riglit moment 
to screen him, and soon his sdf-pos- 
session was quite restored. He left 



476 



The House 9/ Yorkt, 



the house duit night highly pleased 
with his vUit 

"They seem to me perfectly kind 
and natural people," he said to Dick, 
as they walked through the woods 
together. " Your Edith, it is true, 
is rather grand, but in a sweet, child- 
like way, and Miss Melicent seems 
disposed to be a little on the high 
horse once in a while, but not much. 
I always thought that aceomplished 
ladies were more airy, but I don't 
see that these do any great things." 

" True," Uick answered ; •' but 

uk the things which they do not 
P4o." 

They were much together after 
thai, and Mrs. Vorke and her daugh- 
ters went on board the Halcyon, and 
were entertained there. Carl had 
been .ifraid to have his mother ven- 
ture on Ijoard the ship, and had charg- 
ed himself especially with the care 
of her, but his solicitude was not 
needed. He was both pleased and 
amused by the simplicity and tender- 
ness with which their gigantic host 
smoothed every smallest obstruction 
from her path and spared her every 
exertion. There had been a momen- 
tary flash of angry surprise when he 
saw his mother lifted over an ob- 
structing timber in Captain Gary's 
arras ; but the sailor's face was so ab- 
solutely anxious and kind, and Mrs. 
Yorke laughed so merrily over the 
fuAj gallantry, that he instantly per- 
ceived the folly of resenting it 

" My dear," Mrs. Yorke whispered 
to Clara, " he is like one's grandfa- 
ther, grandmother, and all one's aunts 
and uncles, in one. It's a pity he 
hasn't a wife, he would be so good 
to her." 

Clara blushed slightly. She had 
been thinking some such thought 
faersclf. 

The intercourse gave the Yorkes a 
ftesh and novel sensation. It was 
•o di^Tcrent from anything they had 



ever had before, and, 
time, so pleasant. It came 
breath of pure sea-air into 
and scented drawing-room, 
wcfe not so uiummitied by 
lion that they could not 
this simple, unconventiunal 
in which ibey found a noble t 

Captain Cary listened wit 
nation to the story of their 
experiences. .\n autocrat 
ship, and completely his own 
everywhere, he could not 
hend how one part of a coi 
could exercise such tyranny 
crcion over the other. '* It s4 
me that the Catliolict rout 
done something out of the wi 
said. ** There's usually fauh i 
sides, you know, th ' ] 
would justify such a | j 

"There is just the UuubU 
Yorke replied, rather ira|id 
*' It is so easy for people, wh 
to be fair, and, at the same tii 
pat themselves to the inconv 
of investigating, to say thai f 
probably fault on Iwth sidi 
then fancy thai they have da 
tice. On ihe contrary, the 
have done great injustice, aoi 
certainly, rendered a carcia 
slipshod judgment. For thl 
cases where the fault is aH 1 
side, and other cases where, 
in the end there may be fi 
both sides, the mponsibihiy 
rests on the one xvho was the 
sor, and provoked the other 
endurance. I am nut blamii 
sir ; but 1 am always anoycd 
off-hand way of saying, ' IIict 
bably fault on both sides.' M 
don't know, let them say the 
know, and not give any jiidpi 
all. I do know, and I say 1 
provocation was giv<rn, and I 
tholics have been only 100 sup 

*• There have been time^ 
Car>'," Kdith said, "when 



The House of Yorke. 



A77 



pit yoti were here. I know 
have been on our side." 
I would !" he answered 
'king at her with n. kind 
le two were great friends, 
otild have left my mark 
jrou told me to strike." 
a !ihnme to waste you on 
|bt ship." Clara &atd to him. 
iu!d have been an admiral." 
iior gave one of his great 
hich always made Mrs. 
p and flush. " Wc big 
be not always fond of fight- 
laid. " H'hen I W.15 a boy, I 
jounger brothers about half 
hnd cither of them was a 
r me. 1 was so peaceable 
^ called Mother Gary's 
Bnd I believe it was that 
•that first put it into my head 
•ea. No, I'd rather fight 
wave than men, I could 
man if he were doing any- 
oluiely wrong; but to kill 
ise lu belonged to a foreign 
ad carried a different flag, 
d Iw too cold-blooded for 

o Rsltors, with Edith and 
iteU the Catholic school, 
gifts for the children and 
nnent to the teacher. 

ook so worn, dear friend/' 
S. " 1 w«h you would give 
Mne to Boston with us." 
ichcT ihook her head. ** I 
re upt" she s?id. 
k Cary complimented Miss 

in his own fashion : *' We 
L pretty sliarp ship that will 
four poinfi of the wind," 

" But I bear that you have 

ing way with the wind in 

re not made much he.id- 
an^weicd, smiling, "but 
my own. 1 am anchor- 

Dmpatiied them up Insh 



Lane, on Sunday afternoon. Tiiey 
called at several houses, and talked 
with and encour.igcd the uimaies. 
It was a help to these poor souls to 
have some one to tell tlieir troubles 
to. " But what shall we do when 
you arc all gone ? " they asked 
mournfully. To them, the expected 
departure of the Yorke family from 
Scaton was i misfortune second only 
to the banishment' of their priest. 

Their situation was, indeed, ft 
cruel one. It was not alone the con- 
ttimely to which tliey were subjected, 
and the being unable to hear Mas$» 
but their sick and dying were de- 
prived of the sacraments, and their 
infants were unbaptized. Yet no 
harsh word escaped them. Scarcely 
one seemed to recollect their perse- 
cutors. They were suffering for the 
faith, and it was God's will — thai was 
iheir view of the posiiion. The in- 
struments which God used to try 
them, they thought but little of. 
Carl Yorke went home thinking that 
he had heard better sermons that 
afternoon than he had ever before 
heard ui his life. 

Father Rasle's continued absence 
was not voluntary. He would fain 
have returned to his fiock, in spite 
of Mr. Yorke's and Miss Churchill's 
letters, but his superior added a com- 
mand to their advice, and he was 
forced to restrain his zcaL 

*' Tell my people that I never for- 
got tliem," he wrote to die teacher. 
'* Every day at Mass I pray for their 
deliverance. It cannot be long be- 
fore 1 shall visit them. Meantime, 
let them give their enemies no'])retext 
for further injurv*." 

To Edith he wrote : 

" Your desire to <tcf in behalf of 
these f>ersecuted people is natural, but 
I must forbid you. You may safely 
follow the advtre of .«iuch good peo- 
ple as Mr. and Mrs. Yorke. But do 
not fear that, because you are inac- 



47« 



Thi House of Yorke. 



tive, you therefore are useless. I 
visited once, in Europe, a spot where 
a temple had stood. Nothing was 
left of it but a few broken fragments 
lying about, and a single beautiful 
pillar that stood alone. Was that 
pillar useless? No; in its way, it 
was very eloquent No one could 
look upon it without trying to fancy 
what the whole edifice might have 
been ; and you may be sure that the 
traveller's imagination did its best 
in rebuilding that temple. So, now, 
you shall be the little caryatid 
of the church in Seaton. You have 
the gift of silence: use it. Be as 
obedient and quiet as that solitary 
column, and let the world guess from 
you how fair must be that structure 
of which you are a part." 

Edith turned from the window, 
where she had stood to read her let- 
ter, folded her arms up over her head, 
and said to Dick Rowan, sitting 
there, " Can you fancy me supporting 
an entablature ?" 

"No," he answered; "for then 
there would have to be others like 
you." 

Edith blushed, and dropped her 
arms; for they were all looking at 
her, and their faces, as well as Dick 
Rowan's answer, reminded her that 
she was beautiful. She gave him her 
letter to read, and went to sit on the 
window-sill beside Clara, and listen 
to the talk of the three gentlemen on 
the piazza. The two families were 
dining together that day^ and Air. 
Yorke, with his son-in-law, and Cap- 
tain Gary, were smoking their cigars 
outside. Inside the window nearest 
her husband, Mrs. Cleaveland sat in 
a low, broad arra-chair, A nurse in a 
white cap had just placed on her 
knees Hester's second son, an infant 
of six months old. As it lay slowly 
and delictously waking up, both 
nurse and mother gazed down upon 
it with adoring eyes. Master Philip, 



this baby's predecessor, was 
his face in one arm of his n 
arm-chair, being in tempon 
grace. Original sin was vet} 
and active in this child, i 
full of vitality and detenninad 
just at that age when will ii 
well developed, and memory ; 
derstanding still dormant — t 
for childish atrocities. Thei 
moments when the child's li£ 
burden to him, by reason 
great number of things wl 
wished to do, and meant to 
could not remember that \ 
not do. He had a chronic d 
pull out the baby's eyelashe 
winkeys," he called them, 
make it smile in season and 
violently drawing the comei 
mouth round toward its ean. 
ever an infantine shriek was \ 
was always understood that 
Philip was in some way acco 
Another fancy of his was t 
holes in paper, or any delic 
easily perforated fabric, « 
plump forefinger. He could 
greater pleasure than to seat 
with some precious volume 
him, and go gravely and indus 
through it in this way, leaf 
from cover to cover. There 
deed, a long list of indi 
against this unhappy child. ' 
little forefingers tied together 
his back, and a dilapidated bo 
on the carpet, showed plainly 
what his offence was at this li 

In the background, Cari i 
ing marvellous stories to the ■ 
half-brother, Eugene; aw 
Yorke and Milicent, in the cc 
the room, were coaxing some- 
of his adventures from Dick . 
He had to be persuaded be 
would speak much of himself 

"Isn't he magnificent?" 
whisperetl to Edith, meaning! 
Gary. 



Tiu Hous4 0/ YorJu* 



479 



ilor had been describing an 
little crait, the Humming-bird, 

lie had once darted ia and 

c Chinese coast, smuggling 
I the very teeth of an English 
iriir. Seebg the addition lo 
nice, he threw tlic end of his 
r^y, and moved his chair 
kc windoir. 

r I should like to be a sailor I" 
d Clara with enthusiasm. 
ia Cary leaned forward, with 
1 on his knees, tn order to 
Bsell' more on a level with the 
dies. " And how would you 
B a sailor's wife ?" he asked. 
igh he had the greatest pi^- 
ration for Miss Clara Yorkc, 
idercd her by far'tlie cleverest 
Oman he had ever known, it 
e safe to say that the thought 
; any further than that had 
tcrcd his mind, till he saw 
I of eyes and color with 
C received hisquestion. The 
lelectncal. He straightened 
up again, and, in the (ir>i 
liiat possibility, did not hear 
y but rather tardy reply : 
spends on who the sailor is." 
lan was confounded betiveen 
apiure; and astonishment. 
X>lc had seemed to show that 
insumraation was not impos* 
tt least, think of— that it had, 
occurred to her own mind. 
[ was most likely to scorn the 
i but, for all that, a momen- 
»n danced before his eyes of 

life would he if he had a 
)f his own to love and serve. 
* wife of his choice should 
m, never occurred to this 

Boul. He could at any time 
ifried a common person, 
■MB people would have 
^^pd enough for him; but 
^m Tiis nature a capacity for 
worship which nude hun 
Kn Kucfa an alhance. 



Presently, Edith's cool voice stole 
through the chaos of his mind. 
" You can go to sea with Dick aiid 
roc, Clara." 

The sailor started, and fell from 
the clouds. His face became over- 
cast, and, with a deep sigh, he seemed 
to renounce a long-cherished hope. 

With a laugh and a toss of the 
head, Clara rose from her lowly seat, 
and, stepping out through the win- 
dow, began to promenade up and 
down the garden-walk. Sl>e saw 
through this great, transparent crea- 
ture perfectly, and was amused, and 
she knew not what else. One could 
not be angry with the fellow, she said 
laugliiiigly to herself. She had been 
looking up to him with enthusiasm, 
as lo some antique bronze or marble 
.\rgonaut, or other hero of simpler 
times. Now that was changed, and 
she was on the pedestal, to be wor- 
shipped by him. It wa.s preposter- 
ous, but not altogether disagree- 
able. 

Meantime, Captsun Gary was con- 
fiding his distress to Edith. '* I hope 
that your cousin didn't think I was 
fool enough to dream of her being 
my wife," he said, looking down. 
" What I said was a slip of die tongue, 
and I didn't know the drift of it my- 
self till I saw how she took it." 

" Oh I never mind," Edith an- 
swered. " Clara is always jesting, 
and twisting people's meaning. She 
knew you meant no such thing." 

He sighed, and said no more. 

If Clara had expected the sailor 
to watch her, she was disappointed. 
He went into the parlor, and when, 
later, she entered, brilhant with exer- 
cise and mischief, he was sitting by 
Carl, and listening with as sober a 
face to the stories that young roan 
was telling Eugene Cleaveland as if 
he were listening to a sennou. Clara 
passed near them, to hear what it 
might be which produced such s i- 



480 



The House of Yorke. 



lemnity in the man and such a trance 
of interest in the child. 

" Then," Carl was saying, " Taurus 
sent to the Great Bear to say that 
he should like to have something out 
of the golden dipper about the mid- 
dle of the next month, for all the 
little stars would grow dim about 
that time, and need something to po- 
lish up with. Artd the Bear said, 
* All right ! but the dipper hangs so 
high on the celestial pole that you 
will have to pay me a good deal to 
climb up to it.' And Taurus answer- 
ed, * All right !' And then the Bears 
set slyly to work to grease the pole, 
so that the dipper should slip down, 
and they get their pay without work ; 
and Taurus he set to work to push 
the dipper higher up, so as to get 
more work than he had agreed to 
pay for; and, meantime, all the poor 
little stars languished, and grew dim. 
And then Orion got mad, and brought 
a lot of httle dippers, and gave each 
of the little stars a full one. And 
the stars grew bright and glad. But 
the Bulls and Bears, finding that they 
were both beaten, didn't feel glad. 
The Bear began to bite his own paws, 
and the Bull went for Orion, and tried 
to toss him. But Orion laughed, 
and put up his shield, and called his 
dogs, and — *' 

" Upon my Avord, Carl," says Cla- 
ra, " 1 think you put the stars to base 
uses when you set them to gambling 
in stocks. Have you told Captain 
("ary of our ]irojeclcd sail down the 
bay ?" 

" Poor Clara 1" Meliccnt said, join- 
ini; them. *' W'c are planning some 
little picasurc-lrip to distract her 
mind. You do not know, perhaps, 
that the Philistines are upon her?" 

'J'he sailor did not undcrst;md, but 
looked so inquiring and solititous 
that Clara explained to him. 

" I published a story aj^es ago," 
she said, " and the editor of the 



Cosmic has just become avare of IL 
He found it lately among the i^hs 
of his writing-table. The authoieii, 
he says, has shaken up a few fanda 
in a kaleidoscope, and calls them life. 
They arc about as much like life, h^ 
adds, as Watteau's shepherdesses are 
like real shepherdesses, or as Muie 
Antoinette's housekeeping at tbe 
Petit Trianon, with ribbons tied round 
the handles of silver saucepans^ wa 
like real kitchen- work. Still, he cofi- 
clude.s, the story is amusing, in spile 
of its pinchbeck ideal, and, when (he 
writer is older, she will, doubtless, do 
better. The musty old metaphjra- 
cian I" exclaimed Miss Clara, wazn- 
ing with the subject. " I once read 
a paragraph in one of his artidoi 
and found it comical. I had neni 
seen any of the words before, except 
the articles and prepositions. I1I7 
first impression was that he bid 
made them up, for fun. I fouod 
them all out in the unabridged dic- 
tionary, though. ITiey were ral 
words, but I have forgotten what 
they mean." 

" So much tlic better !" said Mdi- 
cent. And then followed a c<»tnh 
versy on the subject of learned wo- 
men. Melicent denounced them u 
unwomanly ; but Melicent was neith- 
er a student nor well read, and theic 
might be a difference of opinion 
to cause and effect in her case. Ml 
Yorkc mocked les savantes; but Mr. 
Yorke adored a wife whose litciaiy 
acquirements were of the most mo- 
dest kind, and he had once, in a 
never-forgotten argument, been wont- 
ed by a clever woman. Capuio 
Cary was of opinion that clever and 
learned women were not fit wi*"0 
for common men. At that, Clan 
trH)k u]) the gauntlet with great spi- 
rit. 

Clever women did not wish M 
marry common men, she said. Am* 
there were plenty of uncommon ib«" 



Tht Heme of Ycrke. 



481 



not jealous of ihcm. She 
sUl this hypocritical talk 
beauty of simplicity and 
and submission in women, 
meaning of it was not 
I] but Mohammedan. 
Bie," Mt^, Yorke interposed, 
that some women should 
td, in order to appreciate 
nen. If the wife of a scho- 
noi understand and sympa- 
ler husband's love of books 
they leach, she would soon 
lous of them, and he would 
t should be his sweetest ho- 
is not there an orthodox 
Mr. Yorke exclaimed with 
•* The sole use she can con- 
n woman's having for Icarn- 
t she may be better able to 
;e her husband." 
glanced past Carl, and look- 
rch inquiry at Dick Rowan, 
as perfectly sclf-posscsscd, 
e even with a slight air of 
" I believe the tniesupe- 
woman 10 be in religion," 
" and, if she has that, it is 
r whether she is learned or 

Is not your view somewhat 
?" asked Carl Yorke. *' We 
)^ng that this life is some- 
.ooking at the question in 
% I would say that no one 
right to dogmatize one way 
fliCT, Let each woman fol- 
lent of her own mind, and 
imcd as she will. I only 
that she shall not be 
rd nor disputatious, but 

learning with a grace, as 
lent, not a weapon, though 

use it as a weapon when 
leed. I would have woman 
idition, 35 Mrs. Browning 

wear grief who have worn 

KM. XlV^3i 



* At a bat aside, 
\S\\\i « flower ttuclc to it.' '* 



" And while your erudite wife is 
gracefully adjusting her ologies, who 
is to see 10 the bread and the but- 
tons ?" Melicent asked, rather sneer- 
ingly. 

•* Oh t those everlasting buttons !" 
Clara cried out, and put her hands 
over her ears. 

" The ser\'ant, probably," Carl re- 
plied to Melicent. " If a woman 
could give some thought to those 
tilings also, well and good, but I 
should not choose a wife for such a 
sen'ice. 1 would rather have her 
help me to polish a sentence or pose 
a figure than cook, my dinner or 
mend my stockings, unless we were 
so poor that labor was absolutely 
necessary. I should be ashamed to 
see my wife performing menial ser- 
vices for me. I would as willingly see 
her at work in the field as bringing 
me my slippers." 

Carl had scarcely time to see the 
look of beaming approval in Kdiih's 
eyes, before his sight and hearing 
were both temporarily lost in Clara's 
rapturous embrace. " You are per- 
fect !" she cried, kissing him. *' You 
are of the progeny of AjjoUo ! I am 
so glad to have that slipper theory 
upset ; for I never saw a woman 
bringing her husband's slippers for 
him without feeling a contempt for 
her. I don't believe that any one 
ever admired such a piece of mean 
servility, except the laxy Turk who 
allowed it to be done for him." 

While they laughed at Clara's en- 
thusiasm, Dick Rowan said to Kdith, 
" I quite agree with your cousin. I 
me.an all that he means, and 
more." 

" By the way," Carl said carelessly, 
as he went toward the door, *' T am 
not Kdith's cousin, nor in any w.iy 
related 10 her." 



483 



Tke House. of YoHee, 



CHAPTER XX. 



THREE SONOa. 



Captain Gary had been three 
weeks in Seaton, and was to sail in 
two days for New York, where the 
Halcyon was sold, taking Dick Row- 
an with him. From New York, 
Dick was to sail immediately, on a 
three years' voyage, in the Edith 
Yorke. I'he captain did not say de- 
finitely what his own plans were, 
perhaps did not know them himself. 
■"I did think of settling down on 
shore," he said to Mrs. Yorke. " But 
one person doesn't make a home, 
and all my people are dead. I'd 
half a mind to ask Rowan to take 
me as a passenger. He has a splen- 
did ship." 

They were all in the garden that 
last evening but one. Edith sat on 
a bench beside Melicent, and look- 
ed intently at Dick Rowan, who was 
talking with Clara and Mrs. Yorke. 
She was thinking over all his good- 
ness, all his affection for her, study- 
ing his personal beauty, his frank, 
bright face and athletic form, and 
trying to excite in herself some 
enthusiasm regarding him. Carl 
stood near, listening to, but not join- 
ing iu, the conversation. She com- 
pared the two young men. Their 
lieight, their form, were very nearly 
the same ; but Carl had the proud 
and measured tread of one bred to 
the parlor and the promenade, Dick 
the free and springing step of the 
mountaineer. This was distinctive, yet 
each had moods like the other. On 
the deck of his own sliip, the sailor 
trod like a king ; and the man of the 
world could bound as liglitly up a 
steep, or vault as lightly over an ob- 
stacle, as though his life had been 
spent in athletic sports. Dick Row- 
an's eyes sparkled like the ripples of 



his own blue sea, and looked 
pie, not through Uiem } Cad's i 
glance could become pkrd: 
keen as a two-edged blade. 
useless to compare them, the 
direct and transparent as a di 
other noble, indeed, yet sul 
one aware of the worM's wa 
guarded at every point. 

" I must be very hard and 
Edith thought, finding hen 
moved, in spite of her efibrts. 
perhaps, it may be because 
always known and been si 
him." 

Looking her way, Dick n 
steady gaze, and flushed wit 
sure. If the expression was 
and regretful, what then ? 
they not about to part ? 1 
Mrs. Yorke to her, and the 
followed, to make arraugemen 
a sail they were to have th 
day." 

" You had better wear dress 
wetting will not hurt," Did 
" for you will be likely to get 
scud-water in your laps." 

" And, pray, what is scud-i 
Mrs. Yorke asked. 

Dick explained that it wai 
blown off. 

" How pretty !" exclaimed 
" Vou may fill my lap with iL' 

They separated again, anf 
was left with Edith. 

"Wh.at shall I bring yot 
Calcutta?" he asked. 

" Bring me Dick Rowan sa: 
again," was the answer. 

Both were silent a little whil 
he spoke in a quiet voice: 
God to do that, Edith, h 
been so good to us, I think I 
refuse nothing." 



T^ House of V&rke, 



483 



boVrd at him wistfully. " Are 

^^ happy, Dick ?" 
jppy !" he exclaimed. " Dear, 
jy finger-nails shine ! Kdith* 1 
ppy that I should be afraid, 
i allow myself to be. But, 
jrill trust God when he gives 
[as well OS when he gives me 

they talked, Mrs. Yorke 
king aside with Clara, and 
nng her. '* What is the mat- 
rCaptoiu Gary ?" she asked. 
5wn very sober lately." 
Ifltighed, rather cons<:ious' 
low should 1 know, mam- 

Yorke looked dispteosed. 

for a frank answer," she 

What 13 the meaning of 

t isn't possible that there has 

trinin>; on your part 1" 
jrl blushed deeply, but told 
le there was to tell, includ- 
t unlucky question : " How 
ou like tube a sailor's wife ?' 
^hadn't the slightest personal 
, mamma," Clara .iddcd has- 
g her eyes open with some- 
a flaah. " He told Edith 
that it was a slip of the 



why should not that have 
end of the matter?" Mrs. 
asked, rather peremptorily. 
Bd but to assume that such 
was impossible, not to be 
of, and be just as courteous 
ksbefbrc." 

you sec, mamma," Clara re- 
king a little frightened, " it 
ia9p06$ible as it is unlikely, 
things have happened in 
[d, and will again, and the 
and will be no worse for 
You know 1 have never been 
Require tlie fine art of assum- 
t ninety^nine facts make a 

dear," said the mother with 



precision, " please not to be gran- 
diloquent. Let U8 confine ourselves 
to the case in hand. Your sublime 
generalizing has done you very Ultla 
credit if it has led you to distmi> the 
peace of a good honest man, and put 
our own delicacy in question. Co- 
quetry is not only cruel, it is mean 
and vulgar. Of course you are rea- 
dy with the childish excuse that you 
meant no harm. That is not enough 
for one who has arrived at years of 
discretion and has a conscience. 
You must mean someihing one way 
or the other." 

Clara's eyes were suffused with 
tears. " I think that you misunder- 
stand me, mamma," she sold in a 
low voice. *' I was never in my life 
so much pleased to have any one 
like me." 

Mrs. Yorke stopped, and looketl 
at her daughter in astonishment. 

" Uh I I know all that you would 
say, mamma," the girl went on, half 
laughing, half weeping. ** He is a 
sailor, which is as if a binl should 
say, ' He is a fish.' He has only a 
common-school education, as far as 
books go, and he has none of our 
ways. But all that doesn't make 
his esteem any less worth having. 
Men of the world often give only a 
tame, half aftcclion, and arc, per- 
haps, almost sorry when they are ac- 
cepted. They think of themselves, 
they think of a thousand other 
things : he would think of me. When 
Edith .sang, the other evening, 

' Oh ! wcrt ihou Id the cau'd tttau. 

1 saw his eyes fill with tears. He 
would take all the roughness, and 
danger, and hardship, I know. But 
men of the world are as dainty as 
women. If ihcy give us the insi<lc 
of the pavement, and let us enter a 
room first, tliey have gone the length 
of their chivalry. Then, lh«rc VsvVvt 



484 



The House of Yorke, 



effect on myself. In the society of 
such a man " — glancing to where Cap- 
tain Gary stood — " I should be gen- 
tle and feminine. But with the wilt- 
ed specimens of humanity I see or- 
dinarily, I am in imminent danger of 
becoming a strong-minded woman. 
One must keep up a balance, mam- 
ma, and it is weak men make bold 
women." 

Mrs. Yorke sank on to a bench. 
"What do you mean to do? What 
am I to think?" she exclaimed. 

Clara laughed. '* Don't be afraid, 
mamma. If this Neptune should 
offer himself to me — he will not ! — 
I should refuse him, and then cry 
my eyes out afterward. But if he 
should take rae by force, pirate-fash- 
ion, and run away with me, so that 
I could not help myself nor be re- 
sponsible, I should be delighted. Now, 
don't say any more about it, please." 

Mrs. Yorke threw off her fears with 
a shrug of the shoulders. It was a 
mere theory. It was one of Clara's 
enthusiasms. " Well, my dear," she 
concluded, rising, " all I have to 
add is that I hope your admira- 
tion of the rough diamond will not 
lead you to consume it in the blow- 
pipe." 

And so the subject dropped. 

" There is a party of Indians camp- 
ing out on the Point," Mr. Yorke 
said to them that evening, " You 
might find it interesting to visit them 
to-morrow. I met one in the wood- 
land, this morning, cutting down a 
tree for basket-wood. I asked him 
who gave him permission to cut trees 
on my land. ' It was all ours once,' 
he growled out, and gave me a look 
that I shouldn't like to meet, unless 
I had friends near. I told hira to 
take all he wanted." 

The little sailing-party, only six 
with a sailor from the Halcyon as 
assistant, started early in the after- 
noon. The crew nf the Halcyon gave 



them a hearty cheer as the 
down past the whaif whete sli 
the fresh breeze, blowing ^ 
smoothed the waves, and, ore 
light clouds ran races with then 
of one cloud, that seemed sea 
hand's breadth, a shower of 
sun-lighted drops came cla 
down. In the midst of it they 
ed the Point, and stepped otti 
the rocky shore. A clumsy c 
dian woman had just kindled 
and piled brush over it. Not ; 
was visible, but thick white 
gushed out through the green, 
over into a shifting Corinthia: 
tal, and rose into air, and in a 
instant it topped a shaft of 
The woman took no notice 
visitors standing near her, but 
tossing twi^ into the fire. H 
was ugly, her dress careless, I 
small brown hands and mocc 
feet were models of beauty, 
or three men were lying about 
waiting for their dinner, and 
chievous little girl was wea\ 
basket. She alone noticed the 
gers, the others wore a look « 
dainful unconsciousness. The 
talked with the child, and I 
baskets of her; the gentlemer 
themselves acquainted with th 
ers, and found them not inst 
to the charms of tobacco and 
Under these persuasive infiv 
their taciturn hosts melted, ai 
came almost friendly. Present 
other Indian appeared from thei 
came straight toward them, ami 
ped a long string of quivering 
bow-colored trout at the oldw( 
feet. A whispered exclamation 
from the hps of the visitois ai 
saw this dusky young Adonis. 
Greek outlines, with more thai 
cian richness of color, the j 
clustering hair, from which 
raindrops slid as from a btnfs 
the eagle eyes, the fandfid 



Tht House of Yorke. 



4»5 



,nd fringed, that air of superb 
nd unconsciousness which 
n only imitates, but does 
—all were fascinating and 
He stood one moment as 
quisile bronze, then stepped 
iver the springy moss, lifted 
of a tent, and disappeared. 
( her brother, Philip Nicola, 
girl told the ladies, and her 
as Malic. Edith gave thf 
Indian prayer-book, prepar- 
heir patlias; then the party 
d again, spread their sail to 
ke, and sped down the bay. 
Rowan, standing to uiifiir! 
sang out joyously, in a clear, 
foice, an old French song : 

n le roi tn'ftvoit donn6 
Pirfi u fnnd' villc. 
Bt qu'U Be &llfltquttur 
UKmour At oui mie, 
e dirolsau rol Ueorl : 
Repnocx votrc INirls, 
'aJniB mlcux nu mle. oh, gay I 
J'ftloie micax na mte.' " 

turned her head aside, and 
their sparkling wake subside 
Icy path. If she was plcas- 
ine could see. But as they 
led that low, sandy island 
eoflhcm had visited before, 
, and leaned on Dick's arm, 
id on it with liiin. 
have mercy on him !" they 
d; and both Dick and the 
removed their hats, and re- 
incovcred till they had p3s.s- 
Thc others did not know 
meant, but they asked no 
I and soon all was gay 

aaded a few miles down the 
dered awhile on the shore, 
r luncheon there, and sat to 
Kun go down, reddening all 
L Thea a bright pallor sue- 
tingling with unseen stars, 
bay became a silver mirror. 
ze went down with the sun, 
r « soft breath out of the 



south pressed their sail as diey start- 
ed to return. Between two flcckless. 
transparent abysses, they floated, as 
through ether, and might, it seemed, 
be drawn up or sink down at any 
moment The night deepened, and 
became a crystalline darkness, with 
slars above and stars below, and tlien 
the east grew radiant with a soft 
aurora. 

As the light increased, they saw a 
.speck on the water, and, leaning low, 
Captain Cary espied IMiilip Nicola 
in a bark canoe, dancing across the 
bay. skimming the water like a bird. 
The imp of mischief, or of vanity, 
seemed to possess the fellow. He 
shot across their prow, so near as al 
most to catch die foam it threw ujii, 
he zigzagged ahead of them, he slid 
into Uieir wake on one side, and Uew 
past them on the other. Lastly, he 
dropped far behind, and they heard 
him singing over the water. The 
song was some wild chant in his own 
language, piercingly sweety and full 
of a barbarous pathos and power. As 
ihcy listened, convention dropped 
from them like a garmenL They 
were simple children of nature, and 
creation was full of mysteries for 
them. 

A golden splendor filled the cast, 
a disk of burning gold showed above 
the woods, and kindled their feathery 
tops, a crinkling flame tan round 
every ripple of the bay, and their 
prow tossed oflf sparks instead of 
ibam. Then the moon sailed majes- 
tically upward, and made an en- 
chanted day about them. As she 
rose, the blue of the sky drew back, 
like the fold of a curtain, and left a 
pathway of mellow light for her feet. 

Not a word was said by any one. 
The scene was too beautiful for praise. 
Edith and Carl sat opposite each 
other, and Dick Rowan stood be- 
tween them, leaning against the mast, 
and looking down on that fair head 



486 



The House »f Yorke. 



with its crovn of braids. She leaned 
over the boat-side, and trailed her 
hand in the water, nor spoke a word, 
nor once lifted her eyes. As the 
water-lily, growing to maturity 
through unconscious sun and dew, 
when its appointed sunrise comes, 
shines through all its snowy petals, 
:ind opens to disclose another sun 
hidden within its folded whiteness, so 
her soul, now its time was come to 
know itself and be known, stirred 
through all its calm reserves and un- 
consciousness at the sound of that 
savage chan't. She forgot, for the 
time, all that was cramping in her 
life, and had a new sense of freedom 
and joy. 

The song ceased. They neared the 
Point, and a path of crimson trem- 
bled out from the camp-fire there 
and crossed the moonlight. Clara 
leaned, and whispered to Carl. He 
hesitated a moment, then, with a 
gesture that showed a sort of defiant 
resolution, acquiesced in her demand. 
Carl seldom sang, and, when he did, 
it was for the words rather than the 
music, and his style was that of an 
improvisator. He sang : 



" The moon is cUmbinR up ihc ikr. 

Hack rolls the etb«r blue , 
The folded rosea atir aod sigh. 

With droppinf^ of the dew ; 
The Ude runs up to meet the itrean, 

Aad bear her to the aea; 
Downward, as In a bappy dream, 

They're floating silently. 

" The slumb'ring deeps of life upbremk. 

Our childish play is o'er. 
The footsteps of the future kbake 

The lintel of our doorl 
Awike, sweetheart ! thuu Kiv'st to-day 

A soul, and not a toy : 
Wake ! Icsl the child's band flin;; away 

The woman's crowning joy. 



' Cast off the dreams of childish days. 

Take on thy woman's state. 
Search thine own spirit's deeper ways. 

Ere yet it be too late. 
Tke time is come tor thee to give— 

Tbc time for me to uke : 
I4ft up thy lids, and bid me lire ! 

O womaa's soul, awake \ " 



Slowly Edith lifted her diooping 
head, her heavy eyelids, and looked 
at Carl, and he looked at her. Tk 
full moon shone in their bees, aid 
they saw only each other, and woe 
conscious only of each other, like 
lily had bloomed. 

Some sharp sound, like brnth 
drawn through teeth, was beard, apd 
Melicent cried out, " Mr. Rowao!" 

They looked just in time to see 
Dick's white face as he staggered 
backward. His eyes dosed, and, tx- 
fore they could reach him, he fail 
over the boat-side, with a hearj 
splash, and sank. 

Captain ^ary threw off his out, 
and was overboard in a second, ud 
soon they saw him bearing up a pal- 
lid face on his arm. " Haul in siH 
and row ashore! " he called out, and 
himself struck out for the Point, 
which they were close upon. 

Fhihp Nicola met him there, and 
the other men came down, and, when 
the party had stepped on shore, Dick 
was in one of the tents. Captais . 
Cary came out to meet them. "He ' 
has come to," he said, "and wiD 
soon be all righL But you had bet* 
ter go home. I will stay and take 
care of him. He doesn't wish to 
go up now," 

" I must see him, I shall certaiolf 
see him," Edith said resolutely, step- 
ping forward. 

'* I wouldn't to-night. Miss Edith," 
the sailor replied, standing io bei 
way. " He doesn't feel like talkirt" 

« I shall go in ! " she said, and 
waved him aside, and went into tbc 
tent. 

Dick Rowan lay on the low paOet, 
with his face turned away and hid- 
den in his arms. Edith knelt beskk 
him. " Dick ! " she said, in an im- 
ploring voice, \ 

He started slightly. "Don't speak | 
to me 1 Please go home nov," he i 
said. " I don't want to talk." 



BtikUktm. 



4«7 



mean to be true to you, Dick," 
>bbed, vithout rismg. " I will 
see nor ^wak to any one 
virii me to aTOid. I will go 
with you this time, if you say 

{ only reply was to bid her go. 
e me time to think," he said, 
ill teU you afterward." And 



there was no way for her but 
to go. 

" I am going to walk home," Carl 
said, and started off through the 
woods. 

When, the next morning early, 
they sent don*n to the village for 
news, the Haityon had sailed, and 
Dick Rowan had sailed in her. 



BETHLEHEM. 



BsTHLEHEU — House of bread : • 

Of the Bread that came down &om heaven, f 
*• For the life of the world *tis given : 
Eat of it," Jesus said. 

** FathCT," he bade us pray, 

" Give us this heavenly bread." 

** Ours " we must call it, he said. 
** Give us it day by day." 

Knelt in the midnight cave 

The shepherds and sages three — 
Tlmrs (do we envy ?) to see 

The Bread which the Father gave : % 



^ in the faith's broad day 

Kneeling — nor once, but at will — 
Take of that Bread our fill, 

Kone " sent empty away." 



How should we envy them t 
Yet as the grace the shame, 
If but in boast we claim 

The goodlier Bethlehem. 

3VKNT, 187I. 

WlkaralricnliaUloaor Bathtohon. t John vLas, 51, <s». 



X Ibid. r. ji. 



4ft8 



The Protestmnt RtUe ef Faith, 



THE PROTESTANT RULE OF FAITH* 



Dr. Hodge is an Old School Pres- 
byterian, and a sturdy opponent of 
what among Protestants is called the 
" New England theology." He is 
a man of learning and ability, and 
one of the most distinguished theolo- 
gians in the Presbyterian Church. If 
he has failed to reduce Protestantism 
to a system, complete, uniform, and 
coherent in all its parts, it is not his 
fault, but undeniably the fault of Pro- 
testantism itself, which is not all of 
a piece, which consists of fragments 
only of truth, with no genetic rela- 
tion one to another, or connecting 
links, and which no mortal man 
can mould into a systematic whole. 
What man can do with so untoward 
a subject Dr. Hodge has done, if we 
may judge from the volume before 
us, and, as far as our knowledge goes, 
his work is the least unsuccessful at- 
tempt to construct a complete and 
consistent system of Protestant theo- 
logy that has as yet been made. 

Neither our space nor our leisure 
pennits us to review the entire vol- 
ume, or to discuss the author's sys- 
tem in its several bearings; a better 
opportunity to do that will be pre- 
sented when we have the completed 
work before us, of which only the 
first volume has as yet been publish- 
ed. We shall confine ourselves for the 
present to a single question, namely, 
the Protestant rule of faith. The au- 
thor devotes the entire Chapter V. of 
his Introduction to the statement and 
refutation, as he understands it, of the 



* Sytttmmtic Tketlmgy. By ChfcrlcB Hodse, 
D.D.. Professor Id tbe Theological Seminary, 
PHnceton, N.J. Vol. I. N«w Vork:Scribaer 

A Co. itrt. 8ro, pp. 648. 



Catholic, or, as he says, the R( 
ist rule of faith ; but as his ofa^ 
to that rule and his supposed 1 
tion of it presuppose the tru 
Protestantism, and are of n 
count if the Protestant rule a 
is invalid or inadequate, we 
not stop to defend it, but are f 
pass at once to the examinat 
the Protestant rule which he o] 
to it. If that can be asserted and 
tained as a rule of faith, or aul 
for determining what is the fait 
has revealed and commanded 
believe, the Catholic rule is iod 
ble, or at least unnecessary. 

The author is not very dcs 
definite in his statement of tta 
testant rule of faith. He sa; 
i5o)> " All Protestants agi 
teaching that ' the Word of ( 
contained in the Scriptures * 
Old and New Testaments is th 
infallible rule of iaith and practi 
but from his assertion of the ri 
private judgment and several 
objections to the Catholic ni 
may, without danger of error 
the Protestant rule of faith to 
Scriptures of the Old and N« 
tamente, or the Bible interpret 
private judgment — that is, inter 
without any public or cathol 
thority — as the Protestant ruleo 
dard of faith. But this is rath 
denial than the assertion of 1 
because it presents no rule or 
dard to which private judj 
must conform in order to be 
thing but naked opinion. The 
even conceding its divine inq» 
and sufficiency, cannot be tb( 
or standard for privste jndgae 



Tkt ProUsiant Rule of Faith, 



489 



\ interpreted by private judg- 

j that would require private 

tt to judge what the faith is, 

\ has any rule by which to 

hat it is. The Protestant 

{confounds the rule of faith 

\ place of faith, and private 

^ with individual judgment. 

te judgment, the individual 

y uo objective rule or slan- 

I his judgment is purely sul>- 

»nd is worth nothing even 

^If; but an individual judg- 

tot necessarily private, for it 

by a rule or standard com- 

|1 men» what we call a pubhc 

Icrulc. A judgment dictJited 

or ihe reason which is 

10 all men and the liame in 

a private but a public judg- 

binds all men to whose 

it comes as much as it 

individual who renders it. 

^n against reason as well 

it faith. Men are bound 

their reason, the reason 

[to all men, in all questions 

>P (o reason or within its pro- 

^ are bound to do so in in- 

k the Bible so far as its intcr- 

[comes within the province of 

pd may abide by its deci- 

flcss overruled by a higher 

|— as the lawyer has tiie 

ftbtde by his own judgment 

paning of a statute, or as to 

lUw is, till the court decides 

fro; but private judgment is 

opinion, and binds nobody. 

odge holds that the Scrip- 

itain not all the revelation 

d his apostles made, but all 

w extant. But, even if so, 

ine only makes them the 

tith ; it tells where the faith 

what it Is. They may be 

un, but they cannot be the 

Btidart), nf faith. The rule 

y that which is necessary to 

to draw Ihe faith from the 



Scriptures, and determine that it is 
tlte faith God has revealed and com- 
manded us to believe as his word. 
The Protestant rule as given, then, is 
no rule of faith at all, and it is impos- 
sible to elicit by it an act of faith. 
The author is too ha.sty, then, in set- 
ting aside the Catholic rule on the 
authority of his Protestant rule, which, 
in order to be a rule, demands a ca- 
tholic rule of judgment, as he him- 
self virtually concedes (p. 127).^ 

Dr. Hodge makes it a grave ob- 
jection to the church that she does 
not allow private judgment as a rule 
of faith ; yet it is only as against the 
church or Catholics that he himself 
allows it. When his aim is to destroy 
Catliolic faith or to detach Catholics 
from their fidebly to the church, he 
asserts the unreslvicted ri^jht of private 
judgment ; but, when he wishes to 
build up faith or to estabhsh Protestant- 
ism as a positive doctrine, he restricts 
it, and conlines it to the regenerate. 
It is not every one who is free to 
interpret the faith or the Sciiptures 
according to his own private judg- 
ment; but only iliose who have Ifcn 
regenerated, and are enlightene<i and 
led by the Holy Ghost. But even 
this does not help him, fur he has no 
public or catholic rule by wluch tn 
determine who arc or who are not 
regenerated, and the inthviduat him- 
self has only his own private judg- 
ment by which tu test the spirits, and 
to determine whether the spirit by 
which he is led is the spirit of truth 
or the spirit of error. The blessed 
A[i05lle John tells us not to believe 
every spirit, but to try the spirits, for 
there are many false prophets gone 
out into the world. Now, what is 
wanted is an objective test or touch- 
stone of truth by which to try the 
spirits. This cannot be the subjec- 
tive leadings of the spirit, for they arc 
precisely what is to be tcsicil in or- 
der to determine that they are from 



490 



Tlu Pratestant RuU of Faitk, 



* 



God, and not from the enenay of 
souls taking the guise of an angel of 
Jight in order to deceive. The learn- 
ed professor, then, even wi'lh the re- 
p'Striclion of private judj^nicnt to the 
regenerate, and the assumption of the 
interior assistance and guidance of 
the Spirit, though contradicting him- 
self, gets no rule of faith, and has at 
best only the place of faith. 

The learned author is aware that 
the Bible inlerpreted by private judg- 
ment is no rule, at least no adequate 
rule, of faith, and so he seeks to supply 
its deficiency by tradition. He says, 
** I'rotcstants admit there has been 
a stream of traditionary teaching 
flowing through the Chrisiian church 
from the day of Pentecost to the pre- 
sent time. This tradition Is so far a 
rule of faith that nothing contrary 
to it can be true. Christians do not 
stand isolatcti, holding each his own 
creed. They constitute one body, 
having one creed. Protestants ad- 
mit that there is a common failh 
of the church, which no man is at 
liberie h ttyut, or ettn teject and he 
a Cifrhtian" (pp. 113, 114). This 
wouhl seem to makcthe Protestant rule 
not the Bible inter]>rcled by private 
judgment and private illumination, 
but the Bible interpreted by the tradi- 
tionary teaching of the church or the 
common faith of the Chrisiian body. 
This, if it meant anything, would be 
fatal to Protestantism. The author 
says {ttbi supra), " Christians constitute 
one bwiy with a common creed. 
Rejecting this creed, or any of its 
pans is the rejection of the fellow- 
ship of Christians, incompatible with 
the communion of saints or member- 
ship in [ofj the body of Christ." It is 
undeniable that the Catholic Church 
tnrluded at the epoch of the Refor- 
mation the whole Christian body, ex- 
ce]>t those cut off from that body as 
heretics and scliismatics ; and it is 
ettually undeniable that the Refor- 



mers or firct ProtcsUiUft 

what was then the creed of 
or at lea.«t tmportaot poiO ofi 
therefore, did reject w^hat o: 
too professor aaya **bo 
liberty to reject, and whidi 
can reject and be a Chn&tiai 
Reformers, then, were n 
teslants who held from 
and cannot be. (^ 

But thcauihoi . 
elusion by making the traditi .^ 
cedes mean nothing, or at lea^ 
ing tangible. When Protestant 
of the common consent of Chd 
he says (p. 1 15), ** they umlcnd 
Chrisrians the true people o( 
that is, •■ the truly regctierad 
men, the temples of the Hoty \ 
They understand not a publM 
na) organic body, but an ij 
and inorganic ix)dy of ba 
confined to no one ct.tcm-il cl 
nion. that is, men who Ulongil 
Catholic theologians call •• 
of the church." Yet even tin 
to Protestantism were, if 
whole body of Catholics, m 
tholic Church, and held 
more firmly than others, 
creed, or the very parts of ilJ 
Protestants reject as Ronum 01 
corruption. Even coikvUm 
restriction, the auth^ir 
be able to avoid the • 1 

Protestants do reject the 
creed of the true ]>eopte of 
these true people of Ciod, 
they might \)c, were incl 
visible Catholic Church, 
faith. But let this pass. 
Protestant lo ascertain 
people are ? Or how averts 
is their creed or common faitl 
does not determine it br tli< 
publicly professed by the «) 
or visible church in which, til 
conccaleit ? 

Here is a grave difficul 
graver than our Proii 



Tht Prcustant RuU of failk. 



49t 



imio reg.ird it The Scrip- 
intcq>rctcf! by unrej^cneratc 
hold*;, are no rule or crite- 
fuith; it is only tiic private 
:nl of the regenerate, of those 
led by the Spirit, that is to 
jC*l, and the common faith of 
, the true people of God, is 
Dr>', and the faith which no 
Bi reject in whole or in part 
a Christian. But vre cannot 
kirselves of their traditionary 
g or common consent as a 
faitJi, or for the interpretation 
pturc, unless we kuovi* who 
re. But, as they are not an 
1 visiUe public body, but an 
\ inorganic, and, so to speak, 
e body, we cannot know who 
without some rule or criterion 
:h we can distinguish them 
: ungodly, or from those who, 
;g to St. Augustine, arc in 
irch, but not 0/ the church. 
the difficulty. \Vc must have, 
the application of the Pro- 
Tule, another rule, a catholic 
which to determine and apply 
t cannot use the Protestant 
less we know what it is, and 
lOt know what it ts without 
nile for determining who arc 
people of God, the elect, 
t is their common creed, or 
teaching frum the day 
down to our times. 
professor has ncglec^ 
«is this antecedent rule. 
:h the one he gives us is no 
all. He gii'cs no mark or 
which we can rerognize the 
people of God, and we do 
kk he can ; for we do not be- 
lybody knows or will know 
ty arc till the List judgment, 
secrets of ail hearts will be 

U not do here to refer us to 
lie for the rule by whicli to 
thcra; for we must know 



them and their common faith in order 
to obiain our guide to the sense of 
the Bible. Wc cannot take the sense 
of the Bible to determine them, and 
then take them to determine the sense 
of the Bible. It will not do, again, 
to say they are ihcy who are led by 
the Spirit, for it is precisely those who 
are led by the Spirit that we wish to 
ascertain ; not will it do to appeal to 
religious ex]>erience, for it is only the 
religious exi>erience of the true peo- 
ple of God that can avail, ami that 
\wuld be referring us to the people 
of God to tell us who are the people 
of God. It would be to reason like 
the poor Anglican, who makes or- 
thodoxy the test of the church, and 
tlie church the test of orthodoxy. 
" Jack, where is the hoe ?" " VVid de 
harrow, massa." " Where is the har- 
row ?" " Will dc hoe, mass-i." The 
Protestant, in any case, gives no 
more satislaclory answer; for, with all 
his pretensions, he cnn only tdl us 
that the true faith is the faitli heldj 
and followed by the tnie people of] 
God, ami the true people of God 
arc they who hold oiid follow thfl 
true faith. 

The author, as we liavc seen, says: 
" When Protestants plead the com* 
mon consent of Christians — the com- 
mon faith of the Chrisnan body — 
tliey mean by Christians the true peo- 
ple of God. Romanists, on the oth- 
er hand," he continues, " moan the 
company of those who profess the 
true faith, and who are subject to llw ' 
Pope of koine. There is the great* I 
est difference between the authorityij 
due to the common faith of truly re^j 
generate, holy men, the temples of [ 
tJie Holy Ghost, and that due to wha 
a society of nominal Christians pro-] 
fess to believe, the great majority of " 
whom may be worldly, immoral, and^ 
irreligious." But where did the pro- 
fessor learn that the authority of the 
teaching ilepends on the |ier»onal 



492 



Tht Protestant Rttie of Faitk. 



virtue of the teacher? How does 
he kDow that they who recognize the 
authority of the Pope are only nomi- 
nal Christians ? or that the Pope is 
not led and assisted by the Spirit in 
his office of teacher of the universal 
church ? Nay, how does he know, 
or how can he prove to us or anybody 
else, that there are any of the true 
people of God among Protestants at 
all ? He must prove his rule of faith 
before proceeding to apply it. 

Dr. Hodge continues, on the same 
page (115) : "I'he common consent 
for which Protestants plead concerns 
only essential doctrines ; that is, doc- 
trines which enter into the very na- 
ture of Christianity as a religion, and 
which are necessary to its subjective 
existence in the heart, or which, if 
they do not enter essentially into the 
religious experience of believers, are 
so connected with vital doctrines and 
precepts as not to admit a separation 
from them." 

Here is the same difficulty again. 
What is the Protestant rule for dis- 
tinguishing among revealed doctrines 
those which are essential and those 
which are not essential ? Will the 
author tell us the essentials are 
those doctrines which all Protes- 
tants agree in teaching, and that 
those in which they do not agree in 
teaching are non-essentials ? But 
who are Protestants ? All those who 
agree in teaching the essentials? 
Where is the hoe ? With the harrow. 
Where is the harrow ? With the hoe. 
'l*his would be only to adopt the 
principle of poor Jack's replies to the 
questions of his master. 

But no. The essentials are " those 
doctrines which enter into the very 
nature of Christianity as a religion, 
and which are necessary to its subjec- 
tive existence in the heart." Hut 
how determine what these are, unless 
we know the very nature of Chris- 
tianity ? And how can we know or 



determine what is the very nati 
Christianity, unless we have a i 
standard of faith ? But the essi 
are those doctrines which " a 
cessary to its subjective existe 
the heart." What doctrines arc 1 
Have Protestants any obj 
rule for determining them ? 
professor gives none except the 
tures, which do not suffice, be 
as we have seen, the Scriptun 
the place, not the rule of faiti 
what we are seeking is the r 
authority for determining what 
faith they contain. Among \ 
tants there is a very great dii 
of views as to what is necess 
the subjective existence of relig 
the heart. Schleiermacher, i 
Discourses on lUiiffon^ addressed 
Cultivated amcng its I^spisers^ 
tains that only the sense of c 
dence is necessary to the subj 
existence of religion ; Twestt 
cited by the author, maintait 
same, and that in a subjective 
all religions are equally true, t1 
not equally pure ; some Prote 
place the essence of religion in 
rence; Dr. Channing seemed to 
it in philanthropy, or in a sec 
the dignity of man \ others in 
culture," in " self-worship " ; and 
tinguished Protestant minister 
tained to us, some years ago, 
pantheist, like Spinoza, or an a 
like Shelley, might not only be 
religious, but a good Christian, 
are thousands and thousands 
Protestant denominations whc 
tually at least, regard the subj 
existence of religion in the he 
nearly, if not totally, independi 
all objective doctrines or faith, 
is at least the tendency of m 
Evangelicalism, Bushnellism, £ 
erism, and from which even 01 
thor himself is not always free, 
makes, indeed, a brave fight foi 
matic theology or objective faiti 



Thi I^ottstant RaU of Faith. 



493 



sions to Whitfielilian and 
notions of religious cxpe- 
place him on the declivity 
rchgious subjectivism. All 
vc the Scriptures, and profcfs 
k ihcm for their rule of faiih 
Elice ; but it is evident from 
■ have said that tlie Scriptures 
»a sufticient rule by which to 
Be what are e^tsen t ials aiid 
)» not. What rule, then, have 
nts by which to make the dls- 



odge says, in refutation of 
(lie rule, which, by the way, 
not correctly slate : " Our 
promiHtng the Spirit to guide 
pie into the knowledge of 
teeesaary to their salvation, 
promise to preserve them 
br in subordinate matters, or 
them a supernatural know- 
if the orijaniiaiion of the 
ic number of the sacraments, 
iwer of bishops" (pp. 115, 
icn, on these matters, the 
ion of the church, the num- 
Sacraments, and the power 
Protestants have no pro- 
exemption from error, and 
is quite possible that they 
ting the Catholic doctrine 
lurch, of the hierarchy and 
icnts. But the professor's 
of the promise of our Lord 
ranted liy his own professed 
iC promise, as recorded by 
igelist^ is unlimited : ** But 
letc, the Holy f Jhost, whom 
rr will send in my n;ime, he 
you a/i things, and bring 
to your miud tvhalsofver I 
said lo you" (St. John siv. 
lis is explicit enough.* But, 
But he, the Spirit of truth, 
shall come, will leach you 
" (lA xvi. 13). Therefore, 
! 5.»id 10 his apostles, " Go 
leach all nations .... 
Vc all things whatsaerer I 



have commanded you, and behold, 
1 am witli you all days, even unto 
the consummation of the world" (St. 
Matt, xxviii. 19, 20). This is a oro- 
mise of guidance of the Spirit into 
all truth, and of exemption from er- 
ror, in anything which our Lord has 
said or commanded. 

If we were defending the Catholic 
rule, we should remind the author 
that this promise was made to the 
eccUiui dacem, and only through that 
to the ecclesia credens ; but, as wc are 
not defending the Catholic rule, we 
suffer him to apply it lo what he 
calls the true people of God. Yet, 
if he ar«'ei>ts the [jLiin declaration of 
our Lord himself as recorded in the 
Gospels, he has no aultiority for dis- 
tinguishing between essentials and 
non-esscniials in the rejvelation of 
God, and none at all for restricting 1 
the promise of spiritual guidance and 
a.ssisiance Ko a promise of preserva- 
tion from error only in certain fut>- 
damental truths of revelation. The 
author must cither give us the rule 
or authority on which he makes the 
distinction and limitation, or concede 
that he makes it by no rule, and, 
therefore, on no authority. 

Ur. Hodge tells us (p. 151) that 
** all Protestants agree in te.iching 
that the word of God, as contained 
in the Old and New Testaments, is 
the infallible rule of f^ith." Heshould 
have said some Protestants ; fur many 
who claim to be Protestants do not 
agree in leaching that. Will the pro- 
fessor say ih.it ihiise who do not so 
agree are not Protestant* ? By what 
authority ? By the authority of the 
Bible, interpreted by private judg- 
ment ? But they have the Bible and 
private juilgmcnt as well as he. or 
those who agree with him. Will he 
appeal to tradition ? But tradition 
taken as a whole condemns him as 
well as those who differ from him. 
Then he must discriminate in Iradi- 



494 



Tfu Proustant Rmie */ Fai<k, 



tioD between what is to be followed 
a.nd what is to be rejected. But this 
discrimination demands a rule o( 
jiidgmcnL But what rule can the 
author allege ? Private jurlgment ? 
But tlial is no rule, for private judg- 
ment is by its very definition a judg- 
ment without any rule or standard 
of judgment, and, besides, those who 
differ from him have private judg- 
ment, and theirs is worth as much as 
his. Will the author answer again — 
The tradition or common consent of 
ihc true people of God ? But who 
are they ? Here, then, we are back 
in the old difficulty. Protestantism 
moves always in a vicious circle; 
proving its rule by its faith, and its 
faith by its rule. We see no way by 
which it can get out of this circle. 
It is not only as a Catholic we have 
I felt this difficulty; we felt it as a 
Protestant, when we had the misfor- 
tune to be a Prrsbyterian, like our 
Icameil friend the Princeton profes- 
sor. 

Wc are sure the fault is not the 
professor's, for he doubtless sees that 
he moves only in a vicious circle as 
clearly as wc do, and no doubt 
would come out of it and move for- 
ward in a straight line, if he could. 
I'The fault is in Protestantism itself, 
' which is essentially illogical, and docs 
I not conform to the divine order or 
' the truth of things. The Reformers 
' themselves started without seeing 
whither tlwy were going, and without 
seeing that the Catholic system, parts 
of which they rejected, was a syste- 
matic whole, and that, if one part 
was retained, the whole must be re- 
tained, and, if one part was rejected, 
the whole must be rejected. This is 
what Moehlcr has so admirably 
shown in his Symbolik. But the Re- 
formers did not wish to rqect the 
, whole ; they wished to reject only a 
part, and in the beginning only a 
small part. 'I'hey wished to remain 




:w dot 

'■I 

;d Ml 



Cfttholica, mtinus one • 
and, after the cunclcmd 
thcr by Leo X, minus \t 
the Konian curia. Rut I 
driven onward farther thai 
tended^ and farther than i 
saw or were prepared U 
coostructed no rule of i 
hand, and adopted one 
exigencies of the Cd 
Catholics made one ne 
except on certain points, i 
tinucd using the old Catl 
Hence their Protesiancism i 
ed up with shreds of the ob 
eked out by such new dot 
were able to supply 
pressure of llic occa 
formed not all at oncCf 
piece. It was formed 
in the struggle to maintJi 
selves against their Catholic 
ries, and to retain as mucl 
had always been the faith^ 
dom U.S was possible in fl[ 
they assumed. In fonaiB| 
were much more inteni on \ 
ing what our professor calls • 
ism " than on laying a soli( 
tion for a Protestant &ut>cM 
Jlic simple fact is, ih^ 
movement could find nJV 
dation except in pure raJ 
or, rather, in pure individ« 
which every man t^ his o«] 
his own rule of faith, 
antl his own God — a coo 
which Luther and Calvii 
recoiled with horror, 
Hodge to-day. The : 
not see, for they were, z^ 
antK are, sa<l li>giciansj 
of religion, whither 
tended, nor dream that ' 
would be called on to ah 
religion rests on n aolid 
or a bottom of its ol 
tive of any relation to 
Church, and when theyi 
that it is something 



Tiu Prptcstatti KuU of Faith. 



49» 



ist the Church of Kume. 
JDUght they could throw off 
id a few dogmas, and still 
le Chrisriftn behevers. In 
were deceived ; for they 
little lor Christianity and 
for it5 full denial. They 
certain positive Christian 
but they had no authority 
except the Catholic autho- 
h they madly rejected. 
hen wc press them for the 
on which they assert these 
they fall into the vicious 
which we find them for ever 
and from which not even 
ge can relieve them, 
thor says (p. 104), " Roman- 
with Protestants in teach- 
plcnary inspiration and con- 
iiUkUible authority of the 
itings." But this is a mis- 
Cathohcs do not agree with 
nis, but some Protestants — 
aeans all Protestants — a^ree 
r chturch in maintaining the 
doctrine of the " plenary' 
tm and consequent infalhblc 
w of the sacred writings." It 
fa Catholic doctrine retained 
IReformcrs from the church, 
ftught it nearly fourteen hun- 
us before Protestantism Mas 
rbe able and learned profcs- 
are sorry to observe, t'orgtts 
} church is some centuries 
lin the oldciit Protestant sect, 
t fotmdcrs of Protestantism 
been reared in her comrou- 
d Kparated from her. Pro- 
have undeniably no histori- 
teciion with our Lord and his 
t save through the Catholic 
lOr the church in communion 
e See of Rome. Whatever 
a Protestants hold that the 
always held and taught are 
I' • \ and it is a grave 

lid tliat they are Pro- 
locirmes. Protestantism con- 



sists essentially and solely in those 
things which distinguish it from Ca- 
tholicity, or in what is peculiar to it 
and constitutes its diff€rtniUi—'\n what 
it denies that the church asserts, and 
it asserts that she denies. If they 
have stolen some of her docuines, 
that does not make them any the less 
heig by right, nor give them the 
right to appropriate them as their 
own. There is not a single doctrine 
which Protestants profess to hold — 
which she teaches, and always has 
taught — to which they, as Protest- 
ants, have any title, or which they can 
prove to be revealed truth indepen- 
dently of her testimony and autho- 
rity. It is disregarding this truth that 
gives to Protestantism the appearance 
of being a religion. 

Wc return to the word of God as 
contained in the Old and New Tc&- 
tamcnts. llefore the author can assert 
the Scriptures as the infallible rule of 
faith, he must settle, first, the canon ; 
second, the plenary inspiratioa of 
the Scriptures ; third, the complete- 
ness or sufficiency of the Scriptures; 
an^, fourth, the true sense of the 
Scriptures. Now, not one of these 
points is it possible for a Protestant 
to settle independently of the witness 
and authority of the Catholic Church, 
and Dr. Hodge confirms our asser- 
tion by his manifest failure to settle 
any one of them on Protestant 
grounds. They arc all questions of 
^ith, and not one of them can be 
settled prior to or without the rule 
of faith; and yet on Protestant 
gro\mds they must all be sctUcd be- 
fore the rule of fajili can be ascer- 
tained antl .ipplied. 

Protestants exclude from the canon 
of the Old Testament several books 
called by some the Dcuiero canoni- 
cal books, which arc included in it by 
the Catholic Church, and even the 
schismatic churches of the East, aitd 
they are far from being agreed among 



496 



Tkt Proitsiant Rule of Faith. 



, themselves as to what books are or 
I aic not canamcal. Sorac would ex- 
Iclude the Book of Ruth anil the 
ICaiiticlc. As 10 liic New 'I'esta- 
[cnent, Luther had doubts, if our 
[TvaOiiig or memory be not at fault, 
I of the Epistle to the Hebrews, and 
that of bL Jude, and rejected the 
Epibtle of St. James, which he cotfcd 
Lan epislle of straw, probably because 
Fit flatly contradicts his doctrine of 
justification by faith alone; others 
have doubted the canonicity of these, 
and, in addition, of the Apocalypse, 
the second Episile of St. Peter, the 
second and third of St. John, and 
that of St. Paul to Philemon ; others 
still reject the Gospel according to 
St. John, and indeed the whole New 
Tesiamciil, except Uic Synoptics — 
and the.se, while they admit them as 
authentic, ihey deny to be inspired. 
The Princeton professor may deny 
these to be Protestants, but they have 
zs good a right to exclude froni the 
lanon such books as they judge pro- 
j>er as had Luther and Calviu ; and 
there is no rule by which he can 
make out that he is a Protestant that 
will not equally sen-e to prove (hat 
they are Protestants. The only rule 
available is Catholic tradition, and 
that condemns him as well as them. 
The professor does not rely on the 
authority of the Synagogue, though 
he adduces it, to settle the canon of 
the Old Testament, for that would 
l)e anti-Protestant; but attempts to 
settle it by the auiliority of the New 
Testament. Such books as he finds 
a text quotcit from by our Lord or 
his apostles he assumes to be canoni- 
cal and inspired ; but such as he 
does not find thus quoted from, he 
rejects from the canon. But this is 
not conclusive, for the author con- 
cedes that our Lord and his apostles 
said many things that are not record- 
ed in the New Testament, and how- 
does he know that iu those many 




unrecorded discourses the boob 
which he rejects as uacanonical, ud 
which Catholics hold to be caoooh 
cal, were not quotnl ? Tlien, by whs 
authority does he pretend that a citft- 
tion of a text irom a book proves lite 
book to be canonical or the whnte 
book to be inspired ? Sc Paul, it 
Athens, cites the Greek poet Aniu, 
and in his Epistle to the Hctens 
he manifestly adujRs a phrase mA 
a sentiment from PUto's /itpu^t 
must we therefore conclude thAtthr 
poems of Arrian and Plato's /iefxiSt 
are canonical, and Arrian and PUlo 
to be included in the list of dirtndf 
inspired writers ? Has the profeodi 
any assertion of our Lord or of ; 
writer in the New Testament thiL 
Jewish or ally other book cited 
him or by his apostles is case 
and divinely inspired ? Certain 
not. St. P.iul says in hnt wftxrf 
Epistle to Timothy, "Ai; 
divinely inspired is profit. i 
but he docs not say what ScTip 
are or are not divinely inspired! 

Then, again, as to the .New Te 
ment. the author concedes that, da 
ing the first century and later, 
canon of ihe New Tc:iian>cttt 
uncertain. It, then, was not 
by our Lord or his apostles 
selves. On what authonfy, 
was it settled ? Manifestly only i 
the authority of the church, that ii.' 
of popes and council>. But oat 
Princeton professor denies the «> 
riiy of popes and councib ; dcni^ 
the infallibility of the church; 
he denies that the church, Catbo 
or Protestant, has any trashing 
ihority, fallible or r 
canon neither of the N 
nor of the Old is settled^ then.bjrJ 
infallible rule or auUiority. 
then, can the professor m» 
Protestants have, in the Scr 
an infallible rule of favth ? 1^0 
lible rule suffices for inioUibk fintb.1 



The IhoUstitnt RhU of Faith. 



m 



ntcstants are unable, without 
Kvity of the church or tradi- 
lettle the canon, so arc they 

tihout the same authority, 
nine what books are or are 
ady inspired. I'he author 

that it suffices to prove that 
:crs were messengers from 
;l commissioned to speak or 
his name. But that cannot 
'cd unless they accredited 
es as such by their miracles, 
even then, unless the niira- 
attested to us by a compe- 
, credible witness of them. 
what, for Protestants, is that 

The Record ! But the re- 
ly have been forged or inter- 
and must, before it can he 

as evidence, be authenii- 
How can the Protestant au- 
M^l^ except by showing that 
Hkb careftilly and vigilantly 
from the first (ill now by an 
keeper with whom it was de- 
Deny the church as the 
ry of the record, as the Pro- 
3oes, and there is no certain 
rf" auiheniicalitig the reconl, 
1 none of authenticating the 
; then none of establishing 
of the divine commission of 
led wrilcni, and consequently 

proving the divine inspira- 
,hc sarreil writing?, since ia- 
I is a supernatural fact, 
id it ever occur to our Icam- 
issor tfiat he has, in order to 
he in5piraiion of the Scrii)- 
it only to take the authority 
church for so much, but to 
before he can allege the 
y of the Scriptures, all the 

has to prove, in ortler to 
he divine authority and in- 

of the church ? He must 

X our Lord and his apostles 

te by divine authority, 

all the Cailiolic has to 

Id cither case, the authority, 

XIV.— NO. 32 



whether of the church or of llw 
Bible, turns on the fact of the divine 
commission, which the Protestant 
must prove in the very outset as well 
as the Catholic, and which he can- 
not prove if he rejects t!ie testimony 
of the church as the contemporary 
and living witness of the facts. The 
church, having been founded by and 
grown out of that commission, and 
continuing without interruption from 
tlie apostles down to us. Is herself the 
living witness of the facts which 
prove the commission. She authenti- 
cates the record ; but the Protestant 
has, in addition to authenticating the 
record which proves the commission, 
to establish the genuineness, integri- 
ty, and authenticity of the sacred 
writings before he can infer their 
divine inspiration and infallible au- 
tljority, 01 use them as a rule of faith, 
and not even then unless their wri- 
ters expressly declare them to be 
inspired, for it is possible for divinely 
commissioned men to write at times 
on matters not covered by their com- 
mission. 

But wc arc not yet through with the 
Protestant's difficulties, if he is to pro- 
ceed independently of Catholic tradi- 
tion. Supposmg him to have proved 
all this, he still has to prove the com- 
pleteness or Ruffjciency of the Scrip- 
lures. Dr. liodge does not pretend 
that the Scriptures contain all tlic 
revelations made by our Lord to his 
apostles, but only what is now ex- 
tant. " Ii is not denied,'* he says 
(pp. 1S2, 183), " that there may have 
been, and probably were, books writ- 
ten by inspired men which are no 
longer in existence. Much less is it 
denied that Clirist and his apostles 
delivered many discourses which were 
not recordetl, and which, could they 
now be known, would be of equal au- 
thority with the books now regarded 
as canonical,** But how does he 
know that these discourses or the 



498 



The Protestant Rule of Faith. 



instructions they contained are now 
lost, or that they are not preserved 
and as well-known and authenticated 
in the traditions of the church as the 
canonical books themselves? Fur- 
thermore, how does he know that it 
is not precisely in these discourses 
which were not recorded that is to be 
found the key to the sense of those 
which were recorded? The church 
has always so held and taught ; in- 
deed, the author himself concedes that, 
^t the first, the whole revealed word, 
whether written or unwritten, went by 
the name of the tradition, and the 
written tradition was not distinguish- 
ed from the unwritten. He says : 

" In the early church, the word [tradi- 
tion] was used in this wide sense. Ap- 
peal was constantly made to the tradi- 
tions, that is, the instructions the church- 
es had received. It was only certain 
churches at first that received any of the 
written instructions of the apostles. And 
it was not till the end of the first century 
that the writings of the Evangelists and 
apostles were collected and formed into 
a canon or rule of faitli. And when the 
books of the New Testament had been 
collccled, the fathers spoke of them as 
containing; the ' tiaditions,' that is, the 
instructions derived from Clirist and his 
apostles. . . . In that age of the church, 
the distinction between tlie written and 
unwritten word had not yet been dis- 
tinctly made. But as controversies arose 
and disputants on both sides of all ques- 
tions appealed to 'tradition,' that is, to 
what they had been taught ; and when it 
was found that these traditions diflfercd, 
one church saying their teachers always 
taught ihcm one thing, and another that 
theirs li:i(I t.iught them its opposite, it 
was felt th.1t there should be some au- 
thoritative sLindard. Ilcncc the wisest 
and best of the fathers [who were they ?J 
insisted on abiding by the written word, 
and receiving notliing as authoritative 
not contained therein. In this, how- 
ever, it must be confessed, they [the 
wisest and the best of the fathers] were 
not always consistent. Whenever pre- 
scription, usage, or conviction founded 
on unwritten evidence was available 
against an adversary, they did not hesi- 



tate to make use of It. Durln 
€ariy eeniuries, therefore, the dj 
between Scripture and Iraditioi 
so sharply drawa as it has been 
controversies between Romaa 
Protestants, and especially s 
decisions of the Council of Trc 
108, 109X 

There are several inaccur 
this passage. In the caily 
the church, when controveni 
and contradictory traditions 
leged, appeal was not made 
written word, but to the c 
founded by St. Peter, or by hi 
diate authority, that is, to i 
Alexandria, or Rome, or to 
cil, provincial, plenary, or oe 
cal, as can hardly be unknow 
learned a theological scholar 
Hodge.* fiut two facts are a 
in the passage : first, that the 
for a hundred years or more ti 
unwritten tradition or the 
structions of its pastors as its 
faith; and, second, that the 
and the unwritten traditions 
word were deemed of equal a 
by the wisest and best of the 
and were not 4s to their a 
distinguished, at least not 
distinguished, before the rise 
testantism. The professor, tht 
prove that the whole chui 
wrong prior to Luther in rect 
the authority of the unwritte 



* ir the wrlttea word hsd been rq 
the sufficient aad only rule of Uilh. t£ 
have been no occasion to appeml to 
churches or to councils to ueertaia 
i;elical or apostolical traditions. It « 
been simpler to appeal to the writtean 
The reason of the couadl. u its par 
to collect by the testimony of the pas 
several churches what was the traditio 
handed over to each by its apcstolk 
and which it had preserved. By ta 
thus by the testimony of each the 
commnn to them all, the cootrovenj 
tied. Thefrequency of couDcilsla the 
proves that during those ages, at leaM, 
did not adopt the Protestuit rule of 
thit they were by no means Protest 
pretence of the Rerormera tliat the) 
storing primitive Christiaoitr, pcta 
and usage, is to be taken as ■ prctenn 



Tfkt ProUstaitt Rule of Faith. 



499 



he can assert that the 
'5 contain all of the revealed 
tant, or maintain ihe com- 
or sufficiency of the Scrip- 
the rule of faith. How will 
.it, after conceding that they 
contain the whole revelation 
as made, nor even the whole 
t in the opinion of the church 
great body of Christians prior 
rise of Protestantism ? Does 
itten word anywhere declare 
B completeness or sufficiency, 
ftt the portions not recorded 
BO importance ? 
ihc dilTituities of Protestatit- 
not end even here. The Bi- 
iio rule of faith except in its 
use, or as rightly interpreted 
ng to the meaning of the 
jhost. The autlior says (p, 
'The Bibk is a plain book. It 
Higible by the people. .And 
ive the right and are bound 
and interpret it for themselves, 
t their faith may rest on the 
my of the Scriptures, and not 
X of the church. Such is the 
c of Protestants on this sub- 
is it true ? If 50, how hap- 
t tliat among Protestants we 
irdly find two, when left to 
Ives, without any parental or 
ll instruction, who agree in 
mcrprctaiion of the written 
|}r as to tJie doctrines to be dc- 
froin it ? Yet the author him- 
I hardly believe what he asserts 
he Protestant doctrine on the 
is true. " It is not denied," 
b (pp. 183, 184). "llut the 
n^ contain many things that 
:d to be understood ; that they 
1 diligent study ; that all men 
ic guidance of the Holy Spirit 
jjbl knowleiige and true faith. 
I d).it in all things 
t.' un they arc suffi* 

plam to be understood even 



by the unlearned." What! even by 
those who are unable lo understand 
a word of the language in which the 
Scripiures were written, and must de 
pend on tlie fidelity of transIaUon& 
made by fallible men, and vouched 
for by no infallible authority ? By 
those who do not know how to read 
at ail in any language ? Then how 
does the professor know what things 
arc or arc not neccssar)' lo salvation ? 
That the things necessary to the right 
apprehension of the mysteries of the^ 
faith are not contained in those ver| 
parts of Scripture which are hard tol 
be understood, or that ihc prope 
explanation of those parts is not ne^l 
ccssary to the proper understanding;! 
of the other p;irts, which he judge 
to lie intelligible even to the unlearn-| 
cd ? The author here must cilhe 
borrow from the Catholic rule, whicl] 
condemns his Protestantism, or else' 
admit that he has no satisfactory an- 
swer to give lo these and kindred 
questions. 

But all these questions are quitcj 
unnecessary, far the author obliging"! 
ly refutes his own rule of faith, and 
acknowledges that the Scrii>lurcs in- 
terpreted by private judgment or by 
human reason itself arc not sufticicni 
to give a " right knowledge of the 
true faith." Neither learning nor 
diligent study, nor the perspicuity of 
Scripture, suffices; for "all men." he 
says, '* need the guidance of the Holy 
Spirit in order to a right knowledge 
of the true faith." This is conclusive 
against the Protestant rule, and con- 
fesses that no man cm arrive at the 
knowledge of the true faith without 
the supernatural assistance of the 
Holy Spirit. Let us hear no more, 
then, of the Scriptures interpreted by 
private judgment, or of the ability or 
the right of every mdividual lo read 
and iuterprei the Scriptures for him- 
self an<! to form lirum them his own 
crectl. 



Tht ProUstatU RhU of FaUk, 



• 



It is worthy of remark here that 
our Protesiaat professor is obliged 
throughout lo adopt tiic principle of 
the Catholic rule of faith, only he 
applies it differently. The Catholic 
.t&scrts the infallibility of the Pope 
in mattcni of faith and morals by 
virtue of the assistance or guidance 
of the Holy Spirit; the ProtesUnt 
professor claims the sarac infjllibihlv, 
by virtue of the same supernatural 
assistance, ^or each one of liic people 
of God taken individually. But llic 
Pope is a public personage, all the 
world knows or may know who he 
t$, and can recur to him, and, suppos- 
ing him to \>Q assisted as claimed, all 
the world may know from him the 
true faith; but in the Protestant 
sense there is no public means of 
knowing who the people of God arc, 
and, consequently, no public means 
of knoyving what the Spirit teaches, 
or whom he guiilcs or assists to a 
knowledge of the true faith, since he 
guides or assists only private indivi- 
duals, not a public personage or a 
public body. It can be no public 
rule of faith, and, as we have shown, 
none for the individual himself, fur 
he has no objective and independent 
rule for determining whether the spi- 
rit that leads him is the spirit of truth 
or the spirit of errnr. 'I'hc profes- 
sor has refuted his own doctrine 
in his refutation of the Quaker 
rule of faith. The interior illumina- 
tion, he asserts, is private, and can be 
brought to no public or catholic test. 
Not the church, both because the 
cJiurch the Protestant recognizes is 
invisible, and recognizable by no ex- 
ternal marks or notes, and because 
the church, according to him, has no 
teaching authority or faculty. Not 
to the Scriptures, because it is the 
test of the right understanding of 
them th.nt is required, and to lake 
tlicm as the 'cM of this is to reason 
ta a vicious circle. 



Protestants, historioUlj^ m 

ed, arrived at their nUe 

Protestantism, not at Protes 

through the application of ih 

and the fact is, they cumi 

caily assert their rule rill thi 

proved or obtained *Hundt th( 

testiintism. They are obli 

prove their Protestantism in t 

prove their rule, and they mu» 

their rule iu order lo prove t 

testanrism. This is a grave 

nicnce. But, assuming witbo 

tiat the Scriptures are ibe 

and only rule of faith, r*^ 

against undeniable : jj 

Bible is a plain book, and luu- 

to the people, lo even the uni 

OS it should be if intended 

divine Author Co lie the m 

and only rule of faith. The 

their conclusion untcn 

dify their statement, yj 

their conclusion is true a& tu aII 

necessary to salvation. But< 

ing no agreement among Proti 

thenxselvcs who uke the Bible 

suQicient and only rule of I 

to what things arc necessary to 

tiyii, they divide. One class dl 

more or less distinctly ih.il no 

tive faith is necessary to stl 

and another class, in which U it 

cd our author, asserts, while 

laining the right of piivatc judj 

the private illuminaliiut of ihc 

Ghost as the rule for interprctii 

Scriptures, apparently not pcre 

ihat they are in flagrant coid 

tion with themselves. 

The professor ohjei ■ 
tradition as the rule of 
not adapted to that pu: 
of faith to the people i::- 
thing they can apply; a standj 
which they can judge. Bat 
written tradition i» not C€»i 
any one volume 
people and inicii ,_ 
This were a valid oby< 



Tht Protestant RuU of Faith. 



n 



ltd to s^k through all histo- 
id and verify the tradition ; 
iO objection at all. if we sup- 
1 infaliible teacher, always 

who preserves and applies 
licina for the people. But 
Protestant escape his own 
by rejecting all unu'ritten 
I, and making the Bible olune 

of faith, which is at least as 
■gible 10 the people as is un- 
traditioD explained and ap- 

' duly authorized preacliers 

ord? 
the Bible ought, on Protestant 

> to be a plain book, inter* 
itscif to every person of ordi- 
isc, or who has enough sense 

moral agent, we concede, 
itcstants should actually dc- 
r docinncs from it. But no- 
lows better than our author 
thcr is a fact He knows that 
estant people, however much 
y read and praise the Bible, 
Linn their own opinions from 
oni their pastors or teachers, 
iomraunity in which they are 

up. He knows, also, that 
>lc could never of themselves 
vcn the doctrines which he 
essential and necessary 
_ from reading the Bible 
Unitarians and Universalists 
at the Bible teaches them, 

people, a$ a matter of fact, 
m from the tradition of their 
d at best only find confir- 
of ihcm in the Scriptures ; 

such are the exigencies of 
ntism that the ablest and 
■med Protestant professors 
;cd, in the face of these farts, 

with ChiUingworth, " The 
\t Bible alone, is the religion 
Slants." 

I'rotestants should bear in 
flt Catholics have the Bible 

s they — had it ages before 

tisra wa^i ever heard of, 



and that it Was from Catholics 
that they obtained it — strictly speak- 
ing, fi-om the church stole it. How", ' 
then, can it be their religion any' 
more than it is the religion of Catho« 
lies ? Catholics, if they have not 
admitted it to contain the whole re* 
vcalcd word, have always held it, be- 
fore Protestantism and since, to be di- 
vinely inspired, and. as far as it goes, 
the infallible word of CJod. They have 
always held that all Christians are 
bound to believe whatever it teaches, 
and forbidden to believe anything 
that contradicts it. This is all that 
Protestantism can really say. The 
church contends that in no respect 
does her doctrine conflict with the 
written word, and is in most respects, 
if not in all, positively sustained by it. 
Suppose her as fallible as Protestants 
confess themselves to be, what can 
Protestants have in the Bible that 
Catholics have not ? or what have 
ihcy from any source that can over- 
ride the Catholic uiulcrsLinding of 
the Scriptures, or authorize them to 
say that it is a misunderstanding ? 
Catholics may have more than Pro- 
testants, but in no case have tJiey of 
can they have less. By what rule or 
standard, then, do Protestants judge 
the Catholic understanding of the 
Scriptures to be false ami tho Pro- 
testant understanding to be true ? 
Private judgment is no rule, and, if it 
were, Catholics have private judg- 
ment as well as Protestants : they 
have, too, reason, Biblical, hisiorical, 
and all other sorts of learning, as 
well as they, and, at least, in as emi- 
nent a degree. By what rule or stan- 
dard of judgment, then, is Protestant- 
ism to he pronounced more Biblical 
than is Carholicily ? 

The professor says : " The people 
liave the right of private judgment, 
and are bound to read and in- 
terpret the Bible for themselves.** 
In maitcrs left lo private judgment, 



<;03 



The Protestant Rule of Faith. 



in regard to which Ihcre is no public 
or catholic rule, lie it so. But, when 
the people have a public or catholic 
rule, they arc bound to judge by it, and 
be right of private judgment censes. 
'Protestants cither have such a rule 
or they have not. If they lidve, they 
«re bound to judge by it, and have 
no right of private judgment in the 
case. If thpy have not these, they 
have no rule or standard by which 
to judge, no rule of faith, and that 
encb the matter. We beg the pro- 
[fesflor to understand that nil this 
rrotcstant rationalistic talk about pri- 
' vatc judgment is mere moonshine. 
He may allon- it against what he 
calls " Romanism," but he by no 
means allows it against what he holds 
to be the word of God. As for the 
k people being bound to read or inter- 
pret the Bible for themselves, it is 
sufticieut to ask what would become 
of llie professor's own vocation if it 
were so ? Were the |>eople who 
lived before the New Testament was 
written, or it.*; several books collected 
into a volume as the rule of faith, 
bound to read and understand it for 
Ihemsclvcs ? Arc those bound to 
read or interpret the Bible for them- 
selves who know not even how to 
read ? These are reckoned to be at 
least oinctecn-twentielhs of mankind ; 
I shall they receive no religious in- 
structions till they have Icarnetl to 
read? What shall we say of those 
who — and ihey are the bulk of man- 
kind — (obliged to toil incessantly to 
sustain their bodily existence, have 
DO time to learn lo read, much less 
to study diligently the sacred Scrip- 
tures, even if they coidd read ? What 
are wc to say of children who arc too 
young to read and understand the 
Bible for tlicmsclves, and yet are old 
enough 10 sin ? Can these all be 
.aved without the knowledge of the 
•uth ? ur are they excluded by an 
mexorable decree and no fault of their 



own from salvation ? 
Protestants, «hateicr the fi;^ 
may make about the Srriptu 
private judgment, adopt, m | 
as their rule of faith, the Biblj 
preted by the learned, or tho 
hold to be learned, the 
DoUinger would force the d^ 
adopt. Catholics arc not n^ 
pendent on the church ihan \ 
ants are on their pastors, 
their doctors cannot agree 
themselves, they have no if 
but to divide with their doctd 
divide they do, each division fa 
its favorite doctor, and founda 
him a new sect, which allows; 
vate judgment against itselCl 
Unitarians, who believe hatfT 
thing, tolerate private judgtnd 
when it makes for thcni* and i 
tolerant of those who deny i 
they hold to be essential aai 
or New School PrcsbytcriaJ 
worst of it is that, while I'rol 
yield a slavish submission \ 
ministers, they deny that theij 
ten have any authority fro( 
cither to teach or to govcrl 
and, like the old carnal Jei^ 
that they arc free and in 
no man. The mctst deg 
debasing slavery into which { 
can be [>lunged is that of 1 
to their favorite ministci; 
be that of the heathen 
or false gotls. 

But we are exceeding o« 
We have said enough, we 
show that Protestants havw ; 
pendent rule of faith — inde 
of the Catholic Church, we 
In so far as they hold Christi^ 
or positive faith at all, tbcyi 
on the authority of the Catlvdj 
which theyrejer.t; and wbco4 
of what they stole from tiSr| 
which they have no • ^ 

nothing to prevent ' ■■■ . mj 
ning into pure ralti 



Dante s Pur gator io. 



503 



band, or into mysticism and 
sccndenialism on (Jie other. The 
ns of both were in the original 
icstant movement, and may be 
Ijr detected even in our Princeton 
essor. Into one or the other he 
t run, if he ever gets out of the 



vicious circle in which Protestantism, 

pretending to be Christian, necessarily 
gyrates, unless the grace of God re- 
litrves him and enables him to return 
to the bosom of the Catholic Church. 
where alone he will find true freedom 
and truth in iiii unity and integrity. 



DANTE'S PURGATORIO. 



CAKTO SECOND. 

hk CaqLo ci the Ptn-ptUri^ is the one which coaUieis that c^ilssja t4 the muslc-mutrr, 

k, to wbkk MUtOB ^udc« In hti c«leb(«le<l Sonnet to Manry l^vrtc, snd perlups all the mora 

nttd from xt>\% allutton 10 the pusragc ia Diuitc. 

uelU was » dear UXend of Dante'i, ami M\cd 10 act his eamMni to nutlc, and ftlnfc them witfe 

W which it mutt hare been delkious for Danl« to have made Immortal, Danio Aup|>otc^ In tho 

IhatCascUa hatl fone to Komo la the year uf the Jut>ilec, and, comlD]£ thence X>y seK, hkd 

led ttcu the mouth ul the Tiber. 

or C«ato 1. of this tmulatloo, i«e Catkouc Woklo for N*ovamb«r, 1870 



Now that horizon whose meridian arch 

Hangs o'er Jerusalem its topmost lieight 
The sun had reached : while opposite, her march 

Holding in countercoun=e, the circling Night 
Walked forth from Ganges, bearing in her hand 

The Scales that she lets fall with her advance, 
So thai the morning's cheeks where 1 did stand 

From white and red grew orange to my glance. 

Beside the sea we made a brief delay. 

Like lingering men, that on their journey dream, 
Who go in spirit, but in body stay : 

And lo ! as when, surprised by morning's beam, 
Through the gross vapors Mars doth redly burn 

Down in the west upon the ocean floor ; 
A light appeared — oli ! may that light return — 

So rapidly those waters travelling o'er, 
That to its motion flying were but slow: 

Then, having momently withdrawn my gaze 
To question of my Guide, I looked, and lo I 

Larger it burned, and seeined almost ablaze \ 
Soon from each side thcreofj although I knew 

Naught what they were, something appeared of white. 
And underneath another of like hue 

Little by little grew upon my sight 



504 Dante s Purgatorh* 

My Master spake not : I meantime could spell 

Wings in those first white objects at the side : 
Soon as he recognized the pilot well, 
" Behold God's Angel I— bend thy knees 1" he cried : 
" Lift up thy palms to him — now in thy ken 

See one of heaven's high ministers indeed 1 
Look, how he scometh all device of men ; 

He nor of oars nor any sail hath need 
Save his own pinions (while he beats the air 

And heavenward stretches those eternal pens). 
From shore to shore so distant — plumes that ne'er 

Moult like the changing tresses that are men's." 



Then as more near and nearer to us drew 

That divine bird, so grew the splendor more 
Till scarce the eye could bear a closer view : 

I bent mine down, and he arrived ashore 
With a fleet skiff, so light upon the flood 

That without wake it skimmed the water's breast : 
High on the stem the heavenly helmsman stood, 

In aspect such as Holy Writ calls Blest 
More than an hundred spirits in one band 

Within sat blending in one voice their strains, 
" In exitu Israel — From the land 

Of Egypt " — and what else that psalm contains.t 



The sign of holy cross he made them then. 

Whereat they bounded all upon the strand. 
And he, swift as he came, sped back again. 

The crowd that stayed looked wildly round, and scan 
The place like strangers coming to things new. 

Now on all sides had Phoebus pierced the day 
With his keen arrows, which so fiercely flew 

That Capricorn was chased from heaven's midway. 
When the new-comers raised their brows to us. 

Saying : " Show us the pathway, if ye know. 
Up to the mountain." Virgil answered thus : 

" Perchance you think us dwellers here ? Not so. 
We, like yourselves, are only pilgrims here : 

Just before you, and by another way. 
We came, a road so rugged, so severe, 

That climbing this will seem thereto as play. 
The spirits, by my breathing who could guess 

That I was living, wan with wonder grew ; 
And just as people round a herald press 

Who comes with olive wreaths, to hear what new 

* " Blessed are the pure ia heart : for ther shftll see God." 
t PsKlin ciiT. 



Dante s Purgatorio. 

Tidings he bears, regardless how ihey tread, 
Thus gathering round, tliose favored souls eyed me ; 

Each one, as 'twere, forgetful how he sped 
Towards where ihey go, more beautiful to be. 

One I beheld before the rest, who came 

As to embrace me, with such look intense 
Of love, it fnovcd me to return the same. 

Oh ! save in aspect, shadows void of sense, 
Three times my hands around his form I threw, 

And thrice received them back upon my breast 
I think my face was tinged with wonder's hue; 

For the shade smiled as after him I pressed, 
And, I still following, he so sweetly said : 

'* Follow no longer;" whose that voice must be 
I knew full well, and begged him, ere he fled, 

To stay a little while to speak with me. 

He answered me : "As in my mortal part 

I loved thee once, I love thee loose from clay, 
And therefore stop ; but thou — why wandering art ?** 

" My dear Casella, I come not to slay, 
And must return where I am dwelling slill. 

But tell me what has so delayed thy bliss ?" 
" If he who taketh whom and when he will 

Refused my passage oft, no wrong was this," 
The shade replied: " To Heaven's his choice conforms: 

These three months freely he hath carried o'er. 
At their own pleasure, the peace-parted swarms; 

Whence I, too, coasting homeward by the shore, 
Where Tiber's waves grow salt, with gracious hand 

Was gathered. Tithcrward he now has gone, 
Bending his pinions towards the sacred strand 

Where all those meet who seek not Acheron." 

Then I : " Unless the new laws here forbid 

Memory or use of that love-laden style 
Which all my longings oikc full gently chid, 

Soothe with one song, l>eseech thee, for awhile 
This soul of mine, which, dragging here its clay, 

Is so worn out." Directly he began 
** Lave reasons with ine^" in so sweet a way 

That the same sweetness I coukl hear— I can. 
We stood, my Master and myself, as though 

Naught else possessed us, and that shadowy swarm. 
Rapt, listening round him to his notes : and lo I 

That noble old man's venerable form • 



•Tbcv1riiorCftMorUUcaL,lmn>diic«dlDtho Tint Cuw. 



5o6 The Late General Convention of the 

Came crying : " How now, tardy spirits — why 
This negligence ? why lingering do ye plod ? 

Run to the mountain, that from every eye 
The scales may fail that seal your sight from God." 

As doves in barley, gathering grain or tares 

(Busy at pasture in a single flock, 
Quiet, nor showing their accustomed airs). 

If aught approach the timid tribe to shock, 
Fly from their food, assailed by greater care, 

So quit the song this new-come troop, and started 
Hillward, like one who goes unknowing where : 

And with no less a pace we, too, departed. 



THE LATE GENERAL CONVENTION OF THE FROTESl 
EPISCOPAL CHURCH. 



The doings of a body so large, and 
in a worldly point of view so re- 
spectable, as the Episcopal Church, 
ought to be of some consequence to 
the public. Unfortunately, however, 
the negative character of its legisla- 
tion prevents it from reaching the 
wants of the day, or speaking to the 
heart of a restless age which is bent 
on physical progress. The gentlemen 
who form the convention meet to- 
gether every three years, and spend 
three weeks in moving the interest- 
ing machinery of legislation, without 
doing anything whatever, and in dis- 
appointing every one who asks for a 
positive statement in matters of doc- 
trine or discipline. Their body is 
formed after the plan of the United 
States Congress, and has no counter- 
part in any period of ecclesiastical 
history. The bishops form the upper 
house or senate, and the clerical and 
lay deputies constitute the lower or 
more popular house, one half of 
which is composed of ministers and 
one half of laymen. Each house 



acts as a restraint upon the oth< 
no law can be passed withoi 
agreement of the two branches, 
bishops might be disposed to ( 
the creed or make some new art 
faith for their communion, bu 
cannot do so without the cons 
the deputies. The same thing 
of the ministers in the convi 
The laymen have a veto upoi 
pastors, who in turn can tie i 
legislation of their flock. A 
tive lay-vote in the lower hou 
nullify even the action of the t 
in council, as well as the wis 
the reverend clergy. If, for ex; 
the Episcopal body shoidd proj 
pass a law on ritual, and the mi 
were agreed to it, the lay d( 
could defeat it by an adverse 
There is something very pccu 
this equalization of ecclesiastic 
togatives between ministers an 
men, which strikes the unpra 
eye as unique and strange. Th 
stitution of the Protestant Epi 
Church was formed, m we hav 



Protestant Episcopal Church. 



fcer the model of the American 
^ There is, howe\'er, no ex- 
Iht presiding bishop being 
■hainnon of a meeting; and 
er of putting into cfiect the 
f the convention lies wholly 
invention itself, which has no 
! after it adjourns sim die. 
Ve.hoirever, ihai the diftcrcni 
feel bound to a certain kind 
ience, the nature of which 
h:id upon individual bishops. 
[ard to the late cotivcniion, 
1 little to say, and yet some 
fty result from putting on 
rhat Catholics think of a 
Christians which makes such 
letensions, ami at the same 
k utterly helpless, and useless 
:her of truth. Our purpose 
tide will be accomplished by 
iriew of the impressions pro- 
y this council upon the Epis- 
I and the world ; by a con- 
b of what has been done 
ly and positively ; and a few 
upon the position in wliich 
^icstant Episcopal Church 
efore mankind. 
JB impression produced upon 
^ians, as far as we can learn it 
^selves, is very singular, and 
\ differ with dilTcrcnt minds. 
Fsalssfaction expressed in any 
lournals is that the conven- 
pot do any more harm. The 
lyifurnaA of November i , 
f the '* tomb of the Capulets" 
so many important measures 
^ig^ed. '* That vast mauso- 
says, " well stored at the 
the session of iS6S, re- 
lai^e accession in 1S71." 
rms the whole thing a Jias- 
pitifully remark* that " the 
ithc church must be well in- 
p 1S74 if we would not pave 
I to another ^tuct;." '* In the 
' tone, temper, and decorum, 
y cj^r/fions, the convention 



was worthy of the respect of the 
church." There were, therefore, ex- 
ceptions in which it is not deserving 
of any respect. The Church Weekly 
rejoices that no great evils have come 
from tilts council of their hramh of 
the one {ittvutble) church, and at- 
tributes this to the good sense of the 
deputies, who generally were ** wise 
and conservative men." " It was 
only by the non-eoncurrence of orders 
that action was not hail on ritual, and 
in thejbrm proposed by the House 
of Bishops." The same journal sayi 
that the bishops are utterly unfitted 
for action on any of the subjects 
which came before the convention. 
" They are chosen," it remarks, *' for 
any reason rather than knowledge 
of li turves, ritual, ea/wn la-.o, or 
thecio^:" What iheMi reverend fathers 
arc expected to know we are left to 
imagine, and it is a great strain upon 
our powers; for we arc somewhat 
bewihiered by the observation " that 
they arc chosen for tlieir practical 
common sense, which is Amencaa 
English for success in life." 

Tlie Christian IVitness feels happy 
tliat there is '- such elaborate discus- 
sion on the smallest points, and that 
c^ucstions of order lake much of the 
lime in their disposal." 'I'he result, 
however, is not so pleasant, because 
" the most important subjects arc 
left to the end of the session, when 
the haste of the members to return 
home cuts short the discussion, and 
{lissaiis/aition is the result." 

The Froteitant Churdunan is the 
only paper we have seen wliich seems 
really gratified. The convention did 
not do anything, but showed a spirit 
which, if not quenched, will yet ac- 
complish much : 

** No one who w.is present could fail 
lo lie struck with some VC17 rorn.irkab1c 
dcvelr>[imonis, ihc full sifiniric.incc of 
wlitcli dors by no ine.iris appear in wlixt 
the convcniltin .-iccti.iliy did or left uti- 



5o« 



Thf Late General ConvenfMM of ike 



done. AhliouKb ihc conveaiion did not 
psju any of the pro;)OS«d canons against 
litualistn, it i« y':\ true itiar an ami. 
riiunliKiic (pitit was disclosed, which 
was cniiiciy unexpected, and in the pre- 
sence uf which scarcely any one, in cither 
house, dared to avow faimielf a ritual- 
ist. Although the convention did not 
repeal the restrictive and exclusive can. 
nnn, Kill] the evidence w:ts most markud 
of the progress of liberal Bentimcnis. If 
the questions invnlvcd in these canons 
bad come fairly before Ihc convcnlioo, 
wo believe that tlic icsult would liavc 
surprised every one, and satisfied those 
who have been hopeless of favorable 
action. 

"InnuT view.thisconventlon has niark- 
* ed a tranRilion period in the history of 
the Protestant Episcopal Church. Tlie 
old ruts have been obliicintcd, and new 
paths of progress have been opened. It 
is our piofound conviction that there has 
not been a convi-nlion fur many years 
which ha« revealed a prospect no cncou- 
rAging for truly liberal and cTangcUcal 
principles." 

'I'he internal spirit of a legislative 
body is, however, hard to understand 
except from its public acts, and when 
there are no such satisfactory acts, 
honest observers may differ in their 
judgment. The High Churchmen 
felicitate themselves that their tenets 
were not pulled to pieces, while Low 
Churchmen sec a spirit wliicli accords 
with tlieir sentiments, and so take 
courage for the future. 

In spite of all these causes of hap* 
pine&s, the advanced ritualists find 
much to com|>lain of, because the 
bisliojK, though apostles, dii! not re- 
alize their dignity, and the ministers, 
though actually Catholic priests, did 
not seem to know it. Besides their 
ignorance of "liturgies, ritual, canon 
law, and theology," they were not 
reverent in the house of Ciod, nor 
ilid they seem to feel that they were, 
what the Churchman calls them, 
"apostles, occupied with the faith 
and practice of the .apostolic age, 
and framing their conduct and teach- 
ing according to a model seventeen 



hundred years older r' ^teioi 

represented by Vx\i\ iiiks." 

In church ihey seemed lo lorgtt iw 
" real presence," and to be onK : ■ '^ <■ 
and sociable gentleraen, very ^ 
meet their friends of the ninru i 
century. So says the Chunk jr..-t,7 

" Men and wootcn seeni loo tired tnd 
cacited foi reverent devotion ; atiJ »* 
merely was totid lalkioK and laupliw 
Coing on at one end of tine buil'Ji' 
fore the blessed Hcratnpnt wa« - ■ 
ed, bill, within the very san i 
bishops were cecn excbangir 
ICBies of society with un« ' 
with ibc other ihry were : 
Lord's body and blood. 1 nc ; 
there cannot be proper reverence ^ 
building which is during one h'nn lit 
scene of CKciting debalo and ihe jimi 
of unresttaiaed conver>>alion it. duiii| 
the next, devoted lo what ought tobvlht 
ROletnn worship of Almigbiy '"...r! \^r 
ly all the clergy and Inuy, : 
eluded, seemed at times %•> 
Emmanuel Church, tbougii 
conreniion hall, was a consc: 
of prayer. Constant tniroduciiont, i 
sequent challings. mild flirl.n^ 
ladies, and the fici^uent u- 
glasses, did a great deal tow i 
ing reverence for ivod's %*t\L- 
could not but feel the c*il h 
dcred there found its way iniu i 
the churches in which divine «n 
was held on ibe followtng Suadar." 

As for the impression pr 
upon the world, we can 
spirit of the press, which has amtl 
itself much in studying the 
of using words, and saying i 
which the Protestant Episcujtoli 
cil posses^s in the highest dqtnt- 
Every one of the other PnrtctfiBl 
bodies has a distinctive c)fii« 
and uses words according to 
received interpretation of Ibc 
tionaxies. The Episcopaltana, '< 
ever, sit upon the fence, anil 
their faces now to the north* 
now to the south, and speak lii? i^t 
Sibyl, so OS to be on tlic «afc ^ 
with every one. Xo one would «■■ 



Protestant Episcopal Church. 



509 



abridge their liberty, or even 
ihcir pccuILirilics, if ilicy 

pretend to be abo\"e ihcir 
t, and Ape the exterior of the 
^:h. Their phylacteries are 
Dd large, aiid so not a tew 
ft cany a sign to prove th;kt 
t what they profess to be. 
t o^ what the world thinks, 
X pnestt and bishops, and 
^ tcmpora, O mores!) is the 
ire branch of the Catholic 
Their coats and cassocks 
I out-and-oul, and they are 
y, the only true Catholics, 
c arc Romanises. 
I we behold stich a remark- 
dy, which claims, through its 
children, to be the most pri- 
Bnd only pure church in ex- 
we naturally are curious to 
X what the doctrine of this 

is. Then, when it speaks 
I, and has a language of its 
ttii no publtihed dictionary, 
pomcwhat bewildered. Sen- 
fc think we have not cxa^ger- 
t sentiment of the journals of 
'. They aic amused at the 
e of three weeks' work which 
BompUshcd nothing, and at 
K15 of doctrine which can be 
cd in two contradictory sen- 
'e do not believe there is a 
han who can tejl what the 
\ of the Episcopal Church is, 
ngle member of that commu- 
10 has any clear ideas on the 
Eich one may tell us what 
•vcs for himself, but his pri- 
finion is not necessarily the 
\i his church. If the Re- 

of men has left his religion 
I hands, we can only say 

lias not shown human wis- 
id iliat his Gospel will be of 
«.• to mankind. Our further 
I will justify these conclusions, 
tn* that never since thd crea- 
I there been a body with so 



great pretensions and so litde foun- 
dation for thetn. 'Iliis is not because.] 
the authorities do noi sonictitiicn 
speak plainly, but because the mem- 
bers of the church insist on inter- 
preting whatever they say according 
to their own ideas, and there is no 
final tribunal. 

3. With the exception of a four 
local canons on matters which have 
no general interest, the convention, | 
as such, has done nothing. We shall < 
try 10 give a fair synopsis of its do j 
iugs, and let them speak for themT , 
selves. As the Christian Witness 
tells us, great attention has been paid 
to points of order, and the rules for 
the tr)-ing of bishops and ministers. 
This would lead us to conclude that 
either these canons had been very 
imperfect, or that there are many and 
dirticult cases of delinquency. We 
incline to think, however, that there 
arc not many bad ministers, but that 
the wish To make laws and to speak 
on them is the parent of all thes^l 
emendations of their code. Very fe«f J 
of the resolutions referred 10 ihq-j 
committee on canons have seen the] 
light, but arc consigned to ilia? i 
" tomb of the Capuleis " of whkh tlie 
Church youmai speaks. 

The different dioceses in the State 
of New York have been desirous of 
having a " federate council " of their 
own, and some action was taken on 
this subject Not much satisfaction 
has been derived from this, because 
the journal most interested is acutel; 
grieved. ** It is sad," it says, ** to think 
that what is called the mind of the ] 
church is not yet ready for the /Vj- ' 
vinciai System, or even a court o( 
appeals. The federate council of 
New York is granted sufficient power 
to keep it from dying of atrophy or 
inanition, but we fear it will prove 
only a sickly sort of existence afterj 
all." The particular benefit of the* 
provincial system in the Episcopa- 



The Late General Convention of the 



Kan hierarchy wc do not sec ; but 
this is none of our busine^. Our 
sympathies are with those who want 
it, and are unable to get it. 

A joint committee of bishops and 
ministers has been appointed or con- 
tinued on irlighus reform in Italy. 

As far as we can Icim, the labor 
of this committee will be very ardu- 
ous. They are to watch for Catho- 
lics and infidels in Italy who turn 
Episcopalians. There are not many 
of these converts, but for this very 
•eason they will be all the more diffi- 
cult to find and provide for. 

We would hunibly suggest that a 
hrauch of their branch of the one 
rhurch be established thcrej with a 
bishop whose travelling expenses 
should be prepaid, no matter what 
the cost may be. A committee in 
the United Stales ran hardly be ade- 
quate to this critrcal work, for if there 
is no EpisropatinD minister at hand 
when a man or woman is at the 
point of converting, he or she may 
be gathered in by a sect of Protest- 
ants who have no bishops. We 
should also have recommended ih.'^t 
this committee have power to act in 
Bavan'a, especially as there is no time 
to lose. Still, as our advice may not 
be understood, we do not press the 
subject. Old Dr. D51Iinger has va- 
lid orders, and so has poor Father 
Hyacinthe, and might possibly be 
saved for the cause of Episcopacy. 

Another thing which moves us 
very much is the magnitude of the 
work again thrown on the committee 
who are to seek for union with the 
Eastern heretical churches. So Utile 
has been accomplished beyond an 
exchange of courtesies that wc fear 
the means are not adequate to the 
end. 

Anglicans have already signified 
their willingness to throw the" Filio- 
f\\xt " out of the creed, and to give 
up thus the doctrine of the Trinity, 



but this docs uot seem to bri 
two or four bodies any nearcj 
thcr. The Kastcrn churches 9 
the Anglicans heretical, «nd a 
have no orders, while in all hi 
they prostrate themselves bcii 
walls of Constantinople or St. 
burg, and ask fur the sniaUci 
of recognition. We do nol th 
committee have done their dut 
as the prophet urged the pri 
Baal, we beg them to pa 
These venerable patriarchs ml 
sibly be asleep, or absent on i 
ney. If they would ordattt i 
the Episcopal ministers, be 
certainty be a prics^ and pcflk 
American Branch might be < 
to adopt the Rusiiiau Pontific 
is very Uke the Roman, but i 
could be translated into EngUat 
same doctrines are more 
in Russian or in Greek than t 
in Latin, and the F.a&tem xs a 
Orthodox Church," while the 
Catholic Church is scMiimatu 
in great error. The Holy Oi 
Church, having anaihcm 
Thirty-nine Articles, has i 
ther severely the .Anglican preCt 
but our good friends here are 
bear more tlian this without 
discouraged. Before thctf 
reach the public, we trutt till 
copal Com|i)iucc will have h 
opportunity to wait upon the 
Dtikc Alexis and oflcr him 
Churcli for his cathedral dji 
stay in New York. A brtm 
has been cut off from the 
trunk ran be carried even v» 
tance to shade a sprout thil 
out of the ground of its own t« 
bility and from its own tiitit 
" How good and pleasant a 1 
is (o sec brethren dwelling U 
in unity I " 

At the next coDvemioo. w 
to hear sonicthing of the eficC 
regular resolutions which hav 



Protistant Episcopal Church, 



S" 



last fifty yean, and to 
K€ old brtviih will at last re- 
'■thc new branch planted by 
li^Ill. 3Tid his daughter Eliza- 
bd watered by Luther and 
fetiid their friends. A smaU 
kontMning the ashes of Cyril 
bight be carrici) in procession 
prand occasion, still in the 
pith a tablet bearing in bold 
tc canons of the Synod of 
ibra, 

fiss to another of the daings 
IconventioD, which has our 
|ed approl>ation,accdrapanied 

f\ the fear that the project 
be successful. 

Efcr to "the revival of the 
f diatffftatg oi viomtn," as the 
itall it in their pastoral, 
fccripture here alluded to is 
' the ninth to thirteenth verses 
^ih chapter of the First Epis- 
[ Paul to Timothy : 

vtdevt be chosen, not under 

yeirs of age, who b.ith been 

if ant liust>an(l ; bavin? a testi- 

I tier gooil works, if she have 

I cbiltJicn, if she have excr- 

ppilalitj', if sh^ have vntiAeJ the 

f; if she have ministered to iliem 
r tribulation, if she have dili- 
Rlownl ever>* good worlt. Hut 
^i wi'Jows shuD, for when ihcy 
vn wanton in Christ, ilicy will 
ivinj; (JtLmnation because they 
le void their first fuftti. And 
log idle, they Icaro to go about 
se lo hou3c, not only idle, but 
Jso, and iui^uisitive, speaking 
tch ihey ought noL" 

lishops do not say whether 
pose to carry out these rules 
Kul literally, but they seem 
an earnest desire that pru- 
\ ' ■ I sense may preside 
I. . , .'.'• The conimiitee, 
was substantially ac- 
t fix any rules as to the 
ic postulants, nor do they 



utter one word about widows. They 
use the term *' sisterhoods " in con- 
nection with remarks upon " the 
Phcebcs and Priscillns of apostolic 
times," while without explanation 
they condemn " the false and perni- 
cioui system of the Church of Rome." 
(A rose under any other name will 
not smell so sweet.) These sister- 
hoods are lo be established every- 
where in hospitals and benevolent 
homes, and a central house or train- 
ing school is recommended to fit the 
candidate for the various works of 
mercy. These sisters are to be with- 
out vows, and so free to come and go, 
leave their various convents, and mar- 
ry whenever they please. 

The rule of obedience depends 
upon their own consent, and so they 
are their own masters, even when they 
Hve in community. We confess a 
great anxiety lo see this system thor- 
oughly tried, and to know, in the 
course of a few years, how many will 
remain and die in their conventual 
habit. Even if it ihil, it is a step in 
the right direction, and we arc glad 
the committee did not rigidly adopt 
the rules of St. Paul. Eor if they 
were restricted to widows over six- 
ty years of age, they might not find 
many subjects, and in this climate 
the deaconesses might be incapable 
of much work. 

The action of the convention in re- 
gard to ritualism is so remarkable that 
wc hardly know how to describe it. 

'ITie bishops in their pastoral have 
something to say on it, which we 
shall notice afterward. They, how- 
ever, are only one-third of the con- 
vention, and cannot of themselves 
pass any laws which shall have bind- 
ing force. It seems that, three years 
ago, when the mailer was discussed, 
a committee was appointed to exam- 
ine the subject, and report a canon 
or canons lo be enacted which might 
produce uniformity. This commit- 



512 



The Late General ConveMtion of iftt 



tee reported very plainly, and gave 
an opinion which can be understood. 
'ITiey recommended a canon which 
should forbid all the peculiar actions 
of the ritualists, such as "the use 
of incense, the placing or retaining a 
crucifix in any part of the church, 
the use of lights about the holy ta- 
ble, the elevation, of the elements in 
holy communion for the purpose of 
adoration, the mixing of water with 
the wine, the washing of the priest's 
hands, the ablution of the vessels, 
the celebration of holy communion 
when there is no one to receive, and 
using any prayers or services not 
contained in the Book of Common 
Ptayer" This recommendation was 
referred to a joint committee, who, 
not being able to agree perfectly, 
brought forth as the result of their 
labors the draft of a law which 
makes the rule of ritual the I^ayer- 
Book and " the canons of the Church 
of England in use in the American 
Provinces before 1789, and not sub- 
sequently superseded, altered, or re- 
pealed." Then, as few seemed to 
know about these canons, it was de- 
termined to appoint a new commit- 
tee to fmd out about them, and in- 
form the next General Convention. 
In the meantime, all mixed ques- 
tions were to be settled by the bishops 
in their various dioceses, should it 
please them to interfere, or should 
any brother be offended by excess or 
defect of ritual. The evident result 
of all this legislation was to leave the 
whole matter just where it was be- 
fore. This canon did not, however, 
swim to please. Some of the mem- 
bers wished to know what these 
*' customs before 1789 " were, before 
they couhl intelligently act, and on 
a division of the house the project 
was lost. Substitutes a little more 
■lecisive were offered, and they did 
not meet widi favor. The bishops, 
anxious as it would seem to have 



some action taken on the si 
sent down to the deputies the ft 
ing resolution, which tbey had 
ed, and for which they asked thi 
currence of their brethwn : 

" Reiotvfd (the House of Oeric 
Lay Deputies concurring), Thit t 
lowing canon Iw adopted and ei 
to be entitled Canon : 

"The deration of the elements 
holy communion in luch manner 
expose them to the view of the pet 
objects toward which adoration is 
made, in or after the prayer of cor 
tion, or in the act of administering 
or in carrying them to or from thi 
municants, and any gesture, posti 
act implying such adoration. ao( 
ceremony not prescribed as pan 
order of the administration uf (he 
Supper or holy communion in thi 
of Common Prayer, and the celeb 
or reception of the holy communi 
any bishop or priest when no pen 
ccives with him ; likewise, the u 
any administration of the holy cc 
nion, of any hymns, prayers, co 
epistles, or gospels other than 
appointed in the authorized formi 
of the church or under ^ 14 of can 
title I, of the Digest, are hereby \ 
den." 

This resolution was put to 
and lost by a small majority 
clerical vote. The following p 
sition was then offered and ad 
unanimously, which, so far s 
know, was the end of the mat 
the convention : 

" Ri-sah-eJ, That this convention 1 
expresses its decided condemnati 
all ceremonies, observances, and ; 
CCS which are fitted to express a dc 
foreign to that set forth in the auth 
standards of this church." 

A slight review of this remai 
action on the subject of rituil 
show that the bishops were at 
to pass a law against the pra 
peculiar to the few good i)CopI< 
arc called ritualists, but that 
were outvoted by the clerical 



Protestant Episcopal Church^ 



513 



that nothing has been done 
^ will have any vreighL For 
knou-3 what the doctrine set 
I in tlie authorized standards of 
Episcopal Church is? And who 
determine when ceremonies con- 
»e the doctrine about which no 
iscenain ? The Thirty-nine Ar- 
5 speak plainly enough when they 
us ttiat " tlie sacrament of the 



and do as they have done, interpret- 
ing the standards to suit Uicmselves, 
and, above alt, taking advantage of 
that blessed Ui€ of Saturn which ha& 
been to them a source of so great 
consolation. 

Appropriately of all this, we give 
an extract from the Church Wetkly, 
regulating the order of service for 
the third week of November. 



KALENDAR FOR THE WEEK. 



A 
i 






s 

e 


«) 
u 


Alur Color. 


e 


is 

Q 


NOVEMBER. 


•2. 

u 

s 


m 
u 

s 
S 

F«ait. 






Safua. 


Rom. 


19 


s. 


sftkanef Tilnity, , 


.. 


R. 


G. 


•D 


M. 


p. Edmund, K. M 


A* 




R. 


R. 


a 


W. 


[9. CoctlU. V. M. . 


C* 




R. 


R. 


»J 


Th. 


LS. ClBintnt, Dp. Komc, M., . 


-. 




R. 


K. 


»3 


S. 


LS. Kithani)«, V. M., . 


c« 




K. 


R. 


a6 


s. 


Sunday neit before At>TK)a-,f 




KmR. 




G. 



* Except ia AmerickB Church. 

^S Supper was not by Christ's 
Dce resen'cd, carried about, 
or worshipped," and that 
crifices of Masses were blas- 
tous f.tb1es and dangerous dc- 

tlfei we .ire told diat these words 
raean anything which could 
the elevation and adoration 
rToly Eucharist, or the pnvate 
nation of the sacrifice of the 

^Are moreover informed ttiat 
'articles are of no authority, al- 
jh confessedly they are the only 
I which the Protestant Episco- 
!hurch possesses. So, when men 
hus seriously argue, and quietly 
JMch other in the face, we dc- 
■f finding any words which 
ST :Lrpreled. So, as they 

I - to God for his great 
[»ur ritual friends will go on, 
vou XIV.— 33 



t Glv« ootlcc ofS. Andrew'* D%r. 

It must be observed that " Calen- 
dar " is spelt with a K, wliich is more 
ancient^ and that the " authori2ed 
standards" of the Episcopal Rite 
have nothing about S. Edmund, S. 
Cecilia, S. Clement, nor S. Catharine 
(spelt with a K). Tl»e " altar color" 
is also very useful, especially as they 
give at the last column the Roman 
Rite. A friend of ours told us of a 
very solemn marriage which lie wit- 
nessed in Trinity Church the other 
day. The Rev. Dr. Dix was the cele- 
brant (as he thought), with a deacon 
and subdeacon, all beautifully vested, 
and the candidates were a young 
priest and a young lady, who in this 
most impressive manner was to be- 
come his wife. Oh I what will the 
Greeks say to this? We fear ihey 
w ill be scandalized, and that even the 
giving up of the " Filioquc" will not 



SM 



The Late General Convention of the 



prevent them from staring with eyes 
*ide open. The priest said the nup- 
tial mass, and the other priest and his 
wife received the holy communion and 
the sacrament of matrimony. How 
does this compare with the services 
before 1789? 

We cannot, however, pass over the 
action and language of the bishops in 
this matter. We suppose our Angli- 
can friends will admit that neither 
priests nor laymen are by any rule 
of ecclesiastical antiquity allowed to 
judge in council on points of faith. 
This has generally been left to the 
episcopate, to which, in union with 
its head, Christ committed the gov- 
ernment of his church. Now, for the 
advanced High Churchmen it is a sad 
fact that the bishops of their church 
have unqualifiedly condemned them. 
They have done this, first in the can- 
on which they passed and sent down 
to the House of Deputies, and, second- 
ly, in the language of their pastoral, 
which is the accurate expression of 
their doctrine. We know that their 
words can be explained away, but we 
respectfully submit that this time the 
attempt to do so will be dishonesty. 
If these reverend fathers in God can 
speak at all, then they have spoken. 
We give their words, and pray they 
may fall upon the open cars of their 
children who bow down before them 
as " apostles " : " The doctrine which 
chiefly attempts to express itself by 
ritual, in questionable and dangerous 
ways, is connected with the Holy Eu- 
charist. Tliat doctrine is emphatically 
a noi-e/ty in theology. What is known 
as euclKiristical adoration is un- 
doubtedly inculcated and encour- 
aged by that ritual of posture lately 
introduced among us, wliich finds no 
warrant in our ' Ufiice for the Admi- 
nistration of Holy Communion.' " 
They then go on to say that whatever 
presence of Christ there may be is 
such as docs not allow him to be there 



worshipped, and that to 1 
elements is "an awful or 
give an extract from a writt 
of our New York journals, w 
up to this time, to be hon 
understanding of his splritiu 

*' 3. There are bishops \ 
ops ; there are doctors and 
Here is the Bishop of Arixo 
stance, who says that ' thai 
(eucharistic adoration) is a 
theology' But there is St. 
whilom Bishop of Milan, who 
adore the flesh of Christ in tl 
ies.' Here is the Bishop of Ce 
York, who declares that ' thf 
and the practice which it imptie 
certamly unauthorized by Holy 
and entirely aside from the pu 
which the holy sacrament was i 
But there i» St. Gregory of N 
not recently, indeed, but most i 
op of Consuntinople, who use 
pression, 'Catling apon hin 
worshipped upon the alt.ir.' H 
Bishop of Delaware, who unite 
Bishop of Connecticut in sa 
' the doctrine and the practici 
implies are most dangerous in 
dencics.' But there is the poor 
Hippo, Augustine by name, w 
tunately for his reputation, c 
himself to the declaration that 
cnteth that flesh till h« hare fin 
And bow many other bishops, ; 
small, there are who have acted 
dictum of the misguided Afri 
only knows!" 

His appeal is from bishop 
op, and from doctor to do 
cording to his own private ji 
We are pained more than w( 
press at the malicious quibbl 
distort words so emphatical 
We submit that, if Jesus 1 
present in the Eucharist, he 
adored by all but infidels ; ■• 
ondly, that, if the bread is \ 
as he said it was, it canno 
same time be bread, since 
stances cannot coexist in t 
space. All changes of woi 
the terms " spiritual and c 
are only the unfortuoate sopb 



Protectant Episc^ai CImrch. 



515 



tverorofche deceived. Ifour 
ic brethren liave any doubt 
flie meaning of the bishops, let 
^o and ask Dr. Smith, or Drs. 
1 Coxe, Poller and McDvaine. 
vtll ^ve a clear reply, we do 



ppproach another and most im- 

f; act of the Council of Episco- 
hcps which will certainly rcn- 
tconvention memorable I'or all 
They have, in the most solemn 
k. given their definition of the 
[regcncralion " which is used In 
Ices of tlieir church, The Tweii - 
nth of iheTIurly-nine Articles 
iDbably framed to suit different 
15 among the followers of the 
lation of Lutber. There bai)- 
:allcd " a sign of regeneration," 
> it is not declared to be the 
lent of regcnemtion, and may 
f a mere sign without the sub- 
, But ihe Uffice lor Baptism in 
jyfT-Dook is in no way cciuivo- 
riicre it is distinctly taught 
le child baptized is regenerated 
■lioly Spirit. According to all 
ceivctl acceptation of words 
e doctrine of formularies from 
ilhis oflicu was derived, rcgen- 
1 means the new birth by which 
di divine mercy the child, nalur- 
of Adam, is supematurally 
tgain cf water and the Holy 
receives the new life of grace, 
;omcs really the child of God. 
our Lord's words to Nico- 
wherein he instructs him con- 
Ixtptism : "That which is 
the Bcsh is Hesh, and that 
bom of the Spirit is spirit." 
since the formation of the 
i Church 0»e great majority 
.embers have found the words 
in ihe baptismal service 
Und out of place. For they do 
eve in any such doctrine, since 
,ve adopted the heretical no- 
Calm and Luther concern- 



ing the new birth. Only a few High 
Churchmen have ever held to bap- 
tismal regeneration, yet they have had 
the language of tlic leaver /ifH>k to 
sustain them in controversy. One of 
the best and roost learned of the 
Episcopalian ministers, for many years 
professor in the General Theological 
Seni inary, taught that " regeneration '* 
in the baptismal service, by a special 
use of terms, meant only a ^Uhan^e 
ef state" and that the doctrine that 
baptism was the new birth was utterly 
untenable In the Episcopal Church, 
and contrary to the whole spirit of its 
creed. The unitetl voice of the bish- 
ops now comes to declare the same 
opinion, and to make of the regenera- 
tion taught in tlicir offices only such 
an external change by which the 
child is promised unto God, and, 
without any interior operation, is 
adopted into the visible fold of Christ. 
AVe give the language of this most 
rcntarkabk* delinttion : 

Ur.CLAIHTIOX OP THK BISHOPS IN COt'V 
CIL, OCTOBFR II, 1 371. 

" We. ihc Bubscribcrs, Bishops of the 
Prulostnnt Episcopal Churcli in llie U-itcil 
States, being asked, in order 10 llie quiel- 
ingof the consciences of sundry fflcmberf. 
of ihc said church, lu ilcclnre our cctn 
vidians as in Ihe mcanitif; of (he word 
' regcnrmtc ' in ihe ' Ofiiccs for ibc 
Minislralion of Bapiisrn for Infants,' d" 
declare lh.it in our opinion llic word 're 
Kcr)cratc ' is not there so used as |o de 
teiininu tlmta ninr;il rh^inge in the subjcc 
of baptism is wrought in the sacramcni.** 

To this declaration are appendc 
the signatures of forty-eight bishop 
all but two, we believe, of the whole 06 
tlicir hierarchy. Now we were sorae-^ 
what prepared for attempts to wrest 
the mcaningof these very plain words, 
but not for the flagrant dishonesty oC 
some of the High Church journals' 
Let us call things by their right names 
and speak the truth, if neetl be, in all 
sadness. We were not prepared to 
hear that "the bishops were not asked 



5t6 



The Late Geusntl Convfniion of the 



nor did they profess to say whal re- 
generation means" J that in saying 
what it was not, they aimed to 
give no explanation whatever of the 
word. Wc give two short extracts, 
one from the Churchman^ and the 
other from the Chunk IfWJt/y, which 
for candor anti sincerity certainly <le- 
»*rvc the 6rst ])rcmium : 

" The object aimed at was ' the quieting 
of the consciences of sundr>* members of 
the church.' It vm not to give an ex- 
hnusiivc dcfinirion of the word. Certain 
persons claimed thai tlic term might be 
inlcrprelcd to signify a niorikl change in 
r)ie subject of baptism. They knew (h.ii 
many would so understand it. And so 
ilic bi.-^hops, being asked, staled whal no 
sound churchman ever denied, and no 
wcll-icad theologian and respectable 
student of the meaning of language ever 
denied. n:imely, * that the word Is not so 
used ' in that connection. The thing 
asked lor was granted. The object aimed 
at was accomplished, and those who re- 
presented the unquiet consciences hare 
acknowledged their grateful apprecia- 
tion. 

" We can illusirale this point by a tin- 
gle example. Some readers of ihe Hihle 
may think that, whenever the word ' day ' 
occurs in the first chapters of Genesis, it 
mu&t mean a period of twenly-four hours. 
Common people have come to understand 
it In that sense. Now. suppose that the 
question has been nised in some Baptist 
or Congirgatiunat 'Sabbath-schoot.' Ttie 
teachers think a declaralion from their 
pastor or bishop — if Ihry pleasu to call 
him so — to the elTcct tliat the word does 
not of necessity imply a period of lime 
limited to twice twelve huurs, would 
quiet the consciences of some of ihcit 
pupils who have studied geology. Sup- 
pose the thing asked for Is granted : arc 
wc, therefore, to conclude that the pastor 
has pretended to give a dehnilion of the 
word ' day,' and lo state exactly ' whal it 
dues mean'? Shall we speak of him as 
having ' grappled with ' (he creation ques- 
tion, and yet Mailed lo tell a waiting* 
Sabbath-sciiDol what the exact time indi- 
cated by that woid ' day ' wns — whether 
icn thousand years, as soni^ hrlicrc. or, 
A* nihci)^ ihinlc. ten niillion? " 

" -Mas ' the llou^ of Bishops have ptil 
fcirth A definition which is nf definition ! 
They pretend to define, and yet they do 



nwdefinei There Is aocacburekomuktnr 
ever ignorant of theology, who docnw 

laugh in his sleeve at this p^"' ^■■■^'^■^■■■■■ 

lion, which will have tbe cfl' 

of making manifest either i!i' 

or the insincerity of ' Evaog- 

vldcd that they remain i» 

For, if the latter remain there 

it must be cither because Ihcy ' 

a definition from an evasion ol a qucwMn, 

or because they are in search o( ^MDr 

excuse for not carrying out those ImU* 

ous threats with which thry har* hen 

for some time past making both lixj 

and night bideous to all peaceful cbotck- 

men.'* 

The respect here shown to tbae 
right reverend fathers in (Kid ■ 
nearly as great as their haoett^ 
Now, we insist that the new hnth of 
water and the Holy Ghost im[ i 
moral change of the most intp^jii- 
kind, and that even the for^rnoi 
of original sin cannot take 
without such a change. Wc 
take the words of the K)Hf 
Catechism, and leave it to any J 
mind if regeneration dctennincs < 
motat (hanj^f. There wc are 
that the inwani grace, 
from baptism, else it is no sacrtR 
is " a death unto sin and a new I 
unto righteousness; for, being 
nature bom in sin, and the cWU 
of wrath, we are hereby made i 
children of grace." 'I'o l>e made 1 
child of grace surely requires a i 
change, which the bishops 
They will, therefore, have to put i 
a new catechism or a new diet) 
ary. As for the qttibbles tjjwo 
sense of the word " determine." » 
if the venerable pn' 
sport with the conimm 
constituents, they are loo po*fy f 
deserve the notice of any i 
man. The plain bet is 
pute, that the wprcme nuthn 
the Protestant Episcopnl Chufrh M» 
formally denied the <i 
tismal regeneration, ■ 
tained in the Catechism aodOl&Kif 



Prottsiaut Episcopal Church. 



517 



this they have only 
ilhe real feeling and belief of 
ht majoruy of their religious 
bion &ince the time of its for- 
I Of this wonderful declara- 
py say in their pa&loral that 
bave, with an extraordinary 
ity, set forth a dcfiniiion 
K their offices for the baptism 
Its." The declaration, ihcy 
ps, " was made in the loving 
■at many consciences might 
ubr ever freed from false ini- 
jfi concerning the teaching of 
^h, as respects spiritual reli- 
ed personal piety." 
^avc no right to expect any 
: use of terms in the language 
I «'ho, according to the testi- 
[ many of their children, know 
of canon law or theology ; 
\ we have a plain statement 
admits of but one iuterprcta- 

fbc bishops at the next con- 
may retract it or deny it, 
l^ividunls among them may 
[say that they do not receive 
pnal definition which they 

[Stranger things have hap- 
The two who did not sign it 
lajietold, High Churchmen of 
L dry school, while the hope- 
[ttors of ritualism have gone 
||n<ler tliis cloud, from whose 

tthcy can never clear ihem- 
forc an honest public. 
bass on to notice the further 
[pf the reverend prelates in 
L since to us ecclesiastics they 
[only part of the convention 
p properly judges in doctrine 
^pline. Having denied re- 
ion in holy baptism, and the 
pence of Christ in the Euchar- 
' have, with like unanimity, 
and forbidden, as far as 
^^privutt conjcisiort. Some- 
inform us. a soul is so 
ith its sinfulness as to de- 
aulhoritative assurance of 



forgiveness." This, however, in their 
view, is by no means necessary, nor 
is it " the duiy of Christians, or es- 
sential to any high attainments in 
the religious life." " Pardon," ac- 
cording to thera, is granted to any 
child of God, on his repentance, ac- 
companied by prayer, and reliance 
upon the promises of Christ, as well 
as on the use of tJie means of grace." 
What means of grace are here in- 
tended does not appear. To make 
confession, therefore, "a ihmg cus- 
tomar)', not exceptional, enforced, 
not free, is to rob Christ's provisioa 
(what provision ?) of its mercy, and 
to change it into an engine of oppres- 
sion and a source of corruption. His- 
tory demonstrates this, and the expe- 
rience of families, and even of nations, 
shows that the worst practical evils 
arc inseparable from this great abuse. 
To pervert the godly counsel and 
advice which m-ty quiet a disturbed 
conscience into the arbitrary direition 
which stippiants the conscience, is to 
do away with that sense of moral 
responsibility under which every man 
shall give account of liimself to 
God." 

'I'his is not the place to point out 
the gross ignorance and prejudice of 
the lipiscopal bisho]>s. They speak 
of what ihcy know nothing, having 
never confessed iheir own sins, nor 
felt the need of any "authoritative 
assurance of pardon." To assert 
a wholesale slander of one of 
the most sacred institutions of 
Christ, hallowed by the practice of,i 
three-fourths of all who call them-r^ 
selves Christians, which is really tite 1 
great source of the little purity left iq \ 
the world, is a feaifil (.iimc before 
heaven. We acquit them, therefore, 
in charity, of the intcntio 1 to slan. 
der, and hold them culpably ignorant. 
All this is, however, beyond the 
scope of our present purpose. We^ 
have only to say that they have for- 



5i8 



The Late General Convention of the 



bidden, as far as their words go, the 
ordinary practice of confession, and 
that they deprecate it as " an engine 
of oppression and a source of corrup- 
tion." It remains now to be seen 
whether these counsels of the chief 
jjastors of the Protestant Episcopal 
Church are to be followed by their 
children who think them to be suc- 
cessors of the apostles and fathers 
in God. Will the Right Rev. Dr. 
Potter, who once published, as we 
have been informed, a manual foi 
the examination of conscience, to 
whom a prayer-book, with directions 
for confession, has been publicly 
dedicated, now interfere and put a 
stop to this great abuse ? Will the 
handful of ritual priests in this city 
cease to sit in their pews or their 
libraries to hear and al>solve peni- 
tents ? To speak our honest opin- 
ion, the words of the bishops will 
have no influence whatever, and 
things will go on precisely as they 
did before. We only venture to 
wish, for the sake of propriety, that 
confessionals might be erected in all 
these churches, where at least the 
female penitents might he heard. 
We assure our friends that this ad- 
vice comes from a good heart. If 
they cannot hear confessions in pub- 
lic, they would do well for themselves 
not to hear them at all. 

The most reverend jirelates go on 
to condemn " the tendency towards 
saint- worship, and especially its cul- 
mination in the worship of the Bless- 
ed Virgin." " The bare suggestion 
that the intercession of the Virgin 
Mary, or of any other saint, is in any 
way to be sought in our approaches 
to the throne of grace, is an indipiify 
to the one only Mediator and In- 
tercessor which we, his apostolic wit- 
nesses, cannot too strongly nor dis- 
tinctly forbid in his holy and all-suf- 
ficient name." Is this language ])lain 
enough for our ritualistic friends ? 



Do they think these words eqnwo- 
cal ? They as apostles have foibid- 
den any one to seek the pnycn of 
the Mother of God or of any other 
saint. To do so is to offer indignity 
to Christ, according to their theology. 
On the same principle, Episcopalian! 
must not ask the prayers of ea^ 
other, unless they wish to insult the 
one Intercessor. The reason why the 
saints cannot intercede for us is thit 
Jesus Christ alone may do it. WecaD- 
not, therefore, suppose that living nea 
or women are in a different posiiiooia 
this respect from their departed breth- 
ren, especially from the great heroei 
of Christianity. We really blush at 
the stupidity of men who call then- 
selves teachers and wear episcopal 
robes, but it is not our business to 
criticise their directions to their floe*. 
We simply put before the world what 
they have so plainly said. All invo- 
caiion of any one but Christ is to be 
stopped within their communion by 
their solemn decree, if, indeed, it was 
ever practised. 

From this restriction pf prayer, they 
pass on to condemn the devotional 
books which " have been insidiously 
multiplied of late years in England 
and America, and are alien in their 
character to the whole spirit of the 
Liturgy." We presume they here 
refer to the translations of Catholic 
books of devotion which have become 
for some time past the pious nourish- 
ment of all the advanced Episcqtf* 
lians. We have seen many of these 
works ourselves, and have even seen 
the Book of Common I^yer bound 
up with parts of the Missal, and pt^ 
parations for communion and confes- 
sion taken from well-known Catholic 
authors. This, to say the least, is tf 
acknowledgment that their o»b 
church does not feed their soub, and 
that they seek a life it can neither 
give nor support. This alone ought 
to be sufficient to send them «lx^ 



Protf slant Episcopal Church,' 



nd a Religious system ac- 
^witU their wants. Ccrlaiiily 
do as they like in the niat- 
■y ttm put on all our vest- 
id their bishops may wear 
I crosses, and bear mitres 
ers, and they may cross 
■s with the left hoiid, and 
befure an altar which is 
ycxl or stone. They may call 
|rcs the only Catholics in the 
pcd out-herod Herod himself, 
fetly put us Romanists in the 
\ liut we think the bishops are 
\ tell them that all this is in* 
|pt with Kpiscopatianism, and 
kr ought to be either one thing 
Kher. A man has a right de' 
iaw to ptay the Harlequin ; 
r he a tmyral right to do so ? 
tionest or fair thing to remain 
krch and use devotions and 
trines which it condemns ? 
said of " (hat liberty where- 
;t has made us free." But 
be a liberty to contradict 
;, 10 profess to be what we 
and to carrj' private judg- 
absunjity ? We are forced in 
commend the advice of the 
and to say with them to our 
ds, " Gentlemen and ladies, 
;h to use Catholic books, be 
ugh to go where they bc- 
iflease do not attempt to 
a our people a spirituality 
foreign to our Protestant 
ion." From our past know- 
wevcr, we do not believe 
counsel of the reverend fa- 
ll produce much effect. \\c 
as ever have Catholic books 
in luxuriously bound (the 
goes a great ways), " and 
to the use of the Amfruan 
For our own part, we hope 
will be the case, since the 
of our prayers, and the 
rf the masters of the spiritual 



lite, may do much to lead souls to the 
one true faith. 

3. A icvf remarks will now suffice 
to show the position in which the 
Protestant Episcopal Church has 
placed herself by the action of this 
convention. If \ve rcgaal the whole 
body, including the laymen as well 
as tlie clerical deputies, we can sec 
how true to its birthmarks has been 
the legislation of a communion which 
glories in the non-committal charac- 
ter of its creed and profession. Two 
or three parties, with views diametri- 
cally opposite, are thus kept together, 
and in tlie diversity of opinions is tlie 
safety of the whole. When the Epis- 
copal Church begins to have any- 
thing like a faith, then will it fall to 
pieces, and new sects will arise of its 
component parts. How long it will 
go on holding together High Church 
and Low Church, Uroad Church and 
no church at all, wc do not know. 
But this we think, its Protestant cha- 
racter is now well established to all 
mankind. Not one single link which 
could bind it to the doctrine or prac- 
tice of the past has been left. If it 
will not baptize itself with the names 
of Luther, Calvin, or Zwingle, it can 
boast of no father or mother. In the 
words of its Bishop Lee, if it is not a 
J^testatit church, it disowns its birth, 
and has no right to be called a 
church. Through the most solemn 
action of its supreme authority it has 
denied the real presence of Christ in 
the Holy Eucharist, the regeneration 
of children in baptism, the interces- 
sion of the saints, and the practice 
of confession. As for the ritualists, 
they have been handled without 
mercy, and their whole sv-slera of 
faith and worship summarily con- 
demned. It will be of little avail to 
tliem to say that the bishops only 
have pronounced a decision, and that 
the division of the clerical and /ffy 



$30 



CkAteau RegHur. 



vote in four or five dioceses saved tiiem 
from a prohibitory canon of the whole 
convention. Are the presbyters and 
lay deputies the successors of the 
apostles, whom the Lord instituted to 
govern the church of God ? Who 
made the sheep of the fiock tlie 
judges in ecclesiastical, causes ? 

We have no heart to believe that 
the condemnation of the bishops will 
do any good with the majority of 
them. A few earnest souls will come, 
one by one, into the true fold of the 
Good Shepherd, where a roan has to 
receive and obey Christ, and not make 
a religion for himself. Yet we fear, 
and with sadness we say it, that no 
power whatever could open the eyes 
of many. If their church should 
deny the Holy Trinity or the incar- 
nation of God the Son, they would 
explain away the denial Blow after 
blow with a rough hand has been 
given to these so-called Catholics 
within the past few years. Many are 
not shaken, but in spite of all the 
decisions of their councils and the 
admonition of their pastors, they go 



on insisting on vanity, eiecti 
idol which their own hands 
made, and blindly falling dc 
worship it Who shall reaso 
men who have historws uu 
grammars and dictionaries o 
own ? Who but God in bis 
mercy can roll away the dark] 
hearts which walk in a vain \ 
and disquiet themsdves for i 
calling evil good and good 
Here logic is wasted, and th 
with its lessons, ignored, as 
Word made flesh had never b 
earth, nor quickened with 
grace our fallen humanity. ] 
Catholics, let us to prayer, tlu 
souls may not die eternally < 
their Father's house, strangers 
Bread of Life. In their grea 
the pitying heart of Jesus a 
will hear, and scales shall fal 
many eyes. Oh I how sad to 
long and far in this weary li 
then only to see from a distai 
promised land, but never to . 
the tabernacles of the G 
Jacob. 



CHATEAU REGNIER. 



A CHRISTMAS STORY OF THE TWELFTH CElfTURY. 



A PROUD man was the Baron 
Regnier. In the old days of Charle- 
magne, the Ch&teau Regnier had 
risen, a modest mansion on the 
pleasant banks of the Garonne. That 
great monarch died ; his empire fell 
to pieces; the lords became each 
•ne an independent sovereign in his 
own castle, making perpetual war on 



each other, and electing kin) 
could enforce neither respe 
obedience. Then the ChAteai 
nier was enlarged and foitifi 
retainers and vassals became \ 
ous, and, as was the method a 
ing rich in those times, large 
of horsemen would sally fr 
gates, as suited their pleasure 
cessities, to plunder neighboria 
or defenceless travelltfs. 



CkAtenu Kegnur, 



511 



Barons Rcgnicr were brave 
lever was tliere a brilliant or 
Dus expedition wherein some 
>f the house did not distin- 
irn»^)f. When the first prcach- 
thc Crusades stirred the soul 
ppe, there was bustle of prc- 
D and burnishing of weapons 
chateau ; even in the motley 
ly of Peter the Hermit went 

he younger sons of the fami- 

did his part of plumlcring in 
and Dalmalia, and perish- 

le shores of the Bosphorus; 

the more orderly expedition 
illowed, the reigning baron 
led a brave array under 

ner of Raymond of Tou- 

retum of the crusaders 
t more refined tastes into 
I though not more peaceable 
B. The Chateau Regnier was 
d and beautified ; troubadours 
d there ; feasts were conlinu- 
ead; stitl plunder and anar* 
»e the order of the day till 
•n of Louis le Gros. That 
c king devoted his life to 
ling law and order in France. 
le house of Regnier, having 
ed all that it conveniently 
look part with the king to 
all further plundering, so it 
pong in its possessions. 
I such a line of ancestry to 
ick on, no wonder that the 
.egnier was proud. He him- 
;ts youth had shared in the 

of a crusade. After his 
ome, he had married a bcan- 

, whom he tenderly loved ; 
happiness had been of short 

; in three years after their 
e died, leaving him an image 
,f— a frail and lovely little 
ic last flower on the rugged 
that great house, 
(rely land is the south of 

Two thousand years ago 



the old geographer of Pontus* caUe<l 
it the Beauiiful, and its soft langue 
d'or is ihe very language of love. 
It was on the shores of the Garonne, 
in the twelfth centur>-, that the trou- 
badours sang their sweetest songs, 
Among them was found Pierre Ro- 
gicrs, who wearied once of the clois- 
ter, and so wandered out into the 
world — to the court of the bcautifuU 
b^rmengarde of Narbuiinc, to the 
palaces of Aragon, at last to the 
shores of ihe Garonne, and, finding, 
everywhere only vanity of vanities,*! 
once more entered the gates of ih« 
monastery an<l lay down to die. 

Here, too, lived IJcmard de Vcn- 
tadour, who loved and celebrated in 
his songs more than one royal prin- 
cess. Here he dwelt in courtly 
splendor, till he too grew weary of 
all things earthly, and yearneil for 
the quiet of the cloister, an<l, wrap- 
ping the monk's robe around him» 
be too died in peace 

No wonder if Clemence Regnier^ \ 
growing up a beautiful girl in the ' 
midst of these influences, should 
yield her soul to the soft promptings 
of affection. She was the favorite 
companion oi her father ; no wish of 
hers was ungratified ; her sweetness 
of temper endeared her to all around 
her. She was sought in marriage by 
many rich nobles of Toulouse ; she 
refused them all, and gave her pre- 
ference to the younger son of a 
neighboring baron — a penniless and 
landless knight. 

\Vhen the old baron first discover- 
ed their mutual attachment, he wai 
at first incredulous, then amazed, 
then angry. He persistently and 
peremptorily refused his consent. 
The Dc Regnicrs had for so long 
married, as they had done everything 
else, only to augment their power 
and wealth, that a marriage where 



532 



Chdieau Regnur, 



love and happiness only were consi- 
dered, was an absurd idea to the 
baron. 

"This comes of all these /?nt^urr 
and their trashy songs !" he exclaim- 
ed ; " they have got nothing to do 
but wander about the world and 
turn girls' and boys' heads with their 
songs. I'll have no more of them 
here !" 

So the baron turned all poets and 
musicians out of his chliteau, but he 
could not turn love and romance 
out; the young heart of Clemence 
was their impregnable citadel^ and 
there they held their ground against 
all the baron's assaults. 

Four years went by; Clemence 
was pining away with grief, for she 
loved her father and she loved her 
lover ; at last, her love for the latter 
prevailed, and, trusting to win the 
old baron's forgiveness afterwards, 
Clemence fled from the chiteau with 
the young Count de Kcgnault 

Baron de Regnier was a man who, 
when moderately irritated, gave vent 
to his wrath in angry words, but 
when deeply wounded he was silent ; 
and here both his pride and his 
affection had been wounded most 
deeply. 

He signified to the guests at the 
castle that they might depart; he 
closed the grand halls, keeping near 
him a few old servants; dismissed his 
chaplain, whom he suspected, though 
falsely, of having married the run- 
away couple, and who had been 
their mefsenger to him, begging for 
his forgiveness and permission to 
come to him; closed his chapel 
doors; and shut himself up, gloomy 
and alone, in a suite of rooms in a 
wing of the chdtcau. 

Many loving and penitent mes- 
sages came to him from Clemence. 
At first he took no notice of them : 
at last, to one he returned an answer 
— " He would never see her again." 



II. 

The summer came and the 
and many a summer and 
passed, and the dreariest do 
all France was the once mei 
teau Regnier. Year after ) 
old man brooded alone. Ii 
ship or chance brought gues 
chateau, they were receivi 
stately formality, which forba 
stay; rarely did a stranger 
night within its walls. Th( 
ers kept their Christmas holi 
best they might; no great '. 
opened and lighted, no fe 
spread. They wondered he 
the baron would live such a 1 
what would become of the 
should he die, for he had no 
Uke it 

Ten years passed: the o 
began to grow tired at last 
sohtude ; he listened to the \ 
conscience — it reproached hi 
ten long years of neglected 
The first thing he did was i 
the doors of his chapel. 1 
for artisans and ordered it 
repaired and refitted, then he 
messenger to the Bishop o 
louse, asking him to send a c 
to the Chiteau Regnier. 

The church was in thos 
what she is now — the great i 
of the world; but at that ti 
was the onfy republic, the > 
pregnable citadel where, I 
all the centuries that we \ 
middle ages, the liberties a 
equality of men held their 
against hereditary right and 
despotism. In the monasb 
prior was often of lowly biitl 
among the humbler bretbrer 
he ruled might be found i 
patrician, even of royal 1 
Virtue and talent were the on 
acknowledged; the noble kn 
confessed his sins, and reoetv 



ChMeetu Rtgnier, 



S2i 



nn the hand of the serf. 

side the prince!y-l)om Ber- 

sce the n.ime of Fulbeit, 

nous bisiiop of Choxtres, 

the episcopal throne from 

nd obscurity — as he himself 

ut de sUnore pauper'*; and 

Ling friend and niini«iter of 

he Sixth, Sugcr, Ihc abbot of 

. and regent of France, was 

of a bourgeois of St. Onier. 

happened that when the 

01 to the Bishop of Toulouse 

aplain, a young priest, who 

son of a vassal nf ChSteau 

threw himself at the pre- 

t, and begged that lie might 

The bishop looked on him 

prise and displeasure. 

cigneur," said the priest, 

proai:li me in your heart for 

ppears to you my presump- 

boldncss in making this 

I have a most earnest rea- 

|the love of (Jod, in asking 

' a very brief time do I ask 

chaplain at the ChSteau 

but I do most earnestly ask 

i^he was sent. 

Dung P^re Rudat had been 

hildhood a fiivorite with the 

It was the baron who had 

notice of the bright Imy, 

had sent hira away to the 

uols of Lyons to be educat- 

now, when he saw his for- 

rite return to hira, the old 

jieart warmed again, and 

I the young priest. 

I with strange emotions that 

Kudal stood once more in 

) of his chitdhoDd. When a 

J boy there, with no very 

I' plans for life, he had loved, 

fty's romantic love, the beau- 

ncnce. He was something 

arocT and poet ; she had 

f queen of his reveries. He 

nf a vassal, and she of 

This thought saddened 



htm, and many were the ditties 
wherein he bewailed, in true trouba- 
dour fashion, this mournful fact ; but 
that he was a boy of twelve when 
she was a girl of seventeen did not 
at the time occur to him. 

After he had gone to the univer- 
-siiy he heard of her departure from 
her father's castle, and the old man's 
unforgiving anger against her. The 
thought of her grief kept the remem- 
brance of her in his heart, and now 
— though he could laugh at ihose 
old dreams of romance — he could 
love lier with a nobler love. He 
knew the baron's former predilection 
for himself, and he*prayed daily to 
Jicaveii that he might once more see 
her restored to her father's halls. 

At the chdtcau now he was the 
baron's constant companion. He 
led the old man little by little to in- 
terest himself once more in the duties 
of life — in plans for ameliorating the 
condition of some of the poor vassals 
— in some improvemcnls in the cliS- 
Icau. Before two years had passed 
the old man seemed to love him like 
a son. Vet often a cloud passing 
over the weary face, a deep sigh, a 
sudden indifference to all eanhly 
things, betrayed the Hfclonc grief of 
the baron's heart, and the thought 
still kept of her whom that heart so 
truly loved but would not pardon. 

It was drawing near to the Christ- 
mas season, when one day Tirre Ru- 
dal said to the Baron : 

" My lord, more than a year have 
I been with you, and although you 
have heaped many favors ujion me, 
I have never yet solicited one ; now 
I am going to ask one." 

" My dear IKend and companion," 
replied the baron, •' whatever is in 
my power, you know you have only 
to ask." 

'Mn the old days," continued the 
priest, " this chateau of yours saw 
many a gay feast, especially at the 



5*4 



C/iAieau Regnier, 



Christmas-tide ; then there were no- 
Ues and ladies here ; now it has 
grown gloomy and silent. What I 
ask is, that this Christmas you will 
give an entertainment, but one of a 
novel kind; let the halls be opened 
and a banquet spread, and invite all 
your poor neighbors, your vassals, 
your retainers, their wives and chil- 
dren ; let none be omitted : do this 
for the love of that little Child who 
was so poor and outcast for love of 
us. I myself will superintend the 
whole, and pledge myself for the 
good conduct and happiness oi all ; 
and moreover, you yourself will ac- 
company and remain among your 
guests, at least for a little while. 
I know I am making a bold request 
in asking this, but I am sure you will 
not refuse it, and I promise you wilt 
not repent of it." 

The baron acceded to the request 
Had he been asked to entertain 
grand company at his castle, in his 
present mood he would have refused 
at once and haughtily; but he was 
too generous to refuse anything 
asked in the name of the poor ; be- 
sides, he felt in his heart the truth of 
what the young priest had said to 
him: "There is no solace for grief 
like that of solacing the sorrows of 
others; and no happiness like that 
of adding to their happiness." 



III. 

Christmas Day came ; and, after 
the Grand Mass was over, the great 
hall of the chdteau was opened, and 
tables were spread with abundance 
of good cheer ; there were presents for 
the little children too ; and there were 
jongleurs who, instead of the custo- 
mary love ditties, sang old Christmas 
carols in the soft Provencal dialect. 
Amidst the hilarity there was, what 
by no means was common in those 



days, order and decorum. Tr 
due in part to the restraint to 
inspired by the old chiteav— < 
for the first time in so many 
but more to the jHCsence i 
midst of the baron and theprit 
passed from one group to 
with a kind word to each. 

After a while the priest 
hand on the baron's arm : 

" Let us retire to yonder oi 
dow — there we may sit in q 
contemplate this merry scene 

llie baron gladly escaped : 
crowd, but, as he seated hi 
sigh of weariness escaped hit 
cloud gathered on his brow. 

" How happy you have i 
these good people," said tli 
" The merriment of childt 
something contagious in it 
not ?" 

" What have I to do with 
riment of other people's chil< 
a poor childless old man ?" 

The baron spoke bitterly 
first time in his life had he : 
allusion to his griefs. 

** But see these three pre 
children coming towards 
priest continued ; " we did 
them as we passed through tl 
And he beckoned them n 
little girl about eight yean 
little boy some two or thr 
younger, and the smallest j 
to walk : beautiful children iJi 
but dressed in the ordinar}- 
peasant children. 

" Do not refuse to kiss the: 
little ones for the love of t 
Cliild who was bom to-day," 
the priest, as he raised oni 
own knee. " Now, my lo 
were the poorest vassal in \ 
mains, would he not be a ha] 
whom these pretty ones sh< 
grandpapa ?" 

