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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.
,¬l)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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-.■ ■ :.:■ ::_: — i— ,, = .1 ■ v - -_.:■:- rf
;-.-•_ -.■.■.7 ~- - -- - - = : -n: :.. : .irTMrr
I'. . ' ..- . ~ ', . : --' " f ;- : v.r '-J - . .:t^
(■«f 111' t If;" i ., . . ,• r ',: : .';■;. '.::■:: - "• . _ rr T-,^"^r. Crl^rr.cr." K
" "1 I' 'I I. '■ill- , ti, i!iy ',;■,•-:'; .: ',:.'..' '-u .. " .: "■ , ^ :" "< :~.i: ".■,; :\""*<*
Hi iii'k I'f ( /, .Mi'l ' .'jy ',:.': ':'::..■:'. '.: '.".r Ci".'.:',.: C'.-r:'" .1:; ^-t^
iln iriiili >i| .i,in> 'i\ ii , iii'i.X \,.:..:.'.v T. .i ■.:''. US ■;: ^r.\, >-.;"-, :.r. ot'Ji*
tiHii.-l h !■. Ill -.li'^ri, til'- F'j' i: i-jd '.vj.;!: s.-.;/.v \'z i~.\-.7.::^r:.\t-i ^'^
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.
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