The baron's face ^s fm nwj 
of displeasure. *' I want ntr 



Chditau Kt'gMur, 



guests o-s you 
i spare me my presence 
Irtlier. I am gl.id if I can 
kg ton-ards making others 
t happiness for myself is 
b woricl." 

lord!" said the Pirc Ru- 
is your happiness gone ? 
'ou have cast it away. 
daughter, your Clemcnce, 
elf and her liltJe ones at 
and prayeil you, (or the 
Jittle Child born in Beth- 
Ike Arr little ones to your 
did vou coldly turn away 
her ?'" 

bn turned to him with 
zpprise. ** What do you 
5d he. "I have never 

t, and her children 
them now." 
Itrt" said a well-known 
is own daughter Ciemence 
bg in the midst of her 
% his feet. 

nan sank back in his seat 
;hter's arm was ihrowa 
heck — her head was rcst- 
' heart — and aftf^r an in- 
|glc between love, the di- 
i, and pride, the human 
irm was clasped closely 
Pfcre Rudol lifted up the 
,aad placed it on tlie 



baron's knee, and then quieUy stole 
away. 

A merry jjlacc was the ChAteau 
Regnier after that night ; the rooms 
and halls were opened to the day- 
light — there was romping and laugh- 
ing of children from one end of it to 
the other. The Count de Regnault 
was sent for on the very next day 
after that happy Chrislm.is, and was 
embraced by the baron as a son — 
and evermore thereafter, with great 
splendor and merriment, w^ts that 
feast held at the chateau ; so that 
the Christmas festivals of Chateau 
Regnicr becamt famous ihruuyhout 
France. 

As for the young priest — that 
night, after he had seen Ciemence 
once more in her father's arms, he 
left the chiltcau and never rtturne<i to 
it. He went away to 'I'oulouse. and 
wrote from thence to the Ixiron, 
telling him that his love for him and 
his was unalterable, but his mission 
at the ch&teau w.is accomplished; 
the voice of duty called him else- 
where; and he begged the baron's 
consent to depart. The baron gave 
his acquiescence reluctantly. Ptre 
Rudal soon after entered the order 
of the Trinitarians, for the redemp- 
liun of captives, which had been 
recently established, and perished on 
a voyage to Tunis. 



THE "BROAD SCHOOL 



IWbat is your " IJroad School " now, Professor, say, 
■But the booking-office of the old " Broad Way " ? 

Aubrey de Verb. 



$26 Tht Liquefaction of tfu Blood of Si. yamuarm. 



THE LIQUEFACTION OF THE BLOOD OF S 
JANUARIU& 



NO. V. 



The direct and positive arguments 
which we have presented in our last 
article, bearing on the miraculous 
character of the liquefaction, cover 
the ground so entirely that we 
might, indeed, rest our case on their 
presentation. We need, however, 
make no apology for going further, 
and examining also, and somewhat 
in detail, the difficulties and counter- 
statements which have been made, 
from time to time, by those who deny 
its miraculous character. Truth shrinks 
from no examination or proper test. 

We are confident that, the more 
closely those objections are examin- 
ed, the weaker they will be found to 
be i and their weakness is an addi- 
tional argument for the truth of our 
conclusion. 

The general charge is that this 
liquefaction is effected by some trick 
or other on the part of the priests. 
A vague charge by itself means no- 
thing, and is of no value. To be 
worth anything, there must follow a 
'* specification," some indication or 
explanation of the precise mode or 
trick by which the liquefaction is 
effected. How is iT done ? This 
is the first question to which a reply 
must be given, before the objectors 
can come into court. 

The replies to it have been nume- 
rous, very numerous — in fact, so nu- 
merous as to lose all real value : they 
are so wonderfully discordant and so 
contradictory. 

The liquefaction of the blood of 
St. Januarius has occurred, during 



the last two hundred and f 
— to go no further back just 
least four thousand times; i 
without any attempt at com 
under the eyes of believers a 
lievers alike, standing on e 
and within a few feet, it m 
immediate contact with tht 
ing clergyman, and, theref 
sessing ample opportunity 
closest and most critical ii 
of everything concerning \i. 
such circumstances, it is ii 
able that the precise trick, 
or secret, if there were an 
remain undiscovered. Yet, 
such discovery has been 
perfectly clear from this strii 
agreement among those wh 
that there is fraud, as soc« 
undertake to state distinct!) 
the fraud or trick consist: 
one proposes is scouted b) 
as so weak and so contra 
facts of the case, that it is vi 
surrender of the cause. One 
it to be " one of the most 
tricks he ever saw " ; but he 
ly silent as to the nature of 
so obvious to him. Anoth 
it to be a trick " of great inj 
as well as of " long standir 
with equal prudence, he alsc 
as to its character. A third 
plain the manner in which A 
it was done ; and the very 
manner in which B. held ih 
performed; while C. witi 
shrewdness proposed a thin 
The reader is considentdf 



LiqucfactioK of tlu Blood of St. Januarius. 527 



which he pleases. Which 
, or whether any one of 

actually true is apparcnt- 
estion of minor importance. 
nd purpose aimed at — and 
, any one of them, even 
take, will, it is thought, be 
—is to find some passable 
»hle pretext to reheve the 
ftm the exceedingly disagrec- 
^ty of admitting a popish 

two and a half centuries of 
I critical examinations, cov- 
luany thousand instances of 
tCiction, have resulted only 
Itter confusion and disagree- 
long those who profess to 
covered the fraud, we may 
ply conclude that in reality 
I been no discovery of any 
>r fraud whatsoever. 
> tax the reader's patience 
I, we will endeavor lo classi- 
drious modes in which we 
Bd by these discord.int voices 
jraud is perpetrated. 
pst class attributes the lique- 
ur seeming liqueOiction, to 
id of jugglery qx Ugerdemain 
■ by the officiating clergymen 
fe exposition of the relics. 
Xeity or h&ifft it would puzzle 

Ktf, or the Fakir of Ava, 
le have suggested, the 
Ibstitution of a second rcli- 
bidi contains a liquid, and 
t a suilabic nioniciil, is pre- 
\ the bystanders, iusiead of 
Dal rchquary containing a 
Stance ? 

pcrlainly not. The officiat- 
t stands in front of an altar 
IjDarble and bronze, without 
br hiding-places. The reli- 
his hand5i is of considerable 
fclvc inches high, five inches 
Id two and a half or three 
lick — entirely too large to 



elude the keen eyesight of the hun- 
dreds close around, who intently 
natch it and scan every motion of 
the clergyman. Where could the 
second reliquary lie hidden until need* 
cd? Conld he lay down the first 
one and hide it away, and draw forth 
the second one and exhibit ic to the 
people, without some such movement 
of his hands and arms as must in- 
evitably be seen ? Can it be that 
never once in these four thousand 
limes did any eye detect the act of 
substitution ? Many of the chap- 
lains and canons who officiate are 
aged men. Can their feeble or half- 
paralyzed arms do frequently, regu- 
larly, and always with perfect suc- 
cess, what the most expert and j)rac- 
tised prestigitator would shrink from 
attempting? The thing is ulierly 
impossible. 

If it were possible and actually 
done, it would not answer the require- 
ments of the case. In such a sub- 
stitution, the liquefaction would tf/ 
ways appear to be instantaneous — .is 
instantaneous as the adroit substitu- 
tion. But the real process of lique- 
faction is seldom so instantaneous. 
It is often gradual, occupying an ap- 
preciable, sometimes a lung time. Jl 
may often be followed by the eye in 
the various stages from solidity to 
perfect fluidity. 

Moreover, no substitution can ac- 
count for the subsequent hardenings, 
or the alternations of hardenings and 
liqucliictions, especially when these 
occur, xs they sometimes do, while 
the reliquary remains untouched, 
mounted on its stand on the altar, 
in the sight of all, or during a pro- 
cession in the streets when it \% borne 
jdoft, equally unto«che<i, in its open 
frame, and is equally visible to all. 

The idea of a substitution of reli- 
quaries can only be eiit-jrtained by 
one who is utterly ignorant of the 
circumstances of the liquefaction. 



$2$ The Liquefaction of (Me Biood of St. yanuarims. 



We set ic aside. If nottiing else can 
be said, the miracle must stand. 

The publicity of all the movements 
of the olfictating clergyman who 
hulHs the reliquar)', and the unceas- 
Ijng inspection of the reliquary by so 
ijnany observers on every side, are 
ecjually pereraptor)* in excluding the 
supposition that the liquefaction may 
possibly be produced by inserting, 
during the exposition, some new in- 
gredient into the ampulla, which, 
uniting with the hard substance al- 
ready there, will give a third sub- 
stance of a liquid character. How 
could this be done so many thousand 
times and always under the eyes of 
a crowd of most attentive and watch- 
ful observers, without a single one 
of them ever, in a single instance, 
detecting this new substance white 
held In reserve for the proper nio- 
meut, or noticing the act of inserting 
it, as this precedes the liquefaction? 
And what shall wc say of those nu- 
merous cases in which the blood. 
having liquefied, becomes hard again, 
and, after a time, liquefies again ? is 
there an adroit witlidrm'al of this 
new ingredient from the ampulla in 
order that the liquid may harden 
a,g.iin. and js there a fresh applica- 
tion of it, each time, for every re- 
newal of the liquefaction, during the 
day? And what if these changes 
occur while the reliquai)- is not in the 
hands of the clergyman at all, but 
lias been i)laced and remains all the 
while un its stand on the altar, or is 
borne aloft in its open frame during 
a procession ? Does this wondrous 
ingrc<licnt of wondrous power won- 
drously manage, of itself, and wiih- 
■ut the aid of human hands, to find 
its way lo and into the ampulla, or 
lo withdraw from it, as often as need- 
ed? 

The drollest attempt at a solution, 
L^a this line, which we remember to 
have met, was one put forward, with 



the usual air of positive use 
a bitter anti-Catholic magozii 
Ushed years ago in the Unita: 
which undertook to impugn 
racle. Hot water, tlie wnt< 
tained, was stealthily inlrudm 
the hollow metal stem or luu 
low the reliquary; the bd 
which might pass, by coBi 
through the intervening sub 
and at last reach the sulisM 
self within the ampulla and 
to melt 

The stem aforesaid is \m 
inches and one-eighth in lenj 
seven-eighths of an inch iai 
diameter. Allowing the m 
which it is formed to be one-si 
of an inch in thicknessi — !c«i 
scarcely be — and that the hoi 
tends the entire length — on 
point we ovow our ignorvi 
cavity of the stem would hoi 
one-fifth of a gill — rather too 
quantity for the purpose io vi 

Moreover, the opening ot 
of the hollow stem is at It 
extremity. Now. inasmuch j 
hot water is subject to tltc I 
gravity anil will fall downnrj 
submit that for the hot wah 
main in the stem or cylinder 
lower extremity quite o))cn, i 
ten minutes, would be as 
miracle as the liqticfacuon 
cbimed to be. Even allowin 
invisible plug to be UM:d t 
that opening and to prevent 
ter from falling down, would 
first and most powerful effec 
heat of the water be manifest 
thin metallic sides of the ltd 
scorching and blistering^ 
of the priest that held it i 

And again, when the 
isdelayed — which, on thtsd 
would occur because the b«j 
small quantity of water fin 
duced is not sufficient for I 
pose, and hAS been absorbed 



e ltd 

I 



jTAt Liquefaction of the li/ood of St. yamtarius. 539 



ifuary before pruducing ihc 
jucfactton — it would obvi- 
jine iicctrssary lo cm]>ty ihc 
to take ill a fresh supply of 
. The same thing would, 
in a cold day, have to be 
over and over again until 
action finaily docs occur ; 
1 have to be repeated still 
n as oftirii as the sulsiancc 
al grows hard during the 
a fre&h liquefaction is re- 
Wiiere is the vase into 
;y pour out the water that 
s heat ? I Jid any one ever 
ettle brought in with the 
3ly of water, steaming hot, 
? 

E the author of tliis expla- 
s a wag, making game of 
le readers of tiic anli-Ca^ 
gazine. Ii~ he was in ear- 
Vgret that he did not turn 
lOt ulcnts to the task of 
kg perpetual motion, 
e reader n)ay think that we 
loing justice to tlic oppo- 
the liquefaction, wc will 
6 words of one who is or 
I held as a high authority 
mks. Bishop Douglas {of 
Kngland) published A 

V/irr i^ii/inguisAirig the Afira- 
e JVhtf 7'eitament from the 

(m and Popal Prints. 
cliquefaaion« he says : 
lar naiaral caase is no| 
IVolutcljr agreed upun. Sume 
Ined tlut itie beat bf ihe haads 
Cts wlto have been tampeiiiiK 
ial of blood during ihe cclc< 
' Uass wilt be sufBcicnt la 
Ich. Others, sffaln, have been 
k believe that the hquefaction 
b7 the beat of vast numbers 
kpcrs of enormous size wiih 
uiar is decked out. and many 
ire placed go conveniently that 
Ion, without any appearance 
\ gl»RS »o near to them 
It. and consequently dis* 
XIV.— 34 



poso Ihe enclosed substance to molt. I 
sltould be inclined to subscribe to ibli 
(ipitiiun, h:ul 1 nut nict with a more pro- 
babia solution. 

" 1 am infotmcd (for I linvc never 
liicd iho cxpciimcnt myself) itiat a com- 
po&ilion of cr9<us martit and cockintal 
will petfeclly icsemble congcitcd blood, 
and, by dropping die smalic^i ({uantily 
of atjiia /ertis aniun^st this cumposttion, 
its dry particles wilt be put into a few- 
mem. till at last an ebiillUlon is excited 
and the substance becomes liquid. 

"That a ^ I ass may be so com rived as 
to keep the tiqua f&itit from the dry sub* 
Klancc till ihc crtucal moment when the 
liquefaction is to be cfToctod may be 
easily conceived. And Indeed the v)al 
containing the pretended blood is so con* 
stitutcd. It is lonicihtng like an hour- 
glass, and the dry substance \% lodged in 
Ihe upper dlrision. How, in the lowcrdi- 
vision of ibe glass, a few drops of oqua/or^ 
Us may be lodged wiOiout futniithing any 
sufipicion, as tlie color will piuwot in 
being distinguished. All the ailcndani 
circumstances of this bungUni; trick arc 
perfectly well accounicd lor by admitting 
this solution. Whenever the priest would 
havo the miracle lake eflcci, he need only 
invert the glass, and then llie afua fnfr^s, 
being uppcrniosi, will drop down on the 
dry subst.ince and excite an ebullitloo, 
which resembles the melting. And upon 
restoring the glass lo its former position, 
the spectators will see the substance, the 
particles of which have been separated 
by the (Tqua prlis, drop down lo the bot. 
torn of the glass. In the B.-tnio manner 
that the sands run through an hour-glass. 

" Now, upon the eupposlilon thai I 
have assigned the real cause, tltc priests- 
can prevent the success of this miracle 
whenever tlicy please; and accoidingly 
we know (hat they do actually do so, 
when ihcy have any prospect of advanc- 
ing llicir own interest, by infusing a no- 
tion into ibe minds of the Nc;ipulilans- 
tbai heaven is angry with ibcir nation." 

Bishop Douglas with his reliquary; 
" something like an hour-^Iass " de- 
serves to stand next to hiiu who filled 
the stem with boiling water. They 
both seem to value the dreamy sup- 
position which they evolve out of 
their own inner consciousness as 
fully equal to undoubted and actual 



530 The Liquefaetion of the Blood of St, Jmnuarha, 



facts demonstrated by experience or 
fully established by testimony. 

We leave aside the chemistry in- 
volved in his supposition, since he 
candidly avowed that he never tried 
the experiment. It is a pity he did 
not make a similar candid avowal 
when speaking of the shape of the 
vial containing the blood. He 
should, for the sake of good faith, 
have warned his readers that he had 
never seen the vial itself, nor even 
an engraving of it; and should have 
let tliem understand that his whole 
explanation was based on his assum- 
ed ability to describe accurately and 
minutely the shape of a vial whicli, 
he must have been aware, and should 
have informed them, he was entirely 
ignorant of. 

Any one who has seen the reli- 
quary and the ampulla within it, or 
has even looked at the figure of it 
which we have given, or at engravings 
of it which are easily obtained in 
Naples and elsewhere, will see at 
a glance that the shape of the am- 
pulla is just the reverse of an hour- 
glass. In fact, in form it much more 
closely approaches a sphere. Not a 
single point set forth in the explana- 
tion is correct. There is no upper 
division in which the dry substance, 
compounded of crocus matHs ancl 
.cochineal^ and perfectly resembling 
congealed blood, is or can be lodg- 
ed; -there is no lower division, unoc- 
cupied save by the few drops of aqua 
fortis, the color of which prevents its 
being discovered, even by keen, curi- 
ous, prying eyes. There is in the 
liquefaction no sandlike fall, from 
an upper into a lower division, of a 
stream of particles of the dry sub- 
■stance, now separated or liqueAed by 
(the aqua fortis. The bishop has not 
only failed to hit the bull's eye, he 
■has entirely missed .the target, every 
shot 

And yet, iwith whac delicious com- 



placency he considers, and < 
his readers to admit, that he, 
all others, has correctly expo; 
bungling trick, and has uni 
the fraudulent dealings of the 
who can effect or prevent the 
as they please ! It is a genuit 
pie of the way in which a 
class of writers think they d 
anything Catholic. And hov 
after reading this passage of I 
terion, may have closed the I 
perfect confidence that, after : 
exposure, so clear and detailei 
learned and so respectable an 
rity, it would be waste of 
read another word on the liqui 
of the blood of St. Januarius! 

Need we go back to the t 
vious explanations he menti< 
which he will not adopt, unl 
forced by the failure of his 
planation ? So many othei 
urged them that we may ni 
them entirely unnoticed. 

The ordinary form of the i 
is this : The officiating prie: 
holds in his hands the vial con 
the blood, rubs it with his h 
chief, and clasps it in his palm: 
animal heat of his hands, ai 
heat as the friction may p 
suffices to bring about the 1; 
tion. 

Let the reader cast an eye 
very correct figure of the n 
which we give. The priest 1 
by the stem below; someti 
turning it, he may put one h 
the crown above. He does 
he cannot, touch the interic 
containing the blood. They 
side the case, held in position 
soldering above and below, : 
enclosed and protected by tb 
metal rim, and the pbtes of \ 
front and rear. The heal 
hands, as he holds it, and the 
heat that can be pcodocsd 
friction — as occaaonafijr*! 



The Lfqnr/actioH &f the Blcod of St. JaHucrius. 



ntcs. he tnay, if be thinks It 
y, rub the ^'Intes of glass with 
handkcrrhicf, in ortlcr to 
X through ihem into the in- 
lannol [x>s5ibly affect the con- 
the ampulla in any apprccja- 
ce. As for tatising them to 
iquefy, one might as well ex- 

satnc animal heat of one's 
light a wax candle by sim- 
»ing and holding the c.indie- 

which it stands, or that 
ibbing the candlestick with a 
Chief, ever)* five or icn nit- 
keep it bright and dn', 
roducc the same physical ef* 
tic candle placed in it as or- 
Rorta]« obtain nowadays by 
lucjfer match and apply- 
the wirk. 

tie who has ever witnessed 
faction can listen to this at- 

expUnation without a smile 
•of contempt, l-'ven in those 

hich the liquefactions lake 
lile the reliquary is in tlie 

the priest, it is equally in- 

and absurd. It has no ap- 

whatevcr to the other many 

which the liqiief:iclio» oc- 
le the rcliqviary stands on 

or is borne in procession. 

other solutions we have ex- 
it makes no attempt to ac- 
the reiterated hardenings 

efacHons which may occur 
iC day, tior for the variations 

e and for the other phases 
e pR'scnte*:!. Yet we must 
iind that all these are strik- 
characierisiic ]wints, which 
be strictly accounted for, 
rith the simple fact of a so - 
incelwcoming fluid. 

the second mode of solu- 
itioned by Hishop Douglas, 
h attributes the liquefaction 
ificral heal arotmd the altar 
I * vast number of wax tapers 
IcniB sixe *' burning on tlie 



altar, and also, not to omrt what oth- 
ers have said, to llie crowd closely 
jjackcd around the officiating clergy- 
man— that attempted solution has 
already been disposed of. 'rhcrrao* 
metrical investigations by scientilic 
professors, and the many times that 
the liquefaction takes place at the al- 
tar when there is little or no crowil, 
and also away from the altar and its 
" wax tapers of enormous size" dur- 
ing a jiroce&sion in the streets, and 
while tlie reliquary is freely exposed 
to the open air of December — alt 
alike combine to exclude this solu- 
tion. As for the convenient position 
in which the bishop places some of 
those wax tapers, and the practice 
of the priests to make use of this |>osi- 
tion antl, " without any appearance oi 
design," to "hold the glass so near 
to them as to make it hot, and con- 
seqviently dispose the enclosed sub- 
stance to melt, " we may ask, if he 
did not believe this to be true, why 
has he repcateil the statement, and 
expressed his inchnation " to sub- 
scribe to this opinion " even as a pis 
aiUrf If he did believe that the 
priest really so manipulated the via! 
in order to produce the liquefaction, 
ought not that to be sufficient ? Why 
]>Obipone the truth in favor of a pet 
theory about croctis martis^ cochinea/f 
aquafortis, and the h0ur-:^iass t Evi- 
dently, his mind was rather cloudy 
on the subject. Seriously, the priest 
could not hoUI the reliquary so near to 
a hghtcd wax taper of enormous sixe, 
long enough to make it hot, without 
attracting the attention of liundrcds 
each time he did it. Not to over- 
look the smallest point, we may re- 
mark that, on the six occasions 
when wc were present at the lique- 
faction, on all of which it invari.ably 
occurretl at the main altar of the 
Trsorp chapel, the lighted tapers on 
the altar were few. If our memory 
serves us right, they were just six^ 



532 7'ite Liquefaction of the Blood of St, yetttuartm. 



three on each side of the crucifix 
over the centre of the altar, and all 
of them placed on tall and elevated 
altar candlesticks. The nearest blaze 
must have been, at least, seven feet 
away from and above the reliqua- 
ry, as the cliaplain held it in front 
of the altar. To achieve the feat 
which Bishop Douglas mentions, it 
would have been necessary to move 
back a portion of the crowd, near the 
altar, in order to get room, and then 
to bring in and make use of a good- 
sized step-ladder ! The only burn- 
ing light ever held in proximity to 
the reliquary is the single small taper, 
.sometimes held by an assistant chap- 
lain, and used on cloudy or ha^y 
days, when the general light in the 
Tesoro chapel is not sufficiently 
strong to show through the glass 
plates of the reliquary and the sides 
of the ampulla, as distinctly as desir- 
ed, the state of the blood in the inte- 
rior of the ampulla. In such cases, 
tills taper is now and then brought 
for half a minute or a minute within 
ciglit or ten inches of the reliquary, 
and is held a little downward, and be- 
liind it, in such position that its light 
may shine obliquely onward through 
the glasses, ou the surface of the 
Mood, and show, as we saw it show, 
the state of the interior with perfect 
distinctness. It is not applied to 
the reliquary in any way that can 
appreciably heat it. When the at- 
mosphere is perfectly clear, the ge- 
neral light of the chapel is amply 
.sufficient, and this taper is not need- 
ed nor brought forward. 

What we have said of the modes 
thus examined is true of all attempt- 
ed explanations based on some sup- 
posed feat of jugglery or legerde- 
main during the exposition. To one 
who has witnessed the liquefaction 
at Naples, and knows what is really 
done, they are simply ridiculous. We 



repeat : if nothing else can 1 
the miracle must stand. 

This has been felt, and 
quence we have another 
proposed solutions, of a ! 
higher character. Chemistry; 
into service. Some com] 
skilfully prepared, we are I 
inserted by the priests into 
puUa beforehand. It is c 
character that it appears mc 
hard and solid at the beginni 
exposition, and, during the e 
is made to melt or to appea 
Chemists, we are assured, c 
prepare such substances, 
thus reproduce the liquefa 
will. These experiments, it 
ed, settle the question. > 
chemists do and acknowle 
priests do, and pass off as a 

Let us analyze these exp 
and see whether in reality 
peat and renew the liquefac 
its characteristic and essen 
nomena, or in what re^ 
how far they fail to do so. 

The first of these of w 
have any account dates fror 
in 1734' On the 26th of 
in that year — so we are t 
letter dated a few days a 
published in Paris — Gasp 
mann, councillor of his 
court, doctor in medicine, 
fessor of chemistry, entert 
party consisting of fourteen 
friends, assembled to dine a 
tive board, with an imitatic 
liquefaction of the blood o 
nuarius. The letter was wi 
one of tlie party to his ft 
home. We carefully repro< 
facts which the letter states, 
the badinage and sneering 
with which it accompanies 
remarks quite characteristic 
school of Voltaire whenever 
or anything connected witli 



Kir Liquefaction of tfic Bhod of St. Januarius. 533 



£on. *ln default of tlie ohgi- 
ich, we quote Lrom a transla- 

blished in Knj;;land. 
jroCessor, we are told, placed 
lU friends " a human skull." 
» produced from his labora- 
Jirce \*ials of crystal or very 
id transjiarenc glass, in each 
h was contained a matter in 

ImaU bulk, dry, blacky and su 

~ to produce a noise on the 

the vial when shaken." 

t vial being brought near to 

1, the matter in it " became 

fcl>-red color, liquefied, bub- 

rreased its bulk, and filled the 

The second vial was also 

near to the head, and the 

Df matter in it " bubbled but 

But when the third vial 

tilarly brought near the head, 

le of its contents '* remained 

rf, and black." 

writer evidently wished to 
the impression — perhaps he 
believed — that these vials, 
ic professor had carefully pre- 
I his laboratory and showed 
iends after dinner, correctly 
i the liquefaction in ali its 
lases. If the liquid in the 
had also several times chang- 
>lor; if it had filled the vial, 
adding bubbles to bubbles, 
[n actual increase of the vo- 
the liquid within, indcpenil- 
that frothing or bubbling; 
\ then similarly decreased in 
f the liquid had solidified 
any diminution of tenipera- 
J become fluid again without 
of it, he would have pre- 
i Ux stronger case than he 
p. 

lOie points are absent Pcr- 
I writer did not know that 
PC necessary. The letter it- 
ritten in a jocular and raock- 
^ and evidently in a siiirit 
isbcd sliarp epigrammatic 



points, calculated to excite a lauj;h, 
far more than the humdrum reality 
of sober truth. 

We find another account of this 
same experiment in a French work 
before us : La Liquefaction du Saitf: 
tie S. y^im-ifr, by Postel. This ac- 
count is more calm and sober in style, 
and Is based upon the Biblhthi-qu* 
GfrmaniquCy a work to which we 
have not access. It varies consider- 
ably from the sportive account given 
in the letter. According to Hostel, 
the contents of the first vial Hquffied 
entirdy ; the contents of the second 
vial iiquefied only pariialiy ; in the 
third vial there was /w change tvhat- 
fV€r. llie statement is distinctly 
made that neither in tlie first vial 
nor in the second was there any 
sign of ebullition. The variatiun i» 
important 

As between the two accounts, we 
could .scarcely hesitate a moment 
which to hold most worthy of credit 
on any point on which ihcy diflcrcil. 
In neither account do we find any 
indication of the nature of the che- 
mical compounds which Dr. Neu- 
mann had prepared in his laboratory 
and placed in the vials. But as tht* 
experiment was made known and re- 
peated, especially in France, we may 
take it for granted that the material 
used in those repetitions is the same 
that he devised. 

This material is a mLxture of suet, 
or other simitar fatty matter, and 
etiier, the compound being brought 
10 any desired tint — in this case, a 
deep or dark red — by a further ad- 
mixture of any suitable pigment The 
mixture or compound so prepared is 
solid at ordinary temperatures; but 
at about gs" F. it will melt If a 
quantity of such a mixture be insert- 
ed in a small glass vial, and the vial 
be clasped in the palm of one's hand, 
it will soon receive from the hand 
sufficient heat to bring about a total 



534 ^^ Liquifaction of the Blood of Si. yanitarms. 



or a partial liquefaction, according 
to the greater or smaller proportion 
of the ether used in originally com- 
pounding it. 

Neither would it be beyond the 
art of chemistry, in preparing this 
mixture, to introduce other ingredi- 
ents, the particles of which would be 
brought into contact with each other 
when tlie liquefaction has been effect- 
ed and the chemical combinations 
of which would then give rise to a 
greater or less amount of frothing or 
bubbles. 

All this, however, is very far from 
being a reproduction of the liquefac- 
tion which is seen at Naples. The 
difierences, or rather the failures to 
imitate and reproduce it, are essential 
and evident. We point out the chief 
ones: 

I. This liquefaction of the labora- 
tory always and entirely depends on 
the application of the proper degree 
of heat. So long as its temperature 
is below the melting point, the sub- 
stance in the vial remains hard and 
imliqueficd. When the temperature, 
from wliatsoever cause, is raised 
above that degree, liquefaction en- 
sues. If the temperature again sinks 
below it, the substance, if not mean- 
while decomposed, returns to its pre- 
vious solid condition. The operators 
themselves inform us frankly how 
the required degree of heat is usually 
communicated to it; by holding the 
vial, if small enough, in the palm of 
one hand, or tightly pressing it, if 
somewhat larger, between the palms 
of both hands. If the general heat 
of the room be raised high enough 
to reach the melting point of the 
substance in the vial, this circum* 
ktance alone would sutHce to bring 
the compound to a fluid condition. 

On the otlier hand, being from 
Naples and not from Brobdignag, 
the chaplain or canon has a hand 
only of the ordinary size, and is alto- 



gether unable to clasp in the 
of one hand, or even with 
palms, an object so large as < 
liquary. lie is forced to holi 
the stem ; in which positioQf tl 
of his hand can have no appi 
effect on the contents of tt 
within the reliquary. 

Moreover, the liquefaction 
takes place when the reliquar 
held in his hands at all. 

II. AVo repeat it again. 1 
liquefaction does not depend ( 
It takes place at various te 
tures. There is no fixed i 
point for Che substance in the 
la. It will often solidify at a 
temperature than that at w 
stood liquid; and will liquel 
temperature notably below 
which it became or stood solic 
is an essential difference, goin( 
root of the question. 

III. The attempted imiutic 
at the utmost, present a bubt 
frothing, produced in the v 
have indicated. This may e 
to such an extent as to fill t 
with froth or bubbles. But 
never cause the bulk or body 
liquid itself, free from those t 
and independently of ttiem, t 
and increase in actual visible . 
so as to completely fill the via 
amount of the liquid obtainet 
at test and in its tranquil sta 
at the same temperature, will 
be the same. Precisely the 
happens in the liquefaction 
blood of St. Januarius. The 
blood may bubble and froth ' 
increasing its bulk, or it may i 
its volume with or without thi 
ing, or it may decrease its i 
again, with or without the b. 
And these changes of the bull 
actual liquid in the ampulla 
depend on the temperature. \ 
are they points on whicb a i 
is possible; for they rmc^ 



The Lique/action of tke Blood of St. J&nuarius, 535 



itcd, to the extent of twenty 

:hosc two cardinal points, liic 

entirely fails- We need 

note the facts tlmt the prc- 

|p, when solid, does not re- 

JKOaguiaUrd or hardened blood, 

frhen liquid, could never be 

too for liquid blood, whether 

or venous, nor does it pre- 

changes of color so often 

-the reaJ liquefaction. 

Ihcr isan essential ingredient 

tificial compound. Suet, or 

T other fatty substance is used 

will dissolve in ether; while 

inot dissolve in water or in al- 

I Now, ether is comparatively 

rQ discovery. Whether Pa- 
hit upon the discovery of it 
^ is a point mooted among 
jjrtio have studied liis life and 
pncnts in chemistry. But, if 
the knowledge of it was lost 
, and it remained unknown 
rid until Kunkcl discovered 
icorercd it in 1681 — early 
for Neumann, but entirely 
to be of any service in get- 
a compound for the lique- 
ac Naples, whith, for the 
that, runs back far beyond 
of Paracelsus himself. 
explanation, tlicrcfcre, that 
lefaction of the blood of St 
tis is in reality the liquefac- 
. a compound of ether and 
other fatly substance, must 
ide, because entirely insuffi- 
meet the case, and because 

a glaring anachrunism. 
<, too. in another poinL The 
1, ill course of time, gradual- 
though the pores of llie 
When it is gone, the liquefac- 
&t an end. The fatty mat- 
will decompose in time. In 
whole preparation would 
\ be frequently renewed. On 
Jtand, OS we shall see fur- 



tlier on, there is ample evidence that 
the ampulla remains unopened, and 1 
that tlic substance within it remains 
untouched and identically the same, 
from year to year, and from century 
to century. 

These reasons were too patent to 
allow Dr. Neumann's attempted imi- 
tation to hold its own in the estimar j 
iion of those who seriously examined] 
the question. It was thrown aside ' 
for others. We find an account of 
one of them, \vritten by La Condamine, 
and preseiued to no less a body ibaq 
the Academy of Sciences in i'aris, iq 
1757. Hi^ article may be found 
among the various articles published 
in the Afemohs for 1763. 

La Condamine explains, with nQ j 
little glee, and some detail, an expe- 
riment which he had lately witnessed 
in company with others, and which 
he was allowed aftcnrard to repeat 
and study out in jirivalc .and at his 
leisure, and with the assistance and 
explanations of the inventor himselC 
He does not give the inventor's 
name, but we know, from other sour- 
ces, that it was San Sevcro. 

Tliere was a circular case of brooxe 
or silver gilt.. In front and rear, 
there were circular plates of glass. 
The whole stood on a richly oma* 
mented foot, and was surmounted by 
a winged mercury. Within the case, 
between the plates of glasH, w;is seen 
a viaL So far^ the workman had 
prepared a vague imitation of the ftC* 
tual reliquary. 

" The via) appeared half full of a Miff 
grayish paste, whidi, judging by ils sur- 
face, seemed to he powdery nr gr:inu> 
latrd. By inclining the case, ilicrnMely. 
from sideto side, and shaking it for half a. 
minuto, more or less, the paste became li- 
quid aad (lowing, sometimes only partially 
&o;ai Dthcr times, it gicw baid again, and 
by shaking it anew it became liquid 
again. ... 1 remarked beneath tho 
vial two small cones, I do not know of 
wrhat material, meeting by tbetr- poittts. 



536 TAe Liqutfaction of th* Blood of Si, ydmumritt. 



I was told (by the inventor) (tut there 
wua little passage through these points. 
He said, also, that the cones were hol- 
low, and that, as the lower one was 
movable, it sometimes happened that 
its orifice exactly met the orifice of the 
upper cone, and sometimes did not; 
this was altogether a matter of chance. 
... As for the powder which I saw in 
ihc vial, I was told that it was an amal- 
gam of mercury, lead, tin, and bismuth ; 
that the bismuth, which amalgamated 
only imperfectly, hindered the mixture 
from becoming a pasty lump, and gave it 
rather the character of a powder too coarse 
to pass through the little Ojjciiing which 
communicated with the cones. Finally, 
there was hidden, within the case, a cir- 
cular tube communicating with the lower 
movable cone, and containing liquid 
mercury. In shaking the whole irregu- 
larly, whenever the openings of the two 
cones came together, more or less of 
this mercury made its way into the vial 
and liquefied the amalgam. It happened 
sometimes, in these various movements, 
that the mercury which had entered got 
out again, and then the amalgam return- 
ed to its previous condition and was 
fluid no longer." 

This is the account which La Con- 
damine has given, af^er a long and 
careful private examination, aided by 
the. explanations of the inventor, and 
which, he tells us, he wrote down the 
same day. The inventor promised 
to give him inwritinga fuller account, 
with minute drawings of all the parts ; 
but up to the date of publication 
(five years later) he had, for some 
unknown reason, failed to keep the 
promise. 

La Condamine acknowledges that 
he had never seen the real reliquary, 
And had never witnessed the true 
(liquefaction at Naples. He thought 
:this substitute just as good. 

Had he witnessed the reality, and 
had he examined it with one-half the 
care he bestowed on the substitute, 
he never would have written his re- 
port. 

L He would have instantly seen 
4]ie difference between a true lique- 



faction-^where a substance pen 
hard is unmistakably seen to bi 
gradually soft and then peifet 
quid, as is often tlie case at Na 
and this seeming liquefacdtm 
experiment, which consists o 
making the loosened grains or 
cles of the amalgam swim in i 
the fluid mercury which has b 
troduced, they themselves ren 
hard and not at ail liquefic 
ready to be heaped together 
in a hard mass of grains or [ 
whenever the liquid mercury i 
drawn. The diffei^nce betwi 
two processes is as clear as 
and as great as the diflference b 
the melting of icebergs and a 
ment of a fleet of ships on the 
A child could not mistake it. 
Innately, the icebei^ melt an( 
pear as they are changed in 
ter : with equal good fortu 
ships do not melt, but float o 
they reach their port. 

IL He would see that this 
amalgam, in its dry, powder 
is totally unHke the hard, dar 
of blood in the ampulla, and 
pretended liquid state, it is • 
unlike the liquid blood. In 
the mercury enters below ai 
meates the mass, its silvery 
may somewhat enliven the da 
ish hue of the amalgam, but 
present nothing akin to the m 
the &ng/i/ vermiiiom, or the tic 
of the liquid blood. Nor v. 
anything like the film which thi 
blood sometimes leaves on tb 
of the glass, nor like the fr 
or the ebullition. On all these 
the experiment failed. 

in. After sufficient merct; 
been introduced to occupy th< 
slices in the granular mass, a 
ditional supply will lift the pa 
separate them, and allow th 
tion which the inventor pass 
for fluidity ; and this aeeming : 



*^ Li(fmf(%€tion ef the Bl&od of St. Januaritis, 537 



^ grc:5tcr as ihe quantity of 
Run- so introduced for the 
float in is increased In 
But Ihe mercur)' occupies 
;nd !» increase of bulk ami 
fluidity must go together, 
kning requires, on the con- 
I Miiihdraw.il of the mercury, 
lonacrjucutly always connect- 
a decrease of bulk. This is 
contrary to one of the most 
Ceaturcs of the real liquefac- 
' which we have already com- 
bat Icnj^th. 

t fails to account for the 
Bga ari<l the liquefactions 
jccur when the reliquary is 
he hands of a chaplain or 
incline it never so coaxing- 
ands and has been standing 
untouched and imniova- 
s jiedesial on the altar. In 
t the imitation again sig- 
k 

'lial we said of ether, we 
jost repeat here concerning 
luth. This is the imi)ortant 
nt of the amalgam, the in- 
:ncss of which keeps the ma- 
la stale of powder or grains. 
pat is overcome, the whole 
Bheres ,^nd becomes a liard 
ftd the liquefactions, such as 
■e, are over. Now, bismuth 
•oved by Agricola in 1529, 
( after the date when the Ji- 
ms are known to have regu- 

tUTCd. 

he prying eyes of thousands 
ver discovcrcil in the reli- 
ly trace of a circular lube 
ig mercury, nor of the all- 
it Uttic hollow cones, meeting 

rmnts. More than once, as 
see« the reliquary has been 
tnds of goldsmiths and skill- 
men. 'I'hey found nothing 
or of any other contrivance. 
Iwo of Neumann and San Se- 
the chief attempts made to 



imitate the liquefaction of the blood j 
of St. Januarius, and thty have sig- 
nally failed. We need not examine, 
QwtiL by one, the various substances 
which have been proposed as the 
chemical substance craftily used no 
this occasion ; from the " deep-red 
sublimate of gold," which, one tells ; 
us, " being easily fusible by the heat 
of one's hand, is exhibited by the 
Neapolitan priests for St. Januarius's 
blood," down to the theory that " the 
dark-red mass which mdts in the 
ampulla is only a prq>aration of tcE; 
for everybody know* that in Naples 
they are more skilful \w preparing 
ices than even in Archangel." Ky 
the way, we suspect that Aulic Coun- 
cillor Rehfues, a German I'rotcstani 
traveller, lo whom we owe this last 
explanation, was only making fun ol 
his brother Aulic Councillor Nei*- 
mann,and of the other iheorisls, who 
were proposing, each one, his own 
guess as to the substance. 

Anyway, the fact that the real 
liquefaction is not caused by the ap- 
plication of heat rules out all these 
suppositions. The fuller and more 
accurate our knowledge of chemistry, 
the more clearly do we realize the 
truth that all experimental liquefac- 
tions are governed by the laws oi 
nature. The more conversant we 
are with the facts of the real lique- 
faction, the more clearly do wc sec 
that here those laws are set aside. 
Wc cannot shut our eyes to the op|K>- 
silion. 

Sir Humphry Davy, who witness* 
ed the liquefaction when he visited 
Naples, and who carefully examined 
it, made no secret afterwards among 
his friends of the deep impression 
it produced on his mind, and of his 
decided judgment that rhemislrj', so 
far as he knew it, could not account 
for the li<iuerac(ion. 1 liis may have 
been one of the cau5;es of that incli- 
nation toward the Catholic Church 



i^ Tit Ufmf actum tf the Blood of St, ydmrnarmt. 



vmiiiLiioni -^ period of that vidt, 
vas 3Emiiist£<i Of thit enuDent scho- 
lar, ami -viucii led him to think seri- 
uusLT. ac Ids:, oi' entenng her fold, 
evea S xe ciii noc — as some thought 
ic ^ml — carry his purpose into eflfect 
^dure dcicii. 

Aau. yet we are asked to believe 
•iuu *-twra.y back in the dark ages," 
siuitt '^iffoucxDC monks and priests 
Ji Xipies ' possessed a knowledge 
A citenubonr vhkh enabled them to 
lu :iii&'. Aod. more wonderful still, 
uioc 51CT oive secretly handed down 
:3tat kaowiiedge and power, within 
3Kir own body, and that they conti- 
attc ^> tiXK day to effect the lique- 
siktioa ui some strange way entirely 
;iiUAOwa CO the scientific world ! 

*i pass CD to other views of the 

rte» ctuxge of fraud implies that 
3k£- .kinpuLU is tampered with from 
aokc 3J :bne; and that those who 
ja»« cJur^ of it — clergy and laity 
4iik<^ — au<i especially those who hold 
£ 4k ue (inie c^ the liquefaction, are 
jdl ptavui j a trick. 

i& toe ampulla or vial really tam- 
j«««d *:th? Is it regularly opened 
««r cSw insertion of some duly prepar- 

Itke ampulla stands within a case 
ot rethiuart-. as our figure shows it. 
IV" ctse or reliquary, of silver and 
sH; $Uss, is kept in an Art/unre, orclo- 
Ktft. vixHijiht in the solid stone wall 
vV the A'avv chapel, as strong and 
v.vunr as a bank*vault This Armoite 
t» V kvc^t by metal doors, each secur- 
est by two strong locks, with different 
k«v$. one set of which is always in 
tbt possession of the municipal au- 
UMrities of the city, the other in that 
ut' iKe archbishop and clergy. They 
Kav« been so kept for just two hun- 
dred and twenty-four years ; for we 
need not take account just now of 
th* previous centuries, when the re- 
lics were in the exclusive custody of 



the archbishop and clergy, ; 
kept in the old Tesoro^ c 
room, still to be seoi in th 
story of the cathedral tow( 
ing all these two hundred a 
ty-four years, the locks have 
tampered with. The clergy 
charged any one with doinj 
municipal authorities have i 
pected it 

Moreover, the reliquar 
brought out, remains expose 
lie scrutiny for ten or twel 
at a time, on eighteen day 
year ; and there is no man 
or child in Naples, and no 
in the city, who may not, if 
ed, scrutinize it a score ol 
day, at less than twelve in 
tance. Any opening or cl 
the case, any taking out or ] 
of the vial, would leave so 
of the fact, either in the si 
or in the position of the via 
or at least in the soldering a 
and at top, which would h, 
disturbed, if not broken, « 
and then restored. Among 
cial industries of Naples are 
in jewelry and coral, rciouc 
repairing paintings, and — wi 
ry to say it — fabricating OU 
The Neapolitans have eyes 
and traces like these in qu 
quick, sharp, and unerring t 
dian on a trail. No change 
of any tampering has ever I 
by thera. The vials are in 
ly the same inclined posit 
year to year — the same as r 
ed in engravings a ceutur] 
centuries old. The sold^ 
which the bottoms and top 
mersed, is hard, old, black, 
age, and evidently untouch( 
outer case shows no sign 
opening by which a side ca 
screwed or lifted out, so as 
the vials themselves to be 
Probably, when originally iii 



Tkt LiqHt/action of the Blood of St, Januarius. 539 



and Mvf or mtvcu huncireii 

, this could have been done. 
Acrcw ur the juiiu lias long 
icd, and Ukc whole thing is 

nia&a of dingy and rusted 
ilding two gloss plates, 
year 1649, Cardinal Ascaniu 

i was Archbishop of Na- 
lan of great culture and taste 
jiiple privatt fortune, and 
ren to the adornment of the 
i of liis diocese, 
new Tisoro had just been 
k1, and was shining in all the 
spleiidur »f newness. The 

thought that the reliquary 
in l)ic vials of the blood, fur 
he Ttsoro had been built, 
correspond, as the bust did, 
grandeur of the chapel itself. 
[ dingy old silver reliquary, 

they hatl been kept for so 
niuries, did not do. He de- 

to replace it by another of 
excellent workmanship, and 
with rich jewels. He had 
3e ** regardless of expense," 
in all was ready, on Septera- 
549, he came into the Tao- 
wnie of his clergy and the 
iroDi die city, and with 
>tahcs, ihat proper legal re- 
jhl be made of everything, 
1 chos.en goldsmiths. Are 
names (if Ihem all duly re- 
Tlie Armoit-e was opened, 
iiary was taken to the adjoin- 
aty; and there, for several 
presence of his eminence 

clergy, and the honorable 
B, •* and of us, the undersign- 
ies," the goldsmiilis tried and 
to open the reliquary. They 
kd gave it up. They could 
te reliquary, if so directed; 
could not open it. Accord- 
ic reliquary was locked up 
it had been taken out The 
was a persevering man. He 

r goldsmiths, and came a 



second time, on the 8th of September. 
with clergy, delegates, and iiotari*';.. 
For two hours again these gold- 
smiths tried to open tlie reliquary, anri 
failed, as ll>e first had done. They 
could break it, if reciuired ; but how 
could they open a case where all 
their trying could find neither joint 
nor s<:rc\v ? Again the rclicjuary was 
replaced in the Annoirr. 'I'he car- 
dinal's heart was set on using his new 
grand reliquar>' on the festival near 
at hand, the i9ih of September. He 
thought over the matter, again sum 
moned the delegates and the notaries, 
and on the i6ih came, a third lime, 
with his clergy and yet other gold- 
smiths. A third prolongcil trial was 
made with the sime ill-success. The 
reliquary might be broken, if they 
wished ; it couUl not be opened. 
To break it was not to be thought 
of; tha,!. might endanger the precious 
vials within. So, the old silver reli- 
quary was put up again, that eve- 
ning, and his eminence was forcetl 
to use it on the festival of the 29th 
for the exposition that year. It has 
been used ever since, .^mi now, two 
hundred and iweuty-two years later, 
it was again brought out on the 19th 
of September in this present ye.u", 
1871. The cardinal, h is to be pre- 
sumed, devoted his rich reliquary to 
some other pious purpose. 

But if his eminence had lived to 
the age of the olden patriarchs, and 
had retained it iu his possession, he 
might have :it last found a more fa- 
vorable opportunity far again trying 
to change that reliquary. On the 
afternoon of Tuesday, May 5. 1762. 
one of ihc glass phtes, by dint, of 
course, of being rubbed for .so many 
hundred years by white handker- 
chiefs, became somewhat loose in its 
groove or socket, and threatened to 
fall inwaid, endangering the |>recious 
vials. Accordingly, early ntsst niora- 
ing, an hour and a half belore ihe 



540 The Liquefaction of the Blood of St, Januarins. 



lime for the regular exposition (for it 
was in the May octave), the archbi- 
shop of that day, Cardinal Sersale, 
came with clergy, city delegates, no- 
taries-public, and goldsmiths. The 
reliquary was taken out of the Ar- 
moire, and the glass was fixed again 
firmly in its place, and the reliquary 
was returned to its Armoire^ before the 
hour for the public exposition. It 
docs not appear, from the very suc- 
cinct account we have of the occur- 
rence, whether or not, during the 
work, the vials or ampullae were tak- 
en out of the reliquary, within which 
they are held in their places by the 
old soidering. Nothing is said of 
this having been done, nor of the 
soldering being touched and then re- 
jwireil when they were pm back in 
their places. On the whole, consid- 
ering the nature of the repaur to be 
done, and that it was done in a few 
moments at the door of the Armmn^ 
hack of the altir. we »re indined to 
think that iher did not find it nec- 
essary t.> n'.vtx'e them, and that ther 
were s.x-ordbrfj" Irtt untouched in 

Tfcosf Arf :hc only occasioRs on 
w*ixh ;^^ ciirws say an>-thing bear- 
i»j or. ;Sr SMsbSi^r o* opening this 
Tri*;tirT. oc Ci its being rer-aired. 
W rise JL:v*pnK of the cathedral, an- 
otiwr irvi5e=t » raecacccd. of an 
ascxti Ci:*. I2 the riar i,^?;. 
r«Mry i cir::spr aai a half beivxe 
Xln? >cr?->*^ vY rst oew J>f^.\ the 
Trio? •-;-'t' Vxrc -,■= Ae cii Trs/^t or 
scree i -.x'.rr .:c rSe cai-^ecra!. a jcnsci: 
rasiTT,- , -i-*>cr .-« st.-ce. ae use se- 
oMui sr^-> -•* ::■; "vk^- wixi rises 
«: tv T».-.-t>«r£sC c-,*c^K- ce" the 
,Awv. T>i: r.'X'^ WIS i^-i aT»- 
w«r*!i»i ,'^ X ■• .^,i.r-; srrirwiT. A 
^'ST" *^,* c-i-^,-?*. vjs ir-.r^-j o?wz: 
:d»i ??•.•»,- ri-v Tvct rw r.-^ijf^ t,-» tise 
cl)ii!!r> vc rt *irv«^-*t A: t^ 
^crr -inc ssfrv V c-.7«c xai fc£: 
Miiiihr 9e&><^BKTKiBec dcw%.' 



step to step, to the very bottoi 
present feared it was broke 
gave thanks when it was ta 
and found to be perfectly un 
Yet the alarm had been gre 
Maria Toleta, " the pious wii 
viceroy," who was present at 
and shared in the alarm, \ 
winding stairway taken dowr 
own expense, and replaced 
other one, straight, broad, ai 
which is in use to this day. 

We may take these facts 
evidence that the reliquary i 
and not very easily opened, ; 
they who know all about it 
believe that it is or can be r 
opened. 

Tlje same conclusion is als 
on lis by considerations of an 
different character. We have 
drawn attention to the fa 
whatever the level at wh 
blood stands when the reli< 
locked up at night, at the ( 
(Hkc exposition — whether at it 
ry level, or SffMuwkat increauA 
much imcreastJj or full — it is 
blr found at the same levi 
taken out the next time for 
suing expoation, whether tL 
be next morning or after the 
months. The level is one 
points specially noticed and n 
A variation wonld necessaril) 
tected. Yet, if on each one or 
many of the four thousand d 
we have spoken of, the old < 
had beeo privately taken out 1 
the expositions, and a fiesfa 
pot in, would there not faai 
DOC anfieqnently, some app 
iacqaabtTof lerd? 

Aipin, sometimes the bio 
hard whcs pot up. How 1 
haid w^nsfwe be extracted 
cmow-Dcdc^d vial of glas 
ttokittg it ? According to 
tneSv *M ttMC OBCfcnK oocm 



we 'Lf0ie/dit/$^»i of the Blood of Si. Jamtarius. 



eplcmbcr, filled the nm- 
Id W.1S so lucked up at the 
ihc novcna. It was found 

hard in December following, 
I liquoffing at all, was again 
jp in the same condition. It 
id in precisely the same state 
C icliqu.ir>' was again taken 
je May following. Here, on 
casions, the conienis of the 
tl and completely Ailing it, 
re remained unextracted from 
fer to May, seven months. 
^e May octaves that ioliow- 
iqucfactions wciu on as usu- 

freshly inserted compountl 
essary for the liquefaction. 
Bc reasoning applies in a 
'to the numerous cases in 
ch a. fulness went over, four 
Ind a half, from .VI ay to Sep- 
Dr nearly three months, from 
Cr to December. 
\ in quite n. number of in- 
M the same tables show, the 
i of the blood, when locked 
leil as /f/tf/V/ 'u'ifh a fioat'm^ 
%p^ as was the case on the 
\ December, 1870. When 
Ikfcen out, the next day, or 
ineral months, though often 
Irirely hardened, yet not un- 
y — as on the 6th of May, 
I was found in precisely the 
I^Q which it had been put 
^fan^/i a fiiHtiitig hard lump. 
Pk cases, die condition of 
tnts of the ampulla is a new 
|}crable objection to the sup- 
iiat a newly prepared amount 
r had been inserted for the 
|nt liquefactions. Did other 
knees allow it, we might con- 
^uid to be poured out of 
^, and a fresh liquid to be 
k. But how is the solid hard 
^ vould not liquefy, to be 
[ And if got out, how is 
lia.rd lump to be put in to 
I ? Arc ibc constituents of 



this new hard lump jioured into the 
ampulla separately, as liquids or pow- 
ders tliat can pass tUrou^li the neck? 
Then their character must be such 
that, instead of uniting with the U< 
quid already there, or the constitu- 
ents of the liquid portion, iliey will, 
on the contrary, combine apart to 
form the hard mass. But if so an- 
tagonistic to the li(|uid ixjrtion, how 
is it that, when the lump does liquefy 
during the ensuing exposition, these 
constituents a: once intimately unite 
with the liquid, the whole forming a 
homogeneous mass, which without 
the least indication of any antago- 
nism between its component parts 
will henceforth sohdify and liquefy 
as a single mass ? 

The more carefully the facts of the 
case are studied, the more impera- 
livcly do they exclude every hypo- 
thesis save the simple one which so 
many other facts corroborate, that 
no attempt has been made to change 
The contents of the ampulla. Every- 
thing about the ampulla excludes the 
idea that . it is regularly tampered 
wiih privately between the cxpoai- 
tions. 

There is still another light in which 
we must view this charge of fraud. 
Ever since the opening of the new 
Ttsore, in 1646, there have been at- 
tached to that chapel twelve chap- 
lains and a lustos., with inferior at- 
tendants as needed. In the cathe- 
dral itself, at least from 1496, there 
have been twenty canon* and bene- 
ficiaries, besides minor attendants. 
When the liquefaction takes place in 
the Tesoro, the reliquary is in the 
hands of the chaplains, who act in 
turn, or relieve each other as conve- 
nient. When it occurs in the pro- 
cession or in the cathclral, or in 
some other church, ihc reliquary is 
in the charge of the cai^ons, who si- 
milarly relieve each other. Hence, 
canons and chaplains, aJl alike, must 



542 The Liquefaction of tite Blood of St. Jannanai, 



be cognizant of the fraud, if any 
there be, and must participate in it. 
Add to these the archbishops and 
their vicars-general in Naples since 
1496. Add also those clergymen 
who, having been canons or chap- 
lains, have passed to other dignities, 
or have retired from their office, but 
must of course still retain the know- 
ledge of this fraud, if they once 
possessed it. We may say that there 
have been on an average, at all times, 
forty ecclesiastics, if not more, who 
had cognizance of the fraud, if there 
were any. The dignity of canon 
of the cathedral or chaplain of 
the Tesoro is ordinarily reached only 
oiler years of meritorious service 
in the lower grades of the ministry. 
Hence the canons and chaplains are 
usually men of mature and advanced 
age. We can scarcely give them 
more than fifteen years of average 
life. We have thus about a thousand 
clergymen since a.d. i 500, all charg- 
ed with being cognizant of and par- 
ticipators in the fraud. 

Now, what was the character of 
those men ? Those among whom 
they lived, and who knew them, re- 
spected them as a body of men de- 
voted to the service of God, pure 
and exemplary ecclesiastics, proved 
by years spent in the zealous works 
of the ministry. Some were men of 
honorable and noble famih'es ; others 
were men distinguished in the walks 
of literature and science ; some had 
sacrificed all the world promised 
them, in order to spend their lives 
in the sanctuary. Some were rever- 
ed in life, and remembered after death, 
as pre-eminently true servants of God, 
men of prayer, of strong faith, and 
of singularly pure and saintly lives. 
Of course, individuals here or there 
may indeed have been wicked or 
hypocritical But this testimony of 
the people to their character must 
have been true of the great body. 



Now, could such men ht' 
united in this fraud ? On thd 
principles aod convictions, at 
cording to the doctrines they 
and should themselves practise 
could scarcely be a more heim 
against God and his holy r 
than to palm off a trick of 
men as a miracle of God's «> 
Could they bring themselves t 

Is it possible that no one ol 
ever repented, even in the pi 
of death, and sought to sa 
soul, and to make reparation, 
closing the fraud and arresti 
evil ? Could all have chosen 
impenitent, with the certainty < 
lasting damnation before then 
er than reveal the blasphemoi 
to them, henceforth useless 
The thing is impossible. 

Again, men, even though go 
pious, may be garrulous. A 
have their unguarded momenta, 
came it that the secret never 
out from any one of them dui 
these years ? 

Again, among so many then 
have been men wicked, avai 
passionate, revengeful. How 
it that no one sought to roal 
ney by revealing the secret; t 
one declared it through anger 
no one did so in retaliation 
he was punished by his cedes 
superiors ? 

Nay, more, we fear that ins 
might be found in which, towi 
close of the last century, so 
them were carried away by ll 
ligious mania then prevailini 
became the companions of i 
if not themselves infidels. A 
less our memory is at fault, 1 
two yielded to the blandishma 
the privileges of Protestantism. 
comes it that, through sod 
world has not learned how Ai 
quated trick is actually done I 
vionsly, thef had ao .'dUm 



Tht Litjue/aetioH of the Blood of St, JanuarWs: 



•This is the only possible an- 

! is still more to be said on 
At. The civil authorities of 
arc, and have been for two 
I and twenty-four years, joint 
IS with the archbishop and 
Tesont chapel anil of 
of St. Januarius, 'J'hey 
le Bct of the keys of the Ar- 
ir closet, which caji never be 
save in the presence of one 
members, whom they send as 
lie, and tvhose sworn duty it 
' to lose sight of the reliquary 
is placed in its closet, and he 
R duly locking it up. During 
iro hundred and twenty-four 
(aples has again and again 
I masters. Austrians, l.om- 
paniards, an<l French — Bour- 
perial, and Republican — have 
\ the Hiedmontese now hold, 
I which in fact has ofiener been 
y strangers than by Neapo- 
These rulers have been men 
r character, from the best to 
tt ; often rough, ruthless so!- 
tho brooked no opposition, 
c ever ready with the sword ; 
sen, crafty civilians, ready to 

bribe, and to deceive, and 
bly practised to detect plots 
et out hidilen things; some- 
rofcssed iulidels and avowed 

1 of all religion ; oftener poU- 
imies of tlie Neapolitan cter- 
»sc hearts, of course, were 
icir own oppressed people. 
Hues it thnt none of these ru- 
By time luve ever discovered 
le known the fraud ? 

re suppose iliar those rulers, 
)ed 05 they often were to- 
( dcrpy, could or wovdd sac- 
interests, their poli- 
.c5, and their perso- 
,g, m order to co-operate in 
tbc suecefifi of which would 
be less agreeable, perhaps 



far less pro6table, to them, than its 
failure and exposure i* 

Would not the French infidels, in 
1799, have gladly put this stigma on 
the odious cause of Christianity ? 

Anii, in these present years, would 
not Katazzi, ( Janbaldi, and their pan y 
gladly tlo it if tht-y could ? What a 
triumph it would be for them if they 
could strike this blow at "clerical- 
ism " — a blow far more effective than 
fining, imprisoning, or exiling bishops 
and priests and religious! They 
would glorir' in doing it if it were 
possible. \Vhai holds them back ? 
There are no limits to their hatred 
or 10 their powers of calumny. They 
are ever ilenouncing the ignorance 
and the blind superstition of priests 
and people. But the very gist and 
copiousness of their invectives prove 
that they themselves know and feet 
that the priests and people are alike 
sincere. It is the depth and earnest- 
ness of that sincerity which^ excites 
their rage. 

Brought face to face, in Naples, 
with this manifestation of the^ super- 
natural, the civil government, what- 
ever the political circumstances atid 
whatever the private character of in- 
dividual members of it, have always 
seemed struck with awe. and have 
never failed in respect. Nay, more, 
they have ever claimed and exercis- 
ed their privilege of sending their de- 
legate to intervene in the exposition. 

.And sn, after all, on the 19th of 
this last September, as in times past, 
they did send a delegate, with his 
scarlet embroidered bag, and the two 
antique keys chained together; and 
the doors of the Armoire were open- 
ed; and the relics were reverently 
taken out and carried to the altar ; 
and the blood was seen to be hard : 
and the clergy and the crowd prayed 
and waited for the miracle ; " and, 
after eight minutes of prayer, the 
hard mass became entirely liquid." 



S44 ^^^ Liquefaction of the Blood of St, Jauuarhu. 



There is an anecdote current in the 
world on this subject which we have 
heard cited as peremptory against 
much of what we have just said. 
The anecdote, in passing from mouth 
to mouth, has become so vague and 
so full of variations that we would 
scarcely know huw to present it, had 
we not found a precise and quasi 
authoritative form of it in the 
columns of the Coryphaus of French 
infidehty, the Steele of Paris of the 
date of October ii, 1856: 

" Tlie history of Championnet did 
some damage to the miracle of St. Ja- 
nuarius in the minds of a great many. 
In 1799, the French army was in Naples, 
whero it had been well received at first. 
. . . . On ihc 6(h of May, (he crowd 
tilled the chapel of the cathedral. . . . 
For more than half an hour the priest 
had been turning backward and foward, 
on his hands, the round silver lantern 
with two faces of glass within which is 
preserved the precious blood in a small 
vial. The liule reddish mass would not 
(juit its state of solidity. . . . The 
exasperated populace commenced to at- 
tribute the stubbornness of San Gennaro 
to the presence of the French. There 
was dangee of a tumult, when an aid 
hastened to notify General Cliampionnet 
t>f the suspicious conduct of the saint. 
In a few moments the aid returned, ap- 
proached the priest politely, and said a 
few words in his ear. What he did say 
is not precisely known, but he had scarce- 
ly said it when the blood at once lique- 
tied, to the great joy of the people, who 
at last had their raiiaclc." 

Alexandre Dumas, in one of his 
novels, narrates the same story much 
more dramatically. According to him, 
" (leneral Championnet saw that it 
was important for his safety and the 
safety of the army that the miracle 
should not fail that year; and he 
made up his mind that, one way or 
another, it should positively occur." 
The first Sunday of May was near at 
hand. On the vigil (May 4, 1799), 
the procession marched, but between 
files of French grenadiers. That 



night the city was patioUed 
French and Italian soldienjo 
All day Sunday the mirack wi 
tiently waited for ; but in vain, 
the afternoon came — Chamiw 
with his staff, was in his elt 
loggia or gallery. T"he people 
at length to lose patience and t( 
ferate angrily. At 7 p.m. the; 
brandishing knives and thrca 
the general^ who pretended not 
derstand or heed them. At 8 ? 
streets around were filled witt 
crowds equally threatening, 
grenadiers waited on a signa 
the general to charge bayonets, 
general continued unmoved.' 
half-past eight, as the tumuh w 
increasing, " the general ben 
and whispered something to a 
de-camp." The aid left the 
and passed up to the altar am 
in the front rank, and waitei 
five minutes the canon, bearii 
reliquary, came round to him 
turn. He kissed the reliqu 
others did; but, while doit 
grasped the priest's hand in hi' 

"' Father, a word with you." 

*• ' What is it?' asked the priest. 

"* I must say to you, on the par 
general commanding, that if io ti 
ules the miracle is not accomplis 
fifteen minuici your reverence si 
shot.' 

" The canon let the reliquarrfi 
his hands. Fortunately, the you 
cer caught it before it reached ibeg 
and gave it back with evcT^- mark 
found respect. Then he arose ■ 
turned to his place near the geaeR 

" • Well ? ' said the general. 

" ' All right, general,' said the 
ofTicer. 'In ten minutes the mini 
t.ike place.' 

"The aid-de-camp spoke the 
nevertheless he made a mistake 
minutes ; for at the end of five S 
only, the canon raised the reliquar 
exclaiming, // miracoU i fati*. 
blood was completely liquefied." 

We suppose we may Ukc tii 
the best vei»oiis of the 



lA^efadion of the Bhod of St. Jamtarvis. 545 



French and late English 
c have met of it, however 
vary hi minor details, alt 
to the pereoft — General 
net, and as 10 the year, 
1 far as wc can judge, the 
the other writers got 
from the novelist. It is 
When they attack reli- 
anner ot weapons are ac- 
\Vhcre the novehst got it 
carcely inquire. Certain- 
ich, he was capable of in- 
cut of the wliole cloth. 
tn only credit him with 
id reversing an older sio- 
work entitled Naples and 
Feiue^ printed in London 
icre is an earlier account 
ny recent experiment of 
aampionnet." 

lis Champion of liberty cdict- 
'ilh bis unhoscd en/am tie la 
nrlosiiy.orntthcr his infidcll- 
d liim to direct the priests 
pertorra tlie ceremony before 

companions, the pliitosophic 

of die Goddess of Rcnson. 
s iniricia must be exhibited 

or I'll smash your vials and 
Lsciue into a ihoufind pieces.* 
ry deirout effort o( the priests 

; even the genetal'i nciive as- 
. repeated trials lo give fluidi- 
iduratcd blood, by uicaas of 

artificial heat, were equally 

It of success, according to 
f the story, was due to the 
he relatives of St. Janua- 
lOt present. The general 
"S to arrest theni, and had 
;ht into the church. 

il experiment was now insti* 
e form : which, to ihc utter 
9f the French part of the con- 
ltd to the inward delight of 
I Neapolitans, succeeded aU 
aneously." 

not for the identity of 
place^ wc could scarcely 



ivcognizc tliis earlier English version, 
with ils characteristic contempt of 
French philosophers and enfans de 
iapafrU, and its result of the experi- 
ment so satisfactory to the Nca])oIi- 
tans, as in reality the original form 
of the story, which Dumas, and after 
him many others, have dressed up 
and presented to tlic world with such 
different details, and with a result ex- 
actly opposite. 

But a regard for truth obliges ua 
to reject this earlier form, no less 
than those which followed, as, :dl of 
them, pure fictions. The evidence 
is clear and to the point. 

I. On May 4, 1799, Gener.il Cham- 
pionnct was not in Naples. He had 
entered that city with his army on 
the sSth of January preceding, and 
had established " The Partiienopean 
Republic "; but he had been relieved 
of his command before May ; possi- 
bly on account of ill health, for he 
died at Aniibes a few months later. 
His successor in the command at Na- 
ples was General, afterwards Marshal. 
Macdonald. 

II. The diary of the 7^j£?r(» chapel, 
and the archicpiscopal diary, in their 
accounts of the exposition on Satur- 
day, May 4, 1799, both mention 
the presence of General Macdonald 
wth his officers. 

III. According to the same autho- 
rities, the liqiiefaclion, so far from* 
being long delayed, that day took 
place quite soon — after a lapse ol 
only ten minutes. 

IV. They indicate the very re- 
spectful demeanor of the French* 
general, and his expressions of re- 
verence; expressions which, by the 
way, he confirmed afterwards by 
presenting to the Tesoro chapel a 
beautiful silk mitre, rich in gold work 
and jewels, wliich is still shown in 
the sacristy. 

V. Finally, to clinch the whole 
matter^ we quote the following ex- 



S4t6 ThM Liquefaction of the Blood of St, ^jfamuariMS, 



tract from a contemporary letter, pub- 
lished at the time in the official or- 
gan at Paris — the jWi?«i/f»r, No. 259, 
of date 19 Prairial, Year VII. (June 
.10, 1799). 

'■ Naples, 21 Flor6al (May 13). —The 
Icstival of ^1. Januarius has just been 
celebrated with the customary solemnity. 
General Macdonald (successor to Cham- 
pionnct). Commissary Abrial, and all the 
staff, witnessed the renowned miracle. 
As it took place somewhat sooner than 
usual, the people think better of ua 
Frenchmen, and do not look on us any 
more as atheists," 



The writer little thought what a 
dramatic story a novelist's imagina- 
tion would conjure up, and some cre- 
dulous people would believe, instead 
of the simple matter-of-fact statement 
he gave en passant of the solemnity 
he had just witnessed. A more com- 
plete refutation of the whole story 
could not be desired than that af- 
forded by tlic words and tone of this 
letter. 

We have been diffuse on tlie charge 
of fraud. But when we consider the 
persistence with which it is made, 
and the variety of forms in which it 
is presented; and that, after all, for 
most minds, the alternative is be- 
tween a suspicion of fraud, on one 
side, and the recognition of the mi- 
raculous character of the liquefaction, 
on the other — it was proper to treat 
this charge at length and in all its 
-aspects. 

We have seen that the publicity of 
everything about the exposition per- 
emptorily forbids every form of leger 
demain during the ceremony. Kqual- 
■ly inadmissible is tlie supposition of 
some chemical compound prepared 
beforehand. For no chemical com- 
pound which man can prepare will 
liquefy, as this does, independently 
■of heat, and under such diverse cir- 
• cnmstances, or will ptesent the many 



varying phases which are here seen. 
The most artistic attempts have ut- 
terly failed, and must ever fail. For 
they are all subject to the laws of na- 
ture ; while, in this liquefaction, the 
laws of nature are clearly set aside. 

Again, all testimony goes to show 
that the ampulla Is not opened from 
time to time to receive any chemical 
preparation. 

Moreover, if there were any fraud, 
it would have been known to nearly a 
thousand clergymen, and no one can 
say to how many laymen. Yet pi- 
ous men were never heard to de- 
nounce it ; repentant men never dis- 
closed it ; high-minded and honora- 
ble men never repudiated it in scom, 
vile and mercenary men were never 
moved by anger, revenge, desire of 
pecuniary gain, or other potent jno- 
tives, to betray it Even political en- 
mities and fierce party strife, so prone 
to indulge in charges of fraud, have 
failed in Naples to stigmatize this aft> 
a fraud. Evidently, there was no 
fraud known or suspected there. In 
fine, were there a fraud, this univer- 
sal silence would be a greater mira- 
cle than the li(|ue{action itself. 

It has been asked, sometimes 
jeeringly, perhaps sometimes s^ 
riously, if the Neapolitans are io 
such perfect faith and so sure of tbe 
character of the substance which 
liquefies in the ampulla, why are tbey 
unwilling to submit that substance 
to the test of chemical analysis? Is 
not their omission, nay, their un- 
willingness to do this, a confession 
on their part of the weakness of 
their cause ? 

To one who knows them, or w^ 
even reflects for a moment 00 *** 
subject, the answer is obviovL 1* 
is their perfect good faith itselfl ^ 
their consequent veneration for ^^ 
they look on as sacred and vptP^I 
blessed of God, and not any lietf ^ 
doubt, that would nu'^e them liK ' 



Liqwfneiion of the Blood of St. Januarius. 547 



against what, in their 
tnild be a profane and un- 
|bl« desecration. 
\ are limits, tliey would pro- 
Ihe intrusive and irreverent 
^ of men under pretexts of 
I Are there not many points 
iblo^* and physiology on 
tinhcr knowledge is very dc- 
-a knowledge which some 
h be reached best and most 
f not only, by vi%'iseciion, es- 
'of human subjects, whether 
k1 health or presenting pecu- 
Oopments ? Shall we, therc- 
thc interests of science, pick 
I cases in a comniunily, and 
Jiem over to be cut up alive, 
r still hving bodies to be cx- 
\f these scienre-seeking ex- 
lets? Knowledge is good 
Kittable, undoubtedly ; but 
hfc is sacred, and must be 
d intact, even though these 
lain in the dark on various 
points. 

K), holding as they do that 
kulla contains a portion of 
able blood of St Januarius, 
A by miracle of divmc Provi- 
Hd miraculously liquefied on 
(B, the Neapolitans would 
thorror from the sacrilegious 
f of delivering it over to the 
Ind crucibles, and mortars 
^Ons, of a chemical labora- 

kal experiments, they would 
very respectable and very 
le in their place; but there 
[s too precious and too sa- 
Ibe submitted to them. In 
I'to do so, the Neapolitans 
kinfess a sense of the weak- 
Iheir own cause. They ra- 
rifest their sincere veneration 
' they believe God has spc- 
Ibored. 

\ the plea that this test 
Ufe the question, the Nea- 



politans would reply that for some 
minds nothing is ever solved, if 
men wish really to know the truth, 
let them examine die evidences 
which were appealed to before mo- 
dern chemistry was invenlciL Those 
evidences still exist, and are ample 
and irrerragablc. "They have Moses 
and the prophets; if they will not 
hear them, neither will they believe, 
though one rose from the dead." 

One other objection remains : does 
God act uselessly ? And of what 
possible use is this miracle ? What 
is the benefit of wonderfully preserv- 
ing from utter destruction, through 
so many centuries, a small jiortion 
of blood, and of causing it to soften 
or liquefy fifteen or twenty times a 
year, when brought, even if reverent- 
ly, close to the head of the martyr 
from whose veins it flowed ? What 
good does this do? Is it not so 
trifling and insignificant a thing as 
to be almost ridiculous, and entirely 
unworthy of the majesty of God ? 

Who shall presume to say that it 
is unworthy of God — of that God 
without whose knowledge and per- 
mission not a hair can fail from our 
heads — of that Saviour who mixed 
clay with the spittle of his mouth, 
and therewith touched .!ic eyes of 
the blmd man, that sight might be 
restored to them? It is not for us 
to decide what is becoming or unbe- 
coming for God to do. 

Who shall say that it is usdess ? 
Has not the faith of a simple-minded 
people been confirmed and strength- 
ened by it, to such a degree that the 
truths of divine revelation and the 
obligations of man before God are to 
them verities as strong, as clear, and 
as real in their daily life as is the 
sunlight that beams down on their 
fair land ? How many sinners have 
been led, through it, lo repentance 
and amendment of life ? How often 
have the indifTcrcnt been stirred up 



548 The Liquefaction of the Blood of St, Januarius. 



to avoid evil and to do good, and 
the good animated to greater fervor 
and earnestness in deeds of piety and 
virtue ? And, afler all, are not these 
the grand purposes of all God's deal- 
ings with men ? 

Nor is this miracle — for such we 
call it, although the church has never 
.spoken authoritatively on the point — 
alien from doctrine. Wrought in 
honor of a sainted and martyred 
bishop, it is a perpetual testimony to 
the truih of the doctrines he preach- 
ed, and of the church which glories 
in him as one of her exemplary and 
venerated ministers; it is a confirma- 
tion of the homage and veneration 
she pays to him because he chose 
rather to sacrifice his life than to 
deny the Saviour who had redeemed 
and illumined him. Wrought within 
her fold, it is a permanent evidence 
that she is in fact and in spirit the 
same now as in the early days of 
peisecution — the ever true and faith- 
ful church of Christ. 

It is a confirmation, likewise, of 
the doctrine of the resurrection of 
the dead — that special doctrine 
which the aposUes put forth so pro- 
minently in the beginning of their 
preaching; which was ever present 
to the minds of the early Christians, 
cheering and strengthening them 
when this world was dark around 
them; which formed the frequent 
theme of their pastoral instructions 
and their mutual exhortations, and 
becan\e the prevailing subject of 
their household and their sacred or- 
namentation in their homes and in 
their oratories, and over their tombs 
in the catacombs; which gave a 
special tone to their faith, their hope, 
and iheir charity and love of God, 
and was, as it were, the very life- 
blood of their Christianity. 

Nowadays, outside the church, 
how biot, comparatively, has belief 
in diis doctriae become, or, rather, 



has it not died out almost complet^ 
ly from the thoughts and the bum 
of men? Within the church, the 
solemn rites of Christian sepultore, 
burying the dead iu coDseoatcd 
ground, tells us of it. The preserva- 
tion and the veneration of the relics 
of saints and martyrs teach it itBl 
more strongly. Does not tangible 
evidence, as it were, come to it anetr 
from heaven by this constant and 
perpetual miracle, showing that the 
bodies of the sainted dead are in the 
custody of him who made them, ind 
who has promised that he will raise 
them up again in glory ? 

Finally, this miracle seems to u 
especially adapted to our own age, 
when over-much knowledge is mak- 
ing men mad. Men are so lifted 1^> 
by their progress, especially in natu- 
ral sciences, that they have come to 
feel that they can dispense with God 
and substitute nature in his stead, 
with her multifarious and unchaIlg^ 
able laws. They boast that, aodcT 
the light of their newly-acquired 
knowledge, everything is already, or 
will soon be, susceptible of natural 
explanation. As for miracles — direct 
interventions of God in the afiairs d 
the world, reversing or suspending- 
in special cases, these ordinary laws 
of nature — they scout the idea. AH 
past accounts of miracles, no matter 
when or by whom recorded, they 
hold to be either accounts of natural 
events warped and distorted byex' 
cited and unrestrained imaginations 
or else the pure fictions of supersU- 
tion and credulity. They ire vat 
that, in the first case, had there bees 
present witnesses of sufficient kiov* 
ledge and caution — such knoiriedge 
and caution as they posses*-*''^ 
accounts of those events would h*** 
come down to us tn a £u- va^ 
garb, and unclothed with this mi'** 
culous robing. They are vp^l 
sure that, in the other cue^ edac** 



The NcTV School of History, 



549 



;da!!y in the physical sci- 
3uld have forbidden the 
}i those numberless fictions. 
ere, in the light of this nine- 
ntury, in one of the most 
most delightful, and most 

cities of Italy — centuries 
largest, and even now the 
gest, in Europe — there oc- 
'cnt to which their attention 
I. It is not an event of 
few only can be witnesses, 
.1 all others must learn on 
mony. It occurs In public. 
fifteen or twenty times each 

year after year. All may 
it again and again, as ofleii 
;osely as they please. No 
\ made of anything about it. 
t it has come down to us 
niddle ages, dark, ignorant, 
rsdtious as they are alleg- 
e been. But then, If it be- 
the past, it occurs still, and 
Equally to this nincteentli 
Moreover, it comes direct- 
itact with those physical 
in which they think them- 
)ngest, and it should, there- 
rest them, and claim their 

icy accept the invitation ? 
very few will heed it. 




Many would not dare to bclievt 
in a miracle nowadays, not even if 
it happened to themselves. They 
lake their ground l>eforehand. Since 
miracles arc impossible, any special 
one must of necessity be false — either 
a fraud or a delusion. They know 
from the beginning what ihe result 
of inquiring into this one must be- 
why give themselves unnecessary 
trouble ? Such minds choose their 
own side, and implicitly choose the 
consequences that follow. 

Others pretend to examine, but d'» 
it with a resolute and unshakable 
predetermination that this must tw/ 
be found out to be a miracle. They 
foster a prejudice which may blind 
their eyes to the light ; and they, (oo, 
make themselves equally responsible 
for their conclusion and its conse- 
quences. 

But if any one — Catholic, Protest- 
ant, or Rationalist — will examine it 
seriously and candidly, no matter 
how closely and patiently — nay. the 
more closely and paiienlly, the more 
surely — he will come to the same in- 
evitable conclusion to which such an 
examination has heretofore led so 
many other candid and intelligent 
inquirers : Di^lus Dti eii kk : The 
Finger of God is here. 



THE NEW SCHOOL OF HISTORY. 



ghost of Tacitus could re- 
1 the Acherontic shades, 
\ English language, and 
few weeks in reading the 
lular modern works in that 
■ letters of which he was in 
the conspicuous ornament, 
rend his toga in despair, 
a over the ruiw of one of the 
fthe sciences. 'ITie " digni- 



ty of history" was not an unmeaning 
phrase when kings, consuls, and mih- 
tary commanders moved with stately 
pace through the polished pages, and 
uttere<l tlie most heroic of sentiments 
in the most fonnal of addresses. An- 
cient authors would have deemed it 
the grossest indecency to quote fa- 
miliar language from the lips of any 
historical character, or to let the 



5§6 



Tke Netv School of History. 



world imagine that men who con- 
tcrnc*! iliemselves with t!»e destinies 
of states, behaved even in moments 
uf relaxation like the men who buy 
and sett in the shops, and confine 
ihcir cares to commonplace domestic 
innttcrs. And yet what could be 
more absurd than to suppose that 
generals addressed their armies amid 
the heat of battle in a speech regu- 
larly compounded of exordium, argu* 
inent, exhortation, and peroration; 
or that great men wore the grand 
manner to bed with them, and put on 
I i\-ic crowns before ihcy \v ashed 
their faces in the morning ? It is not 
so very many years since Caio used 
to be represented on the English 
stage in a powdered wig and a 
dress-sword, which was not more in- 
congruous than the spectacle pre- 
sented by all the old statesmen and 
fighting characters of antiquity, 
mouthing orations, and posing them- 
selves in the best of the classical 
histories. Perhaps it was something 
to be thankful for that, in the eclipse 
of learning during the disturbed mid- 
dle ages, the art of writing history 
after the heroic manner was lost. 
The chroniclers of feudal times de- 
voted infinite jiains to the record of 
facts — as well as the record of many 
things that were not facts — but knew 
little of the graces of literary compo- 
sition, and cared nothing for the 
dignity of histor)'. They stripped off 
the heavy robes, and showed us the 
deformed and clumsy figures under- 
neath. Lacking literary culture and 
the fine art of discrimination, Ihay 
left us only the bare materials of his- 
tory instead of the historical structure 
itself. Industrious but injudicious 
collectors, they were sometimes 
amusingly garrulous, sometimes pro- 
vokingly uninteresting; but their la- 
liors were invaluable, and modern 
scholars owe them a debt which can 
never be repaid. It is only within a 




bundled years that En; 
have trie(l to combine tl 
the ancient and themediaevaS 
discarding the cumbrous and 
garments in which Herodol 
Livy used to wrap up the M 
and draping the bare skelei 
the annalists with comely m 
There was a portentous diUo< 
most of the earlier essays in I 
viving art, scarcely intein^ita 
Hume embodied his sceptical 
phy in a history of England, 
infidel Gibbon threw a Ittrid 
over the chronicle* of the 
empire. Both these eminent 
brought to iheir work an eleg; 
style wonliy of the dascical 
and a vigor of thought so 
from the unreflecting in' 
ploddmg predecessors, : 

hood underlying their narraui 
not readily perceived, or wi 
ea«ly pardoned. Boldncssofl 
and in Gibbon a sardonic wit 
interest to the charms of the wi 
story. But Hume and (iibfa 
well as many of their less 
guished contcmporaiies, Ubon 
dcr a radically wrong theory, 
accommodated historical m 
to the illustration of preccn 
principles, tnsicad of deducid 
princij>Ies from the facts ; and 
consequently, volumes of sopi 
argument, rather than chronic 
actual occurrences and pictu 
actual society. 

It was not until MaciiuUy 
in England, and Prescolt i 
United States, that the m 
school of historical writing wa* 
developed. Maraolay cxpbue< 
own theor>' when he said thJ 
perfect historian must possess i 
agination suSicienlly powtxfi 
make his narrativ« aflcctiDg 
picturesque, yet must control it I 
solutely as to content hirasetf »> 
materials which he finds, aad 




Tkt New Sihacl of History. 



55 » 



Isifpplyingdeficienciesbyad- 
Ihe own." AViltiain H. Ftts- 
tigh he sometimes trusted 
e who did not deserve his 
ie, and was swayed by rcli- 
ejudice and an inability to 
HkI the spirit of Catholic 
pe nearer to the perfection 
llay'a ideal than any previous 
His imagination adorned the 
iales of conquest and adven- 
5 New World with a splendor 
ink-nown ; yet no one could 
[flt he had been led away by 
itations of a too luxuriant 
had heightened the effect of 
live by a single touch un- 
d in the musty chronicles 
ich he drew his material. 
\ earlier histories ore stones 
the actors stand forth with as 
tlinctness, and incidents fol- 
Miatlier with as much rapidl- 
% close coimection, as in a 
ftnictcd novel. In his un- 
J^Uip //„ he entered upon 
icld, whifJi required a differ- 
penl. It was no longer suf- 
[ tell a story well ; he had to 
\ manners of an age, the life 
l^ter of a nation, and to un- 
X network of intrigue which 
es the political history of \in- 
ing a long and stirring period 

lliat he did this, so far as 
I extended, with consummate 
^erican reader needs to be 
ut the system which he pur- 
E carried to a greater lengtli 
ulay — the best type, upon the 
r the new school of historians 
D we purposed speaking in 
^ Macaulay assumed that 
fnght to show us not merely 
luiioDS of dynasties, the clash 
IB, and the intrigues of cabi- 
i the daily life and convcrsa- 
lU ranks of the people, from 
X to the peasant. It ought 

us their habits of thought 



and their mode of speech. It ought 
to open for us their private homes, 
their workshops, and their churches. 
It ought to depict national habits and 
character, or it could not explain 
national tendencies and aspirations. 
To do this, it must pick up a multi- 
tude of litlle things which the older 
writers thought beneath the dignity 
of history. It must invade the pro- 
vince of the poet and the novelist. 
Otherwise, he who would understand 
the reign of King James must read 
half of it in Hume and half in Thf 
Fortutus of Nig^I* Macaulay made 
many mistakes in the execution 
of this noble plan. He picked up too 
many things which were not so much 
undignified as untrustworthy. The 
sketches of society which he drew with 
such a masterly hand may have been 
true in their general effect; but he 
blundered in details. Besides, he was 
as hot a i>artisan as Hurae, as invete- 
rate a theorist as even the author of 
77/*- Decline and JutU. 

Whatever his mistakes and short- 
comings, Macaulay rendered an in- 
valuable service to Hteralure by the 
impetus which his brilliant example 
gave to the new principles of histori- 
cal composition. He may be said to 
have dealt the finishing blow to the 
old style, and shown us how a mi- 
nute, faithful, and vivacious story 
ought to be set before the world — 
how the historian must draw his ma- 
terials, not only from stale-paper of- 
fiees and format chronicles, but from 
gossiping diaries, ballads, pamphlets, 
and all other sources in xvhich are 
preserved traces of the condition of 
society and the domestic annals of the 
people. The period which he under- 
took to illustrate offered peculiar ad- 
vantages for the development of his 
plan. It was a period when a great 
change was taking place iu English 

•See HftcsaUy't JTcu/ #if //u/«rf . 



5S2 



Tite New School of History, 



customs and ways of thought. The 
revolutioD, which not only exchanged 
one dynasty for another, but meta- 
Hiorphosed the very system of En- 
glish government, merely followed in 
the path of a remarkable intellectual 
and social transformation, without 
which the political reversal would 
have been impossible. The events 
of the reign of James II. could not be 
explained under the old plan of writ- 
ing history on stilts. They were in- 
comprehensible except by one who 
could mingle familiarly with the En- 
glish people, and learn by what steps 
they had reached their new departure. 
Only one period in the history of 
England showed changes of equal im- 
portance. That was the period which 
witnessed England's apostasy from 
the Catholic faith ; and it is the period 
which one of the latest and most bril- 
liant of English historians has chosen 
for the subject of a work i>lanned (if 
not executed) after Macaulay's model. 
Mr. James Anthony Froude at- 
tempted to trace the development of 
the English nation, from the day of 
Henry's formal separation from the 
communion of the Holy See to the 
final establishment of Protestant ascen- 
dency at the death of Elizabeth. 
This is by no means the task he has 
accomplished, but it is the task he set 
himself at the beginning of his work. 
He purposed to show the processes 
by which a people, devotedly and 
even heroically faithful to the Roman 
See, became f^rst schismatic and then 
heretical; how their character under 
the change of faith took on a new 
color; how the foundations of the 
English supremacy over Ireland and 
Scotland were laid in blood and 
crime ; and how the maritime ascen- 
dency »hich has lasted three hundred 
years was established by the daring 
and enterprise of English sailors dur- 
ing the latter half of Elizabeth's reign. 
Never had historian a more tempt- 



ing theme. If Mr. Froude had bea 
a man of philosophical spirit, acute 
insight, industry, and literary booesn, 
he might have produced a work that 
for brilliancy would have rivaled 
Macaulay's, and for dramatic intereti 
would have been almost unequlleti 
in our language. There was no bcii 
of material. Since Hume and Ud- 
gard — one the most misleading, the 
other the driest of modem English 
historians — had treated the same 
period, an immense store of recoioi 
and official documents bad become 
accessible to scholars. The Brilisb 
State-Paper Office abounded with 
historic wealth which the eaHier 
writers did not know. The archive^ 
of Simancas disclosed i^ecrets long 
unsuspected, and unravelled mystena 
that had long baffled investigators. 
And from a thousand sources n« 
light had been thrown upon the so- 
cial condition of England, new illiu- 
trations given of the tendency o( 
English thought, new explanatiou 
offered of the development of £■>{;- 
lish strength and English character. 
In his first volume, Mr. Froutlc 
seemed to appreciate the nature ol 
his task, and to go about it « ith some- 
tliing of the proper spirit. He sfl 
before us a lifelike picture of Eng- 
land in the early part of Heni>'s 
reign, and displayed admirable art ia 
reproducing the manners, the conver- 
sation, and the tendencies of ihecow- 
mon people, as well as the superficial 
characteristics of the chief actors in 
the historical drama. But even in 
the first volume he showed the glW' 
ing faults which vitiated all hislai^ 
labors, and, increasing as the w«s 
went on, made his histor)* at las' 
one of the worst that the prtsf ' 
generation has produced. Fired wii!" 
the zeal of a blind partisan, he fap* 
all his earlier purposes and all •"* 
earlier pictorial art in the CDlhasitf" 
of a fierce religious bigotr}'. Il '"' 



The New School of History, 



l*ct to describe a conflict 
^sscssion of Kngland between 
irers of darkness And the 
!>f HghL On the one hand 
ie Pope of Rome and his 
Catharine of Aragon, Wol- 
Jr Tudor, l*hilip of Spain, and 
tn of Scots. On the other, 
l}cneath the banner of civil 
gtous liberty, fought those 
eings, Henry VHI., Anne 
knd Queen Elizabeth. Na- 
Irhen Elizabeth at last tri- 
\a the defeat of the Sp:inish 
Mr. Froude declared the 
r, and dropped his uiifin- 
l-propo«ioned storj'. One 
m he certainly had. He 
^m no paradox. He car- 
theory boldly over the most 
(b&taclcs, and took even the 
fences in the life uf Hen- 
fut an instant's hesitation. 
1st fervent Anglicans were 
^t Mr. Froude's admiration 

rS, carnal-minded king, and 
how he was to justify the 
IPS of history which he set 
tl such alluring boldness. It 
long before he taught them 
nd. "It often seems to me," 
1 Kroude, in one of his col- 
lays, " as if history was like a 
iix of letters, with which wc 
any word wc please." Of 
hen the hisitortan takes the 
\ leaving out facts which do 
be him. disarranging sequen- 
li conflict with his precon- 
seories, and giving his own 
poloring to incidents without 
lat coloring actually belongs 
it is indeed easy enough 
history spell whatever he 
At the very outset, Mr. 
ad an opportunity to try his 
:ommodating facts to theo* 
began his story with Hen- 
for a divorce; and his 
it was the assumption that 



the khig's scruples were thoroughly 
conscientious, and no thought was 
given to Anne while he believed him- 
self legally married to Catharine. 
To maintain this, the historian resort- 
ed to his characteristic \ices — sup- 
pression and misrepresentation. He 
concealed the origin of Henry's inter- 
course with Anne lioleyn, bringing 
her on the st.igc some years too late, 
with the air of one introducing a 
fresh arrival ; and he grossly distorted 
the contemporary records from whirh 
he professed to quote. The king's 
rlistaste for Catharine, he says, had 
risen to its worst dimensions before he 
ever saw Anne Boleyii. He adds that 
her first appearance at court was in 
1525 — which is an error, for she came 
to the court in 1522 ; and yet it was 
not until 1527 that we find Henry 
agitating the question of a divorce. 
That Mistress Anne during these 
five years was otherwise employed 
than in fascinating his majesty, Mr. 
Froude apparently wishes us to infer 
from the story that she was engaged 
to Lord Percy, the eldest son of the 
Earl of Northumlberland. Lord 
I'ercy, to quote our author's words, 
**was in the household of Cardinal 
Wolsey ; and Cavendish, who was 
with hira there, tells a long romantic 
story of the affair, which, if his ac- 
count be true, was ultimately inter- 
rupted by Lord Northumberland him- 
self." This, if Cavendish said it, 
would indeed afford a fair presump- 
tion that Anne was not at that time 
(the date is given by other authorities 
as 1524 or 1525) the object of the 
royal attentions. But Cavendish real- 
ly says something very different. He 
declared that the king sent for Hbrd 
Norihimberland^ and ordered him to 
intemtpt the affair, Mr. Froude 
could not help seeing this statement 
if he read Cavendisli at all, and we 
do not understand how he is to be ac- 
quitted of gross and intentional mis- 



554 



Tht New School of HiiUry, 



representation in making his authori* 
ty convey a meaning diamelhcally 
J opposed to the one intended. After 
^ tliis, Mr. Froude goes on with the 
story of the divorce as if Anne lud 
no existence, and she does not ap- 
pear again upon the scene until tiie 
, Stage has been nearly cleared for her. 
This is a fair specimen of literary 
dishonesty or recklessness from the 
first volume. Later instalments of 
the work, especially tliosc de^'oted to 
the Queen of Scots, have been dis- 
sected by an able hand in the pages 
of thi« magazine. The series of pa- 
pers in which Mr. James F. Meline 
examined in our columns Froude's 
account of Mary Stuart, have now 
been incorporated with much addi- 
tional matter in a volume entitled 
Mary^ Queen of Scets, and her Latest 
Rn^Ush Nii/orian. ■ No more tho- 
rough scorificjtion of a. literary of- 
fender has been published within our 
recollection. Mr. Meline ha.s traced 
the historian's authorities with ad- 
mirable patience, disclosed his falsifi- 
cations, his misconceptions, his sup- 
pressions, antl hb interpolations, and 
utterly demolished the case which 
Elizabeth's advocate made against 
the unfortunate Mary. It is common 
to meet with uneducated people who 
cannut tell a story correctly, or repeat 
the words of a conversation without 
gixissly distorting their meaning. 
Partly from defects of memor)', partly 
from an intellectual deficiency which 
prevents them from apprehending 
things exactly as they are, such per- 
sons invariably mjsreport what they 
have seen and heard. What such 
people are to society, Mr. Froude 
se4bs to be to history. The Saturday 
Jieview says tliat he has not "fully 
grasped the nature of inverted com- 



ViMk: The CMbaUe fablicmUoaSodttjr. 



maa." If he quotes a state papcr,| 
leaves out css«niii^l f>assagcs, and j 
serts sialcmcnts which rax upon . 
authority but his own. He gives | 
conjectures as if they were 
facts. He disingenuoufiy coa 
unconnected £icts so u to bear i 
his private conjectures. 

These are sciiuus diarges to 
against a writer of history ; but 
are all proved by Mr. Meline's 1 
We do not purpose reviewing 
whole story of the Queen of ; 
or reviving the endless controrca^] 
upon her innocence, so soon after I 
task h;is been performed in the [ 
of Tilt: Cathouc Woitij> by thei 
thor of the savage little volume i 
before us. But wc thall i«lect 
arrange from this record a few i 
mens of Mr. Froude's aioa, ihsi 
readers may judge for themsciv 
litde claim this laia<it English ! 
has to an honorable place oo 
library shelves. 

I. Mr. Froude begins early tO] 
pare our minds for Mary's 
proAigacy. ** She was broa^ i 
he says, "amidst the poLidc 
ties of the court of Cj 
Medicis." The fact u th«t 
never was at the court of Cathi 
de Medicis at all Catharine had m 
court, no influence, no position in his- 
tory, until after Mary bad left Fonce. 
And, besides, Mary and CatluBiat 
cordially detested each other. 

1. On the auihoniy of i 
U>ry of Ike JiefermaHcn, ho. i^....- 
Knox had labored to save t)i 
of Murray from the dangcroui uk^- 
nations of his sister Mary, " but Moi- 
ray had only been angry at his iattf* 
ferencc, and ' they spake not (unbtft* 
for more than a year and a halt" 
But Knox gives an entirely ditf-i^ 
version of the quarrel. He 
that he had urged Murray to lejil'tf 
by act of the parliament iheconfosit'' 
of faitli as the doctrine of the Cbun^ 



The Nf%v School of History. 



SSSr 



at Murray was more 

Ipon his private imeresis — 

^uin of Murray ncodcd con- 

L and many things were to 

a that concerned the help of 

od servants — and the matter 

«e betwixt Uie Eric of Mur- 

John Knox, that I'Umiliarlie 

t lime ihey spack nott lo- 

Dre than a year and a half." 

■ nothing about Mary's m- 

Over her brother; the in- 

!as all on the other side. 

Froude assumes to quote 
dis|>atch of Randolph's to 
escription of Mary's luxuri- 
ts. " Without illness or im- 
' of it, she would lounge for 
»ed, rising only at night for 
>r music ; and there she re- 
hsomc light delicate French 
clessly draped about her, 
pd by her ladies, her coun- 
her courtiers, receiving am- 
t and transacting business of 
: was in this condition that 
\ found her." {Rando/ph to 
t-4. '5*3-) 'Hicre is no such 
»n in the dispatch. On the 
Mary is represented at this 
Hh by Randolph and by 
horitics, as industrious, ac- 
■getic, and capable, but at 
time in bad health. 
Froude thus travesties Ran- 
:count of the return of Both* 
65): "Suddenly, unlooked 
Ifiinvited, the evil spirit of 
> the Earl of Bothwell, reap- 
t Mary's court. She dis- 
itl share in his return; he 
ttainted; yet there he stood 
kring to lift a hand against 
ud, insolent, and danger- 
id he adds that " the Earl 
\ at the expense of forfeiting 
mains of hts influence over 
summoned Bothwell to an- 
Ldinburgh a charge of high 
What Randolph really 



says is this: "The Queeu misliketli 
BolhwcU's commg home, and has 
summoned him to undergo the law 
or be proclaimed a rebel." U was 
the Queen therefore, and not Murray, 
who "summoned him to answer." 
Moreover, Bothwell did not appear at 
court, but sought refuge among his 
vassals m Liddesdale. 

5. Mr. Froude speaks of Lennox 
havmg " gathered about him a knot 
of wild and desperate youllis — Cas- 
silis, Eglinton, Montgomery, and 
Bothwell." If he had read his au- 
thority (Randolph) with decent care, 
he would have seen that thesewerenot 
the friends of Lennox, but, on the con- 
irarj-, the strongest dependence of 
Murray and Argyle against Lennox. 
Moreover, Eglinton and Monlgoraety 
are one and thti same person. 

6. A blunder which has already ex- 
cited some discussion is Mr Froude's 
sutement, on the authority of a letter 
from Randolph to Cecil, October 5, 
1565, that Mary, "deaf to advice as 
she had been to menace," said she 
would have no peace till she had 
Murray's or Chatelherauli's licad." 
There is no such letter. It appears, 
however, from a letter of Randolph's, 
dated October 4, that Mary was 
*' not only uncertain as to what she 
should do, but inclined to clement 
measures, and so undecided as to 
hope that matters could be arranged," 
The document to which Mr. Eroude 
refers is a letter from the Earl of 
Bedford, who was not at Mary's 
court, but at Alnwick, on the Eng- 
lish side of the border, and who con- 
sequendy had no such opportunities 
as Randolph for knowing tlic temper 
of the Scottish Queen. But even 
Bedford does not say what Mr. 
Froude reports. The earl mcrdy 
relates the substance of information 
brought back from the rebel camp by 
one of liis officers. Acconling to th&s 
man, Murray and the other rebel 



556 



The New School of History. 



lords are dissatisfied with the little 
that England is doing to help them, 
and thfy say, " There is no talk of 
peace with that Queen, but that she 
will first have a head of the duke or 
of the Earl of Murray." 

7. One instance of Mr. Froude's in- 
corrigible propensity to blunder in 
that peculiar manner which is vulgar- 
ly called " going off at half-cock," 
deserves to be mentioned, not for its 
importance, but because it is amusing. 
He describes Mary on a furious night- 
ride of " twenty miles in two hours," 
at the end of which she wrote " with 
her own hand" a letter to Elizabeth, 
" fierce, dauntless, and haughty," 
" the strokes thick, and slightly un- 
even from excitement, but strong, 
firm, and without sign of trembling." 
It is a pity to spoil such a picturesque 
passage; but the very letter which 
Mr. Froude seems to have examined 
with such care contains the Queen's 
apology for not writing it with her 
own hand, because she was " so tired 
and ill at ease," and mentions, more- 
over, that the twenty-miles ride oc- 
cupied five hours, not two. 

8. In his account of the murder of 
Damley, Mr. Froude pursues a sin- 
gularly devious course, through 
which his reviewer follows him with 
inimitable pertinacity. The historian 
accepts without reserve the most 
notoriously untrustworthy authorities, 
distorts evidence, throws in a multi- 
tude of artful suggestions, and sup- 
presses in a manner that is downright 
dishonest every circumstance that 
tells in Mary's favor. We have no 
space to recapitulate here the num- 
berless blunders and perversions of 
which he is convicted by Mr. Meline; 
but some of them are too ludicrous to 
be passed over. For instance, Mr. 
Froude finds it suspicious that 
Mary should have " preferred to be- 
lieve" that she herself was the object 
of the lords' conspiracy, though a 



dispatch from Paris had conve; 
message to her fix>ra Cathar 
Medicis that her husband's I 
in danger" The message * 
from Catharine de Medicis, bi 
the Spanish ambassador in J 
and Avanted her to " take h 
herself," for there was " some i 
enterprise in hand against her.* 
a word is said of her husband. 

9. It is again mentioned, i 
firmation of her guilt, that '* s 
for none of the absent noble 
protect her," and that " Mun 
within reach, but she did not s 
desire his presence." Nov 
Froude's own authorities sho 
Mary did send for many of the 
noblemen, and in particular tl 
twice sent for Murray, who 
not come. 

10. When Elizabeth sent K 
to Scodand to inquire into the ( 
stances of the murder, Afun 
Killigrew himself relates) ente 
the English ambassador at 
and invited to meet htm Hunl 
gyle, Bothwell, and Maitland- 
them among the murderers of 
ley. This was strong circum: 
evidence of Murray's guilL 
Froude accordingly (referri 
Killigrew as his authority) sup 
all mention of Murray, who gi 
dinner and presided at it, and 
that Killigrew "was entertaii 
dinner by the clique who h 
tended her [Mary] to Seton" 
implying that Mary, instead o 
ray, was in league with Bothv 
the others to prevent his get 
the truth. The whole sul^ 
Killigrew's letter is most outra| 
misrepresented. Mr. Meline 
the original and the false versit 
by side. 

But we must pause. We < 
follow Mr. Meline in his adi 
discussion of the authenticity 
famous casket letters, or his a 



Venite Adoremui. 



557 



lindry misstatements 
I Mr, Froude has loaded 
n of his book. Witli the 
i the innocence of the 
Icols, we are not now con- 
>ur business is rather with 
jce of the Queen of Scots' 
ious modem accuser. And 
paay be thought of the 



honesty of Mr. Froude's motives, 
whether we decide that he blunders 
through sheer incapacity, or lies with 
malice aforethought, we believe can- 
did students will admit that his repu- 
tation as a historical writer has been 
utterly ruined, and that his work will 
be remembered hereafter as a dis- 
astrous literary failure. 



VENITE ADOREMUS. 



B to tis, as a messenger of 
love, a memory of home, 
the past, with the echo of 
1 joys, and the nfniin of 
sorrows; with the sacred 
i that most touching feast, 
of that most tender rays- 
ifant-God ; with the human 
of friends gone from us 
I ones far away — Vini/e 

res up pictures before us of 
gnorant childhood, peace- 
ladow-brook — a young life 
id smiling hills, and fruit- 
lid woods where the honey- 
ics round the old gn.irled 
I and the oak spreads its 
Hfbling tent over carpets of 
tnths. There, before the 
e, rises the vision of a 
r and picturesque, a broad, 
race, and oriel windows 
>wn and beyond it into a 
chard. At the back, leari- 
t grassy bank, dotted by 
tkns, hlacs and gucldcr- 
higrant syringa and gold- 
laburnum, stands a gaunt 
dad in dark purple -berried 
Kt tower, the haunt of mys- 
hadowing the little cloister 



and the tall, gray roof of the chapel. 
But it is winter, ami I have been for- 
getting that the y^ni/e adoremus is a 
snow-flower of devotion, a "Christ- 
mas rose," not a red June rose, regal 
in its dusky, velvety mantle of rich- 
est, warmest color; for now we 
hear the chant of the holy Christmas 
song, and the tapers arc lighted on 
the stone-carved altar, where, on 
each side of the niched reredos, 
white angels kneel with their eternal 
torches, ever still, ever adoring, like 
some heavenly exile bound to earth's 
temples by a divine s(jc11, of which 
art holds the key. Above, the An- 
nunciation is blazoned forth on the 
pictured window ; but you cannot see 
it now, the night blots out its fair- 
ness. Angels, again, on the frescoed 
wall, bear scrolls, whose silent voices 
chant a ceaseless Ghria to the Babe 
in the tabernacle — Laudamm U, Bi- 
nedidmtis J?, Adoratnus Ar, Glorijica- 
mus ti — and the rest of the narrow 
chapel is dark and 'voiceless, save 
where a taper gUmmcrs on the desk 
of the little, humble harmonium, 
round which stand reverentially the 
few singers, wliosc only guerdon is 
the smile of the unseen but not un- 
fclt God. Dark and dusky red are 



the hangings that tapestry the wall, 
bearing over their surface thick 
growUis of ihc white fleur-de-lis; while 
above the simple benches of stained 
wood, at the back, rises a long, dark 
gallery. It was there I heard the 
^Tst Midnight Mass I ever heard in 
my life. 

f'rfit'/d oi^remtts ! It brings back 
visions of a mother's patient, doting 
love; of a gathering of friends; of 
pleasant, hushed talk of ghosts and 
spectres; oflong, dark corridors, where 
the wind moaned like a soul in pain ; of 
oriel windows, many-paned, through 
which came the distant sound o{ 
young owls hooting mournfully In the 
siiow-covcred plantations. 

How kind a mother the church is I 
Are not all her feasts as many days 
of remembrances given to the past 
joys of home ? Are ihcy not a fault- 
less calendar of oar hopes and fears 
for years past ? When the children, 
with earnest, unsuspirioits gravity, de- 
bated upon the arrangements of the 
" crib," what excitement ! what inte- 
rest ! When the parents and the old 
retainers closed one room in mysteri- 
ous silence, and decorated the glitter- 
ing Christmas-tree, what wonderment I 
wlial whisperings! — and on the reve- 
latioa, what delight ! When piles of 
blankets and warm clothing were dis- 
tributed among the poor, what curi- 
osity to see which child got the pet- 
ticoat Eleanor hemmed, or the jacket 
Frances put together ! 

AH this is in the voice of the Veni- 
U adi>remui as it sounds faintly now 
through a half-opened door, a Sunday 
surprise in a house hardly given to 
much solemnity — a house fcir away 
from the old gibled homestead and 
the snow-veiled chapel-rooC 

But it has other scenes to show, 
other memories to waken. It^ells 
of a Southern church, gaudy anrbc- 
dizencd, full of frivolous worshippers, 
whose Ctiristraas vigil has been kept 



in the ball-rooni they bi 
left to listen to the operatieOR 
preparing its musical pyroli 
for the dread moment of the 
tion. But pass we on (o mo 
genial remembrances. It tdl 
simple, white-washed chamber 
son- ward in the Holy City, 
reclaimed and forgiven won 
worshipping the divine Bab 
has wrought their salvation aj 
them in their hour of need 
arms of his earthly angels, tba 
of Mercy ; it tells of a high di 
of the Vatican, leaving his purp 
nificencc to come among the c 
sons, and spend with them i m 
fj-ing Christmas than Ihc die 
the public churches promt 
humble devotion. Vemtt odA 
It swells up in sweet vroma 
from some recess of faiihfid n 
but the halls through wU 
h>'mn w.is borne that Chri-stiOJ 
echo only to the heavy tramp 
sentinel now, if not to 
blasphemies of the ungodly t 

It brings the mediaeval 
St. Mark's to the mind of A. 
that unique basihca — that 
dream of the heavenly J 
with its curious harliaric vd 
golden mosaics, its ByzastnM 
of victories that were not wann 
victories of civilization over 
but the triumphs of faith ovei 
stition. I'hc glorious church 
<lark masses oi human beinl 
about its broad-reaching a» 
here ftnd there, like 6re-^ 
heart-stars, shine the little ceri 
rope-like coils of vax, the 
rcsque forerunners of garish 
and dream -dispelling corofis 
Mass in Venice is not a Teal \ 
Mass, however, tince. by ipoc 
mission, it is celebrated al fire 
in the afternoon of ilie rigB, 
sad to hear pro&ne ransic i 
this consecrated spot, whoi 



Vtniie Adoremus. 



559 



uty seems to inherit the 

soIt:mn halo of the veiled 

the Holy of*HoUcs in the 

Jerusalem ; but corrupted 

inly does reign in the Ve- 

ilica, and a Mass full of 

talian fioriiura is annually 

p in ii at the festival of 

(. Still, the mind sees be- 

unhappy aberrations of the 

tluterpc out into the long 

wsl centuries, when graver 

er strains rang through the 

cd temple, and the stem 

t heads of the state carae in 

Q to grace the triumph of 

born Saviour. From Ven- 

rneva there is a widr gulf, 

^tmk ajpremus bridges over 

again Christmas comes 
md the same world-wide 
p in the now half-converted 
bd of Calvinism. It leads 
is the older totfn, far from 
'.port hotels, into a winding 
of sleep, ill-paved streets, 
rows of old bouses, every 
lich seems to have a history 
m, and whose old-fashioned 
, and wide portals opening 
It court-yards, remind one 
rom parchment bindings 
ems for ever new. But is 
;>gy not a little true ? for is 
pero of the human heart as 
s changeless as the ancient 
I gf long<dead bards, and 
e ever tire of its repetition, 
e than we are weary of 
and Shakespeare, of Homer 
1? 

iuioremus / It lures us on 
k church, dedicated to St. 
L where there is nothing 
to strike the eye, nothing ar- 
Dake the heart beat. Plain 
unsightly, tawdry and fad- 
churches are whose histo- 
Iween the dreaded persecu- 



tion of the sixteenth century and the 
Gothic revival of the nineteenth, St. 
Germain yet possesses that untold 
charm which the Italians so broadly 
but accurately describe by the word 
simpatico. Sympathy I yes, that is it. 
It breathes on us from every comer; 
it is the atmosphere of the little 
church ; it softens every incongruity, 
and sweetly blinds us to evcr>' defect. 
After all, such churches, inartistic as 
they may be, are no unfit reprcscnta- 
tives of the church militant, while 
our glorious blossoms of stone, bom 
of the Moses like rod of Pugin, are 
types of the unfathomable beauty 
and jubilant repose of the church 
triumphant. 

Jn this Midnight Mass at Geneva 
it was touching to see the crowds 
that flocked to the church through 
drifting snow and biting wind — real 
Christmas weather — and, without any 
attraction in the sha^w of note<[ 
pTcaclicr or imposing ceremonial, 
filled the church as full as the gene- 
rous heart-blood does the bosom of 
the Christian utartyr. Hundreds of 
silent worshippers were assembled 
there, and, wlien the last Gospel of 
the Mass had been said, the priests 
returned, in alb and stole, to give 
communion to the eager congrega- 
tion. Hardly one present seemed to 
have left the church, and gradually 
the vast body of the faithful broke, 
like successive waves, at the foot of 
the altar. For one whole hour was 
this scene enacting, and no music 
was heard meanwhile, and, though 
few rules were enforced and little 
order reigned, yet the sight was as 
widely suggestive as any more care- 
fully arranged <lemonstrations. Some- 
how these artless, unpremeditated 
outpourings of the heart of Christen- 
dom have a far higher power to inte- 
rest, a far subtler charm to entrance, 
and leave a higher impression and a 
more healthful influence behind, than 



560 



Venite Adoremus, 



those wonderful pageants which from 
year to year draw thousands of curi- 
ous spectators to Rome. Here is 
everyday Christianity; here is the 
inner working of that silent, God- 
wielded mechanism whose outward 
robes and draperies only come to us 
in the shape of those glittering fes- 
tas; here is the real work, the real 
core of things, tlie heart whose puU 
sation alone gives meaning to all that 
external magnificence, the sun of 
which those ceremonies are the radi- 
ance, the consuming fire of which 
tliat glorious ritual is but the out- 
going heat and the coruscant light. 
And when we think of the darker 
and varied aspects, the inner compli- 
cations of the lives of those who were 
crowding round the altar-rails of St 
Germain, what a wonderful, manifold 
histoiy, what a spiritual landscape of 
infinite shades of the most delicate 
pencillings, do we not see 1 Side by 
side kneel souls whose life-paths run 
in opposite channels : here is Martha, 
the busy household angel, whose 
faith is inwoven in her every daily 
movement, her every thought, though 
it be of toil and anxiety ; there is the 
pensive Magdalen, whose sadness is 
her soul's beauty, whose memory 
brings before her even more tokens 
of merciful forgiveness and unwearied 
love than of her own little past, her 
sins and her hard-heartedness ; there 
kneels the widow whose child has 
just been given back to her from the 
very portals of death, and whose only 
altar for many dreary months has 
been the darkened chamber and the 
curtained sick-bed. Close to her is 
a maiden whose life is one long act 
of pure preparation for the bridal 
feast, the marriage supper of the 
Lamb, and who, when next Christ- 
maa-chimes sound, will hear in them 
the glad kneil that proclaims her 
death to the outside world, and her 
life-long vow of obedience to her 



Spouse. Here is a Monica, wrest 
in prayer for a wayward son wl 
hopeless laps^from the nanow] 
of virtue is the heaviest cross 
Saviour could have chosen for 
burden ; there again is the b 
kneeling by the side of the sin 
joyous, boyish bridegroom, 
whom she is just beginning a 
stage on the road to eternal bliss 
rough, so uniform, so common] 
is the aspect of the crowd, that 
thin^ are only visible to spu 
sight, to the eye of the soul ; aj 
visible even to our darkened oi 
of spiritual understanding, howi 
more clearly and far more touc 
ly to the eye of eternal Wi 
and fathomless Love! What a 
garden is a church full of ho 
communicants before the sigt 
God I How fragrant and variei 
blossoms to his illumined percep 
Men in every stage of conveni 
those w4io Have just timidly set 
foot on the first round of Ja 
mystic ladder; those who have ! 
gled so far that they can dare to 
down one moment, and measui 
death from which God's low 
raised them, in order to 'gain 
tional grace to correspond wit 
future and more rapid calls he 
ward; those who have left a] 
and danger so far behind that 
look upon them calmly, as one 
the rolling clouds iar below firoi 
crisp-breathing atmosphere ol 
highest mountains; those whose 
versation is in heaven, and i 
thoughts are silent angels wa 
ever with them as the living mt 
gers of God. Such are the mil 
of grace that crowd the lowly chi 
the mysteries that we can only 
at beneath the crust of matei 
which we see; the wonders tfai 
tie us in the swaying throng, si 
which we have so little knowl 
that we hardly even suspect 



Vcniic Adoremus. 



561 



obc has swept ]>ast our own 

. a moment ago. 
is this scene fades away, wliile 
pet is again broken by the 
|lDg of home, VcniU athrr- 
yt see another and a last pitr- 
|nrning from the gray mist of 



^ from the old home where 
Mi<lnight Mass of our child- 
tranced our imagination is 
lOusc — a home, too, in some 
t uot the home that ihe 
allowed in the dear, olden 
now she is only present in 
^L, and she never even saw 
Christinas snows in this new 
iy halt. 
chmxh, fair and carvun, 
ve her grave, and her lov- 
is the hrst stone, the foun- 
nc of the new shrine. Close 
•t restmg-placc is the altar, 
below, the organ. There 
is enthroned again, tlie 
\doremHs echoes once more 
E wreathed arches and fes- 
feillars ; there again a small 
and a few newly-convert- 
:en of the faith of old Kng- 
1 in silent prayer, and min- 
hls of the foundress of the 
ith those of the new-born 
se pniises, whose Ghria,^-\t 
ikngtng in heaven. Thus the 
ving Christmas hymn links 
^with the present^ the memo- 
foreign lands with the dear 
\ of home, and binds ihem 
as a sheaf of golden straw 
h the crib of the Babe of 

adortrnm} It has been 
Dur infancy when the nurse 
VOU XIV,— 36 



rocked the cradle where slept the 
first-born ; it has cheered our tarly 
childhood when the young mother- 
voice taught it to us at the Christ- 
mas fireside ; it has thrilled our heart 
in youth when, far from the old 
home, we have listened to its solemn, 
familiar strains ; it will stir a chord 
of memory through each succeeding 
year as our early associations grow 
dim and our path waxes more lonely ; 
it ^ull breathe a sweet farewell and 
L-cho in our cars on our very death- 
bed, linking the thought of our first 
eartlily home to that of our expect- 
ed eternal one !■ the bosom of our 
Jesus and the arms of our new-found} 
glorified Mother. 

Those who arc dear tons on earth, 
those who grew up round the same 
hearth, and knell peacefully at the 
same father's knee, and held his 
hand the day the mother-angel wing- 
ed her way to her God, can never 
forget the Venite adoremuSy the 
Christmas ple<]gc of undying love 
and indissoluble union, which thcr 
learned and sang together for lung, 
long years of joy, nor can they dream 
that, however far apart, tliat hymn 
does not make tlie heart beat and the 
eye grow dim with tears even as in 
the days of old ; while — O happier 
thought even than that ! — ihey never 
can forget that as on earth, so will it 
be hereafter, that the crown of song 
will lack no jewel, will miss no note, 
oiail that once were in it, and that 
for ever and for ever one will be the 
undiminished chorus of father and 
mother, brethren and sisters, in the 
halls of the " Everlasting Christmas." 
Vtnite AdoremusJ vmiU adoremus 
Dominum f 



562 Mr, Clarke s Lives of the Atiurican Catholic Bishop 



MR. CLARKE'S LIVES OF THE AMERICAN CATHOi 

BISHOPS.* 



** Like stars to their ■ppolnted heights they clinb.'^ — SiuLLtT. 



The remark had become trite 
in the mouths of Europeans, that 
America has no history. Such was 
the inertness of our countrymen in 
the department of American history ; 
such the want of works recounting 
the thrilhng story of early adventure 
and colonization, the struggles of 
feeble colonies for existence and per- 
manence, their long and steadfast 
preservation of free institutions in- 
herited from the mother-country, and 
their gallantry in defending them 
against an unnatural mother; the 
birth and growth of a vast and migh- 
ty republic, maintaining at once or- 
der and liberty amid the convulsions 
and revolutions of European dynas- 
ties and empires, and eliciting from 
a European monarch, whose crown 
was afterwards torn from his head, 
the remark addressed to an Ameri- 
can Catholic bishop, who told him 
of free and peaceful America, " Tru- 
ly, that people at least understand 
liberty ; when will it be understood 
among us ?" — all these things re- 
mained so long an untold story, that 
it was believed but too generally 
that America was without a history 
to record. The subsequent works 01 
Bancroft, Irving, Prescott, Parkman, 
and others have pretty effectually 
dispelled the delusion. 

But it seems to have been equally 
thought, among the historians of the 
church, that her career in America 

• Lirti e/lkt DfCf»teJ Bitk»/'t <•/ tJkt Catif.'-c 
Cior.-'i intke I'KiuA Sl.tles.'a-i:.': an Afi/inJix 
am^mm A matrlu'^i InJex. Wv Kichant II. CUrke. 
A.M. la iwo vols. Vol. I. New Vorlt: I'. 
O'Shca. 1S71. 



was also devoid of historical ii 
so kw and meagre were our p 
ed records and histories. In 
neral histories of the church, : 
that by Darras, commencing 1 
earliest ages, and coming d( 
our own times, with but slighi 
ral allusions to America, n< 
tion whatever is made of t1 
and progress of the church 
United States. In the Amera 
tion of Darras, there is an Ap 
written for the purpose by an 
can .author, Rev. Charles I. 
D.n., giving a Sketch of th. 
and Progress of the CathoUcC^ 
the United States of America^ 
tended to supply, in some n 
the omission. 

In our article on Bishop 
in The Catholic World oI 
1871, we remarked: "Sketc 
local church history, more 
complete, have occasionally ; 
ed — sketches, for instance, li 
Catholic Church in the United 
by De Courcy and Shea ; and 
History of the Catholic Missions 
the Indian tribes of Americ 
Bishop Bayley's little volume 
history of the church in Nei 
But a work of a different kind, 
er in its design than some fl 
excellent and useful publu 
more limited in scope than 
and costly general historie 
awaits the hand of a polish 
enthusiastic man of letters.'' 

When we penned these lines, 
we knew of Mr. Clarke's lo 
tinued and unwearied labors 



Clark/ s Lives of tkt AuurUait Cathoiic Bishops. 563 



t of American Catholic 
had cheered at times his 
nd raithful studies, and had, 
diiess, been able to spread 
|ur readers some of liis inte- 
tnd admirably prepared hio- 
1 papers, such aa die Life of 
Lhnf^jH of AVftf YotJi, in 
iTHouc Would of Sepieni* 
J), and Uie Memotr of Falhtr 
S.'y., in the July and August 
1S71, still ive scarcely hop- 
e should sec our desires so 
Uizcd, or that we should so 
ve occasion 10 hail the ap- 
of the splcnditl work now 
B, the fruits of his accom- 
pen and energetic industry^ 
•o handsomely printed and 
bound volumes, The Lhfs 
teasfd BiihoJ>s of the Catho- 
h in the Unitfd Shttts. The 
in of such a work, prepared 
he broken ond fleeting mo- 
leisure snatched from a Ufe 
to professional duties, and 
:ive participation in the Ca- 
d puhhc-spirited enteqiriscs 
isy metropolis, is sonielhing 
\ we, as a Catholic journalist 
to literature, may be per- 
D express our oytxi thanks, 
e of the Catholic communi- 
[ the same time to commend 
nstance of successful literary 
rich but uncultivated tield, 
^hat we hope and believe it 
L reward for long and pains- 
esearchcs, careful collation, 
hterary study. There were 
published works, as we have 
from which to draw the 
information necessary for 
00k. >Ience the author had 
in a great measure, his ma- 
xwn the archives of the vari- 
Kses, the unpublished corre- 
t and joumnls of the de- 
viates, their i>astoral letters 
U^scs, from the Catholic se- 



rial publications and newspapers of 
tiie last half-century (a txsk of great 
and protracted lalx)r and fatigue), from 
the personal recollections of surviving 
friends, co-laborers, and colleagues 
of the bishops, from family records, 
from his own corres]K}udence with 
numerous witnesses of the growth 
of the church and of the labors uf 
our apostolic men, and even from 
the silent but sacred marble records 
of the tomb. The frequency with 
which the author cites, among his 
authorities^ unpublished documents 
and original sources of information, 
which were in many cases the mdi- 
vidual narratives of living witnesses, 
committed to writing at his request, 
and for this work, is a proof of the 
industry and labor with wliich this 
work has l>een prepared, and give 
us the means of appreciating the 
ser\-ices tlius rendered to our Ameri- 
can Catholic literature, in securinj; 
and preserving from decay, oblivion, 
or total loss many valuable but per- 
ishable traditions and documentary 
materials. We will refer to two only, 
among many instances throughout 
these richly stored pages, of valuable 
documents thus given to the public; 
these are the royal charter of King 
James II., guaranteeing liberty of 
conscience to the Catholics of Vir- 
ginia in 1686, and the beautiful ami 
touching letter a<ldressed by Arch- 
bishop Carroll, in 1791, to the Ca- 
tholic Indians of Maine, the reni' 
nants of the pious and faithful flock 
of the illustrious and martyred Rale — 
for the publication of both of which 
we are indebted to Mr. Clarke. 

Mr. Clarke lias devoted many years 
to these valuable and excellent stu- 
dies and compositions, and those 
who have read our Catholic periodi- 
cal literature during the last 6fteen 
ye.irs, will remember his Afemoirs of 
Archbishops Carroll and Neale, of 
Bishops Cheverus and Flaget, of the 



564 Mr. Clarke s Lives of the American Catfwlic Bisk^ 



Rev. Prince Demetrius Augustine 
Gallitzin, of Fathers Andrew White 
and Nerinckx, of Governor Leonard 
Calvert, Charles Carroll of Carroll- 
ton, Commodore John Barry, the fa- 
ther of the American navy, and 
Judge Gaston ; which were published 
in 1856 and 1857 in The Meirc^ii- 
tan of Baltimore. The favor with 
which these papers were received at 
the time, and the earnest recommen- 
dations of prelates, priests, and lay- 
men, have, as we have learned, in- 
duced the author to enlarge his plans 
and undertake a series of works, 
which will give the American Church 
a complete biography of ecclesiastics 
and laymen, and, at the same time, 
literary monuments of classic taste 
and scholarship. The present book 
of the prelates will, as we rejoice to 
learn, be followed by the second work 
of the course, containing the lives of 
the missionaries of our country, such 
as White of Maryland, Marquette, 
Jogues, and Brebeuf of New York, 
Rale of Maine, the missionaries of 
the Mississippi Valley, of distinguish- 
ed priests in later times, and of the 
founders of our religious houses, male 
and female. The remaining work of 
the series, more interesting probably 
than even the preceding ones, be- 
cause not the least attempt has so 
ffu been made in that direction, will 
contain the lives of distinguished Ca- 
tholic laymen, who have rendered 
signal services to our country, such as 
Calvert, Carroll, and Taney of Ma- 
ryland, Iberville of Louisiana, Don- 
gan of New York, La Salle and Tonty , 
explorers of the Mississippi River, 
Bury of Pennsylvania, Vincennes of 
Indiana, Gaston of North Carolina, 
and many others. The whole will form 
a complete series of Catholic bio- 
graphical works, issued in the appro- 
priate order of bishops first, priests 
and religious second, and finally of 
sutesmen, captains, explorers, and 



jurists. We cannot withhold 
pression of our pleasure at th 
pect of results such as these i 
partment of literature which 
ever been one of the objects ' 
Catholic Woru> to encoucaj 
mote, and cherish. 

That valuable materials c 
the country for all of these im 
works, we feel quite sure. Vi 
care will be taken of them, ai 
they will be freely placed at 1 
vice of our Catholic historia 
authois. Their publication wi 
the best means of preserving 
while rendering them useful 
present generation. We will 
incident in the experience < 
Clarke, in preparing his Livt 
Bishops^ related by him to us 
evidence of the danger to wb 
luable historical matter is coi 
exposed of being lost and des 
He applied, in one instance, 
custodians of the papers rela 
the Catholic history of an im; 
diocese and state, and was in 
that the diocesan papers and 
ments had been for many yeai 
ed up in a strong chest or s: 
fore and for some time aft 
death of the first bishop, and, 
ing opened and examined, the 
found to be in a state of cc 
decay from the damp, fell to 
when handled, and that scai 
line of the writing was legible, 
er cases are related of valuab 
terials for American Catholic 1 
lost or sent out of the country 
observe, in the first volume bef 
a new and appropriate feat 
distinct and separate return of 
by the author to a long list ( 
lates, priests, and laymen who 
supplied him with materials oi 
him in his labors. The app< 
makes, in his preface, for the 
ance of such as possess mal 
has our cordial sympathy; «i 



Wr. Ciarke's Liv^i of tlu American CatltoiU Bishops. 565 



B appeal will not be made in 

book of prelates, whose ap- 
t we now hail with so. much 

! is the most important and 
contribution yet made to 
JR-ican Catholic biographical 
It covers the ground of 
chuKh history to the 
nt times, possesses the pe- 
•rest which attaches to per- 
id individual narrative, and is 
Ire have said, from the dry- 
general history. Its pages 
an ardent love of country 
our American institutions, 
a devatinn to true liberty, 
accord with the traditions 
lioD of one of the descen- 
the Catholic pilgrims of 
who constitute the theme 
lorcd chapter in our history, 
ig the magnanimity of a do- 
tholic majority in times 
tion was not the fashion, 
lony between Catholicity 
:y, and an unflinching faith 
generations of Protestant 
m. Praise is freely bestow- 
praise was due, to our 
id to our countrymen ; and 
administered in the spirit 
fcction, whenever there are 
abmes to be corrected, or 
re is conflict, in the civil 
.1 order, with the sacred 
Hgion and of conscience, 
tiquity of the Catholic 
America, her struggles 
iphs, arc well worthy of the 
all. Her struggles have 
against vice and error, and 
l©f liberty and virtue. Her 
have been the conquest of 
heaven. No impartial 
study the career of the 
'Church in the United States 
leing convinced of thepuri- 
Bnotives. and the sacrcdness 
Her conservatism, her 



sacraments, her defence of Christian 
marriage, her labors for religious edu- 
cation, her chastening in6ucnce over 
the consciences of her children, of 
which every day's record affords ex- 
amples, her maintenance of law and 
order, have made her in the past, 
what they will prove in the future, the 
mainstay of society, of liberty, and 
of the republic. Her growth iu our 
midst has been the work of Provi- 
dence, not of man ; a growth which, 
as our author shows, has proportion- 
ately far outstripped that of the re- 
public. While the country has in- 
creased from thirteen states to thirty- 
seven states and eleven territories 
in ninety-five years, the church has 
increased from one bishopric to sixty- 
four bishoprics, six vicariates apos- 
tolic, and four mitred abbots in 
eighty-one years. The population 
of the country has increased from 
2,803,000 to about 40,000,000, while 
the children of the Catholic Church 
have increased from 25,00010 s.soo,- 
000, The increase of the general 
papulation of the country has been 
'»43J l^r centum in nincty-fivc years, 
and iliat of the church has been 
32,000 per centum in eighty-one 
years. The Catholic clergy have in- 
creased from twenty-one pricMs in 
1790 to about four thousand eight 
hundred priests in 187 1; they dis- 
pense the blessings of religion in 
4,250 churches and 1,700 chapels. 

After giving these statistics, the 
preface proceeds thus : 

" To Rome, the capital of (he Chtisiiae 
world, Ktcmnl City, destined In our 
hop«i and prayers and faith (o he restored 
10 usiifjaiii ns the free and unde^ecnitcd 
Mistress and Ruler of Churches, and to 
the Sovereign Pontiffs Ihcrci n , Vicars of 
Christ on earlli. wc turn wiih love and 
gratitude for ihc care, soliciluile, and 
su ppu 1 1 besluwi'd u pun ou t ch u rclica. 
and for the eieinplary pfetaies bestowed 
upon them by the Chiet Bishop of the 
church. To our venerable hierarchy, 



566 Mr. Clarke's Lives of the American J^atkoHc Bisk»fi. 



bishops and priests, and to the religious 
orders, both male and female, we render 
thanks for their labors, their sacrifices, 
ihcir sufferings, and their suffrages. 

" Tu our prelates, especially, is due 
under God the splendid result we have 
but faintly mentioned. They were the 
founders of our churches, the pioneers 
of the faith, and the chief pastors of our 
docks. In poverty and suffering they 
commenced the work, and spent them- 
selves for others. A diocese just erected 
upon the frontiers, in the midst of a new 
and swarming population, to anticipate 
and save the coming faithful, the hope of 
a future flock, an outpost upon the bor- 
ders of Christianity and civilization — 
such was the frequent work and vigilant 
foresight of the Propaganda and of the 
Councils of Baltimore— such the charge 
confided to a newly consecrated bishop. 
To the religious enterprise and untiring 
providence of the Catholic Church, in her 
prompt and vigorous measures for the 
extension of the faith in this country, 
may well be applied the striking lines of 
Milton : 

' Z«il And duty «r« not slow ; 
But OD occasioii'i furdock waLcbful wait.' 

— Paratiis* Rtpiimrd, 

" To assume the task of creating, as it 
were, building up, and governing the in- 
fant churches thus confided to their care, 
was the work that was faithfully and leal- 
ously performed by our bishops. It was 
no uncommon tiling for a bishop to be 
sent tu a diocese where there was scarcely 
a shrine or a priest ; where he not only 
had no friends or organized flock to re- 
ceive him, but where he had not even an ac- 
quaintance ; where he would not meet a 
lice that he had ever seen before. In 
some instances, he had to enter a diocese 
rent with disunion or schism among the 
people ; in others, he was compelled to 
reside out of the episcopal city by reason 
of disaffection prevailing within. In 
other cases, such was their poverty that 
they had not the necessary means to pro- 
cure an episcopal outfit, to provide a 
pectoral cross and crosier, or to pay their 
travelling expenses to their dioceses. In 
many cases the humble log-cabins of the 
West were their episcopal palaces and 
cathedrals; and frequently church, epis- 
copal residence, parish school, and theo- 
logical seminary were all under the same 
contracted roof. In the midst of such 
difficulties, we behold examples of humi- 



lity, patience, cheerfulness, leal, d 
love, poverty, and untiring labor. A 
of such examples, and of lives so go 
heroic, lias led us to undertake the 
now prbscnted to the public, io or 
repeat and continue their holyinfln 
to preserve the memory of soch dei 
render a tribute to those honored t 
and to rescue, as far as we couli 
Catholic traditions from oblivion o 
loss. We applied to ourself,and y 
to the spirit of, the poet's appeal ; 

^Spread out earth's holiest records ke 
Of dar* and dceda lo reverence d«ai 
A zeal like tbit what pious leg eodt u 

The two volumes contain th* 
of fifty-six American bishops, a 
the second volume is affixed i 
pendix containing the lives of 
prelates of other countries, who 
a special connection with the / 
can Church. The first volun 
which we will confine our p 
writing, contains the lives of tv 
nine prelates, a list of whom, 
the dates of their consecratit 
appointment, and the religious ( 
to which they belonged, where 
was the case, will in itself prot 
teresting. 

The antiquity of our chur 
America is strikingly illustrat 
this volume — an antiquity eqi 
that of the church in some c 
old countries of Europe, exte 
back to the ages of faith, whe 
church was fighting her battle 
paganism, and before the time 
altar was raised up against alt 
the Protestantism of the sixl 
century, and before the more m 
phases of infidelity and comim 
had declared war against all 
and all religion. In the tentl 
venth, and twelfth centuries 
Northmen of Iceland, hardy » 
turers on the seas, pushed the 
ploits beyond the continent o 
rope, and landed colonies oi 
shores of this continent Cc 
from their ice-dad homes, oa 
treme north-eaatcm regi<ms m 



fr, darkens Livts of tJu Ai/urumn Catltolic Bisiiops, 567 



rounUy of enchanting ver- 
reccived the name of Grcen- 
nd, pushing iheir cruises 
DUtht they entered our own 
isctt Uay, where, seeing the 
csioone<l with vines teeming 

res, they calletl it Vinland. 
Longfellow, aptly quoted 
riorlce, has celebrated some 
ploits of Vikings and North- 
sea and shore. They were 
ooters and highwaymen of 

InliiS the eomir'a crew, 
'er the dark mi I flew 
With the maranitcrs ; 
hid wu the life we led, 
[■ny the touli Uiat sped, 
jny the hcArls ihat Died, 
Vy our stera orders." 

\ time of which the ix>et 
Mb Iceland and Greenland 
gaii. The mother-country 
r conversion to missionaries 
land, and she, in turn, sent 
»ted priebts, who converted 
lists in Greenland and Vin- 
'the faith. Convents and 
arose and resounded with 
es of God, chanted in Latiji 
ircc ccDturies and a half bo- 
ambus discovered America, 
cnt among the Catholic 
ries was Eric, who, in the 
t of the twelfth century, 
:ed his exalted labors at 
I, and afterwards particu- 
g the banks of Narragansett 
iC site of the present city of 
and its vicinity were the 
•Ids of his apostolic labors. 
>rtant did these Christian 
become, that a bishopric 
ted at Garda, the episcopal 
ireenland, and Eric was con- 
its first bishop by Lund, a 
f Scandinavia. He visited 
cherished flock at Vinland, 
he was devoted, and, rather 
ive them, he rcsijined his 
I crosier, went into the r.inks 
ergy, and gave his life for 



his flock — the first of American mar* 
tyrs. 

Tiie colonies of the Northroeti 
were swept away, and the record of 
them, even, faded from the histories 
and traditions of mankind. 

*' I wu t viking nid: 
Mr deedi, tlioufb nanlfold. 

No sk&Jd In >na|[ haa luld, 
No sag* lauf hi ibec." 

A glowing tribute is paid by the 
author to the Catholic faith and 
genius of Columbus, the unrivalled 
discoverer of America. In the very 
generation in which Columbus lived, 
the church established a bishopric 
within the present limits of our re- 
public. Among tlie ambitious and 
hardy captains of that day was Pam- 
philo de Narvaez, who, in attempting 
the conquest of Florida, aspired to 
add to the Spanish crown a realm 
equal in extent and wealth to Mexico, 
and to rival the fame of Cort6z by 
his own exploits. The Franciscans 
were at his side, seeking a holier con- 
quest, fired by no earthly ambition, 
but by a heavenly zeal. A bishop- 
ric was erected for Florida as the 
expedition was about to sail from the 
ports of Spain, and Juan Juarez, who 
had already won the title of one of 
the Twelve Apostles of Mexico, was 
appointed, in 1526, Bishop of Rio 
de las Palmes. He spent his brief 
sojourn in Spain in securing ample 
provision for his future tluck, and in 
obtaining royal guarantees for the 
liberty and kind treatment of the 
natives. No time was left for his 
consecration ; he liastened on board 
the fleet, and rushed to the spirliuji 
relief of his children, whom he knew 
and " loved only in Christ." Al'ler 
the disastrous termination of the ex- 
pedition, he and his companions suf- 
fered shipwreck, and are believed to 
have perished of hunger — the second 
martyr of our church. Well has our 
author said of him, that he gave up 



568 J/r. Ciark/s Lives of the Aimo'kau Catitolic Sis^ 



his own life that he might bestow 
upon others life elcrhal ; and that he 
who (lied of hunger for God's sake 
n'as greatly rewarded by that same 
Irod with celestial feast!*, and rcplcii- 
tshed with seraphic delights ; and lias 
aptly applied to him those beautiful 
woi'is of the Canticle: 

" KwncDto istplavll Ronl^" 

We have dwelt briefly, but with 
particular pleasure, upon these the 
first two lives of the valumct because 
of their peculiar interest and beauty, 
but they must l)e read at length in 
the work itself to be duly appreciat- 
ed. We rejoice that they have now 
been rendered a classic story in our 
language — an enduring monument in 
our literature. 

We had marked out several ex- 
tracts from the interesting and im- 
portant life of Archbishop Carroll, 
and from the lives of other eminent 
prelates, for insertion, but the want 
of time and space deprives us and 
our readers of this pleasure. We 
reserve the remaining space allotterl 
, I to this article for three extracts, the 
&rsl of nhich is the historical sketch 
given by Mr. Clarke of an event 
which reflects untold honor and 
glory upon the American Catholic 
episcopate. The honor and merit 
of originating the Society for the 
Propagation of the Faitli, which has 
ever since been and is now spreading 
the Gospel throughout the world, is 
due to an American prelate. Bishop 
Dubourg, of New Orleans, is the re- 
cognized founder of that illustrious 
society. And now we will let the 
author sfieak fur himficl/: 

" The most brilliant ant) frulUul ftcivice 
rendeied by Bithop Dubourg to (he 
churclu Bol only in America, bul ihrougli- 
utit the most remote &nd unenlightened 
]>oT1li}n« of the world, was ihc IcAding 
\)Xt\ lie look in founding the ttlusthous 
'Association for the Propagation of the 



Faith.' It has been well mk( 
rsiahlishmcnt which M. Daki 
tin his icloiD to Looitians I 
made at L>-uos, is of itself cm 
moitalice hii name. He then 
1S15, the Association rot ibo F 
ur the Faith. This single 
which conveys benedictions HI 
to millions, and which daily 1 
Klad tidings of a Saviour to 
aic seated fn the silence ol 
comes a mooutneDt sufficient 
the memory of Dubourg. and 
full ray of brif^hiness on anjr 
sociaicd with hib name."* 

The following fuUxatrt, 
Life 0/ AriHt>isftop Ecc/eUm 
more, relates to interesting 
ring events in the life of 
father, Pius 1X„ and the 
our country aixl chtircfa, 
made to reflect upon eve 
piring in our own tiine:»: 

" TI10 adjoutnmeni of the Si 
cil was soon followed by ih 
Pope GrcRorr XVI. and the 
Pope Pius IX. The rcnarfci 
ihni ensued are a part tti ihi 
our age. Loud, Ion;*, iki.I e. 
were the plaudits ih.ii 
acts of the noble ani . < 
from every ponlnn of the woi 
peciallv from the I'niipd Siaw 
meetings in the : 
moat tcspectful U'. ■ 
to the Holy Fatbci, ttuu Cuii(: 
minister to coogiatulate tUi 
course and to reside at hfs 
seemed as though the Proie« 
were prepared 10 hall ihc rel 
glorious ages of faith, t%hea 
tejgn PoniifT wxs the unlven 
nired F.ithrr and arbiter of 
lian world. The lo)-ally of 
was mantfettod by the obedlcn 
»oul> and submission of thcil 
him whom they recognized ai 
of Chtisl on earth. To iheii 
fellow-cilizens was left the wi 
ing utterance to the publfc to 
gratulaiion and praise. The at 
public meeting held in New Y 
tliousand persons, and preside 
the mayor, contained the foil 
markable passage : 

** ' And more foimldabl* tihu 
jrou must have girded yourveU 



Ciarkes Z,ives of t/it American Catiiolic Bishops, 569 

of his glorious ponltlicaie ! Wttcn, oh ! < 
when, ivill ihc CAiholic peoples ol iba' 
world dcniAnd of their govcrnmcDts ibfl 
rciitoration nf ihc capiiat of Christendom^ 
and the libeny of ibe Vicar of Christ?" 



b7 God's help to oTcrcome, that 
IS ind ingratitude of multitudes 

sctl ffoiD ^cnumbiag bondage, 
luld clamor In ibc ivilJotness to 
k lu the l]c!ih-puts of Eg)'pt ; 

mang Ihc conic in (toritrics and 

followers of uuf Saviour, cuuld 

II to bear in solitude the agony 

ss \ and which in your case, wo 

d, will yet manifest itself in 
Rible expectations, extravagant 
impetuous ccquircmenis, and in 
[ngs that nothing has been catn- 
[endcd. because everything has 

already accomplished. 

address of the Philadelphia 
,he)d January to, 1848, contained 
)wing earnest words: 'May the 
)r gmnt you Ivnfjth of life, 

o( bean, and wisdom from on 
order to bring to a happy con- 

ihc bcneiicent reforms which 
[begun! May he inspire the 
ind people of Italy with the cour- 

moderalioD necessary to second 
)rts ! May he raise up lo you 
Ks, who will continue to extend 
lencc of peace and justice on 
ad the time will come wlu-n the 

of God's por>i will, if opprirsBcd, 
:a summon the most powerful uf 
vssois to appear at the bar uf 
Christendom ; and the nations 
in judgment upon him, and the 
ir. blushing with sbamc, shall be 
jr their unanimous and indignant 

render justice to the oppressed,' 
lar addicsscs were sent from 
tvcry city of any importance in 
Mt 10 the Holy Father. But soon 
tUctic language of ibc New York 

was realized ; the clamor of the 
Inlcd populace was raised against 

.ther and best friend; Count 
lis sccr«t:try, is assassinated, and 
ly father himself is a fugitive 
|m«. It was tlien that the devo- 

Catholics mnnifested itself to- 
the Supreme Pontiff, and many 
litfuli were the testimonials of 
and afTcction received by ttic 
Gacta from his children through- 
world. The Catholics of the 

States were not behind Ihclr 
I In these demonstnitions. and the 
enlertalned thai the Holy 
would accept an asylum in our 
How vividly do titc present 
of that same Holy Father, and of 
ne holv church, recall iheerenti 



As we were alwut to close owr ar- 
ticle, our eye fell upon the fullowing 
fine passages in the Life of Dr. Eh^- 
iami, Firit Bishop of CharUitoHy and 
we yield to the temptation of transfer- 
ring tticm to OUT columns, both as a 
tribute to that illuslrious prelate ant^ 
as specimens of Mr. Clarke's style; 

"The great struggle of Bishop Eng. 
land's life in this cunniry seems to have 
been to ptcscnl the fatholic Chutcli, her 
doctrines and practices, in their true 
lightbcfore the American people. !n hie 
effort to do this bis labors were indefati- 
gable. His means of accomplishing this 
end were various and well studied. He 
endeavored, from his arrival in ilic coun* 
try, to identify himself iburuuglily with 
its people, its institutions, lis hopes, anil 
its fuiurc. He was vigilant and spiriitd 
in maintaining and defending the honor 
and inlegrity of the countir, as he ivns in 
upholding the doctrines nnd practices of 
the church. In his oratfon on the char-H 
actei of Washington, he so thoroughlj 
enters into the scntlmcnis of our people 
and participates so unreservedly in tha 
pride fell by the country in the Pulfr 
Patria, that his language would seem to 
be that of a native of the country. There 
was no movement for the public good in 
which he did not feci an interest, and 
which he did not, to the extent of bis op- 
portunities, endeavor to promote. His 
admiration for the institullonsof the coun- 
try was sincere and nnalTccicd. Tliough 
no one encountered more prejudice and 
greater difficulties than he did. he, on all 
occasions, as he did in iiis address before 
Congress, endeavored to regard Ihc pro- 
judiccs and impressions cntciiained by 
Piute^lants ag^iinst Catholics as errors, 
which had been impressed upon ihcir 
minds by education arl associations, for 
which they itiemsclves were nut rcspon< 
sible. In his writings and public ser- 
mons and addresses, he travelled over the 
wide range of history, theology, and the 
arts, in order to vindicate the spoilcss 
spouse of Ciirisl against the calumnies 
of her enemies. If Catholic citizens and 



570 ^fr. CUtrkis Lives of tk£ American Caiholie Bishops, 



vutcr$ wrre aiiackod on the score of iheir 
fidelity to iheir couniry and its Instltu* 
liun^, Bishop En^liind's ready pen de- 
fended them from die calumny .ind silen- 
ced Iheir accusers. If a Csihalic judge 
or public officer was nccused of raise 
swcaiinjc or menul reservation ia taking 
the ofiicial oath, he found an irresistible 
and unansweiable champion jn (he Bishop 
of Charleston. He found the church in 
the United Stales comparatively defence- 
less on his accession to the See of Char* 
lusion, but lie soon rendered it a danger- 
ous task in her enemies to attack oi villfr 
lier ; ami many who ventuicd on this 
mode of warfare were glad to retreat from 
the fa-Id, before the ciusliing weapons of 
iL^gic.crudiiion.andcloquence u-iili which 
he batded for bis church, bis creed, and 

his people 

** Bishop Encland visited Europe four 
limes during hts episcopacy, for the in- 
tetests and instiluttons of bi« diocese, 
visiting Rome, mosi of the European 
couniiies. and his native Ireland, which 
he never ceased to love. He was sent 
twice as apostolic delegate from the Holy 
See lo Haytt. lie obtained from Euiopc 
vast assistance (or his diocese, both In 
priests, (emnle religious, and funds. It 
W.1S proposed lo translate him lo the 
bishopric of Ossory in licland. but he 
declined. The highest ecclesiastical dig- 
nity. with comfort, luxuiy. ftionds, and 
case, io bis native country, could not 
tempt him to desert his beloved church 
in Americn, He had become an Ameri- 
can citizen and an American prelate, and 
he resolved lo roniiDue lo be both as 
tony as he lived. Al Rome he was con- 
sulted on nil mailent relating lo ihe ecclr- 
siasfical affairs of this country. The offi- 
cials of the Eternal City were astounded 
al the great travel!! an<l labors of Bishop 
Kn|:land. They heard him appoint from 
the Chambers of the Prop-iganda ihe very 
day on which he would administer con- 
hrmailon in the interior of Georgia, llie 
cardinals, in their wonder at all he ac- 
complished, and the rapidity of his move* 
mcnis, used to call him ' it ttscnv a tii' 
ftcre,' or the ' steam bishop." We ha\*e 
seen with what an insignificant force he 
cnmmenced his episcop.-tl labors. H« in- 
creased the churches of his diocese to 
over sixteen, and Icf behind him a well- 
organized and appointed rierjr, and 
numerous ecclesiastical, religious, edu- 
cational, and charitable Institutions. The 
CBtholic Camitiei of his diocese might 



have been counted, it ih« litnc d i» 
rrcctiOD of the See of Charleston, mote* 
fingers; at the bishop's dcaiti the; ««n 
rounied by thousands, But ihefoodt* 
accomplished was nut ' "-i 
own diocpsr- Hrt elcv . 
^ging influence was leU ... 
country, at Koine, and l« OMDj |utu 
the Catholic world." 



ondtff 



His dying words to his ckrgr.ind 
through them lo his floirfc, were u 
follows : 

" Tell iny people ibat 1 love tbrm; all 
them bow much 1 regret lliat circui&itis> 
ccs have kept us at a distance Itua 
other. My duties and mr di| 
have prevented me fioni cullivatll _ 
sircnKihcning thusc private iir< ahLrt 
ought to bind UB together ; jiv-u.- Utna oh 
require a closer, a more C(.>-. 
ijuutse with them. Be wijli ■. 
them — win them to Go<l. Ci. 
and instruct them. (fVfr4 ,. 
rrntier an aacuni vf their s<mh, < 
may do it with Jvy. and rtrf frtii 
Tttcrc are among yuu ^■ 
stitutions which you at' 'Vf 

especial manner, to susUui. h tiaM i 
mc a great deal of thought and of Uh 
to introduce ibcm. They a:* 
to be eminently serviceable i 
of order, ol education, of li 
constitute ibe germ ol what, 1 
hereafter grow and flourish ■■ 
usefulness. As yrl ihey an- 
pori them — erabairr.-^ .i . _ . 
— ihey will be affii 

"/ fimiiM/Ntt my /^-t' , ,..■.-.,.- ... 
— tif^-iaiir tif htr ia vAffm twr jiw-* ' 
JiJtii ill in M/ fen*m of tht Mr 
rifUr ' fl VWAN, i^kfilttky Sm» : Sm. ■ 
thy mithrr.' " 

The second volume conuiiu ik 
lives of thirty Amcrirjao bishoiit, ia4i I 
in the Appendix, the lives of Ki|**J 
Rev. Charles Atigtisttis dc Foclb-I 
Jansen, liishop ».>r Ncnry, Kra««. ' 
who visited this country in iS46,iiw 
rendered signal serviLes to relip* 
while here ; of Right Re%'. Ed«ilil 
Barron, who volunteered from rfu* 
country for the African ij- ' ' *** 
made Ilishop of Africa tii 
died at SavBunah. Georgia, ui i^^ 



New Pubiications. 



of charity ": ami ofCardi- 
lint, whose visit lo this country 
e recollection of our readers. 
ajinot dose our notice without 
tonimcnding, in ihc most eni- 
tnanner, this record of the la- 
the self-denying prelates who 
e means, under God, of plant- 
church in our beloved coim- 



tT)' — not only for its historical interest, 
and as an addition to our perm.mcnt 
Catholic literature, but for the in- 
centive it furnishes to others, both 
cleric and lay, in their several spheres, 
to be unremitting in tlieir efforts to ex- 
tend the faith, thus happily transferred 
to our soil, to every nook ami comer 
of this favored laiid. 




NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



iCAa or Christ; or. Lectures 
the Office and PreroKali?cs of 
toly Fsthffr ihe Pope. Ry Rev. 
18 S. Prfston, Pasiorof St. Ana's 
h. New York, and Chancellor of 
DC«*e. New Yoric : Robert Cod- 
n, No. 366 Bowerv- 1871. 

lavc here ntiother series of 
ellent Advent Lectures of F. 
I, which have done so much 
n the instruction of the 
and the conversion of num- 
persons to the true f.xilh. 
ly prepared and solid dr.s- 
on the great Catholic prJn- 
lopmas, doctrines, laws, and 
1 fact, on all the topics of 
' uni^'ersally — are especially 
ry and useful in our lime 
intry. Besides the addition- 
accruing to that which has 
nc by the preaching of these 
(es through their more ge- 
G^emination among the laity, 
iblication is a great benefit 
clergy, as giving examples 
>e»t kind of preaching, ami 
ng a stimulus and a help to 
ff the same kind, 
present series of lectures on 
le is fully equal to Ihc former 
lions of the author in ability 
iellence, if not superior to 
Tlw subject, at any rate. 
|t br the most Jnti^rcsting 



and important of any. F. Preston 
has merited well of the church by^ 
his zealous and efficient devoljon tfl 
the cause of the Pope and the Holyl 
See. and bis continual efforts toj 
instruct the Catholic laity in 5<tun<i 
doctrine in this most essential rnat-i 
ter. In this volume he has giveaj 
us a lecture on the supreniacy, an-j 
other on tljc Papal infallibility. 
third on the tcmpural sovcreignty.J 
and a fourth on the Pontificate of 
Pius IX. .At the end. the decrees' 
or constitutions of the Vatican 
Council and several recent alk>cu- 
tions of the Holy Father are given 
in Latin and English ; and the whole 
is concluded by a carefully and 
critically prepared chronological list 
of the Sovereign Poniifl's, in wtiicli 
wc arc glad to see the Avignonian 
and Pisan claimants of the tiara 
relegated to their proper place on 
one side, while the succession is 
continued through the Roman line, 
which is unquestionably the true 
one. The lecture on infallibility is 
especially marked by solid learning 
and ample citttions from the fathers, 
proving conclusively that this ar- 
ticle of the faith was explicitly held 
and taught from the beginning. 
The style is grave and serious, co- 
pious and flowing, and warmed with 
a spirit of fer\'eat love to the souls 



572 



Neiv Pttbiicatums, 



of men. It is the style, not of a 
mere essayist, but of a preacher. 
It is. therefore, far more ple.ising 
and popular in its characlcr than 
that of most books on the same 
topic. Every Catholic in the United 
States ouRht to read it, and wc 
doubt if any book has been publish- 
ed on the Pope equally fitted for 
gcnernl circulation in England and 
Ireland. Xeilhcr is there any so 
well fitted to do good among non- 
Cathotics. We hope no pains will 
be spared to give it a wide and uni- 
versal circulation. 

It is most iniporLint and neces- 
sary that all Catholics should be 
fully instructed in the sovereign 
supremacy and doctrinal infallibility 
of the Pope, and the strict obliga- 
tion in conscience of supporting 
his temporal sovereignty. 

M r. Coddington has published 
this volume in a superior manner, 
with clear, open type, on XGry thick 
and white paper, and adorned it 
with an engraved portrait of the 
beloved and venerable Pius IX. 
Once more we wish success to this 
timely and valuable scries of lec- 
tures, and thank the reverend au* 
yior in the name of the whole Ca- 
tholic public for his noble cham- 
pionship of the dearest and most 
sacred of all causes— that of the 
Vicar of Christ. 

AsTiiJOTt, TO "The Gatks Ajar." By 
J. S. W. Tenth thousand. New York : 
G. W. Cairtcton & Co. 1672. 

Mr. Carlcton appears to be con- 
vinced that "de guj/tdus nitji est 
{input andum" by a buukscUcr, but 
rather thai provision is to be made 
for all tastes. On the back of this 
little pious pamphlet we find adver- 
tised The Dehiitabie Ijtmi. by Robert 
Dale Owen; The Seventh Vidl. con- 
taining, wc conjecture, a strong 
dose, by Rev. John Cumming; Afo- 
ther Goose with Music, by an ancient, 
anonymous author; .-it I^nst, a new 
nnvcl, by Marian Harland, etc. The 
AKtidolt is a rather weak aAd quite 



harmless dose, done up in pretty 
tinted paper. The writer n4l»xl| 
asks, on p. 23: " Who would not lik< 
to fly away in the tail of a cotneir 
—a question which any little hiy 
would answer in the affirmative, but 
cruelty dashes our hopes to th« 
ground by telling us that "all thtt 
is mere conjecture." Again, on p 
26, he gravely reasons thus: "Ailo 
families in heaven living la b»ii^rt 
together, as if they were on c,ir.!i 
that is simply impossible. When 
children marrj' here, they leave tlien 
parents, and have homes of their 
own ; their children do likewise 
and so on ad infinitum. Those who 
would live together in heaven would 
be only husbands and wives and tli 
unmarried children. And as to tlifll 
married who are not all happil] 
united here, arc they to be tied to-^ 
gether for ever whether they likt 
each other ornot ?" The little] 
phlet is concluded by two pieces < 
poetry, one of which is pretty 1 
the other one of those canter 
hymns which arc such favoritei at" 
the week-evening praycr-mcetinf ; 

*■ Wcsinxoftki r««lin« of Ik* U««. 
Tlutcinjuliy \a bri<t)t and BobU. 
And on arc lu |[1or.c« cuii/c«k<1 ; 
But whftt must It Im to b« ikcra f" 

The doctrine of Miss Phelps's 10- 
tagonist is more orthodox Lbta 
hers, without doubt, so far as tt 
goes, but it is presented in such i 
way as rather to pruvuka a ^''^'' 
than to convince or attract '-^^ 
mind of any one who is not alrewiT 
a pious Presbyteri.^n. Our Pr*«bv 
terian and other Evangelical (ret- > 
contrive to make religion as sail .it^i 
gloomy as a wet afternoon in the 
country. Even heaven itself bs* 
but small attractions for those «(>*> 
are not depressed in spirits. "he° 
described in the doleful strain vh:" 
is supposed to be suitable to p't^^^ 
Miss Phelps, as well as other n'cni 
hers of the gifted and cultiwl':' 
.Stuart family, and many of fitcii'' 
character and education, reroltf^ 
from the dismal system of PunUO 
ism. She ycurned itfter a brighter 



AVtt' PtiblUathns, 



573 



! beaulilul religion, which 

tomelhing^ else than (he 
the shadow of denth. Her 
to realize this ideal pro- 
Us Ajar and other similar 
hose immeasc populatity 
olh her own power as a 
j also a widely-felt sympa- 
:he sentrmcnta of her own 

is the Catholic theology 
ich presents the true and 

doctrine respecting the 
sion. the ^toriliud humanity 
rd.Ourl-ariy.and the saints, 
ic hierarchy, and the rela- 
'ecn the visible and invi- 
rlds : together with that 
>f the poetic and the mar- 
ftor which the mind, the 
on, and the heart crave 
isatinbtc kinging. We are 
to close the present exer- 
r the manner of the )ilt1c 
ore us. with a few verses 
old hymn, written by one 
rsecuted Catholics of Laii- 
t the close of the sixteenth 
Ifinntng^ of the seventeenth 

The whole hymn may be 
tbe Month for September 



h' 



KD. nr bmppie hone. 

ibftU 1 come to tbcc ? 

til my snrrowcf bkve an end ? 

f«t wken shall I vtt i 

% tie made of prcciotic Hones, 
ilwatlta (KamofiiU v]ti»re, 
> mtv fl( Tight onent poiilc. 
Jog* Hebe and nre. 

Mk% and Ibr plimwlcs 
irbuuclcs tluc shiDc ; 
t ttfeets are paved n-IUi gould 
tlDf e clrsre and 6ae. 

Wiarr nf Irorie, 

I 'ttale cleare, 
'? of bealcd gotild 

i .\Lit there! 

cos and thy |[sllant walkci 
Kslly aregiecne; 

yyt vicn sMrot and pleasant flow«rs 
wbiie elM Mr 9r«np. 

xicb llie MTcctc'k with silver Msod 
od ol Ufc doih Oowc, 
OS4 tiantus an erctv syda 
Wd of l)fc dotb {rnw, 

m.< . ' Irime! 

■p. 
Br '.-rr fel an end. 

fca ih«4 1 iwiitU aac 1" 



TUR PRI*iONKB!t OF St. Lazare. E<Jlietl 
by Mrs. Pauline dc Granilpti. Ti;inS' 
laicd flora tlio French by Mrs- IC. M, 
McCarthy. New Yoik : Applcton ft 
Co. 

In this volume we have n ram- 
bling, desultory description of the 
prison of St. Lazare in Paris, and 
its inmates. It is a prison for wo- 
men guilt)' of every variety of crime, 
and they are even incarcerated here 
on suspicion. But the majority of 
its occupants arc women who have 
fallen from virtue more or Jess 
criminally. Two great unsolved 
questions of the age force them- 
selves upon the attentive re.idcr 
of this volume, tilled with the piti- 
ful talc of wonmns sin ynd shame: 
What can be done to succor uiifor- 
tuu.ttt:s who have been ensnared 
and drawn away from the paths of 
virtue, and have a desire to return 
to an honest life; and what are (he 
legitimate and proper employmt^nts 
of women outside of the family? 

We arc not cunipcicnt to answer 
thoroughly either of these ques- 
tions, which for many years have 
exercised the politician as well ns 
the philanthropist ; we can only 
express our opinion. We have no 
such place in this country as St. 
Lazare. but we have the abandoned 
women and their needs. Ah ! that 
word abandoned expresses tbe state 
of the public mind toward those 
who have thus fallen : but the 
Catholic Christian cannot suffer 
any soul for whom Christ died to be 
abandoned, and the Catholic Church 
answers the tirst of these questions 
by opening her arms to the peni- 
tent, and ottering her the refuge of 
" Houses of the Good Shepherd," 
established in mo.st of our large 
cities. By the support and multi- 
plication of this order, whose life- 
work is to receive and help these 
poor children <if sin. is the most 
effectual way in which Catholic wo- 
men can reach the class in whose 
interest this book was written. \Vr 
do not believe that women discharg- 
ed from a prison like St. Lasarc 



m 



AVw PuMications. 



could be preserved from future dan- 
ger in an institution like the nnc 
proposed in the appendix to this 
volume. No place but a strictly 
religious house, in our opinion, 
ciJiiid be a house of moral conva- 
lescence to these poor creatures. 
There is one way in which Ameri- 
can Catholic women can lessen the 
number of these miserable outcasts. 
Watch over your servants, know 
where they spend their evenings. 
take them by the hand and give 
them loving, maternal advice as to 
their company, and endeavor to 
bring them often to confession and 
communion. The providence of 
God has committed these young 
girls to your care, and who knows 
but their souls may be required of 
you. negligent mistresses, in that day 
when we must all stand before the 
juclgincnt-scat of Christ? With re- 
g:ird to the employments of women. 
shoulH not women be allowed to do 
any honest business that they can 
do well? Many new openings have 
been made for her of late years in 
telegraphic and photographic offices 
andstorei*. Hut, alter all, lo touch 
the root oi this matter, why should 
not woman be so trained that she 
could, in any crnerRcncy. have a 
resource and support herself? A 
great deal would be gained if chil- 
dren were brought up to feel that 
"it is working, and not having 
money, that makes people happy." 
" It IS a noteworthy fact," says the 
author of TM< Prisoner t of St. Laiarr, 
"that three-quarters of the inmates 
arc without knowledge of a trade or 
of any means of making a livehhood 
for themselves. Tho support of hus- 
band or father failing, then destitu- 
tion followed, and then vice." 



PfcOCHETic lurERUUSN; or. Tlic Pro- 
pliclic Enuil of Imperial Power. By 
j<j»ci)h L. LonJ, uf thr Bi>sti*n Bar. 
New York : Huid and Iloushlon. 

>ir. Lord writes like a thorough 
gentleman, a point which we notice 
in this distinct and emphatic man- 



ner becauBC it is a 8one«l»l nit 

phenomenon in literature uf ibti 
class. He writes, also, like a «ll- 
traincd and cultivated Kholu »A 
thinker. It is. therefore, a plcauni 
task to read what he has wntKn, 
more pleasant from the fict li-'i !" 
essay is a short one, and li i 

arc briefly as well as Iul;... 

elegantly set forth. Moreover, ai 
though a Boston lawyer. Mr. 1/>H 
really reverences Ihc Holy Sctip 
turcs and believes the prophcU 
His spirit is pious and (ervefll' 
though sober, and he is alike fm 
from cant and from unbclicvioi: 
flippancy. The peculiar Ihcnry ol 
Mr. Lord regarding the fuhilment 
of what we may otll the tmpcmi 
prophecies is not contrary lo orihtK 
dox doctrine, and is in fu^i . 
him in common with soni' 
writers, although diverse liui.i l . 

one held by the generality of ^.l 

interpreters. So far as >'■ 
pircs preceding that of ' 
concerned, he agrees with ilic *. 
mon interpretation, In respc'.t i- 
this last, he holds to a perAooal 
descent and earthly empirr of nm 
Lord, This is an hypoih* 
in our eyes, has no | 
whatever. It is not wondt 
ever, that a person who ■ 
see the earthly empire of Chnsi u 
the reign and triumph of his Vkv, 
and the Romnn Church, should 
driven to look for n personal 
scent and reign of the Lord to tkej 
latter times, In this respect. 3fr- 
Lord ngtces with a number of £■■' 
nent Protestant writers, who, be*oi 
disgusted with the fruits of 
Reformation, and not so haf 
to sec the glories of the 
Church, fly for consolation l« 
brilliant but, at we think, basdd'] 
hypothesis. 

Mr. Lord differs from most Aa»ft 
can Protestants in the very dii* 
Bpcctful e!itcrni in which he lit»*^J 
dcmtjcracy. It is curious to *ill 
the very enthusiastic and adtit 
language in which a i 
vines express their ^ 
the truth of bis theory, unpcji; 



top to bultom. They 
I their names, liowever, from 
£ of prudence. Mr. Lord's 
its hnve not convinced us 
theory is correct, but they 
(ttir author to be worthy of 



West Poems. By Brei Haiie. 
: James R. Osgood Si Corapaay 
icknur & Fields, and Fields, 

K}^ 1871. 
ose who have enjoyed 
.rte's fuj^itive pieces have 
^e suspicion that the word 
as scarcely adequate to ex- 
lir character. The sketches 
ure have been unquestion- 
phtc. and, in some cases, 
id of real humor or pathos 
ich has led to ibeir being 
ed by many as evidences of 
apable by its touch of cn- 
humble and insignificant 
The vohimes, however. 
BVe succeeded one another 
-. Ilartc has left Cahfurnia. 
: us that he not only calls 
lies poetry, but sincerely 
them to be such, and t.ikcs 
ited that everybody who 
inything at all agrees per- 
th him. We fear that there 
a a mistake somewhere, 
le public have been betray- 
in incautious endorsement 
Ithor's opinion of his own 
' the author has mistaken 
LCterof the sensation which 
"caled. 

sms to be just as eager as 
bis cfTorts to astonish the 
nd wc know not how many 
lumcs of "poems" we may 
(cfore the public and he 
nn understanding;. For our 
ti the present is just one 
a we are prepared to Wei- 
ll spite of kindly disposi- 
s are painfully impressed 
fact that the mistake wc 
(led lo lies with the author. 
oUo unpleasantly relieved 
3t as to whether the 



character of his doggerel is, in all 
cases, due to the subject, and forced 
to conclude that there is r conge- 
niality between the writer and his 
themes which is the secret of bis 
success. We wish him well, and 
none the less in desiring space 
wherein to administer to the present 
volume the castigation which it de- 
serves. In sr> doing, we would not 
deny him a certain amount of genu- 
ine talent, such as is shown in cer- 
tain places in the "Grcyport Le- 
gend " (pp. 7-10), or the •' Lines on 
a Pen of Thomas Starr King" (pp. 
65.66). or "A Second Review of the 
Grand Army " (pp. 95-99) : nor would 
we be disposed to carp at a certain 
slovenliness which mars the beauty 
of other serious pasems. but which 
did not detract from their merit on 
the occasions for which they were 
written — as was the cisc with the 
"Address "(pp. 78-Si).anri the poem 
of the " Lost Galleon " (pp. 82-93)— 
the latter, if we mistake not, having 
been composed for a social reunion 
of the Alumni of the Pacific Coast. 
Hut nothing could induce us ti> ex- 
cuse the reckless vu!g:irity display- 
ed in such pieces ns *' A White Pine 
Hal lad " (p. 155); "In (he Mission 
Garden" (p. 21). There is also 
enough nonsense in such lines as 
the "California Madrigal" (p. 127). 
"A Moral Vindicator" (p, 165), // 
aUh' passim, to make the deliberate 
addition of " Songs without Sense" 
{p. 16S), unwarrantably superfluous. 
The author is not sufficiently 
aware of the distinction between 
coarseness and originality, or else 
prefers notoriety to fame. Wc can- 
not consent to the admission of his 
book into respectable libraries or 
drawing-room bookstands, still less 
to a place In American literature. 
If he should ever recognize and 
prune his defects, and cultivate a 
little more respect for those for 
whom he writes, as well as love for 
the purity of the idiom in which he 
deals, wc shall be happy to give 
him that praise which would be at 
present most unmerited and inop- 
portune 



576 



Ntw Publkatwns. 



SEftMONS BY THE FATHERS Of THR 
CONGKBGATION OF St. PaUL. Vol. VI. 

New York: The Catholic Publication 
Social)^. 1871. 

For obvious reasons, we hnve taken 
occasion to speak of this volume 
without the koowtedgc of Llic respon- 
sible editor. The great pressure on 
our columns this month, which has 
compelled the omission of several 
v.iluable articles alreadyin type, will 
not permit, however, more than a 
passing^ notice. We have always con- 
sidered these annual volumes as 
models of wise, simple, and eArncst 
instruction, and see no reason to 
change our opinion in the present 
instance. Indeed, there is. perhaps, 
increased reason, during these troub- 
lous times, to admire the bravery 
with which our Paulist Fathers 
meet the various questions demand- 
ing solution, and wc therefore take 
pleasure in commending the work 
to the attention of all interested in 
homilelic literature. C. 

To AND FROa THE PASSIQS Pl.AV, IN 

THE Sl'mmkr ok 1871. By (he Rev. G. 
JI. Doane. Doston : Patrick Oonaboc. 
t572- 

This elegant volume contains not 
only an accurate description of the 
Passion Flay — a spectacle to which, 
of course, none but a C.itholic can 
do justice— but also a great deal ol 
interesting matter about a number 
of things and places that the author 
saw on his journeys to and fro. As 
regards Paris, we have a sketch of 
some of the deeds of the Commune, 
and, in particular, the murder of the 
late archbishop. 

It is worthy of remark that, when 
Father Doane describes whether a 
place or an incident, he avoids that 
clubonitiun and artifice which pall 
upon the reader in many books of 
travel, and gives us his thoughts 
and impressions in an ca.iy and hap- 
py style. Wc congratulate him on 
his literary eiforts; and thank him 
cordially for affording us so much 
valuable information in so pleasant 
a manner. 



The •• Cnthohc Publication \ 
ty " has in press, and will ni 
immediately. Thr Pasfaral Aad 
the Archbixhops and Biskofn i 
land m tkt School Qutstfom. I 
be got out in a iztno pamphic 
will be sold for I3 per 100 cop 

The "Catholic Publication 
ty"will also publish, early ii 
uary. The Liqutfaction of tke 
of St. Januarius ; Ltnitm Sti 
from the Itah'an of Rev. Pau 
ncri. S.J. ; and Sermon j art Ecdt 
cal Suhjfcti. Vol. II.. by Arciit 
Manning. ^H 

»O0Ka amo rAMTMLsn ncwiPI 

From Cmaklbs Scmntn A Co . NtwY^ 
Holy Bible BccofdlDir to the AwfeOfti 
■Ion {A-t>, iSii). wtrli ui expUnuorr 
tioil comniiMiUry. ami rcvlnon of the' 
tion. bv Ftl»hop«antl other Offsy uf 
glloin Cliufcli. Kditrd by K. C C«d 
Cuiun ul Riclet. Vul. ]., Put L Q 
Bzodui. Iro, pp. bU., f»8. 

Fiom Mltiii) a Hoi-ctrrtM*. Neir VrtrV - 1 
Knifhl: A Romsncc-GarU : i 
BUa fit AouUxius OrOn. 
Not» by John O, Sar(tnt. . 
Tlie Chutt:ti \At% : An R«My towMi 
By Wm. R. tlumuiitloM. Kcvtoior All 
Worc«ler. ur :t 

From Ronaiirs 1: ton- Scvf 

Siena*. Bv I " i>-ino p^ 

KrotT! V« 

M. ,.ew 

of 11.^ . .. : -. ;.. . --) 

Rcr. L. K. [>unB. i ■■ 

Fmta J. B. IjrMfco?— 
stirrecilon **( iti- ii*t 

Janice lUruK^ 

Kron Holt * ^v , ,-,t%:i 

Greece, by II. Uuic. luutiAM 
Diinnd, (amo, jt[\. iit. 

FroiTi P.r-i..-- n,.., n, .».„.,. T* 

Gil :ry I 

Al' .. Ml. tt 

Kvi '»' 

i;' -••• ' 

rrom RoflKiir Clahkk A C^, OncfrtAal 

UlhePapsr And Wh(M*PlmlX.s« 

I'opcs? Oytf.X. Wci.u>f«i,|>O..S.i. 

I'P- '5 
From Tmk fntt I'l 

Afipral CO tile > 

Vork, «rio|it-.' 

Citlren* ■-■ -. iur ita l ia«t. 

fotm ol I I Couulj of Km 

tic. Par 
Fmm 0. .\ 

Ithv of St. 

Luthor ol . .... . ^... .. ; _._. 

«tc. rp. ss. 
Internatto«iB> Cencrcn ofi ibe Prvr 

Ke|>feuloo at Crime. 

(oruialurv TtMtntn 

I.L.O.. CoWUHIMti 

l*BpBr, ftp. aS. 



THE 



A.THOLIC WORLD. 



'"OL. XIV 






[872. 



LIUV 



.te 



DUTIES OF THE RICH IN CHRISTIAN SOCIETY. 



NO. I. 



IN RKTKRENCE TO COMMUNISM. 



R the foregoing title, we pro- 
present to the careful alten- 
le wealthy clas3 of American 
a scries of easays on some 
ihich concern them very ncar- 

intend to make each one 
at it may be easily read, and 
! reader who is interested in 
Iters \<fQ discuss may have 
think over each topic by it- 
"e address ihem principally 
)lics, and shall, therefore^ aU 
K for granted anci appeal to 

principles and doctrines. 
are convinced that others 
Lolics will 6nd a great deal 

which they must acknow- 

bc true, and likely to do 
od, if they are at all earnest 
icientious. 

wc expect to say some things 
ch, and to those who are by 
Ivantage^ besides weahh in 
ated social position, which 
severe, and perhaps to some 
Lble, wu may as well begin 
[ig a guard against a possible 



misunderstanding of our intent. No 
careful reader of our magazine can 
suppose tliat we would sympathize 
with or encourage .any movement 
hostile to the just rights or reasonable 
privileges of the wealthy class. More- 
over, wc cherish a deep respect for 
all the hierarchical insti;utions of the 
political and social order, as well as 
for their more sacred and elevated 
counterparts in the ecclesiastical sys- 
tem. Wc recognize the necessity, 
even in our republican common- 
wealth, of a certain elevated social 
class, in which men of wealth must un- 
avoidably have an eminent position. 
Whatever we have which can check 
our ullra-democrauc tendencies, infuse 
a conservative spirit into our public 
opinion, give dignity, decorum, and 
stability to our institutions, elevate 
and refine our social tone, and add a 
l>ecoming splendor to our civilization, 
calls forth our sympathies, and re- 
ceives our deliberate and reasoned 
approbation. Whatever censures^ 
therefore, we may pronounce upon 



loardlng (O Act of Caciirevi, tn the year iSja. bv K«v. S. T. IlKcKut, In the Office of 
the Ubnrku ot Coagrcsi,'U WuliUigtoo, O. C. 



578 



The Duties of the Rich in Christian Socieijf, 



the vices, follies, and delinquencies 
of the rich and the otherwise highly 
placed in social rank, and whatever 
admonitions we may address to them 
respecting the duties and dangers of 
their position, must be taken as com- 
ing &om a £Hend, not only to them- 
selves as individuals, but to their 
class. With these preliminaries, we 
address ourselves to our task. 

We have placed the tide " In Refe- 
rence to Communism " at the head of 
our first article for one special rea- 
son. Communism threatens the weal- 
thy class with a war of extermination. 
It is obvious, therefore, that the rich 
have more need to reflect on the du- 
ties and dangers of their position, at 
the present time, than they have 
ever had before. So, then, we call 
their attention at the outset to the 
war which the fanatics of revolution 
are preparing for them, in order that 
our words may have more weight, 
and that they may give more serious 
thought to the subjects we intend to 
discuss M'ith them. And here we 
will explain that we employ the sin- 
gle terms " rich," " rich people," etc., 
for convenience' sake, including un- 
der this designation other qualifica- 
tions besides moneyed wealth, and 
other persons besides those who pos- 
sess great fortunes ; namely, all those 
who possess any species of privilege 
or power which gives them social dig- 
nity and influence. 

We say, then, to the rich: your 
class, your privileges, your posses- 
sions, your lives, are threatened by an 
enemy whose character is disclosed 
by the bloody orgies of the Paris 
Commune. What application do we 
make of this grave and alarming 
fact ? Simply this. The rich mem- 
bers of society ought to reflect seri- 
ously on all the questions which re- 
late to their position in the common- 
wealth. They ought to think of their 
duties, to examine their own delin- 



quencies, to consider the lii 
duct they ought to adop 
their power and influence ri 
rationally, to educate theii 
carefully, and in every wa 
vent and defeat the nefari 
of the party of revolution. 
earnestly and emphatically, 
is now a special necessity 
gation to use wealth, edu< 
tellectual power, social infli 
litical power, moral and 
force, to avert the dangt 
threaten society, and to pr 
solid and firm establishmi 
right basis. Moreover, tt 
terest of the rich demand 
them most imperatively, 
private and personal interes 
on the peace and good on 
ciety. Their own safety d( 
them that they should woi 
salvation of political and so 
when they are in danger, ju 
would bear a hand at the 
board a leaking ship, or 
batteries of their own be 
city. Hostility between th 
and the laborious classes 
evil in society. When th( 
of the masses against the a 
becomes violent, and tend 
duce a revolution and an e: 
ing war of the former a| 
latter, there is a deadly si 
the body politic which thi 
dissolution. This state of 
ists at present in Christend 
are not so deeply affected 
this country; but we are 
gether sound or safe from 
tion, and there is reason < 
be on the alert to protect 
from it. The rich have • 
ward society in general, ai 
its several classes and indi 
particular. And they ha^ 
present time and in presei 
stances, a special obligatio 
these duties careful attentio 



The Duties of the Rich in Chriatinn Society, 



57J 



,5 vould be strictly true and 
it to arouse the rich to a 
vigilance in fulfilling the du- 

Hheir high position, even if 
Tc free from blame, as a class, 
disorders and evils of modern 

but, if ihcy are chiefly to 
br these evils through their 
gleet and delinquency, there 
Iditional and imperative mo- 
th is fact for a strenuous of- 

their part to repair the past 

present and the future by a 

td fidelity and energy. We 

bey are to blame. It is our 

Ic judgment ih.tt communism, 

I whole mass of social disor- 

ich have lately come to the 

of the body politic under this 

ine and deadly form, arc prin- 

o be traced to the abuse of 

ind wealth by the governing 

Kings, nobles, rich men, 

politicians, have, in part by 
tres abuse of the trust cora- 
to them, and in part by their 

and indifference, generated 
•sX petroieum to which dema- 
Sind Icailcrs of revolution, the 
B, Garibaldis, Karl Marxcs, 
)wakis, and Raoul Rigaults, 
plied the torch. There have 
vay great and good things 
' kings, and by the members 
political, social, and intcUcc- 
ttocracy. 'i'here have been 
dmirable and excellent pcr- 
iny heroes and saints, among 
tvated classes in society. Ne- 
ts, on tlie whole, they have 
t|>ecially for the past three 
^ grievously delinquent, and 
illy becoming worse ; and 
irc extensively delinquent by 
than by positive criminality. 
ktest part of the miseries and 
vhich darken the annals of 
lay liC traced to kings and 
tcs in government. Their 
(heir wlfish policy, their 



unjust or unnecessary wars, their dis* 
regard of the happiness of the com- 
mon people, their haughtiness of de- 
meanor, their personal vices and cor- 
rupting example, have been the fruit- 
ful causes of misery and \'tce among 
their subjects. They have reacted 
against themselves by producing ha- 
tred and contempt of thrones and 
kings, of authority and government. 
The aristocracy have followed closely 
the royal example set before them. 
And the men of genius and intellec- 
tual culture, the princes and rich 
men of the realm of arts and letters, 
since the fatal epoch of the renais- 
sance of paganism, have prostituted 
their heaven-bom gifts to the service 
of every destructive error and eveiy 
corrupting vice. The greater number 
of those who have not positively aided 
the work of ruin have been apathetic 
and indifferent, and have not posi- 
tively aided the work of salvation, at 
least with the zeal and energy which 
might justly be exjKcted fi-ora them. 

Morenver, kings, nobles, and the 
wealthy class have made war on the 
church. They haverevoliedagainst the 
Holy See, enslaved the hierarchy and 
the clergy, and despoiled the church. 

They have robbed and wcU-nigh 
suppressed the monastic orders. In 
this way, they have sapped and un- 
dermined the foundations of their 
own stability ; for it is the principle 
of religious obedience and reverence, 
first of all toward God, and then sec- 
ondarily toward all powers establish* 
ed and sanctioned by the law of God, 
which is the source of the sentiment 
of loyally. The rebellion of the state 
against the church must, therefore, 
terminate in the rebellion of the lower 
against the higher classes in the 
state. The monasric institution was 
the strongest of all links helween rich 
and poor, great and humble, by rea- 
son of the fact that its members be- 
longed to both classes at ibe same 



580 



The Duties of the Rich in Christian Socitty, 



time. The destruction of monasti- 
cism, therefore, resulted necessarily in 
a hostility of these two classes toward 
each other. So it has come about 
that the aristocracy, excited by kings 
against the church, turned next 
against the kings, the commercial and 
middle classes turned against the ar- 
istocracy, and now the masses are 
turning against the men of wealth, or, 
as their own leaders express it, 
against " the supremacy of cash." 
The condition of the laboring classes 
is, at best, in many respects a hard 
one. It is a great and an arduous 
thing which is required of them ; to 
submit patiently to the supremacy 
of the higher classes. Religion alone 
makes their position tolerable; reli- 
gion, binding together both the supe- 
rior and the inferior classes in divine 
love. The hierarchy and the aris- 
tocracy must be recognized by the 
people as holding their high position 
for the common good of all, and as 
working with a self-denial equal or 
superior to their own; that is, as 
really laborers in another sphere of 
action, but with a common end in 
view, in order that they may content- 
edly acquiesce in the inequality of 
rank, wealth, and social privileges 
which prevails in society. So soon 
as the people are convinced, wheth- 
er wrongly or rightly, that the privi- 
leges of their spiritual or temporal 
superiors are mere privileges of a 
caste, which despises, rules, and tax- 
es the people for its own selfish ag- 
grandizement and pleasure, they be- 
gin to hate them with a deadly ha- 
tred. The Catholic people are con- 
tent that the Pope govern, rebuke, 
and punish them ; that he possess the 
wealth and splendor of a spiritual and 
temporal sovereign ; that he reign as 
the vicegerent of God on earth — be- 
cause they believe that all this is for 
their own highest good. They are 
content that bishops and priests pos- 



sess all the honors* and privile 
their office, and willing to : 
them in these, for the same i 
Take away th^ belief, and it 
long before they begin not c 
withhold their contributions, t< 
draw their allegiance, to refuf 
dience, to lose respect and Ic 
their spiritual superiors, but 
out for their overthrow ani 
clamor for their blood. It 
same in respect to the secula 
leged classes. And, at the 
moment, since the greatest x 
of external and material pr 
splendor, and worldly good ii 
ral has passed into the hands 
wealthy class, it is this class v 
most immediately exposed 
brunt of the attack which is c 
against caste and privilege, l 
quote the language of one of t 
cial organs of the Internationa] 
ty, the Egalitd of Geneva, in 
to show with the utmost cl 
what is their spirit and aim : 

" When the social rerolutio: 
have dispossessed the hourgeoim 
interests of public utility, as the i 
tie dispossessed the nobles and th< 
what will become of them ? 

" We cannot answer with posii 
tainty, but it is probable that i 
order of things will give thein, to 
an expression from one of our 
an infinitely more precious weal 
of labor, well paid, at their dis* 
50 that they may be no longer ob 
live by the labor of others, as tb' 
hitherto lived. In case some < 
should be incapable of labor, wb 
happen to a good many, sceii 
hitherto they have neivr Uamed 
of their ten fingers, -what then } 
then they will be given tickets foi 

" ' dut that is loo little," the I 
will howl. 

•" Too little r the workman will 
'too little to have work, at joui 
tion, well paid, and soup for theii 
The deuce ! You are hard to 
We could hare been well satisfi 
such terms formerly.' " • 

• See Um Z>>Mm Jb»d^ Oct. p^ 



The Dutifs of tlu Rich in Christian Socitty. 



5F1 



s the unavoidable conclu- 
, the practical as well as un- 
F condusion, tu which the 
iss of the people must corac, 
key arc convinced that the 
r more usefully for the colli- 
de and for the good of 
or, by means of their 
ith its attendant privileges, 
^ would by manual labor. 
Inot be convinced of this, un- 
ind poor alike rccogni/e the 
religious and Christian prin- 
id act on them practically, 
materialistic, anti-theistic 
|foa cannot get a foothold 
communism. It is all a 

words to show that civili- 
rt and science, social and 
snlendor, national greatness, 
uire the concentration of 
\ a few hands. What does 

man care for these, if this 

material good the sitmmum 
tnd he himself miserable ? 
tlition becomes insupporta- 

he would rather bum ilie 
th petroleum than bear it. 
' true thai his desperate cf- 
i maJce his condition far 
But he will not listen to 
Ik you try to prove this to 
iif you should even convince 
\ would only render him 
sperate. He must believe 
( under the govcramcnt of 
t he has been redeemed by 
kat heaveii is opened to him 

that this world is a place 
Ig merit by labor and suffcr- 
\ the difference in ranl<, 
Ind pri\*itege is ordered by 

ihc good of all and every 
pis to be contented with his 
I him is the Pope, the bi- 
I priest, the splendid church, 
tring vestments and chali- 
r him, too. is government, 
nroerce and trade, for 
i art, for him are some 



men rich. The church and the state 
are necessary for his good, and Ixith 
church and state have need of men 
in whose hands wealth and power 
are deposited. 

If the people are lo be convinced 
of this, they must see that their spirit- 
ual and temporal superiors are con- 
vinced of it, and act accordingly. 
The rich as well as the poor must 
act on Christian principles — act as 
men who have a trust committed to 
them for the common good. They 
must, in a word, be zealous laborers 
in their own sphere. And it is espe- 
cially incumbent on them, at the 
present lime, to do everything possi- 
ble to ameliorate and elevate the 
condition of that class of society who 
ore not merely doomed to a life of 
manual labor, but to a life of misery 
and degradation. The people have 
been taught that they possess politi- 
cal sovereignty, and universal suflrage 
has given tlieni the right and power 
to exercise it. Can they be expect- 
ed, then, to remain content for ever 
with a sovereignty which is united 
wiih a state of social ahjeclness and 
misery ? Is it safe or prudent lo 
negteci, despise, or insult them; or 
to swindle them and defraud ihem 
of their rights, and at the same time 
to flaunt before their eyes the gaudy 
insignia of what they believe to be 
ill-gotten wealth ? Especially when 
we consider that they read the news- 
paper every day. We leave it to 
our rich merchants and our educat- 
ed men to think, over and answer to 
themselves these questions. 

For ourselves, we are convinced 
that the only safety for the wealthy 
class, and for societj*. is to be found in 
a return to purely Christian and Cath- 
olic principles. .And we shall proceed 
to give our views more definitely and 
in detail upon the part which devolves 
on the rich in this work of social re- 
generation, in our future articles. 



58a 



The House of Yorhe, 



THE HOUSE OF YORKE. 



CHAPTER XXI. 



AMONG THE BREAKKKS. 



When the boat had slipped away 
from Indian Point, at one side, and 
Carl Yorke had strode off through 
the woods, at the other. Captain Ga- 
ry lifiied again the dingy canvas, and 
entered the wigwam that Edith had 
just quitted. In doing so, he was 
obliged to stoop very low, for the 
opening scarcely reached as high as 
his shoulders, and, had he stood erect 
inside, he would have taken the whole 
structure up by the roots. 

Dick still lay with his arms thro\^'n 
above his head, and his face hidden 
in them. 

His friend bent over him, and 
spoke with an affectation of hearty 
cheerfuhiess which was for from •his 
real mood. *' Come I come ! don't 
give up for a trifle, my boy. You're 
more scared than hurt All you need 
is a little brandy and courage. Eve- 
rything will turn out rightly, never 
fear !" 

" Don't talk to me !" said Dick. 

Captain Gary's heart sank at the 
sound of that moaning voice. When 
Dick Rowan's spirit broke, there was 
trouble indeed, and trouble which 
could neither be laughed nor reason- 
ed away. 

"Do take the brandy, at least," 
he urged; " and then I won't talk to 
jrou any more till the boat comes 
back. You must take it. You're in 
an ague-fit now." 

Dick was, indeed, trembling vio- 



lently. But, more to relieve hiiasdf 
from importunity, it would seem, than 
for any other reason, he lifted his 
head, swallowed the draught that wis 
offered him, and sank back again. 

His friend leaned over him one m- 
stant, his breast, strongly heaving 
and full of piQ', against DicIA 
shoulder, his rough, tender cheek laid 
to Dick's wet hair. i 

The poor boy turned at that, threw 
his arms around Captain Gary's xA 
drew him down, and held him close, 
as a drowning man might hold a 
plank. " captain, captain !" be 
whispered, " Tve got an awful blovT 

When the sailor went out into the 
air again, all the Indians had retired 
into their wigwams, except MaliCi 
and her father and mother. Tbe 
child, wide awake, and full (tf excit^ 
ment, was swinging herself by the 
bough of a tree, half her motion loN 
sight of in the dark pine shado*i 
half floating out into the light. Nov 
and then, she stretched her foot, ud 
struck the earth with it. When tbe 
stranger appeared and looked hff 
way, she began to chatter like a 
squirrel, and, hfting her feet, sciao* 
bled into the tree, and disappeared 
among its branches. 

Mr. and Mrs. Nicola crouched bf 
the fire, and sulkily ignored tbe ift* 
truder. When he approached aad 
stood by her side, the woman did not 
turn hei head, but toned a itrip of 



s€ of Yorkt. 



583 



Ice to 

Initio nud 

am go- 

Tthe shipr 

It may 

Ron't like to 

Khan I must." 

fow-tonert giit- 

an nodded her 
^either took any 
ary. 

intrude," he add- 
»n a man is sick, 
ire of. Captain 
oesn't half know 
Lt he is about. I 
ts soon as I can. 
"or your trouble." 

piece down be- 
' When I come 
2 more," he said, 
ack upon them, 
woods. 

wo elders stirred 
sight ; but Malic 
ee, darted at the 
led it up. She 
;, when her father 

money from her 
into his pocket 
len he let her go. 
money, except to 
around her neck, 
ads was prettier, 
ler treasure — the 
i given her that 
herself on the 
e, drew this book 
Is of her blouse, 
ves, reading here 
tage looked like 
ngs written out. 
; and beasts had 

do with making 

Who would not 
ssUwinoa was a 



verse from a feathered songster? 
Malie would tell you that it means 
a " general." Probably the birds call 
their generals by that name. One 
looks with interest on a child who 
can read this chippering, gurgling, 
twittering, lisping, growling " to-whit, 
to-whoo !" of a thought-medium. 

While she read, Captain Caiy, 
tramping through the strip of woods 
between the encampment and South 
Street, recollected for the first time 
that his clothes were dripping wet 
" What a queer, topsy-turvy time we 
are having !" he muttered, wringing 
the water from his cravat, as he har- 
ried along. "The whole affair reminds 
me of that fairy play I saw last winter. 
There must be something unwhole- 
some in this moonshine." 

The play he meant was Midsum- 
mer-Night* s Dream. But there was 
now no clamor of rustic clowns in a 
hawthorn brake, nor sight of Titania 
sleeping among her pensioners the 
cowslips. There were but his own 
steps, muffled in moss, and the lurk- 
ing shadows creeping noiselessly 
away from the pursuing light. 

By that short road across the 
Point, it was less than half a mile to 
the wharf where the Halcyon lay, and 
in ten minutes Captain Cary had 
reached his ship. His crew were 
all on board, and, as he walked down 
the wharf, he heard the refrain of one 
of their songs : 

"And they nok him la the lowlands, low." 

The verse ended in that mournful 
cadence that sailors learn from the 
ocean winds — those long-breathed, 
full-throated singers ! 

At sound of the captain's step, 
silence fell, and at his call a litde 
imp of a Malay cabin-boy appeared, 
stood with twinkling eyes to take his 
orders, then shot away to execute 
them. When the sailor who had 
gone up to the bridge with the ladies 



584 



The House of YorJke. 



came back to the ship, the yawl was 
out, and Captain Cary sat in it 
waiting for him. 

" Major Cleaveland wants to see 
you when you come up, sir," the 
sailor said, as they sped down the 
river. " He says you'd better bring 
Captain Rowan right up to his house. 
He will send the carriage down for 
you. He is obliged to leave town at 
four o'clock in the morning, in the 
Eastern stage, something about a trial 
of his in a court somewhere, so he 
can't see you in the morning." 

" Did anybody else say anything ?*' 
the captain asked. 

*' Mr. Carl Yorke said that, as soon 
as he had gone home with the ladies, 
he would come back to see Captain 
Kowan. He got up to the bridge 
just as we did." 

Captain Cary bent low over his 
oars, and muttered a word he did not 
choose to speak aloud. Plain men 
are almost always ready to have a 
jealous dislike of accomplished men, 
and a simple nature like Captain 
Gary's can never do justice to a 
complex one like Carl Yorke's. At 
that moment the sailor was thinking 
that, had Carl been the one to fall 
overboard, he would not have cared 
to wet his skin for the sake of saving 
him. And yet Carl had treated this 
man with friendly courtesy, and had 
admired and appreciated hira thor- 
oughly. 

" Well, did any one else say any- 
thing ?" he asked presently. 

« Miss Edith felt pretty bad, sir. 
She leaned over the rail, and looked 
back to the Point, wringing her hands 
all the way, as we came up. She 
told me to say to you that she was 
sorry she had left Captain Rowan. 
I guess, sir, she is pretty fond of 
him, after all," the sailor said confi- 
dentially. 

** What business have you guessing 
or thinking anything about it ?" de- 



manded his superior, with a hi 
sternness that would have dd 
Clara Yorke. " Keep your c 
till I ask for it !" 

"All right, sir!" respond! 
sailor, and shut his mouth, 
was angry, he did not vent 
show it. 

" Well ?" said the captain s) 
after waiting a minute. 

"Why, sir, there isn't mu 
anything else," the man ans 
" Miss Yorke said that they oi 
have taken Mr. Rowan up witt 
and that she did not undeistai 
they had allowed themselves 
sent away in such a manner. 
Miss Clara she said that you 
there a boat ahead, sir ?" 

" No. What if there is ? 
on." He could not help beii 
patient. 

" Well, Miss Clara she sai 
you knew best, and she wasn't 
of leaving Mr. Rowan to 
care." 

The captain sat with his of 
pended, and stared straight i 
The seaman hesitated, then rei 
good for evil " Miss Clar; 
mightily taken with the way yoi 
overboard, sir. She thought th 
did it in a very splendid fashi( 
told her I didn't know any othi 
you could have done it, unles 
had gone over back'ards, like 
tain Rowan. She tossed up hei 
at that, and marched off, and g( 
the carriage." 

The captain's oars flashed 
into the water, and he gave i 
that made their boat skim the 
like a bird. 

When they reached the Poiu 
fire was out, and no person « 
sight. Captain Cary hastened i 
bank to the wigwam where hf 
left Dick Rowan, but as he lai 
hand on the fold of canvas a 
voice inside challenged him. 



The House of Yerke^ 



5Sg 



aptain Rowan," he call* 

f " He not here I" was the 

« is he, then ?" 
I know." 

ion't know ?" cried the sail- 
one of your nonsense, sir I 
rm has come to him through 
rill Jiang you all to the 
of these trees. Come out 

tell me where he has gone* 
I't want to be dragged out." 
% open the canvas, as he 
id in the dim light saw a 
k pantomime acted inside. 
lowy figure was springing 
vith the flash of a blade in 
ted hand, when anotlicr 
im round the neck, and a 

ran up his arai. that held 
on. The knife flashed au 
\ that silent struggle of the 
ossess it, then Mrs. Nico- 
\ her husband back, and, 
jrward, caught the canvas 
jailor's hand. 

'oung man look Philip Nt- 
oe, and went down the bay 

said angrily. " That is all 
about him." 
QOt likely, indeed, that they 

him any harm ; whatever 
igs might be, they would not 

There was nothing to do 
I to the boat, and row down 

search of Dick. The light 

radiandy clear, and the 
face of the bay plain to be 
tic group of islands showed 
I blotches on that mirror. 
' pointed out to his captain 
Kck that floated away from 
ese islands. 

a boat, sir," he said; "but 
J one in it." 

for that nearest island," 
in ordered ; and muttered 
: wouldn't do it ! he 



Ko, Dick would not, in any depth 
of misery, have thrown his life away. 
They found him there, lying prone in 
the sand, where, years before, he had 
buried his father. What attraction 
had drawn him tu that spnt would 
be hard to tell. Possibly, now that 
he knew the meaning of failure, there 
was some blind feeling of compunc- 
tion toward one whose fliilures he had 
reproachfully thought of. 

Dick made no resistance when 
Cnptaiu Car)' lifted him. and, after a 
moment, walked to the boat with 
him. Pic sat there, with liis head 
bowed forward, while they rowed 
back to the ship. He was like one 
who is but half-aroused from steep, 
and has a mind to fall back into it. 
He submitted to all that was requir- 
ed of him, look what they gave him, 
did what ihey bade him. It was not 
much they prescribed — only dry 
clothes and a bed. 

Ihere is a power of instinctive re- 
coil by which some natures are saved 
from being destroyed by the shock 
of a great blow. The senses shut 
their inner doors at the jar of the 
enemy's approach, and the soul, iu 
some remote privacy of its being, 
arms itself before coming forth to 
see who knocks at its portal and bids 
it to battle. But for this merciful 
interposition, it would have fared 
hard with Dick Kowan, when, struck 
by the lightning of a glance, the 
framework on which all his Ufe had 
been built up gave way without a 
moment's warning. 

His friend left him after awhile, 
and went up to the Cleavelands. 
Hester had expected Dick, but was 
too much occupied with her husband 
to be very curious regarding the ac- 
cident. The young man had been 
knocked over by the boom, she had 
been told, and ^c result was nothing 
worse tliaii a welting. A welting 
was badj to be sure; she was so sor* 



586 



The House of Yorke. 



ry ; she hoped that Mr. Rowan had 
put on drj- clolhes at once, and taken 
aoraelhing hot- He must really take 
caieof himself. But — and here Mrs. 
Hester evidently considered licrsclf 
returning to the bubiect in hand — 
was there ever anything more pro- 
voking than this journey? Why 
could not that tiresome case have 
been tried at Scaton instead of Ma- 
chias ? Why did not the judge see 
about it ? Why did not her hus- 
band's lawyer let him know in sea- 
son, so that he could have driven 
through in his own carnage by day, 
and not be obliged to post over the 
road by night in those horrible 
•.caches ? 

" In short," laughed the husband, 
'* why is not all the machinery of 
civilization regulated with an eye 
single to the convenience of Mrs. 
Hester (Jlcaveland's husband ?" 

When no one else was present, the 
gentleman could take these absurd 
cares with an equally absurd com- 
placency, and really seem to believe 
that he was a pining invalid instead 
of a stout, rubicund man ; but the 
grave and wondering face of his visit- 
or made liim a little ashamed of such 
coddling. 

The business did not take long to 
settle. All the preliminaries had 
been fully arranged before, neither 
gentleman being prune to leave his 
afTairb at loose ends. In a icyi mi- 
nutes they shook hands, dissolving 
all connection, except a friendly one, 
and tvishing each other very heartily 
success and happiness. The Hakyan, 
which they had owned together, was 
sold, and, if tlie sailor went to sea 
again, he had a mind to go in a new 
ship of his own, and be quite inde- 
pendent. 

Hester also took a kind leave of 
her guest, hoping to meet liim again 
before long, since, for the present, 
be was going no further than New 



York. "You know wel 
Boston soon," she saidJ 
would not be very hard 
come on purpose to see u».** 

Then he went Evcrythiil 
quiet as he walked down ihroU 
town. It was late, and on| 
lights were visible. One, ti 
red, a cyclopean eye, tlose 
ground, showed 1 icen 

any and every p< - i w» 

sold by the bottle or glass, mj 
neat, according to the taste I 
l^terson having a soul to lose. I 

The other light was in Ihn 
dows, at the top of a building 
the Know-Nothings held ibcil 
meetings. Captain Gary kiKI 
that light meant He stood I 
on the bridge, and watched 1 
dering how a nation was to p 
its honor if governed by «wi 
and such means. A secret cd 
met wiih closed doors and 
word, and not one man , 
integrity inside I 

" If they are patriots. i 
ington was not one," was the \ 
sion the sailor came to ; and*{ 
reached it, he walked on, 4 
that nest of slanderers and | 
to do their evil work. "I'dl 
clean out that hail !" he musd 
went. 

When he reached the s| 
found thnt Dick KowAn hadi 
himself suOioently to have on 
and that an imi>craiive one. ' 
me away from here, Cary I" li 
ged. "'l*here is nothing tobi 
now. Clark s.iys that yon hai 
Major Cleavelaud, and lhai\ 
ready to sail. Don't waiu^H 
in the morning." ^| 

It was true. There vniM^ 
to keep them till noon, cxce| 
engagement with the ladies i 
Yorke's family, and it was a 
for Dick to say whether dot 
be kept. There was some doi 



The I/cKse of Yorke^ 



m 



[eel, but Dick was inexora- 
thc captain yielded He 
note of expUnation and apo 
Mrs. Yorkc; and so it hap- 
lat, when that lady's messen- 
:u.-tl ilie wharf in the morn- 
Jfakyim was miles below, 
out through the Narrows, 
blue, sunny sea stretching in 
her straight to the South 
the deck sat Dick Rowan, 
on the rail, and watching the 
and drop, toss and drop, 
lulling motion, like the to- 
i) of white, mesmerising hands, 
be face that watched that mo- 
>ked half-mesmerized, pale 
ray, with only a groping of 
in it. 

ship went well, and within a 
•s they saw the rising sun 
the masts and spires of New 
The evening of that verj^ day, 
'its|>atrick, of Boston — Father 
friends called him — coming 
late from a lecture, was 
it a gentleman was waiting in 
m to see him. >Ie went in, 
od Dick Rowan sitting there, 
t the Dick Rowan he had 
1 the year before, and wel- 
bome, and talked gayly with 
I few short weeks. This man 
tire been Dick's elder broth- 
la stern, pale man, too. 
ler," Dick said faintly, " I 
M to keep me a little while, 
come here for sanctuary. If 
any help in religion when 
:lp fails, I want to know it 

! what has happened ? What 
liter ?" the priest exclaimed. 
L sank back into the seat from 
^he had risen. *' I've lost 
Inr, and my life has all gone to 

ftit dead ?" the priest asked. 
, rir; but she loves some one 



Father John drew his chair close 
to the young man's side, and took 
his hand. " My dear son," he said, 
" are you going lo despair because a 
woman has been false to you ?" 

Dick looked up as though not sure 
that he heard aright. What ! any 
one call Edith false ? 

" No, sir, she was not false," he 
said. " It was something that she 
couldn't help. She would marry me 
now, if I Mould let her." 

" Why, then, do you not many 
her i>" the father asked. " 'ITiis is 
probably a fancy, which will pass 
away ; and if she is good and true, 
she will do her duty by you." 

Dick stared at the pnest in an al- 
mostindignant astonishment. *' What, 
strl" he exclaimed, "do you think 
me mean enough to marr>' a woman 
who loves another man ? I always 
feared this, at the bottom of roy 
heart, though I would not own (hat 
I did. And it was always true, I 
suppose, only she did not know it. I 
made a great mistake. I thought 
that, if 1 tried to be good to God 
and to her, she would love me. But 
1 have been thinking it all over dur- 
ing the last week, and I luvc found 
out that we choose by our hearts, 
not our heads, ami that we do not 
really love a [icrson when wc can 
tell the reason why. I had no right 
to bny her. She belonged lo some 
one else." He shivered, looked down 
a moment, then said huskily, " Yes, 
Edith was irue!" and, dropping his 
face into his hands, burst into tears. 

" My dear son !" Father John said, 
putting his arm around Dick's shoul- 
der, " don't give up so 1 You have 
youth, and health, and friends, and 
a work lo do in the world. Don't 
let this discourage you. She is only 
a woman." 

'* And 1 am only a man !" said Dick, 

" What about your ship ?" the 
priest asked, after a little while. 



588 



The House of Yorke. 



Dick raised his face, and controlled 
himself to speak. " Captain Caiy is 
to take charge of her," he said. " I 
couldn't sail in the Mdith Yorke 
again, sir. I would not trust myself 
off alone in her, with nothing else to 
think of, and no escape, unless I 
jumped into the ocean. It is haunted 
by her. Every plank, and spar, and 
rope of that ship is steeped in the 
thought of her. I have fancied her 
there, speaking, and laughing, and 
singing, just as I expected she would 
some day, and asking me the names 
of everything. When I used to walk 
up and down the deck, I'd imagine 
her beside me. I could see her 
dress fluttering, and the braid of hair, 
and two little feet keeping step. 
Why, sir, it was so real that I would 
sometimes shorten my steps for her 
sake. I never neglected my duty 
for her ; but I looked at everything 
through a little rosy thought of her, 
and that made hard work pleasant. 
No, I can never again sail in the 
Edith Yorke. Have patience with 
me, father. Recollect, I have to 
overturn all that was my world, and 
have not a point to rest my lever 
on. 

" You a Christian, and say that !" 
the priest exclaimed. "Where is 
your faith ? Where is your reason ?" 

Dick started up fiercely, and began 
to walk the floor. " I cannot bear it ! 
I will not bear it!" he exclaimed. 
" You preachers, with your reason, 
that tramples on all feeling, are as 
bad as the scientists, whose science 
tramples on all faith. God made the 
tide, sir, as well as the rock, and the 
storm as well as the calm, and it is 
for him to say whether either is a 
foolishness. People who are wise, 
when they sit in their safe homes, and 
hear the wind howling, pity the sailor, 
and tremble for him ; but, when you 
see a soul among the breakers, you 
scom it I tell you, I will not bear 



such scoml AVhat do you 
this loss is to me ?" he den 
stopping before the priest, \ 
looking steadfastly at him 
means that all the brightnc 
sweetness of life, everything 
dear to human nature, are tor 
from me for ever. If I were ; 
lute man, I could find a mi 
substitute; if I were fickle, 1 
fill her place; but I am neit 
stand here, twenty-eight yea 
and — I call God to witness ! — i 
less as when I was an infant 
mother's arms. It was Edit 
kept me so. • Only a woma 
say ; but that may mean mo 
an angel. She was my gi 
angel incarnate. ' Only a W' 
but that woman's shape walkt 
me through paths that migh 
led to perdition, and kept m 
If, in anger, an oath rose in mj 
I felt her hand on my mouth, a 
not utter it. If I was tetnpte 
wine, I remembered her, and ] 
the glass away. I can be 
thirsty, sir, if I am provoke 
many a sailor escaped the la.' 
irons for her sake. Once I h 
hand at a man's throat, with ; 
to wring his vile life out of hin: 
thought of her, and let him go, 
memory of this is not to be re 
away. Do you remember, f 
time when you first thought c 
vocation, and sat down to coi 
costs ? When you called \ 
vision of your life before yo 
stripped from it, one after ai 
wife, children, and home, and i 
they mean, did you want any 
preach to you, in that hour, oi 
mon sense and reason ? Didn 
feel that you must let nature 
way a littie while, and dido 
find it go over you like a wave 
While Dick Rowan, bold 
passionate feeling, poured fon 
torrent of words, the priest sa 



Tk« House of Yorkr. 



S89 



nodonless, and looked at him. 
WM no Mgn of anger, no con- 
tess of iniulted dignity, in his 
ut only a profound sadne&s. 
as no haughty churchman, as 
vt'f lovers Juiow, but ;i worthy 
r of that lowly One who said, 
iervant is not above his mas- 
When Father John towered in 
)it, or spoke from the rostrum, 
8 "Thus saith the Lord!" 

am Peter, and James, and 
there wai an authority which 
lot be dciied, and a loftiness 

ould not have bent before 
but in things temporal, and 




when winning and comforting souls, 
his was a charity most lender, and a 
humility most imposing. 

Something in that face, now sleep- 
ing with Abraham and the fathers, 
arrested the young man's impetuous 
speech. He faltered, and slopped; 
and, when the arms were stretched 
out to him, dropped on his knees, 
and leaned his face against that kind 
bosnin. 

"Forgive me, dear father!" Dick 
said. " I did not mean to be rude, 
nor to forget the reverence due to 
you. I know that all you would say 
to me is true; but — I die hard!" 



CHAPTER XXI I, 



ZXPLANATIONS. 



IME, what had been going 
Yorke family at Seaton ? 
orke had not feared that 
US any serious trouble till she 
that Dick Rowan had gone 
She was in bed when her 
cople returned the night be- 
lt knew only what Clara came 
floor (o say : 

thave had a delightful sail, 
Land arc all well. I hope that 
' e not been anxious. Mr. 
I overboard, for a diversion, 
urse, got wpt; but Captain 
him out, and he is all right 
od-ntght, mamma, for mc 
and Carl. We are all 

er hte her children might 
rs. Yorke could noi close 
lerly eyes till she knew that 
K safe under the home-roof 
Then she tumetl upon her 
uid dropped ablecp, giving 
She felt a slight uneasineffs 
elicent, before breakfast the 
Ening, asked her to send Pat- 
n to enquire for Dick. 



"Why, was he hurt ? Is he not 
coming up, this morning ?" she asked. 

" I presume that he is very well, 
mamma," tlie daughter replied. " But 
it would look pleasant to be attcn* 
tivc." 

This was said with an air of re- 
serve, and the young woman evident- 
ly did not wish to say any more. 
In an equally diplomatic manncr.she 
announced that Edith bad a head- 
ache, and was not coming down to 
breakfast. Meliccnt was one of those 
persons who, when in possession of 
a secret, as James Russell Lowell has 
said, "wilt not let the cat out of the 
bag, but they give its tail a pull to 
let you know that it is there." 

Mrs. Yorke said no more. She 
found this manner annoying. But 
she observed at breakfast that Carl 
ate nothing, and that Clara kept up 
a constant stream of talk, that seem- 
ed designed to cover some embar- 
rassment. She noticed, also, that no 
mention was made of Dick Rowan 
or their sail of the day before. When 
she arose from the table, and went 



590 



The House of Yorke. 



toward the entry-door, her ddest 
daughter interposed, with an air of 
being in the charge of afilairs. "I 
would not disturb Edith now, mam- 
ma." 

" Melicent !" exclaimed her mother 
haughtily, and waved the young wo- 
man aside. 

Edith was lying on her bed, dress- 
ed as on the day before, her face hid- 
den in the pillow. She started when 
her aunt spoke to her, and turned a 
pale and tear-wet face. It did not 
need this to tell Mrs. Yorlce that her 
niece's headache came from the 
heart 

" My head does ache. Aunt Amy," 
Edith said. " But I am distressed 
about Dick. He is displeased with 
me. I do not wish to speak of it to 
any one but him." 

"I have sent Patrick down, my 
dear," her aunt said ; " and you shall 
know as soon as he returns." 

Mrs. Yorke and her two daughters 
sat together, pretending to read and 
sew, but all watching the avenue gate 
for the return of their messenger. 
When he had delivered his news, and 
gone, the mother spoke with author- 
ity. 

*' Girls, I insist on knowing, at 
once, the meaning of this !" 

" You had better ask Carl, mam- 
ma; he is the one to explain," an- 
swered Melicent " But I must say 
that Mr. Rowan has behaved ill. 
A young man whom one of our fa- 
mily has promised to marry should 
at least act like a gentleman." 

« Send Carl to me," Mrs. Yorke 
said, rising. " And, Clara, say to 
Betsey that I shall see no one to- 
day, then go up and tell Edith." 

Carl was pacing one of the garden 
paths, and, for the first time that day, 
his manner showeti agitation. He 
had already heard Patrick's news, and 
his first thought was to echo Meli- 
cent*s opinion that one who had 



been connected with Aeir 
should at least act like a gem 
This sudden withdrawal nc 
gave occasion for gossip, bid 
rude to Edith. That it left 
the position of a culprit, Cari 
not allow himself to care. 

" I thought the fdlow hai 
spirit !" he muttered. *" But h 
him to act like anything bal 
tic." 

As he said this, an innei 
made answer ; not the voice 
science, for that acquitted h 
the voice which he expected 
from without : " Neither is it ii 
speak or sing love to anothe 
promised wife, though silence 
break his heart" 

" And what if it broke hers 
ed Carl, as though he hai 
spoken to. 

He glanced up at the win 
Edith's chamber. The curt 
down, hanging in dose, whil 
shutting her in. 

Then came Melicent to cal 

Carl found his mother in 
room, where she always tc 
siesta in sunmier, and where s 
all her private conferences, 
a cosy, shady nook, with onl] 
and table, and chair in it, an 
ed intended as a place for o 
tial communion. In that roc 
nothing to save him from he 
e>'es, Mr. Gri&th had stai 
out his apologies to Mrs. Yt 
misleading her son ; there, her 
tcrs came for advice and adm* 
and there she herself retirei 
she wished to be alone. li 
place where a rebel could be 
to submission, or a penitent c 
ed. It is almost impossible 
confidential in a large, well 
room. 

^ Have you had any quan 
Mr. Rowan, Cari ?" his mod 
ed, the moment he j^peued 



Tlu House of Yorke. 



59J 



an unpleasant word has 
tetwcen us, mother," he an* 

od been standing, but sank 
D the sofa as he spoke, and 
ed the door, and came and 
lefure her, doubting, at first, 
[ tone of their inlemew would 
cr question had been impe- 
nd that he could not bear, 
ire times in the life of the 
Itiful when they feel thai 
ibr them then no legitimate 
Lttthority outside themselves. 
»w that her face was pale, 
tlie red curtain lowea-d over 
window behind her warmed 
ight that entered ; and her 
gu entreating when she spoke 

jon, have you nothing to tell 

t down on the hassock at her 

leaned on her lap ; and she 

1 before he had uttered a 

child," she whifpcrcd, Ican- 
ird him, " your happiness is 
«st wish; but there is hon- 

»ok her trembling hands, an<l 

look finnly. *' Yes, mother, 

|honor," lie said. " But lis- 

tae, 1>cforc you conclude that 

id be mentioned here in the 

tive sense. You know, mo- 

U)uld not speak of love to a 

did not wish to. It was 

$m me to see tliat Edith was 

hough unconsciously, draw- 

»rd me. K you had a r.iro 

ith a single bud on it, would 

ik tlie one who would pUick 

;l open before its time for 

ig ? And what (lower is so 

and sacred as a young girl's 

Besides, such a thought 

? a man also, when it comes 

tb a feeling of silence. To 

d, it would have been rude 



and indelicate to speak hastily. There 
was time, and, meanwhile, I guard- 
ed myself and her. Of course I saw 
what Rowan wanted and meant, and 
he aUo understood me; I am sure of 
tliat. I never dreamed, iliough, that 
he would succeed. 1 was not prepar- 
ed for that passion of piiy and grati- 
tude which Eililh has shown for him. 
When I knew, last year, that he had 
proposed, it was all ] could do to 
control my anger. 1 knew ihat he 
must have seen in her some instinc- 
tive recoil at first, and yet have ap- 
pealed to her pity. He did not leave 
her free to choose. I da not say 
that he realized ihat. He is an hon- 
est, noble-soulcd fellow, and he loves 
her deeply; but he lacks a certain 
fineness which should have told him 
when urging was proper, and when 
it was coarsely selfish. I am willing 
to admit that it may have been only 
a mi:stakc on his part ; but people 
who make mistakes have to suffer by 
them, and, if they are not to blame, 
no one else is. I, too, made a mis- 
take then, mother, and I have suflTer- 
cd for it. I had a thought of saying 
to Edith, ' Snce you are to think of 
him as a suitor, think of rac also, and 
choose between us.' Two motives 
prevented me. One was pride. I 
would not enter into competition 
with him; and there I was selfish. 
Dut the other was better. I saw that 
she was incredibly childish, and look- 
ed upon his proposal rather as a re- 
quest that she should go and live 
with htm and his mother, as she had 
lived u-iih (hem before, than as a pro- 
posal that she should be his wife. I 
waited till she should perceive the 
difference, and this summer 1 thought 
that she was beginning lo. ITie 
night before he came, I wanted to 
speak to her, I could hardly help it. 
I would have spoken but for him. 
But no, I thought. Let her answer 
him fairly first.' I supposed I knew 



592 



Tlie House of Yorhe, 



what that answer would be; and 
when she came down-stairs the next 
morning to meet him, I felt sure that 
it was to refuse him. I stood in the 
entry when she passed, and she knew 
that I was there, but would not look 
at me. She was very pale, I saw, 
and I thought it was for his sake. It 
seems it was for her own sake. No 
matter what I felt when 1 heard the 
words with which they met. I went 
away, you know; I did not choose to 
make a scene. When I came back, 
I had made up my mind to speak to 
him clearly, and as friendly as I could, 
and ask that he should give her back 
her promise, and leave her free to 
choose again. He would have done 
it, mother ; I am sure he would. Had 
he been too loverlike, I should have 
made no delay; but, as it was, I 
thought best to wait till his visit was 
over. You could scarcely expect me 
to be perfectly cool and reasonable 
always. Under the circumstances, I 
think that I have shown as much 
fairness as any one has a right to re- 
quire of me. I meant to see him 
last night, after the girls had come 
home — went to the sail with that in- 
tention. But he made me angry at 
starting. He stood there, and sang 
that ballad from Le Misanthrope, 

* Si U rot ni'avoit donud * 

— sang it before nu, and with such an 
air of triumph and certainty as made 
me feel anything but pitiful toward 
him for a little while. Edith was of- 
fended, too. I saw her color with re- 
sentment. • Ma mU P It was too 
public a claiming. ^Vhen we came 
back — you know what a night it was, 
mother." Carl stopped, his face 
growing very red. " There are some 
things not easy to tell," he said. 

Mrs. Yorke put her arm around 
him, and drew his head to her bo- 
som. 



*' Not even to your owi 
dear ?" she whispered, with 
resting on his hair. "It 
heart that taught yours to b< 

In that sweet confessiona 
on with his story. « It w 
scene as gives one that fair 
of the brain that just shows 
in our prudent resolutioi 
moonlight, the music, th( 
water, our very motion, w« 
eating. And Edith was t 
so beautiful ! — an Undine, 
over the boat-side, as th 
might any moment slip int 
ter, and disappear, if I did 
her. I sang what I would 1 
I called her, and she tume< 

Carl lifted his head, c 
mother's hands, and kissed 
fully, then stood up before 
an air as triumphant as L 
an's own. "The time h 
and she was mine!" he c 
" Edith belongs to mc, moti 

For the moment, everyl 
was forgotten; and the m 
got, too, till she saw his i\ 
over. 

"Poor fellow!" said ( 
knelt on the hassock agai 
heart aches for him. Whe 
Edith look at me, he fail 
seems cruel to be so happy 
cost. I went up to Hes 
night, to see him, but he 
there, and it was too late to 
ship. I would have bom* 
proach from him. I woi 
been patient, and have ' 
everything to him. I think 
that 1 could even have mad 
of him. He is generous, 
too late now." 

" You must go away at on 
Mrs. Yorke said presently 
the only proper thing to i 
family are pledged to Mr. 
and, till all is settled betn 
and Edith, you must have 



with her here. My position 
of great delicacy. I cannot 
dvise Edith." 

ihey talked, Edith had risen, 
itlcn two letters, one to Dick 
, the other to Father Rasle. 
ere short, the former only a 

u have no right to treat me 
,e wrote. " If you go away 
t seeing me, never call your- 
(riend again !" 

>med hard ; but she had said 
:lf 1 '* If he leaves me here with 
shall not be able to be true to 

dressed herself to go out and 
lese letters, and had just come 
;airs, when she met Carl in tiie 
She stopped abruptly at sight 
and a deep crimson mantled 
i as she waited for him to let 



as a new bluih for Edith, for 
:w why she blushed. But the 
1 spirit he had admired in the 
as not dead, and she was hcr- 
: next moment. She bade him 
*= Good morning, Carl !" and 
issing on, when he asked to sec 
1 the parlor. 

Certainly I" she said, too proud 
riok. 

ri smiled as he held the door 
for her to pass, and closed it 
them. He was plcase<l with 
lignity. 

have been talking with my mo- 
* he s-iid, •* and she tells me that 
tst go away immediately. Do 
tgrec with her ?" 
fisibly she had seen, and misun- 
ood his smile, for she chose to 
rry high with him. " I do not 
r why you should go," she said 

y- 

tholl I tell you why it seemed to 
at I should ?" he asked, 
ir look changed at the tone of 
Noe, which seemed reproachful. 
VOL. XIV. — 3S 



Why should she assume with him 
what was not true ? When had he 
ever shown himself unworthy of her 
confidence ? 

" No, Carl," she said, "you need 
not tcil me, and you must say no- 
thing to roe that you would not say 
to a married woman. I trust you, 
Ctrl. You have always been honor- 
able. Vou are very dear to me, and 
I trust you perfectly. It is best that 
you should go." 

The last words were spoken rather 
faintly, and she had tunied from him, 
and opened the door. 

" I shall go to Boston," he said, 
"and stay there. In a few weeks 
you will all come up, and I shall see 
you." 

She stood in the door now, with 
her face half turned, and her fore- 
head resting against the door-frame, 
so that he saw only her profile. And. 
so leaning, as though &om faintness, 
she put her hand back, and held out 
her letters to him, and he took them. 

" Read them t>oth," she said. " and 
mail them for me. And, Carl, I shall 
not see you again before you go. 
And" — she stopped, as though her 
voice had failed her. 

" I will not ask you to," he said. 

"And, afterward," she went on, 
" I shall not see you in Boston. If 
you arc at home, I shall go to stay 
with Dick's mother." 

Slie did not look round again, but 
went up-stairs quickly, and shut her- 
self into her room. It is not for us 
to intrude in that privacy wherein 
a young heart fought its hrst bat- 
tle. 

No one saw her that day ; but the 
next morning she came out, and 
went about her usual cuiployments, 
much in her usual manner. Wheth- 
er, like that Russian empress, she was 
" too proud to be unhappy," or she 
had been soothed by that uust in 
Ciod which makes every yoke easy 




594 



The House of Yorke, 



and every burden light, or the elasti- 
city of youth made continued pain 
seem impossible, we do not pretend 
to say. Human motives are not al- 
ways easy to be read by human 
eyes. 

Everybody tried to act as though 
nothing were the matter, and there 
was enough for all to do. Many 
things had to be planned and ar- 
aunged in preparation for their leav- 
ing Seaton, and Edith had her own 
'business to attend to. There were 
■the Pattens needing double care since 
they were so soon to lose her; and 
.the Catholic school to visit, that be- 
ting permitted now; and a great deal 
of shopping to be done for her little 
flock of pensioners. 

Within a fortnight came a letter 
from Carl to his mother, taken up 
chiefly with business details. But 
he wrote : " I called yesterday on 
Mrs. Williams to ask for her son. 
He was not at home, and I have 
not seen him yet. He has given up 
his ship, for this voyage, to Captain 
Gary." 

Carl could have added, but did 
not, that the call had not been a 
pleasant one. Mrs. Williams had 
just seen Captain Cary, and gleaned 
from him all that he had thought 
best to tell, which w^as, merely, that 
there seemed to be a slight misun- 
derstanding between Dick and Edith. 
Her suspicions pointed at once to 
Carl, and she had not scrupled to 
■express them to him when he came 
<o her house. 

" I am sorry not to see Mr. Row- 
an," he had said, when he got a 
chance, ignoring her accusations and 
reproaches; and, v;ith that, had taken 
a ceremonious lec^ve. 

" A pretty mother-in-law for Ed- 
ith !" was his conclusion. 

A few days after came a letter from 
Mrs. Williams to Edith. It was 
what might have been expected from 



her. Dick had not been t 
mother; was stopping with 
and had refused to see he 
had Edith and those prow 
done to her son, that he 
everything and everybody, ; 
to hide himself in a Catholi 
house, instead of coming tc 
home? 

Poor Dick ! could he h. 
seen that such a letter woul 
ten, he would have sacrifi> 
self a good deal in order tt 
it. 

Edith dropped the lette 
feet after reading it, and 
for the first time since C 
away, " Oh! that Father Ra 
come !" 

As she said it, and for a 
let slip the leash that held 
den feelings, one could 
however calm she might h 
outwardly, there had been a 
gnawing all the time. A : 
bright words can mask a g 
When she dropped them, i 
visible a whiteness about tl: 
shadows under the eyes, an 
thinning of the cheeks — the 
that short time. 

Hearing her aunt's voic 
chamber-door asking ad 
Edith caught the letter up a 
her self-control with it. 

Mrs. Yorke came in wit 
of quiet decision, and look ; 
her niece. " I saw the oi 
your letter, my dear girl, a 
whom it was from," she said 
have no intention of ailowii 
be killed by others, or to \ 
self. I understand and r 
mother's feelings, Edith, a 
spect the obligation of a 
But there are common sens* 
tice to be taken into accoun 
ings, and, especially, the fei 
a young person who has 
learned to know herself, ai 



' measured^ like iron 
>er, and stored awaVj and 
iiged, liU called for. You 

dear, that I have a great 
for Mr. Rowan, and would 
LO unkindness nor injustice, 
>t?» 

were very kind to him, 
dith replied quietly. " I 
fraid of anything that you 
r do." 
need not be," Mrs. Yorkc 

will not ask you if yau 
ned to think that promise 
I hasty one ; but there are 
lints which I wi*i!i to insist 
hey are of general applica- 
inoT docs not require that 
d keep a bad promise. The 
lult there be, is in the mak- 
he breaking. Also, a wu- 
lot make a worse promise 

to marry a man whom she 
ove. Many very good and 
pie will tell you that esteem 
, and that you will grow to 

husband after a lime. Tliat 

You uiviy learn to endure 
t will be after ail the bloom 
Tom your feelings, and love 
icy both are dead in you, 
me make yuu believe that 
ngs are romantic folly. Be- 
her, that your adviser is 
lough honest. One other 
here is no favor, nor obli- 
or affection which a man 
*r on you, for which your 
,ot loo high a price to pay. 
itade, affection, even ser- 
not yourself. Do not sell 
i for any price : it should 
gfift This is all that I can 
: positively upon. For the 
ot act hastily and without 
or, aside from the question 
personal good, you might 
'rong some one else. If 
been hasty, it is a pily ; but 
lot be helped now, and 



should not be too deeply nioumetl. 
There must have been some doubt 
in Mr. Rowan's mind that you did 
not know what you were promising, 
for his first word to you was, * Are 
you willing, Kdith ?' Your answer 
was, M am more than willing.' If 
you deceived him then, unconscious- 
ly, from a loving and generous feel- 
ing, it was pardonable. But do not 
deceive him nor yourself again. He 
deserves from you a perfect frankness, 
and he has too fine a nature to laJce 
your hand if it is reluctant" 

'• But, Aunt Amy," Kdith said, af- 
ter .T nioinenl's thouglit, " if a wo- 
man, out of gratitude, and from an 
utter impossibility of allowing her- 
self to give such pain to a friend, 
should promise never to many any 
one else, would that be right ?" 

" A man worthy of inspiring such 
a resolution would not accept the 
promise," was the reply ; *' and the 
woman has no right to make it. But 
if she should offer to wait till he is 
reconciled, that might be soothing to 
both. Is there anything else you 
wish to say?" 

** Nothing now, thank you, aunt. 
You are very kind." 

This conversation soothed Edith ; 
but. still, she returned to her wishing 
for Father Rasle ; not entirely fnr his 
own sake, though that was nuich, 
but because her need of confession 
and communion had become a great 
longing. 

Her wish was destined to be spee- 
dily gratified ; for the very next day, 
when Mr. Yorkc came home to din- 
ner, he brought his niece a letter from 
the priest. 

She read it immediately, in pie- 
sence of the family, and her face 
brightened. *' How delightful I" she 
exclaimed. " He will say Mass here 
next Sunday. He is to conic Satur- 
day, that is, the day after to-morrow- 
He sends his regards to you all. Let 



59<5 



The New " Outspoken S/jf/e," 



no one know that he is coming, he 
writes, but Miss Churchill, and Mr. 
and Mrs. Kent, at whose house 
he will stop. There will be time 
enough to notify the people when he 
has arrived. How glad they will be! 
That was a letter worth bringing, Un- 
cle Charles !" 

Looking up with her smile of 
thanks, she saw his face clouded. 
** Is there any trouble ?" she asked 
anxiously. 

" If he had come while Carl, and 
Rowan, and Captain Gary were here, 
I should have been better pleased," 
Mr. Yorke replied evasively. " He 
has, however, the right to come 
whenever he chooses. Answer his 
letter to-day, Edith, and invite him 
to stop with us." 

" Dear Uncle Charles !" murmured 
Edith, and glanced enquiringly at her 
aunt. 

" Tell him, for me, that we should 
all be very happy to have him as a 
guest," said Mrs, Yorke. 

A smiling nod from Melicent and 
from Clara confirmed this asser- 
tion. 

" Dear me !" Edith sighed out, 
wipirfc- her eyes, *' I do think that 



you are the most beautiful 
ever knew." 

They all laughed at hei 
saying it, and the little cloi 
peared. Mr. Yorke did n 
it best to tell them that th 
Nothings had called a pub) 
ing for the next evening. T 
been no such meeting foi 
months, and this might not 1 
consequence. 

The invitation was writ 
sent, and on Saturday mor 
answer came, only a few he 
ceding Father Rasle. 

He thanked them for th 
ness, but found it necessar 
cline their invitation. He 
where all the Catholics cou 
to him, bringing their infan 
baptized, sind going to ci 
themselves. Besides the 
he could not think of subject 
house to such a visitation, w 
likely to continue till late in 
ning. His flock needed ei 
ment of his time. 

But, meanwhile, between I 
and its answer, the public 
had taken place, and it had 
consequence. 



ID SB CONTTMUBD. 



THE NEW "OUTSPOKEN STYLE." 



We looked for dewy flower, and sunny fruit :— 
He serves us up the dirt that feeds the root. 

AUBREV De M 



Popular Objections to Papal Jnfaitibility^ 



$97 



)BJECTIONS TO PAPAL INFALLIBILITY. 



^E read carefully, my dear 
DUr very welcome letter, and 
r reciprocate the kind feel- 
Kpresses. It has recalled our 
endshipy which, with me, at 
s never been forgotten or di- 
I. I see, from your observa- 
the recent definition of the 
ifallibility by the Council of 
icin, that you still think as 
t tliought in our school-boy 
en we wondered what sort of 
Catholics must be to believe 
tnan could be infallible, to 
Ar faith from a man called 
>c, and to obey and even 
him, as we were loUl, as God. 
t then in some measure cx- 
foT supposing thai they must 
edingly stupid and desdtute 
a and of every grain of com- 
Bse ; for neither of us had 
tr seen a Catholic, and knew 
of their faith or worship ex- 
lat our Protestan t masters, 
tl them to be no better than 
then, told us ; but are you, 
^^iu, equally excusable for 
Hbw as you did then ? 
K^ad no opjKirtunity of cor 
the error into which wc were 
I? 

ay, " The Council, by its dc- 
ning the Pope when teaching 
mal church to be infallible or 
frotn error in all matters per- 
to faith and morals, makes 
e God, clothes him with the 
snicable attributes of the 
J and consequently requires 
yercnce and worship him as 
Are you not a little hasty in 
Elusion ? You tell me that you 



l>elievc in the plenary inspiration and 
consequent infallible authority of the 
Scriptures of the Old and New Tes- 
taments ; you then, of course, believe 
in God and the supernatural order, 
or that Christian faith is suiKrmatu- 
rally revealed lo man, and recorded 
in a book called the Bible. But 
through what medium was the reve- 
lation made and recorded ? Certain- 
ly through men who s|xike or wrote 
as they were moved by the Holy 
Ghost, or what they were taught by 
our Lord liimsclf, and enabled by 
the Spirit to commit truthfully nnd 
without error to writing. All this, 
you tell me, you believe and hold. 

Now, were these inspired penmen, 
prophets, apostles, and evangelists 
each God, or clothed with the in- 
communicable attributes of the Divi- 
nity ? You do not believe it. Why, 
then, does the declaration of the 
Pope's infallibility declare hirn to be 
God ? The sacred penmen, you be- 
lieve, were infallible in what they 
wrote, and yet without becoming 
God, or ceasing to be men; why 
may not the I'ope, then, be infallible 
without being GotI, or ceasing lo be 
a man like you and me ? Do you say 
the sacred writers were infallible by 
the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, 
not by nature ? Well, do Catholics 
pretend that the Pope is infallible 
by nature, or otherwise than through 
the supernatural assistance of the 
Holy Ghost protecting him from error 
in leaching the faith taught by the 
]irophets and aposdes? I am not 
aware that they do. 

Catholics, 1 nm told, make a dii- 
tincdon between divine inspiration 



598 



Popular ObjeciioKS to Papal InfallUfiiitf, 



and divine assistance. The prophets 
and apostles were divinely inspired 
to reveal truth ; the Pope, according 
to Catholics, is divinely assisted to 
teach infallibly the truth revealed 
through the prophets and apostles, or 
as taught to the apostles by our Lord 
himself while he was yet with them. 
Now, if the inspiration which render- 
ed the prophets and apostles infalli- 
ble in revealing the truth which was 
hitherto hidden did not clothe them 
with the incommunicable attributes 
of God, how can you pretend that 
the assistance of the Spirit to teach 
infallibly what God revealed through 
them, which is far less, makes the 
Pope God, or clothes his nature with 
the attributes of God ? If more did 
not do it in their case, how can less 
do it in his ? 

'You say, "All men are fallible, 
and no man can teach infallibly." All 
men are fallible, it is true, in their 
own nature ; but that no man by 
supernatural inspiration and assist- 
ance can teach infallibly, neither you 
nor I believe. We both hold, for in- 
stance, that St. Peter was a man, and 
yet that he was an infallible teacher 
of the word of God. We hold the 
same of St. Paul, of St. John, of St. 
Matthew, of St. Mark, and of St. 
Luke. Say you they were infallible 
not by their natural endowments, but 
only through the supernatural exter- 
nal assistance of the Holy Ghost? 
But Catholics, if I understand thera, 
hold the Pope to be infallible not by 
nature or by his own natural powers, 
but only by the supernatural assist- 
ance of the Holy Ghost. Grant the 
supernatural assistance of the Holy 
Ghost, and there is no more difficulty 
in believing the Pope is infallible in 
his teachings than in believing, as 
you and I do, that St. Peter and St. 
Paul were infallible in teaching the 
revelation of God, whether by word 
or letter. 



Do you not, my dear Ph 
found, in the case of the Pope 
bility with omniscience, and 
that the Vatican Council, in 
ing the Pope infallible in 
pertaining to faith and mo 
actually declared him to t 
scient, and therefore God ? 
a mistake : first, because th 
bility declared is not univen 
second, because the infallit 
clared is supernatural and 1 
assistance and protection. 1 
is declared to be infallible o: 
he is teaching the universa 
faith and morals, and in con 
the errors repugnant ther 
even then 6nly by supema 
sistance and protection of 
Ghost. The Pope, as a m 
more infallible than other m 
infallible only in exercising hu 
of universal doctor, or teach 
whole church, and, as this 
Holy Ghost, the infallibility, 
niscience itself, pertains to 
to him as a man, and is 
to his function, not to his p< 
our Lord, who is perfect Gc 
as perfect man, has appoint 
the office of universal teat 
promised him the assistance 
tection of the Spirit, there i: 
culty in believing him infall 
if his personal knowledge s^ 
out to be no greater than 
mine. The Pope is sirapl 
by the Spirit to the truth 
revealed and deposited 
church, and, for the most 
least, contained in the H( 
tures, and is simply protec 
error in declaring it. 

Indeed, my dear Philo, 
claim no more for the Pope 
old Presbyterian parson cl 
himself and for each and 
dividual of the regcnerati 
people of God. He taug 
you well know, that the r 



P&pntar ObjWii&ns to Fapal InfaHibiHty. 



led by the Spirit into all 
protected from ai) error, 
[as to essentials. Some, per- 
nost Protestants, go farther 
tiis, and claim to have an in- 
f authority for their faith in the 
bterpreteii by private judgment, 
irreforc claira for private judg- 
bretty much the same infalli- 
■at (he Council of the Vatican 
^r the Pope. Either, then, 
■nerate souls, uay, all men, if 
BU»ts are right, are each (Jod, 
|,thc declaration of the Coun- 
not, actually or virtu.^liy, de- 
Be Poi>e to be Clod, or any- 
Qore or less than a man 
turally assisted by the Holy 
%o perform the duties of the 
' which the Council holds he 
naturally appointed by Him 
all power in heaven and 
nd is King of kin^ and 
r lords. 

[tay, **The supposition of an 

Pope is repugnant to the 

nd activity of the inhid." I 

' it. 'Hie human mind rem 

said to have any rights in 

I of iLs Creator. If any right 

is the right to be governed 

I word of God alone, and nui 

lield subject to any human 

jlty or opinions of men. My 

[ outraged when it is subjected 

[iailibte opinions of men, and 

to hold them as truth, when 

|jjo adequate authority for be- 

I that they are not erroneous. 

^en its rij-his can be denied by 

furnished with an infallible 

the truth, to the word of 

supreme law, instead of the 

pf man, is what I do not ex- 

smprehentl, and I do not 

you can comprehend any 

baa I. An infallible authority 

the activity of the mind in 

afier truth, if you will ; but 

^Dg the clement of the mind. 



that for which it was created, and 
without which it can neither live nor 
operate at all, cannot very well de- 
stroy its activity by being possessed. 
Does the possession of truth leave no 
scope for mental activity ? If so, 
what is to constitute the beatitude of 
the blest in heaven ? Your objection 
strikes me as absurd; for the real 
activity of the mind is in knowing, ap- 
propriating, and u&ing t!ie truth to 
iulfil the purpose of our existence 
and to gain the end for which God 
has made us. 

You say, again, that "an infallible 
authority destroys man's free agency I 
and takes away his moral responsj- | 
bility." The intellect, you are aware, 
ray dear Philo, if prescinded from 
the will, is not free. I am not free 
in regard to pure intellections. I 
cannot, if I would, believe that two 
concretes arc five, or only three; 
and 1 am obliged to admit that the 
three angles of a triangle arc equal 
to two right angles. 1 may refuse to 
turn my attention to ojie or an* 
other class of subjects, but 1 see 
and judge as I must, not as I will or j 
choose. Free agency and moral re- 
sponsibility, therefore, attach to the 
will, not to the intellect, and are 
enhanced m proportion to my know- 
ledge or understanding of the truth. 
The authority teaching me infallibly 
the tuith, I am bound by the law of 
God to accept and obey. So far 
from destroying free agency, it mani- 
festly confirms it, and, instead of 
taking away moral res]}onsibility^ I 
raises it to the highest possible pitch ; J 
for it leaves the mind without the] 
shadow of an excuse for not bcliev-j 
ing. You forget, my dear Philo, that | 
infallible authority pretienting infalli* 
ble truth is not only a command to 
the will, but the highest possible rea- 
son to the understanding. But at 
any rate, the objection is as valid 
against the infallibility of the Bible;, 




Popular Objt'ctioNs to Papal Infallihility. 



asserted by Protestants, as against 
the infallibility of the Pope, asserted 
by Catholics. 

You say, furtheimore, " The claim 
of infallibility for the Pope is incom- 
patible with civii and religious liber- 
ty. If the Pope is infallible in all 
questions touching faith and morals, 
his authority is supreme, overrides 
all o:her [Kiwer^, and Bubjccis to him 
our whole life, religious^ moral, do- 
mestic, social, and political." But 
if so, what, then, if he is infallible ? 
You forget that this is no more than 
Protestants themselves claim for the 
liiblc. Do you admit that any slate, 
sovca-igu prince, head of a family, or 
mdividual has the right, in thought, 
word, or deed, to contradict or go 
counter to the law of C>od as con- 
tained in the infallible Bible ? Oo 
you not hold that everj- one is sub- 
ject in ail things whatsoever to the 
infallible authority of the Holy Scrip- 
tures ? Well, how can the subjection 
ijf our whole life — religious, moral, 
domestic, social, and political — to 
the authority of an infallible book be 
less incompatible with civil and reli- 
gious liberty than its subjection to an 
infalbbic Pope ? If ihc Pope is really 
infallible, he can enjoin nothing in 
faith or morals not enjoined by the 
law of Viod. Do you pretend that 
subjection to the law of God is in- 
compatible with civil and religiouit 
liberty ? If so, you must say with 
Proudhon, " God is a tyrant, and you 
must either abolish God or give up 
the defence of liberty. Once adroit 
God, and you must admit the Catho- 
lic Church, Pope, and all." Now, I 
am not in the habit, any more than 
Catholics arc, of regarding God and 
liberty as antagonistic, the one to the 
other. 1 have always been accus- 
tomed to regard liberty not as free- 
dom from all restraint, but as simply 
freedom from all mijust restraint, or 
Fcstiaint not imposed by the law of 



God, which is the law of i 

ticc. His law is the 

cnce to it and il nlonc i* the til 
ry condition, of all true liberty 
and every dcparaneni of life, 
then, should the assertion of I 
fallible authority of the Pope 
clarc the law of God, which y( 
1 both hold binds all men aJ 
tions, be incompatible wiih 13 
The law of God is just, and ihl 
sure or standard of justice, s| 
lice is the foundation and gui 
of liberty. Vour objection is n 
taken. 

What you really object I 
dear Philo, is not, it strikes % 
infallible, but a faUiblc Pope 
ing to be infallible. But &upp« 
Pope to be infallible in the 
defined by the Council, it isafaj 
object to him as dangerouf to I 
civil or religious, because thi 
Ghost prevents him from dd 
anything to be the law of G«il 
is not so, and because, being 4 
by the same Holy G' 
ways able to dcculc , 
that law docs or doc» nui rt 
and as long as the law as lie de< 
is observed, no one can be su) 
to an unjust authority, opftfcs 
deprived of any of his rights. 

'* You concede," you say, 
supremacy of the law of Gwl.ai 
all laws wiiich contravene it, orl 
transcripts of it, arc violence 
laws, and arc null and void ftd 
beginning: but this is son^ 
very different from subjecting: 
dividuals and the whole scou 
dcr to the authority of an mi 
Pope upheld by the whole hici 
and backed by a huge cofp< 
that extends over the whole \ 
But where is the didcrenn^ 
Pope, by divine ossistancff «q 
lection, is really infallible I 
Pope, if infallible, can be a{ 
from Che Bupcmatural appoti 



Popular Objections to Papal InfalUbUUy. 



tioi 



fsistance of God as \\\% vicar, 
1 iu/aUible, he caii declare and 
CMily what is the law of God 
iiorized by the law of God. 
te wrong, then, old friend, in 
|ig to the infallible authority ; 
k IS what is needed to establish 
^ne order in human affairs, 
i make the church really the 
bi of God on earth. Your ob- 

5 and your reasoniiig arc tnisdi- 
> and should be directed to 
|bat Catholics assert infallibili- 
^ Pope who, in fact, is not in- 
\ but fallible. 

land all Protestants claim infal- 
^hority for the Bible read and 
kcd by each individual lor him- 
l rather, by each sect for itself 
[ this interpretation is by an 
|c authority, which it confess- 

I n(>t, you have in the Bible 
idly only a fallible authority, 
JEi to have an infallible author- 
kd hence you claim and seek 
Ircc in the name of the Bible* 
yjtn very fallible and contradic- 
linions or theories. You are 
fthen, of precisely the offence 
iffi^e against Catholics, that 
piing infallibility for a fallible 
fcy, and of which it is possible 
1^ are not guilty, and, if the 
\/t infallible, not only are not. 
^ot be guilty. You have, as 

eiid — even conceding, as 1 do, 
c in its tnie meaning to be 
r •practically no infallible 
You have no infallible 
to determine and declare 
» of GotI contained in the 
LYou have not the law itself, 
h' your view of it, which is 
P human view, and therefore 
i To subject men to a mere 
{view or to a mere human au- 

I I nccil not say, is intolerable 
and hence your Protest- 
It is incompatible either with 
Ireltgious liberty, for all men 



are bom equal, and no man or bodyi 
uf men has, except by divtne ap-J 
pointment or delegation, any domi- 
nion over another. 

Hence, as you and 1 both know, 
there is no solid basis or security for 
bberiy under Protestantism. If Pro- 
testants grow indifferent and tlo not 
att^nij)t to govern in the name of 
the Bible, there may be license, an- 
archy, a moral and ]>olitical chaobj 
but if they are in earnest, and attempt j 
to enforce the authority of the Bible 
as they understand it, they only en- 
force their own view of it, antl, con- , 
scquently, can establish only a spirit- 
ual despotism either in church oi;J 
state. In Geneva, Scotland, in every 
state in Kurope that became Protes- 
tant, in Virginia, in Massachusetts, 
in Connecticut, the dominant sect, 
you know, in early times established 
an odious tyranny, and would tole- 
rate no opinion hostile to its own. 
Owing to certain reminiscences of 
])rinciples inculcated in prc-Reforma-t I 
tion times, and to the growing indif- 
ference of Protestants to their religion 
at the time our republic was institu- 
ted, and still more to the dissenfionB I 
among Protestants themselves, civil j 
and religious liberty were recognized 
here in the United Slates, but it had 
and has no basis and no guarantee, 
except in parchment constitutions, 
not worth the parchment on which 
they are engrossed, and which the 
people may alter at will; and even 
now the Evangelical sects arc trying 
to unite their forces to abolish relit- 
gious liberty, witliout which civil liber- 
ty is an empty name. The founder 
of Metliodism was no friend to civil 
liberty, and he proved himself the 
bitter enemy of religious liberty by 
creating, cr doing more than any 
other man to create, the shameful 
Gordon riots in England in i/So. 
Let the Methodists become, as they 
bid fair to become, the dominant sect 



602 



Popular Objections to Papal InfallibilUy. 



in Ihe country, and able to command 
a majority of the votes of the Ameri- 
can people, and both civil and spirit- 
ual despotism will be fastened on the 
country, for Methodism has only a 
human authority. 

The sort of security Protestantism 
gives to religious liberty may be 
seen in the proceedings of the gene- 
ral government against the Mormons. 
It does not interfere with their reli- 
gion : it pretends it only enforces 
against them the laws of the Union 
— laws, by the way, made expressly 
against them. All the government 
needs to suppress any religion or re- 
ligious denomination it does not like 
is to pass laws prohibiting some of 
its practices on the plea that they 
are contrary to morality or the pub- 
lic good, and then take care to exe- 
cute them. Queen Elizabeth held 
religious liberty sacred, and abhorred 
the very thought of persecuting Ca- 
tholics. She only executed the laws 
against them. She enacted a law en- 
joining an oath of supremacy, and ma- 
king it high treason to refuse to take 
it, and which she knew every Catholic 
was obliged in conscience to refuse to 
take J and then she could hang, 
draw, and quarter them, not as Ca- 
tholics, but as traitors. Her judg- 
es only executed the laws of the 
realm against them. I have, as you 
well know, no sympathy with the 
Mormons, and I detest their peculiar 
doctrines and practices, but the prin- 
ciple on which the government pro- 
ceeds against them would justify it, 
or any sect that could control it, in 
suppressing the church, and all Pro- 
testant sects even but itself. 

Laws in favor of liberty amount 
to nothing, for all laws may be re- 
pealed. The Bible is no safeguard. 
Under it and by its supposed autho- 
rity, Catholics have suffered the most 
cruel persecutions ; even when not 
deprived of life, they have been de- 



prived of the common rights of men 
by Protestant governments led od bjr 
F^otestant ministers. Thus the Bi- 
ble commands the extirpation of ido- 
laters. But Protestants, by their pii- 
vate judgment, declared Catholics to 
be idolaters, and hence in the Dame 
of the Bible took from thera their 
churches, their schools, colleges, and 
universities, confiscated their goods, 
and imprisoned them, exiled tbem, 
or cut their throats. The pretenct 
of legislating only in regard to mo- 
rality avails nothing for religious lib- 
erty; for morality depends on d(^- 
ma, and is. only the practical ap(di- 
cation of the great principles of reli- 
gion to individual, domestic, social 
and political life. You cannot toud) 
a moral question without touchiDg I 
religious question, for religion and 
morality are inseparable ; ^ur onlr 
possible security for liberty is in hav- 
ing a divinely instituted authority 
that is infallible in faith and morals, 
competent to tell the state as well ai 
individuals how far it may go, and 
where it must stop. 

You object, finally, my dear Phik), 
that the assertion of the infalli- 
bility of the Pope is incompabble 
with the assertion of the sovercigntir 
of the people and the independence 
of secular government. The peq)le 
and all secular governments, yo'J 
have conceded, are subject to the 
law of God. Neither the people iwr 
secular governments are indqicndent 
of the divine law, and have only the 
authority it gives them, and the &«■ 
dom and independence it allovs 
them. How can they lose any rigltf 
or authority they have or can have 
by having the divine law, under which 
they hold, infallibly declareil and ap- 
plied ? It is singular, my old school- 
fellow, that so acute, subtle, and so 
able a lawyer as I know you to be, 
should have the misfortune, as a the- 
ologian, to object to the very thing 



Popular Objections to Papal Infallibiitty, 



6i»J 



ly msh to maintain, and 
,n alone save you from the 
U seek to avoid. Now, what 
ccssary to know in order to 
e the rights and powers of 
Bent, 13 to know precisely 
, relation to governnu-nt the 
God — including both the na- 
itf and the revealed law, which 
ly only two parts of one and 
r divine law — ordains, what it 
■s, and what it forbids. This 
Ige can only in part be deriv- 
Ugh natural reason, because 
is in part suiiematural, and 
tnown only by faith : it can- 
derived with certainty from 
ptures interpreted by our own 
judgment or by any human 
y : ii can be obtained infalli- 
ibe leaching and decisions 
ifallible Pope, if really infalli- 
"he infallible Pope will give to 
iple all the sovereignty they 
ndcr the law of God, and 
for civil government all the 
md powers, all the freedom 
ependcnce of action, the law 
giv« it. What more do you 
What more dare you assert 
government or for popular 
j»ty ? Would you put the 
in the place of God, and 
* secubir order above the spi- 
a.n above God? Certainly not, 
not avowedly either to your- 
b others. Tlicn. how can you 
the Papal infallibility is in< 
ble with the sovereignty of 
pie and the independence of 
iremmeni ? Do you want the 
lettlcd, and the law of God 



left undefined, and remitted, as you 
remit the Bible, to the private judg- 
ment of each people or each gov- 
ernment, to be interpreted by each 
for itself, and as it sees proper ? But 
that were to make the divine taw 
practically of no effect, and to leave 
each people and each government 
without any law but xvhal it chooses 
to be to itself. It practically eman- 
cipates the secular order from the 
law of God, and asserts complete 
civil absolutism. 

The fact is, my dear Philo, 
you and m.iny others in your own 
minds regard liberty and authority 
as mutually hostile powers. It is 
the error of the age, and hence we 
see the nations alternating between 
the mob and the despot, each hostile 
alike to liberty and authority. Itoth 
liberty and authority are founded in 
the divine order, and without recog- 
nizing and conforming to that order 
neither ran be maintained. To re- 
strain libeny by an authority that 
rests on a humnn basis alone is to 
destroy it; as to restrain authority 
by liberty not defined by the law of 
God, or by popular sovereignly to be 
defined by popular sovereignty, is to 
lose all authority, and to rush into 
anarchy and universal hcense. There 
is no true liberty and no legitimate 
government independent of the di- 
vine order ; consequently, none with- 
out an infallible authority to present 
and maintain it. The question is, 
Has God. or has he not, established 
an infallible authority to declare his 
law ? Yours affectionately, 

Dahiam. 




&♦ 



The FoxvUles of FoxviiU, 



THE FOXVILLES OF FOXVILLE. 



A TALE OF THE PERIOD. 



I. 



At a huge country-house, not ma- 
ny years ago, some few days after 
the close of the Christmas and New 
Year's festivities, the usual family cir- 
cle, with one exception, met at the 
breakfast-table. A man on horse- 
back had just pulled up at the house- 
door with the family letter-bag from 
the nearest town. The letters and 
papers were handed to the head of 
the family, who glanced over the ad- 
dresses with the quick eye of a prac- 
tised man of business, and placed 
one of the letters on an empty plate 
reserved for the absent member of 
the party. 

"Oh! For Susy!" exclaimed a 
young lady, who seemed put to her 
wits' end to make herself still young- 
er, for she was the elder daughter of 
the house, past twenty-six, and dis- 
engaged. " I should like to know 
whom that's from ! A gentleman's 
hand, I declare !*' And she eyed the 
characters with a searching scrutiny, 
but they would tell no more tales. 

" Don't be so curious, Matilda. I 
shall recommend Susy to keep her 
letter a secret," said an obnoxious 
brother, by name Augustus, one year 
the junior of the first speaker. 

" Yes ! you would encourage her 
in every kind of deception, you 
would! She is quite artful enough," 
answered Matilda. " If I were papa, 



I would soon see who sends the 
What can make Susy late, this i 
ing ? She is invariably so regu 

" No, child !" said a white-h 
old gentleman, Mr. Foxvilk 
happy father of Matilda, Aug 
and Susan, his stock of dire* 
scendants, and all told, "1 
meddle with other people's bu 
Susy is a good girl, and she w 
roe have any news that may ir 
me." 

" You are quite right ; but si 
a duty to her mamma," said 
Foxville, with a grand matron! 
" Papa allows me to open all h 
ters, though he never opens i 
and that's as it should be. If 
does not come down soon, as 
privileged, I will open the lettei 
is a genteel band, I perceive. 

« Well, well," observed Mr. 
ville, " patience, patience ! W< 
wait." 

" She is my child, Mr. For 
replied the matron. 

« Shall I fetch Susy down ?" : 
Matilda, with curiosity ferme 
within her. 

" Do, my dear," said Misl 
ville, laboring under the same 
plaint, but affecting more iot 
ence. 

With much nimbleness the spi 
ly Matilda dashed out of the i 
having fiist made an attempt to 
off the letter. 



T!u Fox-AlUs of FoxvUle. 



605 



jl" cried Augustus, putting 

.on it, ** Suppose you bring 

he letter, aiid not the letter 

t Fair is fair," he added, 

acthing like distrust in the 

hcarrier. 

tw seconds Matilda and Susy 

;hc room, the arm of the el- 

itionatcty wound round the 

the younger sister. 

you not well, Susy ?" asked 

trille kindly. 

ictly !" replied Susy, giving 

I his morning kiss. 

(c is a letter fur you," said 

Ibic father. 

ik you," answered Susy, and 

} llic letter unopened into a 

SB pocket, coloring and tre- 

ts she did so. 

old not wait like you for the 

py," said her mother frankly, 

^tchcd her daughter closely. 

Hld not be so rude as to read 

[before others," answered 

tat all rude !" observed Mrs. 
\ with one of her grand airs. 
|s nobody here but the fami- 
imakes all the difference. I 
ish to make you sensible of 
{child. Etiquette should not 
jed too far when we are en 

^ words were delivered with 
9f self-importance, as if she 
j solved a new problem of 
E and was vain of her dis- 

[ 

lourse !" cried Matilda. " Do 
tate, Susy. I should not. 1 
j|t uke matters so coolly. The 
ty be from some dear, dear 

e ray advice, Susy," said that 
{Augustus. " Breakfast first, 
Irrt afterwards." 
kcrt indeed ! U may be some 
intelligence. So none of 




your interference, Gussy !" rejoined 
Matilda. 

" Then I would not spoil my 
appetite ; and my recommendation 
holds good," pursued that provoicing 
brother. 

•* Ay 1 ay," said Foxville senior ; 
•' your breakfast first, girl." And this 
put an end to the dispute, for the old 
gentleman saw that Susy was pained 
at the discussion. 

It. 

It was true, as Miss Matilda Fox- 
ville had observed, that her sister 
Susy was the most regular in that 
exemplary household whenever there 
was a demand on her energies in do- 
mestic affairs, or on her good nature 
in diffusing hajjpiness and cheerful- 
ness around her. The fact tliat she 
had deviated from her usual course 
into the exceptional irregularity re- 
ferred to, naturally called for com- 
ment such as any strange occurreuce 
would provoke ; and the uninitiated 
as naturally puzzled themselves with 
unsatisfactory conjectures. But the 
plain truth was this : Susy's absence 
was caused by nothing less than b 
consciousness that a particular letter 
would arrive for her that morning. 
She imagined that she should betray 
less concern about the letter, and 
keep her nerves more under control, 
by an apparently accidental absence 
of a few minutes from the breakfast- 
table, than if she ran the risk of 
being present at the opening of the 
post-bag, and of manifesting her ex- 
pectation and lier too probable ex- 
citement at its realization. 

Susy had, as we have seen, only 
partially succeeded ; but, under shel- 
ter of the timely command of her 
father, she managed to conceal a 
great deal of her uneasiness at the 
expense of a charge of inditference 



6o6 



Tht Foxvilles of FcxviiU, 



toward her correspondents — a charge 
she was disposed to invite rather 
than disprove. 

This little ruse, however, she was 
onablc to carry^ very much fur- 
ther; for Matilda, more and more 
perplexed, and proportionably more 
curious, than ever, became, after 
the morning meal, more endearing 
in both manner and speech towards 
her sister than was customary with 
one who generally adopted the lan- 
guage of admonition or complaint 
It was very clear that these famous 
time-honored weapons for eliciting 
obedience and respect would fail in 
the present instance; and Matilda 
had not spent twenty-six years of her 
valuable existence without acquiring 
an amount of knowledge that led 
her to that certain conclusion. But 
wheedling and an implied solicitude 
for her sister's welfare were more in- 
sidious and keener instruments to 
open the confidence-chest of the un- 
suspecting Susy. 

" I hope you will have good news," 
began Matilda when the sisters were 
alone. Then she added, as if some 
sudden idea struck her, " But I for- 
got 1 I will leave you and come again 
presendy, Susy dear; you would 
like to read and answer your letter ?" 

What it was that Miss Matilda 
professed to have forgotten would 
puzzle most men ; but it was a phrase 
habitual to her, and coming from a 
person of her experience, it probably 
conveyed all she intended to those 
of her own sex who enjoyed her 
familiarity. Susy, whether she un- 
derstood the form of expression or 
not, was attracted by her sister's win- 
ning ways and most unusual conde- 
scension, and was quite prepared to 
open her heart to her. 

" Don't go, Till," she said, blush- 
ing. *' I have something to say to 
you." 



" To me !" exclaimed die ddi 
Matilda with well-feigned sn 
" Pray tell me what it is !" 

" It is the letter," said Susy. 

" Oh ! thaf 5 quite private," p 
Matilda, " if I might judge b 
putting it aside unopened." 

" But there is confidence b 
sisters ?" 

" Most undoubtedly. Woul 
unbosom myself to you ?" 

" You shall, then, be the i 
learn the news, but it must s 
family property," said Susy, o 
the letter, and reading it as } 
looked over her shoulder. " 1 
perhaps, to show it to papa fir 
added, as a glow diffused icse 
her face and neck. 

" Yes; it is indeed matter 
pa's consideration : it is me; 
him. But whom is it from i 
Matilda, in a fever to see th< 
on the last page, which Susy 1: 
yet turned to. 

" Nathaniel Wodehouse !" s 
sy, in trembling accents, as si: 
down on a chair to support he 
her novel situation. 

"That trumpery fellow! £ 
exclaimed Matilda boldly. " I 
soon settle his business. Let i 
you a reply, will you ?" 

" Matilda 1 sister Till !" eric 
in amazement, and recalled 1 
self. " How often have I hca 
say what a charming, handson 
he is !" 

" I ! I !" said Matilda, asc 
the gamut in her ejaculation 
call him charming and hands 
Then, with tremendous eniph: 
spired by rage, she 
" Never !" 

"Well, then," followed \ 
merciless witness, roused by 1 
ter's vain denial, ** he tf ch; 
and handsome ! And you 
it." 



The FoxvitUs of FexvilU. 



607 



in. 

lie was a retired butcher 
,de a fortune, and still 
iltlc business on 'Change to 
s baiid in, and preserve bis 
faculties from rusting. Be- 
t newspaper, which many will 
I w.is his *• best public instruc- 
! had not many intellectual 
Efl ; :ind as he allowed him- 
recrealion, he devoted a 
1 of time to journal-reading 
study of stocks and the 
Here was a lair amount 
for a busy mind ; and 
>y was Mr. FoxviUe in keep- 
arp eye on his investments. 

fond of a country life, he 
levcral acres of land when he 
\ business ; and he had built 
an unwieldy mansion, and 
:ting smaller houses and cot- 
\ a respectful distance from 
This cluster of dwellings 
osed to call Foxville, while 
big, special habitation he 
''uxvillc House. The name 
adopted without reflection, 
c than one debate between 
Hid wife, 
lie's patronymic was simply 
"hat did vcr)* well for busi- 
it was deemed un.suited for 
Exigencies. Foxtowa was in- 
,nd discussed, but it gave no 
ion. Was there anything dis- 
ed in Foxtown ? Nothing ! 
d and wife were one on that 

ngih, Mrs. Fox bethought her 
ench tutor to her girls, and 
cellent gentleman bore the 
f Porlvillc. Monsieur Port- 

a very agreeable man, to 
especially; and that circum- 
issoriatcd something pleasant 

name to the car of Mrs. 

waa a \isiaxx with Mr. Fox, 



who could not remember names, to 
put the cart before the horse in en- 
deavoring to call names to his rccob 
lection, and he always spoke of the 
Frenchman as Villepori, In face- 
tious moments he would reduce this 
again to Vile Port, maintaining that 
this was the original name. Aliliougb 
it was by no means a complimentary 
cognomen, Mr. Fox had no intention 
of showing disresjKvt, for he had a 
rough kind of regard for the tutor, 
and only vented a poor joke at his 
expense, deriving his inspiration per- 
haps from the remembrance of a 
compound beverage familiar to Fox 
in his younger days in the country 
which liad ihc honor of his birth. If 
Portville was euphonious, why not 
Foxville? Such was the argument 
of Mrs. Fox, and that sctdcd the 
question. 

Mrs. Foxville was the daughter of' 
a grocer, who had so many daugh- 
ters that all he could do for them 
was to make them a home and allow 
them a limited portion for their ward- 
robe — totally insufficient, according 
to their unanimous; opinion, for their 
position ! Mrs. Foxville was the oldest, 
and was the first to enter into wed- 
lock. She would have scorned an 
alliance with a butcher, so su[>erior 
ditl she think her father's calling, 
though on what grounds she never 
clearly stated ; but the prosperity of 
young Fox proved a compensation 
strong enough to convert a woman's 1 
uprising negative into a positive affir- 
mative. 

The correctness of the lady's judg- 
nicnt could not be questioned in the 
days that lengthened Fox into Fox- . 
ville. She continued, however, to 
regard herself as more than the < 
e«i»al of her husband ; and she al- 
ways spoke of my house, my family, . 
my children Matilda, Augustus, and] 
Susy, as if poor Foxville had no con- 



FoxvilUs 



ctfni or partnership in the property. 
Sometimes he would slip in 'our* in 
place of • my,' and he aiways spoke 
in this tnannct himself, but both the 
correction or amendment and the ex- 
ample had no c0ect on the '.singular' 
appropriation, which seemed, it may 
be supposed, to convey higher origin 
and standing than if lowered by a 
joint ownership. 

Miss M.iiilda Fosville's character- 
istics have sufficiently developed 
ihenisclvcs. and Augustus, beyond 
being a plague to his elder sister, had 
no character at all. He was an ex- 
istence, and little more; still, he was 
not without importance as the heir 
of a goodly estate. 

Fuxville House never failed to 
throw open its hospitable portals dur- 
ing Christmaii week, and, not many 
days before the receipt of Susy's let- 
ter, a large number of guests had 
found a warm welcome within them. 
Nathaniel Wodehouse was invariably 
the life of these social gatherings, and 
in the estimation of the Misses Fox- 
vUle evidently he possessed qualifica- 
tions for the prominent part he took. 
He stood high in favor with Miss 
Matilda, there is no denying the fact. 
For him more than for any other 
male thing, she cliignoned. and 
painceil, and got herself up in the 
best style of fashion. She nearly suc- 
ceeded in reducing twenty-bix to 
twenty by other than arithmetical 
rules. But what, after all, are twenty- 
six summers? No great span in the 
life of a really handsome woman; 
yet, in Miss Matilda, so unpliabic 
was het disposition, and so set was 
her general deportment, that candor 
must admit that the sue years beyond 
twenty had produced a perceptible 
difference. Slie made the best of them, 
however, for Nathaniel Wodehouse, 

Can it be wondered at, therefore, 
that she thought he had some appre- 



ciative ta.-(te ? He was chmmdn 
good-looking most certainly; a 
was very gallant, as he ought K 
been, to Miss Foxvillc. No<; 
vited him with more tmfrtt 
than Matilda did to revisit Ftl 
House. Susy was shy and rea 
Matilda had outlived all ihaj 
safely pronounced Nathaniel ex 
company : so did Mra, Fosvi 
did Mr. Foxville. Augustus I 
settled conviction on this hcii 
Susy was silent. 

Even when MatiliU spoke 
under sisterly scciecy, and (U 
epithets which she £ubi«( 
wished to revoke, Susy con 
herself no further than by aa 
niation of " Do you think &o 
companicd by a smile of (V 
acquiescence. Wlien, liowcvi 
tilda, repenting of her ad 
boldly denied it, Susy, as wcha 
held her to it unfl" 

It is sometimi-^ _ con 

others, and Scripiurc, |iohtciia 
good sense forbid our presumpi 
taking the best places. So 
joyed in this respect an ad^ 
which nature had given hei 
had all the bcne6t of bring' 
years younger than her sister, 
was at once the youngest, the 
est, and the most amiable of 
villes. Nathaniel would ha 
blind indeed if he lud not 
discovery; and what that dt 
led to, the intimated tenor of hii 
has abundantly proved. One 
however, he had not f( 
that was the humtng jealousy 
cited in the bosom of Matili: 
ville, although he wtu pr 
incur her displca^iure. 

IV. 

Foxville House a!w.iy^ w.-.i ; 
motion when Matilda bad a 



Tfu FoxvilUs of Foxville. 



609 



n she was agitated, her agi- 
rated in every part of thai 
dwelling; and now she was 
madness in such a way by 
RUDt that she rushed about 
luuiiac on tire. It was her 
Dlicy. but she h^d lost the 
tf her discretion, and she cast 
B)rift on the surging waves of 
ftiiy. 

one a|»artracnt to another 

'in a whirlwind of passion in 

'of her mother, whom she 

have found very near to Susy's 

f she had not darted down- 

priih headlong precipitation. 

she flew again, and at 

louuced into die room in 

T%. Foxvilic was eagerly 

the issue of the consultation 

her daughters. 

X has happened, Matilda?" 

rs. Foxville. " Your look 

oe." 

will be startled!" gasped 

, yourself, my child, and tell 
eisure what is amiss," replied 
[3ier, her words being at vari- 
her feverish anxiety for the 

do you think, mamma ? 
el Wodehousc has had the 

to propose to Susy !" 
tlianiel Wodehouse I With- 
Ds! A beggar! I shall put 
I that. No genteel poverty 
' cither of my girls !" 
sure (hat you would save 
sy ! What is the use of his 
with nothing to support 

always were sensible, Ma- 
id no doubt Susy is ivise 
I sec the matter in the same 

TC you mistake, mamma; Susy 
Ir weak fool ! The silly thing 
ihcad and cars in love with 



him. She idolizes him] It is poi^i- 
lively awful — wicked !" 

" Uh! that's it, is it? And without 
asking my opinion ? Deliberate dis- 
obedience! l.et me see her this 
moment. I must talk to her !" 

Forthwith the moiher and elder 
daughter sought out the unfortunate 
Susy, and joined in giving her one of 
those 'talkings to,' as they termed 
them, which only ladies can infiict on 
one another. Susy let fall a tear or 
two, made very short replies, for she 
could scarcely squeeze a word in, and 
bore her rebukes with exemplary pa- 
tience, contenting herself \vith assert- 
ing that she would roraply with the 
request of the letter and lay it before 
her father. 

*' Let me catch you showing the 
letter to your father this day!" ex- 
claimed Mrs. Foxville indignant- 

" To-morrow will do," replied Susy. 
" Papa must sec it." 

It was then agreed that Susy 
should reserve the letter for her fa- 
ther's perusal next day, on Mrs. Fox- 
ville consenting to take llie blame for 
delay on her own shoulders ; and it 
was finally stipulated that both the 
elder Foxville and Augu&tus should 
be kept in the dark for the next 
twenty-four hours. 

Mrs. Foxville did not, however, con- 
sider herself bound by this contract, 
though not the least important of the 
high contracting parties. In fact, she 
intended to turn the interval to what 
she deemed the best account. Ac- 
cordingly, she seized the opportunity 
which Mrs. Caudle, as depicted by 
Douglas Jerrold, devoted to cUrtain 
lectures, and plainly gave Mr. Fox- 
ville to understand that '•' she would- 
n't have it,'* meaning the match in 
question, fur she stated she knew that 
Wodehouse was as poor as a church 
mouse. " He w;is all outside show," 



roi- xrv.— 39 



6io 



The Foxvilles of FoxvilU. 



she said— '-all flimsy, with no back- 
bone." She added that " that would- 
n't do for her girls," and, having 
warned her husband at great length 
and with great force, she concluded 
her lecture by observing, " And now 
you know your duty to my child, and 
I shall expect you to perform it." 

" Our child, my dear — our dear 
Susy is entitled to the best counsel 
I can give her." 

" I knew you would take her part !" 
cried Mrs. Foxville. " Dear Susy, 
indeed ! She is a very bad Susy. I 
would have you, Mr. Foxville, respect 
a mother's feelings ■" 

" Well, well ; yes, yes, to be sure I 
will," repHed the husband, who was 
as valiant as an ox and nearly as 
strong in muscle, but was now in 
dread of a second lecture. " 1 will, 
you may depend upon it." 

With this promise on his lips he 
composed himself to sleep, after hav- 
ing first noticed its soothing effect — 
for which he took credit to himself — 
on his partner. 

The next day, Mr. Foxville had 
some conversation alone with Susy. 
A little kindness soon reassured her, 
and, like a true-hearted daughter, she 
did not attempt to conceal her at- 
tachment to Nathaniel from her fa- 
ther. She opened her mind to him, 
and promised to abide by his advice; 
and on the question of questions — 
that of fortune — she professed her be- 
lief that Nathaniel Wodehouse would 
not be found in the forlorn condition 
in which her mamma and sister, in 
spite of her, had insisted. She ac- 
knowledged that she had no proof of 
this but her lover's word, which, she 
said, Matilda hud derided. Her 
lover's word! tliat was all-sufficient 
for Susy \ But she approved of her 
father's fully satisfying himself on this 
point, as a duty to his family and to 
her. 



There are several ways of gitii^ 
advice. It is a favorite plan wiA 
some to administer it as they vooU 
physic, and the more nauseous it is, 
the more they seem to like admiaii* 
tering it ; and they would quand witb 
their best friend for not taking it 
Even among the more consider^ 
not everyone has the modesty not t9 
have his equanimity disturbed I17 
having his advice asked and then dis- 
regarded. Mr. Foxville was sot 
one of either of these classes, He 
might allowably be a little moreposi- 
tive in counselling his own dau^ter, 
but practically he followed in ber 
regard his usual method, heedless of 
all the admonitions of his better hilC 
That method was to pile up all die 
pros and cons which occurred to his 
on both sides of a question, and leire 
his client very much to his own deci- 
sion. In effect, this was to offer no 
advice at all, but the course of pro- 
ceedings looked grave and offended 
no one, while it enabled him to R- 
main true to his maxim of nertr 
meddling in other people's businca 
The only stumbling-block with Mr. 
Foxville, in the present instance, was 
a suitable position for his daughter, 
and that he would look into as a 
matter of imperative necessity. The 
rest he would leave to those most 
vitally interested, after his usual for- 
mal statement of all the disadrao- 
tages, which always came first, and 
then the advantages of the case under 
consideration. Susy was accordingly 
much comforted by her father's good 
sense and feeling, instead of beii^ 
cowed and heart-broken as Mrs. Foi- 
ville and Matilda had expected to 
see her. 

" You arc a perfect fool !"said Mb. 
Foxville to her husband on observ- 
ing Susy's cheerful face after the ^^ 
ii-t£te. " You have not the nerve to 
manage my child \ I must take bff 



The FoxvilU'S of Foxvilte, 



6ii 



poor noodle ihat she is. 
is just like yuu. There's a 
for you I" 
Dxvillc attached little impor- 

thcse disparaging reiiurks, 
like of which he was fami- 
he invariably did things his 
', and left consciiuences to 
: of iheinselvc-s. lie rc- 

thercfore. good- humored I y : 
too hasty, my dear \ I shall 
laniel \V'odehousc, whether 
jDve of it ur not. 'J'hat is all 

say." 

'oxville kept his word, fur he 
r refrained from opening his 
new the discussion. Not so 
villc. She had a very great 
y, but eventually wound up 
tlJowing menace : 
ire how you ruin my child! 
1 answer fur iL I'll )t't you 
ether i am to be nobody in 
bouse !" 

Tremendous ferment which 
Foxvilles at length began 
on Augustus, That young 

his own view of Susy's con- 

you what, Susy," said he, 
onse is no gentleman. He 
. Didn't he get the better 
an examination before old 
fair, and when [ challenged 
ght it out, and prove who 
better man. didn't he de- 
A pretty thing to many a 
liiat. Many him, Susy, 
what I will do!" 
Susy was now regarded by 
wntly, with the exception of 
IT, who remained silent, as a 
and outcast. When she 
to her meals, she was treat- 
te were supported by charity. 
times she was watched like 
il. Her fortitude and good 
;e. nevertheless, sustained 
IT her unmerited wrongs. 



In the meantime, the two gentle- 
men. Foxville and Wudchouse. con- 
ferred together. Mrs. Koxvillc at 
first insisted on being present ; but it 
was to no purpose. Mr. Foxvillc's 
hardihood gave him tlie victory. 
He was declared to be the most ob- 
stinate of men ; he bore the imputa- 
tion and triumphed. 

'* \V1iat goo<l have you done?" 
sneered Mrs. Foxville, when the meet- 
ing was over. 

" Our Susy and Nathaniel will be 
man and wife I" replied the impertur* 
babic Foxville. 

•* Oh !" was the sole response, in a 
tone that boded little harmony if the 
baffled Mrs. Foxville could have her 
way. 

" Ay, ay," continued Foxville, 
"Nat's the richest man withm a doz- 
en miles of this place, I tell you, I 
have proof of it, Look» there's a 
littie present, as he called it, for you!'* 

Foxville puUed out of his pocket a 
magnificent set of jewels in the neat- 
est of morocco cases, and handed 
the gift to his wife. 

What a transformation on the 
countenance and in the manner of 
Mrs. Foxville I Who could have 
suggested such a happy idea to Na- 
thaniel as the magical present which 
turned out to be such a talisman of 
power ? That secret was never known 
but to Susy and Nathaniel, and it 
cannot he divulged. 

As Mrs. Foxville gazed with rap- 
ture on the jewels, her eyes vie<l in: 
sparkling with the diamonds, 

" Well, I cannot help forgiving 
him !" exclaimed the pacified lady. 
*' Who would have thoug^ht this of 
Nathaniel Wodchousc? Twelve- 
months ago I know he was scarcely 
worth a penny. But arc you quite 
sure that you have not been taken 
in?" 

•' Trust old Foxville for that, eh ?■ 



6l2 



The Foxvilles of FoxvUU, 



I have seen how he came by his 
money. Old Simpson, his uncle, 
died last March, and left him sole 
heir." 

" Simpson his uncle ! A good fa- 
mily ! My father knew him well." 

Mrs. Foxville's was not altogether 
a vain boast : the late Mr. Simpson 
had been the best customer at her 
father's grocery. 

Augustus now joined his parents 
-unexpectedly. 

" Gussy, my boy," cried Ills father, 
•*' Nat is the happy man, after all ! 
He could buy up all of Foxville if 
;he chose. He wants you to dine 
with him at his club to-morrow. Do 
as you like. I meddle in no man's bu- 
siness !" 

" Of course I will ! He is a bet- 
ter fellow than I took him to be," 
said the sensible Augustus. " And 
here comes Susy," he added, seeing 
his sister approaching. 

" Susy, we congratulate you," ex- 
claimed the overjoyed father. " The 
course of true love runs smoothly a 
little too soon, eh ?" 
Susy blushed scarlet. 
" Kiss me, my darling girl," said 
Mrs. Foxville. 
" Bravo !" sang out Augustus. 



" But Till must hear the new! 
me fetch Matilda !" And he 
with all speed, and soon return 
his sister. 

" I told you I had somet 
show you," said he, addressii 
tilda. " Look at that pictun 
only want Nat to make us tfa< 
ly jolly. You will make a 
bridesmaid, Till, though 
it!" 

" Not I indeed !" replied J 
with a grand toss of her head 
" You won't for Susy ?" the 
Augustus went on. '* That' 
of you J but I'll give you a i 
So don't despair; it's often 
step to matrimony !" 

Matilda bit her lip till it 
bled, but she suffered not a i 
escape her. 

" For shame, Gussy I" criet 
as she flung herself, half-smilin 
crying, on her sister's neck. 

With great adroitness Na 
eventually made his peace wj 
tilda, though it was rather i 
than a peace ; but sufficient h: 
was in a little time restored t< 
ville House to make Susy's w 
go off with iclat 



Tke Martyrs of Arcueii, 



6t3 



THE MARTYRS Of ARCUEIL. 



lowing narrative of the ira* 
nt and execution of certain 
icajis, by ihe Paris Coin- 
in May of last year, is trans- 
Kn ail account drawn up in 
under the eyes and, in a 
^ at Uie dictatiftn of witnesses 
trcd the captivity of the mar- 
t sumved tlicir fate only by 
detUial interposition which 
tUe less than miraculous. Ik 
ten merely lo preserve, in the 
I of the order, an authentic 
of the circumstances which it, 
btorales; but it glows with ex- 
of Christian heroism and 
which ought not to be lost 
rorid at large. The branch 
►oTninicans which gives this 
f of martyrs to the church 
ftdcfl by Father I^rordaire 
ifier the passing of the law of 
lich, by abridging the exclu- 
ilegcs of the university of 
inferred upon the religious 
France the right of opening 
and colleges, a right for 
.cordairc and Montalenibert 
tied for twenty years. l"a* 
itier was one of the original 
of four novices with whom 
.acordairc founded, in 1S52, 
order of Teaching Domini- 

! spring of 1863, eighteen 
iftcr the death of Father La- 
certain religious of the 
'caching) Order of Domini- 
ping as iheir head the Rev. 
U^ptier, were sent to establisli, 
louse formerly belonging lo 
rt, a college under the name 
lessed Albertus Magnus. It 



was a diilicult task, and from tne 
outset was met by the govcrnmeni 
with an opposition equally obstinate 
and hyiH>criticaJ. In order to pre- 
vent the virtual abrogation of the law 
of 1850, to which France is now in- 
debted for such a gallant multitude 
of faithful instructors, the contest 
opened by Father Lacordaire, in 1831, 
in the matter of the free schools, had 
to be commenced anew, iJeprived 
of their rehgious habit, and harassed 
by incessant and discreditable vexa- 
tions, Father Captlcr and his com- 
panions nevertheless stood bravely at 
their post of honor. At last, after two 
years of labor and experiment, llicy 
were permitted to enjoy in peace the 
protection of the law, and to speak 
freely to their jjupils according to the 
inspiration of their hearts and their 
faith. 

The establishment at Arcueil, 
founded in trouble, thenceforward 
prospered without interruption, and 
grew apace under the watchful and 
afieclionatc care of Father Captier. 
He seemed to know every member of 
the community to his inmo^^t heart. 
He cared for every one with a reli- 
gious and at the same time manly 
tenderness. There was not one to 
whom he failed to do good. AVith 
the perfomiance of these duties he 
combined an active interest in all 
questions relating to the education 
of youth, and opposed with all his 
might the encroachment of the system 
of godless schools which has since 
been so audaciously imposed upon 
Parisian families. Appointed a mem- 
ber of the Commission d'Enscignc- 
ment Supdrieur, as the most thorough 



6i4 



Tke Martyrs of Arcmil, 



representative of the free schools, he 
brought to the service of that board 
the experience of twenty years, the 
devout aspirations of his holy commu- 
nity, and the enthusiasm of a spirit 
earnest in the cause of enlightenment 
a^d holy liberty. When he returned 
to his cell, he resumed the cares 
of a soul which aimed to be wholly 
and profoundly immersed in the re- 
ligious life. He concerned himself 
about the progress of all his brethren 
and pupils in observing the rules of 
the community, well knowing that 
the best means of doing good to 
souls is to draw from God the cour- 
age and the light which one needs in 
order to serve them. 

Such was the state of a&irs at 
Arcueil when the war broke out. 
The school then contained nearly 
three hundred pupils. In an estab- 
lishment where religion and patriotism 
were both so warmly cherished, the 
first thought of every one was to do 
his utmost to aid France in her strug- 
gle against the foreigner. The pu- 
pils raised a large contribution for the 
relief of the victims of the coming 
campaigns. 'I'he religious gave their 
persons. Three of them joined the 
ambulances and passed the winter on 
the fields of batUe, while the others 
devoted themselves in the college 
premises to taking care of the wounded 
victims of the siege of Paris. About 
fifteen hundred sick and wounded sol- 
diers were thus treated in the college 
ambulance; and it was a devotion 
all the more meritorious because 
Arcueil, situated on the French out- 
jwsts, was constantly under the fire of 
the German artiller)-. 

After the siege, the school of Ar- 
cueil reopeneil its doors to pupils, and 
in March resumed its classes and its 
regular life. Then came the civil 
war. Placed between Fort Mont- 
rouge, Fort Bic^tre, and the redoubt 
of Hautes Bruy^res, the school 



found itself within the lines i 
Paris Commune. Instead <rf'abi 
ing their house, the fathers re 
to condnue their services I 
wounded. They displayed c 
front of the building* the flag 
Geneva Convention, and, with 
of the assistant masters whc 
peace had collected around 
they began to traverse the 
fields on the south of Paris, \ 
ing up the wounded and buryi 
dead. Within the college, th 
soldiers, whether regulars or fc 
were tended by the charitable ha 
the Sisters of St. Martha. At f 
communists respected this sel 
'fice. The le^ violent of thei 
pleased to be so well cared for 
Dominicans of Arcueil. Man> 
sitions, nevertheless, were mad< 
the institution, and the bou 
ransacked from top to bottoi 
nothing was found in it exce 
evidence of a charity which 
buffs could discourage. Tl 
ligious continued with unro 
zeal to relieve the wounded i 
field of battle, and awaited pa 
the triumph of justice and I 
A number of battalions of th 
tional Guard were thus brougi 
contact with tlic school. Sevi 
them showed gratitude and t 
sort of sympathy, but so far • 
went everything depended up 
officers. Thus, the loist Bai 
commanded by one Cerisier, 
vict '• who had been three 
sentenced to death, and b« 
neither in God nor in man," £; 
showing any good-will, seemet 
ly willing to forgive the religi 
their charitable labors in its b( 

On the 17th of May, 
events happened which grca 
cited and alarmed the insurger 
cartridge factory exploded ; 
Avenue Rapp, that is to say, 
the emeittU of Paris, and a 



Tht Martyrs of A rctuiL 



615 



leires frDin Arcueil. Several 

the vaUcy of ilic Ki&vre were 

p and overi'ioweretl at the 

the bayonet. Finally, a few 

tm the school, the chateau of 

quis de Laplace, occupied by 

sals as a barrack, was burned. 

ielcnnined that the coiniuu- 

Mrcueil should be held to an 

kbility for these wliolly mi- 

rd occurrences, and the fede- 

l^red nothing more to justify 

rdering an arrest, 

■iday, the lylh of May, be- 

,r and five o'clock in tlie 

the school of Arc.ueil, 

n contained twenty wound- 

bhl in the night before from 

of battle, received a visit 

bens I^oMeillet and Lucy 

toys from the Comniuoe of 

tid wearing the red scarf; 

I I'rujs^ian, sub-govcniur of 

\ uf Uicetrc; and Cerisier, 

(ier of the lojht Battalion of 

is Naiiuiial Guard, WhUe 

ndeinen were entering at the 

>r, the loist and izoth Uat- 

irroundcd the prcraisc-s, broke 

E enclosure, and forced tlicir 

at every entrance, leaving 

here and there with urders 

anybody who attempted to 

At the demand uf Leo Meil- 

er Captier presented himselt 

T from the Cotnmune was 

lim, setting fonli no coin- 

le^al excuiie, but connmand- 

e roerabcrs of die community, 

prior down to the last of the 

ervanis, to submit themselves 

Din mauds uf iIk- delegates. 

hour was grained them for 

(sary preparations, 'i'lic bell 

k to call ihe household to- 

ind Lucy Pyat, taking this 

lictous signal, threatened to 

c cliild who had committed 

rime. One by one, the reli- 

e assistant teachers, the sis- 



ters, the domestics, and the seven or 
eight pupils remaining in the house 
gathered around Father Captier. 
When the word was given to depart, 
they all fell down upon their knees, 
and with tears in tlieir eyes asked his 
blessing. '■ My children," he said lo 
them, "you see what has happened. 
No doubt you are going to be 
questioned ; be frank and sincere, as 
if you were s]>caking to your parents. 
Kcmember the counsel they gave you 
when ilicy trusted you to our care; 
and whatever happens, bear in mind 
that you must be men who can 
live and ran die like Frenchmen 
and hke Ciiristians. Adieu! May the 
blessing of the Father, the Son, and 
the Holy Ghost descend upon you, 
and remain with vou always, al- 
ways !" 

Then the fatal journey was ar- 
ranged. The horses and wagons of 
the school were seized, and the 
vehicles were first filled with tlic sis- 
ters and female domestics. They 
were forbidden any communication 
with each other by word or gesture, or 
any signal of farett'ell, under penalty 
of being shot. They were taken first 
to the Conciergeric and afterwards to 
Saint Lujutre (tlie prison for aban- 
doned women), whence they were re- 
leased on the Tuestlay following by 
the arrival of the Versiulles troops, 
before Uie miscreants of the Com- 
mune could execute the horrid threats 
of which they were the objects dur- 
ing these four days. The pupils 
were also to have been carried off, 
but, thanks lo a misunderstanding on 
the part of the federal chiefs, their 
arrest was suspended. Later it was 
proposed lo convey them to the 
Hotel de VJlle, and even to the barri- 
cades, but nothing was done, and they 
remained tolerably at ease in a re- 
mote part of the house, uiulcr the 
signally intelligent and devoted care 
of the young Jacques de La Perri^e, 



6i6 



The Martj$'s of ArcueU, 



whose conduct in these trying days 

frvas above all praise. 

When all the others were gone, the 
fathers, liie professois, and the male 
servants were brought down into the 
first court, and surrounded by the men 
of the loist and izotli Battalions. 
The door opened, and the sad cortege 
began il5 march towards thi: l*'ort of 
Bicelre, situated three kilometres 
from the school. They firei pasiicd 
tlirough the streets of Arcueil. 'J he in- 
habitants looked on in silence, though 
their sympathies were all with the 
prisoners, " When ihcy passed our 
door," said a poor woman, "and I 
saw Father C'aptier and all these 
mcssicuR, who had done us so much 
g'^o{i, marching in the miiLst of the 
muskets. I imagined it was Jesus 
Christ with his disciples going to Je- 
rusalem to l>e cnicilietl." At Gen- 
tilly, which they were next obliged to 

, traverse, the popular feehng was very 
diflcrent, and the most ouirageous 
language was used towards the 
prisoners. 

It was seven o'clock in the evening 
when the column arrived at the fort. 
The cajjiivcs were first locked up in 
K small room where, insulted in the 
grossest manner, they were forced to 
wail their turn to appear before the 
governor of the fon, and go through 

[the formality of registering on the 
books of the prison. These formali- 
ties lasted a long time, the number 
was so large. Each man was sub- 
mitted to the pretence of an exami- 
nation, though there was no question 
of any crime or misdemeanor, nor 
any indictment whatever. Then diey 
were searcheil, and stripped of evcry- 
tliing they carried (even the brcii- 
,iriL*s were taken away), and con- 
ducted to Casemate No. lo, which 
faces the entrance to the fort.* It 

•Theiollowing KftlUl ofthepfivioere: /» ih* 
Frrt ^ fiwJtre.—}^*lbei Capliet. i>ri»r *( th« 
•choolof Arcuci); Hounuil, cluptkta ; IMkorme, 



was nearly midnight when faha 
Captier Oiid the other rcligioQi 
were placed here. T! i 
followcil in small p; 
two o'clock the door • 1 ■ - i 'i[>oftt 
last of them. It was ix-. ci lo i 
for them again till tbcy went OMl 
their death. 

This first nighl was very aerac 
The casemate contained oiUir & iet 
remnants of damp straw, tintfif 
spoiled an<l broken up by fiome Bi^ 
varian soldiers anr] each man ludto 
grope for a clean spot on the hut 
floor. When morning came, ihrr 
sought for some nllevialion »f itkcif 
wretched condition. By dinl of on- 
est representation, they got wmj 
bundles of fresh straw, and after a I 
days the breviaries were rcsiorcO 
the religious. Father Captier 
ce«leti in obtaining fjajwr and jx 
and addressed a coninmntraiton \a 
the governor of ilie fort. He 
secured the liber.itiiMi of two 
Rmile iJelaiire and Paul l.air, 
had been imprisoned with the < 
servants of the school. He had moR 
difticulty in obtaining the fav 
serious examination, for ihusl 
twenty-five prisoners were ab« 
ignorant of the cause of Uieir i 
Something, at any rale, wa* gr 
on Sunday allemoon, Falhcrt Cafi 
and Cotrault were led before Citim 
Lucy Pyat, who, after a long convcm- 



tefcut or*luillei; Ootnult, prornniar, th)» 
aclln, ccciMir; ChaUKiteret. ff-ilmwr ifl f*- 
fcHcil»liit>oiU'>r<I>e lliiitl tTeirUiv>Ot4«4' 
St, DeninK'. ctrirpt F, Hmti-BM, wbs b«WMV*4* 
Um Order oi Piachir.- i riur« \i\i 
Gauc)u«ltn. L' A bM ( • ^ 
Kfallhit, Petit, mna '- 
MM Aim^ (jfot, MsTtc, < aiiui*. ju 
11*1. nintroi. SiiDOn Hmab«, DovM, I 
t>ttiA^ DeUitr« <(atber mm! loai, ukd ] 
Mrvjtiii A( tNe ichool. fm tir /Vuw* < 
Z.***!"*-. — Mother A.lor*'* Daco*. •sipcn* 
Sistcn of Sl M«vtlM : Sluen ItllNiWik I 
LouUe MAilt (.:<rrlquirT. Loui* da Onmug^ 
I>uirin. vft'l MtfUnic Onitnva'iJ; M«n Ar 
cMe Matctr. Marxncr^ . C)n« Plli«<^ 

■ nil ihc "idow liurj 
I'ftthrrine Morrsn. u.. 



mned them that they were to 
isidcretl neither as c ontlcmneil 
:U3cd, nor even prisoners, but 
ere merely held as witnesses. 
Rs a prophet, though he did not 
it; for God had chosen them 
witness, with tlieir blood, to 
Dry of his holy name. 
as hoped that the examinations 
be resumed on the following 
londay), but this was not done, 
(e contrary, the officers in com- 
at the fort held no furllier com- 
tion with the prisoners. 1 1 i-s pro- 
thai in thus keeping away they 
rt to ti)e wishes of their men; for, 
flic ofHcers preserved an appear- 
if civility in the presence of the 
;, their subordinates constantly 
ile<I their outrages, and took all 
to render them more and more 
Dninken ami infamous crea- 
ihowcd themselves every few 
•s before the windows of the 
itc, jeering at tiie ])risoners, 
ig ihcm with unmentionable 
s, or reading aloud, with in^- 
Vsto, the most shameless arti- 
om the Communist newspapers. 
Jay, they saw the sub-governor 
fort, cap iu hand, ushering Fa- 
aptier into his prison af^er some 
rf an examination. This mark 
ipect so exasper:\tcd the federal 
■s that they raised a great dis- 
icc at the door of tlie casemate, 
lenccforth the provisions for the 
iers were regularly ])lundered or 
:pted on the way ; for two days 
iptives were denied even a cup 
ler. On Wednesday, the 24th, 
icution took place in the cuurl- 
t( the fort, directly under their 
It was made the occasion of 
bled menaces and heartless alUi- 
The same day, the Ablje Ke- 
aptain of the Hospital ol Bice- 
ni in search of the governor of 
rl, and asked to be cntrust- 
lli the custody of the members 



of the Arcvieil community, offering to 
answer for them with his hfc until 
they could be judged. I'liis gener- 
ous effort was unavailing. The Com- 
mune had already setUed everything. 
The school was to be pillaged and 
burned.* As for the prisoners, iliey 
belongcfl to ihe loist Battalion and 
its cominauder, who would dispose 
of them according to circumstances. 

What were the thoughts of the vic- 
tims during this long week of agony ? 
Their companions in captivity lell us 
that a gentle cheerfulness never 
ceased to prevail in that wretched 
dungeoiu With the exception of 
some of the servants, married men 
and fathers of families, whose attitude 
and manner were somewhat gloomy 
and dejcctetl, every one pursued his 
ordinary way of life — not that they 
forgot or despised death, but because 
they had oflfered to God the sacrifice 
of their lives for france. The reli- 
gious redovibled their usual devotion, 
encouraged each other and exhorted 
their companions. Every evening 
they said the ros;iry together, adding 
the usual mementos for their absent 
bretliren. From time to lime, Father 
Captier, though completely broken 
down by fatigue and privation, roused 
himself to give a pious reading, or to 
address the words of life and salvation 
to those who looked up to him as 
their chief. Outside, llie federals 
gathered around to mock at their 
prayers. One morning, when the 
horizon was red with flames in the 
direction of Paris, Father Capiier was 
pacing to and fro, saying his office, 
and some one cried lo him through 
the window, " Oh, yes ! you had bet- 
ter pray God not lo let the torpedoes 
that the city is full of explode !" " I 
am doing it," answerevl the gootl fa- 
ther sadly and quietly ; and then. 



*In point of <kct.th« sclKtol WM plundered oB 
thcajlhof M»v. There w»»«ollioe to burn II. 



6i8 



TJie Martyrs of Arcueil* 



finishing his breviary, he asked his 
companions to pray with him. 

On Thursday, the Z5th, at day- 
break, an extraordinary activity was 
observed inside the fortress. Guns 
were removed and spiked, and the 
bugles blew the assembly. At one 
time, the prisoners believed that the 
fort had been wholly evacuated, and 
they had only to wait the arrival of 
the Versailles troops to secure their 
liberty. 

But this hope was of short duration. 
A body of armed men appeared at 
the door of the casemate in considera- 
ble cunfusion. As they had not the 
keys, tliey forced an entrance with 
blows from the butt- ends of their 
muskets, and ordered the captives to 
start immediately with the column, 
which was retiring into Paris. "You 
are free," said they, " only we must 
not leave you in the hands of the 
Versaillists. You must follow us to 
the mairie of the Gobelins, and then 
you will go to Paris, or w^hereve'r you 
like." 

The march was long and painful. 
Every instant the prisoners were 
threatened with death. The women 
showed themselves especially furious, 
and eager to witness the death of 
these men who wore a sacred garb. 
They moved down towards the gate 
of Ivry, and on the road a few rifle- 
shots from Bic^tre caused a little dis- 
turbance, of which Father Rousselin 
took advantage to slip away and re- 
turn to Arcueil. The others con- 
tinued their journey towards Paris. 
Arriving at the maitie of the Gobelins, 
in the midst of cries of " death !" from 
the crowd maddened at the approach 
of the regular army, it was in vain 
that they reminded their guard of the 
liberty promised them. They were 
told, " The streets are not safe ; you 
will be killed by the people; remain 
here." They were taken into the 
court of the mairie^ and made to sit on 



the ground, exposed to the Ulisg 
shells. Here the federals brought 
the coq>ses of their victims, to sbov 
"<■« canailies" how the Connnuoe 
served its enemies. At the end of 
half an hour an officer appeared, and 
took them to the prison disdplitmr^ 
o[ the 9th secUur, No. 38 Avenue d' 
Italie. As soon a« they entered, the 
captives of Arcueil recognized the 
loist Battalion and its chief^ Citizen 
Cerisier, that is, the same who had 
made their arrest. It was then ten 
o'clock in the morning. About half- 
past two, a man in a red shirt threw 
open the door of the hall, and cried 
out, " Get up, soutanes ; they are go- 
ing to take you to the barricade." 
The fathers went out, and, with the 
Abbe Grancolas and the others, were 
conducted towards the barricade 
thrown up in front of the mairit of 
the Gobelins. There they were of- 
fered muskets to 6ght with. "Wc 
are priests," said they ," and, Iwsides, 
we are non-combatants in virtue of 
our service in the ambulance. We 
shall not take arms. All that we can 
do is to relieve your wounded anii 
bear away the dead." " Is this your 
fixed purpose ?" asked the officer of 
the Commune. " It is.'* Then they 
were taken back to the prison, with 
an escort of federals and women 
armed with muskets. Once locked 
up, they thought of nothing but 
preparations for the last joumey- 
They all knelt, made a final offering 
of the sacrifice of their lives, confesseil 
and received absolution. They were 
not to have the dying Christian's last 
consolation, the divine viaricura. God 
did not judge this grace necessary for 
them; and, besides, from the prison 
to lieaven the journey was to be so 
short ! 

About half-past four, a new onler 
came from Citizen Cerisier. All the 
prisoners filed out into the lane which 
leads up to the prison, while the 



The Martyrs of ArcutiL 



619 



n^ojst Battalion loaded 
skels witli sigiiitkant noise. 
every man was at his place. 

were stalionefl at the comers 
e neighboring streets. It is 
t Citizen Cerisier sat in a 
on the avenue, with a wo- 
his side. This is the man- 
lich he presided over cxecu- 
ler the Commune of Paris, 
e word of command was 

Go out into the street, one 

Father Capiler turned half 

wards his conipanion.s, and 

ome, my friends; it is for the 

d!" 

assacre began at once. Ca- 
ault went out firsthand fell 

wounded. I'atber Captier 
y a ball which broke his leg, 
struck down by another ball 
tncc of more than a hundred 
ear the spot where the insur- 
Junc. 1848, massacred Gene- 
Father Bourard, also, after 

one wound, was able to go 
ps in the same direction be-, 
.•n under a second discharge. 
Delhormc and Chataguerci 
X down inst.intly. M. Gau- 
sll with them. M. Voland 
of Uic servants (Aim^ Gros, 
iTheminal, DJntroz, and Ca- 
ent out of the lane behind 
IS, and had lime to cross the 
d'ltalie, but were killed be- 

could find shelter. 
'iher prisoners managed to 
The Abbe Grancolas, 
•uched by a bullet, got into a 
here a woman disguised him 
isband's clothes. M. R(Szil- 
nly slightly wounded, MM. 

Bertrand, Gauvin, Delaitre, 
and Duche found shelter in 

Uy the raiv of M. Petit is not piMtirc- 

There Is f«son to bel)er« th»t he 
! fiist fusilliulc, but wait rerapturd hv 
I and ithat tiv inem at one of the bnr- 

H appMr«a(t<r of hJcD tbal the Abt>i' 
; tpeftln It a teucr to the Umivrx 



some of the houses or neighboring 
caves, and afterwards in the ranks of 
the national army. How impenetra- 
ble are the designs of God! If he 
had permitted our soldiers lo arrive 
only one hour sooner, all the martyrs 
of Arcueil would have been saved. 

The fury of the assassins was not 
sated by the massacre. They fell 
upon the bodies of the dead, tore off 
their clotliing, pierced ihem with 
bayonets, and with their axes broke 
their limbs and crushed their blee<l- 
ing heads. The soldiers of the 1 13th 
Regiment, who passed this spot in 
triumph after surmounting the barri- 
cades, comprehended the glorious fate 
of the martyrs, and, bending over 
them, look ihe rosaries from their 
girdles, and divided them, bead by 
lieaii, as sacred relics. But after they 
ihey liad gone their way, the work 
of profanation was resumed, and for 
mnre than fifteen hours the bodies re- 
mained exposed to every imaginable 
outrage. 

The next morning the .VbW Guille- 
metie, a priest of that quarter, came 
across the corpses, and, noticing that 
they wore a religious habit, made in- 
((uiry into the circumsiances of the 
assassination. He caused the sacred 
remains to be immediately collected, 
and taken to the house of the 
brethren in the Rue du Moulin-dcs- 
l*r^s. There a professor from Ar- 
cueil, M. d'Arsac, identified the 
bodies, indicated the name of each, 
and claimed for them tlie respect due 
to martyrs in a holy cause. At the 
same time, M. Uurand, curt; of Ar- 
cueil, and M. Eugfcne Lavenant, the 
Mayor, were informed of the death 
of the Dominicans, their friends and 
their companions in the hour of dan- 
ger. 'ITicy both came together to 
a.sk for the remains of the victims, 
and removed them to .^rcucil. It 
was desired lo bury them within the 
enclosure of the school, where Father 



620 Veiled. 

Rousselin awaited them, with Jacques This undistinguished tomb ou^t 

de La Ferri^re, and the pupils who not to be the last resting-place of the 

had remained faithful to the house, martyrs of Arcueil. Father Captia 

But it would have been necessary to and his companions will sleep in the 

submit to long formalities, and the shadow of the school which their li- 

bodies were so dreadfully bruised that bor foxmded and their blood renders 

there was no time even to mak& them henceforth illustrious. Not only the 

coffins. The hearse, followed by a religious who were the brethren of 

great crowd of people deeply agitated the victims, and the pupils who were 

with grief and anger, was driven to their children, but all who care for 

the common cemetery. There the religion and country, will come to 

martyrs lie side by side in one grave, pray at their sepulchre, and mcdi- 

with no shroud but their bloodstain- tate upon the lessons of their death. 
ed vestments. 



VEILED. 

" Dilectus meus mlhi, et ezo llli." •— Cawt. 11. 16. 

No bridegroom mine of change and death : 

My orange-flowers shall never fade : 
Immortal dews shall gem the wreath 

When crowns of earth have all decayed. 

No bride am I that plights her troth 
With toucli of doubt, or trust too fond ; 

And risks the present, wisely loath 
To search too far the veiled beyond- 

To me 'tis but the past is veiled : 
The world that mocks with joys that fleet ; 

The " Egypt " that so long has failed 
To make its " troubled waters " f sweet : 

The world' with all its sins and cares, 

Its sorrows gained and graces lost ; 
The garden of a thousand snares, 

The barren field of blight and frost. 

But shines the future clear as truth : 
A few swifl years of prayer and peace. 

Where hearts may know perennial youth, 
And virtues evermore increase : 

And then my Lord, my only love, 
Shall come, and lift the veil, and say : 
" Arise, all fair, my spouse, my dove ! 
The rain is over — haste, away ! % 

" The rain is o'er, the winter gone, 

That sun and summer seemed to thee. 
If sweet the toilsome journey done. 
How sweeter now thy rest shall be !" 

' Hr Beloved Is mine, and I km hli." t Jer. U. il. t C«nL B. m. n. 




*Y and forlorn bachelor, 
set forth on lliis expedition 
le special providence sent 
ief a parly of gay young 
rhom we found alrenrly 
, in the Louisville depot 
uisville and Nashville Rail- 
pen this pleasant rencon- 
d not cease lo congratu- 
\Cf having been previously 
lat the cave is seen to 
[vantage by a large party ; 
er of lights carried^ extra 
:,, all tending to enhance 
e effects, and promote the 
' the sight-seers. 
; Louisville at tlic early 
ven A.M., a very enjoyable 
cfore us; at first through 
ated blue grass region of 

and afterward skirling the 
ore picturesque country, 
' infamous, as the scene of 
ufare during the war and 
rre these desperadoes, en- 
n some of nature's impreg- 
■esses, sallied forth at will, 
; railroads, stopping ir^nins 
irs of the day and night, 
tering (arms for miles in 
:tion. But we have chang- 

I The road boasts a tun- 
e extent. Here the young 
rar party perpetrated the 
rc<l joke of kissing their 

a resounding smack, brin^ 
le roses on ihc checks of 
girls ; when we emerge 
ness, each one of them 
r conscious that she is sus- 
Ehe guilty recipient of that 



ing the imposing name of Cave City; 
a close corporation, consisting of one 
establishment, for the refreshment of 
man and beast desdned for the 
Mammoth Cave. A poor dinner, 
after the manner of such wayside 
inns, awaiis us, and at two f.w. wc 
hear the welcome sound, " All aboard 
stage for the cave I" Two vehicles, 
filled inside with ladies, and outside 
with the adequate complement of gen- 
tlemen and baggage — a nice point, 
by the way, in these Jays of woman's 
rights and Saratoga trunks ! Hut, 
ladies, we warn you not to undertake 
the cave without at least one man 
whom you own or have a lien on — 
there are points in the explorations 
before you when one man, and per- 
haps several others, will be conven- 
ient to lean on. 

With a mighty creaking, a few prc- 
liminarv' false starts, resulting in some 
new and jerky experiences lo those 
unaccustomed to the old-fashioned 
stages, at last we are fairly off, be- 
ginning ahnost immediately a wind- 
ing and gradual ascent. Wc are toUi 
by our sanguine driver that there 
had been an attempt to macadamize 
the road — then certainly it has been 
an attempt, and nothing more ; on 
several occasions we rode over smootli 
stones so large that it was quite a 
relief from the deep ruLswhicIi seam- 
ed the road on every side. 

High hills surround us, luxuriant 
in the foliage of June; at rare inter- 
vals a farm-house is seen in some 
distant valley, but there arc few evi- 
dences of cultivating the soil, which 
is doubtless of too cavernous a na- 
ture to repay the farmer his toil. 



627 



A Visit to Mammoth Cave. 



After riding a distance of three or 
four miles, the wildness of the scene 
is increased by huge formations of 
rocks ; many streams murmur in the 
distance, and near the only house we 
approach on the route, a little maid, 
hurrying Uirefoot from the spring, 
presents a pail of water for the bene- 
fit of the thirsty stagers. There have 
been sundry flasks of cau de vie on 
top, and the gentlemen evince no 
desire for the milder fluid, quaffed 
by the ladies with such avidity. 

The haU-way point is a platform 
for shade built across the road, and 
here those who wish to explore Os- 
ceola, or Indian Cave, take a short 
walk down the hill. Not caring to 
receive any subterra impressions be- 
fore the great cavern dawned upon 
us, we joined the ladies in picking 
wild flowers, which are of great 
beauty and variety in this region. 
The exploring party on their return 
reported Osceola to be mainly a dug- 
out cave, having some interest, but, 
like its illustrious namesake, very 
dirty ! Nearly an hour having been 
devoted to resting the horses, we 
resume the stages, and, tlie road im- 
proving, proceed with accelerated 
speed, when a sudden halt causes 
us to look back — the second stage 
has broken down ! What is to be 
done ? Nothing but to squeeze two 
more ladies in our coach, while we 
gentlemen resign our places on top 
to the re^l of the feminines, who 
really make the alarming ascent with 
grace ; but after a short walk our 
gallantry oozes out at the very tips 
of our boots, and, one by one, we 
jump on the steps to talk, thence 
clamber to the roof to find seats as 
best we may. 

After a nine miles' drive, we ap- 
proach a long, low frame-building. 
An air of quiet and rustic simplicity 
pervades the spot ! This is the " Cave 
House." The apartments to which 



we are conducted have lost n< 
the rusticity of the exterior sun 
ings, but everything is scnipi 
neat, and there are excellent 
servants in attendance — desiral 
tures in a hotel. Not less s( 
vory broiled chicken, to whi 
were speedily introduced. 

Being all impressed with th 
that about nine extra hours o: 
were requisite to fit us for the 
of the morrow, we denied ou 
the pleasures of the large ball 
whence issued the strains, evol 
some black musicians, wooing 
giddy mazes of the dance ! 
flannel suits are kept at the 
for those who come unprepai 
the cool climate and rough cli 
of the cave ; but we found out 
ball toggery to be the very thi 
wanted, and, arrayed therein, 
diately after an early breakfa 
sembled on the wide veranda, 
surrounds the house and m< 
pleasant promenade. 

The ladies look charming in 
picturesque costumes of brigi 
lors. Being a modest mai 
merely mention that our st 
frame does credit to the imifc 
the " Yellow Garters," of whic 
rious nine we boast ourself a 
ber. 

AH in high spirits, we desc 
thickly wooded ravine to the ri 
the house : beautiful ferns and i 
carpet the sides of the funnels 
opening surrounding the nioi 
the cave, to the bottom of whi 
winding path is gradually !■ 
us, a descent of forty or fift; 
Around and above, tall trees 
sentinel on the only approach 
secret underworld. 

Our guide remarks that th> 
ent is not the original mouth 
cave, which is distant a quart< 
mile on the south bank of 
River. Many, many years a{ 



A Visit to Mammoth Cave. 



633 



5t must have given way, 
\ thU opening iiito wtiich we 
f descending, and tilling with 
|d stones that first part of the 
t^ow called " UicksonV and 
dsitcd. The present entrance 
(ovcred, in 1809, by a hunttjr 
} a bear into it. Su tittle ^\as 
Jnt or value of the cnvc known, 
pssoonaftenvardsoldjwiih two 
I acrcsof land, for forty dollars. 
^ sharp turn in the path brings 
ig an archway of rock, over 
\ silver thread of water is fall- 
iculd wiittl nishes from a dark 
(, above which tlie condensed 
bcre floats like a veil. With 
f awe we descend some rougli 
t\t% and enter the cave. Al< 
larkncss is becoming visible: 
^,numl>ering twenty-five, are 
Kl with lamps, and all with 
jigrira staves" set forth on the 
loute." 

Ive some general idea of the 
S of the cave, we cannot do 
tlian quote the simile of a 
C gentleman who. in writing 
I subject, asks the reader to 
pe the channel of a large and 
t river, with tributaries at in- 
some of them the sj/e of the 
team, emptying into the chief 
% for instance, the Missouri 
(lio joining the Misslsbippi; 
^butanes also receiving their 
1 from creeks and rivtitets, 
|r them quite small and ex- 
t but a short distance, while 
^e much longer, larger, and 
(cautiful. Now, it is easy to 
^ these rivers as being under 

tor having a surface covering 
and rocks, and that their 
\ channels and banks have 
sed from some cause to be 
[with the waters which in ages 
B.st flowed so fireely along 
iact, that they aic (|uite dry, 
I a few of the avenues." 



From this illustration it will be 
seen that we cannot "cut across 
country " from one point to another, 
but must explore each avenue, and 
then retrace our steps to the [xitnt 
where we left the main cave. Neces- 
sarily there are many avenues wel. 
known to the guides rarely seen by 
viiiiiors, because too nntch lime 
would be consumed in visiting any 
but tlic most interesting. To sec the 
cave at all satisfactorily, one day 
should Ijc devoted to the "Short," 
another 10 the " Long Route." And 
from our own experience, we would 
suggest that these two tramps should 
not be made one immediately after 
the other, but let an intervening day 
be devoted to some other of the 
many minor expeditions of this re- 
gion ; then you are rested, and fresh 
for all the day in the cave of th« 
" Long Route." 

While indulging in these practical 
and retrospective relkclions, we have 
left our party in the narrow archway, 
about seven feet high, whivh is just 
within the mouth, and called the 
Narrows. Here there was a slight 
detention caused by the lamps blow- 
ing out : Mat, our black guide, ex* 
I)lains this by saying, " The cave's 
breathin' out." To explain which 
still further means that, the atmo- 
sphere of tUe CAve l>eing at 59°, when 
the exterior air at the mouth is of a 
higher temperature, a strong current 
sets outward; in winter, of course, the 
current sets inward : thus the cave 
breathes once a year. This action is 
f^lt a short distance. Soon we leave , 
lx:himl everything reminding us of 
the upper world. 

Before the eye has become accus- 
tomed to the darkness, a great sense 
of disa|ipaiinment is felt in groping 
through scenes of such interest with in- 
SLirticient light. Tliis feeling, however, 
gradually wears ofl", and the guides 
burn oiled paper, blue-lights, etc., 



624 



A Visit to Mammoth Cave. 



when we stop to inspect some special 
marvel 

After leaving the Narrows, we 
soon enter the Rotunda, the ceilmg 
of which is one hundred feet high, 
and its greatest diameter seventy-five 
feet. This chamber is said to be im- 
mediately under the dining-room of 
the hotel. The floor is strewn with 
the remains of vats, water-pipes, etc., 
used by the saltpetre miners in 1812. 
From the entrance to this point, 
wheel-tracks and the impressions 
made by the feet of oxen used to cart 
the saltpetre more than fifty years 
ago may still be seen. At the time 
these indentations were made by the 
cleft foot of the ox and rtic cart- 
wheels, the earth was moist from the 
recent process of lixiviation in the 
saltpetre manufacture, and upon dry- 
ing had attained the stony solidity of 
petrifaction ; and the indentations 
aforesaid are yet distinct, though ihey 
have been walked over by thousands 
of visitors for many years. Leaving 
the Rotunda, we pass huge overhang- 
ing rocks, called Kentucky River 
Cliffs, and enter the Methodist Church, 
where services have been frequently 
held . The pulpit is formed by a ledge 
of rock twenty-five feet high : the logs 
used as benches were placed in the 
church fifty years ago, and are still in 
a good state of preservation. In this 
part of the cave, and in all the ave- 
nues near the entrance, millions of 
bats make their winter quarters. We 
saw only a few flitting about, but were 
told they returned in the autumn by 
hundreds. What wonderful instinct 
wakens these creatures from a win- 
ter's sleep, with tidings that the glo- 
rious summer is at hand ? Various 
objects of minor interest are noted, 
and we pass on to Giant's Coffin, an 
immense rock, forty feet long, twenty 
wide, eight in depth — fit sarcophagus 
for one of the giants of old ; but Ken- 
tucky has herself of late years pro- 



duced an individual who will : 
fill it. In many parts of the 
and more particularly in this i 
some striking effects are produi 
the efflorescence of black g 
upon a surface of white lin» 
On the ceiling and walls these 
figures thus produced stand 
bold relief. Quite startling u 
gantic family group — man, wif 
infant. Another is a very peri 
presentation of an ant-eater. 

Soon we notice several encli 
formerly occupied by invalids 
vainly imagined that thb pur 
unchanging atmosphere wouldi 
them to health. 

Up to this point walking ha: 
an easy matter, the way quite 
a path winding among loose 
of some size, and in many pi 
smooth, broad avenue ofieriug 
struction ; but when, one by o 
climb a steep ladder placed agaii 
wall to the right of Giant's < 
there is a realizing sense of * 
ahead." 

The Gothic Arcade, which w 
now entered, has a flat ceiling, s 
and white as if it had receive<l 
of plaster, and leads to Gothi( 
pel— a very beautiful room, y 
purel^ Gothic in its style of ar 
ture, the roof being quite flai 
ported by gigantic stalactites, e 
ing so nearly to the floor tha 
present the effect of fluted co 
and graceful arches. Here wa 
performed a marriage ceremo 
der romantic circumstances. A 
lady, having promised her r 
that she would never marry i 
" on the face of the earth," c 
the letter of her contract by m: 
the same in the bowels thert- of. 
(if the stalactites in this chape 
ed the Pillars of Hercules, ar 
to be thir^ feet in circumfi 
These stalactites being pecu 
caves, it may interest the ( 



A Vis if to Mammoth Cave. 



62? 



note their fonnation. If 
lolding bicarbonate of litnc in 
L drop slowly from the ceiling, 
e to the air allows one part 
pnic acid gas to escape, the 
(hen deposited in the form of 
lirbonatc of lime, and the sta- 
amilAr to an icicle, is slowly 
I if the deposit accumulate 
low upward, it is termed a 
;e; sometimes, meeting in the 
ley become cemented and 
^Bd column. An instance of 
en in the illusiralion of the 
rm-Chair. These forms are 
irc interesting from their va- 
color : if the limestone is 
stalactite will be white, or 
nsparent; if it contain oxide 
the result will be a red or 
Eolor; black stalactites con- 
I large proportion of oxide of 
iJany other things of interest, 
i numerous to mention, arc 
out before we reach I-ake 
ft pool of shallow water, §0 
if transparent that stalactites 
|i at the bottom. Gothic 
lerminaring a short distance 
'the lake, we retraced our 
'the ladder by which we had 
I this upper and older por- 
ttic cave, and found ourselves 
jh the main cave near the 
pCoffin, paswng behind which 
ar a narrow crevice, where, half 
B and stooping, a descent is 
\ Deserted C^hamber. At this 
water, after it had ceased 
but of tlie mouth into Green 
I the main cave to descend 
iwer regions and licho Riv- 
wc again leave the regular 
visit Gorin's Dome, to us 
lost beautiful of the many so- 
mes. 

g over a small bridge, and 
ig a steep ladder, we are. one 
assislt»l by the guide to a 
icre it is not easy to retain a 
01- XJV.— 40 



foothold; but here is nothing to be 
seen — we seem to be against a black 
w.!!!, " Why, Mat, what did you bring 
us here for ?" But not so fast. Mat 
has been preparing bluc-liglits for an 
illumination, and now he directs us 
10 gr;i5p the rotlc, and, one at a lime, 
]>eer through a small opening. What 
wondrous vision is this ! A hundred 
feet above is the arched dome, from 
which depend slalaclitic formations 
and shaft.s, of varying size and shape; 
facing us hungs a curtain-like mass, 
terminating abruptly in mid-air. lo it 
you seem to trace the folds and invo- 
lutions of drapery veiling this myste- 
rious place from vision. Far below, 
more than two liundred feet, un- 
fathomable depths are revealed by 
blue-lights tlirown down, while 
shafts, curtain, and dome are fres- 
coed in colors of pale blue, fawn, 
rose, and white. This dome is three 
hundred feet high^ and sixty feet 
across its widest part; but, alas 1 the 
" lights departed, the vision fled,'* 
and wc are forced to descend from 
our eyrie. Leaving this sublime spec 
tacle, we return to the main cive, 
and, following it around Great Bend, 
arc soon in the famous Star Chamber. 
This is an apartment sixty feel in 
height, seventy i:i width, and about 
five hundred in length, the ceiling 
composed of bl.^ck gypsum, studded 
with numberless white points, caused 
by the efflorescence of Glauber's salts. 
Thi-s is what we learned of this re- 
markable spot after leaving the cave. 
We now will tell you what we saw. 
\Ve were first seated on a narrow 
ledge of rock forming a bench on 
one side of the chamber, the guide 
taking aft'ay our lamps to a distant 
mass of rocks, behind which he leaves 
them, to shed a "dim, religious light" 
on the scene. As our eyes become 
accustomed to the change, we dis- 
cover ourselves to be in a deep 
valley with gray, rugged sides, of 



626 



A Visit to MamfHoth Cave, 



course outside of the cave, else why 
is the sky above so deeply, darkly 
blue ? those countless stars shining ? 
— shining, did we say ? We vow they 
twinkled. The Milky Way is there; 
we will not vouch for the Dipper, but 
other constellations are visible, even 
a comet blazes across the heavens. 
The guide retires with his lamp to 
some mysterious lower region to pro- 
duce shadows, and suddenly clouds 
sweep across the horizon, a storm is 
brewing, the stars are almost hidden, 
now they are out, utter darkness pre- 
vails, until we hear Mat stumbling 
about, a faint light is in the east, and 
a fine artificial sunrise, aS" he appears 
with his lamp. All this may read 
like child's play, yet so complete is 
the optical delusion that, when the 
lamps were all returned to us, the 
mystery dispelled, we drew a long 
breath of relief that we were not real- 
ly shut up in that lonely defile, look- 
ing up longingly to the stars, but ac- 
tually several miles underground, 
and merely under the influence of 
Glauber's salts I Beyond is Proc- 
tor's Arcade, a natural tunnel, nearly 
a mile long, a hundred feet wide, 
forty in height ; the ceilings and sides 
are smooth and shining, chiselled out 
of the solid rock. This tunnel leads 
past several points not specially in- 
teresting, to Wright's Rotunda, which 
is four hundred feet in diameter. It 
is astonishing that the ceiling has 
strength to sustain itself, being only 
fifty feet below the surface of the 
earth ; but no change need be antici- 
pated, for at this point the cave is 
perfectly dry. A short distance be- 
yond, several avenues branch off 
■from the main cave, none worthy of 
note, except that which leads to Fairy 
Grotto, a. marvellous collection of 
stalactites, resembling a grove of 
white coral ; Here indeed might the 
fairies have held high revelry, with 
glow-worm lamps suspended from 



each pillar, and ^re-flies flit 
branch to branch. 

The Chief City or Tempk 
in the main cave beyond tt 
Pass, is rarely visited by 
now, yet, l)efore the discove 
rivers and the wilderness c 
beyond, it was considered o 
great features. It is an 
chamber, excelling in size th 
Staffa, The floor at diflleren 
covered with piles of rocks 
ing the appearance of an an 
in ruins. 

Three miles beyond Chiel 
main cave is terminated abi 
rocks fallen from above, 
they could be removed, v 
doubt open communicatioi 
cavern similar to the one 
been exploring. So many 
viewed in a few hours, 1 
mind in a chaotic state, 
weary explorer is now ready 
to the creature comforts of 
there to ruminate, and, if 
arrange in some sort of ort 
'* memory's mansion," sights 
sations so new and strange 
turning to the upper world 
pearance of the mouth is ve 
ful. To eyes so long ac 
to darkness, the light is a 
radiance, a fairy land in the 
until we emerge from 1 
into the outer world, whii 
since we left it, to have bee: 
millions of rainbow hues ; ei 
the leaves, the trees, sh 
sparkled in the blessed lig 
■ — the air! the pure atmos] 
have been breathing all the 
renders the senses painfi 
scious of the decompositior 
table matter, causing such 
of oppression that fainting 
the consequence if issuing 
entrance is not made a i 
easy stages. 

As a result of the wis 



A Visit f& Mammoth Cavt. 



627 



. and carty to rise," wg 
llelvcsoii the lollowiiig morn- 
^kfasting in our ca.ve dress, 
barc<l belore uiiie o'clock for 
bg Route." 

pw feci quite at home in the 
[orld, and, siiould any stranger 
f party, he would doubtless be 
bpressetl by our manner of 
Vcr tiie tamiliar ground; cvi- 
re know all alx)ut this; noth- 
(impress us now* but "fresh 
[id pA^stures new." On diis 
) are to realize something of 
);raphy of the cave, therefore 
pn the subject of its forma- 

River, only a few hundre<l 

in the entrance of the cave, 

gently cut out the channel 

wliictr it runs. On either 

rugged hanks tou'er above 

cr Ihrec hundred feet, and 

only valley of the plain» 

conclusively that the river 

Ivated its bed to the present 

\ the chemical and mechani- 

jcy of water. The avenues of 

![, no doubt, were cut through 

^mc manner, the lowest and 

^d being Echo an<l RoarinR 

diich arc now on a level with 

pliver, and with which they 

bterrancous communication.* 

fen River deepens the valley 

1 which it passes, the rivers in 

^ will also continue to de- 

intil the avenues through 

ley now flow shall become as 

Marion Avenue, which, in 

It, must have been the most 

of subterranean rivers. 

Itone, or carbonate of lime, 

tutes the strata of racks 



aid be vlUieil la ■uminer tnA 

j at otlier letiou. Uie wttcn of 

_ bOucaceU bf ill tlie moTcmcnti 

V«f.KHd(S«a ritvia the latter will. In 

Its. cut off communlcAlloii with the 

\ b]r Cki the most inteicflttng |iurt(un 





through which the cave runs, \% 
soluble in water when it combines 
with an addition.il proportion of car- 
bonic acid, and is changed iuto the 
bicarbonate of Ume. 

In this way the process of excava- 
tion continued untd communication 
with running water wa:^ established, 
and the mechanical agency made to 
assist the chemical. Another dis- 
integrating jiower is the crystalHza; 
tion of sulphate of lituc, known also 
under the names of gyi>sum, plaster-of- 
Paris, alabaster, etc. The furce of 
gypsum in the act of crystallizing is 
equal to that of water in freezing, and, 
when it occurs between ledges of 
rock, they are fractured in every 
direction. Many iuatauccs of this 
may be seen. 

As to the mechanical agencies in 
the excavation of the cave, they arc 
in!>tanced in the transporiaiion of 
grave), clay, and .sand from one part 
to another. By observing the p^jintj 
at which tliey are dejiosited, and the 
order in which they come, it is po.ssible 
to tell the direction in which the water 
formerly ran in many of the avenues, 
and the rapidity of its motion. But 
enough of teciinicalities — the en- 
trance to the " Long Route" is be- 
fore us in the crevice before men- 
tiunef), situated behmd Giant's Cof- 
tin. 

The first new name which strikes 
upon the ear is that of Wooden Bowl 
— an apartment deriving its name 
from the fact of a bowl being found 
here, such a one as was used by 
the Indians. Various traditions of 
this race meet the explorer in other 
parts of the cave ; among others, that 
ofa mummi&ed female and child found 
in Gothic Avenue, in 1815, said to 
have been sent to the Antiquarian 
Society of Worcester, Massachu- 
setts, ami to be still there in a 
dilapidated condition; another still 
more remarkable mummy is said to 



628 



A Visit to Mammoth Cave. 



have been exhumed in one of the 
neighboring small caves, and sent to 
Cincinnati, where it was burnt in the 
museum many years ago. 

If such discoveries were really 
made, it is a matter of profound re- 
gret that these relics of an unknown 
l>ast should have been removed from 
their resting-places, where they were 
secure from the ravages of time, and 
would, at the present day, greatly en- 
hance the interest of Mammoth Cave. 

We descend the Steps of Time, 
which is an unpleasant reminder to 
those of us who already feel stiff in 
the joints, and enter Martha's Palace, 
not so palatial as its name implies, 
but near by is a spring of clear wa- 
ter, which all hail with pleasure. 
Side-Saddle Pit and Minerva's Dome 
are soon passed, and we reach Bot- 
tomless Pit Do not shudder ! there is 
no necessity of descending, and there 
is bottom at the distance of one 
hundred and seventy-five feet It 
was not until the year 1838 that it 
was supposed possible to bridge this 
fearful chasm ; it was then crossed 
by Stephen, the celebrated black 
guide, who is identified with most of 
the discoveries. We now cross on a 
substantial wooden structure, known 
as the Bridge of Sighs. This leads 
to the Revellers' Hall, and, judging 
from the number of empty and brok- 
en bottles on the floor of this wild- 
looking room, all visitors have done 
their part to perpetuate the name. 
A low archway, the Valley of Hu- 
mility, leads to Scotchman's Trap, a 
circular opening, through which you 
descend a flight of stone steps. Di- 
rectly over the opening hangs a huge 
flat rock, which would, should it fall, 
completely close the avenue to the 
river. The number of slight, slip- 
pery ladders we have descended 
gives a very realizing sense that we 
are getting down, down, deep into 
the bowels of the earth. 



We now enter a narrow 

serpentining through the soti 

for fifty yards, varying in widt 

eighteen inches to three i 

height from four to eight feet 

passage has evidently bee 

through by the mechanical ; 

of water. Any lady or gen 

weighing three hundred pount 

better not attempt Fat Man's I 

for he may sigh in vain for " tl 

solid flesh to melt," and this n 

ably solid rock will not yield a 

breadth to anything less than 

charged with carbonic acid. 

squeezing and groaning, 1 

backs, etc. J but these are for 

when we emerge in Great 

The avenue which leads thei 

River Styx is River Hall, b 

leave this for the present, and 1 

right enter Bacon Chamber, 

may be seen a fine collection o 

stone hams depending from th 

ing. After walking three-foui 

a mile in Sparks* Avenue, we 

Mammoth Dome, the largest 

cave ; it is two hundred and fif 

in height Climbing over im 

shelving rocks, whose jagged 

and yawning crevices offer 

foothold and a very unpleasant 

pect in case of a fall, we reac 

top of a terrace forty feet froi 

base, where the view is take 

grand, solemn spectacle it is 

the left extremity are five larg 

lars, called Corinthian Column 

vast, solitary waste stretche 

before the eye on every side ; gl 

recesses and yawning abysses 

minated by the weird blue-i 

form a sublime picture. One cai 

fancy it to be the primal sta 

chaos. The descent from th( 

race of rocks is even more p€ 

than the ascent, but, once in Uii 

nue, we return quickly to River 

Our attention is now drawn 

body of water forty feet below, ' 



A Visit io Afamtncth Cave. 



629 



^^fbomy spot, deserving 
B. Vas^iing on, the distant 
bvtsibtc waterfalls i^trikcs the 
[ at the foot of the slope we 
sending lies (he River Styx : 

Bbs dark [act o'crkangx the infcnuil 
Bof tUewns eiernsl murmun maka." 

ier is one hundred and fifty 
>ng, from fifteen to forty in 
aid in dci>ih varies from thir- 
ty fccL it has a subterranean 
iication witli other rivers of 
S, and, when they rise to a 
ieight, an open coinmunica- 
^ all of tbcin. The Natural 
5>ans River Styx about thirty 
ye it. 

Iiext body of water we ap- 
ijs quite peaceful, and, the 
being ninety feet above the 
©ne loses the cavernous sen- 
If the gloomy overhanging 
Like Lethe is one hundred 
\ yards long, and, being cross- 
Iftts not large enough to con- 
' of (he party at once, some 
iumber embark, with Charon 
kt the helm. All are hushed 
kolcranity of the scene, the 
|led a dim light upon the rip- 
per and phantom boat, which 
I glides outward and on 
.a projecting angle of rock, 
1 is lost to vision. For those 
it upon the shore the return 
bat, this is a solemn moment; 
|ourscIf a ghost, doomed to 
' a hundred years ere Clia- 
llld ferry us over Avemus! 
brief interval of this musing. 
[ght appears from behind the 
pich before intercepted our 
paron with his solitary lamp 
row of the boat is returning; 
[ also embark, but not before 
drunk of the waters of Lethe, 
experience of the upper 
^ight be forgotten, for now 
f into dream life. Our friends 



who had preceded us formed a pic- 
turesque group waiting as we ncared 
the sliore. The bright dresses, the 
lights throwing fitful gleam and sha- 
dow into the darkness beyond^ and 
our own gliding motion, form a pic- 
ture not soon forgotten. Upon dis* 
embarking we enter Great Walk, ex- 
tending from the Lake to Echo River, 
tlie floor of which is covered with 
yellow sand. Reaching the river, 
we all embark in a large boat, and 
soon find ourselves in a very con- 
tracted space, the rocks overhead be- 
ing only three feet above the surface 
of the water, Stooping tmdcr the 
narrow archway for fifteen or twenty 
feet, we finally emerge into the open 
river, with the ceiling about fifteen 
feet above. At some points the river 
is two himilred feet wide, in depth it 
varies from ten to thiny feet. The 
water is now transparently clear, 
rocks can be seen twenty feet below, 
and the boat seems passing through 
thcair. The illusion is heightened by 
the fact of our guide using no oars 
here, propelling the boat by a staff 
applied at intervals to the ceiling or 
side wails. We avoided looking at 
him, that we might still fancy our- 
self wafted over these mysterious 
waters by some in visible agency. 
Here is no feeling of <langer, only a 
dreamy, delicious content to float on 
thus for ever into the " Silent Land." 
An occasional song to wake the 
far-famed echoes is the only sound 
to disturb the stillness and the un- 
utterable thoughts which fill the soul. 
Echo River is an idyl ! Alas ! that 
it should be so short — yet three-quar- 
ters of a mile of bliss should com- 
pensate poor human nature for many 
ills. Some of the gentlemen, in the 
adventurous spirit of youth, made 
their passage through a rugged ave- 
nue called Purgatory ; from their de- 
scription of which we prefer journey- 
ing to paradise by the river. Land- 



'630 



A Visit 1o Mammoth Cave. 



ing on the farther banks, we enter 
Silliman's Avenue, extending a mile 
and a half to the Pass of £t Ghor, 
the walls and ceilings of which, being 
of recent formation, are rugged and 
water-worn. Here is Cascade Hall, a 
circular chamber with vaulted ceil- 
ing, from which falls a stream of 
sparkling water, disappearing through 
a pit in the floor. The avenue lead- 
ing to Roaring River takes its rise in 
this hall. 

The Infernal Region is an irregu- 
lar down-hill passage, the floor cov- 
ered with wet clay. Such essentially 
and persistently sticky mud was pro- 
bably never known above ground. 
The scrambling, slipping, miring, eja- 
culating crowd made an amusing 
scene. Our black guide, Mat, is a 
character, rarely relaxing into a smile, 
but displays a grim humor by saying 
" Sot her up," when some heavier 
slush than usual reveals the fact that 
somebody is down. Now, sotting her 
up is not nearly as easy as sotting 
her down. In some places the water 
is ankle-deep. Here the gentlemen 
pick up the ladies, and carry the fair 
creatures to dry ground. Several 
laughable incidents were the conse- 
quence of this manoeuvre. One gen- 
tleman, feeling the mud slipping un- 
der his feet, fancied himself in a 
quicksand, and hurriedly set his wife 
down in the water to rescue himself. 
Another, a bashful young swain, felt 
a delicacy about the manner of pick- 
ing up his young lady, so carried her 
under one ann, her heels on a line 
with her head. What a funny 
picture those little dangling boots 
presented ! Alas ! for the uncertainty 
of human events. When we started 
out fresh in the morning, wc had 
observed the secret pride with which 
that young woman contemplated her 
jaunty tasselled boots, the neatest fit 
in the party, and amply displayed 
by her ^ort dress. 



We are now quite willing i 
the Hill of Fatigue, leading 
ground. Among many nai 
objects of interest we shall oi 
tion Ole Bull's Concert-Rooi 
the great violinist performe 
first tour through the Unitei 
The Pass of EI Ghor, two 
length, is one of the most pic 
avenues in the cave, its 
and lofty sides changing in 
variety of uncouth, fantastic 
again, the hanging rocks \ 
suggest the idea of imminen 
but we are assured by the gi 
no rocks have fallen during 
a period of thirty years.* 

This pass finally comn: 
with a large body of w: 
'• Mystic River," which has 
explored by visitors. Asc< 
very high, steep Kidder, v 
Martha's Vineyard, twenty fi 
the Pass of El Ghor. Here 
mite, extending from the flo 
ceiling, forms the stem of 
vine, from which all over I 
and ceiling depen<l bunches 
grapes — nodules of carbonat 
colored with the black oxid 
— and here the vintage ne 
for is there not sulphur at h 

An avenue directly over 
Vineyard, which we did not 
is said to contain a miniatui 
of stalactites, in a dark roor 
ing which, without ornamer 
kind, is a grave hewn outoi 
This was considered so sugj 
a Catholic priest that he : 
the Holy Sepulchre. 

The next place of great : 
ral interest is Washington H 
were unpacked the ham(>ei 
by the extra guide, dctailcc 



• *■ Old Mat ■• is now off duty, I 
be Men about the hotel. He thinl 
nor* About the are tb»n any ntai 
stiU better qualified than the youa| 
exhitut lu wooden ! 



A Visit to Mammoth Cavf. 



63t 



^. Keen appetites were brought 
\S upon liie liberal luncheon 
id by the proprietor of the 
Some of the parly lia<l added 
igne, 50 we filled generous 
to the genii of the cave. 
lioursi>cni in rest and refresli- 
ire leave Washington Hall, and, 
|lhrough Snow-Kail Room, cov- 
(fith nodules of white gypsum, 
jCleveland Cabinet, an avenue 

ges in length, and so beautiful 
: sight of it alone would fully 
for the fatigue and time dcvol- 
Qic cave. 

JB a perfect arph of fifty feet 
iveraging the height of ten feet 
centre. Thus every part may be 
1 nith case. From summit to 
I a dazzling expanse of alabas- 
lcx>m— a grand conservatory 
I the Snow Flora moulds her 
t ere she transports ibeni to the 
Worlil and endows them with 
{, Here are clusters of pale 
iroses tiprinklL'd with diamond 
irailing only the enchantress' 
to convert them into a coro- 
sonie fair bride; again, a per- 
Dss of flowers, which may yet 
tonly companion of a rare soul 
bed. Stately lilies, nodding 
graceful fern shapes, are show- 
£ endless profusion on these 

fJls. Here and there arc little- 
lined with flowers, a feathery 
rock bloom hanging over the 
We peep in curiously, but 
is there. This seems truly 
nchanled Palace of Sleep," 
princess is too deeply hidden 
Lai eyes to discover. 
rringly we leave this wondrous 
At the ver>'end is pointed out 
rose of summer, resting against 
ling; it is of snowy whiteness, 
Irigbl inches in diameter, and 
f the last to be seen in the 
A short distance beyond is 
Mountain, one hundred feet 



high, composed of large rocks which 
have evidently fallen from above. On 
top of the mountain is a stalagmite 
called Cleopatra's Needle— why a 
needle, and wherefore Cleopatra's, I 
am unable to explain. Wc are now 
nearing the end of the cave, and to 
the weary of our band the mountain 
seems an insunnountablc obstacle, 
therefore only the more adventurous 
scale the heights, and, passing Dismal 
Hollow, a gorge seventy feet deep 
and one liundrcfl wide, enter Crogan 
Hall, which constitutes the end of the 
'* Long Route." It is covered withJ 
stalactites, ver)' hard and white, frag-! 
mciits of which are worked into or- 
naments. 

This part of the cave is evidently 
near the surface of the earth, and from 
the comparative abundance of animal 
life it is probable there is an open 
communication at some point not 
far distant. The rat found here dif- 
fers from its Norway brother in that 
it is a size larger ; the head and eyes, 
which are black and lustrous, resem- 
ble those of a rabbit, while its soft fur 
is of a bluish gray and white. Crick- 
ets and lizards are numerous; they 
are sluggish in their movements, and 
the cricket never chirps. Why should 
he, indeed, having neither hearth 
nor tea-kettle to inspire him ? All 
these animals, although provided with 
large eyes, seem quite blinil when 
first caught. The fish found in the 
various rivers are of the class known 
as viviparous; they have rudiments 
of eyes, but no optic nerve. There are 
also eyeless crawfish ; both these and 
the eyeless fish are nearly white. 

At certain seasons ordinary fish, 
crawfish, and firogs are washed into 
the rivers of the cave from Green 
River, the inference being that they 
also in due course of time lose the 
power of vision. 

At the end of Crogan Hall we are 
said to be nine miles irom the mouth 



633 



Our Epipliany. 



of the cave, and somewhere under 
ground near Cave City. Here is the 
Maelstrom, a frightful pit, one hun- 
dred and seventy-five feet deep, and 
twenty wide. It has been explored by 
two or three adventurous spirits, the 
first of whom was a son of the late 
George D. Prentice. 

It is needless to describe our re- 
turn, which was over the ground 
already explored; devoting less time, 
of course, to the examination of 
wonders, and not at all tired, for 
exercise in this exhilarating atmo- 
sphere is unlike that of the upper 
world. "VVe finally reach the en- 
trance, and emerge — into darkness 
again — for it is nine p.m, and only a 
few twinkling stars remind us that we 
are not still underground. 

I shall not do more than mention 
Proctor and Diamond Caves, which 
we explored on the following day, 
but they excel in stalactitic formation 
and well repay a visit. They are on 



the direct route to Glasgow, a : 
three miles nearer than that ol 
City, and where there has b« 
cently built a comfortable he 
the site of the ancient " Bell's Tj 
well known to Kentuckians in 
days. Those who have never 
Mammoth Cave will scarcely 
the assertion of the guides th 
hundred and fifty miles of tra 
necessary to see all of the 
avenues ofHthe cave. When we 
this the statement that ne^ 
coveries are constantly being 
which reveal the fact that t 
still a wilderness of cave unt 
by the foot of man, spec 
passes all bounds. 

None but a soul absolutely 
vious to the impressions of th 
lime and beautiful handiwork 
world's great Architect, can 
realize the highest expectation! 
exploration of this greatest of 
now known. 



OUR EPIPHANY. 

What though we cannot, with the star-led kings, 

Adore the swaddled Babe of Bethlehem ! 
Behold, as sweet a Benediction* brings 

A new Epiphany denied to them. 
The Mary Mystical 'tis ours to see 

Still from his crib the little Jesus take, 
And show him to us on her altar-knee. 

And sing to him to bless us for her sake. 
Shall we the while be kneeling giftless there ? 

In loving faith a richer gold shall please, 
A costlier incense in the humblest prayer. 

Nor less the myrrh of penitence than these : 
And there between us holy Priesthood stands. 
Our own Saint Joseph, with the chosen hands. 

^ • BvneiUctloo of the BletKd Swmment. 



Tiu Cosmic Philosophy. 



633 



THE COSMIC PHILOSOPHY.* 



KRT Spencer h»s often been 
to in our pages, and one of 
s, ihat on JSioiosiy, has been 

noticed by us. He is usu- 
ted with the positivisis, and 

ourselves so classed him; 
ivolests against this classifi- 
ind, after studying cnrcfully, 
pduUy as our patience would 
the volume before us, we 
me classification appears to 
let, and even unjust to the 
There are considerable 
between his philosophy 
Phi/os<>p/tie J\isi/itr ^& wc find 
!h tty Nf. E. Littrd, its great- 
chief; for, as set forth by its 

M. Auguste Comle, in his 
irks, wc would rather not 
ir, to confess the truth, we 
cr had the patience to read 
I as to master their doc- 
l^ei, as far as wc do know 
m, it differs on several points, 
\ to its advantage, from the 
hilosophy set forth in Mr. 

first I^HcipUi, especially 
relativity of knowledge and 
ry of cvolittioii. It is the 
)f a higher order of mind 
Spencer can boast, and of 
>nginally trained in a better 

•rbert Spencer is a man of 
blc native ability, of resjMic- 
linmcnts in what is called 
cicnce, and a fair repre* 
of contemporary English 
ad mental tendencies ; but 
dc a sad mistake in attempt- 

XmeifU*^ A Nwir Sfttem »/ I'kHaiO' 
Inben Spcnoer. Second Edition. 
UppletonACo. iS;i. itno, pp. $59. 



iiig to be a philosopher, for lie lacks 
entirely the iM^^^'it^ fiii?s4>Jiii>^ and we 
have not discovered a single trace 
of a philosophic principle, thought, 
or conception in any or all of his seve- 
x\\ works. He is or might be a phy. 
sicist, or what old Ralph Cudworth 
\i:^vvi%ii. phy5iologet\ perhaps not much 
inferior to old Lcucip])us ur Demo- 
critus, but he has not in him ihr 
makings of a philosopher, and his 
cosmic theories are not even plausi- 
ble to a philosophic mind. 

*' In the kingdom of the blind, the 
one-eyed is king." The not mcon- 
sidcrable reputation Mr. Herbert 
Spencer seems to have acquiretl is 
probably due not to his merits so 
much as to the low state into which 
philosophical studies have fallen in 
the Anglo-Saxon world, and the ten- 
dency to anii-Christi.in and anti-rcli- 
gious theories and speculations which 
Protcsta.ntism, when it begins to ex- 
amine its own foundation and to ac- 
count for ilscif, everywhere encour 
agt's. The party wc meet here and 
in Kngland, with *' advanced views " 
as they are called, and which every 
day grows in numbers and strength, 
welcomes with enthusiasm any and 
every writer who helps or promises to 
help them to explain the problem of 
the universe on physical principle^.. 
without recurring to the supernatural 
or the fact of creation. The parly, 
profoundly ignorant of Christian the- 
ology and philosophy, and devoted 
to the study of physical facts and 
phenomena alone, have persuaded 
themselves that Christianity is un- 
scientific, and that it tends to degrade 
men. to cafeeble reason, and to pre- 





The Cosmic Philosophy. 



vein ihe free expansion of (bought j 
and ihey regard as their benefactor 
whoever i» able to sircngthen their 
cosmic or atheistic tendency. Such 
a man they esteem Mr. Herbert S|>cn- 
ecr. He is apparently just the man 
to be acceptctl as the chief of the 
sect, or the philosopher of negation. 
Us adherents wish not for their 
leader an avowed atheist or panthe- 
ist, for the world is not just yet ad* 
vaiiced enough for that, but ihcy do 
wish one wlio is skilful in disguising 
his atheism or pantheism in the forms 
and terms of science ; and who can 
do this more successfully than Her- 
bert Spencer ? 

Mr. Si>cncer divides his book into 
tMo parts. In Part I. he treats of 
what he calls "The Unknowable"; in 
Part II. he treats of what hccalls" The 
Knowable." Under the head of "The 
Unknowable " he seeks the relation of 
science and religion, to ascertain the ul- 
timate verily or ideas of each, and to 
show the ground on which they meet 
and are reconciled. He asserts that all 
knowledge is relative, is knowledge 
of phenomena alone, which arc no- 
thing outside of their relation to con- 
sciousness, itself phenomenal, and to 
3 Something underlying them, and of 
which they are the appearances or 
which they manifest. We are com- 
pelled to admit, he says, this Some- 
thing, because the phenomena can- 
not l>c thought without it ; and as we 
can assign no limit to these manifes- 
tations, vc arc compelled to assert 
this Something, Power, being, or 
Reality is infmite. But this Infinite 
Something which is the reality of the 
cosmos is abs<jlulely unknowable and 
even unthinkable. How, then, can it 
be asserted ? 

Every religion seeks the solution 
of the problem of the universe, the 
explanation of the great cosmic rays- 
icf}' that surrounds us on all sides, 
snd all religions agree ihlt the solu* 



tion IS in this infinilc 
Something, which is absolute 
knowable, absolutely inscf 
The ultimate religious ideucq 
est and most comprchciuiTt 
erali/alions of religions conci 
are, first, the assertion of this 
nizable and incogilabic Somi 
and, second, that die &olulj 
the problem exceeds all : 
powers. 

Science deals with the uni 
mic problem, and, rising by 
ralizalion to general ieation i 
cosmic phenomena up to the 
and broadest possible, is cont 
to admit the same Inhnuc Somi 
and to admit that it is not ct 
ble nor cogitable. Conscquen 
ultimate scientific ideas are id 
with the ultimate religious* 
Both religion and science art 
together, and reconciled wilho 
compromise, and the old fcl 
twccn ihcm extinguished, in t| 
soni of tlie Infinite Uuknowatil 

" lie quWei ■ sotitude. »nd nttaltp4 

As we have no pi- ■ 
accept the new system • 
we cannot find this concluuoi 
fcctly satisfactory. The cosmi 
ject to the Comteans or poij 
that they absorb the cosmcu i| 
and society ; the cofiraists, c 
other I'.and, seem to us to abso^ 
and society in the cosmos, an( 
ject them to the isame physic; 
Mr. Emerson docs whca he : 
the identity of gratitude and g 
tion. Hy as-serting that only ] 
mcna are cognisable, and suIj 
man to the common cosnuc bl| 
include him in the cosmic pb| 
aa, and make him simply an I 
ance or nunifeitation of the u^ 
able, without any real or sablf 
existence of his own. We th 
in the infinite rariely of tiie | 
pheoomcQa both the tliiuking | 



The Cosmic PhUosophy. 



635 



t)«t mouglil. *l'he soul is 
k aj)iK:ar3nce. 

fcrraore, by declaring the 
fcaal cannot be thought in 
r itself without the infinite 
llg that underlies it as its 
fcr reality, and then declaiing 
cthing 10 be unknowable, 
Je evei>, the new system 
that there is no knowable, 
quently no science or 
at all. The new system 
iphy, then, reconciles science 
on only in a universal ne- 
at is, by a-ally denying 
liis can hardly satisfy either 
or a Christian, 
second part, Mr. Spencer 
ihilosophy to us, as near as 
>me at his sense, to be the 
in of the several religions and 
icnccs in their respective 
generalizations in a t;ene- 
thal comprehends iheni all. 
tion with him means the 
n of the differentia, or ab- 
L He therefore, in making 
»y a generalization, makes 
btraction, and, so to speak, 
action of all particular ab- 
L But abstractions in them- 
; nullities, and consequently 
ly is a nullity, and science 
ion are nullities. Mr. Speu- 
tains that we have ** syml>o- 
eplions," in which nothing 
ived — symbols which sym- 
nhing. Is his " new sys- 
philosophy " anything but 
ilizaiion ami unification of 
embolic conceptions " ? 
)>enccr starts with the as* 
I that all religions, including' 
have a verily in cDmmon 
as an error. The verity 
that in which they all agree ; 
r, m llioir (lilTerenccs, or \\\ 
lers in which ihey iJo not 
eliminate the differences and 
,t 13 common tu them all, 



and you will hare the universal ve- 
rity which they all assert. But 
what verity Is common to iriitli and 
falsehood, to theism and atheism ? 
The verity common to religion and 
science, that the solution of the cos- 
mic mystery is unknowable .■* But 
that is not a verity ; it is a mere ne- 
gation, and all truth is alVirmaiive. 

Atheism is not a religion, but the 
negation of all religion. Exclude that, 
take all religions from fetichism to 
Christianity inclusive; eliminate the 
differentia, and take wh.Tl ihey all 
agree in asserting. Be it so. All 
religions, without a single exception, 
however rude or however polished, 
agree in asserting the supernatural, 
and that, if the cosmic mystery is in- 
explicable by huni.in means, it is ex- 
]ilicable by supernatural means. A 
true application of Mr. Sjiencer's 
rule, the consensus dominion, would 
assert as the common verity the su- 
pernatural, that is, the supercosmic, 
which is precisely what the cosmic 
philosophy denies an<l is invented to 
deny. Mr. Spencer does not appear 
to be master of his own looks. 

All religiotjs concede that the cos- 
mic mystery is inexplicable by our un- 
assisted powers, by secondan' causes, 
or by physical laws ; but none of them 
admits that it is absolutely inexplica- 
ble, for each religion professes to be 
Its explanation. Mr. Spencer is 
wrong in asserting that all are seek- 
ing to solve the cosmic niy-sicry ; for 
each proposes itself as its solution, 
and It is only as such that it claims to 
be or can be callcii a religion. The 
(lueslton for the philosopher is. Do 
any of these religions give us a solu- 
tion which rea.son, in the freest and 
fullest exercise of its powers, can ac- 
cept, and, if so, which one is it? ■ 

Mr. Spencer lells us, p. 32 : '* Re- 
specting the orii,'in of the universe, 
three verbally intelligible suppositions 
may be made. We may assert that 



636 



The Cosmic Philosophy, 



it is self-existent, or that it is self-creat- 
ed, or that it is created by an exter- 
nal agency." The second supposition 
he rejects as the pantheistic hypothe- 
sis, which is a mistake, for no pan- 
theist or anybody else asserts that 
the universe creates itself. The pan- 
theist denies that it is created at all ; 
and the philosopher denies that it 
creates itself"; for, since to create is 
to act, self-creation would require 
the universe to act before it existed. 
The third supposition, which the au- 
thor calls " the theistical hypothesis," 
he denies, because it explains no- 
thing, and is useless. He explains it 
to mean that the universe is produc- 
ed by an artificer, after the manner 
of a human artificer in producing a 
piece of furniture from materials fur- 
nished to his hand. " But whence 
come the materials ?*' The question 
might be pertinent if asked of Plato 
or Aristotle, neither of whom was 
a theist ; but not when asked of a 
Christian theologian, who holds that 
God creates or created all things 
from nothing, that is, without pre-ex- 
isting materials, by " the sole word 
of his power." 

The first supposition, the self-ex- 
istence of the universe, the author 
denies, not because the universe is 
manifesdy contingent and must have 
had a beginning, and therefore a 
cause or creator; but because self- 
existence is absolutely inconceivable, 
an impossible idea. He says, p. 35 : 
" The hypothesis of the creation of 
the universe by an external agency 
is quite useless ; it commits us to an 
infinite series of such agencies, and 
then leaves us where it found us.'* 
" Those who cannot conceive of the 
self-existence of the universe, and 
therefore assume a creator as the 
source of the universe, take it for 
granted that they can conceive a 
self-existent creator. The mystery 
of the great fact surrounding them 



on every side they transfer to 
leged source of this great Du: 
then suppose they have solvi 
mystery. But they delude 
selves, as was proved in the 
of the argument. Self-txisi^ 
rigorvusfy inconceivable ^ and ihi: 
true whatever be the nature 
object [subject] of which it is 
cated. Whoever argues th 
atheistical hypothesis is unt 
because it involves the imp 
idea of self-existence, mus 
force admit that the theistical 
thesis is untenable if it contai 
same impossible idea." Bu 
ever argued that the atheistical 
thesis is untenable because it ir 
the idea of self-existence ? A 
is denied because it asserts tl 
existence of that which canr 
and is known not to be, self-o 
But it is evident that the 
rejects alike self-existence ant 
tion ; that the cosmos is self-es 
or that it is created by an in 
dent, self-existent, and super 
creator. How, then, can he 
the existence of the cosmos, : 
phenomenal, at all ? The < 
either exists or it does not. 
does not, that ends the matt 
it does, it must be either ere; 
self-existent ; for the author 
an infinite series as absurd, ai 
creation as only an absurd fc 
expressing self-existence. I 
the author denies self-existence 
ever the subject of which it 
dicated, and also the fact of cr 
it follows rigorously, if he ii 
that the cosmos does not exist 
autlior cannot take refuge in 
vorite nescio^ or say we do no 
the origin of the cosmos, lor 
positively denied it every ] 
origin, and therefore has by i 
tion denied it all existence, 
ment ago, we showed that he 
by implication all science 01 



The Cosmic Philosophy. 



637 



nd now wc see that, if held 
to his s>!5tcni as be cx- 

the deities nil existence, and, 
ation at least, asserts abso- 
kUm. Surely there is no oc- 
I apply to his new system of 
lly the redticfw adabiurdum. 
iilhor is necessarily led 10 
ition ihat at least nothing is 
ic by his doctrine, that all 
^e is relative. 'I'he Comiisis 
|in theory, all knowledge to 
ithings, their mutual relation;;, 
Bcies, and the conditions and 
■their development and pro- 
pit they at least admit that 
fty be objects of science and 
^ known. But our cosmic 
ner denies this, and os&erLs 
fevity of all knowledge. We 
(id can know only the rela- 
bat is, only what is relative 
I absolute, and relative to 
I coiuciousncss. In this he 

tSir William Hamilton, J. 
[ill, and the late Dr. Man- 
«tcan Dean of St. raid's, 
|6ve knowledge is simply no 
^, because in it nothing is 
fllie relative is not cognizable 
.ble in and by itself, be- 
in and by itself, or prc- 
m that to which Jt is rcl;»- 
,*- not exist, and is simply 
( What neither is nor oiists 
^nizablc nor cogitable. The 
f of all knowledge, then, is 
Ihe denial of all knowledge, 
(r, then, for Mr. Spencer to 
icnce. His science is only 
ignorance, 
mcer labors hard to prove 
rity of all knowledge. He 
ives it or he does not. (f 
not, he has no right to as- 
ic does.hedisprovcsit at the 
fee. If the proof is not abso- 
not prove it ; if it is abso- 
it is not true that all 
is reUHve ; for the proof 



must be absolutely known, or it can- 
not be alleged. We either know 
that all knowledge is relative, or wc 
do not. If wc do not, no more need 
be said; if we do know it, then it is 
false, because the knowletlgc of the 
relativity of knowledge is itself not 
relative. The assertion of the rela- 
tivity of all knowledge, therefore, con- 
tradicts and refutes itself. No man 
can tloiibt that he doubts, or that 
<loubt is doubt, and therefore univer- 
sal doubt or universal scepticism is 
impossible, and not even asscrtable. 
The same argument applies to the 
pretence that all knowledge is rela- 
tive. 

'I'he relativists are misle^l by their 
dealing with the abstract and not the 
concrete. Tliey regard all that is or 
exists eitlitr as relative or absolute. 
But both absolute and relative »re 
abstract conceptions, and formed by 
alistraction from the concrete intui- 
tively presented or apprehended. 
They exist, as St. Thomas tells us, 
only /// #w//A*, (um fumUimftUo in re. 
There arc no al>stnictions in nature 
or the cosmos, and there is and can 
be neither abstract science nor 
science of abstractions, for abstrac- 
tions, prescinded from their concretes, 
are simply nullities. The al>5oIuteis, 
we grant, unknowable, and so also is 
the relative, for neither has any ex- 
istence in nature, or rtjM/'/rm. They 
are both generalizations, and nature 
never generalizes. Whatever exists, ex- 
ists in (oncreto, not in ^nere. Hence, 
the ens in genere of Rusraini is no em 
ren/e, but simply em possUnle, like the 
rcine Scyn of Hegel, which is the 
equivalent of r/«MiV«-/r/jo7f/ for the 
possible is only the ability of the 
real. 

Now, l>ecausc ihc abstract absolute 
is unknowable, unthinkable even, it by 
no means follows that the concrete, 
real and necessary being, cannot lie 
both thought and known, or that 



638 



Tlu Cosmic Philosophy* 



things caiinot be both thought and 
known in their relations to it, with- 
out reducing it to the category 
of the relative. Sir WiUiam Hamil- 
ton says the absolute is the uncon- 
ditioned, and is incogitable, because 
our thought necessarily conditions it. 
This would be true if the absolute is 
an abstraction or mental conception, 
but is false and absurd if applied to 
real, necessary, infinite, and self-ex- 
istent being, which, as independent 
of us and all relation, is and must 
be the same whether we think it or 
not. The thought does not impose 
its own conditions and limitations 
on the object j certainly not when 
the object is real and necessary being, 
and in every respect independent of 
it. We cannot, of course, think in- 
finite being infinitely or adequately, 
but it does not follow that we cannot 
think it, though fuiitely and inade- 
quately. The human mind, being 
Anitc, cannot comprehend infinite be- 
ing ; but, nevertheless, it may and 
does apprehend it, or else Mr. Spen- 
cer could not assert the Infinite 
Something, which he says we are com- 
pelled to admit underlies the cosmic 
phenomena and is manifested in them. 
The human mind can apprehend 
more than it can comprehend, and 
nothing that is apprehensible, though 
incomprehensible, is unthinkable or 
unknowable, except in Mr. Spencer's 
Neio System of Utilosopky. 

Sir William Hamilton says, in de- 
fending the relativity of all knowl- 
edge : " Only relations are cogitable. 
Relation is cogitable only in corre- 
lation, and the relation between cor- 
relatives is reciprocal, each is rela- 
tive to the other. Thought is dual, 
and embraces at once subject and 
object in their mutual opposition and 
limitation." This merely begs the 
question. Besides, it is not true. 
Relations are themselves cogitable 
only in the related ; correlatives con- 



note each other, so that the 01 
not be thought without thinki 
other; but not therefore are 
lations reciprocal, as the 1 
between phenomenon and i 
non, cause and effect, creat 
creation. Here are two ten 
a relation between them, but 
ciprocity. When we think 
and effect, we do not think t 
mutually opposing and limitii 
other. The effect cannot op 
limit the cause, or the creat 
creator, for the creature c 
on the creator and is nothin 
out his creative act, and the > 
nothing without the cause 
produces and sustains it. Th 
ture depends on the creator, ' 
the creator on the creature ; 
feet depends on the cause, I 
the cause on the effect. Thei 
then, be relation without reci; 
It is true, Mr. Spencer denit 
tion, and relegates ail causativ 
er to the dark region of the ui 
able, and calls the origin of t1 
verse in the creative act of b« 
God *' an hypothesis," and re 
with ill-concealed scorn ; yet c 
is not " an hypothesis," but a 
tific fact, and a necessary pi 
of all science. W'ithout it tl 
mos would not be cognizabli 
would have no dialectic const 
It could not even be thouj 
every thought is a judgment, 
judgment is jjossible where t 
no copula that joins the predi 
the subject. Rejecting creat; 
author cannot assert the rela 
cause and effect ; rejecting 
and effect, he cannot assert ei 
CQpmtc phenomena. They a 
able to stand on their own I 
and therefore not at all, unl 
Something of which they are 
says, manifc5;tations, is a cau: 
ducing and sustaining them 
submit, then, that Mr. Spencei 



77/f Ccsmic rhUosopky, 



630 



.e unknowable, atid the re- 
al) knowleilge, estnpsJiini 
ting anything; as knowahle, 
ly denies nil the knowable anil 
I — 0m$ie sdbiU ftomne reah, 
!Cond part of Mr. Spencer's 
* The KnowaUe " wc might 
but as it is that in which 
is to be original, and in 
supposes he has made 
liable contributions to the 
ly of the cosmos, an umis- 
xaminc it might seem un- 
Besides, the inventors of 
ms of philosophy must not 
too rigidly to ilie logical 
iCes of their own doctrines, 
Pessumm. It is impossible 
bunder to foresee all that 
ine involves, and it is but 
e really has said anything 
: is true, that it shoiiM be 
id,and he receive duecrt^dit 
£D if it is an anomaly in his 
tystcm of philosophy. Wc 
therefore, to consider Part 

second part, the author pro- 
treat the knowablc, not in- 
ts several details, but in its 
^ples, or ultimate gcnerali- 
The generaliiation of a 
phenomena is science; the 
Itioa of the several groups 
aena observable in ihc cos- 
[titutes the several special 
and the combination of 
cial sciences into one higher 
! comprehensive gcneraliia- 
ch embraces them all, is 
ly. In constructing i)hil'> 
je author, be it observed, 
coral insect, begins belnw 
'S upward, and bases the 
on llie particular. 
Eat point, or novelty, in this 
U"!, however, is untjuestion- 
hc author claims, the doc- 
rolution. By evolution , the 
les not understand evolving 



or unfolding, as do ordinary mortals ; 
but the aggregation or contraction 
and diffusion, according to certain 
laws which he has determined, of 
matter, motitm, and force. Kvolu- 
tion consists, therefore, of two pro- 
cesses, contraction and diffusion, and 
is cither simple or comijound. Sim- 
ple evolution is where concentration 
and diffusion follow each other alter- 
nately ; compound evolution is whae 
the two processes go on simultane- 
ously in the same subject, which may 
be said to be growing and decaying, 
or living and dying, at one and the 
same time, 

Minerals, plants, and animals, in- 
cluding man, are all formed by the 
evolution of matter, motion, and 
force. The elimination or loss of 
motion, mechanical, chemical, or elec- 
trical, is followed by the concentration 
of matter and force, which may as- 
sume the form of a pebble, a dia- 
mond, a nettle, a rose, an oak, a 
jeily-lish, a tadpole, a monkey, a 
man. I^ife is simply the pro<Iuct of 
" the mechanical, chemical, and elec- 
tric.il arrangement of particles of mat- 
ter." The concentration of motion 
is followed by a diffusion or disper- 
sion of matter and force, and the 
disapjiearancc of the several groups 
of phenomena we have just named; 
hut as matter is indestriiciible, and 
as there is always the same rjuantily 
of motion and force, they disappear 
only to reappear in new groups or 
transfomiations. The diffusion of 
the mineral may be the birth of the 
plant; of the plant, the birth of the 
animal ; of the ai>e, may be a new 
concentration which gives birth t» 
man. Nothing is lost. The cosmos 
is a ceaseless evolution; is, so to 
speak, in a state of ]x:rpeiual flux 
and reflux, in which di(Tu-sion of one 
group of phenomena is followed by 
the birth of another^ in endless rota- 
tion, or life from death, and death 



640 



The Cosmic Philosophy. 



from life. Dissolution follows con- 
centration " in eternal alternation," or 
both go on together. This is not a 
new doctrine, but substantially the 
doctrine of a school of Greek philo- 
sophers, warred against both by Pla- 
to and Aristotle, that all things are 
in a state of ceaseless motion, of 
growth and decay, in which corrup- 
tion proceeds from generation, and 
generation from corruption, in which 
death is born of life, and life is born 
of death. Our cosmic philosophers 
only repeat the long since exploded 
errors of the old cosmists. But pass 
over this. 

The author is treating of the know- 
able. We ask him, then, how he 
contrives to know that there is any 
Kitch evolution as he asserts ? He 
assumes that matter, motion, and 
force are the constituent elements of 
the cosmos; but he can neither know 
it nor prove it, since he maintains 
that what matter is, or what motion 
is, or what force is, is unknown and 
unknowable. He denies the relation 
of cause and effect, or at least that 
it is cognizable ; how, then, can he 
assert the cosmic phenomena are 
only concentrations and diffusions of 
matter, motion, and force ? A cer- 
tain elimination of motion and a 
corresponding concentration of mat- 
ter and force produces the rose, 
another produces an ape, another 
produces a man, says the author 
of this new system of philosophy. 
Does he know that he is only a 
certain concentration of matter and 
force, resulting from a certain diffu- 
sion or loss of motion ? Can he not 
only think, but prove it ? But all 
proof, all demonstration, as all rea- 
soning, nay, sensible intuition itself, 
depends on the principle of cause 
ami effect j for, unless we can assert 
that the sensation within is caused 
by some object without that affect* 
the sensible organism, we can as- 



sert nothing outside of us, not eroi 
a phenomenon or external appear* 
ance. How does the author koow, 
or can he know, that he differs from 
the ape only in the different cooiIn- 
nation of matter, motion, and foira? 
Mr. Spencer, in his work onBiekgt. 
asserts that life results from the me- 
chanical, chemical, and electrical ar- 
rangement of the particles of matter. 
If this were so. it would, on the 
author's own principles, explain no- 
thing. It would be only saying that 
a certain group of phenomena is ic- 
companied by another group, which 
we call life, but not that there is any 
causal relation between them. That 
the supposed arrangement of die 
particles of matter originates the life 
Mr. Spencer cannot assert without the 
intuition of cause and causes he eidi- 
er denies or banishes to the unknow- 
able. Analytical chemistry resolTCs, 
we are told, the diamond into certain 
gases; but is synthetic chemistry aUe 
to recombine the gases so as to pro- 
duce a diamond ? Professor Hux- 
ley finds, he thinks, the physica.1 
basis of life in protoplasm. Proto- 
plasm is not itself life, according t<7 
him, but its basis. How does he 
know, since he denies causality, that 
life is or can be developed from prO' 
toplasm ? Protoplasm, chemically' 
analyzed, is resolved into certain 
well-known gases ; but it is admitted 
that synthetic chemistry is unable to 
recombine them and reproduce pro 
toplasm. Evidently, as in the case of 
the diamond, there is in the productioo 
of protoplasm some element which 
even analytic chemistry fails to detect. 
No synthetic chemistry can obtain the 
protoplasm from protein, and that 
is no instance in which life, feel- 
ing, thought and reason, are knowo, 
or can be proved, to result from dead 
matter, or from any possible combina- 
rions of matter, motion, and force. If 
it could so result, the fact could not be 



Th€ Cosmic Pkihsophy, 



641 



would remain for ever in 
nowalile. 

new philosopiiy resolves all 
iraii: phenomena into the cron- 
ion aaid Uiffusiun of the un- 
it; elemcnis called matter, 
and force. The quantities 
elements remain always the 
)ut they are in a state of con- 
ivolutiou, and all the cosmic 
Dena result from this evolution, 
e simply changes or transfor- 
% of the same force. Now^ 
olution either has had a bc- 
\ or it has not If it has not, 
It assume an infinite scries of 
ons, or concentrations and 
ins; but an innnile series is 
t and the author himself de- 
, 'I'hen it must have had a 
ing ; but no phenomenon can 
x> exist without a cause inde- 
it of the phenomenon, or the 
Wt. Hut the author denies tlie 
in denying the origin of the 

I in creation, or its production 
upercosmic creator. \Vc are 
It loss, then, to conceive how 
Irives, consibtenily with his new 
, to assert either the law of 
on, or even evolution itself. 
> tell us how he doc;; it ? 
need not follow the author 
li the alleged facts and iliiis- 
B by which he seeks to expl.iin 
(Stain his system of evolution ; 
e evolution is not asscrlahle on 
'n ptrinciples, nor is it prov- 
\inndf by any possible deduc- 
>r inductions of science. So 
n being science, it is not even 
oissiblc hyiwthesjs; because it 
licts and refutes itself. Mr. 
rr has attempted to construct a 

of philosophy or explication 

cosmic phenomena, anil the 

their jiroduciion or transforma- 

ithout recurrence toanytneta- 

II principles, and from (ihysical 
Ics alone, or by the generaliza* 

auv.— 41 



tion of the physical phenomena as they 
appear to the human consciousness 
in space and time, and has necessari- 
ly fuiled; Iwcause the physical prin- 
ciples iheniseives, and consctiuently 
the physical phenomena, are inex- 
plicable and inconceivable even, with- 
out the principles discarded as meta- 
physical. The author's whole theory 
of evolution depends on the assumed 
fact of the indestructibility of matter, 
the continuity of motion, and the 
]}crsistence of force, not one of which 
can be asserted without the ideal 
intuition of bemg, substance, ami 
cause, all three metaphysical princi- 
ples, ami as such relegated by the 
author lo the region of the unknowa- 
ble. The indestructibility of matter 
can be deduced or induced from no 
possible observation of sensible phe- 
nomena, 'i'he continuity of motion 
or the persistence of force is no fact 
of consciousness. Mr. Spencer him- 
self says, to science or the explication 
of phenomena, the present must be 
linked with the past and with the 
future, and hence he argues the in- 
destructibility of matter, the continuity 
of niolion, and the persistence of 
force; but not one of them is a fact 
of consciousness. Consciousness is 
the recognition of one's self as subject 
in l!ic present act of thought, and 
looks neither before nor after, takes 
cognizance neither of the past nor of 
the future, and consccjuenlly of no 
link connecting them with the pre- 
sent. Indestructibility, continuity, 
I>ersistence, all of which imply cogni- 
tions of the pa.st and future, are not 
and cannot be facts of consciousness, 
which is cognition only of ilie pre- 
sent. Matter and motion, the author 
sa)'s, are derivative, derived from 
force, which alone is primitive. The 
indestructibility of matter and the con- 
tinuity of motion depend, then, solely 
on the persistence of force, and are 
apprehensible, therefore, only in ap- 



6^2 



The Cosmic Philosophy, 



prehending that persistence; but that 
persistence is not a fact of conscious- 
ness. How, then, can it be asserted, 
unless force is, and is apprehended as, 
a persistent substance ? But sub- 
stance is unknowable. 

The author adopts the method of 
the physicists, the so-called inductive 
method, and proceeds from particular 
phenomena to induce by generaliza- 
tion their law; but no induction is 
valid that is not made by virtue of a 
general principle, which is not itself 
inferable from the phenomenal, and 
must be given and held by the mind 
before any induction is possible. 
This is the condemnation of the 
mcthodofthe physicists, for, from phe- 
nomena alone, only phenomena can 
be obtained. A method without 
principles is null, and leads only to 
nullity. The author does not under- 
stand that the reason why the cos- 
mic phenomena are not cogitable 
without the assumption of the cosmic 
reality underlying them, is because 
the mind intuitively apprehends them 
as dependent on something which 
they are not, and at the same time, 
and in the same intellectual act, intu- 
itively apprehends a reality beyond 
Iheni, which by its causative act 
produces and sustains them. He is 
wrong in declaring that the something 
real is unknowable ; it may be in- 
comprehensible, but, as we have seen, 
it must be cognizable, or nothing is 
rognizable. 

That the men who follow in the 
physical sciences the physical or, as 
they say, the inductive method, in- 
ducing general conclusions from par- 
ticular facts or phenomena, have 
really advanced those sciences, and 
by their untiring labors and exhaust- 
less patience achieved all but miracles 
in the application of science to the 
mechanical and productive arts from 
which trade and industry have so 
largely profited, we by no means deny ; 



but tliey have done so because tbe 
mind, in their investigations and in- 
ductions, has all along had the in- 
tuition of the ideal principle which 
legitimates their generalizations, that 
of being or substance, and its creative 
or causative act, but of which tlicy 
take no heed, or to which they do noi 
advert; as St. Augustine says, the 
mind really has cognition of God in 
the idea of the perfect, but does not 
ordinarily advert to the (act They 
suppose they obtain the law they as- 
sert by logical inference from the 
phenomena, because they do not ob- 
serve that the mind has intuition of 
the causative or creative act, which 
is the ideal principle of the induction. 
I'he mind is superior to their philoso- 
phy, and they reason far better than 
they explain their reasoning. We 
may apply to them the advice Lord 
Mansfield gave to a man of good 
sense and sound judgment, but of 
little legal knowledge, who bad 
been recently appointed a judge in 
one of the British colonies: "Give 
your decisions;" said his lordship, 
*' without fear or hesitation ; but don'i 
attempt to give your reasons." Su 
long as they confine themselves to the 
proper field of scientific investigation, 
they are safe enough; but let them 
come out of that field and attempt 
to explain the philosophy or the prin- 
ciples of their physical science, ami 
they arc pretty sure to make sad 
work of it. Nesutor ultra crefidam. 
Mr. Spencer protests against beinj: 
regarded as an atheist, for he denies 
the self-existence of the universe, aiul 
neither affirms nor denies the exist- 
ence of God. But atheist means 
simply no-theist, and, if he does noi 
assert that (rod is, he certainly is an 
atheist. It is not neccssar)-, in order 
to be an atheist, to make a positiw 
denial of God. His disciple, Pro- 
fessor John Fiske, who has been 
lecturing on the cosmic philosophy 



The Cosmic Philosophy^ 



^3 



eforc Harvard College, contends 
!ial the cosmic philosophy is not 

heislica.], because it asserts in the 
unknowable an infinite power, be- 
ing, or reality, that underlies the cos- 
mic phcncmcaa, of which they are 
the sensible manifestations; yet this 
docs not relieve it, because what is 
asserted is not God, and is not pre- 
tended to lie the CJod of theism, 
but the reality or substance of the 
cosmos and indistinguishable from 
it It is the real, as the phenomena 
are the ajjparenl, cosmos. 

The auilior denies that he is a 
pantheist, for he denies the hypothe- 
sis of self-creation \ but, if he is not 
a pantheist, it is only because he 
docs not call the unknowable infinite 
jKiwer or being he asserts as the 
reality of the cosmos, that is, the real 
cosmos, by the name of God, Deus, 
orThcos. But asserting thai pow- 
er as the reality or substance of the 
cosmic phenomena is precisely what 
V. meant by pantheism. Pantheism, 
in its modern form, is l!ie assertion 
of one only substance, which is the 
reality of the cosmic phenomena, and 
the denial of the creation of finite 
substances, which are the real sul>- 
jccl of the cosmic manifestations. 
Pantheism denies the creation of sub- 
stances or second causes, and asserts 
that all phenomena arc simply the 
appearances of the one infinite and 
only substance; and this is precisely 
what Mr. Spencer undeniably does, 
The only difference between atheism 
and pantheism is purely verbal. Tlie 
atheist calls the reality asserted 
cosmos or nature, and the jjaniheist 
calls it Go<l, but both assert one and 
the same thing. The power Mr. 
Spencer asserts is simply the natura 
aafuraas of Spinoza, and that is 
notlung the atheist himself does not 
accept, and, indeed, a.sscrt. Neither 
asserts, nor docs Mr. Spencer assert, 
any tupercosmic being, or power 



on which the cosmos dcpcntU, and 
ihe power they do ;issert is as mudi 
cosmic as the phenomena themselves. 
Mr. Spencer's protest betrays rare 
theological and philosophical igno- 
rance, or is a mere verbal quibble, 
unworthy a man who even pretends 
to be a philosopher. 

Mr. Spencer hardly once refers to 
Christian theology, and, without ever 
having studied it, evidently would 
have us think that he considers it be- 
neath his attention. Yet he, as evi- 
dently, h.is constructed his system 
for the purpose of undermining and 
disposing of it once for all. 'ihis 
may be seen in the fact that, when 
he refers to religion at all. it is al- 
ways to some heathen superstition, 
which he assumes to be the tj-pe or 
germ of all religion, carefully ignoring 
the patriarchal, Hebrew, or Crhrislian 
religion. He tells us " the earliest 
traditions represent rulers as gods or 
demigods." This is not true even of 
heathenism, which is in fact an apos- 
tasy from the patriarchal or primitive 
religion, or its corruption, 'j'he apo- 
theosis of Romulus, according to tra- 
dition, took place only after his death, 
and it is only at a later period that 
the pagan emperors were held to 
he gods during their lifetime. Mr. 
Spencer's real or affected ignorance 
of the whole order of religious 
thought is marvellous, and wc cannot 
forbear saying : 

" There are more Utinfs In hearea aad c«rUi, 
I lormtlo. 
TbxD a.rc ilreaait of la your phlloaopby," 

There is no philosophy or science, 
if God and his creative act are ex- 
truded or ignored, because there is 
no cosmos left, and neither a subject 
to know nor an object to be known* 

Mr. Spencer misapprehends the 
relations of religion and science, and 
consequently the conditions of tlieir 
reconciliation. He says they are the 
two opposite poles of one and the 



644 



The Cosmic Philosophy. 



same globe. This is a mistake. 
Religion aud science are indeed 
parts of one whole ; but religion, 
while it includes science, supplements 
it by the analogical knowletlge culled 
faith. The truths of faith and of 
.science are always in dialectic har- 
mony, and between the Christian 
faith and real science there is no 
quarrel, and can be none; for re- 
ligion only supplies the defect of 
science, and puts the mind in pos- 
session of the solution of the pro- 
blem of man and the universe, not 
attainable by science. 

There is a quarrel only when the 
scientists, in the name of science, deny 
or impugn the supplementary truths 
of revelation, and which are at least 
as certain as any scientific truths or 
facts are or can be; or when they 
reject the great principles of reason 
itself, which are the basis of all science. 
Let the scientists confine themselves, 
as we have said, to the study and 
classification of facts, or the develop- 
ment and application to them of the 
undoubted principles of the intuitive 
reason, and not attempt to go beyond 
their province or the proper field of 
scientific investigation, and there will 
be no quarrel between them and the 
theologians. The quarrel arises when 
men like Spencer, Darwin, Huxley, 
and others, profoundly ignorant both 
of philosophy and of theology, or 
the teachings of revelation, ignoring 
them, despising them, or regarding 
them with sovereign contempt, put 
forth baseless theories and hyi)othe- 
ses incompatible witli the truths aUke 
of reason and faith ; and it will con- 
tinue till they learn that an unproved 
and unprovable tlieory or hypothesis 
is not science, nor a scientific explana- 
tion of the facts either of the soul or 
of the cosmos, and is quite insufti- 
cient to warrant a denial of the 
belief of the great bulk of mankind 
from the first man down to our own 



day. Then there may b 
Iween the theologians ant 
tists, but not till then. 

We said, or intended to 
philosopher is known by 
pies. We add that he is , 
by his method. The jihysi 
is unscientific and illogi 
seeks through phenomen, 
at being, and from partici 
tain general or universal c 
Induction that is not base 
vcrsal principle can neve 
anything bat the particul 
ralizations of particulars ai 
stractions, and abstraction; 
ed from their concretes, a 
as the possible, without i 
actualize it, is nothing. '' 
rising from particulars to th 
unless we start with a univ 
ciple intuitively given. It 
ble to conclude, by logical 
substance or being from p 
The reality which Mr. Sp 
we are compelled to ass^ 
itself unknowable, as undi 
cosmic phenomena, is no 
nor induction from these. I 
intuitively as the ideal c 
l)le in the very act in whit 
nomena themselves are ; 
ed. Mr. Spencer is wronj 
ing it, as we have said, to I 
able, and still more so in 
as the subject of the cosr 
mena, which is simply 
These phenomena are n 
])earances or manifcslalii 
Infinite Power or Being 
Spencer asserts as unkno 
of the finite and depcnde 
CCS which God, the Infi; 
creates and upholds as sect 

The universal is not ct 
the particular, the infir 
finite, the identical in t! 
the imnuitabie in the m 
persistent in the tran.sitor 
plurality, or tlie actual ir 



Tiu Cosmic Philosophy. 



645 



id therefore cannot be con- 
frora it. The two categories 
t obtainable, either from the 
by any possible logical infer- 
and therefore must be given 
■ely or neither is cognizable; 
3ugh not reciprocal, they con- 
is all correlatives, each tlie 
since neither is knowable with- 
e other. This is the con- 
tion of the physical or induc- 
lethod, when followed as a 
1 of obtaining the first princi- 
:her of the real or of the know- 
We say only what Bacon him- 
d. He said and proved that 
luctive method is inapplicable 
Dsophy, or out of the sphere of 
^sical sciences. The great error 
sn in attempting to follow it in 
iphy, or the science of the 
rs, where it is inapplicable, for 
ence can start without first 
les. 

feel that some apology is due 
tders for soliciting their atten- 
1 anything so absurd as Her- 
lenccr's New System of Philo- 
but they must bear in mind 
T. Spencer is a representative 
nd has only attempted to bring 
;r and combine into a systema- 
)le the anti-Christian, anti-the- 
and anti-rational theories, hy- 
es, and unscientific specula- 
which, under the name and 
3f science, govern the thought 



of the modern non-Catholic world. 
Mr. Spencer's book, Avhich is a labo- 
rious effort to give the philosophy or 
science of nothing, and ends only in 
a system of " symbolic conceptions," 
in which nothing, according to the 
author, is conceived, has, after all, a 
certain value, as showing that 'there 
is no medium or middle ground be- 
tween Catholicity and atheism, as 
there is none between atheism and 
nihilism. Mr. Spencer, we should 
think, is a man who Has read com- 
paratively little, and knows less of 
Christian theology or philosophy; 
he seems to us to be profoundly ig- 
norant of his own ignorance, as well 
as of'the knowledge other men have. 
He is only carrying out the system 
of Sir William Hamilton, Dr. Man- 
sel, and providing a philosopliy for 
the Darwins, the Huxleys, the Gal- 
tons, the Lubbocks, the Tyndalls, et 
id omne genus, and has succeeded in 
proving that no advance has been 
made by the non-Catholic world on 
the system of old Epicurus, which 
is rapidly becoming the philosophy 
of tlie whole world outside of the 
church, and against which the 
Bascoms, the Hodges, and the 
McCoshes, with honorable intentions 
and a few fragments of Catholic 
theolog)' and philosophy, protest in 
vain. This is our apology for de- 
voting so much space to Herbert 
Spencer's inanities. 



646 



St. Cecilia s Day in Rome, 



ST. CECILIA'S DAY IN ROME. 



St* Cecilia is one of the few fig- 
ures among the representative tlirong 
of virgin-martyrs that strike us at 
once as the most familiar, the most 
lovable, and the most to be exalted. 
Every one knows the legend of her 
life, and the conversion of her hus- 
band and his brother, brought about 
by her prayers, as also by the mira- 
cles she obtained for their further 
confirmation in the faith. Her death, 
in itself a miracle, needs no retelling, 
neither does the history of her won- 
drously preserved remains, that are 
now laid in the shrine beneath the 
altar of Santa Cecilia in Trastevere^ 
a church erected, by her own wish 
and behest, on the spot where her 
palace stood. This church is a ba- 
silica, and has its altar raised many 
steps above the level of the mosaic 
floor of the nave, and the front of the 
altar turned away from the people 
so that the celebrant at Mass stands 
facing the congregation, as in many 
other ancient Roman churches. Un- 
der the altar, on the lower level of 
the nave, is the shrine of the saint, 
and there lies her marble image, 
small and frail, though it is said to 
be life-sized, and reverently and truly 
copied from the sleeping body, whose 
form remained entire and uncorrupt- 
ed, at least until the last time it was 
solemnly uncovered. To the right 
of the church is a dark side-chapel, 
floored with rare mosaic, once the 
bath-room of the young and wealthy 
patrician, and the consecrated spot 
where heathen cruelty twice endea- 
vored to put an end to the sweet 
singer's life. The actual bath is said 
to be within the railings that divide 
a narrow portion of the chapel from 



the rest. There was the first min* 
cle performed, of her preservation 
from the boiling water; there aho 
the second, of the prolongation of 
her life after the three deadly yet 
inefiectual strokes of the unskilful 
executioner's sword. One can fancy 
the young matron, so childlike n 
years, so experienced in holiness, lying 
in meek and chaste expectatioo of 
the embraces of her heavenly Bride- 
groom, and of the purified reunion 
with her earthly and virgin spouse- 
while, all the time the wondrous, ao- 
gel-sustained life lasted, the Chrii- 
tians, her brethren in the faith, her 
children through charity, would be 
coming and going, silently as to an 
altar, rejoicingly as to a saint, and 
learning, from lips on whom the kiss 
of peace of the glorified Jesus was 
already laid, lessons of fortitude and 
love most precious to their faithful 
souls. We are told, also, that Ud>an« 
the pope, visited her on her glorious 
death-bed, and, no doubt, he learnt 
from her entranced soul more than 
he could teach it in its passing hour; 
learnt, perhaps, things whose sweet- 
ness became strength to him in the 
hour of his own not far distant mar- 
tyrdom. 

Cecilia, in her short and heavenlr 
life, seems a fitting model for all 
women, and especially for younf 
maidens and wives. She was of 
those who know well how to put re- 
ligion before men in its most beauti- 
ful garb and most enthralling fbnn; 
purity with her was no ice-cold 
stream and repellent rocky fastness : 
it was beauty, it was reword, it vtf 
glory. Crowns of lUiet and NKib 
heavenly perfume- 



St. Ced/tas Day in Rome. 



647 



isliip were to be its lovely gucr- 
anci not otherwise should it 
: preached, nor otherwise sur- 
Ki, when its precepts arc pre- 
to man. Had wc more Ccci- 
long our Christian womeu of 
, there would be more Vale- 
jid Tiburlii amonj; our men. 
[rtue would be more readily 
3 an honor than a yoke ; home 
be more of a temple, rather 
mere resting-place ; home-life 
f a prayer, rather than a siin- 
\\. For blamelcssncss is not 
sn purity; right eousnL-ss is not 
in faith. We nant the visible 
gs of ihc church on our daily 
n*en as Cecilia brought into 
fcle of home the visible, an- 
ifks of flowers ; and we know 
I those who seek them where 
n and his brother sought the 
ly apparition — that is, through 
md prayer — these blessings, 
ifls, these bloss'oms, these safe- 
,are never denicfl. 
to pass frum these aspirations 
more Christian ideal of home 
impressions made on an eye- 
I by the feast of St. Cecilia in 
Jwe will merely say that this 
ad been eagerly looked for- 
^ and had always hi-Id a sjje- 
lann over the mind of the 
}f these pages. 

his day, the 2 2d of November, 
5 said from dawn till noon in 
Bcomb chapel, where the mar- 
B first buried. This chapel 
sf the largest and most inter- 
n the Catacomb of St. Calllx- 
'he distance from the Eternal 
» this shrine is not long, but 
I Appian Way that leaiis from 
\ to the other is crowded with 
\ii& and monuments, each a 
in itself. 

^most noticeable of these is 

be catacomb, and is none 

he mausoleum of Cecilia 



Metclla. the mysterious and oft sung; 
pile that Byron has made strangely 
familiar to us. Une cannot help be- 
ing struck by the familiarity of the 
two names, and the proximity of the 
two shrines, of the Cccilias of Rome. 
The proud mausoleum, stately as a 
palace, strong as a fortress, built by 
some ostentatious jiatrician, or by 
some sorrowing husband, for the 
merely worldly end of perpetuating 
the memory of an illustrious house, 
or of the domestic virtues of a spous 
a little above the common run of 
licentious Roman matrons, stands 
now deserted and unvisited, its real 
history lost and forgotten, and a fic- 
titious one attached to it through the 
imaginative efforts of a foreign poet. 
The lonely sepulchre in an earthen 
wall, the hidden recess in an under- 
ground chapel — dug out by silent, 
persecuted men for the proscribed 
body of a so-called criminal — remain*) 
to this day the pilgrimage of thou- 
sands, the wcll-reraerabered and well- 
loved s|>ot where devout followers of 
the faith Cecilia followed come to 
beg her intercession as they kneel 
before the same sacrament, and assist 
at the same sacrifice, whose blessings 
were Cecilia's only strength. Cecilia 
Mctella, the rich Roman lady, is un- 
known save to antiquaries; Cecilia, 
the virgin-martyr, is honored all over 
the world, by all races and all na- 
tions. The wealth of the first has rust- 
ed away and is heard of no more, 
because its last emblem was a pala- 
tial tomb ; the riches of the second 
have increased a hundred-fold, and 
have been sown broadcast over the 
earth, because their abiding symbol 
lies in a church built over her former 
dwelling ; and the harvest her pray- 
ers have reaped is gathered year 
after year in the riches untold, of 
virgins crowned with miraculous flow- 
ers, of wives laden with the conver- 
sions of those dear to thcin, of wo* 



648 



Si. Cecilia s Day in Rome. 



men of all ages, all ranks, all nations, 
bearing in their hands the charity 
Lorn of Cecilia's death-bed generosi- 
ty, and in their hearts the faith of 
her death-bed professions. 

And so, past the stately tomb wor- 
thy of Egypt's solemn magnificence, 
the road leads to a small door in a 
wall, which opens on to a field. A 
path fringed with red and purple 
flowers, the last-born children of a 
southern autumn, winds through the 
field, to the head of a steep but 
wide flight of stairs, at the foot of 
which is the entrance to St. Callixtus' 
Catacomb. The pure air, just mist- 
veiled in the morning coolness, shows 
the landscape around to its utmost 
advantage ; the omnipresent dome 
of St. Peter's basilica clears the line 
of the blue horizon ; the wide pur- 
ple plain is crossed here and there 
by dust- whitened roads and arched 
acjueducts, as by the gigantic bones of 
a decayed and now powerless mon- 
ster; the distant hills, darkened at 
their base by chestnut woods, and 
dotted with white villas, as with the 
loosened beads of a string of pearls, 
throw bluer shadows on the tlusky, 
olive-spotted exi)anse : and we pause, 
and wonder whether, after all, things 
looked so very unlike this on the 
dawning day when the Christians 
bore the happy Cecilia to Iier first 
resting-place. Their hearts surely 
must have felt as ours do now, full 
of joy and thanksgiving, and, above 
all, full of peace. There would have 
been a silent throng, a quiet gradual 
gathering of the future martyrs around 
the narrow grave of their blessed fore- 
runner; for in those days no one 
knew how soon he or she might be 
called from the altar to the stake, 
and summoned to carry the uncon- 
sumed sacrament within his bosom 
to the tril)uiial of an unjust and ig- 
norant judge. 

The avenues of the perplexing la- 



byrinth of the catacomb arc all 
guarded by the government on this 
day of St. Cecilia's, so that no one 
may stray from the one chapel whwe 
service is going on. Close to the 
entrance is the small recess where 
the saint was laid in her first sleep. 
It is low and reaches far back into 
the damp earth-wall; myrtle and 
bay-leaves are strewn over its floor, 
and flowers and litde oil-lamps arc 
siiread about like stars. As each 
person leaves the chapel, he takes 
away a leaf or flower as a holy re- 
membrance. Two altars are erected, 
one close to the martyr's grave, jast 
beneath a Byzantine fresco head of 
our divine Lord, the other on tlu* 
opposite side of the chapel. The 
space, small enough for a miMlcm 
congregation, though large fur a 
catacomb chapel, is so crowded that 
it is difficult for the jmests to pass 
in and out from the altars to ihc 
temporary sacristy, and the worship- 
pers almost lean upon them when 
they stand to say the " Judica inc, 
IDeus." No noise is heard, save the 
murmured words of the Mass and 
the tinkling of the elevalion-l>clI. 
Foreigners are there with fair-haired 
boys serving the Mass of some favor- 
ite friend and accompanying chap- 
lain ; Romans are there with their 
intense, if not deep, southern devo- 
tion ; rich and poor, prince and beg- 
gar, student and peasant, are alike 
crowding ihc virgin-martyr's shrine. 
A few hundred years ago, this 
was the church's cradle, and |w- 
trician and slave came to be bap- 
tized together and wear for one d.iy 
the white robes that to-morrow twi- 
light would see red with blood on 
the deserted sand of the gladiator's 
amphitheatre. The priest who said 
Mass in those days hardly knew, 
when he came to the consecration, 
whether the hand of the pagan sol- 
diery might not be upon him be- 



S/. Ceciiias Day in Rome. 



communion ; the mother who 
tears, half of natural sorrow, 
heavenly joy, and thought of 
young boy she had but yes- 
givea back to God on the 
, did not know whether to- 
's dawn might not find her 
prostrate and headless on the 
lace of execution. Partings 
te seldom for long, and, even 
t Christians parted with our 
I tlic hid<Ien altars, they knew 
uld meet him soon again at 
It hand of his Father. Not 
:nily, the MIessed Sacrament 
It in a silver vrssel made in 
e of a dove, and one cannot 
inking how sweet a union 
vc existed between this cus- 
1 the idea of the protection 
teaching tiie Holy Spirit was 
i to his spouse, the church, 
the Spirit of truth coineth," 
td said, " he shall tearh you 
;$." And so the Dove of hea- 
ght the cJiurch the hidden 
of the ineffable sacrament, 
Icctcd this greatest treasure 
Bride in its integrity of doc- 
id its continuity of love. 
; not so interpret, lovingly 
crentially, the olden custom 
ove-shapeil tabernacle? 
iful as the day was it was a 
U to leave the darksome, si- 
pel, where generations of old- 
braver Christians than our- 
lad speul their triumphant 
id been brought back to sleep 
•accful hero-siunibcrs — it was 
t say, to rclurn to the care- 
eautiful earth, the unheeding 
of such wundruus niysterJes. 
e the catacoml)S in Cecilia's 
as lo go forth to almost cer- 
ith; lo leave prayer and soli- 
le catacombs of the heart in 
, is to encounter certain sor- 
l possible sin. It is hard to 
od*s temple and mingle with 



the chattering throng; it is hard to 
lift the curtain of silence t^xxd mix 
with llie wrangling wuriil. 4 Yet il 
is our duty. Few arc privileged to be 
hermits, and those few not until the 
jirivilege is turned into a tri.il, and 
the apparent retreat is no other than 
a hard-won stronghold. In the bat- 
tle, we must fight, and fight manfully, 
in the foremost rank; it is only the 
generals and the chiefs among us 
that watch from afar, and feel, like 
wearied Moses, the weight of victory 
or defeat hanging on the issue of 
their ])mycr5. Our part seems the 
harder, but it is only because our na- 
ture is so little that dissatisfaction 
with our present lot is the very air 
we breathe. After all, if we could 
look around us, we should see many 
beautiful things; if we are bound in 
fetters of duty, they are golden fet- 
ters, with the word of God carved all 
over their sunlike sheen; if we are 
led in one way and forced to wear 
the harness of unalterable circum- 
stances, the reins are broidcrcd with 
fair work that tolls the stor)- of how 
the angel led the ass of Balaam, and 
how palms were sire\vn on tlie path 
of Jesus; the way is emblazoned with 
rarest flowers and sweetest fruits, 
the heraldry of grace ; if we bear a 
yoke and a burden, they arc bul 
spices and ointments, wine and oil, 
and milk and honey, all fair and gra- 
cious merchandise from the great 
marl of heaven, to be burnc over the 
world, as the clouds bear the rain, 
in fertilizing charity and fruit-bear- 
ing meekness. So let us leave the 
dear catacomb, where even Music 
hushed her sighs, and come forth 
across the Roman Campagnn, with 
the mist-veils rolled off it, and the 
noonday sun, with its reminiscences 
of summer, gilding its fringe of dis- 
tant mountains, and its strange rifts 
of sudden, unsuspected valleys. 
Here and there, an aqueduct or a 



650 



Sf. Ceci/ia's Day in Rome. 



proud stone pyre, a mound of stones, 
each of which bears an imperial in- 
scription, a rude shepherd's fence, or 
irregular stone wall, that is all you 
bee. Not far from here, in a corn- 
field whose waves of brown and gold 
a few months ago kissed the foot of 
an ilex-crowned hillock, is the foun- 
tain of Egeria, a grotto, fern-clothed, 
with a broken goddess of moulder- 
ing stone. The water and the 
*' maiden-hair " fern are there still, 
as beautiful as when the king of 
Rome is said to have wandered here 
in search of wisdom ; the sage himself 
and the problematic nymph of tra- 
dition are dead and gone, forgotten 
by the owner of the corn-field, ignor- 
ed by the peasant who drinks at the 
fountain, unknown to the brown, bare- 
footed child who gathers the feathery 
fern. 

Of what use is it to say any more ? 
Facts are more cruel commentaries 
on the past than any words. 

Yet we have just seen chihlren 
and peasants, women from northern 
lands, men from eastern climes, bear- 
ing away as a relic a leaf of bay or a 
starry flower from the once filled re- 
cess where Cecilia lay in peace-seal- 
ed slumber. 

Where is the difference, and why ? 

A little child can tell, but the phi- 
losopher will not listen. 



The feast of St Cecilia, though to 
the writer of these pages it ended on 
the threshold of the catacomb, is not 
completed here. 

At her church in the jyastntre, 
the church already mentioned, ukes 
place the ceremony of solemn ves- 
pers, in which the artists of Rome 
assist and take jjart gratuitously, out 
of homage to the queen of music. 
The antiphon " CantantibusOrgami" 
is magnificent in art, but unrespon- 
sive in devotion. The phantom of 
the unhappy Renaissance breathes in 
these strains, religious only in so far 
as they are a fabric built on saotd 
words. The simple solemnity of the 
church's service dwells not in then, 
and the touching silence of the cata- 
comb recalls the saint to our niiad 
far more sweetly than these outbuistt 
of paganized minstrelsy withia 
halls she once called her own. St^ 
if honor to God be meant by 
concourse of the artist fratemi^, 
us be simple of intention, and see in i^ 
as God does, the first-fruits of whtf 
they have offered to the God of al 

Reader, if you ever pray befot 
the early shrine of the virgin-martyr il 
bt. Callixtus' chapel, remember the 
writer of these few words, and kt 
our prayers go up to God togettm 
" as a morning sacrifice " and **■ 
incense in his sight." 



.nil 
tb(l 
^1 
tbil 

M 



FUurange, 



651 



FLEURANGE. 

nou THE mEMCH or MRS. CRAVEN. Aumok OP "a sister's sto«y." 
PART FIRST. 
THE OI,D MANSION. 



lutiful, poor, and alone 
will become of her ?" 
lird time Dr. Leblanc 
lese words in the pre- 
iter, Mademoiselle Jo- 
emained so mute that 
e been thought deaf, 
rregular dick of her 
i, and two or three in- 
lations as she paused 
estified to a preoccu- 
ual to that of her bro- 
:er at first manifested 
triding up and down 

in which they were, 
sumed his usual place 
y-comer opposite his 
md shut his snuff-box 
1 useless profusion of 

he forgot to convey 
tion, and tapping the 
oot in a manner that 
t agitation or extreme 

e Josephine continued 
replying, and seemed 
ed than her brother, 
aid : 

if she were not, as 
oung and so beauti- 

)or and alone in the 
uld add. A sensible 
! It is evident if she 
rich, and surrounded 
: situation would be 



very different. I am indebted to you, 
Josephine, for the discovery." 

" Do not be impatient, brother. I 
am only repeating what you have 
just said. To continue the subject : 
if she only had a different air — " 

" Well, go on !" 

" And another name — '" 

" Another name ! Why so ? What 
has her name to do with the matter ?" 

"A name which was not ridicu- 
lous." 

"Ridiculous! The name of her 
father ? Poor Gerard d'Yves' name 
was very respectable, and even noble, 
I believe. He committed a thou- 
sand extravagances and ruined him- 
self. He then became an artist, and 
displayed talent enough to have re- 
paired his fortunes had he been wise. 
Besides, he was of a good family, 
and his name — " 

" I am not alluding to his name, 
but to his daughter's." 

" Well ?" 

" Well, brother, do you think this 
young girl's name bears any resem- 
blance to a Christian name ?" 

" Fleurange ? I acknowledge it 
is perhaps an odd name. Her father 
had a taste for odd things, and hear- 
ing the n.ime of Fior Angela in Ita- 
ly, he translated it." 

" Her mother should have had 
more sense." 

" Her poor mother died when she 



65- 



Fieurange. 



wis J':r:. s: i^i-; 

*:i:' ',1. ' 



Jij-i =3:hing to do 



" Z'vL y i-i r:: ?^y 'r.tr rr.oiher had 
1 'zr:Lizr ■*.-: tj^ d rroiessor in 
^'ine .1:7 -Ji Gtrni^-v r" 

• Vi^ i: LciTsic; bu: who knows 
Triitfr; r,- ir.-i >.:si r.ow ? Her whole 
:i:nii> iisirrrcve-.i o: her marriage, 
*:iit.li "¥15 zzx..}- cifecceJ without 
Tcr ruf:":!: > c--c*fn:. Poor ifargaret 
jv-r-i _-i:iv X yeir. and Gerard, who 
:t!U.:jic-^ -t ^-.-iower. declined all in- 
^r^-.'or**: *'.::i his wife's relatives. He 
T^ai.i-'icc r:;.ir:y ye.:re in Italy, and 
"'ijcv.i ^::s vLiL-ihter. as soon as she 
%;:? n*-^ v-ejr; old, in some convent 
•Ksr r\rj^:x He took her away 
.nit** ;■•'.* p.!onths before he came 
"KTe. iT-,'jdy ill. to linger and die 
:>r:rv vu-.s ago in this poor child's 
...-lis ""^r.'.ving her entirely alone in 
■,!!c ■■*.'i:v.*." 

■ !>■«: «,;,« it not verj- injurious to 
••!* vL:,\;h:cr*s interests to withhold 
K-f t>a» :Ktm all intercourse with her 
•;i.i!tr«^l relatives ?" 

•■ Ho Ivgan to reali/c it himself, 
'•ut K-i'Iv when it was too late. Dur- 
tt^ >;s illness, finding his case daily 
i;row-:*j; more serious, he made some 
v'llcrts to ascertain what had become 
ot" l.Lidwig l>ornthal. of who;M we 
have mst spoken, who was Margaret's 
Mvonte brother, and never faltered 
ui his atfcciion for her. But he 
t.ould ascertain nothing respecting 
i.iu. I .udwig had married, and, long 
ix^iore. left l.eipsic to settle in some 
Jinci part of Germany, he could not 
iiivi out what, anil this fruitless effort 
*,u .1 ^v>urcc of pain, which was not 
liv least he suflered during his last 
kivHiis. He reproached himself, and 
!Kt without reason, for the frightful 
■vHK'iiiK'ss ill which he was about to 
\\i^c't:s slaughter. The poor, unhappy 
tiKUi bLtierlv expiated the inipruclent 
.uKi thoujihtloNS act of alienating 
.VMmSi nxnn those whose pardon he 
N>^d rather have implored, or at 



least accepted. But it was thi 
quence of his disposition, wh 
affectionate, enthusiastic, andl 
ing, I imagine, when he was 
but weak, violent, and ihoi 
He was born neither to hi 
himself, nor to make others 
and his daughter would hai 
almost as great an object ( 
had he lived, as she is now." 

" Poor child !" said Made; 
Jose[)hinc, raising her snial 
eyes, with an expression almo 
tial lighting up her pale and v 
face. After a moment's silei 
added: ''God tempers the ' 
the shorn lamb ! Vou will s 
ther, that some good luck wi 
her, or we shall have some fi 
inspiration." 

*• Well, the sooner the bettc 
have none. Your confidenc 
excites my admiration." 

" J trust in God," simply 
Mademoiselle Josephine. 

" Parbleu ! an<l I too," said l 
tor. "I truly believe in his got 
1 hope in his mercy ; but in this < 

" You would prefer to ha 
affair in your own hands ?" 

"Come, come, Josephine, 
stick to the point this time, 
eiglit o'clock, and we must po 
go for that poor child. She i 
lonely than ever to-day, for t 
tcr who nursed her father, a 
mained with her after his dea 
this morning. She must no: 
so sad a day, jiass this lirst ni; 
alone up there." 

" Certainly not," said the ot 

The doctor continued: "S 
not left that little room in the 
story for a fortnight, with the 
tion of this morning, when si 
lowed Iier father to the grav 
smce her return how do you ii 
she has been occupied ? Hen 
at this." 

Mademoiselle Josephine to 



F/airjHge, 



•^'53 



ler licld out, and 

_ it. It tvas a list of ihc 

:*B debts. 
iffholc .iiiiounis to fivchun- 
DCSj which are here. She 

to settle the bills and pro- 
receipts." 

tlial, according to her cal- 

oHc-foijrlh of this sum is 

for the pliysician who at- 

rfather," said Maiiemoiselle 

slowly. 

in such a case, will not ac- 

course." 
»urse not," said liis sister. 
this sum one hundred and 
francs will be returned to 
?" 

sister, and that will be the 
i her fortune." 

we are talking, then, she 
utely nothing ?'* 
ing at all." 

conversation at this point 
rupted by a low knock at 
Mid almost immediately the 
lom they had been talking 

before them. She stopped 

d aj^;iiiist the wall. 'ITie 
rang towunl her. 

child !" he exclaimed. 
c were idly talking, she was 

exhaustion and fatigue." 
id, in truth, fallen into a 

nst the w.tll, and wcmed 

isciousness. Mademoiselle 

haAlened to suppKirt her 

bathe her pale brow and 

cliecks with cold water. 
rveinent of the doctor's cl- 
T had become prompt and 

r\t 3 sipn from her brother, 
pcarcd an instant, but re- 
ost immediately with a 

glass of water in her hand. 
Is it," said tlie doctor. He 

few drops into the glas<i, 

then held to the young 
Two or three swallows 

revive her. 



" Excuse rac," die said, raising her 
head, and forcing herself to rise "Kx- 
cuse me, both of you. 1 did not 
think myself so weak, and diii noi 
intend to give you so much trouble 
when I came to see you." 

" Do not talk now, but drink the 
remainder of thii." 

Flcurange put the glass to her lips. 
but reiurneil it to thf doctor without 
lasting it. " I cannot," she said, '*{ 
feel dizzy. I do not know what ails 
me — perhaps it is tlie surprise I have 
just had. Here, monsieur, read this, 
It was to show you this letter I came 
down." 

The doctor took the letter, but, be- 
fore reading it, led Fleurange to ihc 
fire, while the active Josephine, di- 
vining her brother's wishes, placed 
on the table a bowl of soup and 
some bread an<l wine. 

Fleurange took Mademoiselle Jo- 
sephine's hand between her own : 
" Thank you," she said in a low tone. 
** Yes, I think it was that : 1 am gen- 
erally strong, but — but — " 

*' I dare say you have not eaten 
anything since yesterday?** 

*' No ; and I am hungry." 

The doctor briskly rubbed his spec- 
tacles, and abruptly opened his snuft- 
box, while the young girl h.isiily took 
the slight repast, which brought a 
lively and unusual color to her 
cheeks. Her face was generally very 
pale. Her large eyes, calm and mild, 
gray rather than blue, shaded by lashes 
black as her hair, gave her a peculiar 
and striking appearance. Butf not- 
wiihstantUng tljis peculiarity, notwith- 
standing her paleness, the delicacy 
of her features, and the pliancy of 
her fonn, which swayed like a reed 
at every movement, if obliged to cha- 
racterize in two words the general 
impression produccil by the ajjpi-nr- 
ance of Fleurange d'Yvcs, those 
words would be : simplicity and ener- 
g)'. Doctor Leblanc was doubtless 



I 



654 



Flcurange. 



right in thinking that one so young, 
beautiful, and destitute needed pro- 
tection, arid yet it required only a 
glance to see that she, better than 
any else, could protect herself. 

The doctor still held in his hand 
the letter she had given him. It was 
dated at Frankfort. 

"My Dear Niece: It was only 
yesterday, and by the most unforeseen 
chance, we at last learned the state 
of your father's health and where he 
lives. None of us have seen him 
since his marriage with my poor sis- 
ter Margaret twenty years ago. You 
know there was at that time a pro- 
found hatred against France through- 
out our country, and my father would 
never consent to receive a French- 
man as his son-in-law. Then my 
poor sister (God forgive her !) left the 
paternal roof to marry the man of her 
choice. My father was exceedingly 
grieved, very angry, and at first im- 
placable, but before his death he for- 
gave her. She was past knowing it 
From that time we lost all trace of 
your father. We only learned he had 
left Pisa with his child, and, for a 
long time, had given up all hope of 
ever seeing him again, or knowing 
my poor sister's daughter, when yes- 
terday a stranger, passing through 
this city, accidentally showed me a 
picture he had just purchased at 
Paris — the work, he said, of a dying 
artist. This painting represented 
Cordelia kneeling beside her father, 
and the canvas bore the name of 
Gerard d'Yves. The painter's address 
was given us by the owner of the pic- 
ture, and I hasten to profit by it to 
tell you, my dear child, that your 
mother's relatives have not foi^otten 
the tie that binds them to you. If 
you ever need a shelter, you can find 
one beneath our roof. My wife and 
children already regard poor Marga- 
ret's daughter with affection. The 



latter have thought of her fri 
fancy as an absent sister whose 
they awaited. If God restore 
father's health, bring him ami 
If otherwise ordered, come yi 
my dear child. The strange 
put us on your track told 
artist's daughter was the orig 
his Cordelia. If the resembl 
correct, it does not diminish i 
sire to see you. Come soon, tl 
dear niece. At all events, 
this letter promptly, and be ass 
the affectionate regard of yom 

" LUDWIG DORNTI 

" Josephine ! Josephine !" exc 
the doctor. " Here, read thi 
first, embrace me. Yes, yoi 
right. Your trust was bette 
my wisdom ! Yes, yes, God t 
the wind to the shorn lamb. 
child, embrace me also." 

Fleurangerose: "Oh! veryi 
ly," said she as she threw hers< 
bing into the doctor's arms. 
tigue, grief, and the emotion 
by the unforeseen and unho] 
offer of a refuge at the very n 
of extreme need, all combii 
agitate her mind, excite her i 
and exhaust her strength. Hei 
swelled with the emotion she 
not repress, and tears unrest 
came to her eyes, rolled don 
cheeks, and fell like rain a 
clasped and icy hands, while ; 
vulsive movement agitated herl 
and her trembling lips gave utt( 
to a feeble cry. 

The doctor allowed her to w 
long time in silence, not uttei 
word to increase her agitation 
yet saying nothing to repress il 
length the paroxysm subsided 
Fleurange rose quite confused 

" Excuse me once more," sai< 
" I am distressing you, inste 
showing my gratitude as I oug 
could not restrain myself, but I 



FUuraitge, 



655 



I safely promise it will not 
n again. I seldom give way 
rs." 

uttered these words in a firm 
drj-ing her tears, and throwing 
her hair with her two Iiands as 
pol her brow, then she rose. 
Iiere are you going, pray ?" 
MaJcmoLselle Josephine in an 
t tone of authority. 
Tiy," stammered Fleurange. " I 
ing up-stairs. I — " 
:rha]js you are thinking to 
the night all alunc in the cabi- 
txt the chamber — the chamber 
She stopped, ricurangc turned 
and her lips treinblcfl as slic 
I: 

'hat can I do? It is sad, it 'xa 
V, 1 kjiow well ; but it must be 

Besides, I am not afraid : I 
am under your roof." 
ell, for the present you shall 
e under the protection of our 
ind key,'* said the kind Jose- 

and, taking Fleurangc by the 
le led her into a little chamber 
er own, where a small bed sur- 
fd by white curtains was in 
ess for the young girl. This 
hamber, with its walls covered 
ue paper, and lit up with a good 
id a most cheering as[}ect. 
ere, child, is your chamber and 
ted," said she. " Come, come, 
mks, and, above all, no tears ] 
> bed at once without giving 
If the time to think, still less to 
vonl. Vou think you are not 
10 sleep, but you ure mistaken, 
ur knees? Well, I consent to 
3Ut let it be a short prayer. 
I right. Now stop till I gather 
ur thick hair. Is your head 
n that pillow ? 'Well, 1 am glad. 
lofl, and all good angels, watch 
ou ! Allow me to ki^s your 
id. Good-night!" 
demoiselle Josephine lowered 
ins of the beti, and softly 




left the chamber, while the poor 
oq>han. in fact, lost all remembrance 
of the sorrows and joys of the day in 
a profound and beneficent sleep. 

The chamber to which M.idenioi- 
selle Josephine had taken Fleurange 
rightfully belonged to the doctor's 
niece, now at school in one of the 
convents at Paris, but whicli she oc- 
cupied during her vacation. How- 
ever, it was far from being vacant the 
remainder of the year. Mademoi- 
selle Leblai]c was one of those per- 
sons who are devoted to the search- 
ing out oi the unfortunate, and the 
alleviation of their woes. In such 
cases, he who seeks finds, and that 
without difficulty, consequently a 
week seldom passed without offering 
a good reason for o]>ening the blue 
chamber for a few days' shelter to 
some poor girl out of work and desti- 
tute of a home, or to a poor aban- 
tloned child, or some one recover- 
ing from illness but too feeble to 
resume work. The doctor heartily 
approved of this. He would gladly 
have added to his ilwelling a veri- 
table suc(ursaic for the accommoda- 
tion of his poor patients, and if he 
was not yet rich enough for that, 
though he reaped the benefit of his 
skill and celebrity, it was partly be- 
cause he gave away with one hand 
what he received in the other, and 
that with a generosity not always in 
conformity with prudence. When 
there was a question of benevolence 
between tlic brother and sister, one 
was not more disposed than the 
otlier to count the cost. They had 
invented a proverb, worthy of the 
Gospel, which they made use of in 
reply to the remonstrances of their 
frientls : " He who gives alms, grows 
rich," they said; and they contmued 
lo enrich themselves in this way by 
giving themselves up, both of them, 
to a noble excess of charity. For- 
tune, in fact, had not been unfavor- 



656 



Fhuran^. 



able to them, and thus far had re- 
mained unfulfilled the sinister prophe- 
cies of those who take as a de^nsc 
quite a different jiroverb, respecting 
charity, too well known and too often 
acted upon in the world. Doctor 
Leblanc and his sister knew nothing, 
it is true, of the luxury of elegant 
quarters and fine equipages. They 
still lived in a street of the Latin 
quarter where they were born j an 
old servant was the sole assistant of 
the cook; and Mademoiselle Josepli- 
ine continued to preserve order and 



neatness around her with he 
hands. But at all times the; 
magnificent in their own way ; ; 
artists they encouraged, tlie s 
befriended, and the sick grati 
attended and generously aided 
to the renown of the distin^ 
physician and gave to his i 
reputation he did not seek, 
and learned, healing the Ixx 
respecting the soul, he loved h 
fession as a mission from h 
and practised it as a sacred n: 
with respect and with love. 



IL 



When Fleurange opened her eyes 
on the following morning, it was late, 
for it was broad daylight and in the 
month of December. She must have 
slept very profoundly, for she had 
not heard any one kindle the fire al- 
ready blazing in the chimney. Her 
slumbers must have been such as in 
youth succeed great fatigue or pro- 
longed efforts to endure anxiety and 
grief in silence. The fit of weeping 
the evening before and the long re- 
pose of the night had brought dou- 
ble refreshment to the exhausted 
strength of the young girl, and her 
first sensation was one of delicious 
comfort. 

But her remembrances soon became 
more distinct, and the anguish of the 
first awakening after a great misfor- 
tune made her heart sink within her. 
She had, it is true, known her father 
but little. The convent where she 
had been rcnred was not even in the 
town where he dwelt, and she saw 
him but seldom during her childhood. 
But the days when he appeared at 
the convent were to both great fes- 
tivals. It was diflicult to understand 
how a father so glad to see his child 
could voluntarily have allowed her to 
grow up away from him. But the 



time of reunion came at last, : 
several weeks they rambled J 
Italy together. In unveiling 
wonders to a mind naturally c 
of appreciating them, the art 
all the enthusiasm of his you 
vive. But it was a flame only 
died to be extinguished. Sood 
symptoms of illness, the sad ret 
Paris, the fluctuations of d 
which enfeeble the mind as » 
the body, and separated the 
Vroni her father while he wJ 
alive, and she night and day ; 
bedside. His look that gave 
no answering glance, the won 
murmured in his ear without ra 
him understand, convinceil h 
her loss before the separaiio 
death wliich soon followed. 

" O father ! father scarcely k 
and so soon lost I" Such was \ 
angc's cry, and iierhaps an im 
tary reproach mingletl with hi 
cents of grief. She did not si 
it was a sublime and paternal ii 
that had influenced the poor ai 
separating from his child. He 
ed her to be self-reliant; he ^ 
her to be pious and pure; he 
ed her rare mental gifts only 
developed when order, an iram 



Fiairangff. 



657 



viae order, was established in 
111 ; filially, he desired her to 
that he himself lacked, and 
Icsscd this <lesire. 
V beautiful spot near Perugia, 
nd at tlic head of a charity 
■ one of those women whom 
rid itself would honor and ve- 
if it comprehended thcni. liy 
f///, I mean the mass of light 
lofting people who are hostile 
try sentiment in which ihey 
o share, and, above all others, 
igious sentiments. Yet this 
is, on the whole, suspicious 
than unjust, and incredulous 
»Ue: if It sees the semblance 
, it immediately supposes it 
it sees the appearance of good- 
; at once imagines this appcar- 
leceiiful ; but when virtue is 
tionably manifest, irrecusable 
BimplicLty and truth, and sue- 
in being regarded in a true 
ic world — even the world of 
(PC have been speaking — gene- 
Jtt's down before it. U'he thing 
k it is true, more so than it 
■ be, because llie most perfect 
m aim not at displaying thcm- 
but at concealment; and the 
to which I refer s-^eks not to 
r, but to deny, iheir exist- 

re Maddalena was one of 
Teat hidden souls. No one 
oke of her, or of her httle rao- 
', uUended for the education of 
ihildren, but where a limited 
r of girls of a more elevated 
rcre also admitted. Like so 
(ther monasteries in Italy, this 
IS in a poetic and charming 
n, but not one of those visible 
r on the lofty summits that 
aid \'ie\vs which ravish the 
id transport the soul — views 
bdle a desire in the most in- 
It heart to keci before them, 
It have inspired Christians to 

VOU XIV.— 4 J 



perpetuate prayer amid them in per- 
manent sanctuaries. 

The Convent of Santa Maria al 
Pralo was, on the contrary, m a deep 
valley, and surrounded by a land- 
scape like those in which Perugino 
and Raphael placed their divine crea- 
tions or their sacred representations. 
Afar oft" were mountains whose out- 
lines were clearly defined on the ho- 
rizon in soA and harmonious colors ; 
a stream w^ound through olive groves, 
now and tlien encirclmg rustic dwell- 
ings — the evident handiwork of a 
people with an instinctive taste for 
the arts; the sombre verdure of 
knot of pines or cjiiresscs i-ontrasted 
here and there with the a/urc of the 
morning sky or the puqile tints of 
evening ; such were the principal fea- 
tures of the landscape. The beauty 
of such a scene subdues and reposes, 
as that of sublime summits transports 
and exalts, and seems designed for 
meditation and labor, as the other for 
contemplation and ecstasy. 

It was to ihLs retreat I-'leurangc's 
father was pro\'identi;i]ly led — per- 
haps guided by the protective ins])i- 
ration we love to attribute to mother* 
who are fond of their children. Jt 
was in the hands of Madre Madtla- 
lena that he left his daughter as soon 
as she was five years oUI, and, until 
the ilay she was eighteen, he only 
saw her twice a year. But from 
year to year lie felt more sure of hav- 
ing realized the aim he had propos- 
ed respecting her. Flcurange had, 
nevertheless, no proof to give him of 
her progress xmder the form of prizes 
obtained or crownt conferred. The 
solemn occasions when such trophies 
are distributed were unknown at San- 
ta Maria al Prato, as well as the ex- 
aminations for which the memory is 
burdened for a day with facts that 
arc often remembered no longer. In 
fact, they did not aim at giving ber 
varied instruction, but they taught 



I 



658 



FUuran^. 



her how (o learn, and g^ve her a 
taste for study, work, and si- 
lence. 

She was naturally sincere and 
courageous ; she also became skilful 
and active. Madre Maddalcna sccm- 
eil to have foreseen that this young 
person, so sheltered in her early 
years, would one day be unusually 
exposed to the rough combat of life. 
She probably did not foresee that 
Fleurange would soon be left alaiic ; 
but what she had read of her father's 
nature, what she knew of his history, 
made her comprehend that pru- 
dence and a certain premature expe- 
rience would serve as a safeguard to 
his daughter. What would have 
been iruc had her father lived, was 
no less so now his death left her en- 
tirely to herself. 

Fleurange resisted the temptation 
of remaining in bed absorbed in sad 
thoughts. She hastily rose, and was 
quite ready when Mademoiselle Jo- 
sephine entered her chamber for the 
third time. A smile enlivened the 
features of the elderly maiden wlien 
she saw the effect of a goo<l night's 
rest on the countenance of her fira- 
f/,^/f. The latter, affected and grate- 
ful, and retaining the Italian habits 
of her childhood, bent to kiss the 
hand of her benefactress. 

" Do not kiss my old hand," said 
Mademoiselle Josephine, *' but my 
cheek, if you like; now, let us not 
keep my Ijrother waiting. It is nine 
o'clock, our breakfast-hour which ue- 
vw varies." 

Fleurange followed her hostess to 
.the break fast-room, which was next 
•the parlor. The furniture of the*c 
•two rooms had not been renewed for 
'Qiore tiian fifty years, but nothing 
acemed dilapidated, thanks to the 
exquisite neatness that everywhere 
reigned. 

The doctor was already seated at 
the table. His sister took her place 



opposiiet giving 
between them. 



Fleurange a 



*' You have quite rccovetcd," *^^m 
the doctor, extending his hand toill^ 
young girl, " 1 am verj- gUd to vx 
it; but, for fear of ri^pse, you m 
remain under ray eye for some di] 
to come. Evcrj'thing has been 
ranged, and from this time till y 
departure you will return no nii 
to the fourth story." 

" What can I say, monai 
Vou arc both so kind, and I lo\Tyi 
so much that I accept alms fri 
your hands without shame am! aim 
without pain." 

" I forbid you making use nf 
shocking a word," said .MadciuQiscI 
Josephine. 

'• Yet it is really alra»," said 
ange in a sad but firm tone, *' for 
have nothing of my own. and if b 
want of a piece of bread to day, I 
should have to extend the hand of 
beggar." 

" Come, come- ! you arc not ftdi 
ed to that yet, thank Cud I But 
us drop this, and speak of sotne; 
more important. You must 
your uncle's letter without drlay" 

"Yes, indeed." said \ 
And after a short silence. ^! 
** I am going to ask him ta 
kind enough to receive me for 
month." 

" Out from his letter, he seems li 
posed to offer you a much more 
tended hospitality than that." 

'* Perhaps so, but I am ocJy 
ing to accept it till I have found 
means of linng without being a b< 
den on him." 

" What is your intention, then "K 

" I do not know," said Fleurange, 
*' but there are many means of ^.u^ 
ing a livelihood, are there not' 
Well, I shall endeavor to find ooe 
not beyond my strength." 

The doctor looked at her, and 
said : " There arc certainly ro; 



Fiat range. 



659 



Dt beyond your strength, but 
titabic for you." 
r ?" asked FIcurangc. 
Y woulJ be unsuitable for 
our age and condition." 
}f so ?" repeated she. 
Dl explain myself after you 
vhat you think of doing." 
DC !" said Mademoiselle Jo- 
impaliently. " There is no 
so much circumlocution in 
ler that, when one is young 
ty, caution is needful. If the 
es not know that, the sooner 
inied, the better il will be for 

ng and pretty," rejieatcd 
[e quietly without the slight- 
uraasment " Ves, I know 
be a great obstacle to me in 
lion. Itwnutd be much bct- 
t homely an<l ten years older. 
ready thought of that. It is 
Ibrtunatc; but what cin be 

ocior smiled. He bad never 
ny woman admit her own 
Rritli so liltle vanity. Fleur- 
impliciiy, the childlike can- 
cr large eyes, the expression 

was yet grave anil thought- 
tk him, and he felt an in- 
r the interest whit h up to this 

bad been excited by the 
rrl's destitute condition, rath- 

herselfl He resumed, still 

:> this misfortune, you must re- 
rsclf to it, at least for twenty 
I come." But seeing diat 
;e did not smile in return, 
the contrary, became more 
« thotightfuJ, he continued : 
t, if you ever come to that, 
ind a means for surmounting 

ilty." 
pinge's face expanded. " Oh ! 

u, monsieur; if you could 
much courage I have. 
she added, " I assure 



you there are a great many things I 
know haw to do." 

" For instance ?" said the doctor. 

*' First, the instruction of children, 
to which I think myself adapted. I 
love Ibcm, and they arc generally 
fond of me also, and readily obey 
me." 

" What else ?" 

"I know Italian and German (for 
I have made it a special point to un- 
derstand my mother's native language 
thoroughly). My father thought mc 
also a good reader, and preferred my 
voice and accent to those of any of 
the numerous reaiJers and speakers 
he had heard. His fondness perhaps 
blinded him to my defects; yet he 
might have been right, and 1 could 
Xiy." 

" Hera !" said the doctor, " There 
is much to be said for and against 
that talent." 

" Finally, monsieur, I can do all 
kinds of work. 1 know how to sew 
well — to wash, iron, and sweep. I 
could even cook a httle." 

The doctor again regarded the no- 
ble countenance of the young girl 
while she thus compl.iccntly enu- 
merated the humble and laborious 
employments she thought herself ca- 
pable of. She was evidently sincere. 
Her ability and willingness to do all 
she said ^ould not be doubted. He 
was affccteil, and remained silent. 

But Mademoiselle Josephine ex- 
claimed with enthusiasm : *' That is 
what I call an education ! And who, 
my dear child, taught you so many 
reasonable and useful things ?" 

Tears of emotion filled Fleurange's 
eyes. *' It was my dear Madrc 
Maddalena," she replied. 

This answer elicited fresh inquiries, 
to which Fleurange replied by mi- 
nutely relating the way in which her 
childhood had passeil. The doctor's 
satisfaction increased with every word 
of her account, which, nevertheless, 



66o 



Fieurange. 



made a breach in two of his jjreju- 
dices. 

Without any antipatliy to pretty 
faces, they inspired him with a kind 
of mistrust, or at least of sohcitude, 
which his long experience had doubt- 
less very often warranted. But in re- 
garding this young girl, so self-reliant 
and so modest, so courageous and so 
delicate, and who seemed ready to 
struggle so bravely against the diffi- 
culties of hfe, how could he be angry 
with her for being beautiful, and 
how help overlooking it in pnc 
sense ? 

The doctor had also a singular 
and, considering his belief as a whole, 
an inconsistent prejudice against con- 
vents. He seemed to have retained 
this point of agreement with those 
whom he habitually opposed on every 
other subject And here was an ed- 
ucation which accorded not only with 
all his ideas, but with all his whims — 
a conventual education. He would 
be obUged to somewhat modify his 
opinions on this subject, as well as sn 
some others, and he resigned himself 
to it with a good grace. 

They finally resumed the subject 
of the letter to Frankfort. The doc- 
tor and his sister already began to 
look forward with sorrow to the de- 
parture of their young prot^^iiic, but 
they felt it was for her interest not to 
delay joining the relatives who had 
invited her at so opportune a mo- 
ment By their advice, Fleurange 
immediately began her letter. Short 
and to the point it was soon com- 
jjleted, and she gave it to Mademoi- 
selle Josephine. The latter began to 
read it with an air of satisfaction, but 
when she came to the signature, a 
cloud suddenly appeared on her 
(ace. 

" What is it ?" said Fleurange. " I 
have made some mistake or blun- 
der?" 

" No, you have not : the .letter is 



very well, it could not be b 
but— ■' 

" What, then ? Tell me 
beg of you." 

"Well, it is— indeed, I 
tell you." 

"Pray tell me," said I 
" what has displeased you 
is nothing in the letter 1 
willing to correct accordin; 
advice." 

"It is — but you canno 
that" 

But what is it then, de 
moiselle ? You really frighte 
sisted Fleurange with a dist 

" You cannot change yo 
,mal name," said the other, 

" My baptismal name ?" ' 
Fleurange with surprise. " 
name displease you to such ; 
I am sorry, for Madre \ 
liked it so much 1 She sai 
fied the flower of tlie at 
fairest of all the angels — 
Gabriel, whom she consi( 
patron. And she called r 
elle as often as Fleurange 

"Gabrielle!" cried Mat 
Josephine eagerly. *' Gabri* 
that is a name everybody c 
stand. So that is the m( 
Fleurange, according to yo 
Maddalena? Then I bt 
conjure you, to assume t 
and give up the other!" 

The doctor had for so ni 
been occupied in reperusing 
Domthal's letter, which he 
evening before; he now i 
eyes, and attended to the 
tion. While Fleurange 
hesitating what reply to 
Mademoiselle Josephine's 
request, he said : 

" I do not understand r 
persistency on this point, 
own opinion, it is opposec 
But it may be that the sim; 
two names will be more in < 



Pleurangt. 



66l 



:« of ihe good German 

^at awaits you, and perhaps 

|e would have a belter reccp- 

Ui FIcuninge. Besides," he 

W, smiling, *' your young cou- 

^nd ihc Rhine would doubt- 

louncc the r:nme In a way to 

its charm and deprive it of 

ing according to the pious 

ical intcq>retaiion you have 

it." 

might be," said Fleurange, 

n return. " Anyhou*, I will 

bu advise respecting it." 

will lake it into considera- 

id the doctor. Then, glancing 

ire over the professor's letter, 

nued : '* Uo you Itnow the 

the stranger who, by buying 

picture your father painted, 

Ittingly rendered you so great 

■r 

> not. That picture was sold 

; remainder when, at the be- 

of his fatal relapse, my father 

|5nances diminishing, and lost 

ft of ever repairing them. My 

iherl" she continued with a 

g voice, " he was vcrj* ill the 

madi: me sit in order to fin- 

pictuie — " Fleuiange sud- 

oppcd and blushed. The 

look seemed to demand an 

ion, and she continued art- 

mt not without confusion: 

rner of the picture is perhaps 

Qger who visited the studio 

. At least, I acknowledge 

has repeatedly occurred to 

what rexson ?" 
luse iie was so delighted with 
, and begged permission to 
xrr its comjOetion. But my 
om that day, was obliged to 
the use of the brush, and the 
tt& sold as he left it, with the 



" Was this amateur a Gcnnan ?" 

" I do not know. lie spoke 
French very well, but with a slight 
accent, 1 know not what." 

'* Was he some great lord ?" 

" I do not know — I have never 
seen a great lord." 

*' But what kind of an air had this 
visitor — God bless him !" intcmtpt- 
ed M.i demoiselle Josephine. 

" A lofty and noble air, a remark- 
able physiognomy, and a grave and 
sonorous voice," replied Fleurange. 
*' But, in spite of the gratitude I per- 
haps owe him, the remembrance of 
his visit always troubles am! de- 
presses me." 

'* Why so ?" said Josephine. 

" Because it was the cause of the 
last and fatal crisis of my father's 
malady, who at that lime even 
could not bear the slightest agitation. 
I lio not know the words the stranger 
murmured as he glancctl at me, but 
they greatly excited my father, who 
requested me in a tremulous voice to 
leave the studio. As a general thing, 
he never allowed me to enter it at 
the hour for \isitor?;. The evening 
of that day he spoke to me in an 
ftgilated manner of the lone condition 
in nliich 1 should soon be left, ami 
gave nic some incoherent counsels, 
which were his last words. He 
never rccovcrefl his full mind after 
that." 

" Poor man !" said the doctor ; but 
he did not pursue the subject that led 
to this account. Fleurange's fleeting 
blush disappeared, ^d she w.ts again 
pale and calm as before, her pen in 
hand rcaily lo correct her letter ac- 
cording to the doctor's advice. After a 
final deliberation between the young 
girl and her ehlerly friends, it was 
decided that the letter should be 
sent after it was signed Gabr'uiU 



6Sz 



FU'urange 



111. 



The day Margaret married Gerard 
d'Yvcs, the aged Sigiamund Dornlhal 
blotted out his daughter's name from 
hi^ will, and gave orders that it 
should never be uttered in his pre- 
sence. Notwithstanding this, soften- 
ed by illness, and urged by his se- 
cond son Ludwig, Margaret's favor- 
ite brother, he boun consented to 
send her his forgiveness and blessing, 
but when they rcathcd Pisa poor 
Margaret had just expired ! In the 
fury of his despair, which increased 
the impetuosity and thoughUessncss 
of his character, Gerard tore up the 
letter containing the long-delayed 
pardon, and only replied in these 
iwo words : " loo late !" 

It was thus die aged DonUhal was 
rinfonncd of his daughter's death. 
I He himself died shortly after, igno- 
rant of the existence of the child to 
whom she had given binh. His pro- 
perly was divided between his two 
sons, but I.udwig, devoteii to study, 
and already in possession of a pro- 
fessor's chair at 1-.eipsic, entirely 
abandoned to his cider brother the 
administration of their common fur- 
tune, and Hcinnch Domthal became 
Ithc sole head of the commercial and 
ibanking houses founded by Sigis* 
Imund. He thenceforth made use of 
fbis brother's capital as well as his 
[own. paying him regularly his income, 
witltoui ixWj inluicrcuce in hi» bu:ii> 
ncss on Ludwig's part. The latter 
was at the same time pursuing so 
brilliant a career as to attract llie 
attention of all ilie learned men of 
I Germany to his labors. One oi these, 
fa resident of Frankfort, invited him 
to pass at his house the annual vaca- 
, lions of the numerous students who 
[attended his lecturer; The result of 
' these visits was tliat tliis professor's 
daughter became Ludwig Domthal's 
wifCi and, in the course of time, the 



mother of Ids five 
professor, when he mained, i 
his position at I^eipsic to setil 
wife's native place. There, I 
a professor's duties, he had leisure ( 
write books that consuntly added 1 
his reputation and increased fail ■• 
coiue, wJiich the llouh&hing buHPeoi 
of the commercial housc'alune maJe 
sufficient. 

Such was, in a few words, the ( 
dition of the new home that Awaiu 
Heurange. A second letter 
promptly in reply to hers. Her M- 
cle expressed the liveliest joy j 
ing found tier, and invited he 
particularly to arrive at Frankfurt ! 
lime for Christmas, so dear to 
Germans as the time of iamily nrno- 
ions. 'I'o do this she would have to 
leave Paris, at the very latest, on Ibe 
twcnty-tir^l of December, for at IM 
lime it took three days and nisliu 
for llie journey to Frankfort 
doctor and his sister, though sony I 
part with their young ptvt^g^-, hit 
tcned the preparations fur her dc)) 
ture. They were touched by 
cordial tone of this unknown UDtId 
letters, and predicted a, h3i>py 
for her in his family, which they 
not wish to defer. But cicry 
added to their attachment to Fie 
ange and to her tender gratitude ( 
them. 

li tlila cuiiiinucu a wec'A. loiit(v^ 
said the doctor, ** I could not 
with that child." 

"Then she must start soon," 
plied Moderuoisellc Josephine; 
is for her good, and we should 
wrong to keep her with us." 

Fleurange said nothing, but ha 
eyes turned sadly from one of 
old friends to tlic other. At I 
came the last day she was lo 
with them. She made an cffiart I 
repress her tears, that she might i 



F/fUfaHgr. 



661 



Rs them, and quietly put up her 
It packages, actively aidetl by 
>ctor and his sister. 
lb English proverb wliich I think 
^asonable," said the doctor, 
jes the hospil.ility which speeds 
Irting guest on a level with that 
welcomes his coming; it is 
ich I am now showing you, 

I*' leu range." 
irange had just hastily finished 
^ast always so sad lieforc a 
ty. The doctor perceivetl her 
ge faihng. He was himself 
fr affected by her jinle and 
nil countenance, anci in think- 
f the long and lonely journey 
(as about to undertake, at tlie 
f which she would be received 
pple, perhaps kind, but wholly 
)wn. Nevertheless, he resum- 
01 %n encouraging vuice : 
feme, come, child, everything 

t favorable yonder; show your 
e, and do not allow yourself 
•cast down." 

bu are right," said Flcurange, 
i " I feel I have reason to 
ICod, and I only desire to be 
I. Be sure, at all events, that 
be courageous." 
as eight o'clock in the evcn- 
;he fiacre was waiting at the 
10 lake her to the diligence, 
[nt out, accompanied by the 
and his sister, who entered 
ge with her. The night 
rk, and the &110W falling in 
flakeif, which the young girl, 
beneath the sky of Italy, now 
br the first time in her life. The 
(tele excited curiosity mingled 
^r. The new and the unknown 
^ to surround her on every 
ind these two things, generally 
raclive to those of her age, bore 
kn aspect more calculated to 
IS her young heart than to ex- 
it She involuntarily shivered, 
around her slender form 



the thick cloak that felt too Ihin to 
protect her from the severity of the 
weather, to which she was so unac- 
customed. They all remained silent 
for some moments. Fleurange press- 
ed Mademoiselle Josephine's hand, 
and carried it from time to time to 
her lips, in spite of the efforts of the 
latter to prevent it. 

Mademoiselle Josephine, on her 
side, with a faltering voice renewed 
a multitude of counsels, which had 
already been repeated a thousand 
times — among others, to write to them 
often and regularly. Then she slip- 
ped on her arm a small basket which 
her provident kindness had filled with 
everything that could be useful to 
her on the way, as well as more thaa 
one souvenir which, when far dis- 
tant, would rccill her old friends. 

They arrived too quickly at their 
destination. " I have bespoken a 
place for you in the cou]ie," said the 
doctor, getting out of tlie carriage. 
'* You will be in company with one 
of my patients, still very feeble, but 
who will absolutely go to Ciermany 
to rejoin her husband. She has two 
children with her, and tliey will be 
your only travelling companions." 

"Thank you," said I'leurangc. 
" The prayers of the orphan are said 
to draw down blessings: may you 
both experience the effect of mine I" 
She could not utter another word. 
She threw her arms for the last time 
around Mademoiselle JOaCj^.i-c's 
neck, and the next instant, leaning 
on (he doctor's arm, she was crossing 
with some difficulty the littered court 
at the end of which they found the 
diligence. The snow had delayed 
them on the way, and now rendered 
every step difficult. 'Hie other pas- 
sengers had taken their places, and 
ihey were only waiting for Fleurange. 
The horses were harnessed, and to 
the noise of llieir stamping the dri- 
ver added his impatient exclamations. 



664 



FUurangf* 



" Corac, come ! We are off!" he re- 
peated in a rough voire. Fleurange, 
hurried, piibhytl about, stunned, and 
frightened, had only lime to press the 
doctor's hand once more and spring 
into ihc coujic, 'i'hc door was in- 
stantly shut. A fearful clashing of 
irons, mingled with cries, blows of 
the whip, ami vociferations, above 
■which could be heard : " Adieu ! i 
revoir I A bient6t !" with other ex- 
clamations much less harmonious, 
and the heavy diligence was in mo- 
Uon, Fleurange, now free from the 
necessity of any restraint, allowed 
hersL-If ihe solace of giving vent to 
her feelings and letting her tears flow 
freely and abundantly. 

She continued to weep for a long 
lime without tlic least attempt at re- 
pressing her emotion. Why sliould 
she? She was alone, entirely alone 
now. She had never been so to such 
a dcfiTce before. All the events of 
the past faded away in* the distance, 
and the future offered nothing to re- 
place them. She w;is separated from 
all whom she had loved from her in- 
fancy, either by death or indefinite 
•ibsence. Would it be so always? 
Was that to be her lot on earth ? 
Would she never be permitted to 
love with assurance, trust, and a sense 
repose ? Was she to be always 
l»us torn from places and persons 
at the very moment her heart began 
to cling to them ? — her heart, so ten- 
der and ardentf which she had so 
often felt beating with tenderness and 
joy, with admiration and enthusiasm ? 
.•\nd while her eyes peered out through 
the darkness of night at objects that 
seemed in the obscurity like pale 
phantoms, her imagination set before 
her, as in a magic mirror, all the dif- 
ferent scenes of her past life : the 
be'iutiful cloister of Santa. Maria al 
Pralo, wiili die terrace at the lop, 
where ibc eye could wander so far, 
and the sweet and noble features of 




Madre Maddalena; then omc 
varied remembrances comiccled with 
her father ; first, the ■ -o i 

Italy in alt its splcndoi -c ic 

rible and dismal days at Paris, 8d 
finally, at the darkest hour of aI^ 
die beneficen t forms of her old fncmii 
whom she never wished to leave, 1 
whom she had jusi bidden farewtll- 
perhaps farewell for ever ! 

Jt was in>(>osttible for Kleurange,4l_ 
this moment, to control her 
thoughts. But, now and then, 
reason rccallc^J those who awaiu 
her, the welcome she had a 

expctt. and the goodncw of 

Pruvidence in opening such a tfiv^i 
but in vain — consoUiion seemed uo- 
able to find an entrance into hcrsool, 
and, in spite of her nature, dnpon- 
dency obtained tlie mastery. 

*'If ihey are kind. and#I lo« 
them," she said to herself biticriy,** I 
shall soon have to leave ibcm. IC 
on the contrary, they — " Hen 
her imainnation had fixe coune u>) 
depicted the future in ihc darken 
colore, Dutlhis new reverie had not 
the clearness of the first, and bci 
long her anticipations began to i 
gle in vague confusion with li« tt> 
membrances. I.ittlc by titUe, fatigve. 
the motion of the vehicle, and the 'xte- 
fluence of night lulled the yosn 
girl asleep, and transfonncd tn;a i 
ex';y and indistinct (v 
thoughts that had sn ,> if 

sailed )ier. 

Fifteen minutes after, she was \ 
dcniy awakened. Something quid 
heavy had fallen against hcrslionUaJ 
and thence into her lap. She 
up, and, groping in the oliscunt^ 
her hand came in contact with tic 
long silky hair of a child. Fron 
the first, she had rather stjy 
than seen a pale, sick young 
man in the op[>osilc (unu-r of 
cuup^-, with her ann thru^^ n anxUMll 
child beside her, against whom ilq' 



trai Cahtmnifs RcfuUd : or, Hxeattive Document AV. 37. 6C3 



sliil smaller. It was the Ut- 
had just suddenly changed 
ion. Fleuraiige began to com- 
tlie case, and bent dou-n to 
softly to a more comfortable 
her lap. Then she drew his 
eepy head against her, and 
Ihe sweet face now near her 
rhi> trlHing incident had the 
and unforeseen effect of pnt- 
flight all the phantoms licr 
lion had been conjuring up 
1st her sorrows. She recalled 
ior murmuring with remorse, 
(lod I" she cried, pressing 
in her .arms, " if 1 love this 
le one, whose features I have 



not yet seen, if I am ready to watch 
the night long over his slumbers, 
what wilt not thou, who art my Fa- 
fhcr^ do for Uiy child?" She raised 
her eyes a moment in prayer, not 
with her lips, but in her heart. 
The ^now had ceascil falling, ihe 
clouds passing away, the heavens ap- 
peared brilliant with stars. 'Ihs 
cloud had also passed away fron» 
l-leurange's soul, and a mysterious 
light from on high was infused there- 
in. SJic gazed at the starry sVy wi!h 
dcHght, then closed her eyes, and 
again slept sweetly, the child in her 
arms sleeping as profoundly as her- 
self. 



vo ■> oovniitrsD. 



ERAL CALUMNIES REFUTED; OR, 
DOCUMENT No. 37.* 



EXECUTIVE 



dition to the secular press, 
ildom misses an opportunity 
Ig something ungracious of 
lolic Church, we have pub- 
ihc United States over a 

so-called religious newspa- 

principal stock-in-trade of 
ras to be unlimited abuse 
thing Catholic, and unquali- 
epresentation of all wlio pro- 
ach the doctrines of our faith, 
ua or point of discipline of 
ity ever finds favor in the 
the individuals who fdl the 

of those ])ublications, and 
or woman who may see fit 
[c his or her life to the dis- 

n of the Goipd is safe frf»m 
or scurrility of their pens. 



<- St. 17, C. S. Senile, XUsl Cong , 



For the honor of the American char- 
acter wc arc sorry to say that we liavc 
daily evidence of this blind prejudice 
and reckless disregard of truth on the 
part of this class of editors, many of 
whom arrogate to themselves the title 
of " reverend " \ but we have some con- 
solation in knowing that the more 
intelligent members of the sects are 
fast growing tired and ash.amcd of 
such senseless appeals to ihcir j>as- 
sions and ill-founded iraditioiiii nnd 
that the lime is not far distant when 
such cSbrts to sustain a sinking antl 
Indefensible cause will be encourag- 
ed only by the ignorant and wilfully 
blind. 

'Hiese repeated and continuous at- 
tacks on the church are not the 
work of any one sect ur confined to 
any particular locality, but are gene- 



666 



Several Calumnies Re/ntrd ; 



mt with all ProtesUnls, and cxtciidcil 
over the whole country. As long as 
they arc coiifiiicii to ncwspapcni, and 
nRbrd employment and remunera- 
tion to a number of persons who 
probably could not gain a livelihood 
in any other manner, we scarcely 
consider them worthy of serious al- 
lention; but we havn had recently 
placed before us an oflicial document, 
printed at the ]}ublic expense for the 
edification of the United States Se- 
nate— and no doubt widely circulated 
throughout the Union under the con- 
venient frank of many pious mem- 
bers of Congress — in which arc repro- 
duced calumnies so gross, and false- 
hoods so glaring, that we consider it 
our duty not only to call public at- 
tention to it, but to demand from our 
rulers in Washington by what right 
and autliorily they print and circu- 
late uHilcr official fonn a tissue of 
Cibrications, misrepR'sentations, and 
even forgeries, against tlie religion, 
and the ministers of that religion, 
which is professed by five or six mil- 
lions of free American ciliiens. 

This document, known as Kxecu- 
five Dotument JVtf. 37, XLl;^ Con- 
gress, III(/ Stssiaa, was furnished by 
Mr. Delano, Secretary of the Interior, 
in compliance with a resolution of 
the Senate, passed Fcbniarj- 2, 187:, 
and is composed exclusively of in- 
formation supplied by Rev. H. H. 
Spaulding to A. B. Meacham, Super- 
intentleui ui Iiullan AfT.iii's, who in 
his tetter of transmittal says : 

"T am re«pecifully requested by ihe 
Rer. II. U. Spsuldinf;. Ilie oldest li%'ing 
i'rolesunt missionary in Oicriion.to ptncc 
on file in your department (lie accompa- 
nying documents, giving a history of the 
early missionary work and labors of Dr. 
Marcus Whiiman, liimself. and others ; 
the progress and ci%-ilization of the In- 
dians under ihcir charge, without aid from 
the gOTCiumcni ; sIao, a history of the 
massacre of Dr. Whiinian and others; 
also, resoluiioDSof Christian associations 



in answer to £jwtffii. 

38, ili'me p/ Jtffreitn:. 

lieiy of historical iufoi^ 

would Seem proper m 

placed in some more |Jctm.r.M:rn \c}\ 

future hisior)'." 

It may be remarked that tfa« 
ter from which the above is xi 
tract is dated on llie aSth of J« 
i>-, just five days before the jat 
of the Senate resotulion, and cvk 
ly in anticipation of such actici 
tlie part of that bo<Jy " No a 
says a distinguishetl senator, "w 
the few in the secret, knew anyll 
of the matter until ihc dacttmcflC 
printed. All tl>c pre\-iovs proo 
inga were as of course.'* The dl 
ments that were thus to be " pU 
in a more permanent form for Ait 
history," apart from their unifufl 
infamous character, are pcrliip* 
strangest in origin and coniposii 
that have ever been prcxentesi i.ir 

information of any deli'- 

much less one of the >: 
portance of the Senate oi :l ., 
lie. Tlicy consist mainly 01 
from the religious preu, 
inflammatory letters from }c... - .; - 
disappointed preachers, includisgl 
Rev, H. H, Spaulding him ' 
positions written out by id 
tigable hater with ■ 
changed in many c 
tcr having been sworn lo and rctao 
ed Oroni the control of the tlif 
nents; faUc quotations from Thi 
fffunf a/ the Mvrt/rr ef Dr, 
by the Very Rev. J. B. A, 
V.G., and others' statem 
massacre ; an address froi 
fessors of that advance^l 
institution called Obcrlin 
Ohio ; answers to leading qu 
dce^scd to Oregon 
a false and suppi^ 
of facts; and, lastly, a rep.j«t 
and endorsed by eight » 
eluding the Old ScHbcO, 



or, Exeaitive Document No. 37. 



667 



laiul, and Unitetl Presbyte- 

clliodi&ts, Baptists, CongrL'- 

ts, and the •• Christian 

of Oregon," and claiming to 

it thirty thousand brother 

;, all of whom, though difilT- 

tically in oilier respects, are 

|u.sly unanimous in denouncing 

uils," and equally positive 

ing a previous condition of 

their knowledge of which 

necessity have depended 

the statements of the %era- 

;v. H. H. Spaulding. In style, 

mcnts arc unique, aiid have 

strong family resemblance. 

idicious mixture of sanctiniu- 

,nt seldom heard outside of a 

cling, with a dash here and 

Shakespeare and the ino- 

tls, to give it variety, we sup 

whence this solemn assembly 
nylcries and conferences, this 
affidavits and newspaper ex- 
md the desire of the .Senate tci 
;htened as ** to the early la- 
the missionaries uf the Aine- 

ard of Conmiisbiuners for 
Missions in Oregon, com- 

1111836"? Simplyiliis. On 
:k commencing on the 29ih 
imbcr, 1847, more than twcn- 
ycars ago, a certain missiona- 
B Cayuse Indians, named Dr. 
ui, nho had resided among 
ix several years, was, with his 
kd twelve oilier Americans, 
' murdered by the savages ; 
fi now atlen)pted by Spauld- 
f) was his friend, and mission- 
the Ner Perces, a neighbor- 
e, to fix the guilt of this foul 
I on the missionary priests 

that yeai accompanied the 

J. A. M. A. Blanchel, Bishop 

ualy, to Oregon, and who, it is 

instigated the Indians lo 

the deed in order to get rid 
XVoicstant missions. At the 



lime of the slaughter, there was with 
others under Ur. Whitman's roof a 
young woman named Bewlcy, whom 
one of the chiefs desired to have for 
his wife ; and it is also asserted that 
not only did the priests encourage 
her to yield to the Indian's wishes, 
but forced her from tlie slielter of 
their home and refused her any pro- 
tection whatever. Other charges 
growing out of this sad calamity, such 
as baptizing children with the inno- 
cent blood of their victims on their 
hands, inhumanity to the prisoners 
left unharmed, attemptini; the pre- 
cious life of Spaulding, supplying the 
Cayuses with guns and amnmnilion, 
etc., are likewise alleged, but the first 
two arc the prindpal counts in this 
clerical indictment. 

The slaughter of so many persons 
naturally created a great sensation in 
Oregon at the time, but for months 
after no one thought of attributing it 
to the interference of the Catholic mis- 
sinners. However, Spaulding, whose 
mind had become disturbed by the 
contemplation of the dangers he had 
escaped, and having to abandon his 
mission among the Nez Perces, and 
finding liini»elf unemployed, gradual- 
ly began to give a new version of the 
aflair, and in conversation, preaching, 
and writing at first hinted, and next 
broadly asserted, that the "Jesuits" 
were at thelx)tlom of the whole mat- 
ter. Considering that the shock to 
his ner\*ous system was so great that he 
never entirely recovered from it, and, 
that the repetition of the falsehood*] 
was so persistent, it is charitable tc 
suppose that he eventually came tfl 
believe them as truths ; for no man in 
his right senses would persist in forc- 
ing on the world such a compilation 
of imi>robable statements and down- j 
right falsehoods as are conuined in ' 
J^ib. Doc. AV. 37. 

As there are always many persons, 
made credulous by ignorance or 



668 



Several Calumnies Refuted; 



prejudice, willing to credit any anti- 
Calholic slander, the Rev. Father 
Brouillet, the only priest near the 
scene of the crime, wrote and pub- 
lished, in 1853, a full and authentic 
account of the whole transaction, 
which was so clear and circumstan- 
tial that even the greatest opponents 
of the Catholic priesthood were si- 
lenced. In 1857, a special agent 
of the Treasury Department, J. Ross 
r.rowne, made a tour in the far West, 
and in reporting on the condition 
of the aborigines, and the potent 
causes of war between them and the 
white settlers, embodied in his state- 
ment Father Brouillet's pamphlet, 
which together formed Pub. Doc. No. 
38, against which all the powers of 
the presbyteries and conferences of 
Oregon, under the fitting leadership 
of a crazy preacher, are now directed, 
after a silence of more than ten years. 
Is it any wonder that it is so often 
remarked that the only bond of 
union, the sole vitalizing principles, 
of the sects are their hatred to Catho- 
licity ? 

A glance at the history of the early 
Indian mission in Oregon is ne- 
cessary to a clear understanding of 
the subject. It is well known that 
for many years that portion of our 
common country was debatable 
ground, and, while our government 
claimed the sovereignty and ap- 
pointed officials to administer its af- 
fairs, the Hudson Bay Company held 
possession and virtually controlled 
the inhabitants, neariy all of whom 
were Indians or half-breeds. Under 
the direction of the company, the 
natives were honest, peaceable, and 
well disposed. Captain Bonneville, 
who visited the Ncz IVrces in 1832, 
says of them; 

*' Simply to call these people religious 
would con%'(.'y l)ut a faint idea of the deep 
hue of piciy and devotion which pervades 
Ihcir whole conduct. Their honesty is 



immaculate, and their purity of porpose. 
and the observance of the riles of ihtii 
religion, are most uniform and remark*- 
ble. They are certainly more like a nJr 
tiun of saints than a horde of savages." 

" Tliis was a very enthu^astit 
view to take of the Nez Perces* 
character," says a Protestant autho- 
rity, Mrs. Victor, "which appeared 
all the brighter to the captain If 
contrast with the savage life which 
he had witnessed in other places, and 
even by contrast with the conduct 
gf the white trappers. But the K« 
Perces were intellectually and ftionlly 
an exception to all the Indian tribes 
west ofthe Missouri River. Lewisind 
Clarke found them different from any ' 
others ; the fur-traders and the mis- 
sionaries found them the same. To \ 
account for this superiority is indeed , 
difficult The only clue to the caase 1 
is the following statement of Bonnr ; 
ville. *It would appear/ he sa)> , 
' that they had imbibed some notiou \ 
of the Christian faith from Cathofe f 
missionaries and traders who havt 
been amopg them. They even had 1 
rude calendar of the fasts and festi- 
vals of the Romish Church, and some 
traces of its ceremonial. These hart 
become blended with their o*tj wiW 
rites, and present a strange medlej". 
civilized and barbarous.*"* Il»a* 
in this happy and quiet condition 
that the first Protestant missionaries 
from the United States found the 
Indians. They were Methodist, and 
arrived in r834, remaining for tea 
years. " No missionary undertik- 
ing" says Rev. Stephen Olin, himself 
one of the laborers, "has been pro«- 
cuted by the Methodist KpiscopJ 
Church with higher hopes and more 
ardent zeal. . , . This particulai 
mission involved an expenditure of 
forty-two thousand dollars in a single 
year. M the end of six years, there 

• victor's Tk* KtMT ^ ih* Wnty p. 0^ 



pr. Executive DQcuuunt Xo, 57. 



669 



ty-aght persons connecietl 
b mission, men, women, aiitl 
I, all supportetl by this socic- 
And the same writer adds: 
iuch a number of missionaries 
mploymcnt in such a Ikld it is 

tocoi»jecture, especially as the 

idy of the Indians never came 

ihc influence of their labors." 

While» Sub-Indian Agent, 

n 1843 : " The Rev. Mr, Lt-e 

iciatcs arc doing but little for 
ans. . . . With all that has 
pended, without doubting the 
«ssof the intention, it is most 
\ to every observer that the 

of this lower country, as a 
have been very little bene- 

two Methodist stations estab- 
t Clatsop's Plains and Nes- 
«re speedily abandoned, and 

the Dalles is described, in 
ef Att^tiidn Jtuiian U/*; as 
D a most fearful condition. 
ccurrcnce," the author says, 

to a murder by a convericfl 
which he had witnessed, " is 
l)'pe of a thousand atrocities 
curHng among these supposed 
fc" Anil we have the authority 

Gray for saying ihar '* the 
pf a few presents of any de- 
to them induces them to 
ofessions corresponding to the 
the donor." The success of 
iionarics at Willamette was, if 
\ still more disheartening. Mr. 
that of those who held rela- 
ith them none remained in 
nd Alevandcr Sinipson, who 
the valley about the same 
Und the mission to consist of 

families, those of a clergy- 
trgcon, a school nuister, ami 

tiUural overseer. It is not 

then, that two years aficr- 



*/5tr^tirn Olin, vol. ii |>p. 4*7. <*'■ 
•fiitt. ^ Orrgfi, [>p- >1i. M>. 



wards the missions were entirely 
abandonee!, and have never been at- 
tempted to be r«-csiabhslicd. " Had 
they met vice with a spotless life," 
says Gray, " and an cailicsl delernii- 
nation to maintain their integrity as 
representatives of religion and a 
Christian people, the fruits of their 
Ial)or would have been greater." 
We are forced, therefore, to conclude j 
that the author of T/it Kivrr of the^ 
Uys/ is justified in saying on this 
and other indisputable auihority, "so 
far from benefiting the Indians, the 
Metliodist mission became an actual 
injury to ihem" — the Indians. 

Thus ended the first chapter in the 
history of the progress and civiliza- 
tion of the Indians in Oregon, to 
which we desire (o call the respectful 
attention of the United Slates Senate. 
We have the tesiimony of Captain 
Bonneville, endorsed by Mrs. Victor, 
regarding the honesty and piety of 
the natives in 1832, before the arrival 
of the Methodists. After nine years 
of missionary labor, we have the fol- 
lowing grave statement from no less 
an authority than one of their own 
clergymen: 

" The Indians w.-int pay for being whip- 
ped Into comptLiDcc with Dr. Svhitc's 
laws, llie s.iinc -is llicy did for praying (o 
ptcasc the mi ski on 3 ties during the great 
Indian revival of 1S39" (p. 157). 

" As a m.iitcr of course, lying has 
much to do io their system uf Iradc, and 
he Is [he best fclloHr who can tell iho bift- 
gest He — mnkc men believe and practise 
ihc giealc^i decepiion " (p. isB).* 

The Methodists having selected 
Lower Oregon as the field of their la- 
bors, the Presbyterians chose the upper 
or ea.'item portion of the terrilorv'. 
They arrived in 183G, three in num- 
ber, afterwards increased lo twelve, 
and backed up by the Boanl of 
Commissioners for Foreign Missions. 
Dr. Marius Whitman settled at Wail- 

• /titlsry »/ Ortgom. Hy 0. Ulow. 



670 



several Caiumnie's Refuttd; 



atpu among the Cayiises and Walla 
Wallas, and Messrs. H. H. Spaulding 
ami W. H. Gray at Lapwai, with the 

iNcxPcrccs. Jn 1838, the Spokane 
mission was ^lablislied by Messrs. 
Walker and Kllis. Their prospects 
of success were at first mostbrillianL 
The savages received them kindly 
and listened to them attentively. 
•* ThtTc was no nant of ardor in the 
Presbyterian missionaries,'* says T^tc 

\iihfr of the Wat. "They .ipplied 
themselves in earnest to the work they 
had undertaken. They were diligent 
in their efforts to civilize and chris- 
tian iic their I ndians." But they 
made a fatal mistake at the very be- 
ginning, which not only rellccis on 
their personal honesty, but shows that 
ihey knew nothing of the character of 
the people they came to instruct. Mr. 
John Toupin, who was for many 
jrcars iuterjirctcr at Fort Walla Walla, 
gave, in 1848, ihc fallowing account 
of the establishment of these mis- 
sions : 

■' I W.1S iherc when Mr. Parker, In 1935. 
came 10 select places for Picsbrtcrian 
missions .imong the Cnyuses and Nez 
Pcrces. and to ask lands for these mis- 
Bions. lie employed me as interpreter 
in his aegolJations with the Indians on 
that occasion. Mr. Homhrun, the gen- 
tleman (hen incIiBtgcof iIk fori, accom- 
panied him to the Cayuses and the Ncz 
Pcrccs. Mr. Parker, in company with 
Mr. Pombrun. an American, and myself, 
went BiyC to the C^^'uses upon the lands 
called Wuilatpu, that belonged to the 
three chiefs— Splitted Lip, or Yomlipi ; 
Ked Cloak, or Waptachlakaninl ; and Ti' 
lankaikt. llavin^; met ihcmatihat place, 
he told ihcm that he was coming to select 
a place to build a preaching house, to 
teach them hun to live, and to teach 
I school 10 thcii childicn ; that he would 
L|iot cooic himself to establish the miwon. 
Iliut a doctor or a mcdicinc-man would 
Icomc in his place; that (he doctor would 
flK the chief of the mission, and tvoulU 
f'come in the folluwing spilng. * t come 
10 select a place for a mission,' *aid he. 
' but 1 do not intend to take yoni l.in(l» 
for nothing. After the doctor is come. 



iherc will eoue everr year s Irif 1 
loaded with goods to he divided amoeg 
the Indians. These goods will OM ! 
Sold, but given lo you. 1'he mi»i<Kurf 
will bring ycu ploughs and hoes 10 ic 
)-ou how to ciilllvaic the liod, aad I 
will not sell, but giro ihcm to yon.* 

"From the Cayu»v5 5Ir. Parker 
to the Nei Pcrces, about one hun 
and twenty five milcsdistant.oo the Uq 
of Old Button, on a small ctcck vrli 
empties into the Clearwater. sc»'en st 
eight miles from ihc actual mission, airf 
there he made the same promises to 
Indians as at Wailatpu. 'Next 
there \\\\\ come a mi«4iooarr to est: 
himself here and take a piece of I 
)>itt he will not take it for ooihtng; ] 
shnll be paid for it every year: this b^ 
American fa^hinn.* In the folio 
year, 1836, Dr. Whitman arrircd 
the C-iytises and began lo bu)!d. 
Iiidi.in9 did not f>(op him, as they eftp 
cd to be paid as ihc>' said. 

" In the summer of the year 1^37. \ 
ted Lip asked him where ih« 
nhicb he had promised him were j 
cr he would pay him, or who 
wanted to steal his lands, lie |ftMl 
that, if he did not want to p-iv 
had better go off imme-l. 
nut want lo give lii*i Usi^^ ~ ' 

But the doctor and his co-1abomt^ 
did not pay for the lands, nor in 
fulfil any of the promises 
Parker, and thus the expect 
phyles received thctr first 
duplicity, which eventually dc 
all confidence in the lioDestyi 
iruthfulncss of their teacher*, 
led directly to Ihc massaov 
Whitman and some of his 
ninns, and to the total des 
of the IVcsbylerian missioiu. 
latter event occurred late in it 
Let us see wh.it had been 
in the eleven pre\ious ycat» 
the agents of the Board of <!o 
sioners for Foreign Missions. In 18 
they had but three stations. "4 
each of these," says Tht ltis<if{ 
th^ l{>sf, '• there was a snuU 
of Land under cultivatioUf a fewt 



tfr, Executive Document No. 37. 



6; I 



logs, a flouring and saw mill» * 
ack&niith's shop." In 1843, 
uulding writes lo Dr. White, 

Indian Agent; '* But two 
lave as yet been admitted in- 
hurch. Same ten or twelve 
ive pleasing evidence of hav- 
bom again."* It seems, then, 
X)k twelve missionaries seven 

convert two savages, at an 

of over forty thousand dol- 
one year at least ! Can the 

Protestant mission for con- 

thc Hebrews in Jerusalem 
»y return more preijosterous 

? 

^he years intervening bctHcen 
ne and their entire disconlinu- 
ow no converts at all. Busi- 
cntircly suspended, as far 
;ual affairs were concerned, 
omas McKay, an iiilimaic 
rf Whitman, under date Sep- 
II, 1S4S, says, "The doctor 
d mc thai for a couple of years 
ceased to teach the Indians, 
they would not listen lo him " ; 
in Baptist Gcrvais about the 
le assures us thai " Mr. Spaul- 
d mc hiniselt", last fall, that fur 
• four yeare back he i»ad ceas- 
cly to teach the Indians be- 
ley rcfu.sed to hear him" — 1 
Icli that unscrupulous apostle 
rated in a conversation with 
ijadc, in the preceding Au- 

'II1C Indians," he said, " are 
■worse every day for two or 
tars back ; they are threalen- 
Itim us out of the missions. 
lays ago, they tore down ray 

.nd I do not know what the 
lary Board of New York 
do. It is a fact that we are 
10 good: when the cmigra- 
sses, the Indians run off to 
tnd return worse than when 
le among them." f Even as 

vt^tr ^ Itr. ti'AitmMm^ p. i^ 



early as 1839. a missionary of the 
Spokancs, writing to Dr. Whitman, 
said that the failure of that mission 
was so strongly impressed on his 
mind, he felt it necessary '' te have 
cane in haml, and as much as one 
shoe on, ready for a move." " 1 
see," he adds, "nothing but the 
power of God that can save us.*' 
When we consider this condition of 
affairs in connection with the brutal 
massacre at W.iilatpu by Dr. Whit- 
man's immediate neighbors and even 
some members of his household and 
congregation, at a time of profound 
peace, we can form some adequate 
idea of the_benetits of the "progress 
and civilization of the Indians under 
their [ I'resbyterian] charge." Will 1 
the United States Senate, in its laud- 
able search after information, consult 
some of the authorities, who are with 
one exception Protestant, which we 
have fiuoted ? 

The Catholic missions may be said 
to have commenced in 1838. In 
that year, two Catholic priests pass- 
ed Walla Walla on their way from 
Canada to Fort Vancouver. In 1839 
and 1S40, one of them, Father Dem- 
en>, occasionally visited Walla Walla, 
for a short time, to give instruction 
lo the Indians, many of whom were 
ill the habit of visiting him, particti- 
l.nriy the Cayuses and Ncz Perces at 
the fort. This presence excited the 
wrath of Dr. Whitman, and he pre- 
sumed so far as to reprimand in se- 
vere language the gentleman in 
charge of the post. " From the 
time the Jesuits arrived." says Gray, 
"hisow'n[H. H. Spaulding's] pet In- 
dians liad tunied Catholics, and 
commenced a quarrel with him. 
These facts seemed to annoy him, 
and led him to adopt a course op- 
posed by Smith, Gray, and Rodgers." 
Tlie visits of the Catholic mission- 
aries were, however, few and far be- 
tween, till the 5th of September, 1847, 




Srverai Caiumttifs Rc/uird : 



when the Rt. Rev. Bisbop A. M. A. 
Ulanchct arrived at Fort Walla Walla, 
ttccompanieil l»y the Superior of the 
Oblatcs and two other clerg^-men, to 
ostalilUh permanent ini^isions in East- 
cm Oregon. It was ilie design of 
the bishop to locate a mission on the 
lands of Towatowc (Young Chief), a 
Catholic Indian, who had offered him 
his own house for that p»r[insc. 'Ilie 
Young Chief, however, being absent 
hunting, Dr. Blanche! was delayed 
jit the furt longer than he anticipa- 
ted, and while there was visited by 
Protestant missionaries and Indian 
thiefe ahkc. The former treated him 
nith great incivility and disrespect. 
Dr. Whitman, we are told by an eye- 
witness, " made a furious charge 
against the Catholics, accusing them 
of having persecuted Protestants, and 
even of having she<l their bhwd 
wherever ihey had prevailed. He 
said he did not like Catholics; . . . 
that he should o[>pose the missioii- 
aries to the extent oi his power. . . . 
He sjKjke against the Cathalic Ladder 
(a picture explaining the principal 
points of Catholic faith), and said that 
he would cover it witli blood to show 
the iKTsecution of Protestants by 
Catholics. He refused to sell pro- 
visions to the bishop, and protested 
that he would not assist the mission- 
aries unless he saw them in starva- 
tion."* The temper of the savages 
was milder llian their would-be 
cvflngelizcrs. On the i6th of Octo- 
ber, Young Chief came to the fort, 
and asked for a priest to Ix; sent to 
leach his young people. He repeated 
the offer of his house, but suggested 
as a sulwtiiute the lands of his rela- 
tive Iilokaikt, upon which Dr. Whit- 
man was settled. On November 4, 
the four chiefs of the Cayuscs assem- 
bled at Walla Walla, and after a 
k>i% " talk " agreed to let the bishop 



have a site for a niiawti 
much ground to cultirate 1 
necessary to support the | 
The bishop " told ihcm," »ars 
Brouillct, " that ) I it(A 

presents to the In'> itfae 

give them nothing for (be b 
asket.1 ; that in case they 
him he would pay them fo 
work and no more." The 
just quoted was sent pm^Dg tin 
uses 10 select a J 
finding one suitiu 
Chief's offer, a camp 1 
miles from Dr. Whiln*.i.. 
in the midst of another (ri: 
cr. As one of the ' 
Christian charity wh^. 
the Catholic mv 
part of the world, - 
cd that, during the c- 
fort, one of the chicu ^j'•Jft,•-^ 
Whitman in very hanih tenns, i 
ing him of <r 
motives. !'• 
him instantly, sternly : 
the doctor was a goo . 
he> the chief, had a h.i 
so; and when Father Jlt-.jIj 
offered, by Tilokaikl, W.c!:!-^ 
mission for Catholic purpol 
nothing, he positively and p 
torily declined it. And yd 
Av. A'<?. 37 would have m 
that the Catholics cm'eted Wh 
Station, and were resolved to 
at any cost. On N'overolief 
bishop, with his ^ .lod 

hrouillcL, procee«.l 
at irmatilhL Da tttc ilay 
Sunday, tliey were vLuled 
man, and on Monday by 
wl»o remained foi 
genileman, it scv: 
their views during the previ 
months' intercourse with ibe 
arics. It was on this latter 
iween two and three o*cl 
afternoon, that Whitman 
com[>anions were lu 



'.rt 



or^ Executive Document No. 37. 



673 



It of ihat horrible event, as re- 
by FaUicr firouillct, wlio was 
gTountJ two days after, is siill 
interesting. In a letter to 
I GilUain, tlirec months later, 
the I'arts were fresh in his 
ry, anti every resident of the 
orhood was in a position to 
anything he might s;iy that 
se, he writes : 

brc leaviiiR Fori WalU Walla. U 
en decided tliat.aflcr visitinR ibc 
lople of my mission on the L>'ni.i- 
ihould go and visit tliasc of Tilo- 
camp, for (he purpose of baptJz- 
infant*, ^nd sticli dvinjt adulis as 
leslre this favor; and tlic docior 
r. Spuuldiiig liavinff informed tne 
weie many sick persons at 
itssions, I WAS cnnlinticd in the 
ioo, and made preparations to go 
as possible. 

r having rinisbi.-d in liaptizing the 
-And dyinK adulis of my mission, 
I Tucsddv, the 3olh of November, 
llw aficrnoon. for TiloVaiki's 
'here I arrived belwecn seven .ind 
!clock in the evening. It is ini- 
to conceive my surprise and con- 
ion when, upon myarriv.il, 1 learn- 
Ac Indians the day before had 
reU the doctor and Itis wife, with 
Iter pari of the Americans at the 
I. I passed the night without 
f closing my eyes. Early next 
It I baptized three sick children, 
whom died soon after, and then 
id to the ^cno of death tu uOer 
VidoHTs and orphans ;iil the a>si*it- 
■ my power. I found &ve or six 
and over thinychildren in a con- 
deplorable beyond description, 
ad lost Ihcir husbands, and others 
ibert, ivhom ibcy had seen mas^< 
SToie their eyes. :)nd wert expect- 
ry moment to share the same fate. 
[bl of those persons caused mc 
tears, which, however. I was ob> 
I conceal, for 1 u-as, the greater 
tlic day, in the presence of the 
;rs,and closely ivatched by them, 
if I had shown loo marked an in- 
in behalf of the suffeteis, it would 
have endangered ibcir lives and 
; these, therefore, entreated mc lo 
my fdard. After the first few 
VOL, XIV.— 43 



words that could he exchanged undef 
the circurasinnccs, I inquired after the 
victims, and was (old that they weic yet 
unburicd. Joseph Siainfield. a Ficnch- 
man, who was in the service u( Dr. Whit- 
man, and bad been spared by the Indians, 
was engaged in w.isbing ihetorpses, but, 
being alone, he was unable lo bur>' them. 
I rcsolrcd to go and assist him. su as to 
reader (o those unfortunate victims the 
last service in my power to offer them." 

The reverend father then goes on 
to relate how, after comforting the 
worren and children as well as he 
could, and having been told by the 
chief" to say to them that ihey need 
fear nothing, they shall be taken care 
of and well treated," he set out to- 
ward his mission, in order to inter- 
cept Spauhling and warn hiin of his 
danger. He was accompanifd by 
his interpreter, and closely followed 
by a son of llie chief, wlio, it after- 
ward appeared, was going to his un- 
cle Camastilo tu acquaint him of the 
slaughter. His mccling with Spautd- 
ing is graphic, ami, if not fur the hid- 
eous surroundings, would. I>c amusing. 
He says : 

•• In a few minutes after, while they 
were thus engaged in smoking. I saw 
Mr. Spaulding coming toward me. In .n 
moment he was at my side, taking mc by 
the hand and asking for news. 'Have 
you been to the doctor's?' he inquired. 
■Yes,' I replied. 'What news?' 'Sad 
news.' * Is any person dead ?' ' Ycs^ 
sir.' ' Who is dead — is ti one of the doc 
tor's children T (He had left two of 
them very sick.) * No,' I replied. ' Who, 
then, is dead ?' I hesitated to tell. * Wait 
a moment.' I said, 'I cannot tell you 
now.' While Mr. Spaulding was asking 
mc those questions. I had spoken lo my 
interpreter, telling liim to cnlrcnt the In* 
di:in in my name noi to kill Mr. Spauld- 
ing, which I begged of liim as a. special 
favor, and hoped that he would not re- 
fuse it to mc. I was wailing fur his an- 
swer, and did not wish to rehilc ibc dis- 
.tslcr to Mr. Spauldttig before getting it, 
for fear he might by his manner discover 
la the Indian what 1 h.-id told. him,, for 



i 



674 



Several Ca fa mines Refuted; 



, lb« Ic3s| molion like tlight would have 
05t liim liis life, and probably exposed 
nine also. The son of TMokaikt. after 
besitaling some moments, fcplicd itiat lie 

'could nul lake i( upon liimself lo sarc 
Mr. Spaulditifc. but that he would go 
bark and consult the other Indians, and 
so he started back immedialcty to his 
camp. I then availed myself of this ab- 
encv (o satisfy the anxiety of Mr. Spauld- 

""Itir. I related to hiin what had p»«scd. 
* The doctor is dead.' said 1 ; ' the Indians 
have killed him, togcihet witli hi» wife 
and eight other Americans, on Monday 
last, the 2gih, and I have buried them be- 

Lforc leaving to-day.' ' The Indians have 
Killed iho doctor — they will kill mc also 
If I go to the camp r ' I fear it very 
much,' said I. 'What, then, shall I do?' 

_*1 know not. I have told you what lias 

Miapprned. Decide now for yourself wlut 
ou had best do. I have no advice to give 
ou in regard lo that.' ' Why has that 
ndian started back?' he inquired. *I 

[bcg^'ed him to spare your lilc,' said I, 
'and he answeicd me lliat he could not 
take it upon himself lo do so, but that he 
would i^ty and take the advice of the oth- 
er Indians about it; that is the reason 
why he started back,' Mr. Spaulding 
seemed frightened and discouraged. *ls 
it possible ! is it possible !' he exctaiiued 
several times. 'They will certainly kill 
me.' ,\t]d he was unable to come to any 
decision. ' But what could have prompt- 
ed the Indians to iliis .'* he inquired. ' I 
know not,' ftaid I ; ' but be quick and de. 
cidc, you have no lime to lose. If the 
Indians should resolve not lu spare your 

liHfc. they will be here very soon, as iro 
lire only about three miles from their 
camp. * But where shall ] go T ' I know 
not ; you know the countr)' better than I. 
All t know IS that the Indians say the or- 
der to kill all Americans has been sent 

|4n all directions.* Mr. Spaulding then 
resolved to (ly. IIo asked me if 1 were 
witting to take charge of some loose 
horses he was driving before him. I 
■old him I could not, for fear of becoming 
Suspicious to the Indians. I lold him. 
however, thai if the interpreter was will- 
ing to take Ihcm under his charge at his 
own risk, he was perfectly at libeity to 
do so. To this the iulcrprcler a^^recd. 
Igarc Mr. Spaulding what provisiim* I 

Ibad left, and hastened to lake Icaw of 
blm. wishing him with all my bcait a 
bappy escape, and promising to pray for 
liln. . . . The interpreter bad not left 



Mr, Spaulding fafier pf'-^'-'-i' '^■"t a 
ruad) more than twctii . wbea 

he saw ibice aimed Cav...^ . . ,.^l 
ly toward him in pursuit of Mr. Spau 
iag. Upon coming up to the inrcr[irci 
they seemed much displeased that 1 1 
warned Mr, Spaulding of their In 
lions, and thereby lurnishcd him an o;*- 
portuniiy to escape. * The priest ought 
to hare minded his own businest, aoil 
not to hare interfered with ours.' ther 
said in an angry tune, nnd atartcd Innnr- 
diatcly iti pursuit of him." * 

This Spaulding escaped to tcH 1 
tale, and to traduce the character* 
the priest that saved his htc U 
risk of his own. At first, lie trash- 
dined to ncknowlexlg^ the obligatioa. 
for in a letter lo his " nn-erend aftl 
dear friend/' as he styles lIij>hop BUd* 
chcl, eight days after, he w rites : " Tbc 
hand of the merciful Ciod broa^ 
me to my family after sit 
nights from the time my hSmtJ 
furnished rac with provisiow 
escaped from t)»e Indians." ITus* 
fort of gratitude was, howe 
much for him to sustain, and.] 
ingly, we find published in 73f/ 1 
Ame/uitn{\>. 13) tlic fuUowingcho 
specitnen of bigotry znA bjue 
gratitude. " worse than the sin 
witchcraft." He says : 

** It has beoo said by some <tf 
friends in this counlT>- that Omf 
greatly monified to sec me In the d«l 
the bishop's feet bcgRitig for tny I 
This is not the first time that 
(that is, heretics) have lain pros 
the feet of the Pope of Rome. 1 n 
life, under God, in tbc hands of tbel 
and the priests- I had a right to ktl b 
again. 1 iiccmed to see the \t*n4i li 
these priests wci with (he blood of an 
associates. ... I stopped aotloMk 
whose iLinds placed the bishop's (oM*^ 
OQ my neck, the lircs of so many Wq 
beings were worth tlie Sinigglc. 

Can the force of prcjui! 
ception go further than t- 
is a man, who, if not an o(>cn 

• M mrJhw »/ Or, M1lr«MB, pp. la-ff. 1 



or, Executive Document No, 37. 



6-5 



nissionanes, was certainly s. 
: opponeni, whose life was sav- 
>nc of them at a most critical 
nt at iaimincnt danger to his 
►ho was shown the pathway by 
Ijhe miglit escape the fury of 
lyages whose haired he had 
■led by long years of injustice, 
BO was even supi)Ucd ^ritli food 
ihe poor priest's scrip, turning 
Ion his benefactors when he at- 
\ a place of safely, and vilifying 
lurch and religion to whose les- 
r charity he owed his miserable 
pee. This is the man, too, upon 
I authority the " Christian As- 
iDns of Oregon '* have under- 
(to brand the heroic priests of 
Iction as instigators of nvunier; 
fho has undertaken to inform 
toate, and provide Mr. Dtlano 
natters for history *' in a more 
aent form.'* 

there it may be well to dispose 
•- of the minor charges, fnh. 
'if. 37, at page 30, says of the 
' the Whitman massacre : 



[the Indian children] leaped 
laincd for joy. throwing handtols 

around, drinking down llic dy- 
Jnvies of their »iciiins a» a pn:- 
raught. Tticse blood stained little 
twcte to receive ihe sacrfed ordi- 
If baptism a few hour* after, at 
ds of the pricpl of God — llie nian- 
klies yet tying unburicd arnund. 
d of dogs and wolves hy night, 
hogs and Yullurcs by day. sccm- 
ay down to the Indians for what 
i done." 

ixe not aware that m the whole 
of Protestant history there is 

lund a more deliberate, cool, 
IDcious tissue of faselioods than 
K)vc. Two days, not a few 

after the murder, i/tree sick 
D were baptized, of whom two 
) ill that they died the same 
Arc those some of the children 

pcd and screamed for joy ? 



The baprism took place two miles 
JVom Whitman's Station, so that the 
bodies of the slain could not well 
have been lying around. The dogs 
and wolves, hogs and vidtures, are 
purely the creation of the Rev. H. H. 
Spaulding's imagination, and would, 
in vulgar parlance, be styled *' piling 
on the agony." Uefore the arrival of 
Father Rrouillet, Joseph Stainfield 
had already washed the corpses, and, 
with the assistance of the good priest, 
they xvere buried. The insinuation in 
the last line is worthy of Spaulding, 
and shows to what extremes a man will 
go whose sense of truth and even de- 
cency has become completely blunted. 
Another charge against the mis- 
sionaries is lliat they acted inhuman- 
ly with the captives, and that Father 
Brouiliet, who promised to return to 
iheni, neglected lo do so. It is true 
he did not do so, and the prisoners 
may tliauk Mr. Spaulding for his not 
retuffnng. Had he not been as soli- 
citous about saving th.it individual's 
life, and thereby enable him to go 
down lo Ihe grave at an old age with 
a load of falsehood and forgeries on his 
soul, he would never have incurred 
the ill-feeling of the Indians of Wail- 
aipu, or be himself kept a prison- 
er in Young Chiefs tent fijr two or 
three weeks, liut his thoughts anil 
those of his fclloM'-missionaries were 
with the unfortunates, and his every 
effort was used, and successfully too, 
for their liberation. While Spaulding, 
from his mission with the Ncz Perces, 
was writitig lying letters to his " rev- 
erend and dear friend,'* Bishop Blan- 
chet, soliciting his good otlices with 
the Indians with regard to the cap- 
tives, amongst whom was his own 
daughter, that ecclesiastic was calling 
around him the chiefs of the Cayuses, 
aihnonishing llicin to treat their cap- 
tives kindly, promising to write to 
the American governor for terms of 
peace, and attending a council at 



6;^ 



Several Calumnies Refuted ; 



Fort Walla Walla, at which the In- 
dians consented and actually did lib- 
erate the prisoners, the ransom being 
paid by the agents of the much abus- 
ed Hudson Bay Company. Spauld- 
ing himself was then virtually a pri- 
soner among the Nez Perces, with 
whom he lived eleven years, and 
" was very much beloved," if we may 
believe his own statement 

We now come to what we may be 
permitted to call the first grand false- 
hood, as set forth in J^b. Doc. No. 37, 
for the information of the Senate and 
the benefit of history, namely, that 
the Whitman murderers were insti- 
gated by the "Jesuits." This cal- 
umny is repeated in several places 
and in many forms in this extraordi- 
nary public document, and may be 
supposed to be crystallized in the two 
following paragraphs : 

** When the Jesuits and English had, 
by means of Indian runners, excited the 
surrounding tribes to butcher the Pro- 
testant missionaries and American emi- 
grants at Wailatpu, and to exterminate 
the American settlements on the Pacific, 
the Nez Perces refused to join them, and 
rushed at once to the defence of their 
beloved teacher, Mrs. Spaulding, and 
rescued tier and her infants from a band 
of forty of the murderers ; then, second, 
tied to the scene of the eight days' car- 
nage, and by their influence stopped the 
bloody work of the Jesuits." {^Resolutions 
adiypted by the Pleasant Butte Baptist 
Chunk of Linn Co., Oregon, Oct. 22, 
1S69) 

"This Brouiiette [nrouillet], it is prov- 
ed in part by his own testimony, was pre- 
sent at the massacre, doing nothing to 
save the victims, but baptizing the chil- 
dren of the murdering Indians, and oth- 
erwise stimulating them to their work of 
death." {Report of the Committee of the 
Presbytery of Steuben, adopted by the Chris' 
tian Associations of Oregon, l86g.) 

Surely this is history run mad. In 
fact, so gross are the misstatements that 
we are inclined to think that Spauld- 
ing either forged the signatures or in- 



terpolated the resolutions of th< 
ciations — a proceeding which, 
appear further on, he was perfec 
pabte of doing. Now, it is well k 
and stated even by Spaulding 
Doc. No. 37), that the so-called ' 
its,'* namely, Bishop Blanchet a 
priests, had only been in tha 
of the country a short time — 1 
Brouilletsays two months, but S| 
ing reduces it to six weeks ; tl 
Catholic mission had been est: 
ed within hundreds of miles of 
man's Station till two days pr 
to the mission, when one was 
menced at Umatilla, twenty-five 
distant, among a tribe of the Ca 
who had no act or part in the c 
that there never was a Ottholii 
sionar)', Jesuit or otherwise, i 
camps of Tilokaikt, where Wh 
resided till two days after the n 
ere, but once, and that for a 
time when Father Brouillet was 
ed by the chief to go and proc 
site for a mission, in which he £: 
and, finally, that the Indians wh 
the bloody deed were near neig 
of the doctor, the worst being a 
ber of his household ; and that 
one of them were Protestants^ as i 
ding himself partly admits* 
Doc.No.yi). Even the Rev.Gus 
Hines, who is named as one c 

*The firs Ctyutes who were hung in 
City, June 3, 1850, as accomplices in tl 
sacre, were all Protestants, and remainr 
they received their death sentence. AU 
era who are known as murderers, among 
were Lumsuky, Tamahaa, aod the two 
Tilokaikt. were also Protestants. Josep 
field, Jo Davis, and the other half-breed, 
is said, plundered the dead, if any thing, *i 
Ulnly not Catholics. Three of the c«n 
on the mominK of the exccvtion solea 
clared that the Catholic missionaries bad 
whatever to do with the murder. The fo 
tetter to the Bishop of Walla Walla. fi 
Archbishop of Oregon City, will tie fou 
resting ; 

OxacoN Cut, June 1. 1 

The supposed Cayuie tuurdcrers will 

cuted to-morrow. They have abandoi 

Whitman's religion and have become Ci 

1 am preparing them for baptism and for 

F. N. Blaxc* 

Archbishop oC Or^ 



or, Executive Docmutnt No. '^^'j. 



<^7? 



lis ill the compilation of tliis 
nt, says in Iiis History of Otr- 
tlcscribing a council of chiefs 
'* TUokaikt, a Cayuse chief, 
said, * What do you read ihc 
before we take them ? We 
lake ihc Jaws because Taniian 
He is a Catholic, and as a 
i: we do not follow his worship !" 
Dry of Father IJrouillet having 
D the scene of massacre stiinu- 
the Indians in their work of 
Is a poor fabrication, for the 
vibited the bishop and his tu'o 
at Umatilla, twenty-five miles 
; late on Sunday, the zStli, and 
29th, tlie tiay of the slaugh- 
Mitiilding himself supi>ed with 
i the same place. The ridicu- 
ference to the Nez Perces, «n- 
he supposition that they were 
aiits« xs simply absurd. The 
tliat SpaulUing says, in his 
to his *' reverend and dear 
tl»e bishop, ll»c Nez Perces 
imised to protect him and the 
n settlers if troops were not 
fainst the Cayiises, and that 
emanded and received from 
;dcn, of Walla Walla, clothing, 
ilion, and tobacco before they 
elease their " beloved teacher," 
(band and infants. The only 
rrces who fled to the scene to 
liw bloody work of the )e- 
were Iwo messengers of that 
10 bore his treacherous letter 
isliop, begging him to assure 
ruses that he wouhl use every 
prevent the troops from being 
linst them, and which heaftcr- 
cclarcd was meant to deceive 
ic bishop and the Indians.* 
iicr, however, was he out of 
than he used his best efforts 
on a war. " I recollect dis- 
says Major Magone, *' that 
not in favor of killing d// the 

* Ort£»m A mtricam. 



Cayuses. for he gave me tlie names 
of four or five that he knew to l<c 
friendly, and another whom I mark- 
ed as questionable : tht: balance, if 1 
am not very much mistaken, //^ ttkmU 
Aavf (o share ortf/aft" Truly, this 
was strange advice from a minister 
of the Gospel of peace, and from one 
who wished die bibhop to assure the 
Indians '* that we do not wish Ame- 
ricans to cnme from below to avenge 
our wrongs," etc. 

Dut apart from the credibility of 
the witness Spaulding, and the impos- 
sibility of the CathoUc missionaries 
stirring up the Protestant Indians to 
tlie work of death, even if they so de- 
sired, not to speak of their early, con- 
tinuous, and indignant denials of 
every statement and assertion put 
forth by the Oregon fanatics, wc 
have the evidence of several [>evson:(, 
all Protestants wc are inclined lo be- 
lieve, who were either in the neigh- 
borhood at the lime, or arrived soon 
after. R. T. Lockwood, an old rest- 
dent of Oregon and a prominent con- 
tributor to the press, relates the fol- 
lowing conversation which he had in 
1S51 with one of Ihc Indians who 
was a spectator of the murder : 

"Q. Dn ihc Indlanf f;onrm11y irnn: 
the Catholic priC8t<i amone them, and, t( 
sfi. why Jo tlicyprc-fof tliL-m to suth nicii 
iis Dv. Whiiniati? 

'• A. No. niii generally : yet a coosiiler- 
ablc number ilo, and prefer ihcm because 
they tlo not tiy lo get our latid away rrofn 
u«. 

" Q. Did the priests that cimc nmon^ 
you. A little before the massacre, encour-^ 
iigc Ihc killing of Dr. Whitman aod the 
others? 

"A. No. Th(? kiilinc of Dr. Whit- 
m.in vtAs resolved on before the prkcsts 
came. 

" Q. Are >'ou n Catholic Indian ? 

"A. No, sir." 

Some time after, Mr. I.ockwoo<! 
met a Mrs. Foster, one of the survi- 
vors. " I asked her," he says, "if she 



678 



Several Cahimnies Refuted ; 



thought the priest had anything to 
do with the massacre, and she said 
she did not think he did, as he ap- 
peared very much pained, and was 
very kind and tender towards the 
survivors. I asked her, also, if she 
thought that the priest did all he 
safely could, and she answered, ' I 
do,' " This impartial and well-inform- 
ed gentleman winds up his letter thus : 
" Suffice it to say that, in all I ever 
heard said in regard to this lament- 
able massacre (and it has been much) 
prior to the last t^vo years, there was 
not the slightest intimation of you or 
any other Catholic priest being im- 
plicated, or in any way responsible 
therefor." * 

" Why is the Catholic exempt 
from danger ? Why can the Hudson 
Bay Company employee remain amid 
these scenes of blood and Indian 
vengeance against the white race, at 
peace, undisturbed, and, what is more 
loathsome, neutral in such a con- 
flict ?" asks the Hon. Elwood Evans 
of Spaulding, in 186S. The answer 
is simple. Because the Catholic 
priests treat the Indians with uniform 
kindness and justice; because they 
neither deceive them with false prom- 
ises nor appropriate their lands and 
labor without payment, and because, 
being ministers of peace, they are op- 
posed to strife ; all of which Whit- 
man, Spaulding, and his missionary 
companions did not and were not. 
And this brings us to the real cause 
of the massacre. For the sake of the 
Senate which desires information, and 
for Mr. Delano's future history, we 
will give a few extracts from autho- 
rities which, if at all prejudiced, 
would be on the side of the Protes- 
tant view : 

•"I came to select a place foe a mis- 
sion,' said he, ' but I do not intend to 

•Letter of R. T. Lockwood to Very Rev. J. 
B. A. BrouUlct, V\G., Sept 99, 1871. 



take your lands for nolhiag. Af 
doctor is come, there will come 
year a big ship, loaded irith goods 
divided among the Indians. These 
will not be sold, but given to jrou 
missionaries will bring you ploug 
hoes, to teach you to cultivate the 
and they will not sell but gire t1 
you.' . . . And there [among t 
Perces] he made the same prom 
the Indians as at Wailalpu." (.Vi 
7oupitis Statement^in \%X^,of the 1 
Hen of the Presbyterian Missiaus t 
Parker, in 1835.) 

"Two years ago. 1846, a Cayus* 
to roy house in the Willamette setti 
and stopped with me over two 
During tiiat time he often spoke 
Whitman, complaining that be pos 
the lands of the Indians, on wb 
was raising a great deal of wheal, 
he was selling to the Americans, » 
giving them anything ; that he had 
upon their lands, and that they I 
pay him for grinding their wheal, 
horse for twenty sacks. He saii 
told htm to leave, but that he wou 
listen to them." {lb.) 

" A man of easy, don't-care 1 
that could become all things to all 
and yet a sincere and earnest man,: 
ing his iiiind before he thought t: 
cond time, giving his views on il 
jects without much consideration 
reeling them when good reasons 
presenied, yet, when fixed in the p 
of an object, adhering to it with un 
ing tenacity. A stranger would co 
him /itJd/e and stubborn" {Ckamn 
Dr. Whitman by a brother missi^^ar^ 
IV. If. Gray.) 

" The Americans had done them 
harm. Years before, had not one 
missionaries sutTered several of the 
y>\c, and the son of their chi--'"-;, 
slain in his company, yet himself 
ed ? Had not the son of anorhcr 
(Elijah), who had gone to Califo 
buy cattle, been killed by Americ; 
no fault of his own? ... So 
regarded the missionaries, Dr. Wl 
and his associates, ihcy were di 
yet so many looked on the doctor 
agent in promoting the settlement 
country with whites, it was ihougl 
to drive him from the country-, t*, 
with all the missionaries, jtfcni/^jv 
fore. Dr. Whitman had known tl 
Indians were displeased with his 
mcnt among them. They had told 



p/*, Extcutivc Docunuut No. 37. 



679 



'had treated liim with violence, they 
tciiiixrd tu ouiiafjc his wife, had 
1 bir. piupeity, and had &evcinl 
Hnrned hiai to Icnve ihclr countn'. 
f should kill him." (/tivtr i>f the 
p. 400.) 

e [ullilment of the laws which the- 
recommended for their nduption, 
casioncd suspicions in ihc minds 
Indians itenerallx ihni ihe whiles 
id the uttiroaie subjugation of 
Ibes. They saw in the laws ihey 
Dpied a deep-laid scheme of the 
lo destroy ihem and laltc pcsses- 
ihelt country. The arrival of a 
uty of emigrants about this time. 
I sudden departure of Dr. Whit- 
the United Slates, wlih the avow- 
niion of bringing back with him 
^ js he could enlist fur Oregon, 
to hasten them to Ihe ahore con- 
I. . . . Tlie great complaint of 
iins was that the Boston people 
Cans] dcsiKoed to take nwny their 
nd rcilucc (hem to sbvciy." {Rev. 
U Utnrs,D.D.,<usiitaHt af Sfauld- 

ruh. Doc. Xa. 37, t»fi the AVx Pertet 
History of Ortgmi, p. 143.) 
ie7 [the Indians] were demanding 
lable pay for their lands upon 
le stations were erected, and pajr- 
liltle or no attention 10 their 
teachers." (Cm// JIistt>ry t>/ 
P- 365) 

fact ts:itso shown ihat.asfar back 

i|, the Indians west of the Rocky 

tains protested against the taking 

p^ iheti lands by the while races, 

u was one of the alleged causes 

murder of Dr. Whitman." {y. 

'Pwnf, Sptiial A^'nI of the Trta- 

\fiprt fa tfu Ctfw. af Indian Affain, 

I wc find that, whatever credit 
[ claimed for Dr. ^^'i1itlnan as 
ist, his course toward the peo- 
Din he was sent to evangelize 
5*thing but just or Christian ; 
not only did not pay for his 
itl, but hel|)ed others to steal 
id lie admits himself that for 
rs he had utterly neglected 
itual and mental duties of his 
But there were other and 
potent causes at work. Of 
ed friend Dr, Whitman,'* 



Sir James Douglass, chief factor of 
the Hudson Bay Company, writes on 
December 9, ten days after the mas- 
sacre : 

" Me hoped that time and iaftruction 
would produce a change of mind— a bet- 
ter state of feeling toward the mission, 
and lie might have lived to have seeu his 
hopes rcalizcd,«had not the measles and 
dysentery, following In the iraln of immi- 
grants from the United States, made 
frightful ravages this year in the upper 
counlr^'. ^tanv Indians have been carried 
oir through iho violence of the disease. 
and others through their own impru> 
dcncc. The Cayusc Indians of Wallai- 
pu, Ijcing suiTcicrs in this general raUt- 
mity, were incensed against Or. WhiV 
man for not exerting his supposed supcfJ 
natural power in saving their lires. Thejp' 
carried this absurdity beyond the point 
of fully. Their superstitious minds be- 
come possessed of the horrible suspicion 
thai he was giving poison 10 the &ick 
instead of wholesome medicine, with the 
view of working the destruction of the 
tribe, his former cruelly probably add- 
ing strength to their suspicions. Sitll, 
some of the rctlccting had confidence in 
Dr. Whitman's inicgftty, and it was 
agreed tu test the cffecis of the medicine 
he had furnished on three of their people, 
one of whom was said to be in perfect 
health. They unlorlunaiely dierl, and 
from that moment it was repaired to de- 
stroy the mission. Ii was immediaiely 
after burying the remains of these three 
pctsons that they tcpaircd in the mis- 
sion and murdered every man finind 
there." 

Several other contemporary writers 
confirm this calm st.itemcnt of events, 
which ill themselves were enough to 
drive ignorant and desperate savages 
(for it must be borne in mind that 
Dr. Whitman had given up instruct- 
ing them for some years to attend tu 
his wheat and horses) to commit 
any act of inunler or rapine. To 
show that the " horrible suspicion " 
of having been poisoned was not a 
mere groundless suspicion on the 
part of the Indians, we present the 
fuUowing testimony : 



68o 



Several Calumnies Refuted ; 



" I spent ihe winter of 1P46 in Dr. 
Whitman's employment. I generally work- 
ed at the saw-mill. During the time I 
was there, I observed that Dr. Whitman 
was in the habit of poisoning wolves. I 
did not see him put the poison in the 
baits for the wolves ; but two of his young 
men of the house, by his order, were poi- 
soning pieces of meat, and distributing 
them in the places where the wolves 
were in the habit of conaing, at a short 
distance around the establishment of the 
doctor. The doctor once gave me some 
arsenic to poison the wolves that were 
around the saw mill. . . . Some In- 
dians who happened lu pass there took 
the meat and ate it ; three of them were 
very sick, and were near dying. . . . 
Mr. Gray, who was then [1840] living 
with the doctor, offered us as many me- 
lons to eal as we liked, but he warned 
us at the same time not to eat them in- 
discriminately, as some of them were 
poisoned. 'The Indians,' said he, 'are 
continually stealing our melons. To stop 
them, we have put a little poison on the 
bigger ones, in order that the Indians wha 
will fat them might be a little tick' " 
{Statement cf John Young, corroborated by 
Auguslitu Jinymond.) 

In addition to these acts of im- 
prudence, the doctor, it seems, had 
earned for himself an unenviable un- 
popularity. He was constantly ex- 
torting overpay in horses from them, 
and threatening them with soldiers 
and emigrants if they refused it. Af- 
ter having a quarrel with them on 
one occasion, " during which they 
insulted him, covered him with mud," 
and even attempted his life, " he 
started for the United States, telling 
the Indians that he was going to see 
the great chief of the Americans, and 
that when he would return he would 
bring with him many people to chas- 
tise them; the Indians had been 
looking to his return with great fear 
and anxiety." • At another time, in 
the fall of 1847, he said to the In- 
dians at Walla Walla in the presence 
of several white men, " Since you are 
so wicked, such robbers, we shall send 

*7oupta's slatement. 



for troops to chastise you, and next 
fdU we will see here five hundred 
dragoons, who will take care of 
you." But even Doctor Whitman, 
" fickle and obstinate " as he was, 
could not entirely overlook the dan- 
gers that beset him for so many 
years, and at the solicitation of his 
friend had been preparing to leave 
his station long before the arrival of 
the Catholic missionaries. Mr.Thfr 
mas McKay, whom the doctor hati 
invited to stop the wiuier'of 1847-S 
with him for protection, says, " He 
told me repeatedly, during the last 
two years especially, that he wished 
to leave, as he knew the Indians woe 
ill-disposed toward him, and that it 
was dangerous for him to stay then; 
but that he wished all the chiefe to 
tell him to go away, in order to exaist 
himself to the Board of Foreign Ma- 
sions." Dangerous and fatal mistake, 
which cost the lives of thirteen inno- 
cent people, and closed the unfortu- 
nate man's earthly career ! 

Now for the affair of the young 
woman Miss Bewley, who is descrit 
ed in Fi/^. Doc. No. 37, p. 35, indiffer- 
ently as an " amiable young saint,"* 
"dear girl," and "an angel." It is 
charged that, when Five Crows d^ 
manded her for his wife, and she ^^ 
fusing to go with him, the bishopi 
and priests urged her to go, and 
even thrust her out-of-doors wheo 
she refused. So little credence was 
given this specific calumny, for many 
years after the alleged occurrence. 
that the only mention we find mad* 
of it in The Murder of Dr. Whitmw 
is the following paragraph : 

" Before taking leave of the chiefs, lb* 
bishop said to ihem .ill publicly, as be 
had also done several times privsteb. 
that those who had taken American giib 
should give them up immediately. Aw) 
then all entreated Five Crows to give Of 
the one he had taken, but to no pui- 
pose." 



0ft Exeeuthe Do<nment No, 37. 



6ai 



let us hear Father Brouillet's 
of the afTnir in conlratliction 
Bewky's dq>osilion : 

did." says (he reverend genile- 
U thnt charity cuuM claim, and 
re (tun i>riitlcncc seemed lo per> 
£ kept licr for sck'cnlven days in 
|e, provided Tor alt her wants, 

Elted her well, and W she hnd 
us, and heeded our advice and 
a, slic would never h.ive beca 

I tu \\xi\ Indian. When she 

II tu out house, and told us that 
airs lud sent for her tu lie hi^ 
' asked her what she wanted to 
3 she want to ^Q v<\\\\ him, or 
le said she did not want to go 
I. 'Slav with us, ilicti. if you 
I will d^i for )'nu what we can,' 
DlTer. When the evening came, 
■n chief called for her. The 
ten requested his interpreter to 
(hat she did not want lo tc his 
I thnt, therefore, he did not want 
t with him. The iuierpictcr. ivho 
pdian, allied by marriage to the 

and knew the chier« disiM>!*i- 
, woi'td not provoke his anger^ 
ised to inicrprct. The writer. 
tin^ use of a few Indian wards 
IckeU up during the feir days he 
k ihere, and with the aid of signs, 
I the Indian himself, and kuc- 
n makirtg liiin undeistand what 
It. The Indian tosc furious- 
wilhoBt uttering a word went 
Tlic young woman then got 

, and wanted to go for fear he 
line back and do us alt an injur)*. 

r tried to quiet her, and insist- 

le should remain at nur house, 
iO at-ail ; she mu«l go, and tiflf 
The Indian, still in his &t of 
■fused to receive her, and sent 
h She remained with us three 

days undisturbed ; until one 

without any violence on the 
ihc Indian, or without advising 
■lie u-uni will) him to his lodge, 
e back the next morning, went 
I in the evening, and continued 
lut being forced by the Indian, 
[ of the time goiitg by herself, 
last fthc was lold to select be- 
B Indian's lodge and our house, 
I loose way of acting could not 
red any longer. That was the 

only time that she offered any 



resistance to the will uf the Indian ; but, 
indeed, bcr resistance was very slight^ If 
we ran believe tier own statement." 

This is a very tlificrenl account 
from thai swoni lo by Miss Bewley, 
but written by Spaulding, as he says 
hiinscir, Ex. D«c. No. 37, p. 27 : " I 
would go to on individual, and take 
down in writing what he or she knew, 
and then go before a magistrate, and 
the individual would make an oath to 
the statement, the officer certifpn.s." 
'ihcre is no tnention that the parties 
were permitted to read what their 
amanuensis took down, and all who 
are acquainted with such exparie do- 
IHisitLons know how easily it would 
be to alter their sense and meaning 
by an unscrupulous person — which 
we are about to show Spaulding to be. 
In this very statement there are two 
interpolations, one of eight lines on 
P^gc 55 of Ex. DtK. No. 37, beginning 
with the words " I arose," and one of 
six on the following page, at "The 
next day," which maleriaUy alter the 
whole meaning of the document. 
This alteration of a sworn statement 
by any but the alliant is at common 
\3.v{ forgery, and ouijht to entitle the 
person who makes it lo the delicate 
attention of the prosecuting attorney 
of his county. Whether the saint 
and angel, Miss Bewley, is now aware 
of the forgery connected with her 
name wc know not, but we trust that 
tlie Senate will make a note of it for 
the benefit of future historians. But 
Spaulding. who is desciibed by his co- 
niLssionary Gray as " quite impulsive 
and bitter in his denunciations of a 
real or supposeil enemy," in en- 
deavoring to make out a cose, is not 
content with altering one attidavit. 
That of Mr. Osborne (£jr./>rv. No. 37, 
p. 31) is also materially changed in 
several places from the original, and 
the official reports of Mr. McLane 
{Ex. Dffc. p. 33) and of Dr. While arc 



682 



AfirmatiottS, 



doctored in a manner that we venture 
to say would render it difficult for the 
writers themselves to recognize them. 
Even the plain statements of The 
Murder of Vr. Whitman are garbled 
in a most palpable and scandalous 
manner. 

As to the other auxiliary charges 
against the Catholic missionaries, and 
the answers of Abemethy and a few 
others to questions propounded by 
Spaulding, we do not consider them 
worthy of serious attention. They are 
all directly or indirectly the creaturesof 
Spaulding's fertile imagination, who, 
if not crazy as Colonel Gilliam said, has 
allowed his hatred of Catholicity to 
carry him down to fearful depths of 
crime, to calumny, falsehood, and 
forgery. His motives are apparent, 
the gratification of his lust for re- 
venge, and his hatred of our faith j 
that of the associations who have 



signed his outrageous statements is 
the present flourishing existence of 
the Catholic missions in every part 
of Oregon ; and the end proposed is 
to compass their destruction by ap- 
. pealing to the religious prejudices 
of the authorities at WashingtoD. 
We have too much confidence in the 
wisdom and good sense of the Execu- 
tive and Congress to suppose that they 
will be influenced by such infiammatoy 
appeals — bearing on their face tbi 
palpable impress of dishonesty aod 
prejudice — and attempts to disturb the 
good fathers in their labor of love, u 
well as of hardships and suflfenDg; 
and we expect soon to hear of those 
fanatics receiving a fitting rebuke in 
our Senate for attempting to mah 
that august body the vehicle of per- 
petuating the vilest sort of falsehoods 
and slanders against the Catholics of 
this country. 



AFFIRMATIONS. 



" Why does man go about organ- 
izing systems, when he himself must 
be reorganized ?" 

" The thing to be done will not 

unite the doers." 



unwilling to submit to the prepara- 
tory process." 

" Self- improvement by the selfish 
spirit is the most deceitful of all de- 
ceits." 



" When man forgets what he is, 
he soon is put into a state of un- 
easiness, and made to sufler in pain 
what was designed for him to be 
pleasure." 

" We are always learning the way 
that heaven acts, but are very shy to 
invite it to act upon us, and are very 



" While you persevere in washinfE 
a man's face with dirty water, it wiU 
never be clean; you must get pure 
water to wash with." 

" A child is a religious being prior 
to its being an intellectual being; 
and must not be turned away from 
the divine order." 



Am A/ferwan at St. Lasau. 



^ 



AN Ai-TERNOON AT ST. LAZARE. 



[aid a visi: yesterday (Siuiday) 
La2:]re, and all that wo saw 
Ird there struck us as so in- 

, and so entirely different frum 
onceivtxl uotioiis concern- 
ill-rained centre of crime 
>hmeiu, that we cajiuoi but 
ku* readers will likewise l>e in- 
fin hearing a detailed and 
^ account oi it. 
|ld been told that the famous 
jf, charged with the murder 
tdgneur Surat, was still there, 
jcould not resist the opportu- 
1^ us by a friend of going 
^is extraordinary t)*pe of fe- 
jocity — the woman who put a 
jthe prelate's head, and, when 
Py asked her what he had 
\ her that she should hate 
Teplied : *■ You are a priest 1" 
\ him on the spot. On arriv- 
^cver, we found that she had 
^Versailles the night before. 
lere still fourteen of her terri* 
lipeers remaining out of the 
tadrcd and thirty that had 
^en on the barricades and in 
fcral saturnalia of the Com- 
id locked up in St. X-azare. 
Riled the prison from bcgin- 
end. Nothing surprised us so 
\ the gentleness of the ri\^nie, 
\ absence of all mystery or 

restraint in the management 
risoners. The jail had no- 

the repulsive paraphernalia 
on nbout it, and but for its 

walls, its vast proportions, 
rtain iDdescribablc gloom in 
ihcrc, inseparable, we sup* 
the mere presence of such 
one might very well 



have mistaken it for an orphanage or 
any ordinary asylum conducted by a 
religious community. 

The SitlUs arc magnificendy spa- 
cious and lofty, with broad, high 
windows opening on courts j there 
are four courts— ///iwtv they are call- 
ed — one after another, wit'nin the prc- 
cmcts of the prison ; the beds are 
like hospital beds; and there was no- 
thing in the dress of the women, or 
the manner of the nuns toward them, 
to tell an uninitiated visitor that they 
were not patients rather than prison- 
ers and malefactors of the worst 
kind. 'J'here was the same silence 
brooding over the place, the same 
quiet regularity in all the arrange- 
ments, the same supernatural sort of 
cleanliness that one never sees any- 
where but in convents. The popu- 
Intiun of tilt* prison varies from 1,200 
to 1,800, and the govcniuKnl of these 
dangerous and desperate subjects is 
committed to the sole charge of a 
community of religious called S»xurs 
de MiirU-yoseph. They are fifty ui 
all. Their dress is black serge, with 
a black veil lined with a light-blue 
one. They were founded at the 
close of the last century by a Lyon- 
nese lady, whose name the superior- 
ess told us, but we forgot it. 

It was just two o'clock when we 
arrived, and liie superioress and an- 
other nun gave up assisting at ves- 
pers m order to show us over the 
house, which from its immense size 
takes two hours to visit in detail. 
The prisoners are divided into seve- 
ral categories, and are kept distinctly 
separate from each other. There are 
first the Prdveuuei-t who are put in 



684 



Ah AftefHoon at St. Lasare. 



on an accusation which has not been 
investigated; then the D^temtes^ 
against whom proof is forthcoming, 
and wlio are awaiting their trial ; 
then there are the Jugdes^ of whom 
the categories are various, as will be 
seen. These classes are never al- 
lowed to come in contact, even acci- 
dentally, with each other ; they do 
not even meet at meals. Those who 
are condemned to one year's impri- 
sonment remain at St. Lazare, but if 
the sentence extends to a year and a 
day, they are sent off to one of the 
Succursales. When their term is expir- 
ed (those who are sentenced to a year 
only), they may continue at St. La- 
zare if they choose. Many of them, 
touched with grace, and sincerely 
converted from their evil courses, 
dread going back to old scenes and 
temptations that have proved so fa- 
tal to them, and beg to be kept as 
fiUes de service for the work of the 
house, or in the workshops, etc., and 
they are never refused. The supe- 
rioress said they made very active 
official servants, and it is very sel- 
dom they fall away from their good 
resolves, and have to be expelled or 
punished. We were passing through 
one of the passages wiien a sudden 
noise of voices from the court made 
us go to the window and look out. 
We saw a troop of prisoners pouring 
out into tlie yard ; they were run- 
ning about, laughing and chatting, 
and apparently enjoying their mo- 
mentary liberty with the zest of 
school-boys. 

"Who are these, ma mjref" we 
inqun-ed. 

" ffiflas .'*' The exclamation was 
accompanied by a sufficiently expres- 
sive gesture. 

"They are generally, a very nu- 
merous class here," she explained; 
"but just now there are but some 
two hundred of them ; the p^troleu- 
us were largely recruited from their 



ranks, and great numbers 
have been sent on to Versail 
Some one asked if these 
nates were more refractory 
other prisoners, thieves, etc. 
" As a rule, they are less 
plied the nun; "we hardly 
obliged to have recourse to 
diem with them, and we ha- 
frequent conversions amon^ 
than any other class of p 
There comes a time to many 
especially if they have had a 
of religious belief sowed : 
minds in childhood, when th 
both of this world and the ne: 
on them with a sense of hor 
then grace has an e^y ta 
them. I could tell you of 
wrought in the souls of the 
sinners that would sound li 
out of the lives of the saints, 
have had deathbeds among th 
short of saintly. But, again, 
often see all our efforts fail, a 
reject grace with a sort of dei 
al obduracy, and go back to i 
lives without a moment's 
compunction : nothing seems 1 
them or frighten them." 

We asked if the nuns wi 
afraid of them, if they never 
cned or insulted them. 

" Oh ! never!" replied the si 
ess emphatically ; " the comm 
have over them, and the wj 
yield obedience and respect ( 
almost miraculous. You se 
]K)or outcasts down there ; I \ 
there is nothing in the woH 
lost or degraded than they ar 
are the lowest specimens of tl 
est stratum of vice and every 
of depravity. Well, the younj 
in the community is as safe 
middle of them as if they v 
honest meres de familU. 
been a religious twenty-two ye 
out of that ten years at St. 
and I have never known th 



Aa Afternoon at St. Litaart. 



CS5 



n to aiiy of us that call- 
prim and." 
may add that she said the 
pajority of these offenders were 
bin the provinces, young and 
■cnced Tor the most part, and 
kne to Paris expecting to make 
irtunc, and unprepajcd for the 
lions awaiting them in this 
^p for suuls, 

|aw the words OrafMre Istad- 
Woire I^testiiHt, painted over 

firs, and ilic latter suggested 
iry « heihcr there were ceca- 
ls any Knghsh women amongst 
toate&of St. Lazare. 
|! jcs, 1 am sorry to say wc 
kgood many Engh&h," said tlic 
K and then, shaking her head 
ping, she added : " And I am 
JD lell you that they arc tlie 
nmanageabic of all, for they are 
|ly given to drink, and when 
Uie case they are like nia<I- 
Bnd wc can do nothing v ith 
A little while ago we had one 
t into such a fearful ftt of fury 
was necessary to put her in 
k-up ; her shrieks were so loud 
ley were heard half over the 
j|nd terrified the young defe- 
toward evening she grew so 
iDus that the garifi^ns were 
put her into the slrail-waist- 
tliey are powerful men with 
bands and iron nervcu, and 
to the work — but she baffled 
icm for two hours ; they were 
to seize or hold her ; at last 
it up in despair, and said : 
ft use, we must go for /ts sd'urs / 
jlthem came to fetch nie, and 
t to come or send some one to 
^m. He was trembling in 

rtb, and the perspiration was 
from his fate as if he had 
irrcntling with a wild animal. 
lone of the nuns with me, and 
it down to the prison, where 
obliged to spend the whole 



night witli the prisoner, coaxing and 
caressing her, bciore we got her to 
c;ilm iluwii ani.1 cease shrieking." 

We asked to what class in life the 
Knglish culprits generally belonged — 
if they were exclusively of the lowest ? 
The superioress said, on the contrary, 
they were often persons very commt 
il/iiiit in their manners, and evident- 
ly liad had an education far above 
the class of domestic servants — some 
of I hem were in fact quite like ladies; 
she believed they were mostly gov- 
ernesses, or teachers whoconie over to 
Paris in search of situations or les* 
sons, and, not finding either, are driv- 
en by Juinger and despair to steal, or 
do worse ; but theft is geucrally the 
offence of the English prisoners, 

" Sometimes, indeed," said the su- 
perioress, " it makes us laugli to hear 
the account of tlic thefts I hey com- 
mit, there is ofien soaxeihingso comi- 
cal in the way they do it, and the 
cunning and dexterity they display 
are beyond belief; the nioflf accom- 
plished French fthu cannot hold a 
candle to them." 

Sad as this testfmony was, it could 1 
not be quite a surprise to any one living j 
in Paris who had seen much of thej 
class of English alluded to, but it will 
come probably as a new and terrible 
revelation to many in Kngland ; and 
if this [lapcr shouh.! fall hilo the hands 
of any lone, friendless English girl 
hesitating about coming to Paris to 
earn her bread, (he writer prays God 
she may [X)ndcr on the foregoing 
statement, and think twice before 
embarking on so perilous a venture. 

Several saiUs are filled with a 
class of prisoners called yWmrj ///jfli*- 
mises ; they are all very young, some 
merely children of the day ; they are 
not always actual criminals, some- 
times they are only subjects with 
dangerous propensities beyond the 1 
control of parents, and they are seaM 
here to be trained to better ways;] 



An Afternoon at St. Lazare. 



especial pains are directed to these 
juvenile oflTcnilers, and the result is 

roAi'ii very consohng. The supcrior- 

F«ss sai<i they had lately had a baby 
of six years old brought in for steal- 
ing. " !t was only a cake that tenipt- 
ed the poor little mite," said the mo- 
thcr dcprccalingly, " but she was very 
naughty and unmanageable other- 
wise, and the parents were glad of a 
pretext to get nd of her for a time." 

It was not only of such innocent 
culprits as this that the superioress 
spoke with indulgence, her large- 
hearted charity took in all the lost 
inhabitants of tlie dismal abode in 
which she dwelt and toiled ; and there 
was something unspeakably touching 
in the way she every now and then 
seemed to try as it were to excuse 
the worst among them, to plead for 
them iiidireclly by showing up any 
remnant of good \n them. We met 
the women we mentione<l our seeing 
out at recreation on their way along 
a corridor; t)iey walked singly, with 
their arms crossed ; we were quite 
close to them as they passed us ; and 
anything more ignoble than their fea- 
tures il would be difficuU to con- 
ceive — the expression of the faces 
was scarcely human ; they resembled 
vicious animals in human shape mth- 
er than women, This struck us all so 
forriMy that we could not helj) mak- 

|*ing the remark to the superioress. 
5he seemed positively hurt, as if we 
had said something personally un- 
kind 10 her, and, on my expressing 
some jtagan surprise at it, she broke 
out into such a tender pleading for 
"those dear souls whom our l^rd 
longs for and that cost him so dear " 
that* though I felt ihoro^ighly rebuk- 
ed, I could not be sorry for having 

^called out her protest. It was like 
aving laid one's hand roughly and 

[unawares on a vibrating instrument 
that sent out a strain of heavenly 
music. 



" Oh !" she conlintied/ 
look as I shall never forge 
only knew what the value t 
is, how precious it is in the 
God, we would never look 
gust at the poor wretched I 
holds it ; but I assure you « 
comes near to those poor sii 
disgust soon wears off, and 
of nothing but their soub, I 
dous, immortal souls* 
bought at sucli a price !" 

The more we listened^ 
observed her, the less surp 
were at the universal respect 
I might almost cnl! ii, that 
her presence evcr>'whcrc — il 
spontaneous and so free from 
like fear or servility. Asso< 
appeared at the door of a wo 
or a class, or a domiitor>% the j 
rose immediately tn 
several limes I noli(*^ 
make signs to others who i 
looking, or touch them on X\ 
der, to stand up and welcome 
ther. She generally said a 
xhciu en Jktsaant: '*Good-mor 
children ! Arc you Itehavini 
etc., and then there was a r 
curtsies and a perfect clajnor \ 
mother, thank you I" and t) 
bad faces would brighten 
moment with a smile. 

The influence of the nufis 
prisoners is indeed little lest 
permanent miracle, Arooi 
instances of it, (he superiorea 
the following : " A desperate 
charged with misdemeanor 
worst kind, was brought to th 
She was tlie daughter of a 
and," added ihesupcriorew, li 
'• I beg you to believe that I 
nens were just what might hi 
eir|)ected." A few days arte 
rival she broke out into a fit 
fur)', and the ^^ntfiTW had M 
for to take her to the (Otkti 
soon as she saw them enter 



An Aftvrnoott at St. Lasare, 



63^ 



a "huge pair of scissors from 

Ipket — how she came by it we 

discovered — and, holding it 

nd pointed at ihcni with one 

jhc beckoned them with the 

come on, yelling all the 
ke a raging lioness. The men 
> terrify her, to dodge her, but 
all Useless, she baffled every 
t to seize her. lliey gave it 
hopeless, and came for nae. 
sooner saw me ihan she cried 
' Send them away, and I will 

1 you ; but 1 will never move a 
ill these men !' I sent them 
md toU her to give me the 
; she gave it at once, and then 
her by the hand and led her 
out a word. 

another occasion, one section 

DncTS got up a scheme for 

the gardieiis. They were to 

r wooden uihots into clusters 

t together, and when the ,^r- 

ime to convey some refrac- 

»ject to the (aehot^ the others 

I fling several batches of these 

Utble missiles at their heads. 

pbct must have been fatal, but 

lely there was some delay in 

Kamnce of the ^rdietis, and 

K>ner5, having all ready, grew 

nt, and at last, losing all con- 

By began to yell and call out 

en and brandish their sattoti 

y. The nun who wasin wait* 

I down to warn the garJUnt 

come up, and then came to 

what had happened, and to 

about sending for the soldiers, 

fc always ready at the peste 

the prison ; the ^irdiem were 

wd, and advised this being 

I thought, however, the storm 

Subside without having re- 

to such an extreme mea- 

was not the least afraid of 

len personally ; I knew they 

never lay a linger on one 

whatever their fury might 



be, so I walked into the midst of 
them. 

" ' What is this row about ?' I said. 
' I am ashamed of you; let me hear 
no more of it.' Then taking the 
ringleader — we always know the cjuc 
to pilch upon — I told her I must put 
her in prison ; she "made no resist- 
ance, only stipulating that the gat- 
diens were not to touch her." 

" Are the gfltdUm cruel to them 
that they hate them so much ?" I 
asked. 

*' No, never," she answered; "they 
ha\-e no opportunity for it if they, 
felt so inclmed ; but they represent^ 
strength and justice, whereas the 
nuns represent only weakness and 
pity ; the prisoners resent the one, 
but not the other." 

Some one asked the superioress if 
she had ever known a conspiracy at- 
tempted to kill or hurt any of the 
sisters. She replied never, on which 
we related to her an episode of the 
Roman prisons, told us recently by 
the Papal Nuncio. The female pri- 
sons in Rome are, like St. I-azare, 
conducted entirely by nuns, without 
even the moral support of a poste at 
the gates to enforce their authority. \ 
One day a plot was organized for 
doing away with the nuns and mak- 
ing their own escape from the prison. , 
The prisoners "Were sixty in number 
and the nims twelve, so the scheme 
offered little serious difftculiy. It 
was agreed that on a certain day 
when all the community were assem- 
bled with the prisoners in the work- 
room, the latter were to seize the 
nuns and fling them out of the win- 
dows into the yard. The signal 
agreed upon was the close of the 
work-hour, when the superioress clap- 
ped !ier hands for them to put aside 
their work. The secret was so well 
kept that not a hint transpired, but 
the superioress felt instinctively there 
was something abnormal brewing. 



688 



Aft Afternoon at St, Lasare, 



She had no apprehension at the mo- 
ment, however, and gave the signal 
as usual when the clock struck the 
hour. No one moved. She repeat- 
ed it. Still no one stirred. She gave 
it a third time more emphatically, 
and then the leader of the band 
walked straight up to her and struck 
her a blow on the face. The meek 
disciple of Jesus quietly knelt down, 
turned the other cheek, and said : 

" If I have done you any harm, 
tell me so, but if not, why do you 
strike me ?" 

The woman fell upon her knecsr, 
burst into tears, and confessed eve- 
rything. When the superioress had 
heard her to the end, she said : 

" Now, my daughter, I must take 
you to the dungeon ; you know this 
is my duty." 

"Yes, mother, I know it is," and 
she gave her hand, and let herself be 
led away as meekly as a lamb. 

How omnipotent is the power of 
love, and how lovely this world 
would be if love were allowed to 
rule over it everywhere ! 

Before we had finished our inspec- 
tion of the house, we went to bene- 
diction in the prison chapel. 7'hcre 
was a short sermon first on the gos- 
pel of the day. About eight hun- 
dred of the prisoners were present. 
Some were yawning^ and evidently 
only there because they could not 
help themselves, others assisted with 
edifying devotion, but all were re- 
spectful in their attitude and de- 
meanor. The organ was played by 
one of the nuns, and the choir was 
formed of prisoners from the class 
already alluded to. The singing was 
not very scientific, but it struck us 
all as peculiarly touching, the more 
so. no doubt, from the associations 
connected unconsciously with the 
choristers. The superioress said it 
was looked upon as a great privilege 
to sing in the choir, and it is held 



out as a reward for sustaii 
and good conduct. As « 
little altar lighted up, and t 
rays of the monstrance shir 
upon the singular congreg 
could not but think what 
and beautiful manifestatic 
deeming love it was, tliis pi 
the God of holiness, a w 
soner in such a temple. T 
the Sisters of Marie-Josep 
of the purest, most unblemi; 
self-devoted victims to the 
died on Calvary for out 
sinners, kneeling side by si 
loathuig sisterhood with 
ofi&courings of this great 
A sight wonderful beyond i 
understanding if the mysi 
not explained to us by tlie v 
out the little crystal prise 
" I came to seek sinners, an< 
with them. . . . And w 
you do to the least of thcs 
likewise to me. ... An 
more joy in heaven for the 
one sinner than for nincty-n 
just." 

And many are the joys 
him and his saints by the ir 
this great emporium of sinne 
All Saints' day five hundrc 
prisoners approached the sa< 
some in the most admirably 
spirit, but all of their own 
and for the moment at V 
hearts Touched by grace an 
away from evil. They wer 
ed for tlie feast by a retreat 
days, preached by a Marist 

After benediction we resi 
inspection, and came final 
pitroleuses. There was nt 
the room where they were 
surroundings, to distinguish t 
the other prisoners, and if i 
rioress had not whispered 
we were entering the dormi 
these were the women, w 
never have suspected the t 



/f/i AfttrncoH tU St. Lusare. 



689 



jtoom to be Ihe den of wild 
pit was. An American lady 
^as oi our party amused the 
by asking rcijcaiedly : " But 
^a^e the wicked ones?" She 
)t persuade herself — and in- 
was difficult — that the hun- 
&f women we saw so genlty 
and held as it were with silk- 
were the n;ost dangerous 
ndoned characlere of the me- 
Thc fourteen petroUmes 
It dressed in the i)rison livery, 
their own clothes : some of 
TC very spruce and cornfor- 
but all were lidy and clean^ 
them had a poverty-stricken 
[They were ne.irly all oi them 
in sullen sdencc beside their 
ne woman was dandling; a 
white-faced, shrivelled little 
ieked out in a line blue frock 
_jlle flounces. Wc think we 
(ere had been four humlrefl and 
pf these p^troieusex in the pri- 
Fhe superioress said they had 
Id very well there, and never 
bilged tlte soldiers to iiuerferc. 
>ere cold-blooded, defiant crea- 
lut this was not their sphere 
on ; they bore no ill-will to 
trs; quite the contrary, many 

rrs on going away. They fell 
discipline of the prison with 
ility as to hours and rules, 

om broke silence. On one 

ly they were iniraclable — 

luld not work. 

bad enough to be conquered 
lered by Versailles," they 
wer, '* but we are not going 
for thciu." .\nd neiilwr 

nor entreaties could induce 

take a needle in their hand, 

down to a sewing-machine. 

no use explaining to them 
would not be working for 

■5, that they woulii work for 
ivcs, and might buy extra food 

n^nt with their day's earn- 

VOl- XIV.— 44 



ings; no, they got it nito their head& 
that Versailles would in some way 
or otiier be the better for iheir work- 
ing, and nothing could get it out of 
them. The very name of Versailles 
used to rouse them to fury ; it was 
like a red rag to a bull. They boast- 
ed of iheir e.xp!oits during the Oom- 
mune as things to glory in. One 
swore she had set tire to five build- 
mgs, and her only regret was that 
she had been too late to set fire to 
St. Lazare. Many of her compan- 
ions expressed the same regret with 
quiet effrontery, that would have 
been amusing if it had not been so 
appalling. Every one of them de- 
clared that if it were to begin over 
again, they would <lo just the same, 
only \s^\\xT, became Hit m thfv hiul mart 
experUiue. 

"And whJt is your opinion, ma 
m^re ?" wc said; "do you think it 
will begin again, and that the ///w- 
femes are stilt in existence, or was it 
a type born with the Commune, and 
passed away with it ?" 

She replied unhci-itatingly lliat she 
believed it wouhi begin again, and] 
that the ptfiroiensex wonhl come out 
in greater force than ever ; that they 
were neither daunted nor disarmed 
by the failure of the Commune, but 
rather infuriated by defeat, and 
more resolute anil reckless than be- 
fore — reckless to a degree tluit only 
bad women can l>e, and ready to 
slake body and soul on their revenge. 
She said that the conduct of Ver- 
sailles was weak and ill-judged be- 
yond her comprehension; that thejr, 
had far better have left these womctt ■ 
free at once on the plea that they 
were women, if they did not mean 
to deal out their deserts to them ; but 
now these desperate creatures were 
exasper;ited by incarceration, and by 
a mockery of a trial that either libe- 
rated them or sentenced them to a 
punishment they knew perfectly weH 



690 



An Afternoon at St. Lazarc. 



tlie government did not mean to car- 
ry out. It was like letting loose so 
many bloodhounds on France to 
Kct these women at large again. 

" We have seen them de prh" con- 
tinued the superioress, " and we are 
one and all convinced that the next 
attempt will be worse than the first; 
we have terrible days in store — the 
p^troleuses have not said their last 
word." 

Speaking of the Commune led to 
our asking about her own experienc- 
es under it It appears that the em- 
ployees at St. Lazare, the director, 
inspector-general, and their assistants, 
were among the first turned out, and 
agents of the Hfitel de ViUe installed 
in their places. The first thing these 
guardians of public justice did was 
to set free one-half of the popula- 
tion, such as were available for the 
public services; and able servants 
they proved themselves on the barri- 
cades and as incendiaries. To ac- 
count for and in some measure palliate 
the superhuman ferocity displayed by 
the women of the Commune, we 
may as well mention here a fact not 
generally known, and which was 
told to us by a distinguished medical 
man, who was here all through that 
terrible saturnalia, and by a Sister of 
Charity, who could also speak from 
person^ knowledge. It would seem 
that the snuff dealt out to the people 
from the government manufactories 
was mixed in large proportions with 
gunpowder. The eflect of this ingre- 
dient, taken in very small quantities, 
is to excite the brain abnormally, but 
taken in large ones it brings on a 
kind of savage delirium tremens. The 
wine distrijjuted to the pHroleuses on 
the barricades and elsewhere was 
also heavily charged with some such 
element of madness. It seems to us 
that it is rather a consolation to hear 
this, for though it reveals a diabolical 
instinct of soul-hatred in the few, it 



explains, on the other hand, 1 
was that occasionally we saw 
and hitherto mild, inoficusive 1 
suddenly transformed into den 

Tlie superioress said that \ 
first three weeks that the nu 
duty for the Commune, n 
could exceed the respect and 
deration they received from tV 

" They were as docile as litl 
to us," she said, " and never d 
thing without coming to con; 
The inspectcur-general named 
Commune happened to have 
ly been a clerk at the ]}ri3or 
surprise when I saw him in 1- 
character, and with such cred 
was great; but he seemed I 
very much ashamed, and wher 
ed him what had induced 1 
join tlie Commune, he replit 
it was really devotion to the 
he had accepted the office I 
he knew we would want a pre 
and he preferred being on tl" 
to watcii over us. It w; 
laughing matter, or I coulii 
lauglied at his audacity. And 
tually pleaded this argument 
trial at Versailles, and was ac< 
on it ! He had always been 
conducted, honest man, and 
not sure but in the bouom 
heart this good intention ton 
may not have been mixed up 
great many other less wonhj 
During all the time he was i 
slant communication with r 
never had t'ue courage once t 
his eyes to my face. He to! 
good deal about what was go 
outside, and especially what t 
men were doing. He spuke 
thusiastic praise of their sjhi 
courage. He said the fort of 
rouge was lost one day but for a 
seventeen, who, seeing the sold 
moralized, and liie gunners ah 
ing their guns and turning to fl 
ed uj) to one of them, and s 



An Afft'ruoon at St. Lasarc. 



691 



m la the cunnon, and 
ked the cowards, and launlcd 
I with cowardice and want of 
that she rallied every man Qi 
Bd saved the place. Cut for 
saillcs would have taken it. 
inutes later, and the defence 
indoncd. ' Had it not been 
plucky little diadUsse, wc ^vcre 
t exclaimed. Such trails as 
pared us for the p^troUuses of 
reeks later, but lie only saw 
ina and valor in ihcm." 
js went on very amicably be- 
he gentlemen of the Coni- 
dU the sisters for three weeks. 
\ change cninc over them. 
\St not cipenly rude, but there 
tat the superioress described 
liaed fury in their manner lo- 
le nuns, and tlie latter felt 
e blood-fever was rising in 
md that ilicy would soon 
«t into open mutiny. The 
less felt this more strongly 
C rest, and she was sorely pcr- 
how to get her flock out of 
r of the wolves while it was 
\, It was no easy matter, for, 
fiualnity said, " One cannot 
f fifly religious like lifty pins, 
K by mail," and in the pre- 
|te of mind of the Coumiun- 
Ivrake suspicion was 10 have 
K>1e community seized and 
Up forthwith. The first thing 
!me was to procure permission 
ic H6icl dc Ville. She had 
bilged to go of late several 
!> the prefecture on one busi- 
another connected with her 
IS in the prison, so the autho- 
lerc knew her, and had al- 
paled her with marked civili- 
e said that the first time she 
ere the faces of the so-calletl 
struck her as demnnlacal.they 
Q of them hair dnink— men 
torn the gutters of Belleville 
Peite to fill offices of trhosc 



conimoncst outward formfi they had 
no idea, yet they were as deferential 
to herself and the nun who accom- 
panied her ns so many priests might 
have been. This did not prevent 
her saying to her companion as soon 
as ihey were alone : " \Vell, if we 
did not believe in hell, the faces we 
have seen to-day would have reveal- 
ed it to us." 

She applied for a permission to 
leave, and got it without any difficul* 
ty. She kept it in her pocket all 
that day, and the next morning she 
seemed to hear a voice saying to her 
interiorly ; Noxo is the moment ; send 
them off! The exodus was planned 
well, and carried out so discreedy, the 
nuns going in threes and fours at n 
time, that not a shadow of suspicion 
dawned on the employees — their jail- 
ers as they now considcrctl them. All 
that day the superioress kept con- 
stantly with them, never letting them 
lose sight of her for a quarter of an- 
hour at a time, coming and going 
perpetually, and making future ar- 
rangements for one thing or another, 
so as to put them more completely off' 
lite scent. It was only when evening 
came and there were but eight nun* 
in the house besides herself, that the 
flight was discovered. 'I'he rage of 
the director was undisguised. But 
if he could not catch the fugitives, he 
could revenge himself on the devot- 
ed ones who had shielded their flight 
at the peril of their own lives. The 
superioress was at work in the midst 
of the litile remnant of her flock, 
when he rushed into ihc room-, pistol 
in hand. A few wtm!s passed be* 
twecn them, angry on his part, calm 
and resolute on hers, then with an 
oath he left the room abruptly. 

" I knew as well as if he had told 
me," she said. " that he was gone to 
see if there was a vacant cell to jMtt 
me in. I did not feel terrified— CJod 
gives such strong graces in moments 



693 



An Afternoon at St. Lasare* 



like that ! — but I felt the same kind of 
internal voice saying to me : Now is 
your time ; take the others and fly ! 

" We hurried down the stairs just as 
we were and went out. We turned 
to the left, and walked on as fast as 
we could, without running, toward 
the Gare du Nord. We could hard- 
ly have turned the comer of the street 
when the director was in pursuit of 
us. Les DetcmieSy who saw us leave 
the house and take to the left, called 
out to him : To the right, citoyen ! 
'ITiey arc not forty yards ahead ! He 
followed the direction, and this sav- 
ed us. We reached the station just 
as the train was about to move. The 
guards saw us coming, and cried out 
to us to make haste and jump in. 
' But our tickets! We have not tak- 
en them !' I said. 

" ' Never mind, jump in ! You will 
pay at the other end,* and they hus- 
tled us into the nearest carriage. We 
had not seated ourselves when the 
director appeared on the platform 
pistol in hand, and crying out franti- 
cally to the train to stop. But it 
moved on, and landed us safely at 
Argenteuil." 

A few days after the S«urs Maric- 
yoseph had cleared out from St. La- 
zare, the nuns of Picpus were taken 
there. This the superioress thought 
was one reason why the officials were 
anxious to get them out of their way ; 
they meant to put the others there, 
and thcy^did not want any inconve- 
nient witnesses of their own proceed- 
ings. 

When we had seen all that was to 
be seen in the vast building, the su- 
l)erioress took us to the private cha- 
jjel of the community. It was for- 
meriy the cell of St. Vincent of Paul, 
that is to say, the space occupied by 
the sanctuary ; the altar stands w-here 
his little bed used to be, and the win- 
dow step is worn away by the pressure 
of his feet, when his increasing infir- 



mities obliged him to have rccoi 
to the solace of a footstool. The 
son itself was formerly a Lazaristi 
nastery; the refectory is exactly a 
was in the time of St. Vincent, 
changed in all except its occupai 
and the great, sombre corridors ec 
ed for twenty years to the footsi 
of the sweet apostle of charity, 
memory is held in great venerai 
throughout the prison, and the po 
lation s]>eak of him with a soit 
rough, filial affection ateness that, 
nuns told us, is often very touchi 
they seem to look on him as a fri" 
who ought to stand by them. 

I had nearly forgotten one inciil 
in our visit that had a peculiar be 
ty of its own. We were passing 
the open door of what seemed an 
firmary ; all the beds were occupi 
and there were several nuns sittinj 
the room, when one of Iheni ran 
and said : 

" Oh ! ma mere, you will not \ 
without coming to say honjour 
our old women. Ever since tl 
heard you were showing the hoi 
ihey have been watching for you. 

The superioress said it was 1 
and she really had not time justn 
but the nuns begged harder, : 
said that the old women knew 
was going into retreat that even 
so they would not sec her fcir ei 
days, and the old women, seeing t 
were in danger of being rcfu^ctl. 
gan to cry out so pitcously thai 
mother, asking us if wc would 
mind walking down the ward. >i 
ed, and we went in. These old 
men are all infirm and incurable, 
have been sent as such from one I 
pital or another to St. Lazare. T 
delight when the superioress cam 
and spoke a word to each wa* 
most rapturous. I stood to spea 
one old soul, but instead of deia 
her own aches and pains after 
usual manner of those dear, \>\z- 



An Afternoon at Si. A.asatc. 



693 



ar people, she burst out 
iniiaily into ecstatic praises of 
^re — how sweet :ind kind she 
id how she loved ihcm all, and 
|e did for them, and what aii 
lie was aUotielhcr, " as indcetl 

good sisters were," the good 
■dc haste to assure us. ^Ve 
pn comparing notes with our 
1 that those to whom they 
bad improved the opportunity 
lame way. It seemed quite a 
I tlicni to find an audience for 
raleful praises of the Suturs. 
\ as far as our view of them 
le Sisters of Marie-Joseph ful- 
ftf the love they receive so plen- 
I The superioress is ivhat the 
\ would call une matiresse 
In combination of energy and 
irss, with a certain frank hright- 
iTOanncr that is very winning 
binger, and must be a great 
ftdependent of stronger agen- 
^enabltng h«- to win the con- 

! and disarm the rebellious 
the women she has lo deal 
It was wonderful to watch her 
bossed on from saUe to w//f, 
|ust the right little word to all 

, and bringing a smile on all 
, old ami young, good and 

ler manner, while it was pcr- 

mple and familiar, never lost 

Bty ; but there was not the 
[shadow of that sptiit which 
hinders the salutary intlu- 

V'irtuc over vice— keep oflf; for 
iBofier than you ! With these 
||ld women she was affeclion- 
[ caressing as a mother, pelting 
children, and encouraging 

trlcss familiarity toward her- 
f had been here all through 



the Commune, they told us, and wit- 
nessed from their windows — the in- 
firmary is on the ground floor — all the 
scenes enacted in the court by cei 
liames^ as tliey mockingly styled them, 
who had come to replace tiic Seeurs, 
Hut the worst of that terrible inter- 
val to them was the terror they were 
in of being burnt to death. They saw 
the flames rising on all sides fromi 
the conflagrations in the neighbor* 
hood of St. I.azare, and they were 
in momentary expectation of seeing 
the prison itself fired. The doors 
were opened for them lo fly, but "ai 
^«w /v/i, puisqm nous ft'avivns pas de 
jamlffs pour fiiir t* they observed jo- 
cosely. This was the X^isaffe we 
saw. Before the superioress took 
leave of the incurables, she asked 
them to pray for the nuns during their 
retreat, which was to begin tlut 
e\cning, 'i'hey promised in chorus 
that they would, and one said : " We 
will offer up all our stifTering this week 
for the good sisters," and all the oth- 
ers pledged themselves to do the 
same. 

So ended our visit to St. I.azare. 
It was a sad and yet an unutterably 
consoling one. We hear a great 
deal about llie atheism and immo- 
rality and wickedness of Paris — and 
God knows there is plenty of them— 
but there is much also that is bright 
and pure and beautiful mixed up 
with the bad, if only we looked for 
it and proclaimed it. Wc would find 
the pearls of purit)', and the rubies 
of charity, and the emeralds of hope,! 
and the salt of the Holy Spirit, scat- i 
tered everywhere amidst the general ' 
corruption, healing and redeeming 
it. 



694 



The International Association. 



THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION.* 



The Labor Question has become 
one of the most formidable ques- 
tions — perhaps the most formidable 
(luestion — of the day; and the worst 
feature of the question is that, though 
It lias been loomiug up in the dis- 
tance for nearly a century, and con- 
stantly coming nearer and nearer, and 
more and more pressing for a solu- 
cion, the statesmen, reformers, and 
philanthropists of no country seem 
to know what answer to give it, or 
how to treat it. There is no lack of 
nostrums, and every petty politician 
is ready with his " Morrison pill " ; 
but no one gives a satisfactory diag- 
nosis of the case, and the remedies 
offered or applied have served thus 
far only to aggravate the symptoms 
of the disease. 

There is a very general conviction 
among the workingmen themselves 
that, in the distribution of the joint 
products of capital and labor, capi- 
tal gets the lion's share. Capitalists, 
or they who can command capital or 
its substitute, credit, grow rich, be- 
come millionaires, from the profits 
of the labor they employ, while the 
laborer himself, with the most rigid 
economy and frugality, can barely 
keep soul and body together, and 
not always even that. Yet, if we 
look at the millions deppsitcd by the 
laboring classes in our savings-banks, 
and the large sums collected from 
them for eleemosynary and other 
purposes not necessarily included in 
the expenses of living, this statement 



• 1. Tk* Dublin Rtvirx. Article IX. : The 
InternUlonal Society. London. October. 1871. 

*. Tkt Ltthor Movemtni. Lecture of Wendell 
Phillip*. Steinway Hall. Ntw Vtrk Triiutu, 
Pec 7, a;i. 



seems exaggerated. Then, to. s liic 
majority of the millionaires with us, 
and, perhaps, in England and France, 
began life as workmen, or, at least, 
without capital and with \try litilc 
credit. 

It is not easy to say precisely what 
the special grievances of the work- 
ingmen are, at least in our couiitn-, 
since comparatively few of the weal- 
thy or easy classes of to-day inherit- 
ed their wealth, or had to start with 
any appreciable advantages, jkcu- 
niary, educational, or social, ova 
their compeers who have remained 
in the proletarian class. The Inter- 
national Association of Workingmen 
do not tell us very distinctly what 
thetr special grievances are, nor can 
we gather them from the eloquem 
lecture of their mouthpiece, Mr. 
Wendell Phillips, the candidate of 
the labor unions of Massachusclts 
for governor of that state. The evils 
he complains of, if evils, grow oul 
of what is called " modem civilia- 
tion," and seem to us to be insepara- 
ble from it. This is also dearly his 
opinion, and The Dublin Review 
shows that it is the view taken b>' 
the Internationals in England and 
France. Mr. Phillips says : 

" Modern civUtzatton is grand in seem- 
ing large and generous in some of its 
results, but, at the same lime, hidden 
within are ulcers that confront social 
science and leave it aghast. The stu- 
dents of social science, in CTcry meetinfT 
that gathers itself, in every debate 10*' 
discussion, confess themselves at tfaeir 
wits' end in dealing with the great socik^ 
evils of the day. Nobody that looks into 
the subject but recognizes the fact that 
the disease is very grave and deep; ih^ 
superficial observer does not know the 



Tit* Jnttrnationnl AssachUon. 



^^h 



veiy bodr of tlio 5hi|>, but the 
il crew are sulTciiag lliu an- 
)f approaching ruin. Gf:iulc- 
nOt here wilh ihc viin ilrca.ni 
xll ever abolish poverty. My 
tmin nature is too bitter for 
rv will always be men thai 

as long as there are such, 
Jwaysbopoor men — shiftless 
re are nlwAvs half-tnido men 
:row5 why lUey were torn. 
Izatlon a (allure ? Stretch out 
over alt die civiliieiJ wutlil. 
p«rliaps, in Cbiistcniioin two 
Qtlred millions of people, .ind 

them never have enough to 
ieven in this country one-half 
Ha hare never had enoii|;h of 
d. All over the world one- 
Utendom starves ciihcr bodily 
r. That U no cxai;gcraiiiin, 
[D to Fiance or Enghind, and 
lllon of men ih.it newr %zw 
h Tinr. Take your city, an«l 
jnio tbe very slums of cxist- 
! human beings by the ilioii- 
year in and vent out fri Uwcll- 
i no man in Fifth Avcime 
it his horses in fut twelve 
rill take the grc.ii social spec- 
onfronts social science the 
—prostitution, the si><:ial ulcer 
into the nineteenth ccniury. 
body who studies the subject 
IS that the K<^3t i*""! f'""> 
ows is that the povcity of one 
ti il the victim of the wealth 

Give woman her f.iir chance 
fields of enterprise, and nine- 

of a hundred will disdain to 
>ods and velvets wjih ihc 
shame. Give man bis fnir 
the world of tabor and cnter- 
niaeiy-nine out of a hundred 
disdain lo steal. The gtog. 
te great cities have ahvays ap- 
e mtinicipaliiies as (heir own 
omraittce<(. And this is at 
aii»c and efTert of th" poverty 
ici. 1 have known men who 
ipcralo in Bosion ctiivd by 

to PariSu Why? Because 
[htcr life, the inoic gencrniis 
tlie great variety of inierc<>t 
ipean capital, hu found sonic. 
called out his nobler natute, 
: his appetites. So it is wiili 
leriDCe of a nation; and to 
u must supplement (heir life 
timolus of ibe soul. Why is 



it that thrcc-fouTihs at the criminals are 
of lite poorer classes? Why do the stu- 
dents of crime IcH )-oa that when you 
have taken out about ftftuEn per cent, of 
the criminals, consisting of the eater- 
prisini*, energetic, and intrlligent, the 
rest aie below par bodily and mentally? 
llecause ihcy aie the children, gmnd- 
cbildrcn, or grcat-giandchildrcn of per- 
sons who were bodily and tncnialty 
weak. Out of these iveak ones the devil 
selects his best tools. Feed that class 
better, and you will empty your pri- 
sons," 

71ns plainly enough attributes the 
evils iheworkingmcn seek to remedy 
to nioHem civilizalion. which enables 
the few to become rich ami leaves the 
many poor, ricstilute, festering in ig- 
norance and vice. M. Dcsmoulins, 
in his Apolo^ Jar tht /nfertMfionals, 
B.S quoted by ?//<• DuNiit Hn'tru't 
says: "The Parisian Red, f;ir from 
being out of the pale of human 
mttirc, is only a spontaneous pro- 
duct of what is pompotiiily style<l 
inwlcra civilization — a civilifation 
that, resting to this hour on war 
between nation and nation, town and 
town, farm and farm, men an<i men, 
is still in many respects sheer barba- 
rism." As far as we arc able to col- 
lect the views of the Associntioti, it 
attributes tlic undefined grievances 
of the proletarian class to no one 
specific cause, but to niotlern civili- 
zation in general. In this, if the 
woikingim-n confine their objection 
to materuil civilization — ihc only civ- 
ilization the age boasts orrecognizes — 
we arc not disposed to quarrel with 
them. Yet we all remember the 
outcry raised in all classes of society 
and from all quarters against the 
Holy Kalher, because he refused to 
form an alliance of the church with 
modern civilization, and for his sup- 
posed condemnation of it in the 
Syllabus. The International Associ- 
ation of Workingnien, whose mem- 
bers are spread over nearly the whole 
world, and arc nutnt)ered by millions, 



696 



The International Association. 



is a vast organized revolt against this 
boasted civilization of this nineteenth 
century. And so far it is not wholly 
without excuse, and even much may 
be said in its defence, though their 
proposed substitute for it may be 
utterly indefensible. 

Modern material civilization, dat- 
ing from the Peace of Utrecht in 
1713, and more especially from the 
accession of the House of Hanover 
to the English throne, and the ac- 
cession to power in England of what 
in the time of Swift and Addison was 
called the Urban party — money- 
changers, bankers, traders, mer- 
chants, and manufacturers — has been 
based on capital employed in trade 
and industry, in opposition to capital 
invested in land and agriculture. It 
is a shopkeeping and manufacturing 
and maritime civilization, essentially 
and eminently a burgher civilization, 
and resulting especially in the burgh- 
er class, or, as the French say, the 
bourgeoiiU. A civilization based on 
material interests, and proposing the 
multiplication and amassing of ma- 
terial goods, necessarily produces the 
state of things which excites the op- 
position of Mr. Phillips and the 
Internationals. It creates necessarily 
an antagonism between the interests 
of capital and labor, and therefore 
between the employers, as represen- 
tatives of capital, and the employed, 
or workmen. The interest of capi- 
tal is to get labor at as low a rate of 
wages as possible; the interest of 
labor is to get as high a rate of wages 
as possible. This antagonism is in- 
evitable. 

Employers in vain pretend that 
the interests of capital and labor are 
the same. They are not so under a 
civilization based on Mammon, or 
under a civilization that seeks only the 
advancement of material interests, 
and invests capital only for the sake 
of material profit. In the struggle, 



the stronger party, under 2 ma 
system, is always sure to sut 
And this is alwajs the party of 
tal; for labor seeks employmt 
live — capital, for profit or gain 
the capitalist can forego profit 
easily than labor can forego en 
ment, since to live is more 1 
than to gain. This secures tl 
vantage always to the cap 
The inequality wliich necessari 
suits cannot be overcome by ec 
of suffrage, or the extension ( 
frage to the proletarian class, a 
ticians pretend; for, though nu 
may triumph at the polls, the s 
er interest, as our American t 
ence proves, is sure to carry tl 
tory in the halls of legislation. 
stronger interest in a country',' 
Mr. CaihouQ to the writer, "a 
in the long run wields the po« 
the country." 

Universal suflTrage, which w: 
fended on the ground that it 
tend to protect labor against c 
has in fact a contrary tendenc) 
in practice almost invariably 
capital. The whole of our i< 
tion — which so favors capital 
substitute, credit, or which nion 
the future for the present, and : 
debt supply the place of c 
covers the towns with mon 
business corporations, and bull 
huge monopolies — has grow 
under a system of universal su 
In an age and country where 
rial interests predominate, wh 
people, capitalists or prolet; 
ask of government is, laws that 
tatc the acquisition of wealtl 
when such laws are enacte< 
more than one man in a hundn 
avail himself of the facilities tl 
ford. 

'J'he great scientific discovei 
which we boast, and which 
wrought such marvellous char 
our motlern industrial v/orld, w 



The hiUrniUional Association. 



697 



principles, made in a less 
I age Ihnn the present, before 
llern burglier civilization was 
laugunited ; but their applica- 
ble mechanic arts, to produo- 
iranspDrtation, wheiiicr by 
xw\f has been made siiicc, 
ny within the last one hun- 
irs. The introduction of 
[vtng machinery has, to an ex- 
leabily esliiiiaicd, siiiicrscded 
[rlabor, broken up the small 
industries, as carding, spin- 
weaving, carried on in the 
the famify, and securing it 
ftC in<Iepcndencc, and stnall 
\ cftrrictl on chiefly by the fa- 
9 his sons, and built up in 
ke large industries and large 
[ beyond ilie reach of iJeopIe 
cans or small means but their 
Dd in which human labor is 
ed only in tlie form of labor at 
The introduction of machin- 
he working of mills or farms 
inery driven by steam or by 
cr, requires capital, or an 
^ssible only to large capital 
linaii'-ins of sraall capital. 
insliincc, the steam carder, 
JAUd weaver; the mule, jenny, 
'Cr-loom ; the patent mower, 
id horse-rake; threshing and 
g machines — hardly any of 
»rd of or only beginning to 
\ of in our own boyhood, at 
dits country ; take the railway 
B locomotive — and you can 
e tliat moilcrn industry, and 
taaurc even agriculture, fall 
ily into the hands of large 
bs, individual or corporate, 
Shot be prosecuted on a small 
K least profitably. We have 
ions for condensing milk and 
butter and cheese, regardless 
outhful friend the dairymaid, 
Supplying UB with ice. Per- 
itliing has tended so much 
[ge the inequality between 



capital and labor as the introi.uction 
of labor-saving machinery in nearly 
all branches of industry. 

We do not make war ou labor- 
saving machinery, which, we have 
heard it said, increases the poiver 
of capital six hundred million fold, 
though that seems to us hardly cred- 
ible. Wc could not now do well 
without it. We could not well dis- 
pense with our cotton and woollen 
factories, and go back to the hand- 
cards, and spinning- wheel, and hand- 
loom which, ill our own boyhood, 
were in everj' farmer's house; l)ut we 
cannot forget that the independence 
of the laborer— now a laborer at 
wage^i, and obliged to in:dce ca^h 
payments for what he consumes — 
has gone witli them tu the advantage 
of tlie capitalist. We could not well 
dispense with railways, and yet there 
is no denying that they are mono- 
polies, that labor cannot compete 
with them, and that they impose a 
heavy tax on labor. They also tend 
to convert tlie iiulepcndenl laborer 
into a workman at wages, and the 
freeman into the slave of machinery, 
to enrich a few railway presidents 
and directors, and stock- jobliers. 
Then, those great corporations, with- 
out souls, are not only stronger than 
the laborer, but stronger tiian the 
government. No great feudal lords 
in France or England were ever 
more formidable lo the crown than 
such corporations as the Pennsyl- 
vania Central, the New York Cen- 
tral, the Union Pacific, with our 
National Bank sj-stem, are to the 
government, state or general. Nei- 
ther state legislatures nor Congress 
can control them, and they have 
already made both simply their factor 
or agent. 

There is a truth which cannot be 
denied expressed in the following 
paragraph from Mr. Phillips* lec- 
ture : 



5!>a 



i. U. ^ L^.~ZiJ^3/l£Jl ^ fSlM'itrtWIt- 



.::•!<£ U c 



T!1T- IT 



--a • 



-m ioii -ia-r -wru. ^— „;: 
-.j-:e •* ■ I- -1 ^i^ru. ia.: 

/in - "K"a- ii:a : - iti u.t^ x i^n ir la 

iir i; -jji jLii'i::! :( in; : r " because it 
::i* J jiiT.i: r;r;':[Zi:H:;ii ma ^-ts irxm- 
m' ■'-«-■* :t -yjs: ::i. "le ::izi:3li5rs ^1- 
-aer dtr^s ic :J:"ir aiiliiiins ir sins jl 

» : ::t niiiS la im*?" it-iii*. mil 3lc ^.Ji.r 

;*r^- A r,>*a 3ma 3 ^rriiii i\i T-iii't 
r-zr. i.i i:iu sx 127 iirTaer xai al<nrs u 

ZT-Jkz. z-.f^. Tx "'"*«« tae leunie JC ^ijinu- 

~.~-^ — ■'"', i:c 3i:i-i.:iif ui Jiun: zta.ii. 
-"-_?- j-t" >■ 7:^i r l-it uuc Ttiin "ne-g 

uea ae is xs b:^! u | l .a^t C.£sn l{« 
»ai stirre cc: ij-coQ roaZ Ji.-sers. Tae 

capitil. Hsviasca C2tt sa>ocIii A=i«~ 
f.cx hare reason to crcxi such comcioK- 
tioas, vhen Bn:al3 hiS =:>:e c!li3 :.-s 
limes o:;: weaii." 

Ve: U there not soaie coaiOcroa- 
tion to the proletarian class in the 
very system which tends so tean'uily 
to increase their numbers and lic- 
pendence ? Grant that coal mijcht 
be delivered from the mines in Penn- 
sylvania in this city at $3 a ton ; but 
sup|K>se there were no railroads and 
no railway monopolies, could or 
would coal from the same mines be 
delivered in this city as cheap as it 
now is ? Suppose there were no 
railways between this city and the 
great West, would wheat, flour, beef, 
pork, and the other necessaries of life 
be cheaper for the laborhig class in 
this city than they now are? Rail- 
way companies may charge exorbi- 
tant rates of freight, and yet the 
laboring classes get the chief neces- 
saries of life cheaper than they 



T':uic Gtli^- things being 1 
-iniiz-in^ed, without them. 
zmz^i =i:^icbe cheaper in tl 
res ^:iiire tkey are prodm 
zr.c ciA^wIiert The evil . 
zicc'-.^ii^s and corporatior 
i-i =i-ca ia the enhanced cost 
•:iarxcajie to them, as the; 
Tiicanon of tiie class deper 
capital tor employment ; anc 
-ewer to shape the actior 
*;;vimment to their special i 
i; J Lir better tor the worl 
iccend on a single wealtl 
^■-•iaal who is likely to havt 
tiiaa on a soulless corporatioi 
cooibmation of capital in corp 
S:>c industrial or trading [ 
rcasiis an aristocracy, or nilir 
£ir mere humiliating and cru; 
ihe cliss below them than arist 
:oti::ced on land and birth, ed 
iZ'i maimers. 

Pais is the new taken by 
tema::-jcais. They war s 
i^ainsc the rule of the burghi 
w-:^:a is now supreme in sot 
f.-naerly were the church, kin 
nc^L-iues. In this oppositioi 
rale ot the burgher class, su| 
the means and methods of th' 
fare jast and honorable, we 
we mi -ht sympathize with thi 
nadonaK as we have aUvavs 
thized with the working -classe 
never have been able to get u] 
liking for an aristocracy ba 
Mammon, who, Milton tells 
the meanest of all the angi 
fell, and who, even in heavei 
about head down, and his eyi 
on the gold of heaven's pa\ 
It is well for no country w 
ruling class are the niohe 
business class. Yet it wo 
difficult to say, as to our 1 
at least, what class can be 
trusted with the government, i 
class has more virtue, more 1 
of sentiment, chivalric feeling, 



The Inter national Association. 



699 



' higher purpose. Nothing 
om Uie pruletarinn class could 
cicd, and, judging from the 
ommun?, iio;hing so good, 
irkingmen have all the love 
ey, oil ihe sordid passions, 
rs, and degrading vices that 
::hargt?d to the burgher class, 
rhaps, fewer redeeming quali- 
tvilization has descended to 
her. What would it gain by 
ng to the proletary? But 
Icn once more to Mr. riiil- 



ottr civilixaiton is belter ihan 
En ihe wutlJ. Now, gcotlc- 
say 10 nir, Wlut do you Incend 
■cry nun liasu different iheor)*, 
no [LinAcea. My theory U 

i know that a wrong system 
|d tliat tlic only mclkod in llicsc 
luitiiuK ilic LtAins of the cuun- 
e side is 10 brin;; il into conflirt, 
size a party. If I should nsk 
IMtr cdiiots trt-night 10 let mc 
I article on labor and capilal, 

he would lefusc mc, or if lie 
I. il might be because a fanatic 

uld sell a copy oc two. Uut 
gi\*e ino 50,000 votes on one 
the balance imparlially divided 
our Fcntons and Conklings 
lOuts, I will show you cvciy 
the city or New Voik discu&a- 
lestion with mc. Labor is too 
'edit a column in a New Vork 
lUt \vhen It cumcs in the shape 
then those same journals can- 
t n> di^reg:ird it. Now, let tis 
jt. The ultimate view which 
; Is co-operation, where there is 
IS such, and no capital as sucli 
krery man is interested propor- 
In tbe results. How will you 

Only by grappling with the 
irganizatioos of power in the 
It is money that rivets the 

labor. If [ could, I would 
•«fy moneyed corporation in 
States. Yet t am not certain 
would be a wi^e measure, t>c- 
BeniB piubablcthat tlic business 
leleenth century can hardly be 
Iwilhout corporations; but if it 
that facility and cheapness of 
n are solely tu be reached by 



ihemachlneryof corporaiifos, then 1 say, 
gentlemen, that tlie stalvsman^iip of this 
generation is called upon to dtrise some 
inclhod by which wealth may be incor- 
porated and liberty saved. Pennsylvania 
has got to 6nd out some method by 
which Hairishiirg may exist without 
being the tail to the kite of tbe Pennsj'l- 
vania Central. 

" 1 think, in the first place, we nui;ht In 
graduate taxes. If a man has a thousand 
dollars a ycir and pays a hundred, the 
nun that has five thousand a year ought 
to pay five hundteJ. I wuiitd have a 
millionaire with forty millions of dollars 
l:iAed so Uigbly that he would only liav'u 
enough to live comfortably upon." 

That our civiliJfation is Ihe best in 
the world, it is potriotic to believe, 
and under several aspects it no doubt 
is so, or at least was so, a few years 
ago ; but the burgher influence, which 
decides the action of goveriunent, 
is fast preventing this from continu- 
itig to be so. Wc were intended by 
nature to be a great agricultural peo- 
ple, and we have labored with all 
the force of the government and ar- 
tt6cial contrivances to become, spite 
of nature, a great manufacturing and 
commercial people, like the people 
o{ Great Britain, as if our territory 
were as limited as that of tiic British 
Isles. Whatever advantages we pos- 
sessed over the nations of the Old 
World in the beginning, we owed to 
the extent, clieapiics»s, and fertility 
of our vast tracts of unoccupied 
lands, which enabled the working- 
man, after a few years of labor 
at wages, to become a I.ind-owner, 
and to become the cultivator of his 
own Sabine farm. But the influence 
of the ruling classes, with its chief 
seats in Massachusetts and Pennsyl- 
vania, has been steadily e.xcrted since 
1824 to deprive the country of tliesc 
advantages, and to create as large a 
proletarian class a.% possible, so that 
no doubt, if, aside from the vast pub- 
lic works, or rather, the so-called in- 
ternal improvements undertaken by 



700 



TIu International Association. 



private corporations, and which give 
for the time employment to large 
numbers of workmen, skilled and un- 
skilled, we now offer any advan- 
tages to the laborer over those he 
has abroad — at any rate, if we do, 
those advantages are fast disappear- 
ing. 

We are no more favorable to the 
system of corporations than is Mr. 
Phillips; and the writer of this for 
years opposed with whatever abilities 
he had their creation and multipli- 
cation. He did so till he saw oppo- 
sition could avail nothing to check 
their growth. No opposition can 
avail anything now, since the aboli- 
tion of slavery has, in a great mea- 
sure, identified the great planting in- 
terests of the South with the burgher 
interests of the North, as it was in- 
tended to do. For this Mr. Phillips 
is himself in no small degree respon- 
sible, and as an International, or a 
leader in the labor movement, he is 
only trj'ing to undo what he hoped 
to do as an abolitionist. Philanthro- 
py is an excellent sentiment when 
directed by practical wisdom and 
knowledge; but, when blindly follow- 
ed, it creates a hundredfold more 
evil than it can cure, even if success- 
ful in its special aims. Even Mr. 
Phillips doubts if the corporation 
system can be safely abolished. We 
tell him there is no power in the 
country that can abolish it, because 
it governs the general government 
and nearly all the state governments. 
Give Mr. Phillips the fifty thousand 
votes he asks for, and the party he 
wishes to organize, he would, no 
doubt, become a power in elections, 
and could command an important 
place in the government for himself, 
and places also for his friends ; but, 
however important the place to which 
he might be elected or appointed, he 
would find himself impotent to effect 
any things against the system he op- 



poses, or in favor of the sysl 
approves. 

Mr. Phillips tells us that hi 
reliance is on the " education 
masses." So do we, only we 
against calling the pcoidc wh 
rational souls " the masses," 
they were piles or heaps of 
matter. But education given 
burgher civilization as educa 
suffered to be freely given by 
tend to perpetuate tliat civili 
or the very system, social and 
trial, which Mr. Phillips and I 
tcmationals war against, not 
place or reform it. Let the 
tion of all the children of th 
be entrusted to a society whos 
ciples were so admirably sumu 
and approved by a former go 
of Massachu.setts, namely, '• L 
government take care of tin 
and the rich will take care 
poor," how much would the < 
tion given do to elevate or me 
that society ? No order of ci 
tion or society ever does or evi 
educate in reference to a hij^he 
than its own. Hence the i 
why the state or secular societ; 
not be a fit educator of ci 
and youth, and wiiy all etlu 
can be safely entrustecl only i 
spiritual society wiiose i'leal 
(iod-man, perfect, and the li 
conceivable. 

Purely secular education pr. 
on the assumption tli.it men ai 
tions always act as well as they 
or that all individuals and i 
will act uniformly in reference 1 
own interests so far as they kno' 
— an assumption disproved bv 
one's daily experience, as well 
the universal experience of m: 
Mr. Phillips ought to know th 
■who ought to know better ar 
carried aw.ay by their lusts, th" 
sions, the force of events, am! 
and other influences, to act ir 



The InUrnational Association, 



701 



n to Ibeir belter judgment 
te comparatively few of us 
not say with (he lieathen 



" Viilcu oiBtiora. profaoque, 
Vclctlon scquor." 

vrrong or faU to follow tlie 
t from ignorance than from 
md infimiity of will. Soci- 
I not subsist if founded on 
iphilosophers in the last ccn- 
•d enlightened self-interest, 
Jeremy Benthara called 
or " tlic (;realcst happi- 
nciple. WJiat is wanted is 
If stronger than intcrc*sl, 
^ stronger than passion, 
lilc it enlightens the intellect, 
incibic finnncss to the will. 
nly powtj Ihiit can control 
tin, the evils of which Mr. 
wints out, while its social 
itrial tendencies he dc[ilorcs, 
Ft the v:uious condicting in- 
'society on Ibc princi[>Ies of 
Bid equity, is and must be 
ral. The English system of 
id balances, of restraining or 
; one interest by another, 
sloti, as tlie failure of the 
n fully proves. It restrains 
er interests, but strengthens 
ger, makes the rich richer, 
loor poorer, and hence in no 

you find larger accumula- 
reajth, and side by side with 

ceper or more mdespread 
X more squalid wretched- 
;cre are no resources in ihe 
nature for a people that 

1 burgher system, and makes 
interests the great aim of 
which [jowcr can be drawn 
to overcome the evnlsof the 
ainst which the Internal ion - 

their relentless war. AVe 
Do deliverance in the natu- 
, and must seek it, if nny- 

ihe supernatural, that is, in 



religion — and in a religion that speak 
with a supernatural authority, infuses 
into the soul a supernatural energy, 
and lifts it above the world and its sys- 
tems or civilizations, above all earth- 
ly goods, and fixes its affections on 
the Unseen and the Kternal — a reli- 
gion that gives light to the intellect 
and. firmneis to the will. It is only 
education in and by this religion 
that can avail anything. 

Hut religion is precisely what the 
litieruationals reject, hate, or despise 
— what the great body of the workmen 
in our towns, cities, and manufactur- 
ing villages have ceased to believe, 
and even with those of the so-called 
proletarian class generally who do not 
formally reject religion, it has ceased 
to be a power, to have any hold on 
the conscience, and has become a 
vague tradition or a lifeless form. It 
is pretty much the same with the 
burgher class, and was so with them 
before it was so with the proletarian 
class. Modem civilisation itself is 
based on atheism, or the purely ma- 
terial order. Hence the evils the 
Internationals seek to remedy are 
the natural and inevitable result of 
the new order of civilization, not yel 
two centuries old. The Internation- 
als see it, and make war on the ex- 
isting civilization for thai very re.ison. 
But on what principles, and in what 
interest ? On the principles and in 
the interests of that very civilization 
itself. Their success would simply 
oust the burgher and put the prole- 
tary in his place. They introduce or 
propose not a higher and a nobler ci- 
vilization, but, so far as there is any 
difference, a still lower and more de- 
grading civilizadon. 

The revolution that has been going 
on in society since the close of the 
fourteenth century has had several 
phases. The first phase was the un- 
ion of the burghers and the sover- 
eigns against the Pope and the feudal 



702 



The Internatitmal Association. 



nobility, and resulted in the triumph 
of absolute monarchy in the sixteenth 
century and the seventeenth. Tlie 
second pliase was the union of the 
burghers, or the titrs ^tat, and 
ilie j>cople or a portion of them 
against monarchy and the church, 
which issued in estabUshing the su- 
])remacy of the burghers. The third 
]>hase is that in the midst of which 
we now are, and is — monarchy and 
the church gone or assumed to be 
gone— that of the proletaries against 
l)urghers. Neither of the preceding 
phases of the revolution effected the 
good hoped for, or satisfied the revo- 
lutionary appetite, but really aggra- 
vated the social evils it was sought 
to remedy. The friends of the revo- 
lution said it did not go far enough, 
and stopped short of the mark. It 
has now descended to the bottom, 
to the lowest stratum, or to the low- 
est deep, and proposes to wrest the 
power from the burgher class and 
r33t it in the proletarian class. It is 
aome consolation to know that we 
at length have reached the last 
])hase of the revolution, and that af- 
ter its failure, as fail it will, nothing 
worse is to be feared. " When things 
are at worst, they sometimes mend." 

The principal objection to the In- 
ternationals is not that they oppose 
what is called modern civilization, or 
that they seek to remedy undeniable 
social evils ; but that tiiey seek to do 
it on false principles, by inadequate 
means, and unlawful and even hor- 
rible methods, and can only lose 
even by success. 

The International has absorbed all 
the other labor unions, and may be 
said to represent the whole proleta- 
rian class in Europe and America, 
and its leaders arc avowed atheists j 
they reject the entire supernatural 
order, disdain or contemn all forms 
of religion, and seek to redress 
the material by the material. This 



alone is sufficient in itself to con- 
demn them. They reject not only 
religion, but also government, cr the 
entire political and civil order. 'i"hc)' 
will have no God, no king, no aris- 
tocracy, no democracy, no law, no 
court, no judges, but simply — weciD 
hardly say what. Practically, they 
will fiill under the authority of irre- 
sponsible and despotic leaders, goT- 
erning in the name of nobody, and 
by their own passions or interests 
alone. They may aim at positife 
results, but at present their meaai 
are only adequate to the work of i^ 
struction. Thus an organized and 
secret, and, when practicable, open 
war on all religion, on God, on iD 
authority, all law, and especiallT 
on capital or individual propatf. 
What positive result is to follow, Mr. 
Phillips confesses his inability loteD. 
From Mr. Phillips we leam thit 
they aim at the destruction of the 
whole modem industrioT system, and 
propose that the workmen shall tike 
possession of the establishments en- 
ated by capitalists, incorporated or 
not, and run them on their own ac- 
count, and share the profits among 
themselves, without any indemnifica- 
tion to the owners. As to land, » 
individual is to own it or any por- 
tion of it — it is to be made commoo. 
and open, as to the usufruct, to ay 
one who chooses to occupy it. M^ 
Phillips says : 

" I have another proposition. I think 
^vhen a man has passed five years in tkr 
service of a corporation, though he ow 
not have bought a dollar of its stock,** 
is in a certain sense & stockholder. Ht 
has put his Libor and persistency tbrft 
and I think evcrj- man who has b** 
employed in a corporation for a mr« 
two should have a voice in its fiDUrw 
management. In Japan.when a Diian<l>'^ 
his land is left to the state. Do yon ■>* 
think that is a wiser plan than oui>' 
The land becomes more valuablethroo^ 
the labor of the whole country, and ■* 
by that of the man who eats off of i^ 










The iHtitHatioHaS Asstu^Miiott, 



io ibe fuluTo is ill ibc 
o( the inas»«$, lur they will 
ir rulrrs. Nl-it York stood 
'Oio tlvralcjiian or millions uf 
[I wilt you submit to bu robbed 
Ms o( niilliont by monopolists? 
uuc cannot afford to lot the 
Its cxisL You cannot get 
lugh to fotiify you agninst dis- 
igdotancc within your reach. 
n laitgtit by Chicngu is that 
loot alTord tu neglect i>overiy." 

he matter would be adjusted 
more men should happen to 
occupying ihc same liousc 
wc do not k.now. They 
have an equal right, or one 
Ive as good a right to it as 
md, there being no authori- 
r, aiid none of them having 
I or religions piinciplc, they 
lost likely, all having the 
! obstinacy natural to the 
leart* be obliged to settle 
ion by fighting it out, and 
le liouse and lot as the prize 
:lor. Might or craft would 
tc the right. Society and 
would fall back into a state 
which might is the only 
;ht, and which liobbcs con- 
ihcir natural stale, out of 
y were liappy to get by the 
' of nil their natural rights or 
bcny to any one who would 
io be their king, and in re- 
Id maintain them in a state 

ris Commune, endorsed by 

fips, and which was led on 
ovcd by the Iiitcinationals, 
ot only the principles of the 
on, but its method of carry- 
out and reducing thctn to 
Wc cite here a passage 
DuHm Review on ll)C prin- 
d spirit of the Commune : 

BKusto Uesidoulins \% one of 
^icfll bvlicveis in the infalUbit- 
unknoirn, to whom ttic past is 
ilition. the present all corrup- 
tha future the one rcahly of 



life, lie 15 innccessible to conviciluA 
either iu tlic nay uf tioly w:tK'r or the 
\r;iy uf [ici[v!ouni ; and iviih him, at wiiti 
all those of his schoul, llu> mind ha*i 
became »o far softened thai i:i8 iir- 
minolog)' which has hilheiio served nut 
merely among Christians and Jcw^, but 
among such heathens as llie l^rtxlt^ and 
Roin;in<i, the Turks, ilic Iiidi.iu5, the Ued 
Indians, to distinguish t>ci\vvvn tijgbi 
and wrong, has ceased to convey n menu- 
iiig. The woild is not a mere Mibel a( 
lougtics now-ndays : it is, outside the 
chuich, :t far wor.<te Bubcl oi ihoughl. 
In the following pasGngc, which leally 
sums up tlie atgumi-nl uf his paper in n 
suRicienily trenchant and complelo form. 
31. Ue&muulins dues not he&iialc to con- 
vey his opinion ihai the coveting of one's 
neighbot's goods is suggested by. or nl 
least connected wiih, n sentiment of jas 
lice ; that the daily bread earned by la- 
bor is much more keenly ciij'^yed by a 
man who does not believe in Uod. ot 
heaven, or bell ; and that n^ ncilhcr tlir 
French workuiau not his master bclicrcs 
in a future state, it is only nalural and 
quite right that the workman should heal 
the dilTercncc between tlit-'m here l»y 
roblwr)' ; 

■■*Tbe Puislao workman is oUen obflseil to 
vittt tlie hanilaaine qusncr* of the (own. wliilv 
new biitlillaitft ate ever ihruniiiiit hlin lurtlivr 
aw^r beyond the olil t>tiiicit Into vtle hshlt*- 
tioiut. In tills contlilion, which iktaide Tor bim, 
anything help* to Uriiiie him. How can he fintl 
content In a h^me that U nnr ' 'Iilcil. 

fuul. neatly wiilinnt kir. nitet* i :(■■■ 

wrclchcd If ilc (ur wlni-ti hf y^ "itt' 

the %uinptuou« chunbefs thai ho la% i-.tuct btiilt 
ot ilcccralc! in tlie liili ■I'litt-i*' It \\ c»»y U> 
deiiuuncc in eliHiMcnl h«imllici llie «i'Ull of enry 
that devour* llie lo«er «ia*»*'*. We \hiulcl r«- 
co)touc that R true u-Hluu o[ JutUc« mitea wldi 
the faelinc. 

" ' Tlie iIi-sWp to «n)oy thu fnili* or his Itlior ix 
cupeL-inllv likely to <ip(tii|: up In l)i<> mind nf the 
Krcnth wotkman, who J»ei ""I bolievc. anv 
•DOte than hia aa«ter, in the icpaiminn^ </f a 
I'ulurc life ; vrtiiidoc^ not pcicclvc fui ihe right 
of the maslrt any other unctii'tti titan the m»- 
terial fii».-t ol rw>^«?^tt"n : amt whom, boiltle*. 
unU-crsJl "iu-r: ' lie iiC*Ot- 

cteiirnty e>|u '- What- 

cfCT may lie ■ . '.'cri li!*tlv 

callcit nj.tmtihfriiic wiiuii, ni: i ider- 

sUnd that Ihc prolciarir who i i hi» 

vole finds ii hard to reMRn Lk....- '-■•- ^^M-'ial 
ieifaftc at the rciy niotnvot when tte fcel» bito- 
self iiolilicnlly sovctelgn. Thia striking cwn- 
ttait between hb tiuhls fl<citi«n ami htacontlt- 
llon of pxttah In aotieiy, acompantes hmi 
evervMhetc, rept«du«» liaeU In eveijr aol ot 
hU life, and ailds a perpoiual cI«om to ejiliauM- 
ins labor an<l ncrct-abatitiK privatlcma ' 

" This pass:ige conbtins the essence lii 



704 



The International Association. 



M. Desmoulins' apology for the Com- 
mune; and it supplies, wc submit, mat- 
ter for reflection in its every line. The 
statesmen and the classes in society who 
delight in seeing tlie influence of religion 
weakened or destroyed, never seem to 
realize until it is too late that ihey are 
sure to be the especial victims of their 
own success. Tlie great truths of life 
hung together and sustain each other : 

' All is contnined in each : 
Dodona's furcst ia an acorn's cu^).' 

The man who scorns to love God. how 
shall he continue to love his neighbor? 
The man who has said, ' There is no 
God,' is he not on the point of also say- 
ing, 'Lust is lawful," 'Property is rob- 
I'cry'?" 

We copy also from the same Re- 
view a letter from General Cluseret 
from this city to a member of the So- 
L:iety : 

" New York, 17th February, 

"Mv Dear Varlin: I have just re- 
ceived your welcome letter of (he 2d. 
It explains the delay in replying 10 my 
application. Need I say that I accept, 
and will set to work at once in endeav- 
oring to be useful to my brethren in 
poverty and toil? The newspaper which 
I told you of is not yet established. I 
think it better not to renew my attempts 
in tliat direction, considering the lato 
events in France, and the numerous let- 
ters I have received from my friends, 
\vl)o arc unanimous in recalling me to 
Europe. 

" In all probability, I shall be there next 
summer, but, in the interval, I shall have 
arranged international relations between 
the different French and American 
groups, and selected one person or 
scvtral persons (at the discretion of the 
French commiliec) of proved zeal and 
capability, to replace me. As you say, 
wc shall surely, infallibly triumph if wc 
persist in demanding success from our 
organization. But we must remember 
that the aim of our Association is to as- 
sociate {soli-iiiriser) tlic greatest number 
(or action. Let us, then, be liberal ; let 
us round cfT our angles ; let us be really 
brethren, not in words, but in deeds ; let 
not such mere terms as doctrine and in- 
dividuality separate those whom com- 
mon suffering, which means a common 



interest, has united : we are all int 
we must acknowledge that; if w 
beaten, it is our own fault. I hav 
been able to picture our people ti 
self during the late troubles. Wha 
been the attitude of the workmen's 
eties, and what are their present ( 
sitions? Certainiy, we must not 
fice our ideas to politics, but nc 
not detach ourselves from them, 
momentarily. In my mind, the mc 
of all that is going on is simply thi 
the Orleans are slipping little by 
close to power, and paring his nai 
L. N., so that one fine morning the 
merely have (o substitute themsclvi 
him. 

" Now, we ought to he ready, 
cally and morally, for that day. C 
day, we, or nothing. Until then I 
probably remain quiet, but on that 
affirm — and you know my ' Nay' 
means 'Yea* — Paris shall he ou 
Paris shall exist no longer. This w 
the decisive moment for the access! 
the people. — Yours ever, Clusei 

" Yov are mistaken in believing, 
moment, that I am neglecting the s 
ist in favor of the political move 
No; it is only from a purely soci; 
point of view I am pursuing then 
tionary work ; but you must thoro 
know wc can do nothing in the din 
of social reform if the old politics 
tcm be not annihilated. Let us nc 
get (hat at this moment the Empi 
ists merely in name, p.nd that p 
ment consists in party abuse. If, 
these grave circumstances, the so- 
party permits itself to be lulled 10 
by the abstract theory of sociol 
science, tae may wake up one fine w 
to find ourseh'es umi,r new maslert 
dangetvus for us than those we hi 
present, because they -would be youngi 
coHsfqucntlv more t'/jt»/v/« and mere ^ 
ful." 

We have personally known * 
ral (?) Cluseret, and we know h 
be a man who acts from deliber 
not impulse, who means whj 
says, and who can be restrained 
going straight to his end by & 
gious principle, moral scrupl 
sentiment of mercy, pit)-, or ca 
sion. His disposition is as ster 



Tk€ Internaiionat Association, 



705 



as a physical law of na- 

When he threatened 10 bum 

futher ihan surrender it, he 

jit, and he was the man to do 

p sec th.it it was done if with- 

limits of the possible. Mr. 

I seems also to appear, at 

\ threaten incendiarism as a 

of accomplishing his purpose. 

leans this, the closing sentence 

lecture : *• The lesson taught 

cago is that wealth cannot 

10 neglect |)Oveny " ? Does 

rean that tlie IntcmatioDals 

hicago ? or does it simply 

at other cities may be burnt 

as Chicago, and will be, if 

continues to neglect poverty 

s to yield to the demands 

International Association of 

men ? This gives the ques- 

itartling aspect. Certain it is 

p Association holds itself free 

joduce its socialism or com- 

i by murder, assassi nation, rob- 

luoder, and conflagration at 

isnrc Qx dictation of its chiefs. 

he following letter, read and 

id by Mr. Phillips before a 

ork audience : 

n pracceiiing to spc:ik «i it. you 
w me to xzA^ 3 notice which lias 
iced ill my hand, and in llic ob- 
Ivbich I sympathizo cordially, be- 
le great foi«ign muvcmcnt can be 
lioraicd by it. Tlie French <!!om- 
U alvrays scrmcd tu me to de- 
le cordial respect uf cveiy lover 
peeress of llie masses thiou^hout 
Id. I have no doubt that in duo 
I good name will he vindicated, 
I leaders lifted tn ihc unqualified 
of llie civilized world. The no- 
^ in my hand is as follows : 

\t Warilnfntn f/ Xrw Vark, friend* 
mity. ttumiti r/ ^lifOiitktJ, and lovtft 
.• CiliteiiBl The recent barbarous eie- 
t Fnoce, in cohl bloor), tU moDths atlcr 
(lea KTc over, mnd ihe ferocity w<th 
r cooqncron pursue tbcir Tictima. arc k 
mad nhamo to bumxnity. We tauM 
f Ui« kutnoa nee to b« Mftine<l by th« 
of lu owa blood wUboui t ptoiest. 
Idacmea, would you let yout trlends 

vou XIV. — 45 



the worlfinfmeii be muidered beeauM Ibey 
have ilcfcniltfj our rigtiLit in any part of the 
World? No! certninly not wKliaut TAWitiE your 
voice and making It heuid M:r»» Ibc ocean. To 
Rive effect to these y>orpo»e). a ctand Tuneftl 
proccKJan will take place in New Varit on Sun- 
day, the tolU of Dececnbcr. at i o'clucli, funn- 
ing opposite the Cooper Itisfltule. All men, 
without dutlncUod of party, orraoe, ofnatlonai- 
Ity. frteads of lustJce and freedom, sie inriled lo 
}aln. Hy order of the Committte of Airacfte- 
mentiofthe Kcderal Council.' 

" 1 hope ever)' man who loves his fel- 
low will show himself there. There was 
ncvci nobler blood bhcd, never more hi£li> 
mJodcd and ilisiatercstcd effort made m 
the long hisioij' of Freedom's slrngglc. 
than in Paris, when, in defiance of atl 
the oligarchies of Fiirope. that cily stood 
up for the indtvidu.il nnd for liberty in 
the nineieenth century." 

The impudence of the writers of 
this letter is sublime, and only sur- 
passed by that of the lecturer in en- 
dorsing it Why, these fellows would 
persuade us that they are " enemies 
of bloodshed and lovers of justice," 
meek as Iambs, timid as sheep, and 
harmless as doves — they who, with- 
out 3 shadow of ju.sticc or excuse, 
made the streets of Taris run with 
the blood of the innocent, the noble, 
and the saindy. " Enemies of blood- 
shet.1 " ! — they whose hands are reek- 
ing with blood ! Yes, to having their 
own blood shed, but not to the shed 
ding of the blood of others, '• Ene- 
mies of bloodshed and lovers of jus- 
tice " ! Good God ! can hypocrisy 
or self-delusion go so far? Let the 
assassination of Generals Le Comtc 
and Clement Thomas, the horrible 
murders, when it was known that the 
cause of the Commune was lost, of 
the holy and unoffending .Archbishop 
of Paris, of Jesuit fathers, and a doz- 
en Dominican friars and lay brothers, 
to say nothing of other murders 
hardly less horrible, reply to that 
false pretence. It would seem that 
these miscreants count for nothing 
the blood they shed without autho- 
rity, in violation of law, religion, mor- 
ality, and every princi[)le of justice, 
antl every sentiment of humanity ; it 



7o6 



Tfu InUnmtioual Association. 



is only when justice overtakes them, 
and, after trial and conviction by le- 
giiimatc authority, orders them and 
their fellow-criimnals to be shot or 
sends them to the guillotine in pun- 
ishment for their crimes, that they 
have a horror of bloodshed ! Then, 
and only then, Ihey ring out their 
dastard cry against injustice and for 
the sympathy of that humanity they 
have so greatly outraged ! The men 
who have been executed by the go- 
vernment at Versailles deserved their 
fate — men without a single virtue or 
noble quality except personal bravery 
in face of dcyth. Deluded were they? 
Yes, as every great criminal,* murder- 
er, or assa^in is deluded. 

What most excites our indignation 
Ls to And an educated and refined 
American gentiemaii, of uo mean 
ability and rare elo<,|uence, and past 
middle age, coming forward before 
iin American audience to express in 
a written lecture deep and unreserved 
sympalliy with, and approval of, these 
horrors and abominations, equal to 
those of '9j, and applauded by his 
auditors for such an outrage on com- 
mon morality and decency. Yet it 
is no more than we might have been 
prepared for, since Mr. Phillips 
only gave a logical expression to the 
principles he had always defended as 
an abolitionist ; and while tliere are 
fools enough among us who imagine 
that the issues of the war have en- 
dorsed them and they have been 
ivanciioned by the God of battles. 
We love our country, and have been 
proud of our countrymen ; but, if 
they have fallen so luwas to applaud 
the Piuis Commune and its horrid 
butcheries and profanatiouSj we can 
only say, Alas for them ! 

It may have liecorac unsafe to op- 
pose the Internationals, since the 
^police has taken tliem under its pro- 
tection, and granted them their im- 
pudent demands. We are surrounded 



by InieniationaU — oi 
mercy of men who are 
no law, by no religion, by no 
ty, by no sentiment of hnmanii 
using any means or methn< 
judge likely to serve their ea 
New York is hardly less weall 
more combustible than PvU. 
in is there a grave danger. 
head arc men who are in 
earnest, desperate men, who 
from nothing likely to furthe 
ends. AVe arc not sorprisel 
Prussia and Austria have uk 
alamn — consulted to-;' 
means of protecting li. . \ 
society against their machifl 
France keeps them in check a 
her army, and knows not hoi 
even the army may fraicrnii 
them — and fraternize with 
certainly will if it loses all 
storing the Knipire or the 
Great Britain is now using th 
will soon find herself obliged 
press them, as slie did or ai 
tempted to suppress the 'Hi 
India, if she means to preset 
institutions. F[ere they will 
trouble, fur each party wiU ] 
their votes, and fear to offcai 
for fear of losing oa dectio 
they can acquire less power i 
our cities here than elscwh<n, 
they enroll in their ranks the n 
emancipated negroes, and 
savage instincts to di«p 
planters and to take po 
their plantations; for the | 
for individual property is loo 
in our agricultural laborers, ti 
facilities for individuals to ris 
proletaries to capiuUsts, or 
ownership of land, are too jp 
afford them, when it coraes I 
test, any appmprialc support 
they will confuse our politici;, < 
still more the morals of oat 
nity, and ilcfeat any wise and 
action of the govenuaeat 



On Catkoiic Librarif^ 



707 



kg:flien the burgher class and 
5ns in towns by compelling 
p arc not favorable to these 
nd interests to support them, 
nly means left of saving so- 



ciety from lapsing into complete bar- 
barism. 

We shall probably return at an 
early <iay to this subject, for it is 
really the great question of the hour. 



ON CATHOLIC LIBRARIES. 



confessed that ihc 
k of this country, in propor- 
l^thetr numerical strength and 
fieal for the interests of re- 
do not present that ])ropor- 
jf large class of readers which 
jlamong the Protestant sects. 
jKrtions in building churches, 
I and charitable institutions 
en beyond all praise, and have 

Ef elicited the admiration 
ishmeiit of their opponents ; 
jfet very little orji;aniKd effort 
p made by the influential por< 
the laity to place within easy 
f their humbler CO- religionists 
Ids of cheap and instructive 
I The more intelligent and 
|aTC too often content to pur- 
Ifew standard Catholic works, 
fcer perusing them with more 
tttention place them with their 
^ks on the shelves of their 
% there to remain secluded 
>lic view, and of comparalivc- 
ralue to any person but their 
The less favored class, who 
Eius reasons are unable to in- 
L this luxury, are still practi- 
t off from one of the chief 
of knowledge and amuse* 
id hooks — and are neces- 
pcUed from uncontrollable 
nces to go through life 
minds and tastes imdeve- 
d their time dissipated in 
or wasted over the trashy 
erious contents of the many 



cheap story newspapers and nov- 
els which tlie .'Vraerican press is con- 
stantly scattering broadcast over the 
land. 

This melancholy fact is most ob- 
servable in the ranks of our adult 
immigrant population, who, commg 
from couDtrics where education was 
almost unattainable, money scarce, 
and books dear, have not generally 
acquired cither abihty or taste for 
reading, though it has been remarked 
that even among them, when an op- 
portunity is at all presented, the desire 
for information is excited in a remark- 
able degree, and only requires a rea- 
sonable impetus lo develop it still 
more. Still, from the fact of their 
usually limited means and compa- 
ratively unsettled modcsof life, they ai*e 
as yet unable to purchase or retain any 
appreciable collection of desirable 
publications. 

The remedy for this defect in our 
growing Catholic society lies, in our 
opinion, in the formation of local 
hbraries, suitable in variety and ex- 
tent to the wants and capacity of 
particular localities. There are at 
least twenty-five hundred centres of 
Cathohc population in America 
where very respectable collections of 
books could be purchased and plac* 
ed in some safe and accessible place, 
say in the school-rooms or church 
basements, and half as many more, 
particularly in our Western settle- 
ments, where at least a few good 



7o8 



On Cat/toiic Libraries. 



books would be of great advantage 
to the hardy tillers of the soil, and 
where, even if there be no public 
place to deposit them, there is al- 
ways some prominent settler who 
would willingly assume the honorary 
office of librarian. Experiments of 
both plans have been tried in many 
of our large city parishes, and in a 
few isolated instances in the country, 
with marked success. 

The advantages of libraries con- 
ducted on this system are numerous, 
and ought to be apparent to every 
one, not the least of which would 
be cheapness. Let us suppose, for 
instance, that, in any given locality, 
fifty persons would each subscribe 
two dollars. This would create a 
capital of one hundred dollars, or 
suAicient to purchase, on an average, 
one hundred and fifty volumes, great 
and small, of readable books, from 
any of our large publishing-houses 
in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, 
or Baltimore. Thus, for two dollars, 
a subscriber would have, for reading 
or reference, the practical ownership 
of works at least fifty times the value 
of his contribution, and, by charging 
new members a small fee for the use 
of each volume, a fund might be cre- 
ated to purchase new books as they 
appeared from time to time. In this 
manner, and with proper attention, 
a library of dimension commensu- 
rate itith the growing wants of the 
neighborhood would be brought in- 
to existence without much expense 
to any particular class of the com- 
munity. 

But the moral effect of the estab- 
lishment of such small centres of in- 
telligence would be incomparably 
greater. For the adults, it would at 
once be an attraction and a source 
of occupation, tending powerfully to 
withdraw them from those pursuits, 
not always edifying, in which un- 
occupied minds too often indulge, to 



the detriment of their health and 
morals. It would be the means of 
generating a taste for mental im- 
provement, and of making them 
more confident among their com- 
panions, and more proficient and re- 
flective in their various pursuits ; for 
it is a well-recognized truth, that as 
a man, be he artisan, trader, or farm- 
er, acquires those habits of thought 
which can only be derived from stit 
dy, he becomes more skilful and 
methodical in his peculiar calliog. 
The youth of both sexes, however, 
would reap the greatest advantages. 
There are hundreds of thousands of 
children of Catholic parents amoig 
us who can read, and, what is more. 
wiU read. The young American 
mind, no matter of what parentage, 
is a hungry and an investigating 
mind, and must have some sort of 
food, do or say what we wilL If it 
cannot have good literary fcxx^ it 
will have what is* poisonous, and in 
this lies the secret of the succes of 
the sensational story papers, and die 
no less deleterious tales that, vx i 
few years, have made fortones for 
their publishers. It is well known 
that one of the former class, publisb- 
ed in this city, boasts of a weekly 
circulation of three hundred thousand 
copies, and another of nearly as ^xai 
a number. If we go into the large 
workshops of the principal cidcs, or 
the factories of New England, where 
so many young persons are engag- 
ed, at the hour allotted for dinner 
we mil see every second boy and 
girl devouring with raor« eagemea 
than their food the contents of sone 
flashy journal or specimen (^whntii 
generally known as '' yellow-coveicd 
literature," in which vice is hidda 
under a thin veil of romance onlytti 
make it the more seductive. Nov, 
the way to check this insidiotund 
widespread evil is not by compbii- 
ing of or railing at it, but by pladBf 



Oh CatfwHc Libraries, 



709 



easy reach, and in accessible 

sound and attractive Catho- 
rks. The impetuous mind of 

may be compared to a rapid 
I, which, dammed up or check- 
its career, is sure sooner or lat- 
Dverflow its boundaries to the 
ction of its surroundings, but 
, if its course is directed by 
and experienced hands, not 
eases to be dangerous, but be- 
a soiirce of usefulness and 
. To give this direction to the 
iding intellect of the rising gen- 
3, and to turn to good use 
night by neglect or repression 
te an evil and a curse, is one 

first and plainest duties of pa- 
for the proper performance of 

they will be held to a strict 
ntability. It is not enough 
em to see that their offspring 
I church on Sundays and holy- 
that they go to Sunday-school 
rly, and say their prayers 

and moming, if they allow 
ifterwards to ponder from hour 
lur over sickly romances ; nor 
t serve to send their children 
lool to learn to spell and read, 
* knowledge thus gained be 
I to the enervation of their 
and the corruption of their 
s. Education is not in itself an 

is only the means to an end, and 
;nd is the knowledge of God's 
nd the best way of conforming 
conduct to its requirements so 
secure our eternal salvation. 

is no excuse for a Catholic pa- 
or not putting into the hands 
} children entertaining and 

books, nor is there any pallia- 
)r any one professing our holy 
and who has arrived at the 
of discretion, for encouraging 
ading the thousand-and-one 

of fiction which we see every 

xposed on news-stands and in 

book-stores, and which are 



not only immoral in tone and spirit, 
but in effect positively an ti- Christian, 
Besides books of a serious and prac- 
tical chaiticter, we have numerous 
works of fiction, published in this 
country and easily obtained, of the 
highest order of talent united to rare 
dramatic force and interest, which 
are detrimental neither to morals nor 
religion. The writings of Griffin, 
Banim, Huntington, Julia Kavan- 
agh, Mrs. Sadlier, Mrs. Anna Dor- 
sey, Lady FuUerton, Lady Herbert, 
and many others that we could name, 
are of this character, and are worthy 
to be read by the highest as well as the 
lowest in society. Of works treating 
on history, science in its various de- 
partments, biography, travels, etc., 
Cathohc in tone, and elaborate or 
elementary in arrangement, we have 
a large and varied supply ; and new 
productions under these heads are con - 
stantly appearing, more fascinating to 
the cultivated taste than even the pro- 
ductions of our best novelists. But it 
has been objected that these publica- 
tions are too dear ; that poor people 
cannot afford to spend ten or fifteen 
dollars on a few books. Granted; 
but, if they can have the use of four 
or five score for a couple of dollars 
by subscribing to a parochial library, 
is not the objection removed ? This 
is what local libraries, and they alone, 
can do. 

Now, what would be the effect of 
this system of libraries on the gener- 
al tone of public opinion ? Decid- 
edly most salutary. In addition to 
driving from circulation many of th« 
demoralizing newspapers, periodicals, 
and books which even non-Catholics 
denounce as immoral, and for the 
suppression of some of which the 
aid of legislative action has been in- 
voked, it would create and foster a 
pure literary taste among no incon- 
siderable portion of our diverse pop- 
ulation, and, apart fi-om its direct 



710 



On Cat/iolic Libraries. 



moral effect, would render it more 
valuable and more reproductive in a 
material point of view. Many of the 
most important political, social, and 
commercial problems of the day, on 
the true solution of which depends 
the future welfare of our republic, 
can only be properly comprehended 
by reference to the history of the 
past, and to the biographies of the 
great statesmen who succeeded or 
failed in founding or destroying na- 
tions and empires. And even in the 
discussion of minor questions affect- 
ing our interests or liberties, some 
acquaintance with the antecedents 
of our country is absolutely neces- 
sary to enable us to form proper 
opinions of their merits. In mdivid- 
ual cases, one of* the compensations 
for declining years and one of the 
highest claims to respect is experi- 
ence ; but to the reader of history, no 
matter what his age, the accumulated 
experience of at least thirty centuries 
is accessible, and not only controls 
his judgment and enlarges his know- 
ledge, but vastly enhances his social 
and political status. But this expe- 
rience, to be of any value, must be 
based on truth and undoubted facts. 
It must arise from the just appreci- 
ation of unbiassed statements and 
philosophical deductions, stripped of 
all that false assertion and unlimited 
])rejudice which have characterized 
so many European and American 
writers for the last three centuries. 
Hence the need of Catholic books 
and Catholic readers — for, in this as 
in commercial matters, the demand 
regulates the supply — and the crea- 
tion of new facilities for the spread 
of reliable information. 

Take the case of the History of 
England by Lingard. Before the ap- 
pearance of that excellent work, wc 
venture to say that seven-eighths of 
the reading population in every part 
of the world believed more or less in 



the falsehoods and forgeries with 
which the pages of the English histo- 
rians of the post-Reformation period 
were crowded. Many more such in- 
stances of recent successful vindicatitm 
of the truth of history might be cited, 
not the least valuable and comi^ete 
being the production of our own coun- 
trymen, such as that very able and 
learned refutation of D'Aubigni's 
History of ttu J^efommtian * and the 
Life of Mary^ Queen of ScofSf\ whid 
has lately appeared, and in which the 
slanders and aspersions so repcatcdlj 
heaped on the memory and charactd 
of that beautiful but Ul-starred sova- 
eign are condemned, exposed, and, it 
is to be hoped, finally disposed U 
The first of these works is the most 
elaborate and reliable book we hare 
on that important epoch, when eveiy 
throne in Europe was shaken to its 
base, and when men's passions, let 
loose by the preaching of the heroi- 
archs of England and the ContincDt, 
threatened to destroy every vestige 
of temporal and spiritual authority. 
There is no period in the history oi 
Christendom about which so miDy 
falsehoods and such mendacioDS ca- 
lumnies have been invented and cir- 
culated by prejudiced writers ; and it 
was only on the appearance of xht 
book in question that we have had, 
at least in English, any comprehen- 
sive and truthful account of the origin 
and progress of that rebellion against 
God's church and laws. ITiis counlr>, 
from its settlement to the present, the 
origin and growth of its institution» 
from their inception in the early pan 
of the seventeenth century till theii 
fruition in our present constitution, 
though full of incident and fraught with 
lessons of the highest political wis- 
dom, is yet imperfectly known and 

• Hittorj of the Prvttttmmt RtftrmmtMm. Br 
the Most Rev. M. J. Spalding. D.D. ItalUaoR 

t Mary, Q»tfn ifScatt. By Juaes Y. )l«li««. 
N«w York. 1871. 



i 



i understood. Is it not, then. 
h a. little sacntice on the part of 
Dts to place before their children, 
ere long are to become the 
IS of the state, a correct and im- 
kl account of the birth of rcli- 
B liberty on this coulincni, of the 
gcrSf trials, and struggles our 
Elthers endureU in order to build 
,aDd transmit to posterity the 
liogs of a free government ? Vet 
I knowledge can only be o\y- 
Id through bookstand books, so 
IS the majority of Catholics are 
Eerue<l, arc almost unattainable, 
rpl through co-operation. Then, 
0, wc arc often taunted by such 
tneyed phrases as the darkness of 
Diiddle ages, the ignorance of the 
ks, the corruption of the I'apacy, 
lorrors of the Spanish Iiu[uisition, 
such other fabrications of Pro- 
int authors. Arc wc to allow our 
|ren to go forth in the midst of a 
ing and, in a religious sense at 
1^ a hostile people, unprepared to 
ligenily refute such calumnies, 
unable to account for the vari- 
Bgcncies by which the Catholic 
rcb at all times sought to ehmi- 
(civilization from barbarism, light 
I darkness, and Christianity from 
inism at first, and from heresy 
, infidelity iubsuquently ? They 
t have great — too great, jierhaps 
mfitlcnce in the faith of (heir chil- 
I thu.^ to submit them to so severe 
•t; and yet how few reliable 
is dcalino; with those subjects do 
fad provided for young Catholics 
those whose duly it is to direct 
F conduct and shield them from 
icmptaiions and snares of the 
d 1 How many parents, intent on 
tfding their children by presents, 
Mluilh of presenting them with 
Spooks, which would not only 
[fy their tastes and miprove their 
Is, but would be, at least to them, 
etuat source of consolation ? 



Far different are the tactics of our 
opponents, who are never tired of de- 
vising measures to instil into the 
minds of the youth of their own faith 
all the errors of Protestantism under the 
most attractive guise possible, and at 
tlie same time to weaken the fiuth 
and pervert the judgment of our 
children. It is perhaps not generally 
known that every school district in 
this state, outside the large cities, is 
supplied with a library of select 
works, under the charge of the school 
trustees, and every child in 'the dis- 
trict is allowed free access to it, with 
the privilege of borrowing one vol- 
ume at a time. 'I'hese libraries were 
originally supplied at the exi^nse of 
the public, and are annually in- 
creased by new purchases, the funds 
being derived from the state library 
fund. When we state that those 
libraries were furnished by a publish- 
ing-house in this city theiirst success of 
which in business was due to the pro- 
ducuon of Maria Monk, the works of 
Kugene Sue, and others of a kindred 
character, and that the compilers 
an<:l abridgers, who claim the author- 
ship of them, have been remarkable 
for bigotry even in this age of Pro- 
testant intolerance, it is scarcely ne- 
cessary to point out the danger to 
our young Catholics of the free circu- 
lation of such books among them. 
In country places, the absence of the 
noise, excitement, and attractions of 
city life naturally leads to a desire for 
reading and a remarkable tendency 
to discussion, and it is there that 
good Catholic hooks are most re- 
quired. Our children must mix with 
those of the sects, and will be com- 
pelled to listen to a repetition of the 
fabrications and falsehoods against 
their religion which are weekly dealt 
out in the Protestant churches, daily 
commented on in the household, and 
which fill the pages of the books of 
the district libraries and local news- 



I 



I 
I 

I 



1\2 



On Caiko/ic Libraries. 



papers. This is the poison that is 
carrying off so many of our juvenile 
co-religionists, more dangerous to 
their souls than the deadly upas 
would be to their bodies, and against 
which we must provide some anti- 
dote. If one of our boys is con- 
fronted with quotations from Hume 
or Macaulay, he must be prepared to 
answer them on the undoubted au- 
thority of Lingard ; if he be taunted 
with the poverty or ignorance of the 
(Catholics of Ireland, he can show 
whence came this penury and desti- 
tution by reference to McGee's, Cu- 
sack's, or any of the numerous histo- 
ries of that country; he ought to be 
prepared to oppose Archbishop 
Spalding to D'Aubign^, Meline to 
Froude, the history of the Maryland 
settlers (the founders of religious liber- 
ty on this continent) to the eulogiums 
on the intolerant Puritans, the " Irish 
Settlers" to the Know-Nothing organs 
— in fact, truth and light wherever false- 
hood and darkness are to be found. 
The truth has nothing to lose, but 
everything to gain, by full and free 
discussion. It is only error that 
shrinks from thorough investigation. 
But we must take care that our sons 
and daughters are well supplied with 
plain and useful facts regarding their 
faith and religion before they are 
subjected to the ordeal through which 
all young Catholics must pass who 
mingle freely in Protestant society, 
lest through their ignorance the 
cause they espouse should be weak- 
ened by their imperfect advocacy. 

Neither ought we to hesitate in 
learning lessons from our adversaries 
when it is possible to do so. If the 
children of darkness are wiser than 
■the children of light in their genera- 
tion, it is no reason why we should 
be guilty of folly. Apart from the 
falsity of their teachings, we have 
often had occasion to admire the sys- 
tematic perseverance with which the 



Protestant sects have endeavored to 
disseminate their peculiar views 
throught the medium of cheap and 
attractive publications. All that art 
and skill can do has been done to 
render them pleasing to the eye and 
agreeable to the mind. The highest 
literary talent is employed and well 
rewarded, because the result of their 
labors is extensively circulated, and, 
even when persons are unable or un- 
willing to purchase, the purse of the 
wealthy is always open to enable 
them to obtain books free of cost, 
while our children are too oftra 
allowed to begin life but half-instmcc- 
ed, and to continue in it illitenite and 
untaught. Were our schools as effi- 
cient and as numerous as we wish 
and as we hope one day to see them, 
we might assure ourselves that all 
tjiis might be taught in them ; but ] 
they are not, nor can they be fcr 
some years, and we cannot ignore the 
fact or wait for the slow opnatioo 
of time to perfect and extend their in- ! 
lluence. We must endeavor by some ' 
means or other to supply the deficien- 
cy, so far, at least, as this generation if \ 
concerned. Besides, there will alvan 
be a large number of children of the 
working-classes who cannot remain 
long at any school, but must go into 
the world to earn their bread. Wth 
these the most critical period of ihdr 
lives is from the time they pass from 
the control of the teacher till ther 
reach manhood or womanhood, ft» 
then their characters for good or evil 
are formed. For this class of loilen, 
good books are not only a recreatiftn 
and a solace, but an absolute necessi- 
ty ; but, being limited in means, « 
hold that it is only through the 
means of local libraries that they cai 
gratify their wishes and find opportu- 
nities for mental improvement. 

Literature itself would also gain 
much by the establishment of these 
libraries. How often has it beenn- 



':aih 



^jtbraries. 



•m 



that, out of the large number 
lOlic young men of brains and 
which our colleges and 
;cs turn out annually, there 
writers. The explanation 
for them authorship is ncitlicr 
merative nor an appreciated 
mcnt. The professions cf law 
jdiciDAnd the attractions of 
rce and trade are constantJy 
[ into their vortices the best 
I and talent of our young 
ts, many of whom with 
encouragement and patron- 
fht, as authors, render incalcu- 
crvice to the cause of truth 
krality. What is required to 
this large amount of natural 
Id acquired knowledge is sim- 
linore extensive circulation of 
Urendy publi(>hcd ; the increase 
lUmbcr of new books on sub- 
general interest, in style and 
nt more in accordance with 
forms than those published 
50; but, above ail, the cultiva- 
B correct standard of literary 
ice among ihe ]:)eople, and the 
: of a widespread class of 
and thinkers. 

ot^ection to the dearness of 
C publications would also be 
p by this means. It is well 
llo those conversant with the 
png business that, in proportion 
ucrease of the circulation of a 
look, the expense of ils pro- 
I>er copy is diminished in an 
ratio. A book of «htch three 
d copies arc sold at two dol- 
h would be more remunera- 
l^oth publisher and author at 
le dollar if twenty thousand 
tfCK xRsposcd of. The pub- 
dso, in his contract with the 
ind in view of the uncertainty 
Jes, naturally adds to the cost 
DclioQ and to his fair percent- 
profit a certain amount for 
c losses by having a portion 



of his edition left on his shelves 
unsold. The cstabHshment of 
local libraries would obviate the ne- 
cessity of iliis additional cost With, 
say, twenty-five hundred of these in- 
stitutions, each ready and willing to 
subscribe for one or more copies of 
any really meritorious book that 
might appear, its success m-ould be as- 
sured beyond doubt, the outlay of 
the publisher would be nearly reim- 
bursed, and his risk, fur which all 
book-buyers have now to p-iy, would 
be sensibly and materially diminished 
if not altogether done away with. 
Thus even individual purchasers as 
well as subscribers to libraries would 
be benefited in the reduction of price ; 
and, while the bookseller would not 
sulTer in the profits of his sales, the 
general public as well as the author 
would be sensibly the gainers. 

As to what ought to constitute the 
neclcus of a small library, some difH- 
cully may be experienced in diverse 
tastes and opinions. In view of the 
multiplicity of good books constantly 
iK'ing imported or published in this 
country, it is nearly impossible to 
make a list of such as would be most 
desirable and useful without leaving 
out others perhaps as equally deserv- 
ing of attention. Of works of fiction 
we have enough and more than 
enough in the productions of ihc au- 
thors above named and others of a 
less pretentious order, but, as this 
sort of reading is simply a matter of 
choice, each one must judge for him- 
self in the selection. 

Devotional and controversial works 
arc numerous, jiud a few at least, such 
as the writings of St. Liguori, Father 
Faber, Dr. Manning, and Canlinal 
Wiseman, the Guide for CathoiU Y<Ktn^ 
Women, Following of Christ, GU/:o~ 
lie Christian Instru£teii, Lenten Afoni- 
tor, as well as several others, should be 
always found in Catholic hbraries. 
In history, as far as the English Ian- 



714- 



On Catholic Libraries. 



guage is concerned, we are not so 
rich. We have, it is true, four or five 
histories of Ireland, possessing pecu- 
liar merits, and exhibiting more or 
less defects, but all full of useful in- 
formation. Lingard's England^ en- 
tire or abridged, is decidedly the 
best of that country. Shea's History 
of the Catholic Missions in the United 
States, McSherry's Maryland, Bishop 
Bayley's Church in New York, Mc- 
Gee's Irish Letters and Catholic His- 
tory, De Courcey's and Shea's Catho- 
lic Church in America, go far to sup- 
ply the defect, at least in part Then 
there are the Works of Archbishop 
Hughes, one of the great prelates of the 
church in America, and the writings 
of Dr. O. A. Brownson, particularly 
his Essays and American Republic, 
than whom no man of our day, it is 
safe to say, writes with more vigor or 
with a clearer understanding of his 
subject ITie works of Bishop En- 
gland are, we regret to say, too little 
known, and, being for some time out 
of print, are now almost unattaina- 
ble. Uarras's Church History, the 
only complete history of the chuKih 
yet published in our language, 
should, if possible, be read by 
every Catholic, and find a conspicu- 
ous place in iiU our libraries. The 
Lives of Deceased I^elates of the Unitui 
States, by Clarke, which has just been 
published, is a very valuable book, 
containing a great deal of remote and 
contemporary history J and if Mr. Shea 
could be induced by proper encour- 
agement to further develop the sub- 
jects he has selected for his books, 
as we feel certain of his ability to do 
so, a great deal of additional matter 
connected with the struggles and 
sufferings of the early pioneers of re- 
ligion, now almost forgotten or un- 
known, would be placed before the 
public. In biography, which maybe 
called history in detail, our resources 
are abundant We have, besides nu- 



merous lives of Christ, a coi 
Lives of t/te I^s, Butler's Zi 
the Saints, several of St Patrii 
l^ncent de I\tul, Cur^ of At 
some two hundred separate li 
the holy men and women who ii 
age of the church were conspicu 
their sanctity, wisdoni. and de 
to the faith, a list of ^hich n 
chosen from the catalogue of ; 
our principal publishers; am 
though not least, is Montalei 
great work, The Monks of the. 
an American edition of which 
published. 

So far as materials are cod< 
we have a plenitude of th 
every variety and in all depar 
of literature, and we have end 
ed to show that very little mt 
required to purchase them, 
is wanted is organization and i 
For these we must depend to a 
extent on the local pastors, a 
the half a dozen leading 1; 
who are most generally to be 
in every congregation. Thcr 
homely proverb, but neven 
true, that " what is everybody 
siness is nobody's business." 
one or two influential men ii 
parish think seriously over thi 
ter, call their associates togethe 
explain to them the advanta 
be derived by themselves am 
children from cheap and good 
ing, collect the subscription! 
themselves in communication 
any of our Catholic booki 
and the work is done. The 6i 
most important step thus take 
future welfare of the library is 
ed. It is unnecessary to say tha 
a movement ought to 'and woi 
ceive the wannest encourag 
from their spiritual superiors, 
from the benefits arising fro 
reading of moral hooks to th( 
of rehgion, the spirit of niutua 
course, interchange of though 



Dpcraiion engenderetl by 
be same bouk, and meeting 
td times for a common object, 
lead insensibly to the forma- 
f a compact and cHicienl or- 
lion, exceedingly usefitl when 
crests of charily, education, or 
lurch aiti to be subserved, 
mly this, but, knoning how 
■d are the attention and time 
Rny of our missionary priests 
viiiing the means of building 
£S and schools, as well as at- 
g to the spiritual wants of 
icaitered flocks, we consider 
.inielligert body of young 
uch as we would naturally 
sec connected with a li- 
ety, would form a valuable 
^of worker* whose pleasure it 
be to aid their pastor in all his 
it transactions. Tlie more in- 
it Catholics become, the less 
t, in two ways, tlicy entail on 
piritual guide. They become 
eiL^y of his wants, or nithcr 
nts of the church of which he 
hem the representative, and 



that the spread 
throughout this 
a most marked 




nee<l little inducement to contribute 
their means freely fur the benefit of 
charity or religion, while, al the same 
time, they make the most cfticienl 
agents in influencing the actions of 
others with whom they are daily 
brought in contact. 
Kirmly bcheving 
of these societies 
country would have 
and beneficent effect, morally and 
mentally, on our rapidly growing 
Catholic population, we submit these 
remarks to the serious consideration 
of the reverend clergy, and of those 
laymen who have been favored widi 
more wealth and a better education 
than the maiority of tlieir fcllow- 
Catholicsw We must not forget that 
we live in an age of great mental ac- 
tivity and progress, so-called. Let 
us keep pace with our neighbors 
in everylhuig that leads to the 
acquisition of true knowledge, but 
let our progress l>e in the right 
ilirection, and worthy of the name 
we bear, and of the religion we pro- 
fess. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



EOF PHLUr TtlOMAS HoWARD. 
ARUINAL OP NttllFOLK. ETC. By 

tr C. F. Raj-mond Pilmer. O.P. 
Ion: Tliomas Rjchartlson Sc Son. 
York; The Calbolic Publication 

Tords us sincere pleasure to 
c to speak of this book in 

K unqualified praise, without 
|St being subjected to the 
if flattery. The subject 
I by Father Palmer is the 
of an ecclesiastic who not 
lied a prominent part in the 
>f bis times in his native 
ngland, but of the church 



throughout Europe; and whose pri- 
vate virtues were even more edifying 
than hismentalcapacity was remark- 
able. The scion ofoneof the noblest 
houses in Great Britain, and living at 
a time when ever)* lure was held out 
to genius and rank to join the so- 
called Reformers, he not only re- 
mained true to the Catholic tradi- 
tions of his family, but, fursaki'ng 
the world altoj^cther. he became, in 
spite of all Dppo.sition, an humble 
friar and a follower nf the illustrious 
St. Dominic His lahors for the good 
of his order on the Continent as 
well as in England were incessanl, 




yi6 



New Publications. 



and so successful that in a few years 
he was raised to the dignity of a 
prince of the church. Several times 
he was entrusted with important 
diplomatic missions by his sove- 
reign, Charles 11., and for many 
years occupied the position of grand 
almoner to Catharine of Braganza, 
the queen-consort. In addition to 
the biography of Cardinal Howard, 
we have a very full and interesting 
sketch of the history of the Domi- 
nican order, that glorious corpora- 
tion of friar-preachers, whose labors 
extended to every part of tlie 
known world, and whose blood may 
be said to have been shed in the 
cause of Christ wherever the foot 
of man has trod. Father Palmer's 
treatment of the subject is in every 
way worthy of so great a theme, 
lie does not, as too many biogra- 
phers are apt to do, fall in love with 
his hero, and lose himself in sense- 
less rhapsody and panegyric, but 
lets deeds and their results speak 
for themselves. Neither does he 
assume for the order, of which he 
himselfisaworthy member, too much 
credit for its long-continued and ex- 
tensive propagandisni of the faith ; 
but, keeping his praise within just 
bounds, makes the amplest acknow- 
ledgment to other missionaries when 
an opportunity offers. The author's 
style, also, is admirable. It is plain, 
bold, and exceedingly clear, and re- 
minds us a good deal of the old days 
of classic English, which, we are 
sometimes tempted to fear, have 
departed for ever. 

Skrmons uy the Fathers of the Con- 
i-.KKOAriuN uF St. Paul tue Apostle. 
Xcw York : Tlic Catholic Publicaiion 
Society. 1^72. i2mo, pp. 33r. 

This, the sixth volume of sermons, 
tw^enty-two in number, delivered by 
the Paulist Fathers of this city, has 
just been published, and in point of 
variety, ability, and adaptability to 
the everyday wants of Catholic con- 
.iiregations, may fairly be said to be 
equal, at least, to any of the preced- 
ing volumes from the same source. 



On first reading this valuable ' 
lection of sermons, the impres; 
most likely to be produced on a 
man is surprise at the remark: 
simplicity of style, earnestness 
argument, and, above all, the p 
tical application to the present 1 
dition of society, of the inspired t 
upon which the sermons are ba 
Men of the most ordinary com 
hension can understand them, 
we can imagine few minds so < 
tractcd or hearts so callous a 
be proof against their unadoi 
logic and impressive appeals. 
has sometimes been our good 
tune to have heard, as we haveo 
read, exhortations of more brill 
cy, pathos, and even intellec 
power, but we are not aware t 
compressed within the limits o 
ordinary-sized book, there is t< 
found in the English languag 
greater amount of wholesome tru 
well and clearly stated, or 
ter calculated to go directly to 
heart and conscience of the rcai 
Of this character pre-eminei 
arc the sermons on ■* How to Pa 
Good Lent," " Humility in Pray 
and " The Sins and Miseries of 
Dram-Seller." In some respects 
latter differs from all others in 
collection— in its forcibleness 
rhetoric, and vividness, almost p 
ful, of description. Reading i 
the silence of our library, wc aln 
shudder at the, alas ! too trut 
picture drawn therein of the dru 
ard's fate in this world, and the 
less certain retribution wl 
awaits his mercenary temf 
here or hereafter. It is one of 
most powerful arguments aga 
the use and sale of intoxica 
liquors wc have read since the < 
of Father Mathew, and ought ti 
in the hands of every advocate 
temperance, clerical and lay. in 
land. The three sermons trea 
of the temporal and spiritual au 
rity of the Sovereign Pontiff 
clear, distinct, and well-timed. ; 
besides being historically accui 
are replete with logical deduct) 
one following and hinging on 



New PitblUations. 



717 



other so harmoniously that convic- 
tiuo, even to a biassed niiud. sucnis 
U> fdllow as a matter of course. 

Uut on a second and more critical 
perusal of this book, we are certain 
to discover new and ccjunll)' com* 
inend:ible features. We feel as if wc 
w-Lr.; in the presence of Catliolic 
IS speaking to their spiritual 
I ircn. There is an absence of 
all harshness or terrorism* and of 
ifiit bitterness whicli too often ac- 
tnies the discussion of contro- 
.^. -.ill subjects. While our errors 
are reprovc<) and uur sins denounced, 
hope and mercy arc not denied us ; 
the path of duty Is plainly pointed 
out, but we are encounig^d to tread 
its thorny ways, and we rise from 
the stutiy of the Sermons con- 
kIous of our faults and wcalcncsses. 
without desp.iirin;;f, and witli a re- 
newed purpose of amendment. No 
one can read auentivejy the first and 
last of this scries, on '* Kenicmbrancc 
of Mercies" and " Tratcrnal Chari- 
ty," without feeling suficned and 
'1 - 'r-ncd in spirit. It is not, how- 
the mere contents of ihc ser- 
- that wc most admire. It is 
suggcstii'cncss. To a reflective 
i there is matter enough in them 
.m the groundwork of a hundred 
iii>i. mrscs, and still the subjects 
'.To'ild not be exhausted. This fua- 
alone will extend their gorjd 
/■ (ice far beyond the limits of 
one book or one pulpit. As wc 
have come to a grand truth boldly 
5laK-d, or a deduction logically and 
lucidly drawn, wc have frequently 
found ourselves closing the book, 
and. following the drift of the reve- 
fend preacher's argument, preach- 
ing sermons to ourselves. If such 
be its effects on ordinary minds, 
how much more valuable will be 
the uses of this book to the younger 
fii'-T-ibcrs of the priesthood in the 
rmance of the duties of their 
.... calling? And It Is for Ihcm 
e>pt--cially, we presume, it is in- 
tended. 

Besides, as wc are all aware, Ibere 
are many persons with the best dis- 
postttooi who, from family or other 



reasons, arc frequently unable to 
' hear a sermon on every Sunday and 
holyday of obligation, not only in 
country parishes, but even in our 
crowded cities. To this class the 
present volume ought to be of great 
value, affording them, as it does, 
an opportunity of reading in the 
seclusion of their htjmcs, what 
they arc debarred from hearing de- 
livered orally. It is one of the rules 
of the faithful to consecrate a por- 
tion of each Sunday to hearing ser- 
mons, but, when this cannot be done, 
the reading of pious books is substi- 
tuted, and we know of none recently 
published better calculated to edify 
and instruct a devout Catholic, or 
one so practical in its appliaittun to 
the wants and necessities of the 
present generation, as this collection 
of sermons; and it is for this reason 
that we heartily commend it to the 
laity of the United States. 

Macaronic Poetrv. Collccicd, with an 
Inlroduction, by James Applclon Moi- 
f;ao. A.M. New York: Hurd&Houglu 
ton. 1373. 

Of the many excellent specimens 
of the typography of the Riverside 
Press, the above-named work is one 
of the handsomest; and this merit 
is enhanced by the fact that the 
great variety of languages and char- 
acters, ancient and modern, used 
in its pages called for the best ef- 
forts of typographical skill and re- 
sources. 

The title of the work gives but a 
modest ideaof the wealth and diver- 
sity of its contents, which are credita- 
ble to the taste and industry of the 
author. Wc find in it not only all 
the most celebrated macaronic mas- 
terpieces, from the " Pugna I*orco- 
rum." of about three hundred lines, 
every word of which begins with the 
letter P. thus : 

" Plaudits, Porcelli, Potcoruu plgTi prop^ff^ 
PtogiedUur, plurc* I'ordi plnjuedlnc plenl. 
Pi^nantca pcrKual, pccudunt pMi prodifli- 
oat," etc., eic, 

down to Dr. Maginn's " Second Ode 
to Horace," commencing. 



7i8 



New Publicaiiams. 



** Blest maa, wko hi from busy hum, 
L'l p[iK« geos morubum." 

Then there are the literarj- trifles of 
the dipogrammatists and the pan- 
gram mat ists. and curiosities in 
acrostics, telestics, anagrams, palin- 
dromes, sidonians, rhymed baga- 
telles, cento verses, chain verses, 
alliterative verses, and epitaphs. 
There are also some specimens of 
queer prescriptions, the whole fami- 
ly of which are but imitations of the 
celebrated recipe pasted on the door 
of the pharmacy in the Convent of 
the Capuchin Friars at Messina : 

** Pro preseati corporti et aetern* aniiKe salute. 



*' Radicum fidei 

Flomm Apei 

Konrum cbuiUtis 

Lilionim puriutis 

Absynth^ contritlonis 

VioUmm humiliUtiB 

Agaiici satisfiutioQis 

Ano quantum potes : 
Misceatur omnia cum syrupe coafeasionis ; 
Terentur in mortario coascientiae : 
SolTaouir ia aqua lacrymarum ; 
Coquantur in igne tribulation is, et fiat poLus. 
Recipe de hoc mane et sera." 

Any one may find much literary 
amusement in the volume, and to 
the Latin scholar in particular it 
alfords material for many an hour 
of pleasant relaxation. 

The Taking op Rome by the Italian 
Army, considered in its Causes and 
Effects. By C. M. Curci, S.J. Trans- 
lated from the Italian by the Duke 
Delia Torre. New York : D. Apple- 
ton & Co. 1871. 

It is a matter of congratulation 
that we have among us at least one 
Italian gentleman of high rank, 
character, and education, who is a 
thoroughly loyal and devoted ad- 
herent of the Holy See. We are 
f^reatly indebted to the Duke Delia 
Torre for translating F. Curci's bro- 
4:kure, prefixing to it a most sensible 
and excellent preface, and getting 
it published by our most eminent 
New York firm. The pamphlet it- 
self is an able production of an able 
andcelebratedwriter. Theonlygreat 
fault in it is the discouraging tone it 



takes regarding the prospects of the 
temporal sovereignty of the Pope lo 
the futare — a point which has beeo 
stronglyaDimadverted up>on alieady 
in Europe, In so far as past facts 
are concerned, it is a thorough and 
unanswerable exposure of the frand, 
violence, and perfidy of the Sub- 
Alpine go\'ernnient. and of the 
treachery and timidity of the policy 
of other. Eoropean cabinets in their 
relations with the Pontifical Statet 

Florexce O'Neil ; or. The Siege of 
Limerick. By Agnes M. Stewin. 
Baltimore : Kelly, Pict & Co. 

The eventful life and troublous 
times of James II. of England must 
always be a period of history mourn- 
fully interesting to every Catholic 
heart — those days of persecution, 
when throughout England a price 
was set upon the head of any priest 
who dared labor for the salvation of 
souls, all the penal laws against 
Catholics (some of them but lately 
repealed) being in full force. 

The touching story of Floieace 
O'Neil, who is represented as livinj 
in very constant intimacy with the 
royal exiles, carries us through 
those dark days, and gives us pi& 
tures of the court of the reprobate, 
hard-hearted daughter of James, 
where Florence was kept an un- 
willing captive for many moatbi 
Her journal during that time is 
written with charming simplidtj, 
and the whole story has sufficieot 
mingling of truth with the nam* 
tive to fill us with pity even far 
those crowned heads who lifrf 
harassed with anxious fears lest the 
sceptre so hastily and unjustly as- 
sumed should be as hastily snatched 
from their grasp; trusting nobodj^ 
never at rest from plottings and r» 
plottings even in their own hous^ 
hold. In contrast with this, wc hai* 
the devoted domestic life at the 
Chateau St. Germaine, sketched with 
a delicate and refined touch, giviSK 
us a lovely picture of wedded bto 
in the union of James with his besH- 
tiful and tenderly attached wife- 



AVa/ PtihIUathns. 



ecL than usually falls to 

common mortals, not to 

royally. It is cheering to 

these good hearts, to 

brought so much disnp- 

and trouble, found rest 

and hope in the bosom 

irch, which offers to her 

liildrcn the kingdom of 

d an imperishable crown. 

I'AV// appears in a bcau- 

I. and is well worthy of 

rusal, 

XD FALt OK THE IrISH FrAN- 
DNAS^rrUlKS, AMI MeMOIUS OF 
HiKBARCHV IN TlIK Sk\'EN- 

;e>ti'icv. Bv the Rev. C. P. 
tl.R.I^. 

OF IxiU^.ND, NaTIVK AKl) 

By Daniel O'Conncll, MP. 

jAmea Duffy. New York ; 

olic Publiciiion Suciciy. 

and edition of these two 
which have attained a 
ipd popularity in Ireland 
I, will doubtless be equal- 
ed in this country, par- 
our adopted citizens, 
Bg the former nation as 
ilace, love to look back 
glories and her contmu- 
ss for civil and religious 
Tather Meehan's book, 
nsibly confined to the 
he Franciscan cstablish- 
,he Irish hierarchy, con- 
brief but lucid and wcll- 
xount of the principal 
he seventeenth century 
embracing the wars of 
entarians and Cromwell 
Nationalists, and the in- 
he contest between the 
William and James, 
ibjects Mr. Meehan is a 
judicious authority, for 
; them the study of a 
Te remember him fully a 
a century ago. when 
S. Michael and John's 
iblin, and when every 
It he could spare legitj- 
thc duties of his calling 

ed to his loved studies — 
and archa»>togy of bis 
and we are happy to 



find that time has neither quenched 
the fire of his patriotism nor weak- 
ened that mental activity which 
characterized his earlier works. 

O'Conncll's memoir, like everj'- 
thing that fell from the pen or lips 
of that grtal agitator, is full of vigor 
and sound logic. A portion of the 
book is devoted to a genera! sum- 
mary of the wrongs and struggles of 
the Irish race from the invasion in 
1 172 down to our day, but the great- 
er part is occupied by historical quo- 
tations and running commentaries, 
illustrating that long, dreary period 
of war. desotalion, and persecution. 
Though in fact contained in a com- 
paratively small compass, it is a 
masterly indictment against Eng- 
land, prepared with all the system 
and acumen of an able jurist, and is 
in\'aluablc as a historical document 
from the number of references it 
cont^ns. It was only issued towards 
the close of the great author 8 career, 
and may be supposed to be an epito- 
me of his varied readings and long 
personal experience. 

Thk Pea«l of Axtioch: A Plciure of 
the East at Ihc End of the Fourth Cen- 
tury. By the Abt>£ Bayle. Baltimore : 
Kelly. Piei & Co. 1871. 
In the preface to this interesting 
story of the early times, we have a 
bright and truthful comment on the 
different claims of works of fiction 
that have been written to make re- 
ligion attractive : giving to Cardinal 
Wiseman (what rightfully belongs 
to him) the glory of having been the 
author of the truly Christian ro- 
mance in the fascinating narrative 
of i-'abiola. The writer of Tkf Pearl 
of AnfiffcA professes to follow at a 
modest distance that illustrious dig- 
nitary of the church, lie gives us 
in the story of Pclagia a graphic 
description of life in Antioch. Alex- 
andria, and Constantinople at the 
close of the fourth century, when 
the church, resting from the fierce 
persecutions that had marked her 
earlier years, was surrounded with 
master-minds who committed them- 
selves to no religion, condemn- 



720 



New Publications. 



ing none formally, endeavoring to 
possess at the same time the esteem 
of both Christians and pagans. The 
delineation of the vacillating spirit 
of many of the finest intellects 
among the Greeks, their proud, 
patronizing ways towards God's 
church, cannot but remind the care- 
ful reader of the position of many 
of the so-called intellectual giants of 
to-day. 

The multiplicity of characters in- 
troduced, and the demand for my- 
thological research which is neces- 
sary to make the story clear in all 
its parts, are rather detrimental to 
the unity of the tale; nevertheless, 
the story of Pelagia herself, and 
Nicephorus her lover, with their 
remarkable conversion and subse- 
quent abandonment of the world, 
is very touching, and wrought out 
with simplicity and earnestness— the 
wonderful faith of Pelagia contrast- 
ing with the criticisms and doubts, 
and the ingenious hypotheses of Hy- 
patia, whose strange life and fearful 
death have been the comment of 
historian and novelist. 

The book contains many pages 
full of interest concerning Simon 
Stylites and the wonders of his 
life, besides several chapters devot- 
ed to charming descriptions of the 
monks who flocked in those times 
to monasteries in the deserts of 
Nitria and Tabenna, along the bor- 
ders of the Nile, and even to Mount 
Sinai. One of the most attractive 
features of the volume will be found 
in the delightful conversations of 
these monks, enlivened with legends 
of those olden times, and pervaded 
throughout with a lovely. Christ- 
like spirit, which makes their reli- 
gion an object of admiration even 
to the wise pagans around them. 

Japan im Our Day. Compiled and ar- 
ranged by Bayard Taylor. New York : 
Charles Scribner & Co. 1872. i vol. 
i2mo. 

This is the first volume of the 
Illustrated Library of Travel^ Explo- 
raHon, and Adventure, now in course 
of publication by Messrs. Scribner, 



& Co. and edited by Bayard Ta 
To those who take an intere: 
Japanese affairs the volume 
prove interesting, as containinj 
latest information with regar 
that country so long almost 
known. 

Sadliers' Catholic Directory, i 
nac, and Ordo for the Year 01 
Lord 1872. With full Report 1 
various Dioceses in the United : 
and British North America, and 
of the Archbishops, Bishops, and F 
in Ireland. New York : D. & J 
lier & Co., 31 Barclay Street. 

The Almanac for this year h: 
peared. The sewing, type, ant 
per are much better than in fo 
years. There are not so many 
takes in this as we noticed ii 
previous volume. We are a 
there are many difficulties con: 
ed with the publication of a si 
tical work which nothing but 
utmost patience and persever 
will overcome, and are then 
pleased to notice even slight 
provements. 

The American Home Book of Ix- 
Games, Amusements, and Oo 
TiONS. ByMrs. Caroline L. Sniitfa( 
Carrie). Illustrated. Boston : L 
Shepard. New York : Lee, Shepa 
Dillingham. 1872. 

This book is one of the besto 
kind. The selection of games, am 
ments, fitc.^ is very good, and 
directions given in regard to tl 
are short, simple, and clear. It< 
not fait to add to the happines) 
any home it may enter. 

The Wonders of Water. Fr«ii 
French of Gaston Tissandier. Ed 
with numerous Additions, by S( 
Dc Vere, D.D., LL.D. New Y 
Charles Scribner & Co. 1872. 1 
i2mo. 

A most interesting and useful I 
volume, containing valuable ii 
mation in regard to the use! 
water, the history of artesian « 
ancient and modern water-wt 
etc., etc. The book is elegaatl] 
up and well illustrated. 







THE 




THOLIC WORLD 



XIV.. No. 84.— MARCH. 1872. 



AN UNCIVIL JOURNAL. 



t 






vtty and universality of 

can press are proverbial. 

of sight the innumera- 

il organs which dabble in 

there is not a dciiart- 

lunan knowledge, not a 

theological creed, not a 

reign natiooality. uot a 

ism of tlic day, that has 

y or weekly to represent 

ley all speak and investi- 

unlimited freedom. The 

bcrt Buras's " chiel " who 

notes" has been multiplied 

icre outnumber the sands 

.-shore. Nothing escapes 

shortcomings of what- 

are certain of detection 

them, and they are not 

►y any false modesty from 

:lamation thereof. Every- 

ild accountable to evcry- 

Rcpublicans and Demo- 

up permanent mutual in- 

Votection and Free-trade 



all put together, is Catholicity 
the United St.ites subjected to tte 
most ceaseless and penetrating sur- 
veillance. The curiosity prompting* 
this surveillance is sometimes friend- 
ly, but generally the reverse. Eng- 
lish literature, essentially anli-Catlui- 
lic and bigoted, has made iu mark 
upon American education, and with 
many people the intolerant falsehood 
of much Knglish history still passes 
for truth. So-called religious (Protes- 
tant) papers are never at a loss for a™ 
leader topic — •• Abuse the Catholic5,''jB 
Protestant ministers find heads cf 
discourse always ready in anli-Pii- 
pery admonitions. We personally 
know many excellent men among _ 
them who conscientiously strive tOH 



do their duty as they understand it, 
and are above such wrong ; but then.' 
are large numbers of Poundlcxts and 
Brandlighters, obscure in position, of 
uncertain education and wrtlchedly 

paid, who make of '* Popery " 3 stalk- 

;h other's defects, and ri- ing-horse, and seek to fill their emp^U 
eem firmly to believe in ty pews and depleted pockets with™ 
bg influence of announce- the fruits of anti-Popery excitement. 
Hr neighbors' faults. Added to such editors and such 

m ajiy of these, more than preachers as we describe, there 



llac U> Act of Conxrm. >n the year i8r>, by Rer. I. T. Hichh t ttas 
ibe LibrirUn of Conffrasa, tt Waahlaston, D. C. ^"^*' 



13 a 



OBioeM 



732 



An Uncivii journal. 



small anny of literary and theologi- 
cal stragglers, bummers, and disgrac- 
ed deserters hovering on the rear of 
these regular forces, always in the 
field with lectures, pamphlets, keys to 
Popery, horrible disclosures, and all 
the pestilent rifif-rafTof anti-Catholic 
literature. One would think the 
Protestant army of observation on 
such a footing sufficiently well-organ- 
ized, active, and effective to guard 
the walls of the American Zion and 
sound a timely alarm. 

But the publishing firm of Messre. 
Harper & Brothers is not of that 
opinion, and they appear to have 
discovered that it is their duty to 
take under their special protection 
and keeping the public schools, the 
Bible, the Protestant religion, and the 
liberties of America; — ^thus demon- 
strating the wretched incapacity and 
utter failure of our civil authorities, 
our religious press, and the Protes- 
tant ministry to do their plainest du- 
ty. The gentlemen in question pub- 
lish, here in New York, harper's 
Monthly Magazine, and a hebdoma- 
dal called Harper's Weekly: A 
journal of Civilization. These pe- 
riodicals contain a variety of light 
literature, papers on current topics, 
poetry, anecdotes, and highly-flavor- 
■cd anti-Popery articles. Besides 
these last, the Weekly generally has 
one or more caricatures calculated 
to disseminate the worst falsehoods, 
iind to excite hatred towards Catho- 
lics and contempt for their religion. 

For yccirs past, a constantly recur- 
ring subject of its most offensive form 
of caricature has been the person of 
the venerable Pontiff Pius IX. It 
is difficult to conceive how any man 
■of even ordinary instincts of propriety 
— we care not what his religious pre- 
judices might be — could have for 
this revered personage any feeling 
but one of profound respect. An 
aged bishop, fourscore years of age. 



whose purity of character b < 
speck or stain, whose long 1 
been one of labor and use 
piety and virtue, beginning hi 
dotal career as a missionai 
foreign land, then serving fa 
as the director of charitable 
tions and hospitals, whose fint 
power were those of benevolei 
universal amnesty, toward wl 
the part of the tens of thousf 
Protestants who have seen and 
with him, no sentiments but t 
profound admiration and ver 
are ever expressed — such a cl 
as this is selected by the ^ot, 
Civilization as the divorite bu 
indecent ribaldry. 

We here leave entirely out 
all consideration of the ques 
outrage upon the religious st 
ties of millions of Catholics 
United States, and place th< 
ment of the offence upon the 
ground of civilized propriety 
men who perpetrate this < 
seek to justify themselves on t 
that it is as king or tcmpon 
reign of Rome they caricatui 
Their offence is aggravated 
flimsy and paltry a pretext 
merits of the disputes among t 
narchs of Europe do not c 
us here in America to that 
and if they did, as a question i 
narchical right and precedei 
seniority, the kings and empo 
Europe are all new-comers ar 
starts by the side of the Romai 
tiff. 

While these caricatures are 
tially addressed to a sentimi 
rehgious bigotry, their authors 
by the false association of sou 
litical idea, not only to excust 
on that ground, but to reinforc 
bigotry with all the strength Oi 
tical hatred. Take, for instan 
filthy crocodile picture. Tha 
appeal whose falsity is only e» 



Elioess. Then ihe " Ro- 
>tic mission from Kngland 
thens of America " ( ti'feA- 
I, 1871), in which the pure 
the devoted philanthiopist, 
t gt-ntlcman — Most Rev. 
p, Manning — is portrayed 
ihackles in his hand, which 

concealed behind Iiira, 
) entice the negroes to 
bim; to whom a negro 

natorally I) : ** No, thank 
have just been emancipat- 
England is responsible for 
the United States, I don't 
ap from the Engliiih frying- 
w English fire." 
orite device of the IVickfy 

is to represent the perpc- 

offences against lau- and 

the participators in muni- 
ny and corruption, as Ga- 
el, in their persons, to hold 
ic Church responsible for 
CCS. It is not necessary 
a the absurdity of such a 
r on the hardship and in- 
luch a re5ponsil>iiity. 
uv thousands of men in 
upposed to be Catholics — 
if asked the question, will 
they arc — who have not 
c of a Catholic Church 
\ to a priest for long years, 
e lives are scandalous in 
llarides and crimes. Such 
bring disgrace upon the 
osc precepts they trample 
. If arrested for violation 
i of the land, we sincerely 

may have legally meted 
na the fullest measure of 
.t. The properly consii- 
orilies will have our thanks 
ng. The WcckJy writers 
jit of much tliat touches 
ulh and practice, but they 
korant of the fact that the 
long Protestant churches 
ing as members those only 



who make avowed profession, and 
live up to the requirements of strict 
church membershiii, docs not prevail 
in the Catholic Church. The differ- 
ence with us is bet ween //-(i^/ft-rf/ Ca- 
tholics and those who, neglecting 
their religious duties, live in sin ; an<l 
we state with profound regret that 
the number of this latter class is very 
much larger than any one who loves 
his church cares to see. 

But it is all the same thing to the 
Harper scribes, and the indifferent 
Catholic, the bad Catholic, the Ca- 
tholic who is a scandal to his church, 
is a "good enough Morgan " for our 
lyiikiy^ which constantly represents 
him as an active and devout mem- 
ber of the church, in direct com- 
munication with the Holy Sec. How 
if a similar rule were to be applied 
generally, and we should in every 
case of moral dereliction seek out the 
sect with which the sinner has some 
real or supposed affiliation, and charge 
the crime upon the religious teach- 
ings of that sect ? 

Is the Presbyterian Church to be 
made responsible for New York mu- 
nicipal defalcations because connec- 
tion with them is charged on the 
Presbyterian, Mayor Hall? Is the 
Methodist Church answerable for 
Tammany frauds bccT-usc Tweed is a 
Methodist? Let us suppose for a 
moment a man so devoid of all sense 
and decency as to compile a nana- 
tive of crimes and outrages perpe- 
trated by people known to be Me- 
thodists, beginning years back with 
the well-known (.Vvery-Comcll) se- 
duction and murder case in which a 
Methodist minister was the criminal, 
and coming down past the scanda- 
lous publication by Methodist print- 
ers of the infamous book of Maria 
Monk, to the late horrible story, in a 
Western city, of torture through long 
years of an unofiending child by its 
unnatural Methodist parents, to the 



724 



An Uncivil Journal. 



shameful malversations of a religious 
Book Concern, to the gigantic thefts 
in our city administration, to the 
Drew complication of the Erie abo- 
mination, which shines by its absence 
in all the late Harper chronicles ; and, 
having completed his catalogue, to 
present and denounce these crimes 
as the legitimate result of the teach- 
ings of the Methodist Church. It 
would be waste of words to point 
out the false reasoning, the injustice, 
the malice of such a performance. 
For, however Christian sects may 
differ on doctrinal points, and what- 
ever may be alleged as to the extent 
of their theological errors, none of 
them deliberately teach immorality, 
and all inculcate the precepts of the 
decalogue. 

What, then, shall be thought of a 
journal which, week after week, loud- 
ly and persistently, not only accuses 
the Catholic Church in the persons 
of her ministers of teaching the most 
flagrant immorality, but seeks — coup- 
ling with this grave charge the im- 
putation of striving to create civil 
discord— by every artifice of rhetoric, 
by every device of exaggeration, by 
every appeal of gross caricature, to 
arouse the wildest passions and the 
fiercest bigotry ? The journal in ques- 
tion labors to stir up, and it does 
stir up, bad blood and hot strife 
among hitherto peaceful neigh- 
bors. 

The charge is a serious one, and 
we make it knowingly. Instances 
and illustrations in its support may 
be found in nearly all the numbers 
of the iVtekly for years past. 

For its anti-Catholic operations, the 
*j^urnal is used as a sort of tender 
to the heavy transport, the Month- 
ly^ which frequently gives its readers 
long, elaborate, and malicious arti- 
cles, made up mainly of exploded 
calumnies, threadbare anti-Popery 
rhetoric of the school of Brownlee 



and the early Know-Nothing and 
the extraordinary lucubrations of i 
contributor whom we can only de- 
scribe as Harper's comic historiaD. 
This singular writer undertakes to 
demonstrate, for instance, that the 
Apostle of Ireland was not a Catho- 
lic missionary at all, but in religioas 
faith a sort of Old-School Presbyte- 
rian, who went about distributing Bi- 
bles among the " savage Irish,** nuk- 
ing strong " anti-Popery " speedui, 
and delivering lectures on popuUr 
education to the 5er& of hit 
day ! 

Absurd as these articles are fioa 
a literary point of view, they are yet 
full of inflammable material, and pby 
as recklessly with fire as the moic 
brutal incentives of the fVeekfy. For 
it must be borne in mind that most 
of these direct appeals to religioas 
bigotry are intended not so mod 
for home consumption as for thdr 
effect upon the general rural miai, 
and that their evident purpose is to 
arouse another Know-NothingrevinI 
throughout the country. 

There are, unfortunately, too toMt 
ny people thoughtless enough, or, 
perhaps, wicked enough, to req)ODd 
to these incentives — people so fiur 
forgetting themselvK as to imagine 
that their own religion, or something 
which they imagine stands for il^ 
must be the state church in Amcrio, 
and that it is free to them to peix- 
cute and outlaw the professors of t I 
faith which, in their ignorance, they 
despise and hate. 

But we are satisfied that, on tbe 
other hand, there is too much in- 
telligence, moderation, forbearance; 
and patriotism among American dli- 
zens to permit the success of scbeott ' 
aimed at once against liberty of coO' 
science, the peace of society, and 4* 
true freedom of our institutions. 

And among these citizens we lui 
— by no means the last — the 



I 



/nctvti 



fournai. 



7n 



:rS OF THE UNITED STAIES. 

in only qualify as impcrti- 

coolness with which tlicsc 
i the Messrs. Haqier talk 
receiving " GathoUcs " hos- 
tlo thisl'rec Proleslant land." 
.d how were these genlknien 
ed the dispensers of the hos- 
of this free country ? When 

did this country become a 
ant land " ? At what period 
tory of America were Catho- 
gci5 here ? 

,, fionaewhat similar provo- 
le great Montalembert, from 
nc in the Chamber of Peers, 
ain Frenchmen : " \Vc arc 
5 of the Crusaden;, and 

not the progeny of Vol- 
A.nd we, Catholics of the 
>tate5, say to these gentle- 
} seek to inaugurate another 
otbing campaign, that here 
ca we arc neither strangers 
comers of yesterday. 
roe in ^le caravels of Colum- 
conie with the Cartiers and 
(allcs, tlic Br^lxeufs and the 
the Joiiets and tlie Mar- 
ffilh the men whose bloo<l 
rdom nioistene<l the soil of 
>rk, with the men whose 
d mingled with the savannas 
^uth and the prairies of the 
sg before Plymouth Rock 
rrt of. We came — not with 
nans of (icorge — but with 
f of Roclianibcau and the 
[}<; (vra^sc, widi ttic amis of 

France and the gold of Ca- 
jain, to aid our American 
for liberty. The largest for- 
ced in signing our iJeclara- 
ftdcpendence was a Catholic 
:; As Catholics, wehavcprov- 
devotion to our country in 
rs. The ranks of our army 
ships of our navy are full of 
and 11^ at this moment, 



you undertake to blot the names of 
Catholic officers from naval and ar- 
ray registers, you will be compelled 
to deface entire pages. We arc of 
all the walks of hfc. from the hum- 
blest to the highest, pursuing our 
legitimate business, and fuliitling 
our duties as citizens, fathers, hus- 
bands, sons, and brothers. We have 
schools, seminaries, and colleges suc- 
cessfully active, increasing in number 
and usefuhiess, and only not entirely 
filled with Catholic pupils because 
of the great numl>er of youths sent 
to them by non-Catholic parents. 
We are merchants, bankers, edi- 
tors, clerks, mechanics, artists, farm- 
ers, lawyers, physicians, legislators, 
and laborers- AVe fill professors' 
chairs and scats on the judicial bench. 
Wc have among us thousands of cul- 
tivated men and retired and elegant 
women, the peers of any in the land. 
We are, as a body, good and law- 
abiding citizens. We respect our- 
selves. AVe mean to be respectetJ. 
And wc protest against tlie bigoted 
and senseless denunciation and cari- 
cature of our faith in the pretended 
exposure of fictitious plots against 
the institutions and liberties of our 
country. 

There exists evidently, among the 
Know- Nothing writers referred to, 
some faint appreciation of these 
facts, and, with labored display of 
politeness, ihey seek to turn the dif- 
ficulty by reference to " respectable 
citizens," appeals to "intelligent Ro- 
manists" (thus designating us. in 
their clumsy courtesy, by a nick- 
name), and such declarations as ** we 
do not in any just sense accuse all 
adherents of that church of hostility 
to onr institutions " (" our institu- 
tions !") We distinctly decline to ac- 
cept any such qualification or apolo- 
gy. So far as our religion is con* 
ccmed, we are all, lettered and utii : 
lettered, rich and poor, on a fooling o( 1 



726 



Ah Uncivil journal. 



perfect equality. The lady in the parior 
and the servant in her kitchen abide 
by the same religious observances, 
the rich banker and his poorest clerk 
hold precisely the same faith, and 
the wealthy merchant and his dray- 
man out there in the street, kneel at 
the same altar. We are aware that 
all this is " horridly ungenteel," but 
it is an old habit of our people. 
Eighteen hundred years ago and 
more, we were assured that the poor 
we have always. And we have them. 
They never leave us, and are not 
likely to. Poor-houses came in with 
the Reformation, and then poverty 
first became disgraceful. For pover- 
ty, and, yet more, for the shame of 
poverty, the needy and wretched 
cannot enter elegant Protestant con- 
venticles. 

And noi^ that we have seen the 
nature and complexion of the at- 
tempted revival of Know-Nothing 
violence, it may be asked, Who are 
the men who promote it, creating 
prejudice, fostering bigotry, inflaming 
religious rancor, arraying neighbor 
against neighbor, and endangering 
the peace of the community ? Have 
they a special mission from on high ? 
Arc their scribes inspired writers? 
Or, perchance, are the antecedents 
of those publishers and proprietors 
such as to have established a charac- 
ter for pure patriotism and disinter- 
ested virtue so pre-eminently supe- 
rior as to authorize them to set them- 
selves up the self constituted guard- 
ians of American liberty and evange- 
lical Christianity ? 

We propose to examine these ques- 
tions in the light of the printed re^ 
cord of the responsible proprietors of 
the J'oumal of Civilization. To that 
printed record we shall strictly con- 
fine ourselves. And in taking the first 
step toward the fulfilment of our 
duty, we regret that circumstances 
will compel the revelation of some 



AWFUL DISCLOSUSBl 

The excitement and vie 
nunciation of Catholicity | 
many years ago by the pn 
of an infamous book saiid 
been written by one Maria 1 
still remembered among us 
as the thorough exposure oi 
falsehood, made by Colonel 
New York, and other F 
gentlemen. 

The book was entitled TX 
Disclosures of Maria Monky \ 
its title-page purported to be 
ed by Howe and Bates. H 
Bates ! Who were Howe an 
There was none to raal 
For neither to the book trac 
the flesh were " Howe and 
ever known of mortal man. 

As to the character of the 
question, we are further enl 
by the author of a work entidi 
testani Jesuitism, by a fto 
published by the Harpers i 
At page 34 of the book, 
Monk's work is described i 
of the most arrant fictioi 
was ever palmed upon th< 
munity," and the author adds 
people of this land — and it 
common attribute of hunii 
ture — love excitement, and 
tunately there are those whi 
how to produce it, and profit 
Unfortunate, indeed, it is thi 
are those who stand ready t 
by foul slander and malignar 
hood concerning their im 
Unfortunate, indeed, that m 
be found who, for the sake o 
dollars, could consent to 
broadcast upon the world, pri: 
lification and outrage of nobi 
minded women, who, solely 
love of God and out of tb 
abundant charity, devote thi 
to alleviating the sufierings 
needy, the afliicted, and ll 



Au Uncivil Journal. 



7^7 



: they who profited by it ? If 

obtain a satisfactory answer 

question, we may probably be 

the way toward solving the 

If which hovers over the exia- 

rf" Howe and Bates." 

ia. Monk's disclosures were not 

Ide in the book published by 

Wnewhat nebulous 6nn. The 

a.wful " of alt her " awful dis- 

1** were made iu the dignified 

fabill in equity which she filed 

her publishers, who, by their 

missions and da:laiations, turn 

be not *' Howe and Bates," 

im this luoracnt for ever dis- 

£roiD view, but Messrs. James, 

oseph W., and Fletcher Har- 

biU filed for discovery and 
It against the defendants as 
ilcrs and publisher? by Maria 

a minor, through her next 

shows that complainant was 
ess of a work which she had 
;hted and stereotyped, and 
id stereotype plaies were paid 

her with money belonging 
^ and that she was liable 
J balance unpaid ; that after 
»pyright had been so taken 
C said plates got into the pos- 
1 of the defendants, and that 
lad published the work under 
Eof ^^Awful Dischsurtsof Ma- 
mk^ as exhibited in a narrative 

sufferings duriug a residence 
I years as a novice, and two 
ju a black nun, in the Hulcl 
at Munireal." Further, that 
is a minor, was cniircly unac- 
ed with the modes of doing 
U, that she believed that per- 
rofcssing to he her friends had 
some bargains for her in rela- 
ti said work, that this was 
I to the defendants, and yet 
reteudcd to take out another 
ght of the same work in the 
t of Massachusetts, and pub- 



lished a large number of impressions 
from the plates, and issued the book; 
and that they had large profits in 
their hands which belonged to the 
complainant 

Prayer that the said James, John, 
Joseph W.,and Fletcher Harper makt 
full statement, etc, and deliver over 
all sums of money and property, with 
account of sales and amount receiv- 
ed for same, 

AVe have had occasion to sec that 
the proprietors of the yournal of Ci- 
t-iiizaHon are fiercely patriotic. And 
tliey were so, long before that civiliz- 
ing journal was founded. Their first 
impulse on receiving a copy of this 
latest " awful disclosure " by Maria 
Monk was an impulse of patriotism, 
of indignation that a foreigner should 
presume to expect copyright protec- 
tion in the United States. Thrice is 
he armed who has statutory law, pa- 
triotism, and an act of Congress upon 
which to fall back, and the defen- 
dants, in such panoply as that, 
straightway filed a demurrer.* Maria 
Monk's copyright was first issued 
and had precedence of seniority, but 
respondents demurred, first and prin- 
cipally, on the ground that " the com- 
plainant did not show herself to be 
a ctti/cn entitled to take out a copy- 
right," The demurrer also set up 
other matters in avoidance. 

In deciding the case, the Vicc- 
Chanccllor closed the delivery of his 
opinion by saying : " It [the bill] does 
not show any privity of contract or 
dealing between tlie parties ; no agree- 
ment expressed or implied by which 
the defendants can l)c held to ac- 
count to the complainant for the 
profits of the work. It rather shows 



* Demurrer i« tbua defined : ** A itop or p«Kt« 
by \ parly lo kti > tion lor ihe |uiic i • t of ih* 
cnttrl on the que.Uiim. whribci, *&suoilnK <hr 
intiti of the msltcr allcgcil by Uic oft'oUls 
party, it U Mjfficietit )n law lo tiiMln tk« actior. 
and heK« wbetkcr the partjr resting bbouad It 
anawer or proceed lutlb«[-' 



728 



An Uncivil journal. 



that, by fraud or wrong, the defen- 
dants obtained possession of the ste- 
reotype plates, and, altering the title 
of the book to that of Awjul Dis- 
closures^ etc., published it in defi- 
ance of her rights. If she has sus- 
tained loss by such conduct of the 
defendants, she must persuade a jury 
to give her compensation in a verdict 
of damages against them, when, per- 
haps, the merits of her Awful Dis- 
insures and Nunnery Unveiled, and 
the motives of those who have pro- 
nwted and prompted the publication^ 
will duly be considered^* 

Demurrer sustained, and bill dis- 
missed at costs of complainant. 

All of which, and more, may be 
found in Edwards's Chancery Re- 
ports, vol. iii., p. 109. 

PAST AND PRESENT. 

Within the past twelve years, a 
new generation of readers has grown 
up in the United States — a genera- 
tion far outnumbering its predeces- 
sor, and the circulation of the jour- 
nal published by the Harper Brothers 
has increased immensely. The great 
body of its readers of to-day are pro- 
foundly impressed with a sense of its 
unvarying and undying patriotism, 
and it probably never occurs to the 
soldier who, when a mere boy, shoul- 
dered his musket in defence of the 
Union, that his now furiously pa- 
triotic Harper's Weekly was original- 
ly, and as long as it was found to 
pay, the advocate of secession and 
the apolojjist of slavery. How sad- 
ly true this is, we propose to show 
by presenting the results of our ex- 
amination into 

THE JOURNAL IN THE HOUR OF TRIAL. 

On opening the volume of the 
Weekly for the year 1861, we felt quite 
confident of finding an admirably exe- 



cuted full-length picture of the ther 
President-elect of the United Sutcs, 
and confess to some disappointmem 
when, instead thereof, occupying the 
entire first page, we discover portraits 
of " The Georgia Delegation in Coo- 
gress," followed by sketches higfaljr 
laudatory of the seven genUenun 
composing the delegation. TIk 
same number makes calm and com- 
mentless record of " The South Cv- 
olina Proclamation of Independ- 
ence," and the spread of set^ssioit 
through the South. 

yanuary 12, 1861. — Under die 
heading " The Great Southern Mote- 
ment," the publishers " beg to dnt 
attention to the following list <^ iUi» 
trations of the Pettding Revobi^ 
such unseemly words as rebcllioD ud 
treachery being left to the unprinci- 
pled Abolition papers of that day. 
In the same number we have "The 
Revolution at Charieston " in cuts of 
"Anderson at Sumter" and -Tlje 
Charleston Alilitia taking Fort Pick* 
ens" — thus making a nice balanct 
Doubtless the Lincoln jiortraii will 
come in our next number. 

Why, what are these ? Portnit» 
and laudatory notices of Governor 
Pickens, Honorable Judge McGrath, 
and " Rev. Dr. Bachman, who asbid 
a blessing on the Secession Ordi- 
nance," the signing of which, accord* 
ing to the fervid account cited Inwi 
a Charleston paper, was a scene " pro- 
foundly grand and impressive"; 
there were " patriarchs in ago— the 
dignitaries of the land — the faigb- 
priests of the church of Christ — rev- 
erend statesmen — and wise judge* 
of the law " — in the miJst of 
whom '• the President advanced wit! 
the consecrated parchment" — *Iuch 
holy document was the ordinance of 
secession. We continue turning IW 
after leaf with but slight edificition- 
Skating Park— Old Fashion*— Hu- 
mors of the Day — Rarey the Horse 



An Uncivil yaurnai. 



-hove Story — etc. Pleasant 
g for proplc sitting over a vol- 

Bk'y 26 gives us " The 
• at Sumter," a drop of 
ful comfort Then an editori- 
^'A^r^ED, a Capital." It opens 
sivcly: " Some ptactieal people^ 
tfke dissolution afthe Union as 
«•/,• and assuming that all or 
the Border States will go 
■ Southern slave sisters, are 
sting about m search of 
spital." The vigorous pa- 
[}f this idea is strengthened 
mrect allegory, in a column of 
ype, entitled *' John Ardens and 
Placens." You see the deli- 
ke in the mild Latin ? Ardens 
rry fellow, who abburdly insists 
i^ing what he is entitled to. 
Is is a genlletiian, a practical 
kpher, who very sensibly sub- 
I any imposition on pocket or 
: for the sake of peace. The 
Tal is, •• In things indifferent 
bcr than quarrel." Logical- 
ugh, two pages further on we 
■ 'l*hc Filing on the Star of the 
as a mere passing incident of 
Biy. Meantime Kort Sumicr 
Uvy duty on the illustrated 
■id is served up without in- 
Son, from sea, from land, by 
y night, en harbetie, en coteUtte^ 
every other conceivable way. 
ruary 7, 1861. — A'nother grand 

K portraits — not of Lincoln 
ard, but of " The Seceding 
sippi I>elegation in Congress," 
cd by a page in small type of 
le praise of the seven members 
erson Davis, Brown, Harksdale, 
r, R. Davis, Singleton, and 
ic. With the praise we also 
SOpious and labored arguments 
avcry and secession, thus: 



irei hen giiMed froo U*r^r'i W*tk- 

lAfCOttlX 



" Personally, Senator Davis is the 
Bayard of Congress, sans peur ct sans 
repr0ihe i a finished scholar; a high- 
minded gcntlcnum , a devoted father; 
a true friend. He is emphatically 
one of those *born 10 command,' 
and is doubtless destined to occupy a 
high position eitlur in the Southern 
Confederaey or in the United States."* 
On which we would merely remark 
that as to the nonfultilmcnt of this 
prophecy there has been some dis- 
appointment in the first-named coun- 
try, and great dissatisfaction in the 
second. This Mississippi article clos- 
es with the assurance from one of 
the seven that slavery is not only na- 
tional, but "a universal institution of 
God and man, nature and Christian- 
ity, earth and heaven — having its ori- 
gin in the law of God, sustained by 
the Bible, sustained by Christianity," 
etc., etc. 

We continue turning the leaves. 
And now that we have liad quite 
enough of '* the Seceding Delega- 
tions," wc naturally hope that room 
may be found for a portrait of the 
President-elect. At i)age 76 we 
come to " Portrait of the South Car- 
olina Minister of War," which is not 
the object of our search. 

February 9.— What, again ? " Thh 
Seceding Ai.abama Dei,f,g.\tion in 
Congress." " A full-page of portraits 
of nine gentlemen who do not look at 
all amiable. Following this comes the 
regulation tivo and a half columns of 
praise in small type, interspersed 
with extracts from their speeches. 
Of one of these delegates — a party by 
the name of Curry — we are as5urc<l 
that 

" Nniure has endowed him wiih .1 mind 
so aciivc th.-tt he can nppArcnilv discov- 
er, by a glance &o rapiJ as 10 srvm iniui- 
lion, dinsc truths which common capaci- 
ties struggle hard to comprehrnd, whttp 
\\\% gcniut enables him fo en(ufre by 
argument, and his accompli shmeats to 



730 



Ax Uncivii Journal. 



niustrate, those topics upon which he 
addresses the Housr." 



Naturally enough follows, on page 
88, a View of the City of Montgom- 
ery, showing the state-house where 
" The Congress or the Southern 
Confederacy Meets." 

February i6, 1861. — Concerning 
so-called stay-laws passed in the 
South, which were at the time gene- 
rally understood to mean practical 
repudiation of mercantile debts due 
to the North, hark how sweetly 
sings the Northern secession siren 
with elal^rate Harp accompaniment : 
*' We trust that our Southern friends 
wilt believe that we have no partisan 
purpose in view if we direct their at- 
tention to the fatal consequences of 
the stay-laws, etc, etc. For many 
years our Southern States have en- 
joyed first-rate credit, both at the 
North and abroad. Southern obli- 
gations have always been preferred 
in New York to obligations from the 
East or West. . . . Southern men 
have been considered here as good 
under all circumstances. Their ho- 
nor has been relied on to any extent. 
Houses which would not trust West- 
cm or Eastern dealers a hundred dol- 
lars have been delighted to give credits 
of thousands to Southerners. The 
simple reason was that* people have 
had an undying faith in the honor of 
the Southern people — a firm convic- 
tion that under no circumstances 
would they seek to evade payment 
of their debts." And here the siren's 
song is broken by a gush of tears — 
" Is this faith, is this conviction to be 
demolished now by the passage of 
stay-laws ?" Then follow the peren- 
nial " View of Sumter," double-page 
Paris fashions, etc., until we reach 
(p. 109) Views of the " Mint and 
the New Custom House," New Or- 
leans, " of which the United States 
have had only a brief occupancy " — 



" both of which have been seized by 
the state authorities." There is no 
comment on this "seirure" by the 
state authorities, but more than three 
months afterward we shall find " civ- 
ilization" waking up in wrath and 
fulminating thus : " All that the re- 
bels of New Oiieans wanted when 
they stole the mint was to be let 
alone." In this same number (pi 
113) we have the sneering caricature 
of the calamity of the country which 
at the time afforded the enemies of 
the American Union exquisite ddigbt 
and " prolonged shouts of laughter." 
It is entitled " The Cr^fled America 
Eagle, the Cock, and the Uen." To 
the eagle, dilapidated, lame, and 00 
crutches : " Lion. — Why, Brother Jo- 
nathan, you don't look so fierce as 
you used. How about the Moaroe 
Doctrine now ? Cock. — Yes, my 
good Jonathan, what you tink of Pu- 
vateering under de present circum- 
sunce ?" 

At last, in the number of Febniaiy 
23, we reach portraits of " President 
and Vice-President " — what ? surely 
we must be mistaken ! No — the 
print is very clear in its large capi- 
tals—" Of the Southern Confedea- 
cy." And very good portraits they 
are, too, but not of the Presidenl and 
Vice-President we were expecting w 
see. The number of March 2 givei 
us a full-page woodcutu>f " The Pr^ 
sident-elect Addressing the People." 
The " people " are representeJ Ijy 
twenty-six hats and the scanty out- 
lines of eleven men, but in compeo- 
sation we have a thrilling view of 
two gigantic lamp-posts, and, in ex- 
aggerated disproportion, the piUais 
of the balcony over the centre 01 
whose summit appears the upper half 
of a small, lean figure supposed to be 
that of A. Lincoln. This is soom- 
what disappointing, but, by war d 
consolation, the next page enlighicni 
us on the subject of patriotisa: 



subject of patriotism is in a 
y of being more thoroughly 
attfd than it ever was before. 
fhody appeals lo admit that 
Itism is a virtue, and that a 
should love his country. But 
uestioQ arises at every comer, 
is our country ?" The topic 
iratcd by watery hypotheses 
Smith, Jones, and Thomson, 
le editor adds some strong milk 
water with — " Can he claim the 
»f patriot if he loves his slate 
utd confesses do obligation to 
St of the confederacy ?" 
■ men who have progressed far 
h in constitutional law and pa- 
in to call the Union a confedera- 
! have strong hopes. Further 
dder heading, " The Southern 
idcracy," we are advised that 
IVesidcnl has nominated"— 
so — *• to his cabinet." Then 
s ** President Davis's Inaugu- 
not the President we are look- 
Then come " Snake Stories," 
Maria," " The Mazed Fid- 
" Romance by Lever " — plea- 
:ading for perilous times — un- 
last, our search is ended, our 
ice rewarded, and at page 144, 
number of March 2, 1861, 
Bve a full-length portrait of 
lara Lincoln, President-elect of 
niced States. It is 

A REMARKAGLK PICTURE. 



Indeed a picture so remarkable 
vc would advise every Ameri- 
ho voted for Mr. Lincoln, eve- 
Berican who, whether he voted 

^ against him, yet credited him 
tlie reputation of being at 

X decent person, and every man, 

hatever nationality, who consid- 
hini not positively a degraded 

r — we would advise all such, if 
can find a copy of Harper's 
: A ^Htrnal of QvHiuition^ of 



March 3, 1861, to contemplate and 
study that picture, and then form 
their opinion of the Christianity and 
the patriotism of the men who, at 
that crisis of the country's fate, and 
in that dangerous hour of feverish 
excitement and political passion, 
could, in cold blood, spread such a 
firebrand sketch broadcast through 
the land. We further commend lliis 
counsel more especially to those pre* 
sent readers and approvers of the 
yournal 0/ dvUitatUm who che- 
rish the memory of a murdered Pre- 
sident whom they remember as at 
least blameless in life, pare in cha- 
racter, kind of heart, charitable in 
impulse, and noble in patriotism. 

Wc will endeavor to describe the 
drawing. Mr. Lincoln is represent- 
ed, in a room at the Astor House, 
standing, or rather staggering, under 
the influence of Hiiuor, with a just 
emptied glass in his hand. He is 
surrounded by four boon compan- 
ions, two of them with drunken 
leer and Bardolphian noses; a third 
in the background looks vacantly on 
with expression of maudlin stupidity ; 
while the fourth, like the rest, glass 
in hand, stands at the open \^indow, 
anil — partially sobered by the shock 
— gazes at a passing funeral proces- 
sion. On the moving hearse, ac- 
companied by mourners and decked 
with solemn black plumes, are in- 
scribed the words : 

Union', 

Constitution. 

Under this work of art — a wretch- 
ed, scratchy woodcut — we read : 

OUR PRESIDENTIAL MERRY- 
MAN. 

" Tke PrcaklentUI party wu cnmiKed in a 
lively CNcbange of wl' ami huinor. Tlie Pred- 
ilent-clrct was ihc mctiicsl among Ihc mcrty 
aad kept ihoic aroutid Uu In a coaUaual loar.* 



732 



An Uncivil JournaL 



Kowjlet it be borne in mind that 
thb very suggestive piece of malice 
was published just on the eve of Mr. 
Lincoln^s inauguration at Washing- 
ton, whose atmosphere was black 
with lowering clouds of rebellion, 
where threats were rife that he would 
never take his seat in the Presidential 
chajr, and where men's minds were 
already warped and inflamed by 
misrepresentations and falsehoods 
concerning him, the belief in which 
by a large portion of the community 
would seriously blunt' any sharp op- 
probrium of murder, and soften down 
assassination to the meritorious tak- 
ing off of an unworthy drunken de- 
magogue. If the conductors of this 
organ of " civilization " are capable 
of giving the greatest publicity to a 
horrible caricature on such a subject, 
and at a moment fraught with such 
dreadful contingencies, need there be 
any room for surprise that they do 
not stickle at far worse when the 
subjects of their defamation are "only 
Catholics " ? 

ANOTHER PICTURE. 

But we have not yet done with 
this number of March 2. It was 
the strongest bid of the journal for 
Southern favor and patronage. On 
the same page with the cut we have 
described is another, a more elabo- 
rate, more artistic, and better execut- 
ed picture. Scene: Interior of a 
church — pews full of worshippers — 
minister officiating — administration 
of the sacrament. At the chancel 
railing kneels George Washington. 
With one hand, the clergyman stand- 
ing in the sanctuary holds away the 
cup from the would-be communicant, 
and with the other contemptuously 
waves him off. The Father of his 
Country makes a gesture of indignant 
remonstrance, while the minister's 
assistant with a long stick points to 



a tablet in the wall, on which are a- 
graved the words : 

The Higher Law. 



No Communion 

WITH 

Slaveholders. 

Is the reader edified ? There is 
more to come. The officiating min- 
ister is Henry Ward Bcecher— aa 
unmistakable portrait His assistant 
is John Brown — an excellent lik^ 
ness — and the pointer he uses is one 
of the well-known " Hajper's Feiry 
Pikes." Under the engraving we 
read: 

No Communion with Slaveholoui 

"Stand aside, jrou Old Sinner! W« 
are holier than thou." 

Will the members of Plymouth 
Church in Brooklyn, who now see 
the efforts of the journal to misre- 
present Catholics in doctrine and in 
morals, please read these efforts by 
the light of this George Washington 
picture ? 

We also commend careful examina- 
tion of this picture to the fnend<i and 
admirers of Mr. Bcecher. Let then 
ask themselves this question : WoukI 
the men who, for the sake of a little 
larger circulation, do not hesitate to 
caricature their own Protestant co- 
religionists — would these men, we 
say, be reasonably expected to be 
very scrupulous in the vilification of 
those whose Catholic iaith they de- 
test ? 

And for similar reasons, we com- 
mend consideration of both these 
pictures to all readers of a yvumdl 
of Cirilization which, week after 
week, by innuendo, assertion, false- 
hood, and caricature, strives to awak- 
en the lowest prejudices of relisioiu 



An Uncivii Journal, 



in 



ice» the vUesl passions of re- 

igoiO't *n*^ ^^ sweqsing 
ion of American citizens who 
worship God according to 

tes of their conscience. 

that, in 1861, the proprie- 
ihc journal of Cnili&atton 
tLincols looked upon in this 

as rebel and pro-slavery. 
Y admit that they had a pcr- 
it so to do, accepting, of 
the legal anil social consc- 
flowing from such hold- 
pen to them to assume the 
id moral sui>eriority of South- 
tlemeii over Northern trad- 
ce to them to vaunt South- 
fcr at the expense of Norlliem 
But surely they might ad- 
they did, with all the clo- 

i their editorials and all the 

of their wide circulaiion, 

ilution of the Union and the 

ivcprobaiion of anii-slavery 

Qt, without insinuating that 

and Westcm merchants arc 
S, without calumniating Mr. 
, and witiiout vihfying Mr. 

? 

Diunal's proprietors were per- 

fcll aware how grossly Mr. 

was misrepresented, and how 
le w'as mtsundcistood in the 

To what extent sectional bii- 
vas intensified againsthim was 
ly the free application of the 
* gorilla." Under these cir- 
tces, was it — wc will not say 
rate — but was it honest, was it 

picture him as a drunken 
) men who did not know him, 
c all loo ready to believe it ? 

respettful, was it decent, to 
B-e tlie rrcsidcnt- elect to those 
1 know him, as celebrating 
ken orgies the death of the 
ition and the funeral of the 

y Ward Bcechcr was looked 
1 the South as the ardent 



apostle of an Abolition evangel which , 
taught servile insurrection and mid- ^ 
night murder — not an enviable repu- 
tation surely. But was it fair, wa». 
i: honest, to give shape, body, and 
unnatural proportions to this belief 
by picturing him as insulting the Fa- 
ther of his Country, aided by John 
Brown as his henchman, armed with 
a Harrier's Terry spear ? 

And so we reach the journal's issue 
of March 9, 1861, but have thus far 
found no portrait of President either 
elect or tie facto, e.\cept as a drunken 
clown (Mr. Mcrryman). We leam, 
however, by way of explanation, that 
he is a sectional President ! A long; 
editorial of this number is headed Re- 
CONSTRUCTION, and contains such 
vigorous Union sentiment as lliis : 

*■ Granted — \i you will, for ihe sake of 
argunirni — that ihc Southern rcbeltion 
against the election of a sectional Presi- 
tJcnl is (reuson, nnd liable to punishment^ 
— is it wide, is ii pmdcnt, is it possibl0>i 
to punisk it?" 

Again : 

" It would undoubtedly be a reiy mis- 
chievous unJcrcaking to kc«p half a doS' 
en states in the Union agfainst the delib- 
erate wishes of their people. Whale»cr 
popular feeling — roused to frenzj- by (he 
seizure of forls, arsenals, revenue cutter*. 
hnd mints — miKlil prompt nn ihc spur of 
the tnoraeiit, there tan be no ifut-itien tut 
the tHUrpriit of holding the Union iogelher 
by forte would ulttmately ftvve futile. It 
WOl'I.D BE IN VIOLATION ti|r TUK PEISCI- 

I'LE OP ot-a iNSTiTimoNs r 

An interesting number, this of 
March 9, with a fine portrait of 
'* General David E. Twiggs, late of 
the United Stales .\rmy,*' a whole- 
page view of " Inauguration of Pre- 
sident Jefferson Davis of the South- j 
em Confederacy," and an article ex-' 
planatory of the same. 

No "sectional Ptwident here," and 



734- 



An Uncivil JoumaL 



the inaugtmtioa is described ai 
*' solemn and impressive." 

At page i6o (March 9) we 
have a cartoon of four vulgar carica- 
tures, entitled collectively " The 
Flight of Abraham " (as reported by 
a Modem Daily Paper), and sepa- 
rately: (i.) The Alarm. — A gaunt 
figure sits upright in bed with night- 
cap on. A lantern is held in at the 
open door, from which come the 
words : " Run, Abe, for your life, the 
Blood Tubs are after you I ! 1" (2.) 
The Counciu — General Sumner, 
with a pair of large cavalry boots in 
one hand, and in the other a hand- 
kerchief which he holds to his eyes, 
weeping vociferously — boo -0-0, 
stands near " Abe " ; on the other side 
is Mrs. Lincoln in dowdy dishabille, 
crying bitterly, " Do go I" {3.) The 
Special Train. — " He wore a Scotch 
plaid cap and a very long military 
cloak, so that he was entirely unre- 
cognizable " — an ignoble picture. 
(4.) The Old Complaint. — Lincoln 
presents himself to the astonished 
Buchanan dissolved with fright, while 
Seward whispers to Buchanan, " Only 
a little attack of ager, your excellency." 

Editorial correspondence at page 
162 gives us the valuable information 
that "Senator Wigfall is a finished 
orator — probably the most charming 
in the senate," and that he is " the 
exact opposite of Chandler and Wil- 
kinson " — " very unpleasant speakers 
to listen to." Senator Mason, we 
are told, " with all his faults is per- 
haps the nearest approach in the 
present senate to the beau ideal of 
a senator." .A.t page 168 (March 
16) we have a large cut representing 
" The Inauguration of Abraham Lin- 
coln as President of the United 
States," and we cannot help contrast- 
ing the phraseology of this announce- 
ment with a previous one : " Inaugu- 
ration of President Jefferson Davis 
of the Southern Confederacy." 



And so we progress to April 27, 
1861, page 258, where we find Pres- 
ident Lincoln's Proclamauon of 
April 15 thus announced: **VVaris 
declared. President Lincoln's pro- 
clamation, which we publish above, 
is an absolute proclamation of war 
against the Gulf Sutes." Better 
late than never, we at last, after lon^ 
weary waiting, find in this number, 
page 268, the long-looked-for " 'Pat- 
trait of the President," accompanied 
by a biographical sketch of Mr. Lin- 
coln. It was really high time that 
the readers of the Gvi&zaiion should 
be told something of their President 
nearly two months after he had as- 
sumed the reins of government To 
make everything pleasant and impar- 
tial, however, the oppoate page gives 
us the copy of a full-length photograph 
of General Beauregard. Having paid 
your money, choice is optional. 

We have thus seen with what per- 
sistence and industry the yaurnai, 
during the long, critical months of 
the beginning of that eventful year 
1861, was the ardent panegyrist (^ 
everything Southern, the stem rebuk- 
er and enemy of anti-slavery, the 
mocker and caricaturist of Northeni 
Union sentiment, and the contemp- 
tuous sneerer at Abraham Lincoln. 
But all this fine talk about principle 
and lofty assumption of stem virtue 
was a mere question of circulation, 
and the sympathy of the yaumal 
went with its pecuniary benefit, so for 
and no farther. 

The immutability of its principles 
was subject to be disturbed by just 
such considerations as those which 
carried conviction to the understand- 
ing of Hans Breitman, and which he 
so admirably explained in his great 
political speech: 



' DcM ish de briocipln I holU, 
And dose in vitch I run : 
Dey isb fiied firm aad ininuUpIe 
Ash te course of de 'ternaJ nn : 



An Uncivil Journal, 



735 



It If jrou toa't Kbbrove of dcni — 
Blc«M Dodic« Toi I My — 
lluJI only be too happjr 
^o klder den lif lit ■r»y." ♦ 

an editorial leader of May 

hear ihal the iVeekiy is in 
of abusive and threatening 
from various persons in the 
n Stales, the cause assigned 
cb rude conduct is " the slate- 

our editorial of March 4, to 
t that civil war between the 
Ues on one ude and the Slave 
m the olmr will inevitably, 
or later, beconte a war of 
lation," etc, etc. The read- 
DOticc here that the exprcs- 
Tee States on one side and 
re States on the other," just 
ly and forcibly puts forth the 
: of state sovereignty and the 

secession^ as docs the tide 
cander Stephens's late work, 
n the smallest of nut-shells, 
le same doctrine in the few 
The War hetween the States. 
,t is of as great importance 

the contingent danger of 
nation was not presented by 
rnal at so early a date as 
There is no such editorial 
:h 4, there is no editorial of 

of March 4, and, moreover, 
ras no number of Harper's 
[published on that dale. The 

referred to appeared May 
here we would frankly 

we are quite willing to ac- 

March 4 for May 4 as the 

mistake, oversight, or carc- 

<f-reading. 
the abusive and threatening 
e advices that " In Ten- 



Jlve this pauaj:* not onlr beoiUK we 

jfmpt, but bIm to vtndlcau ibe ytV.Vf 

I tbe Inept uperatonv of llie ffar^tr't 

J i^rlihenitelTreKchcs IbvtolemflopLii- 

||,"in lUns Hrcitmui there is anlhlng 

llie (iol««que ilrei». TnmtUte his 

o EoElnli, Kn>t U l«, wUli here unil 

oUtWT eicepllon, Uic baldcA of all 

■ce«.- 



nessee vigilance committees forbid 
its {Harper's) being sold." " In l-ou- 
isiana, the governor prohibits its dis- 
tribution through the post-oftice." 
And now, the Haqiers, like Macbeth, 
have heard enough, and, ^i^cd with 
the frenzy of patriotism, thunder af- 
ter this fashion : 

"As for Harper*! Weekly, it will 
continue, as hereto/ere, to support the 
government of the United States,' 
the stars and stripes,! and the indi- 
visible union J of thirty-four stales. 

" We know no other course § con- 
sistent with the duty of citizens, 
Christians, and honest men. If any 
subscriber to this journal expects us 
to give our aid or countenance to 
rebellion Q against the government, 
he will be disappointed. If any man 
buys this journal expecting to find 
us ai>ologtze for treason,1[ robbery, 
rebellion, piracy, or murder, he will 
be disappointed. That is not our 
line of business. The proprietors of 
Harper's Weekly would rather slop 
this journal to-morrow than publish 
a line in it which would hereafter 
cause their children to blush for the 
patriotism or the manhood of their 
parents." 

•"Wanted, a Capital." 
t " Tbc Chpplcd American BaKlc." 
} "There can b« bo qucnion but (he enter- 
prUe of holding the Union together by forte 
vrc.>util ultiioitely pioTc futile. // iiffmM tt im 
rt'jrimtitnt c/ tkt firinei^le «/ «mr imttilitlimnM,"—' 
Har^r't Wt*k!fy tdilvriai UatUr e/ MareA 
9. itti. 

"If the tlnign l» really Injurtoui to tbera (mir 
Southern rrtemlv). Iieaven torbtil that we fthouUl 
litiiiiun preserving li."^/far/rr'i H'ttklji, 1861, 
p, H«. 

8 " Mom of them " ("atteratJoM !n the Con- 
atllBtiOD tfft(tf<i h thr Confrtst at AfamlfVft- 
try ") " would leccive (he bcarl)- support of the 
peopleof the North. "—//»»'■/"''' WV/*j(>, Jfarc* ^ 
50, iMi. 

"Sume prectkal gicople, viewing the illaMla- 
tion of the Union a» a fixed Eecl."— HVvAfri Tm*. 

I " Is it wt)te, !■ It prudent. Is It poulble lo 
punuh it?"— /Vur^rr'f K'ttilf. p. t^t, 1E61. 

1 " Uo [Jeff. Da vb] h oeiptiaticaliy one ol 
thn«e ' born (o command,' and vs d'jubilets dec- 
lined to occupy a. high position, clibcr In tha 
Soathern Confvderaey or In the United Sutei." 
-Uttkfy,FfA.*^itAt. 



736 



An Uncivil JoumaL 



This sharp change of sentiment, 
this sudden right-about face, may be 
best illustrated by the notes we have 



appended and by the utterances of 
the Journal before and after certain 
occurrences. 



IKFOKX. 

Hdilarial {UaJer) March 30, 1861, tntitUd 
" The Two Cotutitutions" 

"The Const'tution of the Southern 
Coafedcracy has been published. It is a 
copjr of the original Constitution of the 
United Sutes, with some variations. The 
principal variations are" — nineteen of 
these are then described, and the article 
concludes : " We have thus enumerated 
the principal alterations in the Constitu- 
tion effected by the Congress at Mont- 
gomery. Afost of them would receive the 
hetfiy suf^rt 0/ the people of the North. 
ButeommcHi it superfluous'' 



EditoriaH/eaeUf) April 20, 1861. 

It begins by stating that Virginia affirms 
" the right of a stale to secede from the 
Union at will," and that Missouri and 
Kentucky " declare that, in the event of 
forcible measures by the general govern- 
ment to resist the dismemberment of the 
Union, they will take sides with the 
seceded slates." 

" It seems questionable," continues the 
iVeekly, " whether the cuntlnued alliance 
of these slates, on tticse conditions, is an 
unmixed gain. If lliis Union of ours is 
a confederacy of stales which is liable to 
be dissolved at the will of any of the 
slates, and if no power rests with the 
general government to enforce its laws, 
it would seem that we have been laboring 
under a delusion these eighty years in 
supposing that we were a nation, and the 
fact would appear to be that," clc. etc., 
etc. 



AFTXE. 

Editorial ijeatief) May iB, 1861. 

" Mr. Jefferson DaVis, Ex-Senator fmn 
Mississippi, has transmitted to the select 
council of rebels at Montgomery a docu- 
ment which he calls * A Message.' It is a 
most ingenious and plausible statement 
of their case. Mr. Jefferson Davis is re* 
nowned for having mule the most spe- 
cious argument on record in justification 
of Mississippi repudiation. He has not 
forgotten his cunning. His *Mcssafe' 
would almost persuade us — if we would 
forget facts and law — that rebellion Is 
right, and the maintenance of govemawot 
and the enforcement of law a bardaocd 
usurpation." 

Editorial {^kadit) June 8, 1S61. 

"The rebellion in this country has not 
half the excuse that the Sepoys bad. The 
Indian soldiers were at least standing 
upon their own soil and opposing a 
foreign race which had v.inqui&faed then 
by arms. It was a blind stroke for the 
independence of their nationality. Bnl 
the Davis rebellion is the resistance of a 
faction of citizens against the governinent 
of all ; and the liberty for which they 
claim that they are fighting means baldlr 
and only (he liberty of holding other peo- 
ple in slavery."* 



Editorial " Bettei' than Dollars" April 20, 
i86r. 

Portrait of the typical Northern man in 
contrast with the typical Southern man, 
In which the first is described as mean, 
avaricious, and unprincipled. " Cotton 
Pork is a Northern man, mostly from 
New England, though often transplanted 
to New York, and doing well in our cli- 
mate. Some varieties of his genius have 
beett tried at the South, but they don't 



Editorial May 18, 1861, headed "/« Mt- 
moriam** 

"They have led us by the nose, uul 
kicked us, and laughed at us. and scorn- 
ed us in their very souls as cravens lod 
tuppeny linkers. They have swelled, lad 
swaggered, and sworn, and lorded it i> 
Washington and at the North, as if they 



• ''Suad Bride, yoa OU Slanet! 
holier than tbou r*— Oun Comnirr. 



W« an 



Ah Uncivil yournal. 



IVf 



ve. Tbtry can't siand so much 

South — an odd region — doU 

'cll thought or, to be sure, but 

lon't govern. ... It teems 

it, but people talk .ind think 

ire about honor nt the South than 

Urs." 

, Pork, wc are told. " is far kit 

r tiailan are on his cottttlryt tUf, 

\t trartflt i>« Ait ^lly iff UcJk the 

r enemy wA^ offers Aim dulhtn," 

[e how diBcfcnlly thcjr talk 

ih ! They spend no cncrftj in 

Bg ciiil wai. lliey do nol wani 

f hey seek fieaif. But if it comes, 

nake no wrj- faces. It will cost 

m. but ihcy uitcr no such pliil- 

r shrieks .is proceed (roni the 

f Cotton Pork. They sccni to 

a there are things worse than 

a this world, and better ih.iii 

An odd people, surely." 

tst that the Southern gcnllc- 
I Cotton Pork, Ksq., " a No--- 
fx\" are pleased with ilicir 
e ponraiis. 

«•€ long ami patiently borne 

insults and aspersions U]K>n 

I and conduct as Catholics 

' in for years by Harpe/'s 

\ Trusting that better coun- 

[d prevail, and unwilling to 

introvcrsy a single spark to 

already kindled, we have 

[from (lay to day, and from 

month, saying what we 

any lime have said. 

ware of the by no means 

"ami- Popery " antecedents 

prictors, of their palpably 

motive, and of the specii- 

saw at the bottom of the 

it, wc might, so far as xve 

inally concerned, have look- 

iC malicious movement as 

g serious attention. 

are also aware to how 

extent the prestige of tlie 

id commercial standing of 

Kiblishing-house, the widc- 

irculation of their penodi- 

most especially their noisy 

XIV.— 47. 



Ti-cro peculiarly gentlemen* because they 
hnvc lived by the labor o( wietched 
men aad women whom tht*y did not 
pay — whom ihcy sell to pay lltcir debts, 
and whipped and maimed savagely at 
their pleasure. They have knotted su- 
perciliously about their rights, while 
they deprived four millions of human 
beings of all rights whalsoevcr, and have 
sought to f>ain such control of the 
general government that they njighi 
override allogeiher the state laws which 
protect the c<]ual rights of men. They 
tia\-e aimed to destroy the beneficent, 
popular system which peacefully anil 
patiently and lawfully was working out 
ihc great problem of civiliialion ; and 
while they have been digging about (he 
foundations of the temple to make surv 
of its dowufall, they have loftily replied 
to our inqidries, ' We only want to be Icl 
alooe.' " 



and incessant proclamation of a pa- 
triotism claimed as at once unvary- 
ing, inflexible, unselfish, and devot- 
ed, had misled or blinded the general 
public, ignorant of their real prece- 
dents, and we have, therefore, found 
it our duty to enlighten as well our 
own readers as those of the U'eekfy 
as to the real stale of the case. 

In so doing, wc wish to call at- 
tcntion to the fact that we liavc 
here confined ourselves to the in- 
formaliun furnished by public judi- 
cial decisions, and to their own record 
as published by themselves. 

Finally, we most earnestly, and in 
the spirit of charity, urge these gen- 
tlemen lo devote themselves to tlicir 
plain, and wliat they may make 
their noble, duty as joumalisls. Let 
them be advised for their own good 
to cease fanning the 6ame of a hate- 
ful bigotry, and to pursue in the fu- 
ture such a course as may induce 
nght-mindcd men to look upon their 
title-page illustration as indeed the 
flambeau of civilization, and not the 
torch of the incendiary. 

• So Italicised la tlM uticlc. 



738 



The House of Yorke* 



THE HOUSE OF YORKE. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



THE TOWN -MEETING. 



Before allowing her husband to 
go to the town-meeting, Mrs. Yorke 
had given him a word of admonition, 
not the usual wifely charge to keep 
himself out of danger, but an exhor- 
tation to justice and reason. 

" Justice and reason !" he ex- 
claimed. " Why, for what else have 
I been contending, Mrs. Yorke ?" 

" True !'* she answered gently. 
"But may it not be possible that 
there is more cause than you will al- 
low for this upheaval, and that it is 
not a superficial excitement which 
can be easily soothed or beaten down ? 
These sailor friends of ours have told 
me that, when the water is dimpled 
and green, it has a sand bottom, and, 
when it is black and easily fretted into 
foam, there are rocks underneath. 
Now, this anti-Cathotic excitement 
is dark and bitter enough to show 
that there is some fixed obstacle, 
which breath, though it be ever so 
wisely syllabled, will not remove." 

"So there is," Mr. Yorke replied 
promptly. " The devil is there." 

" Charles, the devil, or human 
weakness, lurks under the surface of 
every side of every question," his 
wife said with earnestness. " Good 
men are not entirely good, nor bad 
men utterly bad. There are men, 
and not ignorant ones, either, who 
have engaged in this movement from 
an honest conviction that there is 
need of it. They may be prejudiced 
and short-sighted, but they are 
Avorthy of a patient, if not a respect- 



ful, hearing. My wish is tlu 
night you would be in no ha: 
speak, and that, when you do } 
you would address the real me 
of the trouble, and not the mis 
froth on the surface." 

What man likes to be told th 
is not reason personified, esp« 
by his wife? Not Mr. C 
Yorke, certainly. But the littk 
was not one to be scouted, ev« 
her liege lord, and he heard h 
spectfuUy to the end. Max 
must be asserted, however, an 
compensated himself for the m 
cation after a manner that b 
adopted by both men and wo 
he first absurdly exaggerated 
charge made against him, and 
answered to that exaggeration. 

" I am much obliged to yoi 
dear, for explaining the matti 
me," he said with an air of raecl 
" I am afraid that I cannot st( 
hear more, for it is time to go, 
I will remember your warning, 
try not to make a fool of m}*scl£ 

Nine women out of ten « 
have made the reply which su 
pretence is calculated to call fort 
shocked and distressed denial 
having had any such meanin 
senseless begging pardon for h; 
been so misunderstood, and a 
giving up of the point, and tc 
rary utter humiliation and 
followed later, on thinking the 
ter over, by a mental recurrea 
their abandoned position, and i 



The House of Yorke. 



739 



ng conviction that men arc 

cs artful creatures, after sll, 

' to be pleased by flattery. 

Iforke was not to be so cn- 

She accepted her husband's 

i)n witli perfect iranquiility, 

ph she believed it both pro- 

S sincere, and laughed a lit- 

pc went away. ** My poor 

she said, looking after him 

dcr indulgence. 

little faults are so endear- 

lall where the meeting was 

filled in every part; a dense 
people struggled up or down 
flights of stairs leading to it, 
roog of men obsiructcd the 
utside. Edith Yorke had 
the lane to sec a sick woman, 
ring that Miss Ciiurchill also 
the neighborhood, had lin- 
ingcr than was prudent, hop- 
kcr company home. Starting 
f, at hsr, she soon found her- 
le midst of tliis crowd. They 
ibout her, multcriny; insults 
cdictions on "that Catholic 
pirl," and seemed every mo- 

the point of stopping her. 
in advance was Miss 
I. An enthusiastic boy threw 
,t her, and the teacher wiped 
er check a stain of blood 
struck. Edith held her 
and walkci straight on, 
neither to the right nor lel't, 

lever ruffianly intention any 
' have had, those who looked 
,cc stood aside, and kept si- 
mile she passed. If the spirit 
dened her brow to the like- 

marble, shone in her eyes, 
ved her red lips with a still 

as less Christian humility 
nral loftiness, it was at least 

pride, ami it needed but the 
actuil personal danger to 
it to supernatural lowliness. 

nviction, "They dare not 



touch me !" prevented the advent of 
that martyr-spirit which brings with 
it every virtue. 

Humility is a flower that grows on 
the mountain-tops of the 53Ul, and is 
reached only by striving and en- 
deavor. That is not true humility 
which the mean heart plucks in the 
lowlands, calling on God 'twixt 
swamp and slough ; nor does the 
cl\ild's hand bear it, nor yet does il 
shadow the untried maiden's brow, 
over her lowered eyelids. We rau.st 
come out above the belt of pines and ' 
the gentian meadows, we must scale 
the dizzy track where to look down 
is destruction, and face the bitter 
cold of the glacier, and, over all, we 
shall find that exquisite blossom, its 
pure blue drooped cartliward under 
the infinite blue of heaven. 

Therefore we claim not humility fur 
Kdith, for she was not wise enough 
for that, and she was too true and 
brave for its counterfeit ; but she had 
that scorn for meanness and tyranny 
which is one of the first milestones 
on the road to humility. 

While his niece was walking un- 
protected! through the crowd without, 
Mr. Yorke was in the hall, seated 
near the platlorm. on which were all 
the ministers, and tlie prominent 
Know-Nothings, several of the taller 
town-ofiicers. One after another 
spoke, and was loudly apjilauded. 
I'he excitement and enthusiasm wcru 
immense. Mindful of his wife's 
charge, Mr. Yorke restrained his in- 
dignation, and listened attentively, 
sifting out what w.is essential in thisi 
commotion and common to all itsj 
participants. As he listcnctl, thc[ 
vision of a possible future of his 
country appeared before him, and 
mntlc the hair rise on his head. He 
saw tiie anarchy and bloodshed of a 
religious war more terrible than any 
war the world had seen — a massacre 
of innocents, a war of extermination. 



":::rTi*_ -tviiei 



k. '.-'v. n.- 



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;-.-•_ -.■.■.7 ~- - -- - - = : -n: :.. : .irTMrr 

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(■«f 111' t If;" i ., . . ,• r ',: : .';■;. '.::■:: - "• . _ rr T-,^"^r. Crl^rr.cr." K 

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I- till li 1)11 , I- jupi .1 i'j-,c ;rli'l 'l;iiitC'l f .il'.C 01 c Mu: r:r>.L*:is-. n. Or. t^* 

wi: I <lt I'llv I' n -iri'l li;iirfil, ii'^i of (/Mitrarv. ti'.ci" s,re clor-^iuv Bs 

till I .irlM'h' ( hint li, lull of the I'.zi- liiL-y art- such as c:in be safely I'^J'"'" 

llinlii i 1. 1.-\ I lie niily (jiii-siion cd ami enforced only l>v 5.i;na 3* 

wliii li Mill II .I'll ilic.f iMcii ill icMi- angels, or by men of suc*;i (M''^ 

iiii hull mill ,iii\ ( .iiliiilif (In^ina holiness as the world seliiom 'f* 

» '■'. "i'w li i<'iii[iiii,]| iriniieiice In the hands of weak men. liicyaJT 

Will it )-.i\r 111 III." |irfi-,i ,-» 'I'jic su- be, and have been, pervertcil iO 1*1* 

)>• tii.iiiiMl M'ir ilnv « .m-ij nut a ti^; uses. The dogma of the Infalli^'-? 

f"t In ilh n nitiiil', II \\;is imjiossi- of the church is a crown of \v>'H 

blr ili.il .1 t '.iihiihf |itii's( shduld be ^old on the head of the im>i-<* 

11 tiuihlul. ]il.iin iUmImij;, i.tr.iit;htfor- Siiouse,and a mantle of cloth olii^ 




The House of Yorkc. 



fonn : Iiut ilie priest has 
hining folds about his own 
blclcrs, and made it a stn 
him. Confession, ivhicU 
to be, ill its essence, one 
comforiing ami saving in- 
lat ever existed, they can 
to learn the secret work- 
nety and obtain power 
bials. 1 need not detain 
vcr the list, for all arc the 
R St. Michael's sword in 
(f Satan. 

Itlcmcn, it is not because 

3gy is bad that i say, 

Jie church ! It is becaus*^ 

ihcs and shrines harbor 

j robbers, and tyrants — 

Dugh the pope can sit 

ihed, with his lofty tiara, 

(hops stand with mitres^ 

^iests lifi their haughty 

llhe people cannot walk 

)^ made them to walk, 

tftwl on the pavement like 

fad therefore, though the 

temple were of jasper, 

malachite, its ceiling of 

I)avemcnts of beaten 

gates like the gates of 

usakm, I still would cr)*, 

(the temple ! 

he lime \vhcn peoples first 

siallize upon the face of 

id has looked out from 

asked each in turn, 

my children find peace, 

fti, and room to grow?' 

;n turn has answered, 

d !' tying to his face. 

own time, after patient 

Almighty has stretched 

nil, and has effaced the 

of that perjured nation, 

her people with blight. 

3S of old lied to the Lord, 

l^e perished; and in our 

tre is a wavering and tot- 

i batdements that wall 

n. 



'* One hundred years ago, Amer 
ca rose up and made the covenant : 
Here, Lord, shall thy children find 
l>eace and freedom, and here shall 
they grow to the stature of the per- 
fect man and woman : It is for u6 
brethren, to see that the pact is kep) 
It is for us to **alch that the oppre 
or gains no foothold here, lest w<| 
perish for ever. For there is no Ph(j 
nix among the kingdoms of earthj 
from whatever cause they di« 
When a nation lies in the dust, it"^ 
rises no more, save to walk, a ghosi, 
in the dreams of iLs oqihaneil chil- 
dnen. Irciand, I'oland, Hungary, 
— they sleep the sleep that knows no 
waking. They are in the past, with 
Greece and Rome, with Oabylc 
and Nineveh : 

' Vouihful nalion of tfae IVuL 
Ktsc, Willi truer KrcHtnr^i bim ! 
Saini«d binds from rojilin!! ol rcii. 
Watch ihjr bticbt'alDE Uiaa '.' 

" Brethren, when we in turn shall 
join that company of silent watchers, 
God forbid that we should hear ris- 
ing from our beloved land such a. la- 
mentation as went up for that ruiiieil 
city of the Kast: ' Nineveh is laid 
waste ! who will bemonn her ? She 
is empty, and void, and waste ; her 
nobles dwell in the dusi ; her pco])le 
are scattered upon the mountains, 
and no man gathereth them.' For 
(he sake of humanity, may God for- 
bid! 

*' There is now but one name writ- 
ten in hving characters on the future, 
and that name is America. It was 
writ in blood by our fathers, and ac- 
cepted in fire by the God of nations. 
Palsicil be the hand that wouUI 
tpicnch one letter of that sacred le- 
gend !" 

During the loud applause that fol- 
lowed, Mr. Yorke mounted the plat- 
form. 

Had they not known that he was 
soon to leave them, and had not hii 




742 



The House of Yorke. 



manner been quite unlike what he 
had shown on former occasions of 
this sort, they might have refused to 
hear him. As it was, a reluctant 
and impatient silence was accorded. 
Some listened, doubtless because they 
wished to be exasperated, and hoped 
for anotlier pretext for outbreak. 
But he looked like one who fully ap- 
preciates the strength of his opponent, 
and does not hope for a speedy vic- 
tory. 

" Gentlemen," he said, with a cer- 
tain grim emphasis on the word, 
" after Mr. Griffeth's pyrotechnic dis- 
play of eloquence, 1 cannot hope 
that my words will not fall with a 
dull sound on your ears. He has 
gone up like the rocket, and I must 
come down like the stick. I pro- 
mise, however, to be brief, and to 
speak to the point * First, I thank 
him for having spoken like a gentle- 
man, and left the subject clear 
enough for a gentleman to touch. 
On all that preceded him, I have but 
two comments to make. Concern- 
ing the attacks on the personal char- 
acter of the Catholic clergy, I will 
only say, ' Set a thief to catch a thief !' 
To the misrepresentations of their 
creed, I would say, theologians should 
be better educated than to make 
them sincerely, and honest men 
should not fear to tell the truth, even 
of a foe. 

** I come, then, to Mr. Griffeth's ar- 
gument : that these men, simply from 
liuuian weakness, not from personal 
depravity, have always abused their 
power, and, being men, always will 
abuse it, and that, therefore, we must, 
in self-defence, either banish them 
from the country, or deny them the 
rights of citizenship ; their doctrines 
all the time being perfect, or, at least, 
tolerable. 

*' I am not here to defend the 
character of the Catholic clergy. I 
know well that your deep-rooted pre- 



judice will not yield to any w 
mine or theirs. They must live 
your enmity with what paticoo 
may ; and the day will come, b 
me! when the still, small voi 
those lives that have been con 
ted to God will silence and [ 
shame the blatant accusation 
pseudo-patriotism which now 
whelm it Whatever may have 
proved against some, the - 
world knows that that clergy has 
for its admiration many a mod 
Christian behavior, and that a 
its missionaries have been, and 
men worthy to stand beside ] 
and Paul, and John — men enan 
of the things of God, and de 
the attractions of earth. If it b 
that you can find Judases in 
company, it is equally true that 
tolical laborers are not found oi 
of their fold. It may still be 
apostolical church, though on 
twelve were a Judas. 

*' This part of the question is, 
ever, irrelevant. We sund hei 
we are worthy to speak, for prin( 
and not for men. If the fault 
partisans are to be used as an i 
ment against an institution, no 
tution on earth can stand, and 
testantism and freedom must s 
to their foundations. 

" Assuming, though, that his i 
tion is true, and that the clergy 
always been the enemies of fre« 
and enlightenment, though 
would be strong circumstantiil 
dence against their future trust 
thiness, still the conviction whic 
invokes is too grave and arbi 
for so just and enlightened a j 
as our country promises to be. 
I deny the truth of his premises, 
since proof is out of the questic 
this place, set my bare denial ag 
his bare assertion. 

" But if his assumption and 
elusion were both true, if these 



The House of Yorkc. 



7M 



untrustworthy, and if we had 
fore the right to refuse them 
licy, we are still bound to give 
refus;il, not with the howling of 

beaslH, not with mobs and 
lenings, but decently, and ac- 
ng to law, or we are ourselves 

10 be irubteii with that freedom 
1 we deny to them. 

Jo, I a* not here to prove that 
Icrgy 01 the Catholic Church 

11 saints, or even all good men ; 
am here to say that, hate them 

su may, you cannot, in these 
Jd States, under the constitution, 
::aitnot with impunity persecute 
, nor deprive them of any of the 
cges which that consiituiion 
cntees to them as rights. • Work 
icrci/ do they? * Undermine,' 
^ey? And from whom does 
ccusation come ? AVhal of that 
ty in which this movement 
^its rise? — that society which 
lominatcs the land, stirring up 
from Maine to Louisiana, mak- 
wrs and changing laws, and set- 
Be off-scouring of the earth In 
Rf§h places ? What of those 
>s where men assemble to con- 
easurcs for governing the 
yet where no citizen can 
ithout the pass-word ami oath 
y? Josiah Quincy, Senior, 
in, a man whose name car- 
much weight as any name here 
ts hall, has said of these same 
ties, ' The iihft-iies of a people are 
^Ron certain in the path ofiifstrNC- 
7 when thfy trust themselves to 
tatfe (if start soeieties. Birds 
^ight are rtevrr birds of wisdom, 
TJfey art for tht most part birds 
Tht fate of it republic is 
hen the bats tahe the /tad if 
•I.' Our atmosphere is black 
le same bats t 

Mr. Grifleth's parting anathe- 
pond, ay and amen ! Palsied 
band Hal would quench one 



letter of (hat sacred legend ! But 
whose is the hand thai threatens it in 
this town ? Is it Father Rasle, who 
askcti a right of you, and, when you 
refused it, asked it of the law— in a 
neighboring town, mark, there being 
no law here! — and when the law re- 
fused it, submitted in silence ? Is it 
the few hundreds of harmless Catho- 
lics among you, not one of whom 
has raised a hand in violence? Or 
is it your brutal mobs, who have in- 
sulted l>oth priest and people, de- 
stroyed their property, and threaten- 
ed their lives? Think of this, citi- 
zens! If the laws are dear to you, 
keep them ! If you love freedom, do 
not iwaclise tyranny ! If you claim 
to be an intelligent people, think for 
yourselves, and do not let dema- 
gogues do it for you] Who is he 
who truly loves and honors his coun- 
try ? Not that man who holds its 
constitution to be a pretty inydi, 
fine to quote, but impossible to act 
upon J but he who demands thai its 
most generous promise shall be ful- 
tilled, and is not afraid that in sinceri- 
ty will be its destruction. 

" Mr. Griffelh has uttered his war- 
cry, * Down with the church!' and 
you have applauded it with enthusi- 
asm. While I have listened to-night, 
there has risen before my vision the 
|>osstble demolition of another editicc 
— a demolition which is inevitable, if 
such counsels are to prevail. Our 
fathers raised in this land a lenipk- 
to civil and religious liberty, and 
pledged to its support their lives, 
their fortunes, and Iheir sacred honor. 
That was no empty pledge, for the 
structure was cemented with their 
blood from corner sionc to pinnacle. 
And the genius whom ihcy enthroned 
in the centre was no idol of wood 
and stone, to be used as a pup|)et by 
the designing, but a living creature. 
She was strong, and pure, and gener- 
ous, and she had efigle's eyes. She 



744 



Tht House of Yorke. 



opened her arms to the world. She 
feared no alien foe, for her strength 
could be &hom and her limbs mana- 
cled only by her own renegade chil- 
dren. It is you are her foes. These 
narrow and violent counsels which 
pretend to protect, do contradict her; 
the manacles wliich you forge for 
others, will fetter her; with the \\o- 
lence which you do to others, will 
her strength be shorn ; and the spirit 
which you obey under her name will 
ilethroue her. But do not fancy that 
you can blind and make sport of her 
with impunity. I^e time may come 
when that insulted spirit will take in 
her mighty anns the pitlais of the na- 
tion, and pull it down in niia on 
>'our heads. No, the foe ts noi the 
orphan she has cherished, nor the 
stranjEer within her gates, bat the 
«.ikik^en $he has iKHuished at her bo- 
sou. 

^ Who is here «> vile that wSX not 
love his country ? If anr, speak: 
lix hint hax'e I odenvkvl'* 

When Mr Yovke vent boene that 
ni^;. thouj^'h It was ^^r. be ixuhi 
hvs *.ro Jl:^^; Bftevv wjuriaj iy* him 
at .J tar,: ^V :he rvxfcl He arirtsse-i 
!S)0 sir^vt^t »,>r »isK«prxMaixu v«it 
vaL^.fv'. >A'»«iy *>nftfvaRl wics cii«tt- 

*Wii: Jui>rte oer Asoe?* Mrs^ 
Yocfce .k:»itc>i. S&e reccemed :^: 



" Nothing can stop then 
but themselves,** he i 
"They roust fiOl by th 
speed." 

"They listened to yoi 
asked. 

" Yes, they weie civ^ a 
applauded a littler Bat 
that? In ^te of all that 
do, they hare passed a 
passed it unanimouslr. that. 
Rasle comes here again, 
give him a suit that is n- 
bought at the taiiorV 

**What does thai ser 
Mis. Y'orke's vaadersK^ ^^ 

^\oa little $CK»e: n — ^^^ 
feathers ! Well, ojc"! Itsz sa 
more aboot it. I a=: Oi 
words.- 

" Edith gc< sE2r tbf ;= 
night.*' Mrs. Y'^arke sui. - : 
were impooeE:. ?!:% ?:•:« 
<]ttKtlr X^d, I tTPiit- :iic 
got booe «be w:b :xn:f i 
1 trKKu:s£ zae cialii vjinii 
seii a? oeici-'^ 

=<r =cie cKnaune-- - S; 
yxjc i=v: Sss«7. H-:»» :<: -> 
wij^ rwT iniT ;..- -' 

-Yrc it; riric iir-- ' ■ 

^t->T^ i-x't - li "ttmrri. »i 

31 fw iinise. nui w^.-n. vil 



w-H-vrr^i W"? 



■ .t:: -"-■■- ». rCT -.J r\-'m:i 



-.2 -^.rin -ct: - 



WW c n.imi ?• icr imnti^r.in:?'-- 
ShJ "Ti': Iiiab: y zk ami" ns- 
:nAtiC<^ ■»«" 7iwr ir"'.:s:»--a. oxm iii- 



ii::t ;: "::= it tt-tc 2t « 



V - 



-.^- n-.^K- w sfc 



J -C> - TTw JA^ 



The House of York*, 



74S 



sense of relief on learning 
y had escaped the danger 
ould have threatened them 
priest been their guest, they 
express that feeling. They 
te ready, in spite of the dan- 
repeat the invitation. Mr 
lone sincerely regretted Fa- 
sle's decision. Even Edith, 
rw nothing of the action of 
i-raeeting, perceived that the 
)Iace was with his own peo- 

ve seen the sheriff and Dr. 
lis morning," Mr. Yorke said, 
; niece had left the robm, 
ley both agree in thinking 
her Rasle will not be molest- 
jmtng here to stay over one 
They are probably right. 
at objection is to his settling 
tesides, he comes so quietly, 
g here will not be widely 

Half of his own people do 
V that he is coming." 
wo gentlemen named by Mr. 
ere among the few who se- 
mdemned the conduct of the 
It did not publicly avow their 
Its, possibly because they 
It such a proclamation would 
emselves without doing any 

Catholics. Aside from the 
ioience to person or proper- 
physician would be accused 
ring his principles for an in- 
if practice, the politician of 
ig for the Irish vote. That 
could speak a good word for 
rch or the Irish from a dis- 
;d motive, was not for a mo- 
.mitted. 

lay was overcast, threatening 
at to Edith Yorke it was as 
spring and sunshine were at 
r; for Mother Church, long 
bent once more toward her 
■1 children. 

at I do not tell him volunta- 
will ask," she said to herself. 



thinking of Father Rasle. " He will 
point out what has been wrong in 
me, and reprove me once for all, and 
have done with it ; and the fault that 
is not mine, he will lift off my shoul- 
ders. It is very heavy !" she whis- 
pered tremulously, and for a little 
while could say no more. 

Edith was not breaking under her 
burden, bat she was bending wearily, 
and the constant weight of it had 
taken away all her elasticity, not of 
spirits alone, but of body. While 
making her last examen of con- 
science, she felt too weak to kneel, 
and sank into an arm-chair instead, 
dropping her head back against the 
cushion, and closing her eyes. So 
seen, the change in her face was 
startlingly evident. Her manner was 
always so fresh, and her eyes and 
teeth lighted up her smile so brilliant- 
ly, whether she spoke or listened, or 
only looked, that one could not see 
that she was pale and thin. But the 
face that lay against the chair-back 
was very pallid, and even the hands 
stretched out on the arms of the 
chair looked sick. 

" There are six sins that I am sure 
of, besides all the doubtful ones," she 
said presently, sitting up. " That 
takes all my right hand, and the fore- 
finger of my left hand. And now it 
is time to go." 

The shortest way to the house 
where Father Rasle was to stop led 
through the wood-path that Edith 
and Dick had taken when he left her 
after his first visit to Seaton. She 
recollected that walk as she passed 
again through the forest, and mur- 
mured a tearful " Poor Dick ! where 
are you now ?" 

The trees were not, as then, bright 
with a prodigal splendor of color, 
and steeped in mellow sunshine. 
The gold was tarnished, the :cds 
looked dark and angry, and the 
lowering sky seemed to press on tlie 



746 



Tk€ House of Yorke. 



branches. That sileoce which, in 
the glory of autumn, expresses con- 
tentment with finished work and 
wishes fulfilled, seemed now to mean 
only suspense or endurance. No 
leaf came floating trustfully down to 
give its earth to earth, and free the 
imprisoned gold into its native air; 
no gray squirrel was discovered 
gathering its store of beech-nuts for 
the coming winter; no bird flitted 
about to take one more look at its 
summer haunts. All was silent and 
deserted. 

" You poor old woods ! I know 
just how to pity you," Edith said, 
looking about. "But cheer up! 
These are the days in which Nature 
tells over the sorrowful mysteries in 
her long rosary. Your garments are 
rent away, and the thorns are on 
your head; but after all is ended, 
then comes the glorious mystery of 
the spring resurrection. There ! now 
I have exhorted you, you may ex- 
hort me. If you have anything to 
say, please to say it!" 

And then the woods answered : 
" Child, I know my rosary all by 
heart, for I have said it six thousand 
times — six thousand times, child, 
and yet man will not listen. I tell 
of resignation and hope, and still his 
ears are dull. I teli him that in obe- 
dience is wisdom, and in wisdom 
contentment, and he does not cease 
to rebel. That is a sorrowful mys- 
tery over which I grew sad many a 
time before the cross became the sign 
of salvation. My very birds are 
wiser than the children of men ; my 
beasts less cruel. Do not blush, lit- 
tle one! It was your ignorance that 
spoke, and not presumption. No 
fairer flower has bloomed in my sha- 
dow than your loving thought. Cheer 
up I Hearts will find the way when 
heads cannot ; for when true love is 
blind, then an angel leads it." 

" I thank you \ '* Edith said after 



having listened. " It is very true, 
our teachers have a hard time with 
us. There is you. Mother Nature, 
with your book full of pictures, to 
catch our eyes; and the church, 
speaking our own language, to catch 
our ears; and conscience, with its iiro 
words only, yes and no, to catch our 
thoughts, and we fight against yoQ 
all. I am very, very blind! Will 
some good angel lead me ? " 

She came out into East Street, and 
stood a moment on the spot where 
she and Dick had stood to look at 
that exquisite bit of meadow. The 
violet mist th^ had hung over it, 
like a parting soul over its body, had 
long since dissolved, and the litdeio- 
carnate song that had floated there, 
yellow-winged and feathered, had 
been loosed into the heavenly orche- 
tra. Half-way down the hill, a foot- 
path led off to the left of the street, 
passed a few back-doors of hotuet 
on High Street, and ended at the 
door of the house where Father Rask 
was. She knew by the buggy stand- 
ing in the yard that he had come. 
If it had not been there, the smiling 
face of the woman who stood in tbe 
door would have told the storj-. 

The woman stepped out to niak« 
way, and Edith ran in through the 
narrow entry to the square room that 
was both kitchen and parlor. 

"O father, father! A hundred 
thousand welcomes !" And tbo. 
between grief and gladness, herrotce 
was stopped. 

" Dear child !*' he said afTecnonale- 
ly. " So you needed me vcrj- much ?" 

Several women were in the rooii. 
Some of them had arrived before the 
priest came, nearly all of them hid 
made their confession, but not ow 
could persuade herself to go inf 
while she was allowed to remiii> 
They meant to stay till he should M^ 
them go, and even then wait te 
a second telling. To see their b^ 



Tiu House of Yorke. 



747 



pastor, to hear him s|>eak, to 
t over and uver their ilemon- 
re welcome, was a liappiness 
I they would faiu prolong, 
c host and hostess were in tlieir 
Ittire. They had given up all 
:of:cupaliou to the supreinc one 
iLenaioing their priest. Their 
, shone with a proud delight, 
poor house was scrupulously 
, and, though Father Rasle was 
n to be abstemious, they had 
10 the extent of their means for 
ttertatnnienT. 

t priest talked jestingly to the 

p to cheer them. " What is 

,t you cry about ? But ycu 

not tell me, Tor I know. It is 

Utc you have had nothing but 

ftords and the absence of your 

to bear. You cry because you 

not blown up in Uic school- 

I, or did not have your heads 

D m the church. Or perhaps 

were in hopes that 1 sbuuld 

^ and tind you alt strung up to 

ranches of tiees. That is the 

fruit that a tree can bear — a 

t. The Bread of Life grew on 

ree of Uic cross. Courage ! 

Jiave not done wltli you yet. 

a good communion to*tnorrow, 

iftcrward keep yourselves free 

sin, and then, when 1 come 

I may have the happiness of 

g all your bodies hung tu trees, 

U your souls in Paradise. 

[ow, you two who have not been 

nfession will confess at once. 

[ want every one of you to go 

i have to talk to that little 

hat little girl '* seated herself in 
idst of these poor women, who 
gly made room for her — ihcy 

not jealous of her — and all 
1 ilieir faces away from Father 

and sat silently looking into 
re while the confesMons were 
sd. And at last Kdith found 



herself free to tell all her story to the 
priest. 

Tlie Catholics of Seaton could not, 
if they would, have concealed from 
their enemies that Father Kasic had 
come. Their joyful faces would have 
betrayed the secret if their lips had 
remained silent. All who could do 
so laid their work aside, and gather- 
ed in knots in the lane, or visited 
each other's houses, to talk the mat- 
ter over. They .smiled and nodded 
to each other in the street with a sig- 
nificance which every one under- 
stood. Poor souls ! to the cruel eyes 
that xvatched them their pathetic and 
sacred delight was a crime, their si- 
lence, treachery. 

Toward evening the scattering 
visitors who had taken their wny du- 
ring the day to the house under the 
hili became a steady stream. It 
looked as though every Catholic in 
Seaton was going to confession. It 
looked, too, as though every Protes- 
tant in Seaton was willing that they 
should, for no one molested ihem, 
and the town was perfectly quiet. 
Thi>se who hail l>een anxious ascrib- 
ed this quietude to the wcathcT, and 
congratulated themselves that the 
threatening ruin prevented any ga- 
thering of their persecutors. 

At nine o'clock the crowd arouml 
the house where the priest was I>c- 
gan to thin oA". The ruad by which 
they sought their homes that night 
was a via sacra ; for, newly thriven, 
and moved to the depths of their 
hearts, they carried with them, every 
one, the memory of an earnest ex- 
hortation to humility and forgiveness, 
and resignation to the will of God. 
At half-past ten only three or four 
women were left in the house, and 
the rain was beginning to fall out- 
side. The confessions were over, 
Mrs. Kent had set out n late suppet 
for Father Rasle, since he would 
have to fast till noon of the next 



748 



The House of Yorke. 



day, and he was standing to say good- 
night to the last of his visitors, who 
even "ow seemed unwilling to leave 
him. ^^'hile he spoke to them, some 
one was heard running toward the 
house, and the next minute a man 
burst into the room, breathless, and 
bespattered with mud. 

"They are coming!" he gasped 
out. " Run for your life, father!" 

In the midst of the outcry that 
rose from those present. Father Rasle 
stood fixed and silent. Perhaps he 
was startled at the sudden and un- 
expected announcement; perhaps his 
color had changed; but there was 
no other sign of excitement. He 
calmly questioned the man, and 
learned that a mob of fifty or more 
masked men were rapidly approach- 
ing the house. 

"And they will kill you, father," 
the messenger concluded. " They 
don't put on masks and come at 
night to break windows. They can 
do that in broad daylight For God's 
sake, save yourself!" 

" They sliall take me where I am," 
the priest said firmly. " It is the will 
of God. I will not resist, and I have 
nowhere to fly to." 

" Here is hot water. Put on 
more !" cried one of the women. 
" We'll scald them !" And instantly 
they took the boiling tea-kettle from 
the fire, and put cold water to heat. 

" Run over to the lane, and rouse 
the people !" cried another. " They'll 
kill everybody in the town in your 
defence, father, if you say the word." 

" My children, 1 command you to 
use no violence, and make no resist- 
ance," the priest said with authority. 
" If the people rise, it will be to their 
own destruction. Pray! It is all that 
you can do." 

They fell on their knees, weeping 
loudly as they heard the muffled 
tramp of many feet outside. But 
one said, "The cellar! the cellar!" 



and Mr. Kent, catching the priest's 
arm, almost forced him toward the 
cellar-door. It was a pitiful hiding- 
place ; but Father Rasle had no time 
for any thought except that, if there 
were a chance of escape, it was his 
duty to take advantage of it. 

Scarcely had he disappeared, be- 
fore the outer door was thrust open. 
and the room was filled with mec 
wearing crape masks. They came 
in silently and swiftly, and as swiftly 
their companions outside surrounded 
the house, and stationed themselves 
at each window to bar all egress. 

It was not in the hearts of these 
poor people to utter no word of re- 
proach to the perpetrators of sutji 
an outrage, even though the priest 
had commanded their silence. Mrs. 
Kent pointed to one man after an* 
other, calling him by name. "I 
know you under your mask !" she 
cried. "And the Almighty would 
find you if I didn't." 

No one replied to her. The only 
one of the mob who spoke was he 
who seemed to be their leader. 
" Where is the priest ?" he asked. 

Of course no one told him. 

The lower rooms and the attic were 
searched, and there remained but one 
place. The hearts of the Christians 
died within them as the leader of the 
mob took a candle from the table, 
and went toward the cellar-door. S 
girl who was near the door caught 
up a chair to defend the passage, hui 
another took it from her, and pulled 
her down to her knees. The next 
moment Father Rasle was led OJt 
amid the sobs and prayers of Lis 
children. He was very pale, bai 
perfectly calm, and, like his divine 
Master, he uttered not a word. But 
as the mob surrounded and led him 
away, he cast one glance on those 
who knelt and stretched their clasp- 
ed hands toward him. and raised his 
hand in silent benediction. That h? 



Tiu House of Yorke. 



749 



wmg led to death, neither he 
ley doubted. And they had no 
1 to doubt it. What violence, 
of murder, had these men any 
1 to fear to do in open da}4ight ? 
night they not well believe that 
the murderer could escape if 
d only the law against him ? 
was not true only of Seaton. 

a Catholic priest in the United 
, at that time, owed the pre- 
ion of his life, not to a fear of 
.w, but to a fear of Catholic 
ance. 

:y did not take their victim 
;h the lane which Edith had 
ed. but through a shorter one 
g to High Street. The family 

in the house at the corner of 
itreet were well-bred people, 
though Protestants, friends to 
r Kasle. He had been receiv- 

that house as a guest ; and 
seeing a light in one of the 
Y the instinct of preservation 
and forced a cry from him. 
; mef* he cried out, calling the 
)y name. 

3se nearest immediately silenc- 
m with threats. If he spoke 

they said, they would kill him 
; spot. 

; voice had not been heard, and 
int hope faded as quickly as it 
sen. 

:y avoided the thickly-settled 
i the town, and took their way 
one of the back streets leading 
: river. Half-way down they 
L man on horseback, carrying 
item. He held the light up, 
sked whom they had there, 
o one," they replied, making 
to conceal their prisoner. " We 
no one with us." 
t till too late did Father Rasle 

that he had missed another 
e of escape, and that it was 
icriff who had met them. 
; mob, feeling now secure of 



their prey, could indulge in revilings. 
•' So they persecuted Jesus of old," 
said one, with a laugh. 

" Will the Virgin save you ?" asked 
another. 

But enough. One does not re- 
peat the talk of those through whose 
lips the arch-fiend speaks without 
disguise. They reviling, and he 
praying, disappeared in the darkness 
and the storm. 

Edith Yorke had passed that eve- 
ning in her own room. It had been 
her custom to keep the eve of her 
communions in retirement, and to- 
night she had more than ordinary 
food for reflection. It was almost 
eleven o'clock when she began to 
prepare herself for bed, but she still 
heard her aunt and Clara up down- 
stairs. Mrs. Yorke had not been 
well, and, unwilling that her husband 
should lose his rest, had sent him up- 
stairs to sleep, and kept Clara with 
her. Edith was just thinking that 
she had a mind to go down and see 
how her aunt was, when she heard 
the small gate of the avenue open, 
and shut again instantly, as if some 
one had run through. 

Her window was partly raised. 
She threw it up, and stepped out on 
to the top of the portico. Her heart 
divined the danger at once. Alrea- 
dy the messenger was half-way up 
the avenue, and, before she could see 
that it was a woman, she heard her 
panting breath and half-exhausted 
voice : *' Help ! They are killing 
Father Rasle!" 

A faintness as of death swept over 
Edith. She would have spoken, but 
could only sink on her knees and 
lean over the railing. Mrs. Yorke, too, 
had heard the click of the gate, and 
had opened the sitting-room window, 
and Edith heard her voice and Cla- 
ra's. To them the woman told her 
story. 

" Do not speak loudly," Mrs. 



:-3« 



750 



The House of Yorke, 



Yorke said. « Mr. YoAe and Edith 
must not know. They can do no 
good, and would only make trouble. 
Clara, go and wake Patrick, and do 
it quietly. I tell you, my poor wo- 
man, ray husband could do nothing, 
and I shall not allow him to be call- 
ed." 

Edith grew strong the moment 
she knew the truth. The woman had 
left the house before Father Rasle 
did, and a rescue might still be pos- 
sible. She opened her door noise- 
lessly, stepped out, and closed it af- 
ter her; then fled down the back- 
stairs, out through the back-door, and 
down the avenue to the upper gate. 
Reaching the road, she flew over it 
with winged feet. At North Street, 
instead of going down toward the 
centre of the town, she crossed to a 
lumber-road leading to the river. 
The bridge was far below, but one 
who dared could go over here on the 
boom that kept the logs. Edith dar- 
ed, considering the peril not worth a 
thought When some bugle-toned 
reveille of the soul wakes up our 
slumbering faith, then miracles be- 
come possible. 

The bank was high on the eastern 
side, and the descent was by two 
immense timbers, or masts, chain- 
ed together and chained to the 
shore at the upper end, and to the 
boom at the lower. The inclina 
tion was steep, and those who walk- 
ed through the air on that slippery 
bridge stepped warily even by day, 
timing their steps to the heavy vibra- 
tions of the timber. But Edith ran 
fleetly down, and sprang on to the 
swaying boom ank!c-deep in water. 
Lumber-mills above and below sent 
out their long lines of red light 
through the misty darkness, and the 
noise of their saws waslike the grinding 
of teeth. The logs knocked against 
each other with a dull thump as the 
river flowed, and here and there little 



spaces of water gltstenetl. To dip 
into one of those black holes was 
death. You miss the boom, and 
step on a log instead, and, unless 
you are a practised log-walker — pos- 
sibly, too, if you are — the log rolls, 
you go under, and there is an end of 
you. You cannot scream when you 
are under water; you cannot rise to 
the surface, for the logs keep you 
down, or close together and cnish 
you, and no one can see you. 

The boom did not reach straight 
but zigzagged across the river, the 
lengths chained together, but not 
closely, and hidden under water. In 
those spaces, the logs, trying to get 
through, pushed their bobbing cads 
up, and tempted the foot Mok 
than once Edith's foot was in thit 
trap, but she did not sink till just 2S 
she reached the western bank. Then, 
as she went down, she caught an 
overhanging sapling, and drew herself 
to land, wet to the waist 

Irish Lane did not reach so tir 
up, by about a quarter of a mile, and 
there was no road, the way being 
pasture and ledge. As Edith reach- 
ed the upper end of the lane, same 
one else came into it from the lower 
end, next the bridge, and she heard 
a woman's voice lamenting. She diil 
'not stop for lamenution, but ran 
from house to house, bidding them 
come out and save Father Rasle. 

They gathered immediately, ask- 
ing questions all in confusion, know- 
ing not which way to go, but readr 
to follow her lead. Had they no rifles 
nor pistols ? No ; why should they 
have them ? An Irishman's weapon 
was his fist and a cudgel, and what- 
ever he could catch by the way. 

An Irishman, indeed, usually goe« 
into battle flrst, and arms himself al- 
ter ward. 

But the enthusiasm which EdithN 
words had kindled the other messen- 
ger soon quenched. It was too Ua 



, she said He had been 
Away, they knew not whith- 
icourse he must be dead long 
that tiiiie. And he had bid 
iewell, and commanded them 
too violence — to do nothing 

\ heard no more. The hand 
(her earnestness, she bad laid 
^ one's arm, slipped off, and 
bped to the ground without a 

k more than half-past eleven 
jand raining quite hard, and 
A had begun to nse. Broken 
niriied, the Catholics went 
pr hoii£CS again, but not to 
Lin one of these houses Edith 
I her eyes, and saw about 
persons gathered, some bend- 
^ her, others praying, others 
i about and wringing their 

^She got up. *' I wish that 
Id all kneel down, and say 
Dy of our Lord Jesus," she 
► I am going to find Father 



only that something 
c proi>oseJ for llicin to do. 
fli of the house took his pray- 
, and they all knelt. Others 
i and tilled the room, fright- 
ildren cowering close to their 
ind watching the door, as if 
pected tn see a foe enter. 
I went slowly out. One of 
men had kindly put a shawl 
r shoulders, but she was quite 
:ious of the storm. The town 
as striking twelve, and as she 
to count its strokes, the cho- 
praying voices reached her 
i the open door : 

KioK or Glory, luirG mercy oausI} 
ba Suo of Juuice, hara mercy on us !" 

Sun of Justice I" she repeat- 
lifted her clasped hands. 
urent on, but heard again, in a 
►f the storm : 



" Jeui, nofll patiCDl, bare aMTcy on utt 
Jmus, mow otMrdlflot, tuve mcray mi «t !" 

" .\h ! yes, patience t It is not for 
us to invoke justice," she thought 
" ' Enter not into judgment with thy 
servant, O Lord! for in thy sight 
shall no man living be justified." " 

The road was heavy with mud, 
and in the darkness she scarcely 
could find her way. Only the occa- 
sional twinkle of a lighted window told 
where it did not lie. She went wea- 
rily, for the spirit that had sustained 
her while there was ho]>e failetl now, 
and the storm grew every minute 
worse. In another lull there came 
again, more fainily : 

" Jcsui, the soMl Shepticfd, tuve mercy on oi ! 
Jesus, the iruc Llebt, luvc atctcy va us ! " 

At that tender petition the tears 
started forth, and she walked on 
weeping. They were indeed as 
sheep among wolves. The blast al- 
most swept her off her feet, and in 
some sudden current snatched the 
sound of prayer, and brought it to 
her once more, dearly as if it had 
been cried in her very ears : 

" leaas, the Stieocth of mutyra, hft?« nwrcy < Q 

The wind went sighing off to righl 
and left, and opened a pathway of 
calm before her, in which she walk- 
e<i firmly, wiping her tears away, and 
taking courage again. 

At the entrance to the lane, near 
the bridge, she paused and looked 
back. All was darkness there, but 
cut of the dakncss came faintly, 
** Lamb of God — '* It was all she 
heard, and it was all ! It meant 
patience, humility, iiuuiolalion, and 
final triumph. 

The cottage where Father Rasle 
had been was all alight when Edith 
came in sight of it, and as she ap- 
proached the door a man c;nnc out 
and almost ran against her. 



7S3 



Tkt House of Yorke. 



« Where is he ? " she asked. 

"Why, Miss Edith!" exclaimed 
Patrick Chester. 

She only repeated her question. 

» He has come back," Patrick an- 
swered, "and Dr. Willis is with 
him." 

" Will he die ? " she whispered. 

" No, Miss Edith ; but he has been 
vilely used. He was out two hours 
in this storm. He found his way 
back more dead than alive. He has 
been tarred and feathered." 

She cried out in disgust: "The 
brutes I They were, then, too base 
for murder I" 

" You may say that," Patrick an- 
swered. " But now come home. You 
can't sec him, ycu know." 

But she would not go till she had 
Iieard his voice, and Patrick was 
obliged to go back to the entry with 
her. The entry was filled with men 
and women, all listening for any news 
that might reach them. The door 
was ajar into the kitchen, where two 
or three men were admitted. The 
priest was with the doctor in an iimer 
room. 

" You had better drink this," they 
heard Dr. Willis say; and Father 
Rasle's voice replied : " No, doctor. 
It is after twelve o'clock, and I must 
.say Mass to-morrow." 

" But, if you do not take it, you 
may be very, sick," the doctor per- 
sisted. 

" I cannot take it," Father Rasle 



said again. " My people must not 
be disappointed." 

» Thank God, it is really he !" 
Edith exclaimed. " Come, Patrick, 
we will go home now." 

Mrs. Yorke, fearing to alarm her 
husband, had put out the lights, and 
Edith, seeing the house all dark, took 
uo precaution to conceal herself in 
approaching it. The first notice she 
had, therefore, that any of the fami- 
ly were awake, was her aunt's fright- 
ened voice calling from the open win- 
dow of the sitting-room, " Is it Edith ? 
Has Edith been out ?" 

" Yes, but I am safe back, auntie," 
she made haste to say ; ** and evoy* 
thing is right." 

Clara, Melicent, and Betsey were 
there. No one in the house slept 
but Mr. Yorke and the two Patten^ 
and, since the worst was probablr 
over, it was not so much matter no* 
if they waked. So a large fire ^7i 
kindled, and Edith's dripping gar- 
ments taken off, while Patrick told 
his storj'. Then she also told whei? 
she had been, and smiled at their ter- 
ror, 

" But to cross the river on the 1<^ 
and boom !" her aunt cried. " Whr. 
child, your escape is a miracle ! If 
you had fallen in, you would surdr 
have been drowned." 

" I could not have drowned to- 
night," Edith answered. " If I had 
fallen in, I should have set the river 
on fire." 



TU BS COHTIMrED. 



'iu Duties of the Rich in Christian Society. 




753 



DUTIES OF THE KICK IN CHRISTIAN SOCIETY, 



k 



NO. It, 



rOUTICAL DUTUS. 



19 to discuss clearly and 

the various duties of the 
ristion society, it is necessa- 
Iguish and divide tliem into 
l&ses, and under the classes 
te panicular dunes from 
\ We shall make our divi- 
le principle of proceeding 
jost general, or those which 
ocicty in its most extensive 
hose which are less genera], 

society in its more specific 
mnate sen.se, and finally to 
Ch are the most particular, 
lo separate portions and 
>f stxiety, to the family and 
ividual. 

in the most extensive 
I which we are concerned 
Bays, is political society as 

ID our own republic by 
Itc, and niunici[iftl consli- 
[1 laws. We venture to as- 
, it may be called a Chris- 
y^ It is so, howevtf, in a 
}re general, and l&s dc- 
seuse than the church, or 
urely Catholic state. We 

Christian society, in this 
\ its fundamental moral 
have been derived from the 
law ; that its organic life i^ 
te from Christian civiliza- 
lioM not, however, exclude 
\ those who are not Chris- 
rided they conform to its 
Dciples and to the laws 
ipon them. A Catholic 
I duties to a state which Is 
le has duties to a slate 



XJV. 



-48 



which professes to be Christian, but 
adopts a schismatical or heretical 
perversion of Christianity as the reli- 
gion of the state. But he has many 
more duties, because he stands in a 
much closer and more honorable re- 
lation to a state which is based on 
the moral principles of Christianity* 
and not idcntit)e<l with any ecclesias- 
tical form which is hostile to his con- 
science. All Catholic citizens of our 
republic have political duties, modi- 
fied, mulilplie<l, and intensitied by 
the extent and quality of the rights 
which they possess, and the great- 
ness of the interests which they have 
at stake in the welfare of the common- 
weaUh. The wealthy class have in 
common with their fellow-citizens all 
these duties, and additional ones pe- 
culiar to themselves. 

The general reasons which prove 
this last proposition apply with equal 
force to all who belong to the wealthy 
class, even though they do not pro- 
fess to be, ill any sense of the term, 
Christians. 'I'hc first of these rea- 
sons is, that the rich have succeeded 
in great measure lo the advantages 
formerly possessed by the class of 
nobles. Even in those countries 
where the noble class still subsists, it 
is chiefly as a wealthy and educated 
class, and by the personal superiority 
of individuals belonging to it in the 
professions of arms and statesman- 
ship, that it wields actual power. 
Moreover, the wealthy hour^oiiie has 
gained ground upon it and invaded 
its forraeriy exclusive sphere, winning 



7S4 



The DutUs of the RicA in Ckrisiian Sacitiy. 



for itself, as in England, for instance, 
a place in the real aristocracy. In 
our own country, where hereditary 
rank does not exist, it has a clear 
field. It has no special rights in the 
political order, and is not, therefore, 
strictly and completely the successor 
of the noble class in our ancestral 
British constitution. Yet, by the very 
fact of being a wealthy class, it does 
possess, and ought to possess, a cer- 
tain pre-eminence, influence, and real 
though indirect power in public af- 
fairs. Men of superior intellectual 
ability, men of learning and letten, 
those who fill the higher professional 
positions, and office-holders, belong to 
the same class ; partly because their 
position in many instances gives them 
at least a moderate share of wealth, 
but chiefly because they have power 
by their very position, and are able 
to influence and direct the disposition 
of wealth even when they do not 
personally possess it. By this very 
fact, they have duties to the common- 
wealth — they are not mere private 
persons, but public persons. They 
are important and distinguished mem- 
bers of the community, and, as such, 
have a greater responsibility to socie- 
ty and the state than others. This 
will not be disputed as a general 
-statement. We do not intend to go 
into a minute and detailed exposi- 
tion of all the particulars which it in- 
cludes and comprehends. We con- 
fine ourselves, for the present, to cer- 
tain specific duties of those who are 
rich in tlie literal and technical sense. 
And what wc have tO say of them is, 
that they ought to fulfil the duties 
which were annexed to the privileges 
of the class to which they succeeded, 
in so far as they have inherited those 
privileges. 

However grossly feudal barons may 
have in a multitudeof instances abused 
their privileges and their powers, the 
Christian idea of their state was al- 



ways that their privileges and 
were entrusted to them for th 
mon good. Sound political p 
phy and common sense acco 
the higher teaching of Chris 
It would be, therefore, a 
change for the worse, a misen 
gression in civilization, if i 
moneyed aristocracy, possessin 
leges without corresponding 
took the place of an aristoa 
birth, obliged by its nobility to 
the most important services 
state. A mere easte existing 
self, having no end but the sell 
altation and enjoyment of its 
bers, with no purpose except 
in fine houses, wear fine c 
drink choice wines, drive ab 
sumptuous equipages, and fim 
buried in great pomp under 
monuments, would be the roo 
Christian, the most despicat 
most odious of constitution 
would be stuceeiied by Commun 

The rich have apolitical 
they arc bound to be a bulws 
a tower of strength to the st 
ornament to the commonwea 
only bright, but useful ; as a 
epitaph of the seventeenth » 
designates a certain eminent 
''of Hartfoni Town t/u Siha 
ment" We presuppose in 
men of \vealth of whom we 
as a matter of course, hones 
probity. Swindlers, gambler 
honest speculators, bribe-take 
the whole set of vampires ; 
with the blood of the state ; 
individuals, are excluded. It i 
who have inherited or acquire 
wealth honestly who are aUe t» 
the state. It is not necessar} 
more into detail regarding th 
and methods in which they can 
We are content merely to ir 
their ability and obligation to 
in general terms, and pass 
other topics. 



Tkt Duties oj the Rich in Christian Society, 



755 



these other topics irlales 

ky of CaihoHc ciiizcns which 

fcrly classeti under the head 

Ileal duties, but which wc do 

Isidcr precisely as a duty to 

R as such, but as one which 

lbs owe to themselves, to their 

fersonal rights of conscience, 

'(religion. AVe call it, nevcr- 

a political duty, because it 

be performed by iheni as citi- 

fd in the exercise of their po- 

fehts. This is the duty of 

B and defending their liberty 

ccnce against any encroach- 

^ich may be attunijjted by 

ical party, or any legislation 

to the letter or spirit of our 

tal law. This duty, which 

aU Catholic citizens indis- 

:ly» devolves especially on 

lOse wealth, education, in- 

powcr, or social and |)oliti- 

Jtion gives them a special op- 

and ability to fulfil it. 

;ons are the natural chiefs 

lers of the Calholic laity; 

^n the front rank; and they 

:d to give the example, en* 

lent, and direction to the 

idy which they need and 

k for. 

can be more base and cow- 
ian for those who have a 
ace in society than their fel- 
who have ordinarily risen 
ranks of the poor, laboring 
our Catholic people, to de- 
■gard with apathy that sa- 
for which their ancestors 
and died, and for the sake 
ihey have sought an asylum 
ec country, where they have 
ccessand prosperity? Here 
pe found that inestimable 
erty of conscience, freedom 
and jiractise their religion, 
irovide for their posterity the 
doing the same. They arc 
use all the power and in- 



fluence which God has given them 
to preserve and perpetuate these 
rights, and to protect the more help- 
less classes of ilieir fellow-Catholics, 
the poor, the or\)hans, the sick, the 
outcasts of society, in the enjoyment 
of their religious rights. This in- 
cludes a great deal, first and fore 
most at the present moment is liberty 
of education. Besides this, there are 
the rights of religious instruction and 
sacraments for those who are in the 
army and navy, In hospitals, asylums, 
and prisons, and in those institutions 
where children are justly or unjustly 
placed by the civil .luthority as va- 
grants. In short, everywhere, where 
the Slate takes hold of the individual, 
or exercises a right of control over 
any lesser corporation which takes 
hold of him, in such a way tliat there 
is a chance for tyranny over his con- 
science, and the violation Dr ahridg- ' 
ment of his religious rights and liber- 
ty in the interest of sectarianism or sec- 
ularism, it is the duty of the most emi- 
nent Catholic laymen to become, to- 
gether with their bishops and priests, 
the champions of the oppressed. 

Does any one say that there is no 
need of vigilance or action, because 
there is no danger that our rights 
will be disregarded or infringed ? 
We think lie is in error, " Eternal 
vigilance is the price <ii liberty." 
And as one proof that Catholics in 
this republic have need to exer- 
cise this vigilance, wc will cite an ex- 
ample of the disastrous consequences 
which have followed from the neglect 
of it in another republic. 

The Confederation of the Swiss 
Cantons established and guaranteed 
in the most solemn and explicit man- 
ner the liberty of religion for Catho- 
lics and Protestants alike. Never- 
theless, the liberty of the Catholic 
Church has been taken away in the 
most flagrant manner, even in the 
Catholic Cantoix5 by tyrannical fed- 



756 



The Duties of ike Rich in Christian Society. 



era) and cantonal legislation. Fifty 
religious establishments were sup- 
pressed at one blow. Since that 
time, — that is, since 1848 — religious 
houses and schools have been forci- 
bly suppressed at Ascona, Lugano, 
Mendrisio, and Bellinzona, and the 
diocesan seminaries -at FoUegio and 
Aargau. Nearly all the Catholic 
schools in most of the mixed cantons 
have been changed into mixed 
schools, and in Thurgau they have 
been all suppressed. No priest can 
be admitted to the exercise of his 
functions who has studied at any 
Jesuit college. The catechism of 
the bishop in whose diocese Aargau is 
situated, the Bible History of Schus- 
ter, and the Moral Theologies of 
Gury and Kenrick, have been inter- 
dicted by the civil authority. Pro- 
hibitions have been issued against 
' missions, retreats, the publication of 
the Jubilee, and the devotions of 
the Month of Mary. In Aargau, no 
youth can embrace the ecclesiasti- 
cal state without the leave of the 
cantonal assembly, before which au- 
gust and holy tribunal he must pass 
two examinations. In the Catholic 
canton of Ticino, the cantonal as- 
sembly arrogates to itself the right of 
changing the destination of religious 
foundations, Axing and regulating 
the election, installation in benefices, 
and official functions of beneficiaries, 
erecting new parishes and abolishing 
existing ones. 1\it placet tyi the civil 
authority is requisite for all ecclesi- 
astical decrees of the bishops and the 
Pope under penalty of fines varying 
from five to five thousand francs. 
In several cantons civil marriage is 
obligatory. In short, the Catholics 
of Switzerland are in an enslaved and 
insupportable condition, as is proved 
by a memorial of the wholebody of the 
Swiss Episcopate, in which these and 
many other particulars are given.* 

• Sec Dt^Uit Rtvina for October, 1S71. 



The profession of liberalism af- 
fords no guarantee to Cathoha 
against the most flagrant and and 
oppression. Neither is there any 
security in the mere fact that the form 
of government is democratic or re- 
publican. Everywhere, as wdl in 
countries called Catholic as in those 
which are not, under republican as 
well as tmder monarchical constitu- 
tions, the price of liberty is unceas- 
ing vigilance and activity. Catho- 
lics must rely entirely on themselves, 
and not delegate the office of pro- 
tecting them to any party or ruling 
power. This is necessary in the 
United States as well as in Switzc- 
land. We do not ascribe to the ma- 
jority of the non-Catholic citizens of 
our federal republic or of any state 
a disposition to abridge our U'bertf. 
But it is not the majority which re^ 
ly governs. Principles, maxims, ar- 
guments, watch-words, measures, aic 
initiated by a few persons. Majoii- 
ties are carried along by leadeOi 
orators, writers for the press, they 
know not why, how, or toward what 
end. There is danger, therefaff, 
though not from the American peo- 
ple, from the masters of state-aafi. 
but from restless, revolutionary qiii- 
its, from violent sectarian leadcnt 
from ambitious demagogues, from 
parties which may start up and be 
violently impelled by sudden excite- 
ments. 

The conclusion of all this is, that 
the ilite of the Catholic laity are 
bound to understand the somid 
Catholic princii>les of public lav aui 
right which are involved in the reb- 
tion of liberty of conscience and re- 
ligion to the sovereignty of the state, 
under our American republican ia- 
stitutions. l^ey are bound to in- 
struct those who are uneducated i> 
their rights and obligations u citi- 
zens. They are bound to set bdbie 
the public the grounds and reason 



Travels in the Air, 



7^7 



itholic rights, as based on the 
al and divine law, and the 
ican constitution. And they 
•ound to exclude unprincipled, 
int demagogues from the lead- 
> of the Catholic people by tak- 
themselves, and in that position 
.ing with all their might every 



political scheme for giving the state 
a usurped power over conscience 
and religion. Those who are inca- 
pable of doing anything else in this 
direction can at least aid by their 
wealth the Catholic press in diffusing 
true and just ideas, and advocating 
Catholic rights. 



TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 



3UT ninety years ago, on the 
liable 2ist of November, 1783, 
'arisian world had a sensation 
I can never be repeated. On 
lay, men for the first time dared 
It themselves in a balloon, which 

be freed entirely from the 
and take, as we may say, its 

:e as to the time and manner in 

1 it was to return to it. One 
asily imagine the intense ex- 
ent and admiration which must 
filled the hearts of the specta- 
and the feelings of triumph, 
h mingled, it must needs have 

with some apprehension, on 
irt of the occupants of the car, 
larquis d'Arlandes and M, Fi- 
de Rozier, when they for the 
ime, trusting themselves to the 
)f their new machine, invented 
a few months previously, were 
d by it into the unknown region 
; clouds. Fortunately, this first 
Lscent was a success ; if it had 
Kn, who knows how long further 
imentsin aeronautics mighthave 
postponed by prohibitory laws 

the fears of men, both of which 
I certainly have been quite jus- 
e ? As it was, this first excur- 
erved as a stimulus to other at- 
3, and the number which have 



been made since then is beyond all 
estimate. It is certain, however, that 
the immense majority of them have 
been every way as successful as this 
first one was, and many, of course, 
very much more so. The danger of 
balloon ascents is really very trifling; 
accidents occur hardly once in a 
hundred times, and very seldom, when 
they do occur, involve the loss of 
life. It is hardly more dangerous 
to travel by balloon than by railway 
or steamer, and certainly very much 
more agreeable. 

If our reader desires a most con- 
vincing proof of this last statement, 
we cannot do better than to refer 
him to a book bearing the title which 
stands at the head of this article, and 
imported by Lippincott & Co. We 
must confess to having become some- 
what enthusiastic on the subject of 
balloons since reading this book, and 
hardly think any one else who even 
looks at it can fail to have something 
of the same feeling. By a mere 
glance at it one is introduced to quite 
a new world, and to read it is the 
next best thing to going up above 
the clouds one's self. It is illustrated 
by six beautiful cbromo-lithographs, 
and has a hun^^gd and twenty other 
illustrations. 



758 



Travels in the Air. 



Mr. Glaisher, the editor, is a thor- 
oughly scientific man, possessed of 
remarkable steadiness and coolness, 
as his name would imply, and as the 
accounts of his voyages sufficiently 
demonstrate. He is one of the best 
meteorologists in the world, and it is 
in the interests of science that his 
ascents have been made. But, to- 
gether with the accounts of his own 
excursions, he gives others by three 
French gentlemen, also accomplish- 
ed aeronauts, and whose enthusiasm 
on the subject almost equals our 
own, and practically perhaps sur- 
passes it, for we find that M. Tissan- 
dier seems to have had no objection 
to starting from Calais when the 
wind* was blowing straight out to- 
ward the German Ocean. These gen- 
tlemen, MM. Flammarion, De Fon- 
vielle, and Tissandier, just named, 
oflen made long journeys, landing at 
a point quite remote from that of 
starting — a thing almost out of the 
question for Mr. Glaisher, for, as he 
pathetically remarks, " whatever part 
of England we start from, in one 
hour we may be over the sea." His 
endeavor rather was, in the short 
time allotted him, to rush for the 
upper regions of the atmosphere, in 
order that he might there, as well as 
on the way up and down, make ob- 
servations on temperature, electricity, 
magnetism, sound, solar radiation, 
the spectrum, ozone, direction of 
wind (for this, as before remarked, 
his opportunity was limited), actinic 
effects of the sun, density of the 
clouds, etc., and he consequently 
went up (luile beleaguered with in- 
struments, as the illustration " Mr. 
Glaisher in the car "clearly shows. 
The cficcts of great elevation on the 
human constitution naturally did not 
escape his attention, nor that of his 
companion and aeronaut, Mr. Cox- 
well; he says that, on one occasion, 
" at the height of three miles and a 



half, Mr. CokwcII said my face was 
of a glowing purple, and higher still, 
both our faces were blue. Traly a 
pleasing state of things I" 

But three miles and a half was i 
small elevation for Mr. Glaisher. Is 
-several of his ascents, he rose to the 
height of about five miles, oa one 
occasion meeting with dense doudi 
all the way up. Certainly such clouds 
are not common, except in " our old 
home " ; but such a day as that nost 
have been even an Englishman could 
hardly have called " fine." His thiid 
ascent, on September 5, 1861, was 
the most interesting of all ; in thb ke 
rose to the astonishing height of 
j«vfl miies^ or 37,000 feet lYobabljr 
our readers have generally been ac- 
customed to see in their atlascs^bjr 
the side of the enormous congeries 
of mountains which usually fixns 
the frontispiece, a small picture 
of a balloon, with " highest pwot 
ever reached by man," or wtwds to 
that effect, appended to it, at the 
elevation of 23,000 feet ; with a rr 
ference to the name of Gay-Lusar. 
But this ascent, made on Septembn 
15, 1804, is entirely insignificant DOW, 
compared with this stupendous one, 
to a point a mile and a half shwt 
the summit of the Himalaya Monn- 
tains, into regions where only oo^ 
quarter of the atmosphere lay above 
the aeronauts, and where it was ra- 
refied about in the same proportion. 
If their faces were blue at four miles, 
what were they now ? 

The account of this ascent is very 
exciting, and at the same time places 
Mr. Glaisher's qualities as an obsen- 
er in the most favorable light la 
company with Mr. Coxwell, who wu 
his pilot as usual, he left AVolrer- 
hampton at about one o'clock, and 
attained the height of five miles in 
about fifty minutes. Hiink of ihit. 
compared with the trouble of asccm!- 
ing an Alpine peak, where, iftcr 



Travels in the Air. 



759 



houfs of most exliaustiug b- 
le can onlj' get three miles 
llie seal And Mr. GUisher, 
id of luving to strain every 
Ic ill his body, was abie to sit 
(ftnd cahnly observe the baro- 
I ihennoraeter, etc The bal- 
I was, however, revolving so 
\f that he failed in taking pho- 
^hic views. Mr. Coxwell had 
exhautiting work in the man- 
Bnt of the baJloon, and was 
for breath when they were 
miles high. For two miles 
ihowevcr, Mr. Glalsher " took 
tions with comfort." But, 
fit ih. 53m., or later," he made 
it reading ; after this he could 
jbe the divisions of the inslru- 
, and asked Mr. Coxwell to 
lead them. They probably 
keginning to think it was time 
about coming itown ; but in 
to do so, the valvc-rupc had 
puUed, and it was caught in 
;ing above, owing to the ro- 
motion of the balloon. 1'he 
meter was about ten degrees 
zero; Mr. Glaisher was fast 
g insensible, and Mr. Cox- 
hands were almost useless 
mbiiess. StUl, something had 
done, for they were rising a 
id feet every minute ; and ac- 
;ly, Mr. Coxwell climbed into 
ig of the balloon, and pulled 
i>e with his teeth. He has the 
distinction of having been five 
b feet higher above the earth 
kjiy other man, for of course 
■■mediately began to descend, 
tning back to the car, he found 
panion quite insensible ; after 
ninutcs, Mr Glaisher came to 
C OS they sank from that terri* 
Vation, to which it is probably 
ible for man safely to ascend. 
te a thoroughly scientitic man, 
is, he had observed his sensa- 
the last. First, his arms a»d 



legs gave out; and his neck became 
weak, so that his head fell over to 
one side ; he shook himself, and no- 
ticed that he " had power over the 
muscles of his back, and considera- 
bly so over those of the neck." This 
suddenly left him, however, and the 
sense of sight immediately afterward; 
as for hearing, he could not tell, as 
there was probably nothing to hear 
at that height. He fell back help- 
less, resting his shoulder on the edge 
of the car. The next words he heard 
were " temperature " and " observa- 
tion " ; it can hardly be supposed that 
these were the lirst words Mr. Cox- 
well employed to rouse him, though 
they were probably the best. Then 
"the instruments became dimly visi- 
ble." Immediately on recovering, 
he says : " 1 drew up my legs, which 
had been extended, and iiwk a pen- 
til in my hand Ui be^n ohurvations." 
Is not this character Lstic ? 

Perhaps it may not be clear bo« 
it can be proved that the height of 
seven miles was attained on this 1 
casion. It is, of course, well know| 
that the elevation of a balloon is < 
termined, as that of a mountain-peali 
usually is, by the barometer ; and 
this method is very accurate, though, 
if tliere be a rapid motion upward or 
downward, the barometer may lag a 
litde. Still, it gives the absolute 
height, and also the rate of ascent or 
descent, with sufficient accuracy fof 
all practical purposes. Ity thii in< 
strunient Mr. Glaisher had found 
that, just before he became insenBiblo^ 
they were 79,000 feet high, and as- 
cending at the rate of 1,000 feet a. 
minute ; when he recovered after iha 
lapse of thirteen minutes, they were 
26,000 feet high, and descending. 
2,000 feet a minute. These dMOi 
are sufficient to determine the great- 
est height attained ; but Mr. Coxwell 
also, on coming down irom the ring, 
happened to gUnce at the aneroid 



;6o 



Travels in the Air, 



barometer, and afterward remember- 
ed pretty nearly the direction of its 
hand ; its reading confirms the con- 
clusion got by the other method. A 
minimum thermometer agreed in the 
same result. They landed safely 
at about twenty minutes to three, 
the whole excursion having taken 
only a little over an hour and a 
half. The illustration called "Mr, 
Glaisher insensible at the height of 
seven miles " is one of the most re- 
markable in the book, and most read- 
ers will probable turn to it repeated- 
ly. It represents the supreme and 
critical moment; Mr. Coxwell is in 
the ring, and is just loosening the 
valve-rope. His hands, his compa- 
nion tells us, were black when he 
came down ; and Mr. Glaisher gene- 
rally means what he says. 

It is not every one who will care 
to compete with these gentlemen in 
making lofty ascents; and it is not 
probable that they had any merely 
ambitious motives in undertaking to 
soar so high. Mr. Glaisher's enthu- 
siasm for and interest in science are 
perfectly genuine ; and his results, 
which are of course only hinted at 
in these popular accounts which he 
gives of his excursions, are very va- 
luable. It is not likely that any one 
else could liave accomplished so much 
as he did. Still, though they were 
not le<l on by ambition, their achieve- 
ment on the occasion just mentioned 
is one which must discourage others 
who may be ; for it would be very 
difficult and dangerous to attempt to 
do purposely what they did only as 
it were accidentally, and which they 
would not have done had they known 
its peril. There are, it is true, some 
remarkable effects, such as the black- 
ening of the sky (as well as of the 
hands of the aeronauts), which cannot 
be so well attained at lower altitudes ; 
but still, substantially the same can 
be enjoyed at heights of four or five 



miles, and really the most bcaatifbl 
ones are presented as soon as we rae 
above the clouds. The efiect seems 
to us, judging from the iUustratnos, 
to be especially magical when the 
canopy (or caipet, as it may mwe 
properly be call«l from our new point 
of view) is complete, so as to reach to 
the horizon, and shut out all view or 
idea of the earth completely. Many 
of the pictures illustrate this wdL 
One would seem to lose all sense of 
height or of being in a dangeroui 
position ; the quiet sea of clouds l»- 
neath can never seem very distam, 
owing to the impossibility of judging 
of the real dimensions of its rolling 
waves; and these waves seem, l^ 
their apparent solidity yet softnen, 
almost to invite a fall. And ooe 
seems to be entirely in a new state 
of existence; the change is nme 
complete than could be obtained br 
travelling to the other side of the 
globe ; and yet it can be realized in 
the space uf five or ten minutei on 
any ordinary cloudy day. Tbcur 
above, with the dark- blue sky over- 
head, with the glorious bright sun 
in it lighting up the masses of white 
vapor below, far from all the dniL 
noise, and confusion of the lower 
sphere, what an exhilaration must the 
aeronaut feel, if indeed his eye ii 
not entirely employed on the divi- 
sions of his barometer and the pagei 
of his note-book I The idea of socb 
a vision is almost enough to make 
one's enthusiasm for ballooning equil 
that of M. de Fonvielle, who, hor- 
ever, was willing to put up even wkli 
lower elevations; for he says that in 
his younger days he " was ready W 
be shut up in a sky-rocket, provided 
that its projectile power were care 
fully calculated, and that it were jtffr 
vided with a parachute " ! If the sky- 
rocket could only be sent above the 
clouds — but, on the whole, one »ouW 
probably be calmer, enjoy the vie* 



Travffs in the Air. 



oroughly, 4nd (akc in iis va- 
atures belief, in ihe car of 
fit beautiful and majcsric, 
I somewhat unmanageable, ve- 
lvet in all respects the balloon 
anmanageablc. Its rise and 
[ be regulated with great ex- 
; and by means of the pretty 
an of ihc guide rope, due to 
rijraietl Rnglish aeronaut, Mr. 
its final fall to the earth, if a 
wind is not blowing, can be 
rery easy. This rope hangs 
iree or four hundred feet be- 
t car, and as it touches the 
, and then coils up upon it, 
jht and the descending power 
nlloon are continually and gra- 
•lessened. And by parting 
IS or ballast, the ascent and 
rcan always l>e most carefully 
d ; so much so, indeed, that 
is to be somewhat careful. 
M. Tissanilier, on making a 
ascent with no more asccnd- 
WQX at his disposal, was oblig- 
regret that he had not gone 
t his breakfast; the least little 
on of weight affects the equi- 
a so nnich that the loss of 
cken-bone which he thought- 
once threw out, he says, " cer- 
causcd us to rise from twenty 
ty yards." One can certainly 
T fall without much difficulty; 
nly danger is that too much 
lay escape after llic ballast is 
isted, or when there is only a 
supply on hand, and that the 
nt may be too rapid. Mr. Glai- 
wicc at least came down bo hard 
break nearly all his instru- 
i; but once this was in a man- 
ntcutional, for the wind had 
drifting him out toward the sea, 
'n discovering through an open- 
I the clouds that it was ahnost 
ly under him, he had only the 
latitc of coming down with a 



rush or being drowned. On another 
occasion, M. de Fonvielle descended 
with a party in the Ghtnt balloon 
in a rapid and inevitable manner, 
owing to the escape of gas; but re- 
cords, besides the breaking of ihe in- 
slmmenls, only that •*one of the 
travellers had his face covered with 
blood, another was wounded by a 
thermometer, and a third complain- 
ed of a pain in his leg." One curi- 
ous danger there is, however, about 
even a quiet descent which is worth 
noticing. The last-named gentleman 
had just made a very successful ex- 
cursion without an aeronaut ; and, on 
coming down, his grapnel had caught 
in a tree near the edge of a forest. 
The sequel shall be in his ow n words : 

" At this moment, I was deceived by 
nn optical illusion which might bAve had 
iliiriKcrous results, and I call llie attention 
uf iiijr tcadcis lo It in case they may 
ever be tempted to undertake the mail' 
agcinent of an aetostat. Let ihem never 
get out ot the car till it is fairly Linded 
upon ihe soil. Let them be perteciljr i 
sure that no solution of continuity existi 
between the car and the earth before 
tliey think of sieppibK out of it, for their 
eyes, accustomed to the immense jiropor- 
lions uf things atwve the clouds, have 
lost their power of appreciating dimen- 
sions. Objects appear so small on the 
earth's surface during a descent that great 
trees look like more blades o< gia^s. 
Al this moment I believed we had de- 
scended upon heath bushes, and vre 
were at the lop of the high trees. I had 
actually gat one leg ottt of the car, anti 
was preparing tu leap down !" 

If a strong wind is blowing, it is 
not so easy to tlescciid. The horizon- 
tal motion of the balloon is beyond 
the control of gas or ballast. M M. 
dc Fonvielle and Tissandier set out 
once in a high wind ; they came down 
on a plain, were dragged across it, and 
over the tops of some trees, which 
broke and crashed as lUey v'A'^scd -, 
again they ruined over some ^ott^Vi- 



763 



Travels in the Air. 



ed ground, where they were finally 
rescued by some peasants. What 
was their velocity during this remark- 
able trip ? On consulting maps and 
watches, they found they had come 
forty-eight miles from Paris in thir- 
ty-five minutes, or the rate of eighty 
miles an hour ; in the air, however, 
they probably travelled faster, and in 
the lost five minutes of " dragging " 
not so fast. 

But "dragging" is not the worst 
thing that can happen when there is 
a high wind. Let aeronauts beware 
how they attempt to anchor in such 
circumstances before coming toler- 
ably near to the ground, 'fhe grap- 
nel was once let out at the height of 
about sixty yards when they were 
skimming along with great velocity, 
and at first took no hold, but finally 
caught in the edge of a small pond. 
The wind, however, took revenge on 
the balloon, which now suddenly re- 
fused to obey its impulse : 

" I was busily engaged," says M. Tissan- 
dier, " in stowing atvay Ihc loose bottles, 
that might have injured us seriously in 
case of bumping, when I heard a sharp 
cracking sound, and Duruof [their pilol] 
immediately cried out, ' The bailoon has 
bunt /■ It was too true ; the Ntpltme's side 
was torn open, and transformed suddenly 
intoabundlcofshreds,flatteningdown up- 
on the opposite half. Its appearance was 
now that of a disc surrounded with a 
fringe. We came to the ground immedi- 
ately. The shock was awful. Duruof dis- 
appeared, I leaped into the hoop, which 
at tliat instant felKupon me, together with 
the remains of the balloon and all the 
contents of the car. All was darkness ; 
I felt myself rolled along the ground, and 
wondered if I had lost my sight, or if u-c 
were buried in some hole or cavern. An 
instant of quiet ensued, and then the 
loud voice of Duruof was heard exclaim- 
ing : • Now come from under there, you 
fellows !' We hastened to obey the voice 
of the commander, and found that the car 
had turned over upon us, and shut us up 
like mice in a trap !" 

What next? They had fallen 



from a height of about two huBdicd 
feet, and yet were not much bruised: 
but the very wind that had caused 
their disaster helped them out of it; 
in fact, their balloon was transformed 
into a kind of gigantic kite, and let 
them down pretty easily. 

But let us get up above the clouds 
again. That is the place really to 
enjoy life. Once there, one hardlf 
thinks about coming down or its diffi- 
culties; the earth is out of sight, and 
almost out of mind. We are sailing 
along, perhaps at a quicker rate than 
that of an express train ; but the mo* 
tion is as imperceptible as that im- 
mensely more rapid one of the 
magnificent planetary projectile 00 
which we are whirling through spice. 
For the clouds are moving with us, 
and, though they are breaking up and 
changing their forms, we cannot see 
that they move as a mass. Occasion- 
ally, through a break, we may see the 
earth, or be saluted from it, as U. 
Flammarion once was to his great sur- 
prise, by cries of " A balloon ! a bal- 
loon!" when he was quite unaware ot' 
there being any hole through which the 
balloon could be seen. Sounds,!^' 
the way, will go up much better thaa 
they will come down ; the rcasgo 01' 
this is the lesser density of tJie air 
above. Of course we feel no «^ 
for the wind is taking us with it: 10 
that even the cold at any ordinaiy 
height and at any season usual ur 
ballooning is not troublciume. 
Sometimes, indeed, it is warmer aloli 
than below ; on the occasion of the 
eighty-mile-per-hour voyage, jo« 
mentioned, the thermometer was ac- 
tually at eighty-two degrees at the 
height of a litUe over half a mile, 
while below it stood at fifty-tive. 
The balloon is as steady as the Rock 
of Gibraltar; M. Flammarion as^ 
sures us that he once filled a tumbler 
with water till it was brimming over, 
so that not another drop could be 



Travtis in ike Air. 



?6i 



but not a drop was spilled 
[tjovemcnt of their vehicle, 
it was travelling with the 
a locomotive, and altemate- 
anrl tailing to the extent of 
undred yards. 

ccounl of a journey from 
> Prussia, made in a beauli- 
. light summer night, gives a 
iighcful idea of this most 
I of all modes of travelling. 

Paris about iwo hours bc- 
M, and had a fine afternoon 
e weather was cloudy, and 
e on at half-|)ast nine; but 
hat ? One is quite sufwrior 
1 a balloon, or, if not, may 
::omc so. They throw out 
inlUst, and rise above the 
I. The cloud soon breaks 
ling that it cannot erabar- 
' movements, and the coun- 
Uh becomes visible. They 
ght light in a hou&e, and 
lounU of dance music played 
:bescra. It is a ball. 'J'hey 
^ frontier at Rocroi. The 
its fortifications are dimly 
he moonlight. No cxami- 
f passports or luggage for 
[)n another excursion, how- 

flrc told, when they were 
ong near the ground, two 
n rode up in hot haste, 
Hit, *♦ Vt>s ptusr-potis, met- 
but were dismissed with a 
[tiest to step up and verify 
Ktmpanieil by a shower of 

The nioon comes out 
*s they enter Belgium, 
I orer the Meuse, and M. 
bn greets enthusiastically 
of his youth : 

fbl liver. I welcome ihee ! 
hanks, on ibe old roountain 
riooks (hy fcitile )>Iaiti, I was 
le did 1 ibink. whilst playing 
|i»h gnme wiihin s<^und o( tiic 
~^" -Tipple, that I should some 
Tlhy stream suspended lo 



thU hghr, aerial globe I Thy peacclul 
vraiers How lowaids ilic Rbinc and tba 
North Sea, into wbicb ihcy fall, and aro 
lost for ever. Thus is it with our own 
brief existence, dowing towards the re- 
gions of cold and tnysicry, lo vanish 
some day in that tinkoown occao into 
which WG iBusi all descend." 

Certainly, it is a pity that he takes 
such a gloomy view of life. 

The pilot, M. Godard, rouses him 
from his reverie. 

" Sec, men ami. how beautiful this Is f 
Do not dream uf days ^onu by. Arc not 
tho» the lights of .N'amur, sumi: six or 
eight lL-aguc5 dislaiil? \\\<\ sec. iheio 
is lluy. and ticyond it a^aio Lii^cl 
Mere we Are right over Belgium, and we 
may cross a corner of Hollaad, perhaps, 
tMfore we enter Prussia !" 

The Belgian blastfurnaces soon 
light up the landscape beneath lhein> 
and the'noiscs of the workshops, niiii- 
gletl with the deep sound of the river, 
rise lo their ears. 

The dawn begins to break. In 
fact, through the whole night a faint 
gleam of twilight has been seen in 
the north ; but now it begins to take 
effect on the clouds and air around 
them. The light increases. 

"Although ihc air above is more or 
leu veiled by light misi^, wc can ili^itn- 
guish the country brforc Ihtei: o'clock x% 
cicaily as at mid-day. Uur course foU 
lows the edge of some considerable for- 
ests situated on our right h.ind. These 
pKiins (.iro ihcy plains?) have a very dif- 
ferent aspect from thos« on French lerri- 
lorr. In place of tliv regular patches of 
fields which lie upon the surface in paral- 
lel lines, the country bete is composed 
of fields of every size and form, like the 
various provinces on a colored map ; 
most of which aiu sturrounded by hedges 
111 thcv are in Enghnd." 

They are wafted along intn Prus- 
sia. On the right, Luxemburg and 
Treves arc visible; on the left, Hol- 
land, even lo ihe shore of Oic North 

Sea. 



764 



Travels in the Air. 



"The Rhine floors along with its silver 
ripple in the distance. . . . All na- 
ture is silent, save from time to time the 
timid chirping of some little bird ; when, 
suddenly, a vast golden streak of light 
breaks forth from the east, and caresses 
the highest clouds of the atmosphere, 
clothing them in rosy and golden tints." 

The illustration representing this 
sunrise is magnificent, as the sight 
must have been in the highest de- 
gree. What could be more inspiring 
than to be borne along amid the glo- 
rious clouds of morning toward the 
rising sun — the cheering influence of 
whose beams the balloon itself seems 
to feel, as, dried and expanded by 
their heat, it rises proudly into the 
sky — with the Rhine glistening be- 
fore us, and the green plains and fo- 
rests of Germany inviting us to con- 
tinue our voyage ? 

They hear the sound of church- 
bells, and, soon after, that of cannon. 

" From minute to minute the voice of 
this gracious apparatus of civilization 
and progress growled among the clouds. 
It was the artillery of MUlheim preparing 
itself for the next war. 

" The ancient city of Cologne forms be- 
neath us a regular semicircle soldered to 
the left bank of the Rhine. Unless one 
examined it attentively, it might be taken 
for a mode rate- si /.ed snail sticking to the 
thin branch of a tree." 

Poor M. Flammarion thought he 
was going to enjoy his sail some time 
longer, perhaps all day. But his in- 
exorable aeronaut thought different- 
ly. There was very little ballast and 
no breakfast; it was probable that 
the wind would rise, and that they 
would come to grief. His word was 
law ; so the valve-rope was pulled, 
the French flag run up, and 
down they came at Solingen, near 
Diisseldorf, 330 miles from Paris, 
which distance had been accom- 
plished in twelve hours and a half. 
The good-natured Germans rushed 



up to help them; the greatest diffi- 
culty was to prevent them froiD 
smoking near the balloon. 

This journey is a fair example of 
what balloon travelling may be in 
skilful hands. Of course it has its 
disadvantages. The principal one is 
obvious ; that you can only go just 
where the wind will take you ; but 
there is an advantage corresponding 
to this in the quietness and steadi- 
ness of the motion, and it is not at 
all improbable that, with the rapid 
advances which are being made ctxi- 
tinually in the science of meteorology, 
the laws of winds will be ascertained 
sufficiently to enable the aeronaut to 
find one which will carry him in the 
general direction in which he wants 
to go, on most occasions, by choosing 
a proper elevation. Certainly this 
can often be done, as in the cast 
of M. Tissandier's trip from Calu 
over the German Ocean. A lower 
breeze brought them back to land 
'llie difficulty remaining is that of 
changing our elevation. On the 
present system, this requires a loss of 
gas or ballast, which cannot be kept 
up indefinitely. An ingenious pUo 
has been proposed by Gen. Meusoier 
— to have a double balloon, one out- 
side the other: the inner one is filled 
with gas, the space between the t«o 
with air; into the outer one more 
air is forced by an air-pump when »e 
wish to descend, and allowed to es- 
cape when we wish to rise. The 
compressed air is itself hcaWer than 
the air surrounding, and the_ com- 
pressed gas in the inner balloon ii 
also less buoyant than before. This 
is applying the principle of the blad- 
der of the fish to aerostatics. The 
Giant was constructed on this plan, 
but it does not appear that the prac- 
ticability of using it in this way *« 
ever tested. 

Still, notwithstanding the great 
utility and advantages of the ballooB 



Travels in the Air. 



TfiJS 



axul simple, we certainly shall 
r be able to lay out our course 

it with all tlic accuracy that 
1 be desired, and it is probable 
wc shall never he able to bring 
>wn precisely at the point we 
to reach. To accomplish this, 
kust have something that will go 
ist the wind; tve must have 
tiling which lakes hold on the 
we must, in &hori, be able to fly. 
ould be noticed, however, that a 
5 machine, witen invented, will 
fccessarily supersede the balloon ; 
tl have its advantages, and the 
on will have its own ; probably, 
jcre pleasure travelling, the lat- 
Ul always be preferable, or ccr- 
r would be except for the incon- 
nces attending lis landing, es- 
lly when the wind is high. 
may be said, perliaps, as above, 
jring machine, when invented " \ 
I really seems as if some practi- 
Lventionof this kind must before 

be realized. Jt can hardly be 
ted that the bird must be the 
cl, to some extent, of its con- 
tiou; and it would seem to be 
k while to lake instantaneous 
^graphs of birds in flight, in 

to discover what really are the 
ons which the wing successive- 
isumes. The photographs of 
lind.of men watking.which have 
token, told us a great deal 
1 we did not know before about 
vemcni which seems so very fa- 
r and easy. It seems proljable, 
regard to Hying, as M. Klara- 
in intimates, that the impulse is 
y sudden one, at least during a 
of the stroke ; so that the thin 
ing medium has, as it were, a 
In kind of solidity .ind firmness. 
rious machines for flying have 
made, and a tolerable success at- 
1 One i.s lately reported in 
delphio. There seems to be no 
Hibility in taking up enough 



force, at least by the aid of balloon 
power, to give a considerable velocity 
in a calm to our air-ship; but ie 
may as yet lie doubted whether it 
would be able to contend against the 
ordinary velocity which winds have 
even a short distance above the sur- 
face of the earth. In Mr. Giaisher's ■ 
ascents, the wind was blowing, on I 
the average, four times as fast above 
as below. This could generally be 
avoided by keeping near the ground. 

But alter all, what aspiring man 
really longs for is not to have a fly- 
ing machine to carry him, but to 
have his own wings, and some power 
strong enough to move thera. With 
the motive powers known at present, 
this se^ms to be beyond our reach ; 
but who knows ? Heat and motion 
are now understood to be converti- 
ble, and jwrhaps the suo'a rays may 
yet be found powerful enough to 
raise us into the air. But then — 
look out for clouds. The sun melt- 
Ctt the wings of Icarus; the shade 
would melt ouis. 

Flying may yet be realized ; and 
it is well enough to look forward to 
what may be in store in the future; 
but let us also not undervalue what 
we already have. The beauty of the 
form of the balloon necessarily implies 
a certain perfection in it, as the majes- 
ty of a fuU-rigged line- of- battle ship 
clearly shows a perfection which no 
actual results gained by chcese-bo.x. 
Monitors can ever gainsay. Our 
present air-ship is a noble product of 
human genius, and its resources are 
by no means yet exhausted. 

Even a captive balloon is not a 
bad afTair, and may be used for travel- 
ling purposes, though it may seem a 
contradiction to say so. A " captive" 
is simply one which is fastened by a 
rope so that it cannot ascend above 
a certain height. If fastened to a 
fixed object, it serves only as a means 
to take people up foe ^ view or to 



7^6 



Trttveis in thi Air. 



make scientific observatioDS : but if 
attached to a inoving body, it is a 
very pleasant vehicle to ride in, or 
could easily be made so. Our 
French aeronauts were once pulled 
in this way through the streets of a 
town, and at another time were towed 
for some distance at the height of 
five hundred feet by a number of 
their excitable countrymen. But it 
must be acknowledged that on the 
whole a captive is not so pleasant to 
ride in as a free balloon. Besides 
the feeling of exultation accompany- 
ing a free ascent, it also has the ad- 
vantage of being really a great deal 
more comfortable. The captive, be- 
ing restrained by the rope, feels the 
full force of whatever wind there 
is, and is moreover apt to be tip- 
ped over considerably when the 
breeze is strong. Nevertheless, go- 
ing up in one is a tolerably popular 
amusement when the opportunity is 
offered, though hardly enough so to 
make it profitable for the proprietors. 
This is one of the miserable diffi- 
culties about the pursuit of science, 
that experiments cost something, and 
often it is very troublesome to raise 
the necessary funds. Free ascen- 
sions have, however, been common 
enough for a good deal more to have 
been accomplished in the way of ex- 
periment and observation than has 
usually been the case, and Mr. Glai- 
sher*s example deserves to be gen- 



erally followed. The balloon itseU 
may do a good deal towards the in- 
vestigatioa of the laws of the atmo- 
spheric currents, the knowledge of 
which would be so useful for its own 
guidance, as well as in answering 
questions concerning storms and cli- 
mate. Mr. Glaisher, on January 1 2, 
1864, met with a warm current of air 
from the southwest, more than half a 
mile in depth ; and he considers that 
this may, perhaps, be an aerial Gulf 
Stream, and increase the warming ef- 
fect which that celebrated current no 
doubt produces on the western and 
northern coasts of £urope. 

But we must not dwell longer on 
his scientific results, or those of his 
friends on the other side of the Chao- 
neL In fact, it is time that ve 
should come down from die clouds, 
and occupy ourselves with the a&in 
of this base and grovelling lover 
world. We should like to do it 
gradually, but, as is the case with tbe 
balloon itself, our descent must needs 
be accompanied by something of a 
shock. It is with difficulty that we 
can persuade ourselves to quit, eren 
in imagination, those magnificent ^^ 
gions so near to us and yet practical- 
ly so far away; which aU of us awhf 
see even now in ten minutes if oar 
balloon was ready — would that it 
were ! — and which, if the art t^HyrBg 
progresses with due rapidity, we any 
yet see some time before we die. 



The Leper of the City ef Aosta, 




LEPER OF THE CITY OF AOSTA. 



THE COUNT XAVIKR DE IJAISTKE. 



1letmaU*rAMt*wi unehrne, naiiuo* Ujiba qoiooale toujovn I"— Lam 



*' Ah ) lltllo think iha e«v, liccniloui proud 
Whom iilc«Mir«, power, aoil affluooc* surround r— 
Ah t little think they, wlxik iFiey dxnce alociK, 
How many piacl— bow many drink the cup 
Of baleful gricfl —how man; akaka 
With all the iorctr tortum vi Ltae mlod T'— TiioMSim. 



part of the city of 
iw nearly deserted, and 

have been never very 
pled. Cultivated fields 
rs may be seen, hedged 
ide by the ancient bul- 

thc Romans raised ajs a 
he other by garden fences, 
r spot, however, atfords 

to interest the traveller. 
ate of the city are the 

old castle, in which, if 
ition is to be relied on, 
I de Chalans, infuriated 
left his wife, the Princess 
iganza, to die of hunger, 
th century. Hence the 
minafan^ which signifies 
njvr, given to this castle 
e around. This iradi- 
niay be disputed, gives 
» the ruins in the eyes of 
isibilicy. 

1 steps further on is a 
, built of the marble that 
1 the antique walls be- 
I called the Hold of Tcr- 
it is commonly believed 
rd. The ancient dames 
( still remember seeing a 
robed in white, with a 
r hand, issue frum the 
nights. 

ars ago, this tower 




was repaired by the order of the' 
government, and surrounded by aa 
enclosure, for the purpose of lodging^ 
a leper, through fear of contagion if V 
left at large, and at the same time 
affording him every comfort his sad 
condition allowed. The Hospital of 
St. Maurice was ordered to supply m 
his wants. It furnished hiro with^ 
some articles of furniture and the im- 
plements for cultivating a garden, 
Here he lived for a long time, lefl^ 
completely to himself, and never .sec- ™ 
ing any one, except the priest who 
came from time to lime to administer 
the con.solaiions of religion, and the 
man who. every week, brought hint J 
his provisions from the hospital. V 

During the war in the .Alps in the 
year 1797, a soldier, who was in the ■ 
city of Aosta, happened to pass byf 
the leper's garden. The gate was 
ajar, and he had the curiosity to 
enter. He saw a roan in a simple 
garb, leaning against a tree, as if lost 
in profound meditation. At the 
sound of the otVicer's stepis, tlie re- 
cluse, without turning around or look- 
ing up, cried in a sad tone : " Who is 
tlierc? and what do ynu wish ?'* 

•' Excuse a stranger," replied the 

soldier, " whom the attractive ap- | 

pearancc of your garden has induced | 

to commit an indiscretion, but who I 




768 



Tht Leptr of the City of Aosta. 



by no means wishes to disturb 
you." 

"Do not come any nearer," re- 
plied the inmate <-i the tower, mo- 
tioning him back with his hand. 
"Come no nearer: you are in the 
presence of an unfortunate being af- 
flicted with leprosy." 

"Whatever may be your misfor- 
tune," replied the traveller, " I shall 
not go away. I have never shunned 
the unfortunate. But, if my presence 
annoys you, I am ready to with- 
draw." 

"You are welcome," replied the 
leper, suddenly turning around. 
" Remain, if you have the courage 
after looking at me." 

The officer remained for some time 
motionless with astonishment at the 
frightful aspect of the unfortunate 
man so completely disfigured by le- 
prosy. 

" I willingly remain," said he, " if 
you will accept the visit of a man led 
here by chance, but detained by a 
lively interest." 

" Interest ! — I have never excited 
anything but pity." 

" I should be happy to offer you 
any consolation." 

" It is a great one to behold a hu- 
man face and hear the sound of a 
human voice, for every one flies from 
me." 

" Allow me, then, to converse with 
you awhile and to visit your 
house." 

"Very willingly, if it can afford 
you any pleasure." Saying which, 
the leper put on a large felt hat, the 
flattened brim of which covered his 
face. "Go to the south," added he. 
"The few flowers I cultivate may 
please you. There are some rather 
rare. I have procured the seeds of 
every kind that grow among the 
Alps, and try to make them grow 
double and more beautiful by culti- 
vation." 



" You have flowers which are in- 
deed entirely new to me." 

" Look at this little rose-bush. It 
is a rose without thorns, which odI^ 
grows on the higher Alps, but it ii 
already losing its peculiarity, and put- 
ting forth thorns in proportion to its 
cultivation and growth." 

" It should be considered the em- 
blem of ingratitude." 

"If any of these flowers pleue 
you, you can take them without any 
fear: you will incur no danger hj 
gathering them. I sowed the seed 
I uke pleasure in watering them utd 
looking at them, but I never touch 
them." 

" Why not ?" 

" I fear I might infect them, and 
should no longer dare give them to 
any one." 

" For whom do you raise ihcm T 

" The people who bring me food 
from the hospital are not afraid to 
gather them. And sometimes chil- 
dren from the city stop before mr 
garden-gate. I immediately ascend 
the tower, for fear of frightening or 
infecting them. They look up u 
they go away, ami say with a smik; 
*Good-by, Leper/ and that gives mc 
a little pleasure." 

" You have succeeded in coUectng 
quite a variety of plants; and m 
have vines yonder, and several kiad> 
ot iruii-trccs." 

" The trees are stiil young. I «« 
them cut myself, as well as that 
grape-vine, which I have trained 
to the top of the old wall, you see: 
it is thick enough for me to w^k oo, 
and is my favorite resort. — Go np 
on these stones. I am the atcbi- 
tect of this staircase. Hold oa to 
the wall." 

" A charming nook I the very place 
for a hermit to meditate in 1" 

" It suits me, too. I can see the 
country around, the laborers in the 
fields, and all that is going on in Ac 



Tht Leper of the Ciiy of Aosta. 



V, and no one can sec 

It is a delightrully quid shd se- 
ed place. You are in the city, 
yet might (ancy yourself in a 

Forests and cliflb are not the only 
rts of the solitary. The unfortu- 
are alone everywhere." 
What succession of events brought 
to this retreat ? Are you a na- 
of this country ?" 
[ was born on the scacoast in 
>rincipahty of Oncglia, and have 
lived here fifteen years. As to 
history, it is only one long sue- 
on of calamities." 
Have you always lived alone ?" 
[ lost my parents in my infancy, 
do not remember them. I had 
sister who died two years ago. 
ircr had a friend." 
Poor man !" 

[t was the will of God." 
►Vhat is your name, pray ?" 
\h 1 my name is a terrible one ! 
II myself Thf Lefier f No one 
ic wide world kno»^ the name I 
ed from my family, or that which 
«ivcd on thed.iyof my baptism. 
1 75i/ I^per, and this is the only 
I have to human kindness. May 

main for ever unknown who I 

» 

[>id the sister you lost live with 

Wie remained five years with me 
)r present habitation. As unfor- 
le as I, she participated in my 
W8, and I endeavored to allevi- 

'^a\v do you employ yourself in 
utter solitude ?" 

The details of my lonely life 
i only be very monotonous to 
n of the world who seeks happi- 
[d the activity of social life." 
\h \ you lilrle know the worhl — 
; never made me hap]>y. I am 
solitary firom choice, and there 



may be more similarity in our ideas 
than you suppose. .A,nd yet, I ac- 
knowledge, perpetual solitude fright- 
ens me. 1 can hardly conceive it 
endurable." 

"'The celt continually dwelt in 
groweth sweet/ says Tlie JFolhw'tng of 
Christ. 1 am beginning to realize 
the truth of these consoling words. 
Loneliness is also relieved by labor. 
.\ labon'ous man is never absolutely 
unhappy, as I know by experience. 
During the pleasant season, the cul- 
tivation of my flowers and vegetables 
is a suflicient occupation. In the 
winter I make baskets and mats. I 
try to make my clothes. I daily pre- 
pare my own food from the supplies 
brought me from the hospital, and 
prayer fills up the vacant hours. 
Thus the year passes, and, when gone, 
it seems sliort." 

" I should think it would seem a 
century." 

".Affliction and sorrow make the 
hours appear long, but the years al- 
ways fly with the same rapidity. Re- 
sides, there is one enjoyment left in 
the lowest depths of misfortune which 
but few can understand, and may 
seem strange to you — that of li\-ing 
and breathing. In warm weather, 
I pass whole days motionless on the 
ramparts, enjnying the air and the 
beauties of nature : my thoughts are 
vague and fluctuating; sadness dwells 
in my heart witliout oppressing it ; 
my eyes wander around the country, 
and linger on the rocks that surround 
us ; all these objects arc so imprinted 
on my memory that they form, as it 
were, a p.irt of myself: each site is a 
fricntl I greet with pleasure every 
day." 

'* I have often experienced some- 
thing of this kind. When trouble 
depresses me, and I do not find in 
the hearts of others what my own 
craves, the aspect of nature and in- 
animate objects consoles me. 1 be- 



I 



I 
I 
I 



77© 



The Leper of the City of Aosta. 



come attached to the very rocks and 
trees, and it seems to me that all 
created things are friends whom God 
his given me." 

" You encourage me to explain, in 
my turn, what passes within me. I 
have a genuine affection for the ob- 
jects that are, so to speak, my daily 
companions, and every night, before 
going to my tower, I come here to 
take leave of the glaciers of Ruitorts, 
the dense woods of Mont St Ber* 
nard, and the fantastic peaks that 
overlook the valley of the Rhine. 
Though the power of God is as evi- 
dent in the creation of an ant as in 
that of the whole universe, the grand 
spectacle of yonder mountains fills 
me with greater awe. I cannot look 
at those lofty elevations, covered 
with eternal glaciers, without being 
filled with solemn wonder. But in 
the vast landscape spread out before 
me, I have favorite views to which I 
turn with special pleasure. Among 
these is the hermitage you see yon- 
der on the top of Mount Charven- 
sod. Alone in the woods, near a de- 
serted pasture, it catches the last rays 
of the setting sun. Though I have 
never been there, I feel a peculiar 
pleasure in looking at it. When the 
daylight is fading away, seated in my 
garden, I turn my eyes toward tliat 
lonely hermitage, to seek rest for my 
imagination. I have learned to look 
upon it as a kind of property. It 
seems as if I had some confused re- 
miniscence of once living there in 
happier days whicli I cannot fully 
recall. I love especially to gaze at 
.the distant mountains, which look Hkc 
a cloud on the horizon. Distance, 
tike the future, inspires me with hope. 
My overburdened heart imagines 
.there may be a far-off land where, 
at some future time, I may at length 
taste the happiness for which I sigli, 
.and which a secret instinct is con- 
■Stantly assuring me is possible." 



"With such an ardent soi 

yours, you must have passed thr 
many struggles in resigning yoi 
to your lot, instead of yielding t 
spair." 

" I should deceive you in alk 
you to think I have always bee 
signed to my lot I have not a 
ed that self-abnegation to i 
some anchorites have arrived, 
entire sacrifice of all human afic 
has not yet been accomplished, 
life has been one continual coi 
and the powerful influences ol 
gion itself are not always able i 
press the flights of nay imagioi 
It oflen draws me, in spite of m 
into a whirlpo3l of vain desires, i 
tend toward a world I have no k 
ledge of, but strange visions of « 
are ever present to torment me." 

" If you could read my soul 
learn my opinion of the work 
your desires and your regrets i 
instantly vanish." 

" Books have vainly taught 
the perversity of mankind, anij 
misfortunes inseparable from hui 
ty : my heart refuses to believe t 
I am continually representing 
myself circles of sincere and \ 
ous friends ; suitable marriages fu 
the happiness resulting from he 
youth, and fortune. I imagine i 
wandering together through gi 
greener and fresher than the 
above me, with a sun more du 
than that which brightens my w 
and their lot seems worthy of 
in proportion to the misery of n 
At the beginning of spring, whei 
wind from Piedmont blows thr 
our valley, I feel its vivifying wa 
penetrating me, and a thrill p 
over me in spile of myself. I 
an inexplicable desire, anu a 
fused notion of a boundless h. 
ness that I am capable of enjo; 
but which is denied me. Then 
from my cell, and wander in tbefi 



The Leper of Uu City of Aosta. 



in 



nay breatlie more freely. I 
he very sight of the men 
ny heart longs to embrace, 
a tlic top of the hill, conccal- 
ng the bushes hke a wild 
gaze towards the city of Aos- 
Ih envious eyes 1 sec at'ar ofl' 
y inhabitants, to whom I am 
known. I stretch forth my 
wanilsthcni, and, with groans, 
my share of hap[(iness. In 
ly — shall I aclinowledge it ? — 
Mmctimcs thrown my anns 
the trees of the forest, im- 
Almighty God to infuse life 
n that I may have a friend ! 
trees make no response, their 
\ repels me, they have no- 
common with my throbbing 
'hich is aflame. Overcome 
le, weary of life, I drag my- 
: agahi to iny asylum, I lay 
icnis before God, and prayer 
somewhat of calmness to my 

)>oor, unfortunate man, you 
once all the ills of soul and 

latter are not the most sc- 

Q you arc sometimes freed 
m?" 

ry month they increase an<l 
I with the moon. I general- 
most at its first appearance. 
^ase then abates and seems 
gc its symptoms : my skin 
ry and white, and 1 feel ncar- 
But ray malady would be 
le but for the terrible wake- 
X produces." 
Kt ! does even sleep abandon 

t sir, the sleepless, sleepless 
You have no idea how long 
tliey are when I cannot get 
lent's sleep, and my mind 
n my frightful situation — with 
■ for the future. No ! no one 
alize it. My restlessness in- 



creases as the night advances, and, 
when nearly at an end, my nervous- 
ness is almost unendurable : my 
mird is confused. I experience an 
extraordinary sensation that never 
comes over me but at such sad mo- 
ments. Sometimes it seems as if an 
irresistible power was drawing mc 
down into a bottomless gulf: some- 
times I sec black clouds before my 
eyes, but while I am examining them 
tlicy cross each other with the quick- 
ness of lightning , they grow larger as 
they approach, and then look like 
mountains ready to overwhelm me 
with their weight At other times, I 
behold clouds issuing from the earth 
beneath me hke swelling waves, 
which rise one above the other and 
threaten to engulf mc; and, when I 
wish to rise in order to ihro% off 
these sensations, I feel chained down 
by some invisible force that renders 
mc powerless. Yuu will perhaps 
think these are dreams ; but you are 
mistaken. I am really awake. T sec 
all this again and again, and with a 
sensation of horror that surpasses all 
my other sufferings." 

*' It is possible you arc feverish 
during these long, sleepless nights, 
and this, perhaps, causes a kind of 
delirium." 

" You think this may be the result 
of fever? Ah! I wish it might be 
true. Until now I liavc feared these 
visions were symptoms of madness, 
and I acknowledge tliis greatly wor- 
ried me. Would to God they were 
the effects of fever !'* 

'* Your case inspires mc with a 
lively interest. I acknowledge that 
1 had never imagined anything like 
your situation. I suppose, however, 
it was less sad when your sister was 
living." 

" God alone knows what a loss 
her death was to mc. But are you 
not afraid to come so near mc ? Sit 
down there on '^^^ ^^^^ *^^ ^ **^ 



m 



The Leper of the City of Aosfa. 



conceal myself beneath the vines, "so 
we can talk without seeing each 
other." 

"Why so? No, you shall not 
leave me. Come nearer." In say- 
ing these words the traveller involun- 
tarily put out his hand to take the 
Leper's, but the latter hastily with- 
drew his. 

" Imprudent man! You were go- 
ing to take hold of my hand !" 

" Well, I would have pressed it 
heartily." 

" It would have been the first time 
such a happiness was granted me : 
my hand was never pressed by any 
one." 

" What ! Have you never formed 
any ties, except the sister of whom 
you have spoken — never been loved 
by «ny of your own condition ?" 

" Happily for the human race, 
there is not another in my condition 
on the earth." 

" You make me shudder." 

" Pardon me, compassionate stran- 
ger! You know the unhappy love 
to speak of their misfortunes." 

" Go on, go on ; you interest me. 
You said your sister lived with you, 
and aided you in bearing your suffer- 
ings." 

" She was the only tie that bound 
me to the rest of mankind ! It pleas- 
ed God to break it, and thus leave 
me isolated and alone in the midst 
of the world. Her soul was ripe for 
the heaven where she now is, and 
her example sustained me under the 
discouragement which has often over- 
whelmed me since her death. But 
we did not live in that delightful in- 
timacy which 1 so often imagine, 
and which siiould bind together the 
unfortunate. The nature of our dis- 
ease deprived us of this consolation. 
When we came together to pray, 
we avoided looking at one another, 
for fear the sad spectacle might dis- 
turb our meditations : our souls alone 



were united before God. After prty 
er, my sister generally retired to her 
cell or beneath the nut-trees at the 
end of the garden, and we li^xl al* 
most constantly apart." 

" But why did you impose so cruel 
a restraint upon yourselves ?" 

" When -my sister was attacked 
with the contagious disease to which 
all our family were victims, and came 
to share my asylum, we had never 
seen one another. Her fright was 
extreme when she beheld me for the 
first time. The fear of afflicting her, 
and still more of increasing her ma- 
lady by approaching her, made mc 
resolve on this sad kind of a life. 
The leprosy had only attackeii her 
breast, and I had still some hopes of 
her being cured. You see the re- 
mains of a neglected trellis : it was 
then covered with a hop-vine that I 
trained with care, and divided the 
garden into two parts. On each side 
of this, I made a little path when 
we could walk and converse together 
without seeing or coming too near 
each other." 

" It would almost seem as if hea- 
ven wished to embitter the sad plea- 
sures it still left you." 

" But at least I was not then alone. 
My sister's presence gave some cheer- 
fulness to my asylum. I could heat 
the sounds of her steps. When I re- 
turned, at dawn, to pray beaeath 
these trees, the door of the tower 
would softly open, and my sister's 
voice would imperceptibly mingle 
with mine. In the evening, when I 
watered my garden, she sometimes 
walked here at sunset, in the same 
place where we now are, and I could 
sec her shadow pass and repass over 
my flowers. Even when I did no* 
see her, there were everywhere tficei 
of her presence. Sometimes it w» 
only a withered flower in the pftlh. 
or some branch of a shrub she M 
dropped, but now I am aloae, there 



I 



ler movement nor life around 
id the path that led to licr 
c grove is already overgrown 
n^ Without appearing to 
uoe, she was constantly &tu- 
mfBX cotild afiurd me pleasure. 
Bretumed to my chamber, I 
iaetimes surprised to find vas- 
resh flonxrs, or some fine fruit 
d taken care of herself. I did 
KC render her similar services, 
Ml even begged her never to 
ny chamber, but who can jilace 
I to a sister's afteclion ? One 
K alone will give you an idea 
Kkve for me. 1 was walking 
' up and down my cell one 

rnenteU with fearfvil sufTer- 
ihe middle of the night, 
sitting down a moment to 
heard a slight noise at xhc 
1 approathcd— listened — ini- 
tny astonish uu-iu : it was ray 
orha was praying on the out- 
{ my door. She had hcani 
oans. She was afraid of an- 
; me, but wi5hc<i to be at hand 
«ded any assistance. I heard 
peating the Miserere in a low 
i kaelt down by ilic door, 
rithout interrupting her, men- 
bllowed her words. My eyes 
of tears : who would not 
1 touched by so much affec- 
iThen her prayer was ended, 
a low tone: 'Good-night, 
Dd-night : go to bed, I feel 
better. May God bless and 
I you for your piety I* She re- 
,n silence, and her prayer was 
answered, fur I at last enjoyed 
yiours of quiet sleep." 
Wt sad must have been the 
Ht after your beloved si>iter's 

^naincd for a long time in a 
Bt"Por that deprived me n^ 
:uUy of realizing the extent of 
fortimc. \Vlien at length I 
myself, and was nbte to 



comprehend my situation, my reason 
almost left mc. li was a season 
doubly sad for me, for it recalls the 
greatest of my misfortunes, and the 
crime that came near resulting from 
it." 

'* Crime ! I cannot believe you 
capable of one.' 

*' It is only too true, and, in giving 
you an account of that period of ray 
life, I feel too sensibly I shall fall in 
your estimation; but L do not wish to 
appear better than I am, and perhaps 
you will pily while condemning me. 
The idea of voluntarily leaving this 
world had already occurred to mc in 
several fits of melancholy, but the 
fear of God had hitherto made mc 
repel the thought. The simplest cir- 
cumstance, and apparently the least 
calculated to trouble me, came near 
causing my eternal loss. I liatl just 
experienced a new aH^ictton. A 
little dog had been given us some 
years previous. My sister was fond 
of him, and alter her death the poor 
animal was, 1 acknowledge, a real 
comfort to mc. We were, I suppose, 
indebted to his ugliness foe his mak- 
ing our house his refuge. He hatl 
been rejected by everybody else, but 
was a treasure in the asylum of a 
leper. In gratitude to God for the 
favor of such a friend, my sister call- 
ed bira Miracif, and bis name — such 
a contrast to his ugliness — and hit 
constant friskiness often dispelled 
our sorrows. In spite of my care, he 
sometimes got out, and it never oc- 
curred to mc it might injure any one. 
Itut some of the inhabiti-mts of the 
town became alarmed, tliinking he 
might bring among them the germ 
of my disease. They sent a com- 
plaint to the commander, who order- 
ed the dog to be killed immcdiaieVy. 
Some soldiers followed by scveTaV 
civilians came here at otvcc to exi 
cute this cruel order. "VVv^"^ V^^ 
cord around \v\s n^ck w^ ^^Y V*"^' 



774 



The Leper ef the City of Aosta. 



and dragged him away. I could not 
help looking at him once more as he 
was going out of the gate ; his eyes 
were turned towards me, as if to beg 
the assistance which it was not in my 
power to give. They wished to 
drown him in the Doire, but the 
crowd waiting on the outside stoned 
him to death. I heard his cries, and 
took refuge in my tower more dead 
rhan alive; my trembling knees re- 
fused to support me: I threw myself 
on my bed in a state impossible to 
describe. My grief made me regard 
the just though severe order only as 
a cruelty as atrocious as it was 
needless, and, though I am now 
ashamed of the feeling that then ex- 
cited me, I cannot yet think of it 
with coolness. I passed the whole 
day in the greatest agitation. I had 
been deprived of the only living 
thing I had, and this new blow re- 
opened all the wounds of my heart. 

" Such was my condition when, 
that same day, towards sunset, I 
came here, and seated myself on the 
very rock where you are now sitting. 
I had been meditating awlllle on ray 
sad lot, when I saw a newly-married 
couple appear yonder, near the two 
birches at the end of the hedge. 
They came along the foot-path 
through the meadow, and passed by 
me. The sweet peace that an assured 
happiness confers was imprinted on 
their handsome faces. They were 
walking slowly arm-in-arm. All at 
once they stopped ; the young wo- 
man leaned her head upon her hus- 
band's breast, who clasped her in his 
arms with joy. Shall I confess it? 
Knvy for the first time penetrated my 
heart. Suclx a picture of happiness 
had never struck me before, 1 fol- 
lowed them with my eyes to the end 
of the meadow. They were nearly 
hidden by the trees when I heard a 
joyful cry. It came fro.Ti the united 
families who were coming to meet 



them. Old men, women, and diH* 
dren surrounded them. I heard i 
confused murmur of joy. I saw 
among the trees the bright colon of 
their dresses, and the whole group 
seemed enveloped in a cloud of hap- 
piness. I could not endure the sight: 
the torments of hell seized hold of 
my heart I turned away my eyo, 
and fled to my cell. O God ! how 
frightfully lonely and gkK>my it seen- 
ed. ' It is here, then,' I said to my- 
self — ' I am to live for ever here. 
After dragging out a wretched exist- 
ence, I must await the long-delayed 
end of my hfe 1 The Almighty hu 
diffused happiness, and in torrenti. 
among all living creatures, and I— I 
alone ! — am without support, without 
friends, without a companion. — Whit 
a terrible destiny I' 

*' Full of these sad thoughts, I for- 
got there is one Being who is the 
Comforter. I was beside mysdC 
' Why,' I said to myself, * was I pennit- 
ted to behold the light ? Why has 
Nature been so cruel a step-mother to 
me ?' Like a disinherited child, I 
saw before me the rich patrimony of 
the human race, of my share of which 
heaven had defrauded me. *No. 
no,* I cried in my fury, * there is no 
happiness for thee on earth. Cease. 
then, to live, poor wretch! Thoo 
hast disgraced the earth long enoogh 
with thy presence : would it might 
swallow thee up and leave no trace 
of thy miserable existence." Mr 
fury continuing to increase, a niadL 
desire to destroy m)-se1f took pos — 
session of my mind. I resolved < — ■ 
last to set fire to my dwelling, «"^" 
allow myself to be burned up in *" 
with everything else that might rccaj^ 
my memory. Excited and enra; 
I went forth into the fields. 1 
dercd for some time in the dark) 
around my dwelling. I gave vent 
my overburdened heart in involi 
tary shrieks, and frightened myie^' 



The Leper of the City of Aosta. 



77% 



s silence of ihc night. I re- 
?d full of rage, crying: 'Woe 
icc, Leper! Woe to thee!' 
as if everj'thing consjiiretl for 
cstruciion, 1 heard the echo 
the ruins of the Chdteaii dc 
ifan repeating dtsrinclly : * Woe 
ccV I stopped, seircd with 
r, at the door of the tower, and 
t echo from the mountains xc- 
i a long lime after, ' Woe to 

took a lamp, and, resolved to set 

o my dwelling, went into the 

C room, carrying with me some 

and dr\' branches. It was the 

my sister occupied, and I had 

Uered it since her death. Her 

,ir was in tlic same spot where 

id it for the last time. I shiv- 

iili fear at the sight of her veil 

roe of her clothing scattered 

» The last wonis she uttered 

her departure came back to 

IkI : * I shall not forsake you 

I die : remeiubcr, I shall 

be with you in your sulTer- 

Placing tlie lamp on lite 

I perceived the cord which 

cross slic wore on her neck. 

9 placed it herself within her 

I drew back, filled with awe 

sight. The depths of the 

into which I was about to 

were at once revealed to my 

id eyes. Trembling, I aji- 

ed the sacred volume. * Here, 

cried, * is the aid she prom- 

;!' Drawing the cross from 

bk, I found a sealed note 

my dear sister had left for me. 

Sara, which grief had not 

allowed me lo shed, now 

in torrents: alt my detcst- 

Djccts vanished at once. I 

the precious letter to my 

long lime before t could read 

, falling on my knees to im- 

ic divine mercy, I sobbingly 

^ words that will be for ever 



graven on my heart : ' Brother, I 
shall soon leave you, but not forsake 
you. From heaven, which I hope lo 
enter, I will watch over you, praying 
God to give you the courage to 
endure life with resignation nil it 
pleases him to reunite us in another 
world. Then I shall be able lo bliow 
you how much I loved you. Noth- 
ing will prevent me any longer from 
approaching you: nothing can sepa- 
rate us. I leave you the little cross 
I have worn all my life. It has often 
consoled me in my sorrows and been 
the only witness of my tears. Re- 
member, when you look upon it, that 
my last prayer was that you mighl 
live and die a good Christian.' 

" Cherished letter ! it shall never 
leave mc. I will carry it with me to 
the grave. It will open to nie the 
gates of heaven which my crime 
wuuld have closed for ever. When 1 
liad finished reading it, I felt faint, 
exhausted by all I had undergone. 
My sight grew dim, and, fur some 
time, I lost both the remembrance 
of my miiifortuncsand the cunsciuus- 
ness of existence. When I came to 
myself, the night was far advanced. 
In proportion to the clearness of my 
mind, 1 experienced a feeling of pro- 
found peace. All that hud taken 
place the evening before seemed like 
a dream. My hr^t impuUe wa^s to 
raise my eyes heavenward in tlianks- 
giving for having been preserved 
from the greatest of misfortunes. 
The heavens had never appearetl so 
serene and glorious : one star before 
my window outshone the rest. J 
gazed at it a long time nith inex- 
(iressible delight, thanking God foi 
granting mc the pleasure of l>eiiold' 
ing it, and felt interiorly consoled at 
the thought that some uC ivs rays 
were permitted to cheer ^^"^'^ '^^Qwaij 
home of the Leper. 

" 1 went up 10 my ct\\ \^ ^^=^ 
franie- I spj.nt tbe reit,;^v*-ve^'^^^ 



776 



Tk£ Leptr of t/te City of Aosta. 



night in reading the Book of Job, 
md the sublimity of his thoughts at 
length entirely dispelled the gloomy 
ideas that had beset me. 1 never 
experienced such fearful moments 
during my sister's life. To feel her 
near me made me at once calmer, 
and the very thought of the affection 
lihe had for me afforded me consola- 
tion, and inspired me with courage. 

" Compassionate stranger ! may 
God preserve you from ever being 
obliged to live alone! My sister 
and my companion is no more. But 
heaven will grant me the strength to 
endure life courageously ; it will 
grant it, I trust, for I pray for it with 
all the earnestness of my heart." 

" How old was your sister when 
she died ?" 

" She was barely twenty-five, but 
her sufferings made her look much 
older. In spite of her fatal disease, 
which changed her features, she 
would have been handsome, had it 
not been for her frightful pallor, the 
result of a living death which made 
nie groan whenever I looked at her." 
"She died quite young ?" 
" Her delicate and feeble constitu- 
tion could not resist so many suffer- 
ings combined ; for some time I had 
perceived her loss inevitable. Her lot 
was so sad that I could not desire 
her to live. Seeing her daily lan- 
guishing and wasting away, I felt, 
with a fearful kind of joy, that the 
end of her sufferings was approach- 
ing. For a month she had been 
growing weaker; frequent swoons 
were constantly threatening her life. 
One evening (it was about the first 
of August) I saw her so weak that I 
was unwilling to leave her. She was 
in her arm-chair, not having been 
able to lie down for several days, I 
seated myself near her, and in the 
profound darkness we held our last 
conversation. I could not restrain 
my tears. A sad presentiment agi- 



tated me. * Why do you weep ?' she 
said. ' Why distress yourself? I 
shall not forsake you when I die. I 
shall always be with you in yoursuT* 
ferings.' 

'* A few moments afler, she express- 
ed a desire to be carried out of the 
tower, that she might offer her pray- 
ers in the grove of nut-trees where 
she passed the greater part of the 
pleasant season. * I wish,* she said, 
' to die looking at the heavens.' 
But I did not imagine her end so 
near. I was about to take her io 
my arms, when she said, * Only sup- 
port me. I am, perhaps, strong 
enough to walk.' 1 led her slowly 
to the nut-trees. I made a cushion 
of the dry leaves she herself had 
gathered together, and, covering ber 
head with a veil to screen her froa 
the dampness of the night, I seated 
myself near her. But she desired to 
be left alone during her last mediu- 
tion, and I went to a distance, but 
without losing sight of her. From 
time to time, I could see the fluucr 
of her veil and her wliite luiid> 
raised to heaven. When I drew ticai 
the grove, she asked for some water. 
I carried her some in a cup. She 
wet her hps, but could not swalio*- 
' I feel the end has come,* said she. 
turning her head. * My thirst «ill 
soon be assuaged for ever. Suppon 
me, brother : aid me in crosang this 
gulf — so long desired, but so terri- 
ble. Support me, and say the pray- 
ers for the dying.' These were her 
last words. 1 drew her head against 
my breast, and said the prayer for 
the departing soul : • Go forth from 
this world, my beloved sister, and 
leave thy mortal remains in my arms '. 
I held her in this way for three 
hours, during the last throes of na- 
ture. At length, she quietly passed 
away, and her soul left the earth 
without a struggle." 
At the end of this account, the 



On iMt Pfrisent Conditinn of the Holy Father. yy^ 



overed bis fecc with his hands. 
by deprived the traveller of 
wer of speaking. After a 
;'s silence, the Leper rose. 
;er," said he, " when grief or 
a comes over you, think of 
er of the city of Aosta, and 
it will not have been a use- 

n 

walked towards the garden- 
Vs the officer was about to go 

put his glove on his right 
' You have never pressed any 
nd," said he. " Do me the 

press mine. It is the hand 
;nd who is deeply interested 
lot." 

Leper drew back some steps 
ind of terror, and, raising his 
d hands towards heaven, he 
' O God of goodness ! pour 



down thy blessings on this compas- 
sionate man I" 

" Grant me another favor, then," 
resumed the traveller. " I am going 
away. We may not sec each other 
again for a long time. Can we not 
Mrrite one another sometimes, with the 
necessary precautions ? Such a cor- 
respondence might divert you, and 
it would afford me great plea- 
sure." 

The Leper re0ected for some time. 
At length he said, " Why should I 
cherish any delusion ? I ought to 
have no oUier society but myself, no 
friend but God. We shall meet in his 
presence. Farewell, kind stranger, 
may you be happy ! Farewell for 
ever !" The traveller went out — ^the 
Leper closed the door and drew the 
bolts. 



'HE PRESENT CONDITION OF THE HOLY FATHER. 



FIOM lA CIVILTA CATTOLICA. 



fourteen months ago, a 
was made in the Bft/a J^'a, 
sntry effected into Rome in 
e of Italy. 

lachinations of those who ef- 
lat entry in order to subvert 
ority of the Pope are still at 
id most assiduously, in en- 
g'to convey the impression 
act of theirs now stands be- 

world simply as an accom- 
act, and as such is, if not ap- 
at least tolerated by those 
tterested in contesting it. 
;y endeavor to delude the 
ul lull to sleep the misgiv- 
Catholics; for in order to 
and strengthen this impres- 



sion there is scarcely a stratagem or 
subterfuge to which the government 
{itself the author of the fact) does 
not resort, through the journalism 
notoriously in its pay, not only 
throughout the Peninsula, but else- 
where. 

This government, which sprang 
from accomplished facts 9x\^ falsehoods ^ 
hopes by means of these same accom- 
plished facts and falsehoods to jilace 
on a firm foundation its sway in the 
Campidoglw^ which now rests on a 
very insecure footing ; therefore it 
endeavors to persuade the world, and 
especially Catholics, that the Su- 
preme Poniiffj while in its hands and 
under the \aw of ^^ Guarantees, is 



778 



On tfu Present dmditton of tkt Holy Fatktr. 



actually more at liberty, more inde- 
pendent in action, and more useful to 
the church, than he was when he 
reigned as a sovereign prince and 
was bona-fide ruler in his own state. 

The absurdity of this claim is mani- 
fest ; but what absurdity is there of 
which the government of the Sub- 
alpinists in Italy does not avail it- 
self, in order to attach credit to it- 
self, by means of the arts learned in 
the school of its great father and 
master, Bonaparte ? 

It is important, therefore, or rather 
we should say it is absolutely neces- 
sary, that an honest and Christian 
journalism should perseveringly op- 
pose manifest truths to this intermin- 
able repetition of falsehoods, paid for 
by the Subalpine rulers, respecting 
the present condition of the Holy Fa- 
ther; and thus, by ventilating fraud, 
undeceive simple and credulous 
minds. 

With this intention, we shall in 
few but veracious strokes of the pen 
describe the undisguised reality of 
the state in which the head of the 
church, the Supreme Pontiff, Pius IX., 
finds himself at the present moment 
in Rome, six months after the solemn 
publication of the laws of the Guar- 
anUes. 

II. 

We assert, then, that the Pope en- 
dures imprisonment in Rome at the 
hands of the Subalpinists, and that 
his captivity, instead of being mitiga- 
ted, is every day aggravated. This 
is proved by the following facts : 

I. He is in the hands of an itiimi- 
(alpower, or, as he himself has defined 
it, he is sub hostili domhiaiiotu eonsHtu- 
tus. Now, he who is in the hands of 
an enemy, however much that enemy 
may affect humanity and regard to- 
wards him, is beyond all contradic- 
tion his prisoner. 



%. The Holy Father fell into the 
hands of this inimical power through 
sheer force. This is rendered en- 
dent by the formal declaration made 
by the Subalpine ministers before 
taking up arms against him, in which 
they affirmed that to invade or take 
Rome with bomb-shells and cannom 
would be an act contrary to the 
rights of nations, an act so iniquitous 
that it would be unworthy even of a 
barbarian government: yet in the 
very face of these declarations they 
did take Rome with the argument of 
bomb-shells and cannons, and witb 
the same argument they continue to 
occupy it. 

3. llie Holy Father, being in the 
hands of an inimical power, which 
has dispossessed him by violence of 
all sovereignty, and substituted iB 
own in lieu of his, is now by this 
same power subjected to ever)- kind 
of ridicule in his double majirsty at 
pontiff and as king : burlesque hon- 
ors are proposed to him. whkh 
would by preference be offered U 
him publicly, in order to induce: the 
idea that the Holy Father, by ac- 
cepting them, is reconciled to the 
government, and hxs basely ceded lo 
it the inalienable rights of God, of 
the church, and of the Catholic worid. 
Moreover, the obligation resting oft 
the Sovereign Pontiff of presenini 
his OH'n dignity keeps him shut upii 
the Vatican : the outer doors of 
which are guarded hi a ^puirj oj ham 
formed of the self-same vTetcbed 
soldiery who, led on by Suba!piiK 
leaders, made the breach in the Ari> 
Pia^ and struck lo the earth his on 
sovereign banner in Rome. 

4. Finally : The inimical pover ii 
whose hands the Holy Father bo« 
finds himself is. either from weoknof 
or malice, incapable of protecting hs 
august person from any kind c^ it- 
suit. So that, supj>osuig it to bt 
moraJfy possible kx him wiUiout am 



Oh tht Present Condition of the Holy Father, 



779 



^ his dignity to leave the 
3^ of the Vatican, yel would a 
fa/ obstacle present itself in the 
^and dangers, ihroatening life 
to which he would be exposed 
ihe crowds of cut-tliroats, athc- 
nd the lowest rabble of every 
ry, which this power has con- 
ted together and maintains in 
f, to represent in that city the 
e of the pliSbiscite ; that is, a 
e hostile to the Papacy and re- 
js tu its throne. 

;se are the principal facts which 
clearly demonstrate the stale of 
iooment into which the Sov- 
1 Pontiff was throxvn, by the 
\ of the aoth September, 1S70, 
own city of Rome: and we defy 
r sophistry of all the journalists, 
:ians, anfl diplomatists of the 
[inent, seated as it is in tlie 
olis of the Catholic world, 
y it. without denying the light 
|un at mid-day. 
des this, that the captivity of 
&ly Father has been at;grava- 
ring these fourteen months is 
,d felt by every one who is not 
the influence of the Subal- 
those men who have carrie<l 
fronlcry to the length of plac- 
ceiiire of their government in 
} of Rome itself, and with one 
laws of ^/(jrcrff/v for the in- 
iice of the Pope have arro- 
[D themselves the ri^ht of im- 
the future conditions of his 
e in the Vatican, as if they 
ic rulers of Ihe Holy See. 
cr considers the forces of nior- 
matennl hostility that these 
inbts have accumulated in 
against hi<t prcrog.ttives, can- 
to perceive that the rights 
in this cily arc most readily 
under foot, are, after those 
those of the Pope : ami the 
who is the most insultetl 
is, after that of Christ, precise- 



ly the person of the Sovereign Pon- 
tif}', Pius lX.,4ifcrfeJ sovftrij^n attd in- 
violahU, by the law, as the person of 
the king himself. 

From this it follo^vs that the Holy 
Father is at the present moineiit the 
legal prisoner, in Rome, of the Sub- 
alpinc government, since by the 
aforenamed laws, termed those of 
the Guarantees, not only has iliati 
government confirmed the violen 
spoliation of himself, but, in spite of 
the opinion of the world, has dare 
to justify the act by dcfming in those* 
laws the limits of the liberty it 
intends to coiiceile to him. This is 
neither more nor less than the usage 
commonly observed towards a pris- 
oner of state or of war. 

13y this means, the present condi- 
tion of the Pontiff in his own Rome is 
in truth that of the strictest impnson- 
raent by the anti- Christian sect, 
headed by the government of the 
Subalpinists now lording it over 
luly. 

III. 

Neither is the Holy Father, Pius 
IX., the prisoner of &n inimical 
power solely on account of his civil 
prerogatives : it is hi^; ccclesia.stical 
jurisdiction that is aimed at more 
than anything eJse: while usurping 
the regal crown, it seeks eiiually to 
abolish the Papal tiara; and, if, after 
having barbarously dis|K)5sessed him 
of his kingdom, it does not also make 
a barbarous assault on the majesty 
of his Pontificate, this reserve arises 
only from the hindrance occasioned 
by very strong and extrinsic causes, 
and not from good-will or any other 
than a reprobate sentiment. 

'lliis profound enmity of the Subal 
pine ndcrs to the Pope as the supreme 
pastor of the Catholic Church is so 
well-kno\vi\ as to need no demon- 
stration. Yet for superabundance 



7«o 



On ihe Present CoHdiiion of ike Holy Father. 



of proof, we will say that it is 
shown: 

I. fiy all that has been previously 
done against Catholicity for twenty- 
two years past in Piedmont, and for 
half that time throughout the rest of 
Italy, by the faction to wluch these 
rulers belong — a faction whose poli- 
tics are expressed by an obsti- 
nate war, sometimes of a Julianistic 
character, sometimes of that of a 
Nero — a war which attacks directly 
or indirectly the church itself, and all 
connected with it, and this in such a 
manner as to render it palpable 
that not even the Unity of Italy is 
desired for its own sake, but rather 
as a means by which to work the de- 
struction of Catholicity and the over- 
throw of the Papacy, 

3. It is shown by the special man- 
date which the Subalpine faction 
superintending the Masonic gov- 
ernment of the Peninsula have re- 
ceived from the General Masonic 
Order — a mandate bidding them be- 
come the immediate (because prox- 
imate) instruments of the downfall 
of Papal Rome, the centre of the 
Catholic Church ; and which then 
bids them proceed to the utter spoli- 
ation of the Sovereign Pontiff him- 
self — two events which it hopes 
will lead (if that were possible) to 
the annihilation of Catholicity, that 
being the ultimate end of all the 
conspiracies of the order. 

3. It is shown by the open con- 
fessions made in Rome, throughout 
Italy, and in all Europe, by journal- 
ists united by the bonds of faction 
to our Subalpine patrons ; and evea 
more by the discovery, lately made, 
that persecution is already well es- 
tablished in Rome against every- 
thing ecclesiastical or Catholic — 
whether in things or persons. 

From these facts, it is demonstrated 
that the Holy Father is now the pri- 
soner in Rome of a government 



which in his person hates above 
everything, and as far as it dan 
makes war against, his prerogadvts 
as Pontiff, and as Head of the Catho- 
lic Apostolic and Roman religioa 
Pius IX. is in the hands <^ Turb 
embittered to the last degree: 
Against him and his tiara every tool 
is made use of, and with equal skill— 
whether it be cannons or sophisOy, 
buffoonery or the j udgment-hall. 
the pick-axe or calumny. 

IV. 

llie war of Nero carried oa 
against the Holy Father and the 
church is at the present roomeot 
tempered by the war of Julian. It 
was for this purpose that our Sulnl- 
Ijiuists devised the law of die 
Guarantees, behind which they kno« 
how to mask the ugliness of iheit 
rascalities, at least for a time. " Do 
you see ?" they exclaim in every tone, 
and have had written in every lan- 
guage : " We have surrounded ibe 
Pope with so many priviie^es that the 
like was never seen. Of what do yoi 
complain, O you insatiable Catho- 
lics ? Have we not constituted the 
Pope inviolable as is the king ? 
What more would you have ?" 

We would have — simply that ibe 
Pope should be inviolable, becau« 
he is a king in earnest truth, ani noi 
a mere semblance of one. But to 
this question of to-day concerning 
tlie sovereign and personal invlcila- 
bility of the Pope, facts are the hssi 
reply. Tliesc show that pra^'Hcalh 
lie is as inviolable as the first article 
of the statute, and has been invio- 
lable throughout the kingdom. 

This privilege of inviulability ina- 
plics that the person sovereignK 
inviolable can, in no manner whatso- 
ever, be publicly insulted witiiaut 
the offenders being repressed by 
force and punished according to U*< 



R' Mj &rst, it is a notorious 
every day the sheets be- 
this faction, not excepting 
of the govenimcnt through- 
skingdora, nnj particularly in 

insult, hold up to derision, 
ilify the inviolable person of 
pc : and that he is exposed to 
5 by means of most infamous 
urcs ; and all thix with impu- 
For it is nolorious that news- 
are very rarely sequestrated on 
It of this continuous and gcn- 
»ntraveniion of the laws of the 
Dices ; and up to this period 
angle sentence has been issued 
the tribunals again^it the in- 

of his Pontifical Majesty. 
B other hand, the cxchcquLT 
bt rigorous against any one 
ted of insulting the royal 
y through the press j chief- 
wevcr, against the Catholic 
lists who defend the invio- 
i*oniyr. Thus (a filling com- 
■y), of ten law-suits against 
rre by means of the [iress, 
are commonly to the preju- 

Catholics accused of offences 
: the king or of illicit voting, 
violabilily of ihe Holy Vather, 
re, practically lesolvcs ilself 
le fact that everj- miscreant 
suit him with impunity, while 
angerous for on honest Cath- 

defcnd him through the press. 

a notorious fact, and of very 
»t occurrence, that groups of 
men, es« aped from every Jtal- 
Icy, stroll along the avenues, 
shameful verses, nay, even 
ng ones, in regard to the Su- 

Ponliff, and it is no rare thing 

rabble to provoke and utter 

f a chnracier most outraging 
>ame and honor. And yet the 

ever ready to hinder similar 
» in regard to the king, be- 

deaf or soften do^vn the 
lihen they hear the Holy Fa- 



ther vituperated in this fiishion. "Ho 
one has ever been ancsted for such 
a crime, and no one has ever been 
cited before the tribunals. The iti- 
violabilily of the Holy Father, we re- 
peat it, consists practically in the 
freedom with which every vagabond 
is permitted publicly to insult liim. 

3. It is a notorious fact that large 
bands of these miscreants have often 
gathered together beneath the walls 
of the Papal palace lo load the guard 
stationed inside with foul language, 
that guard being placed there by the 
consent of the laws of the Guarantees 
lo the Pope. Yei here they hurl 
their blasphemies and imprecations 
against the sanctity of the Pope, in 
the very hearing of the ^uarii of hon- 
or placed there by the government, 
and these have never been known to 
discompose themselves on this ac- 
count even to the extent of a gesture 
of disapprobation toward the rogues 
thus possessed by the devil. Yet woe 
to the wretch who sliould cuinmit 
any such atrocity at the portals of the 
Qutrinal, when inhabited by certain 
other inviolable persons in the king- 
dom of the Subalpinists ! Therefore, 
once more: the inviolability of the 
Pontiff is practically converted into a 
tacit license for the lowest rabble to 
insult his person beneath the very 
portals and under the windows of 
the Vatican. 

We might enumerate many other 
facts, equally well known, to demon 
slrate how little is the practical value 
of the sovereign inviolability decreed 
to the captive Pope; but let those 
already brought forward suffice. 
These l>eing admitted, it will be under* 
stooJ that his Holiness, thanks to the 
distinguished privilege conferred on 
him by our Subalpine gentlemen, noi 
only could not make hU a-vV^^^^'^^ 
in the streets of his own Ko^^*^ WaVomX. 
manifest x\^ of life, ^ux \,c ^"^VV^^ 
even desc<in.\ ^^ "^^^ ^^^^^*^ ^ 



-Ife <Mike Pnseml Condiiion of the Holy Fathir. 



: 3> ^ t iKMui asacred fimcdon, 
«OKrac rtporang himself to con- 
3axK*y Jibl iBsak by the very side 
JK it F«ers tomb, and even on the 
iitat Tsrit" The ocxninenccs of the 
jtit December, 1870, in the vestibule 
(It the PcMitifical residence; of the 
todx March, 1S71, within the Gesik; 
ami of the ajd, 24th, 25th Au- 
jpistr dcse to the Lateran and the 
Chuich of Maria soprd Minerva, con- 
ban what ve assert 

This* then, in its veritable reality, is 
dbe present condition of Pope Pius 
IX in Rome, after the oft-repeated 
pr.*mut£ati(m of the law declaring 
iim XB inviolable sovereign like to 
3ktf &^. 

Sjt mar the salaried apologists 
cc cor patrons treat these matters as 
a >ri£ ia order to exculpate them- 
%\^<s oom so horrible an abomina- 
Bsea. F^cts are facts, while words 
an; ^ut breath. The most irrefuta- 
tiC asccf prove that if our Holy Fa- 
rikcr were to show himself publicly in 
diK- Rome of to-day, uncivilized as 
:c » bv these Subalpine rulers, the 
tTMCuieat he would receive would 
^c no other than such as is given 
aii* w the clergy as to the most 
ShSy thin^is nay, to Christ himself, 
is Ufce bles«vl sacrament of the altar. 
Now. it cannot be denied, for the 
Roohia ioamals attest it, citing days, 
tJiK. plAce*. niraes and surnames, 
viBcu e\«y day priests or religious, 
>«s;x>(w Of ivwUtes, iire attacked or 
i; *><\i la the uwst ix>puIous districts 
s?< Kotiw; that almost every day 
>jsor\-\i rtwk^ Atrr stoned or profan- 
xxx *: '.V N\s:tt.ft* of the streets ; and 
yv'C u;-..\\;.u-u;ly the adorable eu- 
v'-^«<. *"wa Ivme as a viaticum to 
l^ **t» IS exjH>sed to mockery in 
;V iHfc>«c sqiuiv. even by those who 
»<gi muiiar>' biulges; and all this 
vsx^iTi »iA the tacit consent of the 
odk<f» cHjwv^ *'"*^ keeping order 
ia the city* uo one of whom has ever 



imprisoned a single person guilty of 
such misdeeds. And after that tbey 
would have us believe that Pope 
Pius IX. would be safe either in the 
city or in the Vatican from the out- 
rages or even from the blow of these 
most cinlized gentlemen who fonn 
the new Roman people I 

Be silent, as long as we lire, 
whited sepulchres. — race fit only to 
patronize assassins t 

V. 

Moreover, the Holy Father, Iqr 
the noble munificence of his jailen, 
is reduced to that degree of poverty 
that, were it not for the oblations of 
the faithful, he must either pine 
in misery or suffer the degradation 
of his majesty, llie glorious con- 
querors of Rome have taken evay- 
thing from him, excepting the Vaticaa 
And if, up to this time, they have re- 
frained from sacking this edifice, it is 
owing to that vetc of potentates 
which, as yet, has forbidden then 
access to it. Jugglers are in posses- 
sion of the Quirinal ; and they drew 
near to the public treasury of the 
Pontificate with the sword of guai- 
dianship. In one flash of lightnioj. 
the Pope saw himself deprived of 
everything. With a simple substito- 
tion of voters, the Pontifical estate is 
become the Subalpine estate — a mag- 
nificent example ! since then magni- 
ficently imitated by the Commune 
of Paris ! 

Is is true that, in their law of the 
Guarantees, they have deigned to as- 
sign to him a species of civil to 
amounting Co several millions of lire. 
But this was done for the sake of 
appearance alone ; for well ihej" 
knew that, in practice, this artick 
would have precisely the same cBcci 
as that other article prescribing iht 
famous inviolability. How in fiv^ 
could these persons, who for five-anil 



Oh tht Pttsent ConditioH of tht Holy Father. 



783 



years have known the magna- 
l^rmiiess of cliaracler of Pius 
irrsuade themselves that he 
kiwer his dignity to accept an 
from their criminal and sacri- 
i hands, in conipcnsatlun for 
ngdom they have taken from 
They understood beforehand 
his would be impossible, be- 
even admitting that the Holy 
Ir had been willing to admit 
Bivil list, under the title of res- 
in, a thing not unlawful in iisclf 
^e without prejudice to his 
they perccivetl only too clear- 
he could not have done so In 
ff the malignant interpreta- 
hich would have followed the 
isioning an immense scandal 
raor ; as if the Tope by reixiv- 
modicum of that property the 
of which belongs to htm by 
bad conceded the rest, over 
he has imineinurial claims, 
matter, however, took such a 
I that these brave gentlemen 
ample field In which to dis- 
ge figures, and even to ac- 
thc name of prodigality in of- 
round numbers to their vic- 
Ycs, imleed, they were prodi- 
ike unto those who offered 
;^r to the crucified Saviour 
k1, ever adorable in his provi- 
has so disposed events that 
larts of Catholics throughout 
■Jd have been moved to cora- 
ate their father in chains, and 
jold of tlieir filial charity has 
led so wonderfully in his hands, 
has been able to succor most 
lily those of his faithful ser- 
ho have fallen into straits for 
ice' sake, together with many 
t persons who have no olh- 
Ource for a livelihood than the 
jf the imprisoned I'onliff. 
glor)' of this munificence is 
God alune, and the merit of 
be ascribed to the failh of 



good Christians. On the other 
hand, the infamy of having embitter- 
ed the captivity of the Holy Father, 
by reducing him, with the Sacred 
College and his whole court, to a 
stale of absolute want, if he woultl 
not wear the appearance of dishon- 
or, this belongs exclusively to the 
Subalpine rulers, who at the foot of 
the Campidoglio are enjoying ihe 
spoils of the Pontificate, as the cruci- 
fiers on Mount Calvary enjoyed Ihe 
spoils obtained by rending the gar- 
ments of Christ. 

The jailers, and the fiiends and 
servants of the jailers of the Holy 
Father, boast very much of the am- 
ple liberty he enjoys, which he can 
use during his imprisonment for the 
regulation of the ctmrch and for per- 
forming his office as Pope. 

Let us examine a Uttle in what 
this charming liberty consists. This 
at the ver>- first glance resolves itself 
into the following very clear formula : 
The Pope is at liberty to do that — 
and that alone — which the inimical 
power whose prisoner he ts permits 
him to do. 

And, in point of fact, the Holy Fa- 
ther is under this power, which holds 
him ill its hands, being sub hostiUm 
poUstatcm rcdaitvz^ as he himself late- 
ly expressed it again in the Encycli- 
cal of May 15, 1871, in which he 
formally repudiates the Guarantees 
offered hinx in excliange for his prin- 
cipality. He who is under is depen- 
denty and can tlo only tliat to which 
he who is above consents. Thus the 
liberty of the Pope is subject to the 
limits which the inimical jxiwer, his 
oppressor, pleases to impose on him. 
And this same law of the Guarantees 
is the proof of tlic fact, inasmuch as 
it contains only a concession of hy- 
pothetical privilege*- Buv \\e Mw 



784 



Oh ike Present Condition of the Holy Father, 



concedes accounts himself superior to 
him to whom the concession is grant- 
ed. Whence the true measure of 
the liberty of Pius IX. as Pope, is 
now simply the arbitrary will of Ita- 
lian Masonry, governed by the Sub- 
alpinists. This is a certain fact as 
to matters in general. 

With regard to particulars, the 
Holy Father uses such liberty as he 
owes to his own courage and dili- 
gence, and the inimical power, his 
jailer, cannot hinder him, though it 
would willingly do so, because a 
power stronger than itself, or certain 
human respects, forbid such opposi- 
tion. As, for example, the Subal- 
pine patrons would gladly hinder his 
Holiness from publishing bulls or en- 
cyclicals, in condemnation of their 
lofty enterprises against God, reli- 
gion, and the Apostolic See. His 
Holiness, not being at liberty to pub- 
lish them in Rome under their very 
nose, sends them out of Italy to be 
printed, and in this way publishes 
them. 

Now, what can these very liberal 
gentlemen do in a case like this ? 
Drag the Pope before the courts, 
and imprison him in the Castle of St. 
Angelo ? Most willingly would they 
do this; but the rulers of Europe 
would oppose it. There is, then, no 
rourse left to them except to inter- 
dict the publication of them within 
the state by sequestrating the papers 
which reprint these acts of the Pope ; 
and this they did with the Encyclical 
of November i, 1870. If for others 
of later appearance they have shut 
their eyes and left them to their 
course, it has been because they have 
at last been obliged to pay some re- 
gard to public opinion, and have 
found their account in putting on a 
semblance of toleration. 

In a similar manner, the Holy Fa- 
ther, finding that the Subalpine 
masters trumpeted forth loudly to 



the world that he was left at liberty 
in the creation of bishops throughout 
Italy, embraced the opportunity to 
exercise his right and to fulfil his 
duty. With prudence certainly, but 
yet with boldness, he ad(lres.setl him- 
self t« the woric. The matter was vm 
displeasing to our gentlemen. Bui 
how were they to hinder it ? ilwj 
wanted to give the Christian world 
to understand that they are hooon* 
ble men, not only in the modcn 
sense of the word, but also some* 
what in the ancient sense : they want* 
ed to prove that they knew how 10 
keep their word without being com- ^ 
pelled by cannons so to do. So j6r 
this time it does not appear that ther 
will refuse entrance into their dioces- 
es to the new pastors. 

But thieves and loyalists as ther 
are, they have taken advantage (rf 
this act of the Holy Father, turning 
it to their own interest by cowardly 
proclaiming in every direction that 
the Holy Father, by thus using the 
privileges comprised in the law of 
the Guarantees respecting the indnc- 
tion of bishops into their sees, hai 
ipso facto, (ucepted their law, and 
thus retracted his refusal of the 15th 
of May, 1871, and thus (accordingto 
them) the conciliation between them- 
selves and the Holy See is in good 
progress ; and it will not be long be- 
fore the august Pontiff will give up 
his kingly crown into the hands cf 
John Lanza : and in this manner the 
Italy of the Subalpinists will enjoy 
the distinguished honor of having 
the supreme head of the church for 
the court-chaplain, and most humble 
servant of his ministers : an honor 
certainly due to their merits as against 
faith, morality, and Catholic wor- 
ship. 

ill is attempt at imposition is the 
more senseless in that it supposes 
that the Holy Father had no other 
right to nominate the bishops tba 



Ott ttu I*r£Sint CoHdiiion of the Holy Father. 



785 



Ue privilege; trhilc the con- 
thc caiie : the insertion of the 

these nominations is merely 
sge granlcH by the Pope : and 

that the I'ojje has not thus 
ted the Subalpine gentlemen 
of their own territory proves 
!, far from accepting their 
UceSy does not even recognize 
s juridically masters of the 
in which they compiled the 
mts. 

he senselessness of the at- 
I imposition serves to prove 
termined they arc to prevent 
y Father &xmi exercising any 
trty. 

VII, 

^ting the above-named use of 
srty. which the Holy Father 
usly exercises in spite of the 
e of his jailers, he 
else remains in all the 
nd perplexities with which 
nic fit to surrotmd him. And 

t!S IX. is not at liberty to 
journal in Rome, in which 
contradict the infinite num- 
falslties which the inimical 

through its ofTicious and ofH* 
;1cs, utters against hLs person, 
his acts, those of his court, 
of the ministers of the Holy 

il he do so, the executive 
ibject him to all those rigor< 
Lstues and sequestrations to 
nil the Catholics sheets of 
have been subjected which 
idectvored to defend his honor 
Lose. 

tfl IX, as we have already 
out, is no longer at liberty 
ish his bulls, encyclicals, or 
ins in Rome : the fact being 
inimical power, in this same 
Ihe Guarantees, lias reserved 
OL. XIV, — 50 



to itself the faculty of judging them; 
and hence, cither by way of legal orj 
illegal confiscations, has full and ab- 
solute power to suppress their publi- 
cation by main force. This obliges ^ 
the head of the church to make pub- 
lic his acts regarding the universal] 
government of Catholicism, by de- 
spatching them to be divulged out- 
side the dominion of his jailers; as | 
he has done up to this date, and ^vill 
continue to do donee transeat iniqui* \ 
ias. 

3. Pius IX. in Rome is not at 
liberty to contradict publicly by tele- 
graph the inventions concerning him- 
self and his Pontifical acts which the. 
inimical power, his jailer, dilTusca 
through the world by this said tele- 
graph ; because the telegraph is un- 
der the express authority of said 
power, and the use of il can be de- 
nied or rendered difficult at its plea- 
sure. Thus, last March the world 
received through the telegraph fabu- 
lous accounts of a conastory held 
by the Pope, of an allocution and 
other particular acts, all invented 00 
the spur of the moment; and before -, 
the world can detect the disgraceful, 
imposture, it may expect that for 
luaiiy days the falsehoods will be 
printed even in Catholic journals, 
because our Subalpine gentlemen 
have it in their power to mis- 
lead by means of the telcgrajih the 
Catholic community with any kind 
of misrepresentation concerning the 
words and deeds of the Pope, with- 
out the possibility of the Pope's] 
being able immediately to unde- j 
ceivc them. Whence the nccessi-i 
ty that na reltanee at all shouM be 
placed on any telegram that the ; 
agency of the Subalpine govern-^ 
ment transmits from Rome respect- 
ing the words or affairs of the Su- 
preme Pontiff. 

4. Pius \%^ in Rome is nol at 
liberty to Carry on a ptWau corre- 



796 



Oh the Present Condition of the Holy Fatkfr. 



spondence securely with the bishops 
and faithful of the world by means 
of letters or telegrams ; because both 
malls and telegraphs belong to the 
inimical power which holds him cap- 
tive. As an inimical power, precisely 
because it is inimical, believes itself 
licensed to take every precaution 
regarding its imprisoned enemy, so 
no one can ever feel certain that the 
secrecy of the letters interchanged 
lias not been violated, or that the 
telegrams have not been altered or 
refused. All this is a question of 
trust. But meanwhile, setting aside 
the case of telegrams directed to the 
Pope, and refused by the telegraph 
officials, it is a fact that the Holy 
Father is obliged to keep his missives 
away from the mail-bags of Italy 
when he has any important corre- 
spondence to carry on, as also 
other persons are obliged to do 
when they wish to communicate 
with the Holy See. We repeat it: 
it is a question of trust: and how 
much those who now command in 
Rome may be trusted is attested by 
tlie honesty they have thus far exhib- 
ited. 

5. Pius IX. in Rome and in the 
Vatican is not at liberty to receive 
every one who wishes to visit him, or 
whom it may be necessary he should 
see. All the approaches to the Pon- 
tifical palace are guarded by bailiffs 
of the inimical power. And these 
men, though they may often allow 
the goers and comers to be insulted 
by the rabble, never, however, omit 
to play the spy. This office they 
perform so well that certain journals 
written by those who are doubly 
linked with the police of the Sub- 
alpine gentry would be able to fur- 
nish, if needed, the daily list of all 
those admitted to the vestibule of 
the apostolic residence. It is clear 
from these circumstances that it de- 
pends solely on the arbitrary will of 



the inimical power to forbid ao 
the power of ingress, or, if it pre 
expel the individual from the 
and thus save him the trouble ' 
journey to the Vatican. 

In addition to these fact 
stonings, menaces, hootings, an 
ilar acts of urbanity practised 
streets of Rome and in the oeif 
hood of St. Peter's toward tfc 
merous Catholic deputations 
came this year to pay their b( 
to the august prisoner, by the 
introduced through the breach 
Porta Pia — these attest how gi 
that beautiful liberty enjoyed \ 
Pope in receiving visitors, wl 
they come of their own accc 
that he sends for them. 

6. Pius IX. in Rome wl 
long be at liberty to regulate tl 
ligious institutions, and to ei 
them in the service of the chu 
as is right and proper he shoul 
because the inimic£U power is al 
on the alert to deprive the Hoi 
of this strong spiritual garrison 
abolishing the orders, and dep 
them of their property. The 
riors-general of these orders, 
are immediately subject to the 
tifl, will in a short time have no 
to eat, no room to shelter them 
will wander homeless over the 
and lose their subjects on all 
In this way, one of the instru 
of the Pontiff, most useful to 1 
the administration of the churd 
be, as it were, broken in his haot 
in the city in which the Head < 
Catholic Church has his sea 
profession of the evangelical 
will be prohibited; and the 
will not be even able to give s 
to the various missionaries wb 
toiling in the cause of Christi 
among the heathen of A^ 
America', when they come to r 
an account of their newly foi 
missions ; for in all Rome he v 



Oh the Present Condition of ifu Holy Father. 



787 



ave a religious house of hos- 
it hiR disposal 

riU not lengthen details in 
enumerate the various other 
ir modes of liberty which the 
Lther can no longer exercise 
iltilment of his supreme office. 
H>sitton we have already given 
lo prove that he has no lib- 
re such as the author of his 
permits, eitlier from his own 
y or from other causes; the 
n being compulsory on the 
the enemy, and most unwill- 
|iven. And this is the marvel- 
bcrty now enjoyed by the Sov- 
Pontiff, thanks to the Subal- 
nrho have dethroned him and 
ned him in Rome itself, out of 
they say, for the holy 

viti. 

be just. Our Holy Father 
W in a much worse condition 
; present one. His jailers as 
lot do him all the wrong they 
'ish, but arc not able to do 
This is true enough. They 
ft as yet assailed the Vatican, 
ggcd Pius IX. to the Fortress 
ma, as ihcy have done to 
tstrious Cardinal Morichini, 
of Jesi ; or to a convent of 
s they have done to the im- 
ible Cardinal de Angelis. We 
: they would like to do this, 
lOt able J they would like to do 
worse, but the governments 
ipc have absolutely forbidden 
set foot in the Vatican, or to 
ds on the Sovereign I'ontiff. 
d nothing else restrains them 
lenzy of their hatred from bc- 
him at once. This and no- 
le constrains thera to mode- 
1 impetuosity of thsir hatred 
^ing on their persecutions 
llic Papacy. Fear compels 
Xeros to don the mantle 



of Julian; for, while under the eyes of 
two diplomatic bodies in Rome, they 
dare not carry their outrages on the 
Pope and his dignity beyond a cer- 
tain limit 

From this we may infer that the 
only and ultimate safeguard remain- 
ing at the present moment to the 
Holy Father in the Vatican is not 
the law called the law of the Guaran- . 
tees, nor is it trust in the governors, I 
but the coqis of diplomatists who have * 
received from their various govern- 
ments instructions to maintain invio-| 
late the asylum of the octogenarian] 
roniiffi and to protect his augu^j 
person. 

Were it not for this only and ulti- 
mate safeguard, Catholics throughout 
the world would no^v be weeping over 
their Father exiled from Rome, and 
perhaps as having already expired 
from the bullets or sword of the 
enemy. 

IX. 

But how long will this only and 
ultimate safeguard endure? — this pro- 
tection which renders the life and 
person of ilic Holy Father secure in 
Rome ? 

.\s long as the Subalpinists hold 
the reins of government in Italy, 
there seems no reason to fear that the 
security will become less. These 
men know loo well that, were they to 
lose Rome, they would lose every- 
thing ; and the only mode of keeping 
possession of Rome a little longer is 
not to violate the Vatican. But on 
that day on which the Italian faction 
shall gel tired of being led by ihesel 
ten or twelve Piedniontese who formf 
the perpetual Zodiac of tlie ministry; 
on that day when this faclton is 
weary of seeing all the master-ma- 
chinery of the state, the armv,^^:vuo.', 
bureaucracy^ and diplomacy Tc^\i\a.Vc»\ 

by I'iedmo^tese •. o^ ^^^^t ^'^'^ *^^"^ 
it takes it i^^^^ its head t.^^ f^'^'^ ^-^^ 



7B8 



On ike Present Condition of the Holy Fatkfr, 



government of this factious Italy 
ItaHan in its manner of rebellion, 
rather than provincial — on that day 
the danger will arise that even this 
said only and ultimate safeguard may 
lose its force. For in such a case, 
the mobocracy would come to the 
surface, and a scene of destruction 
would be inaugurated varying little 
from that carried out by the Com- 
mune of Paris. 

The dilemma is this : either the 
Subalpinists or the Socialists must 
prove fatal to our poor Italy, pre- 
pared as it is for revolution. God 
alone knows what is to happen in 
the proximate future. But it is cer- 
tain that the present condition of the 
Holy Father in Rome cannot endure 
much longer: it is certain that any 
agreement between him and his 
spoilers is utterly out of the question. 
It is also certain that Europe could 
not tolerate for a series of years that 
the Head of the Catholic Church 
should be held as a prisoner by the 
men who at the present day hold 
dominion throughout the Peninsula ; 
and, finally, it is certain that in his 
own time God will interfere, and his 
intervention will not be to reward 
the persecutors of his Vicar on earth. 
These four certainties keep the world 
in suspense, and the authors and ap- 
provers of the transitory triumph of 
the Porta Pia in uneasiness. 

But in this extremity of affairs and 
in this intense trepidation of mind, 
what is the duty of Catholics ? 

Is it to wish for an agreement be- 
tween tiie Pope and the inimical 
power which oppresses him ? 

This is but to assume the office of 
members of the faction, under the 
disguise of zealous Catholics. He 
only who hath his part in the leaven 
of the Pharisees can believe it possi- 
ble for the successor of St. Peter to 
sacrifice the eternal rights of Christ 
to the interests of BeUal. 



Is it to recommend the H 
ther to abandon his own st 
seek compensation in some ( 
country outside of Italy ? 
the advice of the imprudem 
Holy Father has received fr( 
the grace of office to dc 
what is the best for the Apost 
and for the church. No or 
trouble himself to give advice 
ed. He has his natural coui 
and above all he has the S 
the Lord, with whom he is i 
and fervent communion. If 1 
remains in Rome, notwitha 
the Satanic tempest which h< 
wildly and so furiously agaii 
it is a sign that he knows sui 
the will of God, and therefore 
it his duty to remain. In thi 
of events, we shall see that, if t1 
has remained in Rome, it is 
it was best that he should 
there. 

The real duty of Catholic 
the other hand (besides as 
prayer, conformably to the « 
of the primitive Christians wl 
Peter was in vincHUs)^ to unite 
work as to hasten the libera 
our common Father. 

The Italian factionists n 
us Catholics of Italy with bei 
ricides because we implore fro 
and men this sighetl-for liN 
But it seems to us that it is th 
commit parricide who. hiv;: 
prisoned the Pope after otiicia 
daring such an act to be cont: 
the laws of nations and mJr 
barbarous, have brought injm 
evil upon the country which 
ever praying God to dimlniil 
for the rest, we Italian C.itiv> 
not understand how the inJ* 
ence, glory, and prosperirr o 
country can be made prop* 
consist in the spoliation anuci 
of the Supreme Pontiff, and b 
trod under foot by the &itul?i! 



On tkt Present Condition of the Holy Father. 



789 



sploring the liberation of 
r Father, have not the re- 
ea that that liberation will 
part of Italy its independ- 
he honor of calling foreign- 
taly, to subject it to personal 
e, and to pay for such pow- 
resenting these foreigners 
an provinces, nay, with the 

Italy itself — we Catholics 
\ to the idol of the Sub- 
to their Cavour, and to their 
every color, 
alian Catholics, we say it 

not desire that the domin- 
mr Father should bring with 
eign domination, not even 
nd's-breadth of Italian ter- 
rhe shameful traffic in peo- 
\ Italian territory could not 

a means of liberating the 
for the Subalpinists it has 
cans of the so-called liber- 
Italy. In this we are all 
ffe wish for the independ- 

justice, because justice 
iures the happiness of na- 

Italian Catholics can of 

do little, because the dom- 

imical power, being the 

the PopCf is naturally our 

so, although we are the im- 



mense national majority. We are 
the deplorable victims of modem 
liberty, which wholly consists in the 
oppression of the m4ny, who are 
honest but weak, beneath the feet of 
the few, who are crafty and strong. 
Besides this, very serious and insuper- 
able difficulties of conscience oblige 
us to abstain from using the most 
powerful of legal arms which liberal- 
ism says it has left in the hands of 
that majority which is trodden under 
foot by the minority. So that, if we 
may from this take occasion to cher- 
ish more solid hopes that God will 
at length assist us in effecting means 
of safety, yet in actual combat we 
now find ourselves unequal to the 
contest. 

This is not the case with the Cath- 
olics of the other countries of Europe. 
It is their peculiar privilege so to ad- 
dress themselves to the work that 
their governments may not only pre- 
serve and strengthen the only and 
ultimate safeguard of the life and 
person of the Holy Father in Rome ; 
but that they may use their power for 
his liberation; that thus with his full 
liberty the true liberty of the people 
may again flourish — that liberty 
which is now enchained with Pius 
IX in the Vatican. 



»o 



FMmo/s Triml. 



ELINOR'S TRIAL. 



" I DO think John XJoyd is very 
weak in giving in to his wife so 
much I To think now of his letting 
her send Elinor to a convent school I 
Such a risk for a Protestant ! Ten 
chances to one that Elinor comes 
back a Papist. And then her rea- 
sons are so absurd, that Protestant 
boarding-schools cultivate too much 
of folly and fashion, etc ! I have no 
patience with Elizabeth. If she were 
a Catholic herself, there might be 
some excuse for her wanting her 
daughter educated among them, but 
as she is a Protestant, I think Pro- 
testant schools might serve her pur- 
pose." 

Thus speaks Mrs. Robert Lennox 
of her husband's sister. She is talk- 
ing to her husband while they are 
going home from a fashionable church 
in New York. She is a stately, hand- 
some lady, to whom her rich attire 
seems well adapted. Just now she ap- 
pears displeased and somewhat more 
haughty than usual, but the face is 
rehned and the bearing polished. 

More gentle than his wife in the 
treatment of the question in hand is 
Mr. Lennox. 

" Well, I cannot say Elizabeth is 
so very far out of the way. You 
know John's means are very limited, 
and these convent schools are cheap- 
er than ours. Besides, Elizabeth 
knows EUy cunnot compete in dress 
and all the furbelows, as our Lizzie 
does. So she prefers not to have her 
exposed to the uncomfortableness of 
being the subject^of derogatory com- 
parisons. You know young folks 
are keenly sensitive on such points." 

" But, Robert, must such reasons 



weigh against the risk of perveiting 
the girl's faith, the undennintDg of 
her religion ? Would you trust those 
sly, insinuating sisters with our daugh- 
ter ?" 

Mr. Lennox smiles significaolly 
as he replies : " I would not object 
to Lizzie's receiving some of that 
peculiar, modest, quiet air vbicfa 
those asters have and so often im- 
part to their pupils. There is some 
nameless charm, I cannot describe it 
better than by saying it is the o{^}osite 
of that which the young ladies of the 
present day cultivate for their depoit- 
ment, and which seems to belonf 
almost exclusively to this training." 

" Pshaw ! Mere affectation of 
meekness. The girls are all the same 
at heart. Why should not they be? 
I tell you it isn't worth the risk? 
Mark my words, you'll see the effect 
on EUy's religion." 

" Well, you know Elizabeth aid 
that even that change of religion was 
better than the irreligion or isms of 
the day." 

" Now, Robert, it is just to oppose 
me that you so persistently upbolil 
Elizabeth in this. Is it to be sup- 
posed that girls of sixteen are going 
to take to isms in Protestant schools 
or irreligion either ? Why, they tion't 
know enough for that, at their agef 

" I do not dispute you. I odIt 
think that Elizabeth has preferred for 
EUy this risk rather than have her 
of John's state of mind. And that is 
why John is so easy in the matter. 
Being of no faith himself, he prides 
himself on being also of no prejudice. 
' The greater the faith, the greater 
the bigotry,' he says.'* 



Jl. 



Cid 1 think you are just about 
( as John/ says the lady. " 1 
believe you listened to the ser- 
It all to-day." 
p last charge passes unanswur- 

Eusc Lhcy have arrived at their 
w, where we leave them. 
yeus ader this, the cousins, 
L«nnox aiul Klinor Lloyd, have 
td from their respective schools : 
from her fashionable seminar)-, 
«be has received every advan- 
t money could purchase, and 
she has associated with the 
rs of the weaUhiest, if not the 
cd. famihesinthe land. And 
.h will not purchase the means 
icn the way for refmemcni, 
hat will ? Docs it not free 
h from the thorns of toil, 
ic and me^ns for culture and 
el, and to surround ourselves 
lie ennubhng inHucnceii of art? 
ibovc all, docs it not grant us 
indulgence of generous im- 
^? Do not all the mortal ills 
which bear upon the rich 
on the poor, with more 
to stand in the way of their 
icnt ? It would seem so. 
le Lennox has all these advaii- 
wealth in her case, but her 
Elinor Lloyd is the daughter 
K)or man. Poorer now than 
t two years ago, when he let 
[dent wife have her way in iho 
of a convent school fur her 
tcr. Kiinor has been very 
with the sisters, to whom she 
become sincerely attached. 
gooil example has not been 
>on her, but she denies indig- 
ihat any under-handed means 
>eeu used to waqi her religious 
s, They have amply and 
ly acted out the dictates of 
own faith, exacting from her 



only sucli general compliance as 
would be required in the schools of 
any denomination among Protestants. 
If her affections have been won, 
and her young heart drawn toward 
the religion of these gentle teachers, 
that was the risk her mother took 
when she sent her willingly among 
the Sisters of Chanty. 

The cousins are nearly of an age. 
Lizzie is named after her father's sis- 
ter, Mrs. Lloyd, and Klinor after her 
aunt, Mrs. Lennox. 

These cousins are strikingly alike, 
and yet singularly unlike in their ap- 
pearance. Their faces seem to have 
been cast in almost the same mould, 
so exactly does every feature corre- 
spond, but the coloring is so different 
that lhcy present op[>osite types of 
beauty. For they are very beauti- 
ful. Lizzie is exceedingly lair, with 
light auburn hair and hnzel eyes ; 
the same reddish tint seeming to lurk 
in the eyes and lashes as in ilie hair, 
which peculiarity any close observer 
of faces may often see ii\ thi^ type. 
But Klinor's eyes are a dark brown, 
and her hair is very dark. She is 
too fair and pale for a brunette, and 
her eyes are not black enough. De- 
spite this diAerence in color, they 
are very like her cousin Liuic's light 
orbs in expression. It is as if a 
painter should take two sketches of 
the same face, and simply change his 
colors for the touching uf them. In- 
deed, a cast of each miglit pass for 
the same person, so like are they, 
even to the carriage of the head, the 
turn of the throat, the curve of the 
shoulders. I am thus exact in my 
description, because out of this won- 
derful likeness and difference of face 
and form came Elinor's trial. But 
now, at eighteen, Elinor's face is 
softer and sweeter than that of het 
blonde cousin. This dillerencc is 
seen as il^(,y arc listening or talking, 
more th^w ^hUe their faces arc in 



•m 



Elinor's TriaL 



repose. Shall we say that it is the 
result of training and education that 
Elinor seems the more refined and 
modest ? Or is it only a matter of 
inheritance, or a trick of manner be- 
tokening nothing ? I present them 
thus to the reader, who may guess 
somewhat of their respective charac- 
ters, as they sit chatting their cousin- 
ly talk in Lizzie's room. Lizzie is 
dressing to go out with Elinor, and 
talking while she proceeds with her 
toilet. 

" But, Elly, where is the harm of 
flirting a little, so long as you do 
nothing serious, and never commit 
yourself?" 

" I think you do commit yourself, 
Lizzie, when you put pen to paper 
to answer a stranger's letter, and 
when you cannot tell whether he is 
true or false. More Hkcly he is the 
latter, from the very fact of -his try-- 
ing to draw you on. How do you 
know how he may use your letter ?" 

" But I haven't signed my name, 
'only my own initials. I use E. L., 
not L. L. And you know I am 
known rather as Lizzie Lennox than 
Elizabeth Lennox. No one ever 
thinks of me as Elizabeth — I don't 
seem to be that to myself. Now, 
you are either Elinor or Elly, but I 
am just Lizzie. So you see I can 
hide under my own honest initials." 

" Ah Lizzie ! why hide at all ? Give 
it up. I don't like this kind of thing. 
I don't believe the men who write to 
girls in this way care one bit for 
them, except to make them contri- 
bute to their own amusement, and 
feed their conceit. What good does 
it do when you don't even see each 
other ?" 

" But we may, after, if we want to, 
you know." 

*' I shouldn't want to see him, Liz- 
zie ; I hope you will never meet." 

" Now, Elly, it is just being with 
those sisters that makes you talk so. 



Why, all the girls do so. It is only 
for fun, and the young men know 
we don't mean wrong. I could say 
' Evil he who evil thinks,' only 1 
know you are not evil, only sisteriiietl 
in this matter." 

" But, Lizzie, sisterified or not, you 
know I like fun as much as other 
girls, only I don't think this is fun: 
I think it isn't just right. It is mak- 
ing yourself too cheap. I don't like 
men well enough to do so much fix 
their amusement. I may be peculiar, 
but I certainly hate a covert thing, 
and personals in the newspapers are 
very covert and very cowardly. 
Mamma says a respectable paper 
will not pul^ish them. Besides, you 
dare not let your father and mother 
know this, dare you ?" 

" Oh ! of course they would get » 
great scare, and think I was going to 
do something much worse thao 1 
mean. But that doesn't prove I 
would do wrong." 

" No ; but, Lizzie, don't you hate 
to deceive them when they trust you 
so freely ? Is this stranger to be 
trusted and they not ?" 

" Well, I don't want to give pais 
to either papa or mamma; and so if 
they don't know it, they will be spar- 
ed all pain and fuss in the matter, 
and nobody hurt. Now I'm ready. 
Let's go." And the two leaving the 
house, the subject is dropped for the 
time. 

Only one month has passed since 
the cousins have had this morning's 
talk together, but it has brought a 
great change in their feelings and 
relations to each other. 

First, Elinor has quietly but cour- 
ageously avowed herself a Catholic 
Alone and unsupported she has made 
the great step — alone she goes to 
Mass and Vespers — and without sym- 
pathy from her family she practises 
faithfully all the observances of her 



In all this, she has shown 
tit i«ennox a «'ise prophet, 
t lady is no less indignant on 
xouuL She enlarges upon 
'oriie text, and congratulates 
that she has taken no such 
' her own daughter's falling 
ipish pitfalls, and traps set for 
lUng and innocent Lizzie 
; to consider herself called 
D give up the intimacy and 
il intercourse uiih her cousin, 
she is setrctly governed hy a 
i annoyance at Elinor's per- 
Siscountenancing of her clan- 
corrcspoiidenccs, but she 
show of setting herself against 
ih influences." 

parents of Elinor have taken 
ttcr with seeming indilfcrencc. 
s none of ihcir love in conse- 
of the change in her faith, 
y are sure she is quite as 
daughter a» ever. But a 
trouble, if this is a trouble, 
^sorbs their minds. John 
los failed in business and fuil- 
!alth. He is a broken-down 
In this emergency, Elinor has 
tncd to .iccept a situation as 
I governess in a wealthy fami- 
le has fell the tug at her heart- 
s, no less from her wounded 
in ihe matter of her changed 
position, than in the hard nc< 
' to leave lier home and pa- 
She is no saint, only a good, 
ninilwl girl, who is sc rupulous- 
iscientious in all things. She 
s against a bitter feeling of al- 
cnvy towanl the better luck 
;a»ier life of her cousin. She 
lot rcilly wish Lizzie to be as 
as herself, and she is sure she 
I rather Ik herself than Lizzie, 
he does wish her fatlier and 
T were in the same (:on)fortable 
hot her uncle and aunt enjoy. 
mcle is disposed to be very kind 
sr, but he is hampered by his 



wife and daughter in their bitter op* 
position to her. He has 9cnt her a 
check to defray all necessary expens* 
cs in her wardrobe. So she goes to 
her new home so nicely clad that at 
least no air of sliabbiness clings to 
her. liravc as she may be, this fem- 
inine sensitiveness to her appearance 
is very acute in her, Koolish vanity 
concerning dress she may not have, 
but, being young, she is only natural 
in liking to lobk well, to jiass criti- 
cism which' she cannot ignore at 
least creditably. If a young woman 
has not this much of feeling concern- 
ing her toilet, she is pnibably sloven- 
ly, or else she affects an eccentricity 
which is more disagreeable than a 
love for finery. Elinor is K-ftned in 
her nature, and she is not strong* 
minded, so she likes the good opinion 
of others. 

Elinor soon settles into the new 
and changed relations of her life, 
the more easily because her employer 
proves exceedingly kind. As her 
forte is music, she is of course, in the 
exercise of that accomplishment, 
brought into more consunt contact 
.ind intercourse with the guests at 
the house than the mere instruction 
and supervision of her pupils would 
demand. Her seat at the piano 
calls 10 her the attention and brings 
upon her the criticism of many who 
otherwi.se n\ighl never notice her. 
And so it has happened that young 
Mr. Schuyler, the brother of her 
hostess, has more frequently than 
any other turned the leaves of her 
music, sang to her accompaniment, 
and gazed atlmiriiigly upon the jiret- 
ty hands moving over the keys and 
upon the charming face turned to the 
pages before it. Mr. Schuyler is an 
agreeable young gentleman, good- 
looking enough, graceful enough, and 
flattering enough in his address to 
ladies to win their pleased recogni- 
tion of his aUcntvoi^*- But buiting 



79+ 



Elinor*s Trial. 



in his admiration around each sweet 
flower like the veriest male coquette 
of a bee, he is just unstable enough 
also to tantalize the fair recipients 
of his attentions. Elinor likes him, 
but with a little reserve. She is not 
of a distrustful nature, but she does 
not quite like Mr. Schuyler's manner 
to her. He has been very unreserv- 
ed in his admiration. He has at- 
tempted some sentimental love-ma- 
king, but there has always been a 
sort of holding back — a non-comfnit- 
tal manner, which has not seemed to 
her straightforward and manly. It 
has appeared to her that he has been 
attempting to gain her regard with- 
out making any actual avowal him- 
self, and that he is trying to amuse 
himself or feed his own vanity at 
her expense. Yet she is so afraid of 
being unjust to him, knowing that 
her position in the family may make 
her unduly sensitive, that she strives 
against this feeling. He really is 
very kind in a great many little ways 
which she would be ashamed not to 
acknowledge, and she thinks, if she 
were not a governess for his sister, 
she might receive his attentions in a 
less cavilling spirit 

In the meantime, Mr. Schuyler 
studies Elinor from quite a different 
point of view from any she imagines. 
He has found by repeated experi- 
ment that he cannot make her un- 
derstand or respond to various little 
devices which he has been in the 
habit of using to flirt with certain 
school-girls whom he has met often 
in his daily walks and rides. All 
these signals pass unnoticed upon 
the convent girl. But in fluttering 
thus around this innocent, cold light, 
the gay moth has got his wings sing- 
ed. He does really love Elinor as 
much as such a nature is capable of 
loving. Just because she has not re- 
sponded to any of his advances, he 
has become more seriously interested 



ii) her. Bat just when an honoiabk 
feeling of choosing her from all 
others is dawning as a possibility oi 
his mind, a wonderful discoveiy 
bursts upon him. 

He has been amusing himself by 
conducting a correspondence with 
some unknown lady who has signed 
herself " E. L." This incognita his 
at last yielded to an oft-urged re- 
quest to send her picture, and a fine 
photograph of a beautiful giri has 
come to him. Whose face docs be 
see? "By all that is astounding," 
he says, "Miss Lloyd!" He cannot 
be misuken. The very same. It ii 
a Rembrandt shadow picture, by 
which he studies every line of the 
profile, while it shows also the cod* 
tour of the full face. There is the 
dark hair waving from the same bk 
forehead. The eyes are the same 
dark orbs with the long lashes, only 
he has never seen just this bright, 
coquettish, laughing look in them b6 
fore. It is wonderfully charming in 
the picture, but he really does not 
like it as well as the other thoughlfuL 
intent gaze he has lately come to 
love so well. 

" The demure little cheat !" he saj-s. 
" Well, she is very versatile, it must 
be confessed. Who would ha« 
thought it ? But stop. This maybe 
a cheat The whole thing is so un- 
like her. I do believe the writer has 
sent Miss Lloyd's picture instead of 
her own. ' E. L.' L for Lloyd 
certainly, and I saw Elinor Lloyd 
written on her music, and, by Jove ! I 
think it was the very writing. Ill 
look again" — which he does, and finds 
it to be just the very same E and L;- 
and no wonder, for Lizzie Lennoi 
wrote it in other days, when she gave 
that music to her cousin. 

Then he observes, what careless 
Lizzie has never once thought of. the 
name of the photographer, to whom 
he goes at once, and by no very 



Elinor's Trial. 



795 



Eicans discovers the name of 
rigiDal. Aud licrc he is again 
lied. He 5nds he has the 
|B[)h of Miss Lizzie Lennox. 
\ he says to himself, "and 
|L., after all," and in his bewil- 
it is actually some days bc- 
curs to him that Lizzie is 
name for Elizabeth, 
having arrived thus far in his 
I'of information under difficul- 
i is unable to decide whether 
iSiss Lennox or Miss Lloyd, 
dilemma he questions his sis- 
k Wood, and determines that 
I scarcely be any oiher than 
B Lloyd she professes herself, 
lalsc name has been given the 
^pher, he thinks; and he 
fip his mind that Miss Lloyd, 
\ unquestionably very charni- 

rbout as profound a coquette 
^ ever likely to meet. 

so believing, his manner to- 
Elinor takes on a new phase, 
jplcases her so little that it has 
■ct of making her more re- 
Ithan heretofore. She now 
|him as much as ])ossibte, and 
I is conscious of a sharp pain 

t being driven to an lUliiude of 
. She is young and frank, 
Mild be light-hearted if in her 
psition. She has really liked 
flck Schuyler because the found 
^panionable in a house where 

(cither older or younger than 
except him. Their tastes are 
in many things, and of laie 
d seemed to her more honest. 
nr he treats her with a certain 
ity of look, and tone which of- 
[her nice sense of propriety, 
not guess at the false position 
h she is placed. She has 
ry reticent concerning herself 
relatives. True pride and 
have made her forl)ear to 
to her wealthy relations, the 
es^ now that she is supporting 



herself. She does not wish to seem 
to make any claim for consideration 
outside of her own individual merits, 
'lliis is not vanity, but proper self- 
respect; and this feeling is increased 
by the utter silence which Lizzie has 
preserved toward her. But as she 
withdraws from even the slight 
friendship which she had allowed to 
spring up between herself and Mr. 
Schuyler, she feds more lonely. Her 
religion separates her also from a 
closer confidence with Mrs. Wood, 
who goes to a fashionable Unitarian 
church. 

liut Frederick Schuyler does not 
give up his interest in this baffling co- 
quette, for so he firmly believes Elinor 
to be. Does he not hold the proof? 
He has sent his own picture to K. L. 
at the usual address, and he firmly 
believes that Elinor Lloyd has thut 
picture in her possession. He waits 
until he receives an acknowledge^ 
mentfroiii E. L.; and then he watches 
Elinor. He is prepared to sec her 
betray her overwhehning confusion 
at discovering who her unknown cor- 
respondent is. U'hat^ then, is his 
amazement, his disappointment, at 
seeing no ripple of disturbance in het 
composed demeanor ! He is exaspe- 
rated at this assurance. He deter- 
mines to shake her composure by di- 
rect means. The opportunity offers 
only too soon. 

.^.s the last music lesson for the 
day is finished and the pupil bounds 
from the room, Mr. Frederick 
Schuyler presents himself with a pe- 
culiar and, to Elinor, an offensive 
smile on his face, 

" Miss Lloyd," he says blandly, 
" do you not think it is time to drop 
this masking?" 

Elinor looks at him with wonder- 
ing and offended eyes. They are 
not the eyt;s of either the picture, or 
the soft Utown ones he has known 
hitherto as hers. They flash up lo 



70 



EltHors TriaL 



him in angry brilliancy as she rc- 
ples: 

"I do not understand you, sir!" 
So sure is he, and so amazed at this 
stubbornness, that he almost as indig- 
nantly replies : 

" And I am sure I cannot under- 
stand you!** 

" I do not desire that you should," 
she retorts : " but I think it due to 
myself to demand why you presume 
to thus address me, Mr. Schuyler." 

The offended tone remains, but 
blended with it is a little fnint touch 
of grieved feeling, which his nice ear 
detects. 

" Can you pretend to still treat me 
as if you did not recognize me ? Is 
my picture so unlike me that you do 
not know the original ?" 

" Your picture !" and such a world 
of wonderment is expressed in her 
voice that he thinks she ought to be 
on the stage for consummate acting. 
" Perhaps you do not recognize 
this," and he holds before her a pic- 
ture so like herself that she is con- 
founded. For the moment, she real- 
ly does not see her cousin Lizzie as 
plainly as herself. The photograph, 
like one of those libellous stories 
which are true in detail, but false in 
implication, has given the reddish 
tint in Lizzie's hair, brows, and 
lashes dark as her own, and there is 
the blonde cousin presented, the very 
counterpart of the brunette, one. 
The light hazel eyes are in the pho- 
tograph, dark as Elinor's own. 

Elinor gazes speechless for a mo- 
ment. Then she recognizes tlie dress 
of her cousin, and the expression not 
her own which she knows so well. 
It all rushes upon her perception at 
once — the cruel mistake — Lizzie's 
clandestine correspondence, of which 
she disapproved so much — the well- 
known resemblance between them — 
the picture more like herself than 
Liizie — she sees it all, and she sees 



Mr. Schuyler's triumph in her di^ 
comfiture. Guilty Lizzie would not 
look so guilty as innocent Elinor 
looks now. 

" Checkmate !" says Mr. Schuyler. 
His tone stings her. 

'* Mr. Schuyler, this is not my pic- 
ture. I never sat for it," 

" Mis§ Lloyd !" 

" I repeat, sir ! This is not my 
picture, and I wear no mask." 

" But you are ' E. L.,' " he says, 
showing her his last missive with 
that signature, " and you acknowledge 
receiving one like this," and he con- 
fronts her with a duplicate of hii 
own picture. 

" My name is Elinor Lloyd, and I 
have never written to you, and tlm 
is the first time I have seen either of 
these pictures," she replies, glancing 
disdainfully at each of them. 

" Do you know whose this is ?" he 
asks. 

At this point-blank question, Eli- 
nor bursts into tears. The cruelty 
of the position in which she Ands 
herself is too much for her. She will 
not betray her cousin, and she knows 
that on her own denial alone, against 
overwhelming evidence, rests her de- 
fence of herself. And in tears, dis- 
tressed beyond measure, she rashes 
from the room. Mr. Schuyler gives 
a long, low whistle. He is inclined 
to believe she has told him the truth, 
in spite of all he knows and has 
seen. For why does she wish to 
deny it ? What girl who could do 
this thing would so spurn the accu- 
sation ? Her proud assertion, " My 
name is Elinor Lloyd, and I have 
never written to you," rings in his 
ears. He btlieves it, as we will all 
of us sometimes believe, apparently 
against reason. He knows that he 
wishes to believe in her truth, de- 
spite his vanity. 

A little book lies near a roll of 
music on the piano, with her gloves 



Elinor's Trial. 



797 



liat. He takes up this book 
Ixamincs it, for no reason ex- 
at it appears to belong to her. 
>y of Diclicns' Bama^' Rud^^f^ 
mark at the description of the 
George Cordon Rlols, and |>ea- 
'rks on the margin. He turns 
> the fly-leaf, and sees written, 
iUeth Lennox, from her brother 
." O cruel evidence ! " Ctr- 
nce, that unspiritual god and 
ilor," again shows EHnor as a 
irUat can he do now but doubt 
d ? Ehnor meanwhile is pac- 
' room in a tumult of agiia- 
Her 6rst impulse is to aban- 
rcngagcmQit with Mra. Wood 
, and go to her parents. Hut 
among other hard imposi- 
trbids us acting on the die- 
pride, be it ever so Iionora- 
Elinor shrinks from staying, 
I shrinks from giving her rca- 
leaving tu her parents or to 
^ood. To give false ones, 
K her real one, never for one 
B occurs to her. She feels 
jthe cruelly, the injustice of 
le position in which Lizzie's 
li placed her. Yet she, is too 
p at heart to betray Lizzie 
ft her mother. She knows that 
iiwte told her of this " bit of 
jWas in confidence, and trou 
\ as the trust has proved, she 
p it until she is released, 
feels how hard it is to know 
Vet rightly, unaided, uncoun- 
One refuge, however, she has 
unscllor who never betrays 
and who does not require 
tein's name or identity, O 
trivilege of a Catholic ! The 
refuge of the confessional 
M:*s. What better human 
id comforter than her pastor 
»cek ? No fears of a betray- 
is here. So to him she goes, 
him she receives the reed- 
:h to bear her heavy trial — 



[th to bea 



for heavy trial it is on such a youi^ 
heart, all the more so becjuse she 
cannot suppose her silence has put a 
slop to this lUsgraccful afi'air. She 
has written to Lizzie exptnining what 
has happeneil, and begging her lu 
lift this weight from her. aiu! at least 
free her from this blame. And LLt- 
/ie has indignantly replied that she 
will not interfere, and that she be- 
lieves Elinor to be the betrayer of 
her name lo Fred Schuyler, and 
moreover hints that it has been done 
to win him to herself. 

I'his rouses Klinor to such a de- 
gree that she nearly forgets her coun- 
scl to '* return good for evil." Pray- 
er and medilaiion, however, those' 
best of medicines for disturbed souls, 
work their good effect for her, and 
she is able still to bear in silence, 
lr\isting that time will lil^ the stigma 
off her. Sa she shuns as best she 
can all intercourse with Mr. Schuy- 
ler. 

And thus about three unhappy 
weeks pass. Mr. Schuyler gives up 
tr)-ing to enlist Elinor's altention, 
and he leaves the last communication 
of E. L. unanswered. He receive.? 
no more of those interesting missives. 
Lizzie, thoroughly frightened, slops 
this amusement for herself. 

But at last the Nemesis, circum- 
stance, overtakes her — the circum- 
stance of meeting Mr. Frederick 
Schuyler at a party. A very small 
circumstance apparently, but preg- 
nant with much for three individuals, 
lie sees her standing not far off from 
him, in all the blaze of gas-lighl and 
full dress. He has never seen Eli- 
nor at this advantage, but the per- 
fect profile and the proud carriage 
of the head impress him at once. 
Yet those blonde locks and the light 
laugliing eyes— these are ncil\»CT like 
Elinor's nor the picture. Lovely this 
face certainly ^^' ^^"^ ^^ itmtmbcn 
the darker qiw *^ pleasing Vita moie. 




798 



Etinor^s TriaL 



The remarkable resemblance, how- 
ever, has so startled him, that he ac- 
tually trembles as he asks a friend 
who has been talking with her to 
tell him her name. 
" Miss Lennox." 

" Do you know her first name ?" 
he says, with forced composure. 

" Oh ! yes. Lizzie Lennox and I 
are old friends; let me introduce 
you." And in the brief interval be- 
fore he is presented, he only remem- 
bers that it is L. L. and not E. L., 
the lady of the photograph but not 
of the correspondence. 

Lizzie passes this ordeal with a 
frightened, throbbing heart, but a 
polite, calm exterior, thankful to be 
very soon claimed for the next dance, 
and to leave Mr. Schuyler for the 
present at least She is a foolish co- 
quette, but not an evil-minded girL 
Weak, vain, selfish, but not bad- 
hearted — she has really felt troubled 
by the mean way in which she has 
refused to clear her cousin of the 
suspicion which she has brought 
upon her, but her selfishness has pre- 
vailed in the matter. To protect 
herself has seemed to her of more 
consequence than to clear Elinor. 
And the possible consequence of her 
parents knowing all about this little 
escapade has not seemed to her at 
all pleasant to contemplate. And so 
she has been vacillating between the 
desire to do right and the fear of 
exposure ever since she has received 
Elinor's letter. She is equally igno- 
rant of how much she may be known 
to Mr. Schuyler, or how far she may 
be protected by her cousin's magna- 
nimity. She moreover finds Mr. 
Schuyler better than his photograph 
on inspection, as a handsome face 
generally is better than a photograph 
of it. Meanwhile, that gentleman 
has recollected that Elizabeth and 
Lizzie are the same name. He has 
been watching this airy, graceful 



dancer, and he has seen that she ha 
been observing him. Elinor is ab- 
solved fix>m all blame in his mind. 
The only shred of mystery left b 
the name in that book of hers. Li» 
zie, resting after her last round 
dance, sees him approach with both 
dread and pleasure. He wastes no 
time in prefatory remarks, but wj%, 
" Miss Lennox, are you related to « 
Miss Elinor Lloyd ?" 

Lizzie has the command of thii 
situation better than Mr. Schuyler. 
She knows the full purport of the 
question, but being asked by Elioor 
in a letter to speak the truth while 
she can yet hide i^^id by handsoax 
Fred Schuyler loolong into her eyes, 
and knowing her for the giri he hn 
been flirting with, are two very dif* 
ferent matters. Here she may make 
a virtue of necessity, and perhaps a 
conquest at the same time. Ab ! if 
our good deeds are viewed by the 
light of our motives, how very mndi 
the virtue in them seems to pale. 

Lizzie says with charming candor, 
" Oh ! yes, she is my cousin ; do you 
know her?" 

'' Yes, Miss Lennox, and I saw 
your name in a book she had— .Ai'- 
nady Rudge — and it appeared to hare 
been quite attentively read, from the 
marginal notes I saw.'* 

Lizzie shows a momentary aston- 
ishment. " Why, Mr. Schuyler, the 
only copy of Dickens' BamahyRitdgt 
I have is at home in the New River- 
side set papa gave me only lately— 
since " — she pauses a little confiued 
— " since I have seen Elly last. Be- 
sides, 1 don't make notes on the 
margins of my books, and I am 
quite sure Elly would not in mine. 
1 think it could not have been niy 
name you saw." 

" Indeed, I saw it, • Elizabeth Len- 
nox,' and from your 'brother Ro- 
bert.' " 

Lizzie laughs merrily, and she loob 



Ehncrs TriaU 



•m 



of innocent fun as 
ponds to this triumpliant as- 

I that's a good joke! My 
Robert ! Why, that's papa ! 
; name ts his sister's. Slie is 

mother. Why didn't she 

I I I liaie such myslcries." 
le shoots such a glance as 
once have been a challenge 

lie. He keeps up the badi- 
wit he is answering that ques- 
SVhy did slie not tell you ?" 
tanner not flattering to Miss 
E, but very much so to Miss 
The former young lady is 
te pleased with his abstracted 
True, he dances with her, 
ith her, compliments her, but 
not satisticd. She is wishing 
was the first intercourse she 
with Mr. Schuyler, and that 
nothing to remember of Liz- 
inox, and no previous know- 
hcr — she has an intuitive 
lat she does not stand as well 
cousin in his estimation, and 
Br chance would have been 
she had never wnttcn to 
ie, however, generously makes 
ision to that correspondence. 
ashameil of it for her, and 
wishes it had never bet:ii. 
linking how he can make his 
(vith her cousin, of whom he 
d to think so well, when he 
ed by the words. 
Dor and I are not friends now 
ere once — before she became 
•lie" 

Lloyd a Catholic!" 
1^ Mr. Schuyler, did you not 
hat ? All of the family arc 
nls except her. Her mother 
very liberal as to allow her to 
cated at a convent of those 
i Charity, and this Is the re- 
have never been intimate 
• since." 
chuylcr is very uncomforta- 



bly astonished by this infonnalion. 
He has had pleasant thoughts of the 
possible consequence of his reconci- 
liation with Klinor. Slie hxs so much 
risen in his estimation by tliis solu- 
tion oi the picture mystery and her 
generous, honorable forbearance to- 
ward L.i^zie, that he is thinking how 
very pleasant it would be to puss his 
life with such a companion. She cer- 
tainly lias proved herself very trust- 
worthy. But a Catholic ! That 
changes the aspect of afl'airs. Docs 
he want a wife of that faith ? Would 
not the coquettish blonde beauty be 
more desirable ? And yet he cannot 1 
say that the ways of Miss Lennox-| 
altogether please him. He has been ' 
wilhng to amuse himself by a clan- 
destine correspondence witli the un- 
known beauty, but the known writer 
of those entertaining epistles does^ 
not seem to him just the one to trust < 
with his life's chance of domestic 
bliss. The trust is not for just such 
as she. He really believes no harm 
of Lizzie, but he knows a worse man 
might think worse of her than she 
deserves. He wishes she were the 
Catholic and tllinor the Protestant. 
Why now, for the upholding of all 
his cherished beliefs and prejudices, 
could not the result of the two differ- 
ent systems of education have been 
reversed ? Surely, he thinks, " Po- 
pery would, as a rule, have made 
such a girl as Lizzie rather than one 
like Elinor. After all," he concludes, 
*' the difference is in their own na- 
tures, and would have shown itself 
had they both had the same training," i 
and in this we cannot dispute him J 
But possibly, although Elinor might 
never have cundescendetl to such a 
course, Li/zic might with better teach- 
ing have been saved from it also. 
The girl is not evil, only young, 
weak, vain, ^mJ she has necdei\ jusi 
that which ^\inOT has had va ?.^i1.Um 
and strcngt\^ \iex. V.u.iv^ w\iB% oti 



8oo 



Elinor s Trial, 



herself, on her own crude knowledge 
of the world, and on just as much 
advice as she chooses to accept. She 
never bares her conscience and her 
soul, as Elinor does, to any one. 
Therefore, she not only robs herself 
of the counsel of wiser heads, but 
she never brings upon herself that 
searching self-examination necessary 
to the seeing of herself rightly. Had 
she done that, had she been forced 
to look with this introverted gaze upon 
herself, she would have shrunk from 
placing herself in this doubtful posi- 
tion. She will remember this in after 
years with a sense of annoyance, if 
not of any deeper sentiment. And 
yet her present feeling toward Elinor 
is one of irritation. She knows that 
Elinor was right in her advice to her, 
and that she can look down upon 
her from a more exalted height. The 
fact that she has not taken airs of 
superiority on herself has not lessen- 
ed Lizzie's resentment. The feeling 
that she is on a lower moral plane 
than that of her Catholic, convent- 
educated cousin, is a sufficient grie- 
vance of itself, and admits to her 
unregulated mind of no extenuation 
in Elinor's behalf. 

It is not very easy for Mr. Schuy- 
ler to find an opportunity to explain 
to Elinor his enlightenment and 
change of views. She shuns him so 
sedulously that he begins to think 
he will have to tell her at the table, 
in the presence of the family, that 
he has met her cousin. True, he 
could do this without any indelicacy, 
but he has planned a little pro- 
gramme of a tete-h-tite, which he 
thinks more pleasant, to himself at 
least, than leaving her to draw her 
own conclusions from such meagre 
information as he can give her in the 
presence of others. Moreover, he 
does not wish to startle her before 
others by mentioning Lizzie's name — 
a sore subject to her, he suspects. 



So he bides his time, althoujjh iu- 
patiendy. If Elinor were like bcr 
cousin, he thinks he would not wau 
so long for opportunity to speak. 
His man's nature is aroused by the 
necessity <ff pursuing. 

But Mr. Schuyler has not made up 
his mind that he is willing to take a 
Catholic wife. He is at present tnl^ 
desirous of establishing the old pleas* 
ant, iriendly footing between YXxux 
and himself— possibly a more tender 
one \ but he will not yet commit him- 
self. Not until he has seen how 
deeply rooted is her CatholicisiiF— 
only an ism, it seems to him. He ii 
getting impatient, however, at ber 
continued indifference' toward hia. 
He sees that he must make his op- 
portunity ; and, being a young geotk* 
man fertile in expedients, he resom 
to waylaying her at the hour wbn 
her last music lesson is ended for 
the day. 

Elinor's face flushes and her brov 
contracts — a Httle indignant flisfa 
is in her brown eyes as he coafnmte 
her. She remembers the last scene 
between them at that hour by the 
piano, and it does not tend to soften 
her manner. Evidently he has got 
all the work to do, unfaelped by her. 
So he starts off, as is his usual iaii>> 
ner, with an abrupt introducti(W of 
the subject. 

'* Miss Lloyd, I owe you an apolo* 
gy for declaring that I had your pic- 
ture in my possession. I know now 
whose picture it is." 

*' You should have known it was 
not mine, sir, when I told you so," 
and she blushes again at the thought 
of Lizzie's being known. Even when 
the blame is lifted from herself, die 
does not rejoice in her cousin's ex- 
posure. 

"I did know it, Wis; Lloyd; I 
did believe you, on my soul, against 
all the wonderful evidence of the re- 
markable likeness to you. I did b^ 



EHnor^s Trial. 



801 



that picture was not yours, ot 
t least you did not send me it, 
•w of my having it. But how 

I know that it was your 
r's name in your book ?" 

stops confUsed. Elinor has 
yet known of that added tcsti- 
against her. Had she known 
would at once have told him 

her mother's name. There 
> reason for any mystery con- 
5 that, it being no part of Liz- 
onfidences to her. If he had 
It clue, perhaps he might have 
to some imperfect glimpse of 
ith. In answer to her won- 

inquiry, " What book ?" he 
3w humbly : 

lu left a book you appeared to 
1 the piano. I took the liber- 
>oking at it, and read a name 
hich I knew belonged to her 
picture I mistook for yours, 
ousin, Miss Lloyd, is very like 
ry unlike yourself. I met her 
t time since at a party ; and 
eeing her before me, the ori- 
f that picture, I could scarcely 
: it was those fair locks which 
I made so dark in her picture. 

certainly be excused for not 
bering this trick of plioto- 
, especially when you two are 
ires so verj- similar." He says 
t pleadingly, because the dis- 
1 look is not gone from her face. 
■. Schuyler," she says, "your 
• concerning that picture was 
natural and more excusable 
our supposing me the writer 

letter, or the giver of that pic- 
I think, whatever the evidence 
ay have supposed yourself to 
;, my uniform bearing and 
r toward you should have 
ne from any such supposition 
ir part. I could not tell you 

picture you had, but I was 

tell you whose name was in 
3k." 

VOL. XIV. — 5 



" But, Miss Lloyd, even if you had 
given me the chance to ask you, I 
could scarcely take upon myself the 
liberty of seeming to make you ac- 
countable to myself for any name 
written in your book. Hie very ask 
ing of that would have seemed an 
accusation." 

Elinor's quick sense of justice 
sees this readily, and her brow clears. 
Hard as it has been against herself, 
she admits that it was an entangle- 
ment for him. So she says more 
graciously : " We will let it pass, Mr. 
Schuyler. I wish the whole matter for 
all parties coidd be disposed of as 
easily as I can pass out of it." And 
she endeavors to leave him, with a 
provoking air of taking no further in- 
terest in him or his changed footing 
toward herself. He gently makes a 
m:)tion of barring her way. She 
stands waiting to hear what he has 
further to say to her, but there is no 
evidence of any desire to remain. 

" It is so long since we have 
spoken together in this friendly fash- 
ion, that I think you need not be in 
such haste tu shorten our conversa- 
tion." 

He says this in such a flattering 
way, implying that to talk with her 
is the one great delight for him, that 
her gWs sense of pleasing and being 
pleased is quickened, but she only 
t»ys with the tassel of the curtain 
near which she is standing, and says 
nothing. 

Again Mr. Frederick finds he has 
all the advances to make toward 
conversation, unaided by her. 

'* Miss Lennox tells me you were 
educated at a convent. Is that the 
reason you are so shy of me, or is it 
because I am a Protestant, Miss 
Lloyd ?" 

" My parents ate ProtesX.at\^^, M\d 
all my relatives. ^^ nvovxU \w 
strange for (..^ to V»e ^ft^^^ "^"^ "^ 
Protestant.** 



\ 

V 

I 



'1 



I 



S02 



Elinor* s Trial, 



" And yet you can be of so very 
different a faith. May I ask, is it a 
matter of conscience with you, or 
only one of taste ?" 

" I do not understand religion be- 
ing a matter of only taste, Mr. Schuy* 
ler," she says simply. 

" Why, don't you think it is taste, 
preference only for the gorgeous and 
ceremonial, which makes the Ritual- 
ists of St. Alban's and St. Mary's do 
as they do ?" 

" I cannot decide upon their mo- 
tives, Mr. Schuyler. I only know 
th^t if my conscience were not in 
this, I should not separate myself in 
myfaithfrom that of my family." She 
says this with a firm bearing and a 
lofty look at him which abashes him. 
He begins to suspect that this young 
convert wUltwt swerve from her path 
from any regard for him. He has a 
full share of conceit, fed by his suc- 
cess with the girls of his acquaint- 
ance. He has won their smiles so 
readily heretofore, and he has pleased 
and flattered them so easily, that he 
is piqued at making no better impres- 
sion now when he really tries. 

Again Elinor moves to the door. 
He lets her pass with the words, " We 
are friends now, are we not ?*' 

" Friends, oh ! certainly," she says, 
but her tone does not seem so de- 
lighted at this change in their rela- 
tions as he thinks it should be. 

The truth is, Elinor has thought 
much over Mr. Schuyler's little flirta- 
tion with her cousin, and he has not 



come out from that inspection of bis 
conduct with any great credit, io her 
way of looking at iL She thioki 
that although he may pass unscathed 
by such indulgence, it is not honor- 
able in him to tempt one youn^ 
and weaker than himself into such 
practices, ^e thinks if Lizzie could 
find no one like him to entice her iolo 
this folly, she must perforce amuse ha- 
self in some other way. It seems to hs 
tliat his motives were bad. And de 
(uspects that if she would have kot 
herself to this sort of thing, he wonld 
have been just as ready to condict 
an afi^ir of the kind with henel£ 
Her native good sense shows bn 
this, and she is thankful for the M- 
ferent example and teaching which 
has hedged her in from ever giving i 
chance for such a thing. IIk 
amount of all this is, that the littk 
inclination to like Mr. Fred Schuyler 
which she had once is now gone, 
she has no trust in him, and without, 
trust there can be no abiding love. 

Therefore, when, some da)*s after 
that gentleman overcomes his dislike 
of her religion so far as to absolutely 
offer his heart, hand, and fortune to 
her, this disdainful Catholic aston 
ishes him with these words : 

« I think, Mr, Schuyler, that these 
protestations are more due to my 
cousin Lizzie than tome. If you speak 
truth to me, you have spoken labc 
to her. If it is truth to her, what am 
I to believe ? Mr. Schuyler, ' I mus* 
trust all in all,^ or not at all." 



Ouw$ att S^ritism. 



803 



OWEN ON SPIRITISM.* 



Owen, though he has since 
member of Congress, and an 
an minister at Naples, was 
ly well known in this city as 
ted with Frances Wright in 

the Free Enquirerj as the 
of an infamous work on moral 
ogy, and as an avowed athe- 
[e now claims to be a believer 
existence of God, and in the 
>f the Christian religion ; but 
id has no freedom of action, 
ledged in and bound hand and 
Y the laws of nature, and his 
anity is a Christianity without 

and indistinguishable from 
gated heathenism. How much 
s gained by his conversion, 
h the intervention of the spi- 
)m atheism to demonism and 
superstition, it is not easy to 
ough it is better to believe in 
;vil, if one does not mistake 
r God, than it is to believe in 

g- 

Owen makes, as do hundreds 
:rs, a mistake in using the word 
jlism for spiritism^ and spiritual 
lital or spiritalistic. Spiritualism 
■opriated to designate a system 
losophy opposed to sensism or 
alism, and spiritual stands op- 

to sensual or carnal, and is 
ly a term to be applied to spi- 
ping, table-tipping, and other 

of the spirits. Mr. Owen is 
py in naming his books. He 

kt DthatahU Land bttwttm this WerlJ 
■ Next. With llluBtratWe Narratives. 
«rt Dale Owen. New York: Carleton 
1873. i6ino, pp. S4S. 

ttfalh an tht Boundary 0/ Another 
With Narrative IllustratioDs. By Ro- 
le OwcD. Philadelphia : Uppiacott ft 
So. i6mo, pp. 518 



holds that the universe is governed 
by inflexible, immutable, and imper* 
ishable physical laws; that all events 
or manifestations take place by the 
agency of these laws; that the future 
is only the continuation and develop- 
ment of the present; and that death 
is only the throwing off of one's 
overcoat, and the life after death is 
the identical life, without any inter- 
ruption, that we now live. We see 
not well how he can assert another 
world, or a debatable land between 
this world and the next. If all things 
and all events are produced by the 
agency of natural laws, and those 
laws are universal and unchangeable, 
we are unable to conceive any world 
above or beyond nature, or any world 
in any sense distinguishable from the 
present natural world. His books 
are therefore decidedly misnamed, 
and so named as to imply the exis- 
tence of another world and a world 
after this, which cannot on his prin- 
ciples be true. 

Mr. Owen's first book was mainly 
intended to establish the fact and to 
show the character of the spirit-ma- 
nifestations ; in his last work, his de- 
sign is to show that these manifesta- 
tions take place by virtue of the phy- 
sical law of the universe, that they 
are of the same nature and origin 
with the Christian miracles, inspira- 
tion, and revelation, and are simply 
s"PPl«:meDtaiy ^° ^^^"** °^ designed 
to cono ,P augment, and develop 

' ^^ .\.^\ \i Ihev mean I') 






4^* t\v*^. ^^ *^y 



^^TO^tssvve 5c\ence» 






^ aW- f W^ ^^^^ ^^'' ^'"''^\ 



804 



Owen MV Spiritism. 



in the spirits to their aid, and accept 
and profit by their inspirations and 
revelations. 

This shows that the author leans 
to Protestantism, and seeks its tri- 
umph over Catholicity; or that he 
regards Protestantism as offering a 
more congenial soil for the seed he 
would sow than the old church 
with her hierarchy and infallibility. 
Certainly, he holds that, as it is, Pro- 
testantiiim is losing ground. In 1580 
it held the vast majority of the peo- 
ple of Europe, but is now only a 
feeble minority. Even in this coun- 
try, he says, i^ Catholics continue to 
increase for a third of a century to 
come in the same ratio that they 
have for the last three-fourths of a 
century, they will have a decided 
majority. As things now go, the 
whole world will become Catholic, 
and the only way to prevent it, 
he thinks, is to accept the aid of 
the spirits. We are not so sure 
that this aid would suffice, for Satan, 
their chief, has been the fast friend 
of Protestants ever since he persuad- 
ed Luther to give up private Masses, 
and has done his best for them, and 
it is difficult to see what more he 
can do for them than he has hitherto 
done. 

Mr. Owen, since he holds the spi- 
rit-manifestations take place by a 
natural law, always operative, and al- 
ways producing the same effects in 
the same or like favorable circum- 
stances, of course cannot recognize 
in them anything miraculous or su- 
pernatural ; and, as he holds the alleg- 
ed Christian miracles, the wonderful 
things recorded in the Old and New 
Testaments, are of the same order, 
and produced by the same agency, 
he, while freely admitting them 
as facts, denies their miraculous or 
supernatural character. He thinks 
that the circumstances when these 
extraordinary events occurred were 



favorable to spirit-manifestations; the 
age was exceedingly ignorant, supa* 
stitious, and semi-barbarous, ind 
needed new accessions of light and 
truth, and the spirits, through our Lord 
and his apostles as medium— God 
forgive us for repeating the blasIA^ 
my — made such revelations as that 
age most needed or could bar 
or assimilate. This age also ncedi 
further revelations of truth, espedaflf 
to enable it to throw off the incubv 
of a fixed, permanent, non-progrei- 
sive, infallible church, and secure u 
open field, and a final victory for the 
rational religion and progre^ive tlw- 
ology implied in the Protestant R^ 
formation. So the spirits once more 
kindly ccme to our assistance, and 
reveal to us such further portions of 
truth as man is prepared for and e^ 
cially needs. Very generous in then 
This is the doctrine, briefly and 
faithfully stated, of Mr. Owen's Ik- 
baiabU Landt which he sets forth with 
a charming $ia\veti^ and a self-corn* 
placency little short of the sublimt 
There is this to be said in his faroc 
— the devil speaks better Engli^ 
through him than through the ma- 
jority of the mediums he seems com- 
I>elled to use; yet not much better 
sense. But what new light have the 
spirits shed over the great problems 
of life and death, time and etenityi 
good and evil, or what new revdi- 
tionsof truth have they made? Her« 
is the author's summary of their 
teaching : 

" I. This is a world governed bya («od 
of love and mercy, in which all thiafs 
work tt^ether for good to those who re- 
verently conform to his eternal liws. 

" 2. In strictness there is no dmk 
Life continues from the life which no« u 
into that which is to come, even as it 
continues from one day to another; iha 
sleep which goes by the name of dnik 
being but a brief transitioasl umber, fron 
which, for the good, the awakeainc ■* 
immcisurably more glorious tbu is 1^ 



Owen on Spiritism. 



80s 



carlhljr morning, the brigtilest 
aliutic. In all tAtcs in wliich 
I spent, the change wbich men 
tu call dcitti is God's Ust and 
» his creatures here. 
I earlh.phaso of life is an es- 
ipaialion lor iho Viie vrbicti is to 
appropriaiedulicii and callings 
I ncgtcctr-d wilhcut injury to 
llfaic and dcrelopmeni. both in 
A and in the next. Even Us 
Is, tempcrAlely accepted, are fit 
la llic happiness o( a higher 

phase ol life wbich follow* the 
ngc is, in sirictC5l sense, the 

I of llint which precedes Ir. 
same variety of avocaiionie, 
[jo>-menI^. coucsponding. in a 
la {liusc of earth, but f^r mure; 
anJ its (JciiiKcns have the same 
chocacicr and of iutclligencc ; 
DO, as mvn do here, in a st^itc 
IS. Released from bodily eanh- 

pcriscopc is wider, their i>cr- 

luore acuic. tbcic spitiiual 
;c much greater, tbclr judgment 
icit prof;rc»s more rapid, than 
mly wiser and more dispai- 
lan we, they are siiil, however, 
;nd thuy are governed by the 
icral laws of beinff, modified 
irporal tiisiHihwfnttiit 10 which 
iHhjftt^J here. 

state here determines our ini- 
thcrc. The habiiiia) prompt- 

peivading- impulses, the life- 
nings, in a wuid the moving 

what Swcdcnborg calls the 
ive*' of man — these decide his 
on entering the next world : 
rlllen articles of his creed, nor 
Cidenlal criuis of hts life. 

do nut. eitlicr by faith or 
■H heaven, nor arc wc senicnc- 

(lay of wrath, to bell. In the 
d wc simply ffravit.tte to the 
'ox which, by life on earth, we 
li ourselves ; and wc occiipy 
ion Ivianse we arc fitted fur it. 
sre i^ nu instantaneous change 
icr when we p.it-i Irnin ibe ptc 

of life. (Jiir virtues. Qur vices ; 
gvnce, our ignorance; our as- 

our jitrovellings ; our habits, 
|es, prejudices even — all pass 
us : modified, doubtless (but to 
m vx kn0w tii'l), when lUc spiii< 
emerges, divested of its fleshly 

ice; yet essentially the ss-tne 



as whca Ibc death slumber came over 

lU. 

"S. The suQerings there, Datura! s* 
((uenis of evil-iloiug and evil thinking 
here, are as vaiious in character and In 
degree as the enjoyments; but they 
are mental, not bodily. There is no 
escape from them, except only, as an 
earth, by the door of repentance. There 
as here, sorrow for sin commitlcd and 
desire for nn amended life are the In 
dis[)cns:iLle conditions-precedent of ad 
vanceincnl to a better state of being. 

" 9. In the next world love ranks btglu 
cr than what we call wisdom ; being il- 
self tlie hiifhcst wisdom. There deeds 
of benevolence far outweigh professions 
of faitb. Thece simple goodness rates 
abai,-e intellectual power. There the 
humble are exalted. There the meek 
find their heritage. There the merciful 
obtain mercy. The better denixcns u( 
that world are charitable to frailly, and 
compassionate to sin far beyond the 
dwellers in this : they forgive the erring 
hreihren they have left behind them, 
even tu seventy times seven. Thete, is 
nn respect of persons. There, too. sell- 
rightcuusncs!; is rebuked and pride 
brought low. 

"10. A trustful, childlike spirit Is the 
state of mind in which men are most re- 
ceptive of beneficent spiritual inipic»- 
stuns : and such a spiiit is tlic best pie- 
paration for entrance into the next world. 

"It. There have always existed in- 
terraundane laws, according to which 
men may occasionally obtain, under cer- 
tain conditions, revealings from those 
who have passed to the next world be* 
fore thein. A certain proportioa of hu- 
man beings are more sensitive to spirit* 
ual perceptions and inllucnces than thcii 
fellows ; and it is usually in the presence, 
or tbruugli the medium, cif one or more 
of these, that ultiantundane intercourse 
occurs. 

" 12. When the conditions arc favor- 
able, and the seasltire through whom the 
maiiifestatiuus come is highly gifted, 
these may supply important materials 
for ihouffhl and \*aluable rules of con- 
duct. Hut spiritual phenomena some 
times do much more than this. In their 
highest phases ihcy furnish proof, strong 
;is that which Christ's disciples enjoyed 
— proof addtessud to the reason and tan- 
gible to the Senses — of the reality of an- 
other life, belief V^^ \iapp\er than this, 
and of whic>^ _^|( eaitWy pilgrimage Is 



■8o6 



Owen on Spiritism. 



hut the novitiate. They brin; iminor> 
lality to light under a blaze of evidence 
which outshines, as the sun the Ftars, 
all traditional or historical testimonies. 
Fur surmise they give us conviction, and 
assured knowledge for wavering belief. 

" 13. The chief motives which induce 
spirits to communicate with men appear 
10 be — a benevolent desire to convince 
us, past doubt or denial, that there is a 
world to come ; now and then, the attrac- 
tion of unpleasant memories, such as 
murder or suicide; sometimes (in the 
worldly-minded) the earth-binding influ- 
ence of cumber and trouble : but, far 
more frequently, the divine impulse of 
human affections, seeking the good of 
the loved ones it has left behind, and, at 
times, drawn down, perhaps, by their 
jrcarning cries. 

" 14. Under unfavorable or imperfect 
conditions, spiritual communications. how 
honcstl)' reported soever, often prove va- 
pid and valueless; and this chiefly hap- 
pens when communications are too as- 
siduously sought or continuously persist- 
ed in : brief volunteered mess.iges being 
the most trustworthy. Imprudence, in- 
experience, supineness, or the idiosyn- 
crasy of the recipient may occasionally 
result in arbitrary control by spirits of a 
low order ; as men here sometimes yield 
to the Infatuation exerted by evil asso- 
ciates. Or, ag:iin, there may be exerted 
by the inquirer, especially if dogmatic 
and self-willed, a dominating influence 
over the medium, so strong as to produce 
effecis that might be readily mistaken 
for what has been called possession. As 
a general rule, however, any person of 
(^nimon intelligence and ordinary will 
ran, in cither case, cast off such mischiev- 
ous control : or, if the weak or incautious 
give way, one who may noi improperly be 
called an exorcist — if possessed of strong 
magnetic will, moved by benevolence, 
and it may be aided by prayer, can usu- 
ally rid, or at least assist to rid, the sen- 
sitive from such abnormal influence." — 
{^DtbatabU Land, pp. 171-176.) 

We have no intention of criticis- 
ing this creed of the spirits as set 
forth by their learned medium. It is 
hfathcn, not Christian, and we have 
i!i*;covered in it nothing new, true or 
Olse. It denies the essential points of 
thi: Christian faith, and what few things 



it affirms that Christianity denies m 
affirmed on no trustworthy or stdB- 
cient authority. A man must hiw 
little knowledge of human nature, and 
have felt little of the needs, desires, 
and aspirations of the human soul, 
who can be satisfied with this spir- 
its-creed. In it all is vague, indefi- 
nite, and as empty as the shades the 
heathen imagined to be wanderiof 
up and down on this side the SIti. 
But in it we find a statement thit 
dispenses us from the necessity of a- 
amining and refuting it. In Artide 
4 we find it said : " Vastly wiser and 
more dispassionate than we, they 
[the spirits] are still, however, jaS^- 

Whether the spirits are wiser and 
more dispassionate than we or not nuf 
be questioned ; they do not seem to 
be so in the author's illustrative nir- 
rations, and the fact that they hivt 
undergone no essential change Iqr 
throwing oflF their overcoat of flesli, 
and living the same life they Ii«d 
here, and are in the sphere for whidi 
they were fitted before entering the 
spirit-land, renders the matter sonw- 
what doubtful, to say the least. Bat 
it is conceded that they ar*^ fattSak. 
Who or what, then, vouches ibr the&a 
that they are not themselves decen- 
ed, or that they do not seek to de- 
ceive us? By acknowledging Ac 
fallibility of the spirits, Mr. Owen sc- 
knowledgcs that their testimony, in 
all cases, when we can have nothing 
else on which to rely, is perfectly 
worthless. We can bring it to im 
crucial test, and we have no votifh- 
ers either for their knowledge or their 
honesty. Even supposing them to 
be what they profess to be, which « 
by no means concede, it were sh» 
credulity to take their word for any- 
thing not otherwise verifiable. 

Mr. Owen and all the spiriiio 
tell us that the spirit-manitVstaiioo 
prove undeniably the immortalitrtf 



?u] ; biit they prove nothing ol 
sort. Wc need, in the firet 
, no ghost ftom hell to assure us 
Lhc immortality of the soul fol- 

cecessarily from the iminate- 
T of'thc soul ; for that is dcmon- 
< from reason, and was gene- 
bclicvcd by the heathen. What 
lot believed by the heathen, and 
It provable by reason, is the 
tian doctrine of the resurrection ; 
this, and supernatural hfe and 
tnality, the spirits do not even 
nd to teach. Look through 
;>wen's statement of their teach- 
tnd you will find no hint of the 
irrcclionem carnis " or " viiam 
lam" of the apostolic symbol. 
ffc to reject the doctrine of the 
rcction of the body, and the Hfe 

immortality brought to light 
gh the Gospel — which is some- 
far different from a simple con- 
tion of tlic soul's ptiysical exis- 
— a doctrine so necessary to 
;, and so <Iear and consoling to 
fflicted, on the authority of falli- 
pirits, whose knowledge or ve- 
f nothing vouches for, and who 
s ihemselves not seldom to be 

spirits ? 

the second place, what proof 
wc that those rapping or table- 
igspiritsarelhespiritsof menand 
:n once in the flesh ? Mr. Owen 
rtakes to establish their irlentity, 
ic docs not do it and cannot do 
r no proof in the case is possi- 
Kcept by a miracle, and niira- 
he autlior rejects, and declares 
rgument from them in all cases 
'St^uitur. The spirit-manifcsta- 
of which the spiritists make so 
1, and in which they fancy '.hey 
anew tnspiraiion and revelation, 
Hhingnew in history, and are not 

frequent now than they have 
at various other epochs. They 

more common amongst the 
i«d pagan Greeks and Romans 



than they are in any real or nominally 
Christian nation now. They are no- 
thing new or peculiar to our times. 
Tertullian speaks of them, the author 
of the Clementine Recognitions was 
acquainted with them, and so was 
St. Augustine. The trance was one 
of the five faculties or states of the 
soul recogni/ed by the Neo-Plato- 
nists, and was the principle of the 
Alexandrine theurgy. The church 
has in every age encountered them, 
been obliged to deal with them, and 
she has uniformly ascribeil them to 
Satan and his angels. She has had 
from the first, and still has, her forms 
of exorcism against them, to cast 
Ihem out, and relieve those who are 
troubled by them. Ever)' day she 
in some locality even now exorcises 
them, compels them to acknowledge 
the power of the name of Jesus, and 
sends them back discomfited to hell. 

The spiritists cannot say the doc- 
trine of the church is impossible or 
prove that it is not true. It certain- 
ly is a possible hypothesis, \i nothing 
more. Then spiritists cannot say 
that Satan does not personify the 
spirits of the departed, or ih.it it is 
not Satan or some one of his angels 
that speaks in those pretending to be 
the spirit of Washington, of Jefferson, 
of Franklin, of Shakespeare, of Mil- 
ton, of fiyron> or of some near and 
dear decexsed relative ? You must 
prove that it is not so, Irefore you can 
affirm the identity claimed. The 
great Ticliborne case now before the 
English courts proves that it is no 
easy matter to establish one's own 
identity even while 'vl\ the flesh, and 
it must be much more difficult for a 
ghost, which is not even visible. 

The spiritists admit that the spirits 
are fallible; that there arc among 
them lying, malevolent spirits. A 
gentleman with whom we were well 
acquainted, a firm beUcver in the 
spirits^ auti bvniscU a med\um, lno\d- 



808 



Owen OH Spiriium, 



iog frequent communications with 
ihem, assured us that he held them to 
be evil spirits, and knew them to be ly- 
ing spirits. " I asked them/' he said, 
" at an interview with them, if they 
could tell me where my sister then 
was. *Your sister,' I was answer- 
ed, * has some time since entered the 
spirit-world, and is now in the third 
circle.' It was false : my sister was 
alive and well, and I knew it. I told 
them so, and that they lied ; and they 
laughed at me: and then I asked 
whose spirit was speaking with me. 
I was answered, * Voltaire.' ' That 
it a lie, too, is it not ?' Another laugh, 
or chuckle rather. I assure you," 
said our friend, " one can place no 
confidence in what they say. In my 
intercourse with them, I have found 
them a pack of liars." 

This pretension of the spiritists 
that the spirits that manifest them- 
selves through nervous, sickly, half- 
crazy mediums, or mediums confess- 
edly in an abnormal or exceptional 
state, arc really spirits who once lived 
in the flesh, is not sustainable; for 
they cannot be relied on, and nothing 
lunders us from holding them to be 
devils or evil demons, personating 
the spirits of deceased persons, as 
the church has always taught us. 
This, certainly, is very possible, and 
the character of the manifestations 
themselves favors such an interpreta- 
tion ; for only devils, and very silly 
devils too, dealing with very ignorant, 
superstitious, and credulous people, 
would mingle so much of the ludi- 
crous and ridiculous in their mani- 
festations, as the thumping, knock- 
ing, rollicking spirits, tipping over 
chairs and tables, and creating a sort 
of universal hubbub wherever they 
come. The spirits of the dead, if 
permitted at all to communicate with 
the living for any good purpose, we 
may well believe, would be permitted 
to do it more quietly, more gravely, 



and in a mwe open and direct way; 
it is only the devil or his ixAsfsXk 
that woidd turn all their grave com- 
munications into ridicule by their an- 
tics or comic accompaniments. These 
considerations, added to the fact that 
the spirits communicate nothing oot 
otherwise known or knowable, thai 
is not demonstrabjy false, and that 
they tell us nothing very clear or de- 
finite about the condition of depart- 
ed souls, nothing but what their coo- 
saltors are predisposed to believe, 
con\-ince us that, if they prove the 
existence of powers in some seoae 
superhuman, they prove nothing fat 
or against the reality of a life aflcr 
this life. They leave the question of 
life and immortality, of good aod 
evil, rewards and punishments, ha- 
ven and hell, where they were. 

Mr. Owen places the spirit maai- 
festations, and the Biblical miracles, 
and Christian inspiration and rcv^ 
lation, in the same category, attributes 
them all alike to the agency of the 
spirits, and thinks he has discoveml 
a way in which one may accept ihc 
extraordinary events and doings ^^ 
corded in the Old and New Tesu 
nients as historical facts, without be- 
ing obliged to recognize them u 
miracles. This is absurd. The re- 
semblance between the two classes 
of facts is far less than honest Flud- 
len's resemblance of Harry of Mon- 
mouth to Alexander of Macedoo, 
" There is a river in Macedon, so is 
there a river also in Wales." The 
man who can detect any relation 
between the two classes of facts, but 
that of dissimilarity and contrast, is 
the very man to believe in the spirit- 
revelations, to mistake evil for good, 
darkness for light, and the devil for 
God. We find both classes of facu 
in the New Testament. The Chns- 
tian miracles are all marked by an 
air of quiet power. There is no blus- 
ter, no rage, no foaming at the mouth, 



ierc«ness of look or geslurcr no 
ig, or reading, as in the case ot 
4enaoDi.ics ; and. no rapping, no 
sfipping, no antics, no stammer- 
no half- utterances, no convuU 
t, no disturbance, as in the case 
i€ spirit-manifestations described 
Ir. Owen in his books. In the 
case, all is calm and serene, pure 
holy ; there ts no eft'ort, no strain- 
but a simple, normal exercise of 
£r. Our Lord rebukes the winds 
the waves, and there comes a 
t calm ; he speaks, the leper is 
iscd, the blintl see, the deaf hear, 
Acoe walk, the dead live. What 
this is there in Mr. Owen's ghost- 
r jjhastly narratives of trances, 
deling noises, and haunted hous- 
Kvcry one of his narratives 
ns, so far as it shows anything 
explicable by simple psychical 
s and powers, the marks which 
shurcli has always regarded as 
I of the presence of the devil. 
B of the cases he describes arc 
ly cases of possession, and oth- 
tc as clearly cases of obsession. 
appily, Mr. Owen, who formerly 
ved in no God, now takes, know- 
• or not, the devil to be God. 
r. Owen h.^s hanlly improved 
he heathen Cclsus, who was rc- 
l by Ongen. Celsus charged the 
cle« of our Lord to magic. Mr. 
a ascribes (hem to necromancy, 
regards llie ajiOblles and saints 
as a person with a familiar spi- 
r, in the Inngtiagc of the spiritists. 
^iium. The Jews alsn ascribed 
niracles of our I^rd to the agen- 
f the devil, and charge<i that it 
by Beel/ebub, the prince of ric- 
ihal he did his wonderful works, 
there is a striklnij difference bc- 
n the Jews and Celsus ;ind our 
miniver to Naples. They sought 
rove the satnnic origin of the 
cles of our Lord as a reason for 
tins him and liis teaching; he 



attempts to do it as a reason for be- 
lieving him and reverencing his doc- 
trine and character. Uut they lived 
in an age of darkness, superstition, 
and semi-barbarism, and he in an ■ 
age of light, reason, and civilization, f 
and the distance between him and 
them is the measure of the progress 
the world has made since their time 
—a mighty progress indeed, but a 
progress backward. The Bible tells 
us all the gods of the heathen were 
devils, and Mr. Owen agrees and 
takes the devil for God, and demon 
worship as true divine worship. What 
the Jews and Celsus falsely alleged 
against our Lord as an objection, he 
reasitcrts as a recommendation. He 
has discovered that evii is good. 

The class of facts which the spirit- 
ists call spirit-manifestations arc re- 
cognized in the Bible from beginning 
to end, but always as the works of 
the devil or evil spirits, always as 
works to \k condemned and to be 
avoided; and any communication with 
those who do them is forbidden. 
Necromancers, or those who consult 
the spirits of the dead, are mentioned ■ 
and condemned in the Book of Ge- ■ 
nesis. The Mosaic law ordained that 
a witch or a woman with a familiar 
spirit — that is, a medium, wheth'^r a M 
rapping or a clear-seeing, a talking ■ 
or a writing medium— should not be 
suffered to live. The church has al- ■ 
ways condemned everything of the I 
sort, and requires a candidate for 
baptism to renounce the devil and 
his works, and expels the devi*. 
from him by her exorcisms, be- 
fore receiving the postulant to her 
communion. And yet Mr. Owen 
would have us believe that the Bible 
and the church sanction his doctrine, 
that the Christian miracles and the 
sjiirit-manifestations are produced by 
one and the same agency ! Verily, 
Mr. Owe^; throws a strong light on 
the orig\,^ ^f the great Gentile apo*. 



I 

I 
I 





8fO 



OweM 0H Spiriiism, 



tasy, and shows us how easily men 
who break from the unity of divine 
tiadition, and set up for themselves, 
can lose sight of God, and come step 
by step to worship the devil in his 
place. The thing seemed incredible, 
and we had some difficulty in taking 
the assertion of the Holy Scriptures 
literally, " All the gods of the gen- 
tiles are devils " ; but since we see 
apostasy frotn the church running 
the same career, and actually inau- 
gurating the worship of demons, ac- 
tually exalting the devil above our 
Lord, the Mystery of Iniquity is ex- 
plained, and the matter becomes plain 
and credible. 

It is curious to see what has been 
the course of thought in the Protes- 
tant apostasy in regard to the class 
of facts in question. Having lost 
the power of exorcism with their 
loss of the true faith, the Protestant 
nations had no resource against the 
invasions of the spirits but to carry 
out the injunction of the Mosaic law, 
" Thou shalt not suffer a witch " — that 
is, a medium — " to live." Hence we 
find their annals in the sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries blackened with 
accounts of the trials and cruel pun- 
ishments of persons suspected of 
witchcraft, sorcery, or dealings with 
the devil, especially in England, 
Scotland, and the Anglo-American 
colonies. Having no well-defined 
and certain criteria, as the church 
has, by which to determine the pre- 
sence of Satan, many persons, no 
doubt, were put to death who were 
innocent of the offences of which they 
were accused. This produced a re- 
action in the public mind against the 
laws and against the execution of 
persons for witchcraft or dealing with 
the devil. This reaction was follow- 
ed by a denial of witchcraft, or that 
the devil had anything to do with 
matters and things on earth, and a 
shower of ridicule fell on all who 



believed in anything of the sort 
Then came the general doubt, and 
then the denial of the existence of 
the devil and all infernal spirits, save 
in human nature itself. Finally came 
the spirit-manifestations, in which 
Satan is no longer regarded as Sa^ 
tan, but is held to be divine, and 
worshipped as God, by thousandsand 
millions. 

We must be excused from entering 
into any elaborate refutation of Mr. 
Owen's blasphemous attempt to bring 
the Christian miracles under the ge- 
neral law, as he regards it, of spirit- 
manifestations. He has proved the 
reality of no such law, and if he had, 
the spirit-manifestations themselva 
would prove nothing more than a gale 
of wind, a shower of rain, a &as.\i of 
lightning, or the growth of a spire of 
grass. Could we prove the Chris- 
tian miracles to be facts in the order 
of nature, or show them as taking 
place by a general law, and not by tbe 
immediate act of God, and therefore 
no miracles at all, we should deprive 
them of all their importance. The 
value of the facts is not in their t)^ 
ing facts, but in their being miracu- 
lous facts, which none but God on 
work. The author does not under- 
derstand this, butsupposes that he hai 
won a victory for Christianity when 
he has proved the miracles as facts, 
but at the same time that they aie 
no miracles. 

It b clear from his pages that the 
author does not know what Chris- 
tians understand by a miracle. He 
cites St Augustine to prove that a 
miracle is something that may take 
place by some law of nature to us un- 
known, but St Augustine, in the pas- 
sage he cites, is not speaking of mira- 
cles at all; he is speaking of portents, 
prodigies, or extraordinary events, 
which the ignorant, and the superstiti- 
ous ascribe to a supernatural agency; 
but which may, after all, however 



Owen OH Spiritism. 



8ll 



Tful, be produced by a natural 

as in our days not a few believe 

the CAse wiih the spirii-mani- 

ons ihemselvcs, and no doubt is 

ise with most of the wonders 

tritisu relate. The devil may 

portents or prodigies, but not 

Cs, because he has no creative 

I and can work only with ma- 

created to his hand. 

k necessary also to distinguish 

n what is simply su]>crtiuman 

tat is supernatural. Whatever 

turc is in the orilcr of nature. 

embraces the entire creation 

ever exists that is not God or 

ishable from hira. AVhciher 

ated powers arc above man 

low him in the scale of cxis- 

they are equally natural, and 

hatcver they are capable, as 

causes, of doing. The angels 

c\\ the very highest as the 

are God's creatures, distin- 

Ic from him, and therefore in- 

tn nature. The same must 

of the devils in hell, or the 

if the spirits of the departed, 

ice whatever they do is wilh- 

natiiral order. The devil is 

ir, if you will, by nature to 

for man is made liule lower 

le angels, and the devil is an an- 

len ; he may know many things 

human intelligence, anil do 

things beyond the power of 

ut what the devil docs, is, if su- 

ian,not in any sense siipematu- 

as natund as what man him- 

\Vc agree wiih Mr. Owen, 

not for tlie same reason, that 

nothing miraculous in the 

anifestations, even supposing 

•o be facts, and therefore are 

irabie in relation to the irulh 

thood of Christianity as a re- 

n of and by the supernatural. 

alone, and what he does im- 

:ly by his direct act and im- 

; act, is supernatural. God 



alone can work a miracle, which is a 
supernatural effect wTOUght without 
any natural medium. Jaw, or agency, 
in or on nature, and is, as far as it 
goes, a manifestation of creative 
power. 

Miracles do what portents, prodi- 
gies, spirit-rappings, etc., do not— ihcy 
manifest the supernatural, or the ex- 
istence of a real order alwve nature. 
They do not indeed directly prove 
the truth of the Christian mysteries, 
but they do accredit our Lord as a 
teacher sent from God. As Nicode- 
mus said when he came by night to 
Jesus, " Rabbi, we know that thou 
art come a teacher from God, for no 
man can do the miracles thou doest, 
unless God were with hira," God in 
the miracles accredits the teacher, 
and vouches for the tnjth of what he 
in whose favor they arc wrought 
teaches. What our Lord teaches, 
then, is true. If he teaches that 
he is perfect God and perfect man 
in hypostatic union, then he is so, 
and then is to be behevcd. on hia 
own word, whatever he teaches, for 
" it is impossible for God to lie.*' 
The facts, then, are of no importance 
if not miracles. Hence the " nalu- 
nd-supernaturalism " of the Sartor 
Htsartus is not only a contradiction 
in terms, but utterly worthless, as are 
most of the admired utterances of its 
author, and aid us not in solving a 
single problem far which revelation is 
needed. 

Deprive us of the prophecies under 
the Gill Law and the miracles under 
the New, and we should be deprived 
of all means of proving Christianity 
as a supernatural religion, as super- 
naturally inspired and revealed, and 
should be reflucec), as Mr. Owen is, 
to naked niiionaUsm. or downright 
demontsin. "I'he prodigies of the de- 
vil do not carry us above nature. 
They ^^e indeed Satan's efforts to 
counicf/ 'I gen^'^^c miracles, but at 




81? 



The AruitttutaiioH. 



best they only give us the superhuman 
for the supernatural. If the author 
could prove the Christian miracles 
are not miracles, though credible as 
facts, or if he could bring them into 
the category of the spirit- manifesta- 
tions, he would in effect divest Chris- 
tianity of its supernatural character, 
and render it all as worthless as any 
man-constructed system of ethics or 
philosophy. His Christianity, as set 
forth in his pages, has not a trace of 
the Christianity of Christ, and is as 
little worthy of being called Chris- 
tian as the bald Unitarianism of 
Channing, or the Deism of Rous- 
seau, Tom Paine, or Voltaire, or the 
Free Religion of Emerson, Higgin- 
son, and Julia Ward Howe. 

What Mr. Owen regards as a high- 
ly important fact, and which he urges 
Protestants to accept as the means 
of triumphing over the Catholic 
Church, namely, that the Christian 
miracles and the spirit-manifestations 
are worthy of precisely the same re- 
spect and confidence in a Christian 
point of view, is far less important 
than he in his profound ignorance of 



Christianity imagines. How far be 
will be successful with Frotestanti 
we know not ; but his success, we 
imagine, will be greatest among peo- 
ple of his own class, who, having oo 
settled belief in any religion, who 
know little of the principles of Chris- 
tianity, are, as all such people are, 
exceedingly credulous and supersti- 
tious. These people hover on the 
borders of Protestantism, have certain 
sympathies with the Reformation, 
but it would be hardly just to call 
them in the ordinary sense of the 
term Protestants. Yet Protestantism, 
being substantially a revival in prin- 
ciple o^ the ancient Genrile apostas; 
which led to the worship of the de\il 
in the place of God before our Lord's 
advent, there can be no doubt that 
Protestants are peculiarly exposed to 
Satanic invasions, and there is no 
certainty that they may not follow 
Mr. Owen back to the devil-worship 
from which Christianity rescued the 
nations thaX embraced it But we 
have said enough for the present. 
Perhaps we may say more her» 
after. 



THE ANNUNCIATION. 



MARCH 27TH. 

She kneels in prayer — a childlike, virgin form ; 

What purity is mirrored in her eyes ! 

Her dove-like glances, with devotion warm. 

Are raised in wonihip to the midnight skies — 

But took ! a heavenly radiance bright has shone 

Around the virgin chosen of the Lord ; 

In her rapt prayer she hears the angel's tone, 

" Hail ! full of grace ! for lo ! upon the word 

Of thy consent waits now the heavenly dove. 

Whose wings o'ershadowing thee shall lightly rest 

One moment on thy pure and humble breast, 

And make thee by that awful seal of love 

The mother of thy God !" She bows her head. 

While yf/i/ miAi in meek tones is said. 



FUmroMgK. 



813 



FLEURANGE. 

■Y WKS. CRAVEN, AUTHOR OP " A SISTER'S STORY." 

TKAHSLATBD PROM THK PRUICH, Wim rntHtSnOH. 

PART FIRST. 
THE OLD MANSION. 



IV. 



w daylight appeared, Fleur- 
iwoke first, but in a few 
I, while she was admiring the 
till sleeping in her arms, his 
syes opened in their turn, 
irst expression was one of ex- 
surprise, somewhat mingled 
ar, but Fleurange's look and 
oon had a reassuring effect, 
es grew smiling, his mouth 
ened, his little arms stretched 
; her and were soon clasped 

her neck, and the acquaint- 
as made. During this time 
e and languid young mother 
deavoring to shake off a heavi- 
sre difficult to overcome than 

She slightly blushed and mur- 
some words of excuse when 
'ceived her child in the arms 
beautiful stranger. But Fleur- 
•rotested with an accent of in- 
)le truth that the child did not 

her in the least. She soon 
ed she could be of some ser- 

the poor convalescent. The 
n, aroused from a long night's 
were now wholly awake. 

one knows that children 
and, confined within a narrow 
soon arrive at a degree of tur- 
: whose only advantage is to 



pioduce lassitude and then sleep. 
During tlie first of these two phases, the 
poor mother made a vain and feeble 
effort to restrain them. After a few 
minutes she fell back, not only ex- 
hausted, but faint Fleurange drew 
near, and began to improvise a pillow 
for her head out of the shawls scat- 
tered around. Then she opened the 
small basket Mademoiselle Josephine 
had given her, and took out a flask, 
the contents of which, poured on a 
handkerchief and applied to the sick 
woman's pale face and temples, soon 
revived her. 

"Thank you," she said; "you 
have done me a great deal of good. 
I am feeble, that is all, but I did not 
suppose myself so much so." 

" Do not exert yourself," replied 
Fleurange, " I will take care of the 
children." 

The mother smiled, and touched 
her head, showing by this gesture 
how fatiguing she found the noise she 
had not succeeded in quieting. At 
that very moment, the younger of 
the two children was standing on the 
seat, trying to reach the net, of pain- 
ful memory, suspended like the sword 
of Damocles over the travellers' 
heads, an<^ vhich served a&aiecepta- 



8U 



Flemrmigt. 



cie for ererything that could not i>e 
stowed away elsewhere. The child 
was not climbing without a motive. 
His brother had already successfully 
preceded him, and found means of 
seizing, through the meshes of the 
net, a small hunting-horn, on which 
he was now executing a flourish. 
Why could not he also get his drum, 
almost within reach ? If he could 
only stretch a little farther — 
and he looked at Fleurange with a 
supplicating air; but the latter, in- 
stead of heeding his mute appeal, 
laughingly laid hold of him and drew 
him on her lap ; then skilfully bearing 
off the hunting-horn from the other, 
she promised to relate them the most 
charming of stories if they would be 
quiet. In an instant they were both 
leaning beside her, and then, in 
a low tone, she related one story 
after another, keeping them silent 
and attentive till the hour of sleep re- 
turned. 

By the end of the second day the 
travellers had made great progress in 
their acquaintance. " How can I 
thank you sufficiently ?" said the 
young mother. "How fortunate i 
was to meet you !" 

" Do not thank me : your children 
have done me more good than I can 
return." 

This reply, of course, did not at all 
diminish the gratitude mingled with 
admiration with which she had in- 
spired her companion, and as there 
is only a step from attraction to con- 
fidence, the latter soon related the 
whole story of her uneventful life to 
, Fleurange. She had met with a 
severe fall three months before, and 
her life was despaired of; then her 
husband took her to Paris to consult 
Dr. Leblanc, who effected a cure. 
Fleurange's eyes brightened. It was 
such a gratification to be able to talk 
about her dear old friends! 

** He is so skilful and kind," she said. 



" Oh I yes, indeed I he is more than 
a physician : he is a benefactor, aod 
yet i disobeyed him in starting so 
sooni He said I was still too feeUe, 
which I denied; but I see he was 
right." 

"Why did you do so?" 

"Because my poor Wilhelm is 
alone and impatiently awaiting me." 

"Your husband?" 

« Yes." 

" Could he not have come foryou?" 

"No; he is M. Domthal's head 
clerk, and it is very difficult for him to 
leave his post." 

Fleurange's heart gave a leap at 
this name. " Are you alluding tu 
M. Ludwig Domthal ?" said she. 

" No ; to his brother, the rich 
banker." 

" And the other — the professor- 
do you know him ?" 

" Ihave never seen him, but Wil- 
helm is well acquainted with him, 
and is sometimes invited to the soi- 
rees he gives. They are not balls— 
they are not fond of dancing therr 
— but reunions for conversation, read- 
ing, music, and looking at eit- 
gravings. Wilhelm says they arc 
all learned, the girls as well as the 
boys, and madame as much so as her 
husband." 

Fleurange slightly shuddered at 
this brief communication respecung 
her uncle's family. She was v«y 
fond of study, still more so of the 
arts ; she had a taste for reading she 
was often obliged to repress, but this 
word " learned " she did not find at- 
tractive. 

" Learned !" she said to heneiL 
" That means pedantic, grave, and tire- 
some. Well, I must make the best 
of it Perhaps that does not prevent 
them firom being good, which is the 
essential point, and I certainly shoulil 
not aim at amusement in this shod 
life." 

Another night — another long day 



ring to a dose — when lights 
Icquent and bright, and more 
>us dwellings, announced the 
f of a large city. As each mo- 
troughc them nearer their des- 
n, the joy of the mother and 
Idren became more expansive. 
t will be waiting for us, will he 
said the elder of the children. 
:s, yes, we shall see him as 
1$ the carriage stops, but that 
t be for an hour." Soon the 
is: "In half an hour, now!" 

last: " Here we are!" 
r Fleurange listened to her 
iDg companions, and envied 
ihe certainty of being greeted 
t journey's end by a dear and 
town lace. Sadness and a fear- 
idity came over her. At last, 
uriage stopped. As at their 
urc, there was a great uproar, a 
■of cries, and vacillating lights, 

illuminated everything, but 
g distinctly. Fleurange sought 
I among all the persons who 
id around the carriage, for a 
at might be her uncle's. The 
pened. A tall man with flow- 
irand a long blonde beard pre- 

himsclf. " Was it he ?" No, 
fid cries of the children at once 
ed Fleurange it was tlieir father. 
iitha. Bertha 1" he exclaimed, 
rcn before embracing his chil* 
le pressed both her hmids and 

anxiously in her face. 
»u arc very i>alc, dear Bertha." 

is only with joy, Wilhelm/' 
, shc» weeping, *' I am cured, 
behold you once more !" 
then stretched out his arms to 
Idren, but before leaving the 
:e they both cried " Adieu ! 
" in childlike tones and threw 
rms around Fleurange's neck, 
ilhelm," said his wife in a low 
* ihank this kind young lady, 
as been an angel of goodness 
n and to me on the way." 



He turned with a soft and grate- 
ful look toward Fleurange: "May 
God reward you, fair and gentle 
maiden," said he, taking olT his hau 
Then he added hesitatingly: 

" Doubtless some one is waiting for 
you here, and I cannot have the 
pleasure of rendering you any ser- 
vice ?" 

" I thank you," said Fleurange 
quickly. " 1 am, indeed, expected by 
my relatives." While speaking she 
anxiously cast her eyes around. No 
one seemed to be seeking her in tlie 
crowd of unknown faces that sur- 
rounded her. Was there any mis- 
take? Had they forgotten her? 
What should she do ? 

Meanwhile her travelling compan- 
ions left Ihe carriage, and the happy 
group was already at a distance. She 
followed them with her eyes, her 
heart sinking within her. At that in- 
stant a small open carriage, drawn by 
a fine horse, drove swiftly up. In it 
was a youth of eighteen or nineteen 
years. He tlirew the reins to some 
one standing near and sprang out. 
Seeing him, Bertha's husband took 
off his hat, and a cap is hastily raised 
in return, displaying an abundance 
of light hair of rather a warm shade. 
But the new-comer did not stop. He 
was in a great hurry and out of 
breath. He ran up to the diligence 
and said inquiringly : 

" Mademoiselle Gabrielle 1" 

" That is my name," said Fleur- 
ange, at first struck dumb at hear- 
ing herself so-called, and especially at 
the sight of him who had come to 
meet her. 

•' Very well," said he, "let me help 
you descend." 

Fleurange silently prepared to 
obey, but after anoUier glance al him 
as he held out a firm hand, she said : 
" There is j^o mistake, is there ? It 
is my uu^^^ ^i. Ludwig UoiWhal, 
who has * 



8i6 



Fltmrangt. 



The only reply she received was 
an affirmative nod of the head ; a mo- 
ment after, a concise order, prompt- 
ly obeyed, brought down from the 
heights of the imperial the modest 
lugga^gc belonging to Fleurange. In 
an instant it was fastened behind the 
light carriage which he afterward as- 
sisted her in entering, then, carefully 
and silently wrapping around her a 
hirge fur cloak which he had brought, 
he took his seat, and the horse set 
off, as he came, at a fast trot. 

Fleurange at first felt giddy with 
the rapid motion of the carriage, but 
it soon became agreeable, contrasted 
with the heavy movements and vie* 
lent jotting of the diligence. The 
weather was sharp, but the warm 
cloak that covered her prevented her 
from feeling it, and, thus protected, 
the keen air, so far from being un- 
pleasant, gave her, on the cwitrary, 
an unaccustomed animation which 
was like a fresh infusion of youth and 
life. The sky above was sparkling 
with stars. It was one of those bril- 
liant winter nights which we love to 
imagine like that which witnessed the 
coming of Christ, and saw angels 
hovering over the heights that sur- 
round Bethlehem, to convey the glad 
tidings to the shepherds, and sing on 
earth their divine hymn. 

In about twenty minutes the horse 
slackened his pace a little, and the 
young coachman turned around and 
seemed to make some attempt at an 
explanation which Fleurange tried 
her best to comprehend, but the rat- 
tling over the pavements rendered 
this nearly impossible, and she only 
seized the words *' My father " and 
" Christ Kindchenr after which his 
head, turned around for an instant, 
resumed its former position, and the 
horse his usual pace. 

But Fleurange gathered from this 
that the youth was one of M. Dom- 
thal's sons, and her uncle had not 



been able to meet her for some rtt- 
son connected with the festival of the 
following day. Her first imfvession 
was that her cousin's mannen were 
rather abrupt^ and his face somewhat 
peculiar, but on the whole he had 
shown himself very efficient and at- 
tentive. As for his <dcill in driving 
it was unrivalled, the reins could not 
have been in better hands. 

After this short inttfruption, they 
kept on their way without slackening 
an instant, notwithstanding moce 
than one tnm through the winding 
streets, and at length arrived at a 
place planted with trees, where the 
carriage stopped before a flight of 
steps leading to an oaken door adon* 
ed with a masnve brass knocker. 

Some one was evidently watching 
for them, for the door instantly fiev 
opea Fleurange caught the glimpir 
of a bright light and many fonm. 
Her cousin hastened to aid her in 
alighting. Confused voices were an- 
dible, all having a cordial accent of 
welcome. A strong hand supported 
Fleurange as she ascended the ss 
stone steps and entered the passage, 
A tall woman dressed in gray, aod 
wearing a cap trimmed with flovcn. 
approached and embraced her. " It 
is my turn now I" said a deep and so- 
norous voice, " for I am her uncle." 
Fleurange raised her eyes toward a 
noble countenance which had too 
young a look to be crowned «itb 
such white hair, and her uncle eo- 
braced her, murmuring in a softened 
tone the name of Margaret Beside 
him stood a lovely young girl, graie 
and blonde, while another, fair asbcr 
sister but younger, divested Fleurange 
of the heavy fur cloak and untied 
her bonnet A boy of seven rears 
ran ou^ into the street to aid his bo- 
ther, and a little girl of four or five 
clung to her mother's skirts, looking 
curiously, but with delight, at the 
strange visitor. 



nge, duxleri by ihe lights, 
^nfosetl by the very cordiality 
reception, was incapable of m- 
a woni, but her large eyes, full 
1, were more exjiressive than 
)rds, and the unusual brillian- 
ber coniplejiion, owing to the 
light :iir, and her long tresses 

over her shoulders when her 
; WAS removed, gave her an 
dly striking ap|>earance which 
have conciliated the most ma- 
tt. How, then, must she have 
egardcd by tiiose so ready to 
ne her heartily ? 
y led her, triumphantly, as it 
nto a spacious drawing-room 

was still more da/zling. In 
itre of the apartment stood a 
iUianily illuminated and hung 
yys, flowers, jewels, and fruit 
inds. Two chandeliers added 
ght to that of the illuminated 
tder one of which half a dozen 
n were gathered around a la- 
nded with calc». Several 

ladies, as well as others wlio 
'Ider, were grouped here and 

lort, Fleurange suddenly found 
, and for the first time in her 

the midst of what seemed to 
rtry brilliant reunion, in which 
&ces, even those of her hosts, 
irange. The least timid would 
Hxn discnnrrertcd, and Fleur- 
fas completely abashed. The 

gray with a cap trimmed with 
I, whom she supposed to be 
III, took her by the hand, and 
led her Iwck into the passage, 
•nee into a small parlor lighted 
igle lamp. In crossing the hall, 
et Flcunngc's young guide. 
she ill ? Does she need any- 

Pic asked in a kind and eager 
she needs rest," and with 
]y Madame Dornthal shut the 
her son's face. 
BU XIV— S3 



Fieiirange sal down and breathed 
more freely. Hitherto she had been 
unable not only to utter a word, but 
even to collect her thoughts. Now, 
thanks to the quiet room, she at once 
grew calm, and in a few minutes felt 
quite recovered. She was young and 
vigorous. She had scarcely felt the 
fatigue of the journey, and it was 
not in her nature to yield long to 
emotion and embarrassment, espe- 
cially when in the depths of her 
heart she felt so happy ! Mad not a 
single glance, quick as a flash, suffic* 
eil to dissipate the bunlen which 
weighed on her heart, and to light 
it up with a transport of joy and 
hoi>e ? Her uncle's voice, the words 
he murmured as he embraced her, 
*' O Margaret, is it you ?" gave her 
a thrill ; then the soft glances of 
those fair young girls, the sight 
of the children gathered under the 
Christmas-tree, even the abrupt at- 
tentions of her young cousin — alt 
gave her a dehcious sensation of 
safety, an assurance of protection 
which in her moments of desolation 
she had desired more than joy or 
happiness. 

She raised her head, and looked at 
her aunt, who stood silcndy regard- 
ing her. The latter was decidc<ily ug- 
ly — astonishingly so, yet even before 
she spoke or smiled there was an 
expression more desirable than beau- 
ty visibly imprinted on her face, 
otherwise devoid of all charm — an 
expression of intelligence and kind- 
ness. 

'* Remain here perfectly quiet, will 
you ?'* said Madame Dornlhal, fufyj- 
it/if Fleurangc as tf she had known 
her from childhood.* 

" There, looV ai ^'^'^ cAocV ■, a quar- 
ter of an hoviT \vt^^ ^^ suft\dent l>o 
not try to x.w. O'^^'i **" " '" 



^iX\\l, 



Wsictv vo me. 



citiv« of rk.t^ 
Iti. III! noi I ■ 






V^' 







8i8 



Fleurange, 



You are at horae, you must under- 
stand: remember that. No thanks 
are necessary. You are one of our 
children. We had five : now we 
have six. It was Clement, my old- 
est son, who went to meet you, be- 
cause his father could not leave the 
children this evening. You saw Hil- 
da and Clara at your arrival, as well 
as the two little ones, Frttz and Fri- 
da, who were also there to receive 
you. There is Gabrielle besides : 
that is all. Your uncle has mourned 
so much for his poor sister Margaret] 
Now he has found her again, it is a 
happy day for us all 1" 

Fleurange quietly wiped away her 
tears without replying. Just then 
some one knocked at the door. 

" Who is there ?" 

" It is I." 

It was Clement with a cup of cof- 
fee, which, at her aunt's injunction, 
Fleurange drank with docility. 

" Will you now go up to your 
room for the night, or will you re- 
turn to the drawing-room among the 
others ?" 

Fleurange replied without any he- 
sitation : " 1 prefer to go back to 
the drawing-room and see them all, 
at once." 

A pleasant smile lighted up Ma- 
dame Dornthal's face. " I like you 
very much, Gabrielle, not because 
you are handsome, that has nothing 
to do with it ; I should love you 
quite as much were it otherwise ; but 
because there is so much simplicity 
about you — which is quite to my 
taste. Now, let me see : it is eleven 
o'clock, our friends are going to take 
their children home, and our young- 
est arc going to bed. As to the rest 
of us, we shall presently go to the 
Midnight Mass, and not sup till our 
return. Make your own choice — to 
follow the children's example, or go 
with us." 

" Oh 1 with you, with you !'* cried 



Fleurange. " Pray, take me to 
church ; 1 am neither feeble nor fa- 
tigued," 

" And yet you are fatigued," re- 
plied Madame Domthal, *' only yoa 
do not yet feel it. But as it will do 
you no harm, you shall do as you wish. 
So save your strength, and do not 
return now to the drawing-room. 
You can remain here and wait for 
me." 

She lefl the room, and Fleurange 
remained where she was, happy to 
obey such kind orders without any 
resistance. Five minutes after, the 
door opened. It was Clement a^, 
holding his little brother by the hand, 
and carrying his young sister in his 
arms. 

" Fritz and Frida wish to bid yoa 
good-night," he said. The little boy 
timidly approached. Fleurange im- 
mediately spoke to him in that lan- 
guage which all children understand, 
and which can only be learned and 
spoken by those who love them : be 
was speedily reassured, ^ktt tbeo 
took Frida, and kissed her blue eyes, 
which, while looking at her with sur- 
prise, began to close. When she 
gave the child back to her brc^br, 
she was asleep, and he bore her awty 
without awakening her, holding hci 
with an ease that showed how accitt- 
tomed he was to the care. His lUlW 
brother followed him out of the room. 

Half an hour of silent repose suc- 
ceeded this interruption. It vai 
more beneficial to Fleurange than 
sleep, which strong e.xcitement kept 
her from feeling the need of. At the 
end of that time, Madame Domthal 
reappeared with her two daughter. 
Clement and his father were waiting 
for them in the passage. They set 
ofi* by starlight on foot, for the chutcfa 
was near. They were all silent and 
thoughtful, for the children's festival 
had not made them forgetful of the 
solemnity oi this great night 



820 



Fiturauge, 



hour before, bearing a basket which 
contained garments similar to their 
own. 

" Why not ?" said Fleurange, some- 
what astonished. 

" Do you not know that, in Ger- 
many, mourning is laid aside on 
great festivals ?" replied Clara, the 
younger of the two. " You must 
dress like us to-day, as you will al- 
ways do when the time for this sad 
mourning is over." 

The elder of the two sisters notic- 
ed that her cousin made no reply : 
she approached her and said affec- 
tionately : 

" Excuse Clara if she has distress- 
ed you. She is so gay and happy 
herself, that she cannot comprehend 
misfortune and sadness." 

" I do not wish to remind her of 
them to-day," said Fieurange, " and 
will do as she requests. But you, 
dear Hilda," continued she — looking 
with admiration at her cousin's gold* 
en locks and grave brow, which a 
queen's diadem would have suited, 
or the aureola of a saint — " are you 
not as gay and happy as your si> 
ter ?" 

" Yes, as happy," said Hilda, " but 
not as gay." 

After some explanations, Fieurange 
conformed to her cousins' wishes. 
But when, before dinner, the beauti- 
ful Hilda, clothed in white, brought 
a garland like that she wore herself 
and wished to place it on her head, 
she objected: "As to this garland, 
Hilda, you must excuse me from 
wearing it." 

" Why so ?" 

" Because I have never worn any 
ornament of the kind : because, after 
all, I cannot and do not wish to for- 
get I am a poor orphan, who should 
not dream of adorning herself, or 
mingling in the world." 

"But, Gabrielle, you must know 
we only adorn ourselves to celebrate 



at home the great annual 1 
and we never mingle in the \ 

" Never ? But then, wl 
flowers without any reason ?* 

" It is not witliout a reasc 
father likes us to wear the 
of the season at every feasi 
poor wreath you have refu 
brielle, look at it: it is, like i 
holly, reflecting the bright 
Christmas, with its shining le< 
berries red as coral. There, 
is not becoming in your rave 
As she spoke, Hilda held thi 
over her cousin's head : at 
stant Clara appeared, and b 
was no longer possible. Sh( 
ly took her sister's place : th 
leaves and red berries wen 
like a crown on Fieurange 
who laughed and only made 
resistance, while the mirror 
the forms of the three youn] 
as graceful a picture as ever 
an artist's dreams. 

"There," cried Clara, " 
both beautiful — on: fair as 
and the other brilliant as nig 
I," continued she, arralig 
long curls, among which hoi 
were also twined — " let me : 
I resemble myself." 

" A flower, a star, dear Ch 
rything that is best worth ^ 
by day or night," said Kleui 
fectionately. 

She preferred the elder of 
sisters, but there was an in 
grace about the other, wli 
could not help caressing w 
eyes and tones, as if she 
child. 

" Ah ! that is charming, 
and very applicable! Tha 
Cousin Gabrielle. I will p 
ask our poet to divine my ei 
We shall see if he agrees wil 

" If our poet is in a fit of 
tion, you must ask some c 
who certainly will not be," 5ai< 



lushed. " Come, come !" 
' let us talk no longer about 

o down. 'I'here is Frida 

T us. They have doubt- 

inivcd." And taking her 

by the hand, she ran off, 

uctiing the massive balus- 
\ic flew down the s:airs. 
did not tell nve you were 

visitors," said FIcurange. 
some friends and relatives. 
Uncle Heinrich lost his 
nd his son have Ukcn their 

dinner with us. The fa- 

riy assembled at his house. 
;oing to make his acquain- 
1 that of our fine cousin 
rest are our friends, and 
ic yours." Hilda paused. 
ibtless know that Hansfelt 
her's friend, and was the 
s of his youth ?" she conti- 

igth. 

■It!" exclatined Fleurangc. 
Karl Hansfelt, the great 

ire already rcm.irkcd that 

|x;rfccily understood her 
alive tongue. The poems 
rson just mentioned were 

celebrated at that time 
be familiar with them, 

low some of them by heart. 
le is your fnend ? And 
^him?" 
replied Hilda, "you will 
iften. And you will also 
idded, as if eager to change 
i, "a young artist who is 
to be quite popular. His 
jlian Steinberg, and he !<; a 
Ovcrbcck's. I will leave 
Itroduce him to you." A 
smite accompanied c!ic last 
I Fleurange, coraprehend- 
iriy so, the state of affairs, 

with her cousin Into the 
iog-rooin, which, as well 
m, was on the ground 




The house M. Ludwig Domthal 
inhabited is probably no longer stand- 
ing. Modem improvements have 
swept away, one by one, those old 
houses in ail our cities to which time 
had given an aspect too much at 
variance with the tastes and require- 
ments of a new generation. Even 
at the period in which our story 
opens — that is, in 1824 — the house criT 
which we are speaking alrea<ly be- 
gan to be pointed out as the 0/tf 
Mansion — the name, par exieUence^ by 
which it was known in the city. But, 
as it was spacious and commodious, 
its situation quiet and retired, and it 
had a large garden which all the 
windows on one side overlooked, it 
it was admirably adapted to the pro- 
fessor's studious habits. The pictu- 
resque color it had acquired with age 
was alsn quite tn his taste, and, above 
.ill, as it was here Ludwig Dornchal 
passed the first years of his married 
life, and where his children were 
born, nothing in the world would 
have induced him to leave it, and on 
this point they were all agreed. The^ 
Old Mansion was dear to those who 
inhabited it, as well as to all who 
frequented it, and every one, like 
Fleurange, uttered more or less fer- 
vently these words, which are always 
vainly repeated in this world when 
our faculties are all fur an instant in 
a state of happy equilibrium : " It is 
good for us to be Iiere ; let us set up 
our tabernacle, and here remain." 
Tliis impression, it may be supposed, 
was not wholly owing to the exterior 
aspect of the Old Mansion. There 
was a harmony between it and its 
occupants ; and wUh various resuUs, 
this effect is pyoAuc^*^ almost every- 
where. JnaxYt-^aie objects seem to 
imbibe an<l ^xo>ii^^*^^^ somelbmg 

of the life vv"^^ -ssCia.TO\xu& >.\\cm, 
and this W ^^l ^ - xVoM^'ft ^ActA.'^*, 
to those ^^ -^^ ^ ■*- *■ *^'^^*- ^ 
genuine ^ 




822 



Fieurangt. 



When Fleurange entered the draw- 
ing-room, she perceived her Uncle 
Ludwig was rather impatiently await* 
ing her, for the moment she appear- 
ed he advanced, and, taking her by 
the hand, led her to the other end 
of the apartment, where stood a gen- 
tleman whose features bore some re- 
semblance to his own, but with so 
different an expression, that the like- 
ness, which at first was apparent, 
gi»w less and less as the two brothers 
were better known. 

" This is our sister Margaret's 
daughter," said Ludwig to the bank- 
er. " She is doubly your niece now, 
for I have adopted her as my child." 

M. Heinrich Domthal bowed and 
cordially embraced the young girl, 
but he could not resist saying: "An- 
other daughter, when you have three 
already, is a great addition." 

This cool and unpleasant remark 
disconcerted Fleurange, and she had 
not recovered from her painful sen- 
sation of embarrassment when a 
young man of rather a fine figure 
approached and offered her his arm. 
iHeurange looked at him with an air 
of astonishment. She had never 
been to a large dinner-party, and 
knew nothing of the usages common 
to all countries on such an occasion. 
She slightly retreated, and, opening 
her large eyes, said : " Who are you, 
monsieur, and where do you wish to 
conduct me ?" 

This question and movement caus- 
ed a general smile around her, in 
which she saw her Uncle Ludwig 
join, and with that simplicity which 
was her greatest charm she began to 
laugh herself, and so innocently, that 
he who had involuntarily caused this 
little scene exclaimed half aloud: 
" This is truly the most charming 
piece of rusticity I ever met with ;" 
and then, bowing to her with mock 
gravity, and an air at once gallant 
and bantering, he said : 



" Mademoiselle, my name ii Fdix 
Domthal : I have the honor of beiog 
your cousin, and I offer yon my am 
to conduct you to the dining-room ; 
but I acknowledge there woukl hare 
been more propriety in first making 
us acquainted with each other." 

Fleurange, blushing and sroilio^ 
accepted the arm oficred her, and, 
once seated at table beside this new 
cousin, and freed from the embarrass- 
ment of this little incident, she looked 
around and began to enjoy her norel 
position. 

Was it really her own self, who re* 
cently felt so isolated? She who 
had stood face to face with want and 
abandonment ? Could she be Ihe 
same person now, surrounded by nu- 
merous relatives, a member of a laifs 
family, feeling herself beloved byaU, 
and loving all in return— yes, all, ex- 
cepting the cousin seated beside her, 
who caused her involuntary confu- 
sion ; and yet he had just said souk 
words to her in Italian, pronounced 
with so pure an accent that she «- 
perienced a lively sensation of ur- 
prise and joy, for Italy was her u- 
tive land — ^her own country almost, 
left only a few months previous for 
the first time. But her cousin'j 
words embodied a compliment to 
which she did not know how to re- 
ply, and when she raised her ere* 
toward him she met a look tliat dis- 
concerted her still more. She there- 
fore only uttered a few words in re- 
turn, and then silently resumed her 
examination of the company, bc^n- 
ning with her Uncle Ludwig. .\s ^^ 
him, she thought she had never seen 
a nobler and sweeter face, h wit 
impossible not to be struck by the 
contrast in this respect between hin 
and his wife, which must have beo 
even more striking in their yoav 
than now. While she was dveUinS 
on this thought, she met her aast's 
eye resting on her for a moment, lo^ 



K smile. T 




FUurangt. 



smile. That look and smile 
cd to answer her, and give a 
to the mystery, for they rcvcal- 
Se traits that constitute the in- 
uctible bond of genuine sympa- 

Beauly adds nothing to such 
icteristics* or at least only & 
a the heart disregards, and 
h even the eye soon ceases to 
I on, for they who are capable 
ving a soul soon love the form, 
rvcr it may be, in which it is 
«d. 

w only one of the children who 
ttoi inherited the beauty of the 
Ithals was Clement, who looked 
> like his mother than the rest, 
had the same ugliness and the, 
smile, and yet, as he was tall, 
er, active, and robust, his Form, 
>al being elegant, was not de- 
of grace, and when his thick 
ras thrown back, the shape of 
irchead gave a marked charac- 
I his face, and his look was, in 
S] expressive, decided, and in- 
iTiX. It was astonishing, there- 
:o find young Uornthal so appa- 
f Incapable of self-assertion : 
note so because he possessexl 

aptitude for ihc arts and sci- 
, and as a student he stood in the 
St rank. But it seemed to be 
fort for hira to converse, and 
M so absolutely silent in the 
ng-TOom that his friends ha- 
lly avoiiled speaking to hini. 
rhcre it was different. His fa- 
bund it difficult to conceal the 
t preference he felt for his eldest 
Lnd the affectionate pride with 
1 he regarded him was manifest 

looks on all occasions, in spite 
nself. And Clement's mother 
Ed a confidence in him almost 
»e, considering his youth, and 
secmetl more disposed to con- 
than 
ers and 
md were constai 



him ; he had a remedy for evtry dif- 
ficulty, a means for every end, and 
nothing exhausted his patience. In 
spite of this, as we have said, he 
scarcely attracted any aticnlion in 
company. We can therefore under- 
stand why Fleurauge, in continuing 
her inspecdon, did not stop long to 
consider her cousin, but, on the con- 
trary, directed all her attention to a 
pei^on at his side whose face was 
singularly remarkable. He was a 
man about fifty years old, perhaps 
older, for his bald head, gray beard, 
and pale face, marked by sickness* 
showed he was no longer young. 
But a something indefinable attract- 
ed attention, and induced people to 
inquire his name, and the name seem- 
ed so much in harmony with his 
countenance that, when known, it 
was not unusual to hear the etclama- 
tion : " So had 1 ])ictured him to ray- 
-self," Such, in fact, was thai of 
Kleurange when, in reply to her ques- 
tion, her cousin Felix told her his 
name was Hansfelt. 

'' Karl Hansfelt !" slie repeated 
for the second time; "is it he? — 
what 1 is that he?" 

"Yes, my fair cousin, he himseH" 
replied Felix in a mocking tone. 
"In truth, I ought to consider my- 
self fortunate in having at length 
found a subject uf conversation that 
can interest you, but I did not think 
of being under obligations to old 
Hansfelt 1" 

" But is it not natural to regard a 
celebr;itc<l man with interest, and one 
so justly celebrated as he ?" said she. 
turning her eyes once more toward 
her cousin, liut she lowered them 
immediately, foT the look, fastened on 
her wns rtxcite A\*'V^^^'*"^8 ^*^^^ *"T 
she had y^. ri>e^'^ ^'^"^ expressing 



I 



at once 



direct him. As to his entire V# V^V*^ r v^i^^*^^- '^'^'^ *"'^' 
id sisters, ihev idolized ed, ncv^'^Xv 0^ . vo*^^^^^^'^'^^*'''*''™" 
itantly recurring to versaU^V^-^ ^\C* -^^.iXl^^^^ 



^OOM 



»H 



FUurangic, 



can deny that he is a poet whose 
name is familiar to every one, and 
whose songs are in every memory." 

" As for ine," replied Felix Dorn- 
thal, " I am not fond of rhymsters ; 
this one is particularly disagreeable 
to me ; and his approaching depar- 
ture does not at all afflict me." 

" Is he going away ?" said Fleur- 
ange. 

" Yes, it seems he has been offered 

a place at the court of , I hardly 

know what position, but one that 
will allow him to fully gratify his 
taste for old books, and at the same 
time-^a thing by no means to be 
disdained, even by a poet — give him 
ample means of livelihood. He has 
suffered sweet violence, and in a 
short time we shall be deprived of 
the honor of receiving him within 
our walls — for ever deprived^ it 
seems, for the kind prince, who is 
taking him away, insists on his not 
quitting his post." 

Fleurange made no reply : her 
glance had just fallen on her cousin 
Hilda, who was sufhciently near to 
hear the conversation, but not enough 
so to be able to take any part in it. 
She saw her suddenly stoop down to 
pick up a flower just fallen from her 
hand, and when she rose up there 
was a lively color in her face. This 
was a natural consequence of the 
movement she had just made, but 
what was less so was the paleness 
which gradually succeeded, and the 
trembling of her hand when she en- 
deavored to raise a glass of water to 
her lips. Fleurange was observing 
this with a vague uneasiness, when 
her attention was suddenly called 
away by a question her Uncle Lud- 
wig addressed to a young man seated 
at Clara's side. 

This question led to a reply which 
momentarily deprived Fleurange of 
the power <^ thinking of anything 
else. 



"Steinberg," the professor sud, 
*' look at my niece, and ttU me if you 
can see the resemblance spdten 
oV 

The young artist turned towanl 
Fleurange, and looked at her with an 
attention that, till now, had been «• 
clusively absorbed by his fair neigh- 
bor. All at once he exclaimed: 
" Yes, certainly \ I remember, and 1 
see Count George was right That 
is truly Cordelia herself before 
usl" 

Every eye was turned toward 
Fleurange, and it was her turn to 
blush. But why did she thus troa- 
ble from head to foot ? What were 
the mingled remembrances, sweetaod 
poignant, that were suddenly Trail- 
ed by the name of Cordelia t (X 
course it was natural that she sboakl 
be affected by hearing her father*! 
last work mentioned — that pictnc 
connected with so many |>ainful as- 
sociations. On the other haod, a 
was that same picture which enabled 
her uncle to find her, and now, ap- 
preciating more than ever the extent 
of this happiness, it was perhaps oa- 
tUral that the name of her unknown 
benefactor, suddenly pronounced m 
her presence, should inspire this liv^ 
ly and inexpressible emotion— bu 
was this all ? 

However that might be, she remain- 
ed the rest of the evening troubled 
and absorbed in the same ifaoughL 
She had not, then, been deceived It 
was really the stranger she had seen 
in the studio who now owned tbe 
picture, for he not only knew she 
served her father as a model, bat 
said the likeness was perfect. And \a>, 
name was Count George! Count? 
Then he was a man of high rank? 
What was his other name ? Where 
did he reside ? And was he stQl in 
this city > 

Fleurange wished to give uitcraact 
to these questions, but an invincible 



Fl fit rati ffe. 



■faMmentfeslratDetlhcr,and the 
ig iKi%5t.'<l without being able 
nf» the conversation back to 
bjcct. lliis curiosity aroused, 
nly imperfectly satisfied, left a 
of uneasiness which she re- 
Kd herself for as a fault and a 

B months had passed away, 
pritig had returned, li was 
ic eve of Clara's marriage and 
elt's departure, and these two 

diversely preoccupied all who 
in the Old Mansion. l-'IcLtr- 
iras leaning over her balcony, 
ng her ihuugitLs to wander al 
It ihifi reverie was by no means 
:J]oly. She felt very jiappy in 
of ihe ideas which vaguely 
i her mintl at times, like phan- 
;bc coiiUi not grasp. The ver- 
r caressed her cheeks, and the 
^ lighted up the old furniture 
■iiambcr. She looked com- 
i^ around, and gave herself 
1 sweet and overpowering sen- 
of comfort. All at once, with- 
er apparent cause, without any 
liar reasou for Ihis new im- 
'n, a piercing and bitter thought 
Ml oil these delicious reveries : 

had to leave this place for 
s 1 iiave left all the others !" 
id to herself wiili iuiMen an- 
and for some moments she 
not repress the fearful thought. 
vered her eyes with her hand, 
ideavored to shake otf the kind 
fltmare which had seized her. 
AS Still in this altitude when 
iird a voice umler her balcony, 
und of whici) was more dis- 
ble to her than any other. 
Lwere a poet," saiti the voice, 
■ only knew some of their 
i», it would be a suitable time 
ic Shakespeare : 

l-I wcr» s slorc upoa tint hmd !' 



want of gratitude, when, before 
falling asleep that night, she recalled 
all tliat had signali/.crl the day when 
tor the first tnne she celebrateil m 
the midst of her own relatives the 
great and memorable festival of 
Christmas. 



VI. 



and so fartlu Prompt me, Clement : 
I know Italian well, but very litUe 
English." 

These words were addressed to her 
by her cousin Fchx Dorathal, who 
was in the garden with Clement, anil 
iiail siopjjcd beneath her balcony. 
The latter had his head cast down, 
but Felix, as usual, gazed at her with 
the admiratioci he had displayed froai 
the very first day — which was tho 
only disagreeable and annoying thinji; 
she had known beneath her unclc'j 
roof. But llien, she seldom saw Fe- 
lix. The company that assembled 
two or three times a month in the 
professor's drawing-room was not 
much to the taste of his nei>hcw, and 
if he had come oftener since Fleur- 
ange's arrival, he seldom had an op- 
portunity of conversing with her, 
for she avoided him wi;h a care in 
proportion to the increasing aversion 
she felt for him. Felix had, never- 
theless, all the advantage a fine fig- 
ure and the manners of the world 
confer, with sufficient knowledge on 
various subjects to appear well-in- 
funned, and coolness arKl assurance 
enough to direct a conversation so 
as to shine in it. It might, therefore, 
seem surprising that he inspired such 
a degree of antipathy, es:»eciaUy 
when, for the first lime in his life, he 
seriously ct^de^voreO. to \iroi\uce the 
contrary 'imptes^^on. 

Sympa^,\ \ aM awlxV'^WA^j art in I 
part ih . M . .g auA xxv^cttftVKAUWeJ 

and sci^^^nc^^U v^^'f ^*^. '«"^y'^^^ j:a 



cxpHc^^^^^O'*'?^ 



^. 



^Vi'J 



Mt 



\«!&\ 



826 



FUurange, 



enced without always knowing the 
cause, and sometimes, later, they are 
transformed and modified to such a 
degree as to efface the first impulse 
they inspired. Perhaps it would not 
be impossible to prove that upright 
souls are less rarely deceived in this 
respect than others. However it may 
be, and independent of this instinc- 
tive repulsion, the antipathy Fleur- 
ange felt was owing, among other 
good reasons, to the constant irony 
which was so strong an ingredient in 
Felix's nature, as to wither every 
feeling of kindly impulse or flow of 
reason around him. Goodness found 
no attraction in his nature, and those 
who conversed with him almost ceas- 
ed to believe in it themselves. He 
had not discernment enough to see 
that Fleurange was one of those per- 
sons who may be wounded by a 
compliment as welt as by an insult, 
and more than one flash of her large 
eyes was necessary to make him 
comprehend it. And when he sud- 
denly stopped, his silence excited 
anxiety to know the cause of his sud- 
den preoccupation and what sombre 
cloud enwrapped him. Some insin- 
uated with a nod of the head that 
M. Heinrich Uornthal's only son 
should yield with more reserve to 
his love for play, and his father had 
repeatedly remonstrated with him on 
this point. But as, apart from his 
whims and irregularities, Felix had a 
remarkable capacity for commercial 
affairs, the banker was blindly indul- 
gent to him, and often remarked that 
being " perfectly satisfied, and sure 
of his son in matters of serious im- 
port (meaning thereby his aptitude 
for business), he did not trouble him- 
self much about the rest, and only 
patiently awaited the epoch when the 
marriage of his choice would lead 
him back to a more regular life." 

It should be added that, for seve- 
ral monthSf the health of the head 



of the Domthal family had, without 
his acknowledging it, been seriously 
declining. The greater part of the 
business formerly done by himself 
was now transacted by his son, and 
his confidence, or his weakness, in 
this respect, increased to a degree 
unsuspected by any but him who 
was its object. The banker oca- 
sionally felt, with a return of his for- 
mer cautiousness, some anxiety on 
this point, but Felix knew how to 
reassure him by a few words, and he 
now felt only one desire, which grw 
stronger and stronger — to see his soo 
married, and settled down to a life 
of greater conformity with the im- 
portance of the affairs he could trans- 
act so skilfully, and to which he bad 
only to give his undivided attention. 
He could have wished him to choose 
one of his two cousins, but Felix did 
not find them to his taste, and ofteo 
declared that it would not be withio 
the walls of the Old Mansion he 
should find her to whom he would 
sacrifice his independence. But after 
Fleurange entered them he suddenly 
changed his tone, and his ill-conceal- 
ed admiration now directc<i tou'ard 
her all the banker's matrimonial hopes 
respecting his son. 

We left Felix beneath his cousin's 
balcony, his riding-whip in hand: 
" .\way with poetry, which is not in 
my line," he soon said, " and deign 
to listen, fair cousin, to the petiiioa 
I am about to address you in humble 
prose." 

Fleurange, still leaning on the 
balcony, replied : " I am listening." 

"See what a lovely spring day I 
My horse stands yonder : will you 
not have yours saddled, and allov 
me to ride in your company ?" 

Fleurange drew herself up with an 
air of surprise, and shook her head 
without otherwise answering. 

"No?" said Fehx. 

" No, certainly not. How cooU 



I^K of sach a thtng ? And 
claim have you to become my 

bur mentor I" repeated Felix 
k (rown. ** I am your cousin, 
i all. Clement often has the 
I of accompanying you in this 
jiind I should have a share in 
Ivilegcs." 

pu are mistaken," said FIciir- 
lranf|uilly : *' Clement is my 
', and you are not." 

smile habitual to Felix — a 

,t once imiKrtinent and satiri- 

tvcred on his lips : 

uredly not/' he said ; " that is 

am by no means ambitious 

am far from claiming of you." 

irange blushed, and made no 

kiut, at a sign from her cousins 

were in the room, she ahnost 

lioiely left the balcony and 

lown into the garden. 

nenE remained motionless dur- 

i preceding dialogue, with his 

bent down, making flourishes 

sand with the stick in his 

er brother!" repealed Felix in 
Jcing tone, as soon as Flcur- 
lisappcaretl. *' Well, I have no 
k lo be offended. She looks 
fou as a boy* that is quite clear. 
>r you to complain, if this does 
It you." 

docs suit mc, on the contrary," 
lement in a dccidwl tone. '• I 

the title she gives me, and I 

when occasion requires it, 
9 fulfil the obligations it impos- 
i when to rlaini my rights." 
ghts ! What rishts ?" 
ic right, ccrlainly, of protcrt- 
r! You see, boy as I am, she 
mferrcd it on me. It is one 

I will never surrender, and 
quite willingly maintain against 
elix. if necessary." 
■hat source of inspiration have 

own from to-day, my fine 




FUuran^. 




scholar ? You are not generally so 
fluent. Indeed, if you were only a 
few years older, I should imagine the 
large gray eyes of our fair, disdainful 
cousin had fascinated you in your 
turn." 

Clement did not look up ; he nei- 
ther blushed nor was vexctl, 

" Felix." said he, " 1 am only nine- 
teen years old, it is true, and you are 
ten years older; but 1 have one ad- 
vantage which the younger does not 
generally possess : you do not know 
me. Kut I," continued he, looking 
him full in the face, "as you arc 
aware, 1 know you well." 

At these words a black look came 
over Felix's face, he bit his lips, and 
would i>crliapshave made some angry 
reply had not the three girls api>ear- 
cd at the end of the alley. \\ the 
sight of them Felix abruptly turned 
around, and, leaping- on his horse, 
galloped off, slightly waving his hand 
to Julian Steinberg, whom he met at 
the garden gate. 

Fleurange and her two cousins ap- 
proached to meet Clara's betrothed. 
" I am late," said he to Clara, " but 
you must not think it is ray fault. I 
liave been detained by an unexpect- 
ed meeting. Count George is here." 

'* Count (ieorgede Walilen ?" said 
Clement, " the same one who visited 
the gallery about a year ago ?" 

" 'ilie very one," replied Julian; 
'* and it was he who showed us the 
beautiful Cordelia that resembles you 
so much, mademoiselle," he added, 
turning to Fleurange. 

" Antl the source of our good luck 
in finding her." said Hilda. 

'* Hut, since he has seen you, Ga- 
briclle," said Clam, " you must know 
him." 

Fleura.t\ rrc , strangely surprisad , 
movet)^ * A c.o't\^ust»i, Ticvcrthelcss 
replieti -^^ ^oXetaWy caVn lonei "1 
did i^rv^ ^^\ * ^ w\v« v^^^^*^*-^ ^^^^ V^ 



'^^V 4.* 



838 



The Martjftdom of St Agnes. 



" But," persisted Clara, " you saw 
him, however?" 

" Yes, once, but without speaking 
to him. 

" In that case, you must remember 
him, for Julian pretends his face is 
the most remarkable one he ever saw." 

"Yes, his features are not only 
fine," said Julian, " but there is in 
his physiognomy and his whole ap- 
pearance something — something — " 

"Striking and noble," Said Cle- 
ment 

" Yes, that is true." 

" Assuredly," replied Julian ; " but 
that is not all. There is something 
extraordinary about him — how shall 
I express it ? heroic — yes, that is the 
word, he looks like a hero." 

" Of romance ?" said Clara. 

" No, of history : if I had to paint 
a celebrated soldier, or the leader of 
some famous exploit, I should choose 
him for the original." 

" And then, he is a great lover of 
art," said Clement. 

" Yes," responded Julian, " he 
seems, indeed, gifted in every way." 



** And is he going to remain here?' 
said Clara. 

** Unfortunately he will not, for in 
that case he would be at our wed- 
ding, but he is obliged to go to St 
Petersburg without any delay." 

"What! is he a Russian?" said 
Clara. 

« No, not wholly." 

" What do you mean by 
that ?" 

" I mean he is a Livonian or a 
native of Courland, I do not know 
exactly which. But he is one of the 
emperor's subjects, and cannot trifle 
with his orders, which obliged him to 
leave Florence suddenly, where he 
was, and now forces him to keep 
swifdy on his way." 

The conversation took another 
turn, of which Fleurange did not 
hear a word. As soon as she bad 
an excuse for leaving her cousins, she 
returned to her chamber, where she 
took a small note-book from her 
pocket, and carefully inscribed there- 
in the name of Count George de 
Walden. 



THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. AGNES. 

** Suicta Agaes! ora pro aobis." 

Calm she stood, 
An ivory statue, yet instinct with life. 
So stately was that gently breathing form , 
Of grace and dignity so perfect, yet 
With all youth's pliant softness. 

On her brow, 
White as the ocean pearl when first the waves 
Complaining cast their treasure on the shore, 
Was stamped the seal of that creating hand 
Whose spirit dwelt within that temple rare, 
Her holy virgin heart ; and from her eyes. 
Soul-lit, beamed forth the splendor and the depth 
Of that informing mind whose lights they were, 
Until you heeded not their violet hues. 



Tkt Martyrdom of Si. Agnes. 

Their lashes long, or oobly arching brows. 
Her flossy hair was colored like the sun, 
Her cheeks were opal- timed, like Ihc hues 
Of rosy sunset mingled with the pure 
Soft paly whit't'ness of the maiden moon. 
Her mouth ^as a poniegranaie-flower, with all 
Its crimson sweetness, and her rounded chin, 
Love's finger touching, had impressed therein 
A lovely dimple, thus completing well 
The virgin beauty of that angel face. 

A young and princely Roman knight drew near, 

And bent upon the noble maid his glance, 

Wherein the lire of earthly passion blamed, 

Yet tcmjiercd by a tear of pity born. 

" Agnes ! my Agnes *" in a suppliant voice 

He spake ; " Oh ! dost thou shun my clasping arms, 

And rather choose this grim and ghastly death, 

To dower with all thy charms ? Oh ! let me place 

Upon that fairest hand this spousal ring. 

Fledge of our future nuptials ; then shall all 

'J'his dark and bloody ]>ageantry of death. 

The axo, the block, the gloomy lictors, all 

Pass from thy sight for ever. .Agnes ! speak t 



The virgin answered not nor seemed to hear. 
Her eyes in raptured trance raised to the skies, 
Till from her parted lips in angel tones 
I^w murmuring music broke : " O thou my Lord I 
Jesus ! my Spouse ! my All I my only Love ! 
Am I not thine alone? upon my brow 
Hast thou not left thy signet ? on this hand 
Haiit thou not placed thy ring, the golden ring. 
Of our divine espousals heavenly pledge ? 
Come, O my Love 1 I long to view thy face, 
Come, take thine Agnes to thine own embrace; 
For ever with the Lord I" The thrilling tones 
Lapsed into silence. On the lictors all, 
She smiled — a heavenly smile; and then she knelt. 
Bowing Iicr gentle head upon ihc block, 
Her golden tresses, parted for the blow, 
Swept the dry sand so soon to drink her blood. 

An instant, and the daziliug gleam of ste^^ 
Flashed through the air ; it fell, ai^A ^j^e ajaua — 
All — all was o'er; e'en then the vw . WxA* 
Stooil on the sea of glass before W ^^^ vd. 
The martyred virgin bride, crowt^ ^^ V^ u\S^^^^^"^ 
With palms of triumph, and th^ \^^\ \ii ■ ^S"> 
tMeet emblems of her purity au^^\\o -^^^ 



e 

I 




Sja 



CatkolUUy and Pantheism, 



CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM. 



NO. XIII. 



THK COSMOS IN TIME AND SPACER-CONTINUED. 



In the preceding article, we have 
seen that, in consequence of the sac- 
ramental extension of the Theanthro- 
pos in time and space, substantial 
creation in its highest and noblest 
element, which is personality, has 
received its last initial and inchoative 
perfection of being, by the union of 
human persons with the Theanthro- 
pos by means of his substantial and 
sacramental presence, and through 
that union the elevation to a higher 
similitude of and communication with 
the three persons of the infinite. 
Now, this last complement of the 
cosmos, this union of the Theanthro- 
pos, with human persons, through 
his sacramental extension in time 
and space, constitutes the Catholic 
Church, wliich may be defined to 
be: 

T/t£ Theanthropos present in the 
cosmos through the sacraments, and 
through them incorporating into him- 
self human persons in time and space, 
raising them to a higher similitude of 
and communication with the three 
personalities of the infinite, and thus 
not oniy realizing the highest initial 
perfection of the cosmos, but also un- 
folding and developing that initial per- 
fection, and bringing it to its ultimate 
completion in palingenesia. 

Tlie Theanthropos, therefore, has 
placed himself in the very centre of 
the cosmos by his sacramental and 
substantial presence, as became his 
great office and prerogative of me- 
diator. By those moments of his 



sacramental presence to which lie 
has only attached his infinite energy 
and power, he disposes and fits ha- 
man persons for the real incorpora- 
tion into himself in the following 
manner : By the sacramental moraeirt 
of order, through the moral instil- 
ment in whom this moment is reahi- 
ed, he propounds and explains his 
doctrine, the gnosis respecting God, 
and the cosmos which he came to 
reveal to men. By the sacramental 
moment of regeneration, he infitses 
into human persons the term of the 
supernatural order in its essence and 
faculties, and thus raises them to a 
higher state of being, and to a closer 
communication with the Trinity, bu; 
all this in an initial and inchoativc 
state. By the sacramental moment, 
called confirmation, he brings thai 
essence and its faculties to a dcnnile 
and determinate growth. When hu- 
man persons are thus fitted and pre 
pared, he by his substantial presence 
incorporates them into himself, and 
enables their supernatural being to 
live and develop itself by being pu'. 
in real, actual communication vdh 
all the proper objects of its faculties. 
Thus, the cosmos of per«}nalitics, per- 
fected in its initial supernatural state. 
can act and develop itself — the The- 
anthropos himself, thiough his mora! 
agents, organically constitute^!, gov- 
erning and directing its action to t'ae 
safest and speediest acquirement of;*.* 
last perfection. 

From this metaphrsical id« t-' 



Cathoiuity ana Fantkeism, 



«9( 



KFcht tlcrivcd anrl rcsuUing 
very essence, it follows : 
Thai, next to '.he'l'heanthro- 
t CathcJic Church is the end 
le exterior works of the infi- 

Ehe supreme end of the cxtc- 
ks was the highest possible 
Dicatton of the intinilc to the 
This was primarily realized 
(^postatic union which bound 
ted natures to the infinite, and 
fed next in the union of all 
lities with the Thcinthropos, 
rough him with the Trinity. 
le very essence of the Catho- 
DTcb consists in this union, 
icntly, as such it is the iati 
imperative law of the cos- 
rhe last, because iviih it clos- 
iyele of the creative act, and 
the cycle of the return of 
ns to their principle and 
Supreme, because no higher 
erfcction of the cosmos can 
Ked after supposing its cxis- 
Imperalive, l>ecause it is 
complement of the plan 
ismos. 

without the Catholic 

the cosmos of personalities 

ave no aim or object It 

nd alone, and unconnected 

other parts of the cosmos, 

icular end of each personali- 

never be attained, and the 

uld present a confused mass 

nls. without order, harmony, 

iletiun. 

ws, in the second place, that 
lolic Church is fashioned after 
static moment, and is its 
■ely representation. For as 
ent implies the bringing to- 
il' a human ami divine cle- 
mle and infinite, absoliitc 
,[ivc, necessary and contin- 
jiendent and subject, visible 
isible. in the unity of one 
rsonaliiy, so the Catholic 
the result of a double ele- 



ment, one human, the other divine; 
one visible, the other invisible; one 
fi niie, the other infinite ; one necessa- 
ry, the other contingent ; one immu- 
table, the other variable; the one In- 
dependent and authoritative, the oth- 
er subject and dependent, in the un- 
ion of the Thcanthropos with the sa- 
cramental element. This union of the 
Thcanthropos widi the sacramental 
element, both moral and physical, is, 
as we have said, the very essence of the 
CalhoIicChurch,and which endows it 
with that doubleseriesofattributesand 
perfections, one belonging to God, 
liie other essentially belonging to the 
finite, but which are brought togeth- 
er in one being in force of that un- 
ion ; and all the difficulties brought 
against the church hinge upon that 
very thing — the sacramental union 
of all the divine attributes of the 
Thcanthropos with the tinite attri- 
butes of the sacramental elemenL 
All those who object to all or some 
of the Thcanthroprc attributes of the 
church object to the possibility and 
existence of that union. 

But that union, as the last supreme 
imperative law of the cosmos, is such 
a strict consc<|uence of the plan, is 
so connected and linked with all the 
other moments of God's action ad 
exfra^ depends so entirely upon the 
iilentical principle which originates 
the others, that once we deny it 
wc are obliged to yieM up .ill the 
other truths, and take refuge in nihil- 
ism, and proclaim the death of our 
intelligence For once we admit the 
impossibility of the union of the at- 
tributes or substance of the Thean- 
thropos with the sacramental ele- 
ment, on ^^ plea that the aurilmtes 
of each are opV<Jsile and contradic- 
tory, fo^ ., ^U-same reason wc must ' 
admit ♦! "^ r)0ssft>^\rty of the union 
°f ihrv ^^ ^ nl ^^ '"^^^ ^^^ human 
^^ '^ \jietv ^^« Vvypostauc 






mo 



»n 



NvV 



«32 



Catholicity and Bant/uism- 



is impossible to bring together op- 
posite attributes in one sacramental 
being, it is much more impos<uble, so 
to speak, to bring not only attributes 
but two natures quite opposite to- 
gether, into one subsistence and per- 
sonality, and entirely exchange attri- 
bution and names, and call man 
God, and God man, and attribute 
exclusively divine acts to human na- 
ture, and vice versa. But, having de- 
nied the hypostatic moment in con- 
sequence of that pretended impossi- 
bility, we cannot logically stop here. 
We must generalize the question, and 
deny all possible union between the 
finite and the infinite. For what can 
there be more opposite and more 
contradictory than these terms, abso- 
lute and relative, necessary and con- 
tingent, immense and limited, eter- 
nal and successive, immutable and 
changeable, universal and particular, 
self-existing and made, infinite and 
finite 7 And could they possibly be 
brought together into any kind of 
union ? Nay, we must go further, 
and deny the very coexistence of both 
terms, because one certainly seems 
to exclude the other — the universal 
being, for instance, including all 
])ossibIe being, must necessarily im- 
I>ly the impossibility of the coexis- 
tence of any particular, circumscrib- 
ed, limited being. Arrived at this, 
we must conclude that all finite 
things which come under our obser- 
vation, not being able to coexist with 
the universal being, must be only 
modifications and developments of 
that same, and throw ourselves into 
pantheism. But once pantheism is 
admitted, we must, to be logical, sup- 
pose the existence of a universal 
something impelled by an interior 
instinct of nature to unfold and de- 
velop itself by a succession of efforts, 
one more distinct, marked, and per- 
fect than the other. Now, taking 
this substance at one determinate 



stage of development, and 
backward, from a more perfc 
velopment to one less perfec 
from this to one still less perfi 
must necessarily arrive at th< 
indeterminate, indefinite, a1 
somethings at the idea- being of 
— that is, at nihilism. 

Nihilism is consequently th 
cal product of the denial of th< 
of the infinite attributes of tht 
anthropos with the sacrament 
ment, the very essence of the 
lie Church. Tlu Catholic i 
therefore — or nihilism. 

And we beg the reader to c 
that this logical conclusion wh 
have drawn is simply the htsi 
the errors of the last three ht 
years, and consequently our ( 
sions receive all the support 
the gradual unfolding of en 
three hundred years is able to 

The impossibility of the un 
the infinite attributes and sub< 
presence of the Theanthropos 
sacramental element was j>roc 
in the sixteenth century by F 
antism, when on one side it 
the authority and infallibility 
church, and consequently den: 
union of these Theanthroptc 
butes with the moral instrume 
hierarchy, and on the oiher s 
nied the real presence, and tl 
fused to allow a union of the sul 
of the Theanthropos with the 
mental elements of bread ant 
It did not then see the full m 
of its denial, but yet establish 
principle of the impossibility 
union of the Theanthropos in 
or substance with the sacra 
elements. Deism followed, ani 
ing the Protestant principle i 
added a logical application to 
asked : How can the uncreate 
nite, and absolute being be ur 
a nature created, finite, and re 
or, in other words : How cot 



«54 



Catkoliciiy and Pantktism. 



from that essence, yet, for the sake of 
those who cannot see all the conse- 
quences included in a general prin- 
ple, we shall dilate at some length 
upon all the essential attributes of 
the church, and those characteristic 
marks which constitute her what 
she is, and point her out from any 
other body pretending to the same 
name. 

The first attribute, which evidently 
emanates from the essence of the 
church, is its extemation, and ca- 
pacity of coming under the observ- 
ation of men. For, if the essence of 
the church consists in being the The- 
anthropos, incorporating his power, 
as well as his substantial presence, in 
physical as well as personal instru- 
ments, and through them incorporat- 
ing all human persons unto himself, 
who can fail to perceive that church 
must be visible, outward, able to come 
under the observation of men, in that 
double relation of sacramental exten- 
sion of Christ and of having men as 
objects of incorporation with him ? 

An invisible church would imply a 
denial of any sacramental agency, 
ajid would be absolutely unfit for 
men, who are incarnate spirits. 
Hence, those sects which hold that 
the saints alone belong to the church 
have not the least idea of its essence. 
Holiness being altogether a spiritual 
and invisible quality, the saints could 
not know each other, nor, consequent- 
ly, hold any communication with 
each other; the sinners could not 
find out where the saints are to be 
heard of; and therefore there could 
not be any possibility of discovering 
the church or any moral obligation 
of joining it 

The next attribute essenrially be- 
longing to the church is its perma- 
nence^ in theological language called 
indefectibility, which imphes not only 
duration in tim« and space, but also 
immutabUity in all its essential ele- 



ments, attributes, and rights. The 
church must continue to be, as long 
as the cosmos lasts, whole and enuic 
in all time and space, in the perfect 
enjoyment of all its attributes, char- 
acteristic marks, and rights^ 

The reason of this attribute is so 
evident and palpable that we arc at 
a loss to understand how it could 
enter men's minds that the chuicb 
could and did fail or change in te 
essential elements. When Protes- 
tantism, to cloak over its rebellion in 
breaking loose from allegiance to the 
church of the living God, alleged as 
reason that it had failed and chang- 
ed in its essential elements — when 
Protestantism repeats daily the sainr 
assertion, it exposed and exposes ii 
self to an absurdity at which the 
merest tyro in logic would langh. 
It is one of the first axioms of <m 
tology that the essences of things aie 
immutable and eternal: immutable, 
inasmuch as they can never change: 
eternal, inasmuch as they must be 
conceived as possible from eternity, 
whether they have any subjective ei 
istence or not. Essences are like num- 
ber. Add to it, or subtract from it. 
and you can never have the same 
number ; likewise add to the essence 
of a thing, or subtract from it, and 
you may have another thing, but 
never the same essence. 

Now, what is the essence of thf 
church ? It consists in the Theao- 
thropos incorporating his infinite 
power and his substantial preseoce 
in physical and personal instnimcols 
and through them uniting to himsdt 
human persons, elevating them to a 
supernatural state, and enabling tbeni 
to develop and unfold their super- 
natural faculties until they arrive at 
their ultimate perfection, and all I'm* 
in time and space. 

Now, how can we suppose tht 
church to fail when its very esseoce 
is founded on the union of the Hk- 



Catholicity and Pantiuism. 



835 



nthropos with the sacraments ? The 
only possible failure we can suppose 
is if the presence of the 'llieanthropos 
were to be withdrawn from the sac- 
iraents; and this could happen 
Ither because the Theanthropus may 
be supposed powerless to continue 
that presence or unwilling; in both 
cases, the divinity of the Thcanthro- 
pos is denied ; because the first 
would argue want of power, the sec- 
ond a senseless change. Protestant- 
ism would do much better to deny 
at once the divinity of its founder, in- 
stead of admitting the failure of the 
church be founded. It would be by 
far more honest and logical. We 
can respect error when it is logical 
and consistent, but we must despise 
obstinate nonsense and absurdity. 
The same attribute ts claimed by the 
end of the church — which is. to com- 
municate to human persons in time 
and space the term of the supernatu- 
ral moment. As long, then, as there 
are men on earth, so long must the 
church continue to possess invariable 
and unchangeable those elements 
with wiiich it was endowed by its di- 
vine founder. Should it fail or change, 
how could men after the failure be in- 
corporated into the ITicanthropos ?. 
Should it fail or change, how could 
men believe in the possibility of their 
atuining their end ? Should it fail 
once and at one period only, men 
would no longer possess any means of 
knowing w!»en, and how, and where 
it might not fail again, and there- 
fore they could not but look upon 
the whole thing with utter contempt. 
The next attribute is infAllibility. 
Certainty objectively considered is 
the impossibility of error in a given 
case. Infallibility also, considered in 
itself, is the impossibility of prror 
in every case within the sphere to 
which that infallibility extends. 'Ihis 
attribute is essentially necessary to 
the church, but before we enter upon 



its vindication we will say a word 
about its nature, the subject in whom 
it resides, the object it embraces, anj 
the mode of exercising it. The na- 
ture of the infallibility claimed by tlie 
church does not cor^i^t in a new 
inspiration: because inspiration im 
plies an interior revelation of wi 
idea not previously revealed or 
known. Now, this does not occur, 
and is not necessary* in order that 
the church may fulfil its office. The 
revelation of the whole^wjw respect 
ing God, the cosmos, and their mu- 
tual relations in time and in eternity, 
was made by the Theanthropos in 
the beginning. The church carries 
it in her mind, heart, and life, as she 
traverses centuries and generations. 
But as all the particular principles 
constituting that gpuysis are not all 
distinctly and explicitly formulated 
and set in human language, so it be- 
comes the office of the church from 
time to lime to formulate one of 
those principles. In this she is assist- 
ed by the Theanthropos in such a 
manner that she may infallibly express 
her mind in the new formula she 
utters. .A.gain, an error may arise 
against the revealed gnosis she carries 
in her mind. Then it is her office to 
proclaim what her mind is upon thir 
subject, and condemn whatever may 
be contrary to it. Again, she is as 
SLsted by the Theanthropos in such a 
manner as to effect both these things 
infallibly. Infallibility in the present 
case, therefore, may be defined a per 
nianent assistance of the Theanthro- 
pos prcserAing the church from fall- 
ing into error in the exercise of her 
ofilce. 

The object of this attribute is limit- 
ed to these three : 

I. She is infallible in teaching antl 
defining all theoretical doctrines con- 
tained \^ I'hc Tevclal\OT\, be it written 
or no^ \ ^it lii"*^*^*^ down socially 



8s6 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



•a. In all doctrines having refer- 
ence to morality. 

3. In the choice and determination 
of the external means of embodying 
that doctrine, theoretical or practical; 
whether the external means which 
embodies the doctrine be used by the 
church, or, used by others, must be 
judged by the church. 

This last object of infallibility is so 
absolutely nece^ary that without it 
the other two would become nugatory 
and fictitious. If, in fx^pounding a 
doctrine, the church could err in fix- 
ing upon such objective expressions 
of language as would infalliUy ex- 
hibit her mind, men could never be 
assured whether the church had ex- 
pressed herself correctly or not, and 
could never, consequently, be certain 
of her meaning. Likewise, if the 
church could err in teaching whether 
such and such expression of language, 
intended to embody a doctrine, con- 
tains an error or a truth, men would 
be left in doubt whether to emlH'ace 
or reject it, and could never, in em- 
bracing it, be absolutely certain 
whether they were holding a revealed 
doctrine or a falsehood. 

From this it follows that : First, the 
church is not infallible in things 
belonging exclusively to natural 
sciences, and in no way connected 
with revelation ; second, she is not 
in&lUble in reference to historical 
facts, and much less in reference to 
personal facts, unless these are con- 
nected with dogma. The subjects in 
whom this attribute resides are the 
following : 

I. The Supreme Pontiff, the head 
of the hierarchy, who, independent of 
the rest, enjoys this attribute, in refer- 
ence to all the objects above ex- 
plained. Because, by the interior or- 
ganism of the church, as we shall see, 
be is made the source of all authority 
in teaching and governing. 

a. The hierarchy, together with the 



Supreme Pontiff, eitner assembled m 
council or agreeing thiough other 
means of communication. 

We almost blush to have to re- 
mark that thn infallibility, centred in 
the Pope or bishops, docs not render 
them personally impeccable. The 
two things are as distant as the poles, 
and can only be brought together 
and confounded in minds who, ac- 
cording to the expression of Dante; 
have lost the light of the intellect, 
and live in a darkness which is little 
short of death. 

The modes of exercising this attri- 
bute are three : 

She is infallible as teache r, as wit- 
ness, and as judge. 

As teacher: when she prodaim 
and expounds to the faithful the 
revelation of the Theanthropos. 

As witness : when she af&rras what 
belongs or does not bel<»ig to that 
revelation. 

As judge: when she prononnos 
final judgment on controversies uhI 
disputes which arise in relatioa to 
revealed doctrines. 

Having thns given a brief idea <rf' 
all that belongs to the subject of id- 
fallibility, it seems to us that no ooe 
who has understood the nature and 
essence of the church, and the object 
for which it was established, can Eul 
to perceive not only the entire rea- 
sonableness, but also the absolote 
necessity of such a doctrine. 

We have said that the church in 
its active element is nothing ks< 
than the Theanthropos himself^ com- 
municating the term of the superna- 
tural moment, which includes teach- 
ing, through the agency of secoodary 
agents, both physical and peraonaL 
I'he church, therefcwe, under the as- 
pect^om which we are now regard- 
ing her, is the Theanthropos teachiag 
his revelation, expounding his rereb- 
tion, affirming and witnessing to hit 
revelation, declaring what agree 



CatAtfliciiy and Pantheism, 



83^ 



wtth H, aod what is contradictory to 
it, ilirough the agency of the Supreme 
Pontiff, or of the Tonliff and ihe rest 
of the hierarchy. And can anything 
be more reasonable than the asser- 
tion that she is infallible ? Protestant- 
ism has boasted, and boasts yet, of 
having emancipated reason, of hav- 
ing brought it to the highest possible 
degree of culture and development. 
But when will Protestantism begin to 
exercise its vaunted reason ? 

Is it reasonable to suppose that 
the 'i'hcantbropos, the God niadc 
man, the infallible wisdom of God, 
the very intelligibility of Uie Father, 
who established the church, that is, 
united himself, either as to action or 
substance, with a sacramental cle- 
ment, be it material or personal, in 
order, among other tilings, to teach 
all men in tune and space what was 
Absolutely necessary fur them to 
know to attain their ultimate per- 
fection — is it reasonable to suppose, 
wc say, that the 'I'heanthropos should, 
through his personal agents, teach 
anything but absolute truth ? 

Deny the divinity of the Thean- 
thropos, deny that the Theanthropos 
ever did or could unite his activi- 
ty with personal agents, deny the 
ttstncc of the church, and then you 
would be logical, then you would be 
consistent, then we could understand 
you. But to admit that the Thean- 
thropos is God, to admit that he tUd 
unite his infinite and divine activity 
to the sacramental clement, to admit 
that he did so on purpose to teach 
all men in time and space, and then 
to atlinn that the church is not and 
cannot be infallible — that is, that the 
'rhcanihropos cannot teach infalli- 
bly through his personal agents — is 
such a logic as only tlie highly culti- 
vated reason of Protestantism can 
understand. It is above the reach of 
that reason which is satisfied with a 
moderate share of culture and refine- 



ment, and cannot claim to soar so 
high. 

We beg the reader to reflect for 
an instant on this single question: 
Is it tlie Theanlhropos, or is it not, 
who teaches through the agency of 
his ])ersonal itiiitrumcnts ? To this 
simple question, a simple answer 
should be given. Say you answer, Ii 
is not. Then you deny that the 
'J'heanthropos united his infinite en- 
ergy to a sacramental element. 'I'hen 
you deny the essence of the church, 
and, in denying tliat, you must deny 
ever)' other union between the infinite 
and the finite, as wc have demon- 
strated. If you say it u the Thcan- 
thropos who teaches through the 
agency of liis personal instruments, 
then what can be more logical oi 
more consistent than to say that he 
teaches infallibly? What is there 
more reasonable than to say that a 
God-man should know what is truth, 
and should express his mind so. 
should embody it in an external 
means so, as to represent tliat mind 
infallibly ? 

Then, why so much opposition 
against this plainest attribute of (he 
church? Why so much obloquy, u 
much sneering, except that the so 
boasted Protestant reason is nothing 
birt a vile, unmanly prejudice, except 
that those who boast so much of 
exercising their reason resemble 
those innocent and unconscious ani- 
mals of which Dante speaks : 

"A> tktf^t that >lep fofU Iron Uitlr fold, I 

nnc 
Or pBir^ or three, mi once ; meuiwbile, Uw 

rest 
Slaml fearfully, hendlnir (hr ere an<1 note 
To Krouml, mmd tt-ia/ th* /etfwtMt ttx^rtiknl 4* 
Tk* olktT-i. pttkfrmg reuiJ htr 1/ ikf tte^y 
Simfit and ^iM, m^r fkt ctrntt diictru " } 
■—C^ry't Trttn*isti»m. 

I'he next attribute of the church i& 
authority. This, like the rest, flo 
from her vety cs«i''^ce ~" 
consists i 



WV \)CvoS 



That essence^ 
ihe sactamental ^le- 



83S 



Catktlkity and Panihnsm. 



tension of Christ incorporating unto 
himself all human persons in time and 
space, communicating to them the 
term of the supernatural moment in 
its essence and faculties^ and aiding 
them to develop th6se faculties, and to 
bring them to their ultimate comple- 
tion. The church, therefore, as sacra- 
mental — that is, outward and sensible 
extension of the Theanthropos intend- 
ed for men — is a visible, outward so- 
ciety of human persons with the The- 
anthropos. Now, what does a visible 
society require ? That the external 
relations of the associates should be 
determined and governed by the au- 
thority legitimately constituted in 
the society. For, if those relations 
were not determined and directed by 
proper authority in a visible society, 
it is evident that no order could ht 
expected, and that all the members 
could not form one moral body, by a 
proper external communication. The 
church, therefore, as a visible society, 
must have authority to determine all 
the external relations of the members, 
and to govern and direct them. 

This authority or power of estab- 
lishing the external polity in the 
church is, of course, essentially resid- 
ing in the Theanthropos, who com- 
municates it whole and entire to the 
Supreme Pontiff, and through him to 
the whole hierarchy and the rest of 
the active church. 

Having vindicated the essential 
attributes of the church, we think it 
necessary to dilate at some length 
upon the interior constitution, the in- 
ternal organism of the same, in order 
to exhibit a fuller and more adequate 
idea of this masterpiece of the infi- 
nite. And in order to do it thor- 
oughly, wc must give a cursory 
glance at its eternal type, the supreme 
exemplar of everything- — the Trinity. 
The reader will remember that the 
genesis of God's life takes place as 
follows : lliere is in the infinite es- 



sence and nature a fiist sofasistcnot 
unborn, unbegotien, which tenniastci 
in the first person. This is the sb- 
preme, active principle of the second, 
and both are the active principle of 
the third. In this third tenaination 
closes the cycle of infinite life. The 
production of the second person ii 
brought about by intellectual gene- 
ration. For the primary unbegottei 
activity, being infinitely intelligent, 
can scan with his glance the whole 
depth, breadth, height, and length 
of his iniinhe nature. Now, to in- 
telligence means to produce air in- 
tellectual image of the object wbidi 
is understood. Consequently, tlM 
primary unbegotten principle, by in- 
telligencing himself, produces an in- 
tellectual image, absolutely equal to 
himself, the act of in telligencing b^ 
ing infinite, and also distinct from 
him, inasmuch as they are ojp^iosed 
as principle and term. The fi« 
contemplates himself in his substan- 
tial image, and is attracted toward 
himself and his image. The secsnd 
contemplates himself in his princi- 
ple, and is attracted toward himself 
and his principle. This common, 
mutual attraction or love, being also 
infinite, is consequently substantial, 
and results in a third termtnatim of 
the infinite essence. 

From this brief explanation of the 
genesis of God's life, it follows: 

ist That the infinite, though one 
in nature, has three distinct termina- 
tions or persons. 

ad. That, though these three pet- 
sons are absolutely equal, became 
posseted of the same identical na- 
ture, we find in them a necessai; 
subjection of order founded on die 
law of origin and production, the 9^ 
cond being originated by the find 
and being in this respect sul^ectu 
him ; the third being originated bf 
both, and under this respect beinj 
subject to both. 



Catkolieity and Pantheism. 



839 



The three persons, possessing 
me ideucical nature and sub- 
, possess, consequently, all the 
ions and attributes 6owing 
le substance in tlie same idea- 
Banner. Hence they possess 
imon all the metaphysical at> 
B of the substance, such as in- 

eternity, immensity, immuta- 
[ all the intellectual attributes, 
tniih, wi:xlom, etc.; all the 

attributes of the subsunce, 

goo<liiess, etc. 

As nature is the radical prin- 

if action and life, it follows 
the threr persons possess the 

lature, they possess one idcn- 

tion and hfe. But as llie ter- 
ion is the inimediatt: principle 
Ml, and the three jiersons have 
tct termination, their one iden- 
Ctiun receives the impress of 
tinct termination of each. 

finally, the essence being 
tl in all the three persons, and 
Dnd and third being origtnat* 
an immanent action, and all 
' essentially relative to each 
it follows that ihcy all live in 
other by a common indwell- 

w, the interior constitution, the 

al organism, of tlie church must 

sdelled, both in its active and 

e moments, after this supreme 

If everything ; always granting 

Iccssary distance of proporliun 

ening between the infinite and 

)iie. For, if the whole cosmos 

I must be fashioned after that 

ie pattern, how much more 

te church, winch is the inchoa- 

I initial perfection of the whole 

^ the cosmos uf pci^onaUties ! 

Uently, we must 6nd in its 

organism all the laws of the 

of God's life — laws which in 

oJe cosmos are reflected in 

tt/y/Vy, variety J hieranhy^ (em- 



And, first, as to the active moment 
of the church. As in the infi- 
nite we find one nature and essence* 
the abyss of all perfection^ the £g- 
ing, so in the active church we 
must find one nature and essence, 
the reflex of the essence of God. 
And that one nature consists in theu 
fulness of the priesthood of the The-J 
anthropos.communicatcdto the whole 
active church in the sacrament of 
order, and in the fulness of his au- 
thority. 

As in the infinite the divine na- 
ture is possessed in common by a 
multiplicity of persons, the three ter- 
minations constituting the Trinity^ 
so in the active church the priest-g 
hood of Christ and his authorit/ij 
must be possessed in common by a 
multiplicity of persons, some iKissess- 
ing it in its fulness, some partially, 
because distinction in the finite is by 
gradation, and cannot be by perfect 
equality, but all having the sarae 
identical priesthood as to its nature. 

As in the Trinity, we find the Iaw» 
of hierarchy absolutely necessary 
organic and living beings, which hier-.' 
archy consists in this, that the three*! 
divine persons, though absolutely 
equal a^ to nature, are distinct as to--] 
personality — a distinction which arls- 
cs from oppo-sitiDn of origin. Now,,j 
this opi)o&iiion of origin ncecsdarily 
gives rise to a hierarchical superiori- 
ty of order; the Father as suth be- 
ing necessarily superior in order to 
the Son, and the Son as such inferior 
to him; both as the aspirants of the 
third person necessarily superior ttk^ 
him. and T/Vir vtrsa. 

Now, this hierarchiool law must b«J 
fuund also in tlie cUurch, and wb 
must find a superiority ol otvc ovct 
the other, not nieurU' «^ oiiAcT.bttI 
of gradation ; the WvlCi ^"^ "^^ ^'l* 
said, not being aWv\i%<^t ^"^"V^ >^ 

gradation of \)-"a- V^-^t^^j 
the The.-x^^\uopo* tc. \>* 



t¥> 



C&tkoHeUy and PaHtkeism, 



cd tliree distinct elements constitut- 
ing the hierarchy, and organically 
brought together. The first, a pri- 
mary principle of authority from 
whom all receive, and he receives 
from none — the Supreme Pontiff, his 
own vicar on earth, the visible head 
of the church. The second, who re- 
ceive from the first in measure and 
limit — the episcopate, who receive 
from the Supreme Pontiff their au- 
thority and its extent. The third, 
also, receive from both in a 
more limited manner — the priest- 
hood.* 

As in the Trinity the divine nature, 
being the radical principle of action 
and life, and the termination, the 
]V0ximate principle, there is one com- 
mon action and life, but the same 
bearing the impress of the constitu* 
ent of each person ; so in the church 
the authority being the same as to 
nature, the Pontiff, the episc(y>ate, 
and the priesthood have one com- 
mon life and action radically, but 
each one displaying it according to 
the degree resulting from his digni- 
ty — the Pontiff in its fulness, the epis- 
copate within the range of their dio- 
ceses, the priesthood within the li- 
mits appointed by the episcopate — 
the second as holding it from the 
first, the third from both. 

The reader can see by the theory 
we have just explained, and which 
cannot be gainsaid, how the late de- 
finition of the infallibility of the Su- 
preme Pontiff is in accordance with 
and flows from tlie principles we 
have laid down. The Pontiff in the 
church of Christ is the first and pri- 
mary visible principle of all authority, 
as in the interior of infinite life the 
eternal Father is the first primary 



* We have said amthority and not sacerdotal 
chandler, because as to that there it no differ- 
•iiM batween the Supreme Pontiff aad the epis- 
oopate, but only between the episcopate and 
ibe priesthood. 



principle of authority over the Son 
and the Spirit, as we have explained 
above. 

From the Pontiff all must receife 
authority, and he can receive from 
none, as the Father in the internal 
organism of the infinite commuoi- 
cates and receives from none. Coo- 
sequendy, the Supreme Pontiff being 
the first, primary, supreme, visible 
principle of authority in the cfauicfa 
of Christ, is the first, primary, sa- 
preme, visible teacher — the office of 
teaching being essentially included 
in the fulness of authority conuau- 
nicated to him by Christ. 

And as the office c^ teaching to 
the church of Christ would be of oo 
avail except it were endowed with 
the attribute of infallibility, it followi 
that the Supreme Pontiff is the fifst, 
primary, supreme, infallible teacher 
in the church of Christ. He miKt 
teach all, and can be taught by none. 
He teaches by himself the whole uai- 
versal church, and none has antl 
can have any authority for ilispui- 
ing, objecting to, and gainsaying bu 
teaching. 

We cannot perceive how any pa- 
sons holding the supremacy and in- 
dependence of his authority coakl 
ever have reconciled with their logic 
the dependence of his authority with 
reference to teaching. 

We come to the interior organism 
of the passive church, to which the 
active church abo belongs in differ- 
ent relation, and we find in it also a 
reflex of the Trinity. 

For as in the infinite there is Me 
nature common to all, communicated 
by the first person to the secood. 
and by both to the third, so in tbt 
passive church we find the same na 
ture, the term of the supcmatiin< 
moment, consisting in a higher simi 
litude of and communication wtt 
the Trinity ; this term commtuucaled 
by the active church ; primarify If 



CiUholicity and Pantheism. 



84 1 



pucopate, and secondarily by 
pricsihood. 

% in the Trinity, tlie nature being 
tame, the three persons partake 
U the attributes flowing from the 
Ic, likewise, and with due pro- 
ion in the church, the nature of 
iu{>ematural moment being the 
f, all the members partake of the 
t attributes and faculties flowing 
I ihat nature; hence they have 
^common supernatural intclH- 
»c, one common supernatural 

\ 

% the Trinity, the nature being 
tadical principle of action, and 
Impersonal tty the proximate, all 
\ the same action, but each acts 
Irding to the constituent of liis 
pnality ; so in the church, the 
\ of the supernatural moment, 
fluting its nature, being the 
i, all have the same supernatural 
|h and life; but personally, some 
tbers belonging to the active 
ch, and some to the passive, it fol- 
Ithat those who belong to the first 
lay that life in that relation, and 
r who belong to the second dis- 
\\ in the second relation. 
I in the Trinity we find an in- 
|Kng of all the persons in each 
t, and a living pcr])ctual commu- 
JSon founded on the identity of 
^ and on the relation of person- 
%\ so in the church of Christ 
(nd a perpetual communication 
|fe9 members with each other, 
0cd on the identity of nature, 
erm of the supernatural moment, 
[on the relation of personalities, 
pemlxTs of tlie passive church 
punicaiing w iih and living, as it 
^ in ti)c active church, because 

rding from it. 
sec, therefore, what is the in- 
r organism of the church. k% to 
ctive church, the fulness of the 
ood of the Tlieanthropos is 
to the whole active church. 



The organism is constituted and es' 
lablishcd by authority. The fulness 
of his authority is communicated to 
one, the Supreme Pontiff, the visible 
head of the church. From him, and 
from him alone, all others must receive 
authority. .Vnd hence the unity of the 
whole active church, unity of authori- 
ty, of action and iifc, and the pro|)er 
hierarchical order. The passive church 
is established upon the bestowal of 
the supernatural nature and faculties 
and acts. The two are brought to- 
gether by the community of the same 
supernatund nature, faculties, and 
acts; and, by the dependence of 
origin, llie second proceeding and 
being originated by the first. Both 
have one common life and action, 
but hierarchically exercised, the pas- 
sive being governed antl directed by 
the one which originate:^ it, and thus 
exhibiting a most perfect image of 
the Trinity. 

We have only been commenting 
upon those words of the 'ITieanthro- 
pos: " Holy Father, keep these in 
thy name whom thou hast given me, 
that they n^iy be one, as wc also 
arc." Here we have the necessity 
of the church being mo{ieIlcd after 
the Trinity, the archetype of every- 
thing. 

*'.\s thou hast sent me into (he 
world, I also have sent them into the 
world." The common nature of the 
active church, the mission and au- 
thority of the Theanihropos. 

" And not for these only do I pray, 
but for all those who. through their 
words, shall believe in me." The 
continuation of that audiority. 

"Sanctify them in truth." 'I*he 
common nature of the passive church, 
the term of the supernatural moment. 

" That they mny be one, as thou 
Father in mc and 1 in lliee, that 
they may be one in us." The com- 
pletion of tlio inchoauvc society, 
brought Eibo'J' ^y ^^* ^u'peTi\aiura\ 



M 



Caiholkity aad Pantluism, 



element of union, and by the incor- 
poration with the Theantliropos. 

To complete the theory of the 
church, we have now to point out 
the characteristic marks which dis- 
tinguish it from any counterfeit insti- 
tution of men. These marks are 
four : unity, holiness, catliolicity, and 
apostoUcity. 

Uniiy, What is the church, viewed 
in its essence, attributes, and interior 
organism? It is the Theanthropos 
annexing his infinite energy and his 
substantial pcesence to a sacramental 
clement, both physical and personal, 
and through them first elevating hu- 
man persons to a supernatural being, 
with its •ssence and faculties of 
supernatural iiitelligence and super- 
natural will in an incipient and in- 
choative state; secondly, through his 
sacramental, personal element pro- 
posing and expounding his gfiosis to 
their supernatural intelligence ; by a 
second sacramental moment eleva- 
ting this supernatural essence and 
faculties to a determinate and definite 
growth: by the sacramental mo- 
ment of his presence incor{>orating 
all elevated persons unto himself, 
and thus putting them in immediate 
contact with himself, and through 
him with the Trinity on one side and 
with all the cosmos in nature and 
personality on the other side, and 
thus affording their supernatural fac- 
ulties proper objects on which they 
may feed, expand, be developed, and 
arrive at their ultimate perfection. 
Finally, by the personal sacramental 
clement governing and directing all 
their exterior relations and communi- 
cation to one social final end ; and 
all this not in any particular s[)ot or 
period of time, but in all space and 
in all time. From this it is evident 
that the church of Christ is one in 
force of the unity of the Theanthro- 
pos with the sacramental element; 
one in consequence of the interior 



unity of organism, both of the active 
and passive church; oru in coaat- 
quence of the unity of the superna- 
tural being and faculties, the cod of 
the church ; Ofu in force of the unity 
of the object of the supernatural intdli* 
gence ; one in consequence c^ the unity 
of theobject of the supernatural will- 
God and his cosmos, in their relatiooi 
to each other ; one in consequence of 
the real communion and intercounc 
between the members of the church; 
oMj finally, in consequence of tiw 
oneness of the visible government of 
the church, all emanating from one 
invisible and one visible head. 

The second distinctive mark of 
the church must be holiness. Foi 
the end of the church is to impatt to 
human persons in time and space 
the term of tlie supernatural moment, 
together with its faculties, and espc(> 
ally the faculty and habit of superna- 
tural intelligence and sui>ernatural will 
or charity, in which, as we have (b 
monstrated in the tenth article, the 
very essence of holiness consists. It 
the church, therefore, were depriveti 
of this distinctive mark, she would EiJi 
in that very object for which she *ai 
instituted. 

But it if to be remarked that not 
any degree of holiness would be suffi- 
cient to constitute a distinctive nuik 
of the church, but a certain fulness 
of it is required in some of its mem- 
beni, for a twofold reason. 

1 .ike every moment of God's ex- 
terior action, she is subject to theliv 
of variety by hierarchy. This in- 
volves the necessity of the church 
ranging between the lowest degree 
of sanctity to the very pinnacle of 
sublimest and loftiest exhibition of it ; 
otherwise, those two laws coukl not 
be realized. 

Secondly, an ordinary degree of 
holiness can easily be counterfeited 
But none could for any length of 
time or any extension of spacx as- 



Calhoiicity and Pantheism, 



»4J 






Mine a sanctity which soars far 
above tlic ordinary and common Icv- 
H, and which exhibits itself as such. 
J\reina personam diu Jai could be ap- 
plied in this case more thaa in any 
other. 

The next distinctive mark is eatho- 
lUity or universality. She is such not 
only because she contains all truth ; 
not only because she embraces all 
the moments of Gud's action, as the 
finishing stroke of them all ; but bc< 
csusc she is iutcndeU for all lime and 
all space. 

Filially, the last mark is apo$toUcity. 
The first members of the hierarchy 
chosen by the I'h can thro pos to com- 
lunicate as mor&l instrinnents the 
of the sublimative moment, with 
le power and authority to transmit 
to others that very same dignity of 
being moral mstrumctits. were the 
apoities. Therefore, that church alone 
can be the church of the Thcanthro- 
pos which to this day and for ever 
can show that her own hierarchy are 
the legitimate successors of the apos- 
dcs, by ail uninterrupted communi- 
cation. For wc have said that the 
essence of the church is to be the 
Theanthropos acting in time and 
^Mce, through ihc agency of the Iner- 
an:hy and other sacraments. Now, 
sttpjtosc a hierarchy who cmnot 
daim or make good their claim to 
l>e the legitimate successors of the 
first ones who composed it, who 
could not claim any communication 
or union with them, how could we 
supiK>se thfin to be lliosu very in- 
sArumenl.s in whom and through 
whom the 'rhe;inthropos lives and 
acu? 

Before we draw the consequence 
which follows from u)I we have said 
concerning the church, it is necessary 
to recapitulate in a few words all wc 
have written in these articles. 

Wc set out with the question of 
ttie infinite, and after refuting the 



pantheistic idea of the infinite, and 
showing that pantheism in tis solu- 
tion of the problem destroys it, we 
gave the Catholic idea of the infi- 
nite. Here another problem sprang 
up — multiplicity in the infinite. No 
b<ing can be conceived endowctl 
wiih pure, unalloyed unity. It must 
be multiple, under pain of being in- 
conceivable. What is the multi- 
plicity which can be admitted in the 
infinite ? We demonstrated lliat the 
pantheistic solution which says that 
infinite becomes multiple by a neces- 
sary interior development, destroys 
both terms, the unity and the multi- 
plicity. We proceeded to lay down 
the Catholic answer to the problem, 
and explained, as far as lay in our 
power, the mystery of the cvcr-bless- 
ed Trinity. 'I'he question next m 
onlcr was the finite. And we show- 
ed tlie finite to be the eflfect of an 
absolutely free act of infinite power, 
free both to its creation at all and 
also with regnrd to the amount of 
perfection to be created ; though wc 
admitted and proved that it was be- 
fitting on the part of ilie Creator to 
effect the best possible manifestation 
of himself. Here we found ourselves 
in face of a duality which claimed re- 
conciliation. H<iw could tlic finite 
and the infinite be united together, 
so as to preserve whole and entire 
the two respective natures, and at 
the same time to effect the best [jos- 
sible manifestation of the infinite ? 
We answered by laying tlown the 
Catholic dogma of the hypustatlc 
union, which raised the finite to a 
Ujposiatic or personal union with the 
infinite, and elevated finite natures 
to the highest possible dignity, llut 
as the hypostatic moment raised lo 
a personal union only nature, .ind 
left out personality, anodiL-r duality 
arose : how to unite human persons 
with the Theanthropos, and vhrouth 
him wiiV^ God, a^*! iixa-Vc \.\\eTO pat- 



844 



Catkolicity and Pantheism. 



takers as far as possible of the dignity 
and elevation of the nature hypo- 
statically united to the Word. The 
sublimative moment answered the 
question. This moment, medium 
between the Theanthropos and sub- 
stantial creation, by bestowing upon 
human persons a higher nature and 
faculties, enabled them to unite in 
close contact with the Theanthropos 
and through him with the Trinity. 
But what was the medium chosen to 
transmit the term of the sublimative 
moment to human persons in time 
and space? The Theanthropos 
himself, the essential mediator be- 
tween God and the cosmos ; and to 
that effect he united his infinite ener- 
gy and his substantial presence to 
personal and physical instruments, 
and through them imparted to hu- 
man persons in time and space the 
term of the sublimative moment; and 
thus the cycle of the procession of 
the cosmos from the infinite was per- 
fected in its being and faculties, to 
begin a movement of return to the 
same infinite as its supreme end. 
The sacramental extension of the 
Theanthropos in time and space we 
have demonstrated to be the Catho- 
lic Church, and from its essence we 
have drawn her essential attributes 
of visibility, indefectibility, infallibility, 
and authority, and also its intrinsic 
marks of unity, holiness, catholicity, 
and apostoHcity. 

After this necessarily imperfect 
sketch of all our articles, we submit 
to the reader this necessary conse- 
quence — the Ronuin Catholic Church 
is tk£ only true church of God. 



First, because it is in the teachi.ig 
of the Roman Catholic Church sl(X)e 
that the life of the intelligence ii 
possible. We have shown through- 
out our articles that in every ques- 
tion which the human mind nuscs, 
there b no possible alternative — eith- 
er embrace the Catholic solution, so 
coherent with reason ; or the panthe- 
istic solution, and the death of the 
intelligence. Now, when we speak 
of the Catholic solution, we mean 
of the solution which is given by the 
church whose head is the Bishop of 
Rome, for no other pretended Catho- 
lic Church gives ail the true solu- 
tions. 

Second, because it is the Roman 
Catholic Church alone which knowi 
her own essence and attributes. All 
others are more or less ignorant of 
the essence and attributes necessary 
to the church of the Theanthropoi 

Thirdly, it is to the Roman Ca- 
tholic Church alone to which the es 
sence, attributes, and marks which 
we have shown h priori to belong 
necessarily to the Church of Chria 
apply. Consequently, the Roman 
Catholic Church is the real cosmos 
of God in its perfection of being and 
faculties, and men have no possible 
alternative but to join it, to submit 
to its authority, under pain of the 
death of the intelligence, of being a 
creature out of joint with the wht^ 
system of God's works, of being in the 
impossibility of attaining their last 
end in palingenesia. The Roman 
Catholic Church or pantheisa— all 
truth or no truth — death or life here 
and hereafter. 



^46 ^>^ ^^' ^^y^ ^/ Oisin, tiu Bard. 

** Oisin, in heaven the praises swell 

To God alone from Soul and Saint: — ** 

** Then, Patrick, I their deeds will tell 
In a little whisper faint 1 



•* Who says that Fionn his sentence waits 
In some dark realm, the thrall of sin ? 
Fionn would have burst that kingdom's gates, 
Or ruled himself therein !" 



*' Old man, for once thy chiefs forget " 

(Thus oft the Saint his rage beguiled) : 

" Sing us thine own bright youth, while yet 
A stripling, or a child." 

** O Patrick, glad that time and dear ! 

It wrought no greatness, gained no gain. 
Not less those things that thou wouldst hear 
Thou shalt not seek in vain. 



** My mother was a princess, turned 
By magic to a milk-white doe : — 
Such tale, a wondering child, I learned : 
True was it ? Who can know ?' 



" I know but this, that, yet a boy, 
I raced beside her like the wind : 
We heard the hunter's horn with joy. 
And left the pack behind. 

** A strength was mine that knew no bound, 
A witless strength that nothing planned ; 
When came the destined hour, I found 
Some great deed in my hand. 

" Forth from a cave I stept at Beigh : 

O'er ivied cli£& the loose clouds rushed : 
With them I raced, and reached ere they 
I'he loud seas sandhill-hushed. 



" By Brandon's cliff an eagle brown 
O'erhung our wave-borne coracle : 
I hurled at him my lance, and down 
Like falling stars he fell. 



Tin Last J^ays of Oisin, the Bard, H7 

' On that green shore oi Ardrakese 

An untamed horse I made my slave, 
And forced him far o'er heaving seas, 
And reinless rode the wave. 



** Methinks my brow I might have laid 
Against a bull's, and there and then 
Backward have pushed him up the glade. 
And down the rocky glen 1 

*' So ran ray youth through daik and bright. 
In deeds half jest Their time is gone : 
The glorious works of thoughtful might 
For Oscar were, and Fionn. 

" When met the hosts in mirth I fought : 
My war-fields still with revel rang : 
My sword with such a god was fraught 
That, while it smote, it sang. 

** My spear, unbidden, to my hand 

Leaped, hawk-wise, for the battle's sake ; 
Forth launched, it flashed along the land 
With music in its wake. 

** A shield I bore so charged and stored 
With rage and yearnings for the fight. 
When foes drew near it shook, and roared 
Like breakers in the night : 

" Then only when the iron feast 

Of war its hungry heart had stilled. 
It murmured, like a whispering priest 
Or frothing pail new-filled." 

" Say, knew'st thou never fear or awe ? " 
Thus Patrick, and the Bard replied : 

" Yea, once : for once a man I saw 
Who — not in battle — died. 



" I sang the things I loved — the fight — 
The chance inspired that aV\ ^eoi<i**'~ 
That pause of death, when p^. gj^d^^^S^ 
Drag back the battle tid^^ ^^ 



^g The Last Days of Oisin, the Bard, 

The swords that blent their lightnings blue- 
Thc midnight march — the city's sack — 

The advancing ridge of spears that threw 
The levelled sunrise back. 



" And yet my harp could still the storm, 
Redeem the babe from magic blight, 
Restore to human heart and form ■ 
The unhappy spell-bound knight. 

** And some could hear a sobbing hind 

Among my chords; and some would swear 
They heard that kiss of branch and wind 
That lulled the wild-deer's lair I 



" I sang not lies : where base men thronged, 
I sat not, neither harped for gold : 
My song no generous foeman wronged, 
No woman's secret told. 

" I sang among the sea-side flocks 

When sunset flushed the bowery spray. 
Or when the white moon scaled the rocks 
And glared upon the bay. 

" My stately music I rehearsed 

On shadowing cli£&, when, far below, 
In rolled the moon-necked wave, and burst, 
And changed black shores to snow. 

" But now I tread a darker brink : 

Far down, unfnendlier waters moan : 
And now of vanished times I think ; 
Now of that bourn unknown. 



" I strike my harp ; I make good cheer ; 
Yet scarce myself can catch its sound ! 
I see but shadoi^ bending near 
When feasters press around. 

" Say, Patrick of the mystic lore, 

Shall I, when this old head lies low, 
My Oscar see, and Fionn, once more. 
And run beside that Doe ?" 




Her having read the speech 
u have recently delivered at 
ilin, I waited a. few days to 
ht one would come forward 
Tistice to the words you ut- 
tut since they have been al- 

(pass without protest from 
1 will, albeit I have not 
te for it, say what Z have to 
t them. 

fpecch treats both of poli- 
•teligion, and you deal with 
) great matters as if you were 

ry shortly to become their 
master. I shall not say 
)out your politics, alihouj^h 
daening character adds to the 
have anxiety with which our 
Btry is burdened ; but, as a 
Hiave a right to call you to 
for the war wiiich you de- 
inst the church and against 

i . 

tor, indeed, it may be called, 
>mpanicd with such acrusa- 
d such outrageous insults, 
rour words were true, wc 
eserve to be driven not only 

!e school-house, as you de- 
l out of the church itself, 
admit to have been at first 
' the apparent moderation 
vords. Taking interest, as I 
inversions when they are sin- 
ked myself, while reading 
pourse, in which you ap- 
mc so calm, so insinuat- 
so circumspect, though 
ne time so devoid of mo- 
[asked myself if the time 
XIV.— 54 






had come when the National Ass< 
biy was about to present the spectS' 
cle of a reconciliation of parties in 
the presence of the image of an ideal 
republic. What abundance of honey 
flowed from your lips ! Even at times, 
how much toleration in your m^ 
ims! 

In this statement, this programme, 
this message, the manifesto, or by 
whatever name it should be called, 
which you addressed to your asscm* 
bled guests at St. Quentin, you pro- 
ceed in this wise : 

You call for *'a strong and stable 
government, th.it will vigilantly pro- 
tect the interests of a//, and be able 
to reseueratt the morals of the French 
family." On this jwint, sir, »ve cer- 
tainly all agree. This government, 
you go on to say, will )).icify souls, 
bring the socia.1 classes closer to one 
another, and will restore to France 
her rank in F.urope, This is 
very fine. But let us see further. 

To bring about this end, you 
peal even to the disabused voters of 
i\itpUdisdte ; even to the legitimists, 
who, by their wealth and education, 
are to be the ornament of ihc state / 
even to the conservative men, who 
are to be as a bridle of restraint on 
a policy 'v^'hich youi fr'ieads are to | 
urge forward. 

And what ^* ^° ^ ^^^^* v"^^"**^ ^ 
The policy, of '^''*"'> ■^*=^>' ^*^^^"^> 
from the n\\cv o^ co'Cvv\m'^va>\« vt^- 






forbe^^ \nj^ ^^x^% V«:^^ ] 



^^ 



ft>" 



'so 



Letter of Mon seigneur Dupanloup, 



expressions, poli^ of iabor^ idea of 
Justke, are in daily use by the Inter- 
nationaUj and not in a sense particu- 
larly intended to tranquillize society. 
But let us go on. 

But this form of government, this 
policy, how is its establishment to be 
brought about ? Why, by universal 
suffrage, that foremost of rights, that 
sole and sovereign tribunal, that ar- 
my of peace. And how is universal 
suffrage to be persuaded and drawn 
to the desired end ? By giving to 
public opinion, through democratic 
intermingling^ proofs of the morali- 
ty^ the political value, and the adap- 
tation for business of the republican 
party ; by demonstrating that the 
republican government is the most lib- 
eral of all forms of government, etc. 

Really, sir, all this must have ap- 
peared admirable to your audience, 
and, if your republic is of that sort, 
many of our most upright conserva- 
tives will tell you : Let us clasp hands, 
for that is the very republic which 
the National Assembly, acting with 
and through M, Thiers, is endeavor- 
ing to realize at the cost of so much 
Mlf-denial, disinterestedness, and hon- 
esty. 

But let us be frank. 

You have no right to claim that 
your republic answers this descrip- 
tion. Your sweetness is purely ora- 
torical and Platonic ; for two sentences 
of your address reveal you and show 
who you are. 

** No one," you say, " must ever give 
his opinion except as a means of add- 
ing to the general good ; and each 
one niu.st convert his mind into, as it 
were, a memorandum tablet for him- 
self, in which he puts down, with a 
Ticw of obtaining them, the institu- 
tions which the people have a right 
to expect from the democratic repub- 
lic" 

If a priest had uttered these words, 
which seem more befitting the lips 



of an Italian than of a Frenchman, 
he would be charged with hypocrisy 
and mental reservation. Ii would 
be said that he is playing saint; that 
he is concealing his game by not r^ 
vealing his innermost thoughts. But 
everything is forbidden to the cleric, 
while to the radical any and evm- 
thing is allowed. This everybody 
knows. I confine myself to meidj 
quoting this first sentence, without 
further dwelling on its merits; and! 
pass on to a second one, which gim 
me a right, not only to suspect yoa, 
as in the case of the former one, but 
to make a direct attac k on you ; io 
tenor is as follows : 

" What I have done in the past b 
the true pledge of what 1 will do in 
the future, toward definitively estab- 
lishing the republic." 

'it is here, sir, that I must challenge 
you. 

In the first place, I have to ex- 
press my amazement that, having to 
account to your country, under vi 
grave a responsibility, and for mis- 
deeds for which you might have 
been rendered far more seriously 
liable, you can be so ready to ac- 
cuse others and to glorify yourself, 
that you go so far as to dare to say ; 
" What I have done in the past i* 
the true pledge of what I will do 
in the future." 
What have you done in the past? 
You were a young lawyer, and 
were turned alt of a sudden, and in 
consequence of a tumultuous lawsuit, 
into a political character. The audac> 
ty of your revolutionary opinions en 
abled you to become a candidate for 
the Corps L^gislatif, and in the 
next place to take your seat as i 
deputy by the side of your friendf 
Blanqui, Raspail.and Rochefort. 

On the 4th September, you scittJ 
upon the governing power, and, vtfir 
out consulting with your coIIcigM; 
you assigned to yourself the WMJfJ 



Letter of MoHstigneur Dupanloup. 



851 



bf (he Interior. Did you, as soon as 
you got into the ministry, extend to 
all good ciiucQS those arms which 
you seem now to be opening so 
widely ? Xot at all. In the Hotel 
de Ville,* you installed such men as 
Elicnne Arago. Ferrj% and Roche- 
fort ; in the mairir, such characters 
as Oelescluze, Mottu, Bonvolet, C\&- 
raenceau ; in the pr/fecfures, such as 
Duportal, lingelharil, and Jacobins 
of All sorts. Vou filletl these places 
wth your friends — your friends only, 
and these of the most excitable kind. 
Afterward, Avhen your colleagues, in 
order 10 get rid of you, were so sig- 
nally weak as to give you the entire 
realm to operate upon, when, through 
sl fortunate contingency, you had 
suddenly entrusted to you that mng- 
niAcent part which, to a heroic and 
truly patriotic heart, would have 
been unsurpassable, what did you do ? 
You sought rather to force the repub- 
lic — your republic— on the country 
than to save France. It is well for 
you to talk about universal suffrage. 
You have treated it as naught. By 
a first decree, you broke up the con- 
uih-g/nMiux, and did not re-establish 
them. By a second decree, you 
adjourned the elections. By a third 
decree, you abridged the legal quali- 
fications fur election. What have 
you, sole ruler everywhere obeyed, 
pne with tlie treasure, the men, and 
blood of her children which the 
nation lavished upon you ? Was it 
not a repubUcan who called your 
lalal rule the dUiatorship of incompe- 
tency f 

Though only three months in pow- 
, you had become almost a greater 
iirden upon us than the late Impe- 
rial Goveinnient ; and when you as- 
sert that the National Assembly 

> Tbe t IdUl de Vlllc \% the iie4t of hcftd munl- 

llbof 'ly Tur the city of I'krU ; the tmairift 

ut>orilinatc icaisot locil uuthorlty Tor 

dlMcmrnlklDlu wlilck i'lfb U divvdcil. 



has completed its work, which was 
to put an end to the war, you forget 
that the As.sembly had received from 
France not one mandate only, but 
three. The Assembly had, and ha.s 
still, given it the charge to rid uur 
country of the Prussians, of dema- 
goguism, and of yourself.' 

After the dreadful catastrophes in 
which the Empire sank to ruin, do 
you know, sir, what proved to be 
France's greatest misfurtune ? 

it was that just then, in that so 
terrible a crisis, you stood the abso- 
lute master of France, I make no 
reference to the two aged men who 
were at Tours with you. It was/rom 
you, a lawyer, that our generals re- 
ceived their orders; it was you who 
dictated plans for campaigns ; it was 
you who scanered our forces, and 
blindly hurled our armies right and 
left, multiplying your lying bulle- 
tins, and at the same time and 
to ihc same extent as our reverses. — 
But I must turn away my thoughts 
from those disasters, as also from the 
remembrance of those poor soldiers^ 
without clothes, without shoes, with- 
out food, without ammunition ! How 
great an organizer, my dear sir, you 
proved yourself 10 be ! How fortu- 
nate you turned out to have been in 
the selection of your contractors for 
supplies ! 

Nevertheless, the nation, ever gen- 
erous, might have measurably ac- 
cepted, as an uffect to this, your 
personal activity, and your eflbrts, 
altliough unsuccessful ; it had given 
you credit for having withdrawn 
yourself momentarily ; but you reap- 
peared too quickly, only a short lime 
before the day when the Commune 
of Paris was putting forward your 
friends, your lieutenants, your teach- 
ers, or your disciples, such as Deles- 
cluze and Milli^re, RigauU a«d Ranc, 
Cavalier and Mottu, aU those fel- 
lows who have made ^^(tnae\vcs ai 



852 



Letter of Monseigneur Dupanloup. 



ij^ominious and ridiculous as possi- 
ble, some of whom are still around 
you; in fine, all that party which you 
Rave never, even to the extent of a 
single word, disavowed, and the 
members of which you called upon 
to give evidence of their morality, 
their political worth, and their apti- 
tude for the business of government ! 
That evidence has been given, and 
really, sir, you rely too much on the 
frivolity, the folly, or the credulity of 
the public. You preach to it about 
a debonair republic, but that public 
has not forgotten the grotesque, ru- 
inous republic, accompanied with 
bloodshed, which during six months 
was fastened on France. 

You have avoided with prudent 
care to call your republic social as 
well as democratu ; and why? In 
order to enjoy the happiness of a 
Beeting hour of dictatorship, I sup- 
pose it is worth your while to run the 
risk of more calamities. Alas ! un- 
fortunate land, fated to be thus per- 
f>etually the dupe and the victim of 
most guilty ambition ! 

No, in spite of all that you may 
say or leave unsaid, your premises 
are contradicted by our memories. 
We need, in order to be persuad- 
ed, something else than sonorous 
words. It is true that, in one point 
only, you depart from the vague 
style of your programme. You de- 
clare that you seek, above all things, 
to lay the foundation of the future of 
democracy on a reform, to wit, in 
education ; and with this idea, you 
proclaim that you and your friends 
are alone capable, alone worthy, to 
bring up youth. You seek to turn 
out just, free, strong-minded and 
able men. This is very fine. But 
how ? By means of a national edu- 
cation given after a tntly modern and 
tntfy democratic manner. 

And here you dare to affirm that 
the church and preceding govern- 



ments have done nothing for pBb&t 
instruction, that they view every per- 
son who knows how to read as an 
enemy, and you claim to reform the 
world with your schools. 

Allow me to reply that in tlui 
matter you are taking advantage of 
ignorance instead of combating iL 
For it argues a singular reliance OQ 
the ignorance of an audience to at- 
tempt to make it swallow-at one and 
the same time, and in the same 
sentence, calumny and nonsense. 

The governments that have niled 
France for the past sixty years have 
in that period established more than 
50,000 schools, and have trebled the 
appropriations for primary instruc- 
tion. 

As to the church, she is founded 
on two things: a book, the Gospel, 
and a divine command, to wit : Ite 
et docete. Go and teach. This sen- 
tence, which has become common- 
place, " Ignorance is the source of all 
evils" was uttered by a pope, and he 
added besides, ^* partieularly amongtki 
working-classes.^' These were the 
words of Benedict XIV., uttered 
more than a century before you were 
bom. 

The calumny is consequently shovn 
to be dull-witted, and the nonsense 
still more so. It would seem that 
you also, M. Garobetta, hope, by 
means of schools, to stamp your e& 
gy on future generations, just as if 
they were coin. But men versed in 
the subject know, and experience 
shows, that such a design is abstud, 
and may become a horrid t}Tanny. 
The instruction,, whether primary or 
secondary, even with as much as yoa 
can add to it of the higher sciences, 
such as algebra, chemistry, etc., will 
not produce morals ; and the parties 
who flatter the teachers expect, alter 
all, much tnore from their influcDce 
on voters than from their action at 
their scho'ars. 



Lftter ef Monseigntur Dupa'ni 



853 



birl you like to know what, 
All things, exerts an influ- 
on the family and on sucic- 
' It is education, whether it 
or immoral, religious or 
tic. And do jou know why I 
8t your reform ? Because it 
I neither a moral nor a religious 

isobcr truth, what sort of tui- 
a reaily modern ^ a really de- 
hr.onc ? Is tliere such a thing 
;em geometry ? a deraocra- 
mar ? moral teachings of re- 
owth, and a geography not 
Jblished ? All these big words 
mc windy oratory, empty and 
c, which affords no meaning 
mind when it attempts to .ina- 

► 

trlhcless, after having thrown 
(se sentences to your hearers, 
\ on and recite the mottoes of 
;y, the watchword of the day. 
pity that you left out lithes 
'ced service umler feudal law. 
Ly tuition is to h*^ free of cast — 
equivalent lo adding thirty 
to our budget of expendi- 
t what does that signify ? You 
kanaged to spend a large sum 
The poor will pay for the 
ut the lower classes will de- 
icmselvcs with the belief that 
not paying at all, and that 
indebted to you for the be- 
n. Tuition is besides to be 
try. Well, let it be so, if you 
ise some adequate sanction for 
lemplated enactments, a re- 
irolection for the liberty of 
and, in particular, a reliable 
ic for the teachers, so that 
feel sure enough of them to 
without practising the most 
ftblc of all tyranny, to compel 
to entrust lo them, what they 
lost in this world, their chil- 
3ut then, minor details do 
> you. To conclude, the 



tuition is to be by hymen — and nov 
the cat is let out of the bag. 

It is an easy matter to attack and 
calumniate absent priests, religions 
who make no defence. To do so 
is neither fair nor generous, but mucli 
popularity is lo be got in that way 
in your party, and the hard flings at 
the chuicb will offset the sweetness 
displayed toward other persons. So 
let us strike hard on this spot. The 
church is henceforward to be separat- 
ed irom the state — that is not enough, 
the church is besides to be separated 
from the school, and the school from 
all religion. 

You have said, sir, that your re- 
public would be a liberal one. If 
you accordingly begin by excluding 
from the common right to teach an 
entire class of citizens and of women, 
solely because their religious belief is 
not the same as yours, do not call 
yourself liberal, and do not charge 
the church with being intolerant, or 
else be logically consistent, and sep- 
arate the j/W^/wm the school. For 
the state, in this connection, means 
the budget ; that is to say, the 
moneys which are got of all of us by 
taxation. You cannot, without beini 
tyrannical, compel families to senf 
their children to the school of the 
state. Lay aside these high-sound 
ing phrases, and call Unngs by their 
right names. By the church you 
mean us. By the state you mcain 
yourself. To deprive us and outj 
doctrines of our money, in order to 
bestow it on yourself and your doc-J 
trines — that is what is called sepaJ 
rating the church from the statej 
But I feel pretty easy as to the 
choice families will make when 
learn from you what the programme^ 
of this teaching is to be. 

The programme is thi."; : " It i* 
an extensive and varied out:, so that, 
instead of mutilated kam'mg, man 
will have (Acjltout to \\\x[\entire truths 



854 



Letter of Monseigneur Dupantottp, 



so that nothing which the human 
mind can grasp will be concealed 
from him." De omni re uibili ! Well, 
that is wonderful indeed ! No doubt 
you will have the power to create 
minds capable of taking in this ency- 
clopjedia ! You are equal to so many 
undertakings ! So that which you 
have in view, gratuitous, compulsory, 
lay tuition, integral besides for every 
one and complete to an impossible 
degree — this is the formula of social- 
ism, and is also the formula of ab- 
surdity. 

" In the schools," you add, "chil- 
dren will be taught scientific truth 
in its rigor and its majestic simplicity^* 
and by this process " you will have 
reared citizens whose principles will 
rest on the same bases on 7vhich our en- 
tire society is founded'^ 

What do you mean by these big 
words? What are these principles t 
what are these bases? Whether it 
be that tfu)se principles rest on these 
bases, or thai these bases are fast to 
those principles, how much of this 
will you teach to children from the 
ages of seven to eleven years ? I 
call upon you to give me plainly the 
text of (hzprogramtne of science which 
our worthy village teachers, who are 
to seek to instil into children of from 
seven to eleven years the sense of 
duty and sacrifice, will have to sub- 
stitute for the Ten Commandments 
of God, and for the sublime and pop- 
ular Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. 
What is it, pray, sir, that renders 
you so ungrateful towards the voters 
of Paris or of Lyons, who nearly all 
have been educated by the Brothers, 
so severe on the priests, who perhaps 
have done something for your early 
education, and so unjust towards the 
church ? 

It is my duty to insist on this 
point, and to protest against your 
calumnies. 

What ! though the clergy of 



France have devoted thcmsdves, is 
they have done, to the service of cat 
soldiers and our prisoners, and thou^ 
when, only four months ago, our chap 
lains and our Brothers of the Chi^ 
tian Schools had served and died 
on the battle-fields, and though all 
our female religious have deToted 
themselves to the care of our ambu- 
lances, you have the heart to come 
and tell us that we are no longer 
French I And it is immediately after 
the massacre of the hostages that yoa 
repeat these calumnies, and repre- 
sent us as constituting for modeni 
society " the greatest peril" SwA 
are your very words, and you hold as 
up anew to the blind fury of our en- 
em i^. 

And you direct your calumnies doc 
against us alone, but, besides, against 
the Pope. Ah ! I admit, the liommv 
treachery, meanness, and falsdiood 
by which he has been surrounded 
during the past twenty-five yean 
have not brought him to lo(^ with 
favor on the charms of that sham 
liberty which you promise him, anJ 
he may well fail to admire that Gari- 
baldi for whose sake you, perhaps, 
sacrificed our army of the East But 
in the Encyclical which your beams 
have never read, the Pope has not 
condemned the various forms of gov- 
ernment as they exist in the laws of 
various nations. He has condemn- 
ed liberty unrestrained, rights without 
countervailing duties, and societies 
that know not God. As to the family 
and property, sir, is it becoming ^mt 
friends to style themselves their vir- 
tuous defenders ? 

But what is singular in this pd- 
mell gathering of confused ud in- 
coherent ideas, is your alleged mo- 
tive for denying to French priab 
the right to teach which belongs to 
them in common with all their f6Uo*- 
countrymen : " When yon have ^^ 
pealed to the energies of men renal 



Letter of Monseigneur Dupanloup, 



855 



;h teachers, when you seek to 
■ in them ideas of sacrifice, of 
sdness, of patriotism, you will 
hat you have to deal with an 
-.ulated, debilitated class of 
And the reason you assi^ 
e emasculation and debilitation 
s class reared under our care is 
lOre singular: it is because a*^ 
them to beliei^e in Providence^ 
ecause teachers that believe in 
ience are only fit to emasculate 
'ebilitate the human race. At 
oint, sir, you set " the doctrine 
accustoms the mind to the 
tf a Providence " in opposition 
svolution, which teaches the au- 
f and responsibility of the will 
in and free agency." But, sir, 

things are not incompatible 
ne another. Both are taught by 
ian doctrine, and, by setting 
in opposition as you do, you 

that you neither understand 
:lf nor the matters of which 
re treating. 

; you, who do not believe in 
ience, and who are consequent- 
ther emasculated nor debilitat- 
I you know of any other belief 
can better teach mankind to 
with life and brave death ? 
lave this year ordered many 
:o rush to destruction. Would 
ave dared to recommend our 
rs to go forth to meet death, 
ng God ? And do you believe 
the souls of the Pontifical 
es, and of the Breton francs- 
i, were enervated by their faith 
tvidence ? 

be cautious. In order that your 
ling be consistent, a belief in 
ience appertains not to priests 

but to whoever professes the 
ian faith ; consequently, if 
[ are to be banished from the 
Is because they teach that emas- 
ag dogma, then all Christians 
be kept out as well, and hence* 



forward you must exact from every 
teacher and every professor not to 
believe in Providence. 

Avow, sir, that seldom have ca- 
lumnies and absurdities been mixed 
up together with greater facility than 
you have done in these words of 
yours. 

Nevertheless, you manage to go on 
still further, and you attempt to 
create a division between the hig^r 
clergy^ whom you traduce, and those 
whom you call the lower clergy, whom 
you flatter, by endeavoring to excite 
them to envy. You labor in vain, 
sir; and, besides, I do not recog- 
nize any lower clergy as such. The 
rank of the priesthood is the highest 
to which we can attain ; no bisliop, 
not even the Pope himself, has a sa- 
cerdotal character different from that 
of the most humble priest. All ec- 
clesiastical dignities are, in one sense, 
beneath the title of priest, which leads 
to the highest offices and dignities of 
the church. So that, in this regard, 
it may be said that no institution is 
so democratic as the church. Sprung 
from the people as we nearly all of 
us are, educated together and fed to- 
gether on the words of him who died 
for the people, we will suffer our- 
selves to be neither divided nor de- 
ceived. 

Our fraternity is of the right sort. 
Our God is the true God, and you are 
without any. Be sincere, sir : come 
out of this mere talk, and answer me 
plainly and without oratorical precau- 
tion, whether, yes or no, the free 
thought in which you are a believer, 
and human science, which, according to 
you, has nothing to equal it, recognize 
the existence of a personal and living 
God? Candor leaves you no al- 
ternative but to reply. Either dare 
to declare to your friends that you 
do believe, or dare to proclaim to our 
land that you do not bc\\eve,mGod. 

If ind^ your sham scwnce de- 



Ss6 



letter of Monseigntur Dupanhupf 



nies God, I pity you, sir; but 3rou 
must admit that it hardly becomes 
you to talk about religion, and to en- 
deavor to beguile and divide priests 
who have consecrated their lives to 
him. You assert that> if they dared to 
disclose their convictions, they would 
own themselves democrats. Do you 
know what our village priests would 
tell you if they were to make dis- 
closures to you ? They would inform 
you that in every hamlet is to be 
'found a handful of petty rhetoricians, 
itavern orators, fellows who lead mu- 
^nicipal councils, who drive away the 
Christian Brothers and Sisters of 
■Charity, and do their best to deprive 
the curate of the small pittance with- 
out which he cannot subsist, who for- 
bid teachers to take children to 
Mass, refuse to have churches re- 
paired that need it most, recommend 
mutual - guarantee - association mar- 
riages and burials, and know no bet- 
ter way of serving a republic than by 
hating priests and by persevering in 
a low and silly infidelity. Now, in 
every village these very rhetoricians 
are your friends. 

It is with their assistance that you 
contemplate establishing that educa- 
tion, " national and truly modern," in 
whicli, in order to teach children 
" their duties as citizens, to excite in 
them ideas of sacrifice, of devotion to 
country, to make out of them an unem- 
asculaled race," you will have not 
only to avoid speaking to them of God 
and of I^ovuieNce, but besides to 
combat and root out of their minds 
the idea oi I^ovidence^ and, in fine, to 
force upon French youth a teaching 
without religion, and a moral instruc- 
tion without God. 

Well, would you have me tell you 
what such education will turn out for 
you ? Instead of rearing men, it will 
give us monsters, and a learned bar- 
barism, armed with abundant means 
of destruction, barbarism in the 



heart and in manner — in a word, )V 
what we have witnessed during t! 
reign of the Commune ; -young m 
and girls from eighteen to tweni 
three years old ruling Paris and < 
stroying it by incendiarism ; and, 
it is after having witnessed su 
scenes of horror and the lessons wh 
they teach, that you have neverti 
less ventured to deliver the addi 
to which I am replying, and your au 
ence went so far as to applaud y< 
words ! 

In my view, this latter fact is 
indication of the disorder in whick 
this very moment we still are. 1 
the end of France's afflictions is i 
yet! 

But I have said enough, sir. I h 
sought, as the only reply to yo'ir 
rangue, to put facts in opposition 
words. I have sought, while re^Jy 
to you, to defend the church ; ao 
think I have at the same time 
fended public peace. In theory 
against this or that govemm' 
neither my faith, my reason, ntw 
patriotism would raise great ob 
tions, were it not that 1 have s 
your party at work, and that 
sight is still filled with those son 
scenes, and my memory with 
recollection of your deeds. In i 
do you try to cover them over i 
clever words and honeyed insinuati 
My knowledge of the preacher sf 
the effect of the sermon on 
And my recollection of the whi 
dictator puts me on my guard aga 
the impressivcness of the candi* 
who is aspiring not to establish 111 
ty, as he pretends, but to destroj 
ligion and to get into power. ' 
are not an apostle, you are a pre 
der. The republic is I / — that is j 
programme and the sole object ofj 
discourse. Well ! depend M\yaa 
France has a republican govema 
now, the need of a change to anot 
even though accompanied with 



New Pubiuations. 



8S7 



tage of having you for iu 
nt, Is not at all fdt. 
ls€ accept, sir. with the cxpres- 
f my regret to be compelled to 
ombat you, that of the scnti- 



raents of respect which, as your col- 
league, I have the honor lo offer you. 

■J* Feux, Bishop of Orleans, 

Ikputjr at Uic Nuiond Assembly for tlw 
Dcpanmcnt of Lgirei. 




NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



;IAN9 OP THR FOURTH CrNTVRY. 
n Henry Newman, formerly Fel- 
Oriel College. Third Edition. 
; E. Limilcy. For sale by The 
holic Publiciiion Socielr, New 

work was written in 1832. 
.w the light In the following 
The author had already made 
rk in Oxford as a keen and 
hinkcr, as a schoKir of wide 
icuratc erudition, -and as a 
nd vigorous writer. He was 
Incnt leader in the Oxford or 
ite movement, and was. as wc 
from his Api^h^fiit. a stanch 
in. The work, looked for at 

e with interest, was received 

equal to the high reputation 
author. h3 singularly lucid 

:nt of a subject involving^ the 
ibstnise questions of ancient 

ical controversy, as well as 
jicatc and shifting phases of 
eventful period of ccclesias* 
listory, was a valuable addi- 
English theological litera- 
The author had evidently 
his soul into the work, 
itory he was treating seemed 

to present many points of 
Ism to Iheir own living strug- 
thc Anglican Church. The 
Mns and kindred Arian sects 
ipresentatives of the Socini- 
Which had reached even the 
t dignities, and the rational- 
Dd huinaniLatianism which 
teginning to spread among 
%fi\ and the laity of its fuld. 

iiiiariaiis with their com- 



promises and varying' phrases and 
formulas of faith, which might 
mean much or little, as each one 
chose to undei stand them, were 
equally good reprcsenlalives of the 
modern Brfjad Church compromis- 
ers. The Kusebians, ever seeking to 
bask in the imperial favor, and to 
guide or to wiuld the civil power for 
their own interests, were the type 
of the modern Erastians, who look 
for nothing higher than an act of 
parliament or an exercise of the royal 
supremacy. And the continual as- 
sumption of ecclesiastical authority 
by the Arian and Semiarian empe- 
rors in the fourth century, and their 
often tyrannical action towards faith- 
ful bishops and clergy, who would 
not give to Cisar the things that 
are God's, made the Puseyites think 
of the enthralled condition of their 
'• own branch." in which the sover- 
eign claims and exercises the ex- 
clusive right of appointing the arch- 
bishops and bishops, and of decid- 
ing finally all questions of doctrine, 
discipline, or church law. and with- 
out whose sanction convocations 
cannot meet, nor synods be held or 
pass decrees. In the fourth centu- 
ry, the church, though long and 
sorely pressed, ever struggled on, 
and finally succeeded in vindicat- 
ing her own liberty, and casting the 
heresy out of her fold. U was hop- 
ed that the example might teach 
them how their English Church 
might similarly struggle and even- 
tually tnumph. 
A ftj^ .(-ats sufficed Vo convince 



858 



New Publicatiam* 



Dr. Newman that such hopes were 
futile, and that his position was 
false. He and others sought refuge 
in the fold of the true church. 
Meanwhile, within the Anglican 
Church, the successive decisions in 
the Gorham case and in several 
other cases that have since come 
before the Privy Council, show that 
the evils he lamented and feared 
have increased in strength, while 
the power of opposing them has 
grown gradually wealcer. 

The present is a third edition of 
the work under the care of the au- 
thor; we can scarcely s.iy, revised 
by him. German professors, in 
publishing successive editions of 
their works on any subject to which 
they devote continuous study, have 
no scruple in retracting, cancelling, 
or directly confuting what they had 
previously published, as often as 
they may be led to change their 
opinions on material points, so 
much so that you must be sure you 
have the right edition before you 
can quote it. We turned to this 
edition to see if Dr. Newman had 
followed siich a course. He has not. 
With him, ii'iera scripta maneL The 
book is the same now as when it 
first appeared. In a few instances he 
changes the structure of a sentence, 
that his thought may stand out 
more clearly. He has added a few 
more references in the foot-notes, 
scrupulously indicating such addi- 
tions by enclosing them in brack- 
ets. He has enlarged the table of 
contents at the beginning and the 
chronological table at the end of 
the volume. No change has been 
made affecting the opinions, senti- 
ments, or speculations of the origi- 
nal edition. There are expressions 
which now, of course, displease him 
as a Catholic ; but he lets them hold 
their place. He has cast out only 
two sentences, as needlessly put in 
originally, and even these he has. 
in signal humility, pilloried, as it 
were, in a page by themselves at 
the end of fhe appendix. This ap- 
pendix, at the close of the volume, 
is mostly made up of extracts from 



subsequent works of his own, and 
are intended to throw further light 
on several points touched on in the 
original work. 

The volume presents an admira- 
ble critical, theological, and histori- 
cal summary of the whole Arian 
controversy in the fourth century, 
and was a turning-point in English 
Protestant literature on the subject. 
Dr. Newman was the first to es- 
tablish what has since been gene- 
rally accepted, that Arianism was 
connected, historically and intel- 
lectually, with the Judaic Aristotelic 
schools of thought prevailing at An- 
tioch and through Asia Minor, and 
not. as had been previously held 
by many, with the Platonic schools 
of Alexandria!. 

The work deserves and will am- 
ply reward a careful study. The Ca- 
tholic reader will, of course, find 
himself in something of a I'rotes- 
tant atmosphere. The authority 
and action of the Roman Pontitf:> is 
scarcely glanced at Twice or thrice 
reference is made to the important 
support which the Roman See gave 
to St. Athanasius, and to the deter- 
mined resistance which honorabi)' 
distinguishes the primitive Ruman 
Church in its dealing with heresy, 
and the ground is taken that the 
acute and sophistical training of the 
Eastern intellects led them to in- 
dulge in abstruse distinctions and 
discussions which the calmer and 
more practical minds of the West- 
ern Church entered into with diffi- 
culty, and could scarcely cxprew 
in their Latin tongue, so much less 
pliable than the Greek. Theologi- 
cally speaking, as well as histori- 
cally, the controversy in the fourth 
century was Eastern, rather this 
Latin. Still, we are sure that, were 
Dr. Newman to write afresh tbii 
history, now that he is a Catholic 
the important part acted by the 
Roman Pontiffs would be more 
strongly set forth. Writing as a 
Protestant, he was sufficiently em- 
phatic on the case of Liberius— fo 
much so tnat he has added a font- 
note to say that there is a diflff^ 



New PnhHcations* 



8$^ 



ence amonp writers which was the 
Sinninn fDrinula thai Liberius sub- 
scribed; and the appendix further 
show& that there is also a discrep- 
ancy as to the number and the chro- 
nological order of ihc various for- 
uiuhis. and that in some cases al- 
terations and additions were subse- 
quently niude in the original text. 
It miKhtalsobe added that there are 
fi^rave reasons for doubling the fact 
• »f any such subscription by Liberi- 
us, itiasniuch as the charge seems 
to have been firsi put forth by 
heated controversialists long after 
his death, and is scarcely reconcil- 
able with the undoubted facts of 
his life after the date of the alleged 
subscription. 

Here and there the Catholic will 
meet phrases implying or slating 
some special Anglican view or Pro- 
testant principle. To all these Dr. 
Newmans present position isapr:ic- 
tical and sulhcient refutation. In 
the clear and lucid arrangement of 
the topics, in accurate and subtile 
tracing of the various and varying 
forms of the Arian heresy, and in 
the vivid portraying of that great- 
est and most earnest battle in the 
early life of the church, the work is 
worthy of Dr. Newman, and claims 
a place in every theological library. 

Mrmoir of IJLRtc Dah(.c;rkn. Ilr his 

Kather.Rear-Admiral DahigrcTi. PhiU- 
^^Hdclptiia : J. B. Lippincott & Cu. 1373. 

^^BThough war. in whatever light we 
^^Bay view it, cannot but be constd- 
^^Kc'd a national calamity, it must be 
^^Bmitted that it has a tendency to 
^^Knenitc certain mental and social 
^^nialitics which are unknown or of 
fBbw growth in civil life. Personal 
courage, disinterested friendship, 
and patient self-sacrifice, no mean 
qualities in themselves, arc doubly 
^-^iluable when enlisted in the cause 
of lanc's country on the side of law 
and justice, and hence we consider 
the Soldier, no matter what may be 
tiis rank, who bravely and intelli* 
g<ently risks and loses his life in 
defence of his nation's integrity, de- 
serving of a high meed of praise. 



Young Dahlgren, Iho subject of 
this memoir, was one of this char- 
acter, and though he had scarcely 
attained the years of manhood al 
the time of his death, in his attempt 
to liberate t)ic irnion prisoners in 
Richmond, in 1864, he had risen from 
civil life to the rank of colonel, and 
had repeatedly distinguished himself 
for his skill, tact, and heroism. The 
account cf his short but eventful ca- 
reer was written by his father, the 
late Admiral Dahlgren, and is now 
published under the auspices of his 
stepmother, the gifted widow of that 
naval hero. Il is very minute in de- 
tails, and composed with a richness 
of coloring and a warmth of affec- 
tion such as might be anticipated 
of a fond and gallant father in de- 
scribing th6 deeds of a son in every 
way worthy of him. During his short 
military career, Colonel Dahlgren 
made many friends, some of whom 
survive him, who will be glad to be 
put in possession of the patticulars 
of his brilliant and edifying career. 

The IlfTKRNATIONAI.l-: — CoMMUJflSM. A 
Leclurc by Rev. F. P. Gnrcsclio. Si.. 
»1 Si. Louis Untvcrsiiy. Si. Louis : P. 
Foi. 1S73. 

This Is a lecture both logical 
and eloquent. The learned Jesuit 
traces Communism to Protestantism 
through matcriahsm and false civil- 
ization, lie shows its horrid and 
dangerous nature, and administers 
a wcU-mcritcd castigation to that 
arch-agitator and firebrand of mis- 
chief. Wendell Phillips, who has 
made himself its apologist. All per- 
sons ought to read this, and espe- 
cially those who pretend to call 
themselves Catholics, and yet. by 
joining Masonic or other condemn- 
ed societies, have renounced their 
allegiance to the church and be- 
come accomplices in the con- 
spiracy against religion and socie- 
ty. Every good Catholic who read.<) 
it will have his horror deepen- 
ed against this conspiracy in all 
its forms, and will learn what psii- 
mate is to be placed on those who 
seek to palliate and extenuate doc-* 



96o 



New PubikaiiaHS, 



trincs and acts which have been.con- 
demned by the Holy See. 

Lenten Sermons, By Paul Segneii, of 
the Society of Jesus. Vol. I. lamo, 
pp. 361. New York: The Catholic 
Publication House, 9 Warren St. 
This is a translation of a portion 
of the celebrated Quaresimaie, or 
course of forty sermons for Lent, of 
Father Paul Segneri, S.J.. who was 
one of the most remarkable mis- 
sionaries that the church has pro- 
duced, and also a man of great sanc- 
tity and austerity of life. These 
discourses are models of eloquence, 
and lose but little of their original 
force by the translation, which is a 
very good one. They are fourteen 
in number ; but it is intended that 
the remaining ones shajl be pub- 
lished, should the present volume 
meet with sufficient encouragement. 
They are admirable examples of 
what sermons for Lent, or for a 
mission, should be. and will be of 
great assistance to clergymen. They 
are now for the first time made 
easily accessible to the American 
public. The volume is of a conve- 
nient size, and well printed, and such 
as we can in every way commend to 
the attention of our readers. 

Thk Spoi;se OF Christ: Iler Privileges 
and Her Duties. Vol. I. Hy the au- 
thor of St. Francis and the Franciscans, 
etc., etc. Uoston : Patrick Donahoe. 
1872. 

This is a volume of spiritual con- 
ferences or reading, specially in- 
tended for female religious. The 
piety and talent of its authoress are 
well known to the Catholic world. 
The present work has the imprima- 
tur of the Bishop of Kerry, accom- 
panied by a handsome tribute to the 
writer. 

The Vessels of the Sanctuary : .\ 
Talc of Normandy, — The Inheritance. 
NcwYork: D.&J.Sadlicr&Co. 1S72. 

Two charming little stories, trans- 
lated from the French. We can 
heartily recommend them as afford- 
ing pleasant and instructive reading 
for children. 



"The Catholic Publication So 
ly" has just published in Tract fi 
the Pastoral Letter of the Archb 
•ps and Bishops of Ireland un 
School Question. The price of 
document is $300 per 100 cop 
The same Society will also pub 
in pamphlet form Several Calum 
Refuted, or Executive Document 
37. This will also be sold at $300 
joo. No less than 100 copies 
either of these pamphlets will 
sold at any one time. 

*'The Catholic Publication Soi 
ty " has just issued a list of r 
books to be published by the So( 
ty this spring. It comprises 
teen books altogether. These a 
Lenten lectures, by Father Scgne 
The Liquefaction of the liiood of 
Januarius ; Sermons on EccLsiastii 
Subjects, Vols. IL and III., by Arch 
shop Manning; French Ei^^c^.ii 
Ertf^lish Basket : Little Ficrre, I 
Pedlar of Alsace, illustrated by tw« 
ty-seven first class woodcuts; .lAi 
j^ic's Rosary : Constance Sher:i.'ood.\ 
Lady Fullerton, illustrr.ted ; 7 
House of Yorke. with illustratmn 
The Eighth Scries of Suni!iir-Sik- 
Libraries, Illustrated ; 7'//.' /.;/(■ ii' 
Letters of St. Francis Xaiier. by Ke 
II. J. Coleridge. SJ. ; M.ulnn,- 
Chantal and Ner Family ; Si. 7< •'.'' 
and his Correspondents ; Ihhu:-;:,t.if>- 
Catholica Americana, by Kcv. J. 
Finotti — this book is published 
subscription ; and The Men and \\ 
men of the Protestant Rifurnuilscn 
England. All tliese books, as so 
as ready, will be announced in c 
Literary Bulletin, as well as all oil 
new Catholic books publiahed 
this country or in England. 

Mr. P. O'Shca. New York. : 
nounces as in press, Lecfurci i^n 
Church, by Kev. D. W. Merrick. ^ 
of St Francis Xavier's Chuich.> 
York. 

Received : Landrcth's Rural Rt 
ter and Almanac — 1872. Publis 
for gratuitious distribution. D: 
Landrcth & Son, 31 South Sixth 
Vlul?delDh:a, Pa.