Google
This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on Hbrary shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project
to make the world's books discoverable online.
It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.
Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the
publisher to a library and finally to you.
Usage guidelines
Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:
+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.
+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.
+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.
+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.
About Google Book Search
Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web
at |http : //books . google . com/|
'' ^
> •?.
:r'^ \
r
^ :■■■■ ■
^t ■ .
y
7>
»VV J
:'-r^:
'■•^•:^t-
> hJ
1
• ' - Wv
^" ;iF w
/., h.
I ll
1 . -'>
M[iM*Mak«MMHa««
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD
A
MONTHLY MAGAZINE
OF
General Literature and Science,
VOL. XXII.
OCTOBER, 1875, TO MARCH, 1876.
NEW YORK :
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE,
Warren Street.
1876.
CONTENTS.
AQesri*s Miserere, 563.
An^Bcans, Old *"iyi****^*^. and the Conference at
Bonn, 50a.
A|iti-Cath<^c Movement* in the United States, Sxo.
Apostolic Mission to Chili, The, 548.
Are Yo« My Wile ? 13, 194, 309, 590, 735.
Baaqoea, The, 646.
Bixth-PlKce of S. Vincent de Paul, 64.
CasUehaven's Mcmmrs, 78.
Chapter, A, in the Life of Pius IX., 548.
of Kome, The, 366.
Vigil, A, 54T.
Col]M»tear» of Bonn, The, 90.
Doctrixial Authority of the Syllabus, 31.
Ill, a44.
Early Persccntions of the Christians, 134.
Eternal Yean, The, 636, 841.
Fiadliig a Lost Church, aSa.
Freemaaoary. 145.
Friends of Edocaiion, The, 758.
Fro^ Cairo to Jerusalem, 539.
GarOA Moveno, 691.
Gladstone Controversy, Sequel of the, 577, 7az,
Gtande Chartreuse, A Night at the, 713.
Hiatorical Romance, A, 43, 163, 339, 6x4, 773.
Inctdeat of the Reign of Terror, An, 360*
Indian Legend, 977.
Is She Catholic? 188.
Klttz of Metak, The, 417.
Law of God, The, and the Regulations of Society,
Lord Castlehavcn*s Memotn, 78.
laOftt Church, Finding a. 382.
Lott>» Latcau before the Belgian Royal Academy
of Medicine, 823.
Madane*s Expcriraest, 637.
Me«Age, A, 445.
Uidoifiht Mass in a Coarect, 533.
Missions in Main: from 16x3 to 1854, 606.
Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration, 289.
Nellie's Dream on Christmas Eve, 560.
New Hampshire, Village Life in, 358.
Night at the Grande Chartreuse, A, 7x2.
Palatine Prelates of Rome, 373.
Pious Pictu«s, 409.
Power, Action, and Movement. 379.
Precursor of Marco Polo, A. 210.
President's Speech at Dcs Moines, The, 433.
President's Message, The, 707.
Primitive Civilization, 626.
Progress versus Grooves, 376.
Protestant Episcopal Church Congress, The, 473.
Prussia and the Church, 678, 787.
Queen Mary, x.
Questions Concerning the Syllabus, 31.
Recollections of Wordsworth, 339.
Reign of Tenor, An Incident of the, 86o«
Revival in Frogtown, A, 699.
Rome, The C harities of, 366.
Rome, The Palatine Prelates of, 373.
S. Agnes* Eve Story, A, 637.
St. Jean de Luz, S33.
Search for Old Lace in Venice, A, 853.
Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy, 577, 731.
Sir Thomas More, 43, 163, 339, 614, 773.
Songs of the People, 395.
Story of Evangeline in Prose, The, 604.
Story with Two Versions, A, 800.
Summary Considerations on Law, 333.
Traces of an Indian Legend, 377.
Tennyson's Queen Mary, x.
Village Life in New Hampshire, 358*
Vincent de Paul, S., Birth-Place of, 64.
William Tell and Altorf, 137.
Wordsworth, Recollections of, 329. ^
Year, The, of Our Lord X875, s^S*
Yule Raps, 484.
POETRY.
Adelaide Anne Procter, 89.
/EMchyUut 309.
Cbmtmas Chimes, 50X.
I'ree Will, 559.
Not Yet, 394-
*' O Valde Decora 1 " X3.
Paraphrase from the Greek, A, ata.
Patient Chuxch, The, 6x3.
S. Philip's Home, 139.
S. Louis' Bell, 537.
Seven Fridays in Lent, The, 734.
Sine Labe Concepta, 357.
Song, 275.
Sonnets in Memory of the late Sir Aubrey de Ve:c
Stars, The, 136.
Suggested by a Cascade at Lake Gcoige, 771.
Summer Storms, 4x6.
Sweet Singer, A, 89.
To-day and Yesterday, 564.
Unremcmbered Mother, The, ixo.
11
Contents.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Acta et Decreta G>ncilu Vaticani, 7x8.
Aicott's Eight Cousins, 431.
AUibert's Life of S. Benedict, 575.
American State and American Matesmen, 7x9.
Allies' Formation of Christendom, 858.
American Catholic Quarterly Review, The, 859.
Baunard*s Life of the Apostle S. John, 573.
0^gin*8 Le Culte Catholique, 386.
Begin's The Bible and the Rule of Faith, 388.
Rirlinger's Vdlcsthilmliches aus Schwaben, 718.
Boudon's Holy Ways of the Cross, 7x7.*
Buckley's Supposed Miracles, 836.
CaIderon*s Groesstc Dramen rcligiOscn Inhalts,
718.
Clarke's Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration,
575-
Coteridge's Public Life of Our L<«d, 717.
Constable and Gillies, Personal Reminiscences of,
720.
Cudmorc's Civil Government of the States, etc.,
4»9-
Correction, A, 8£ow
Dix's The American State and American States-
men, 719.
Earle's Light leading unto Lifjht, 143.
Eight Cousins, 431.
Evidences of Catholicity, 574.
Exposition of the Church, An. etc., 4x9.
E\position of the Epistles of S. Paul, etc., X44.
I irst Annual Report of the Chaplain of the Albany
Penitentiary, 144.
i lowers from the Garden of the Visitation, 287.
Formation of Christendom, The, 858.
Full Course of Instruction in Explanation of the
Catechism, 43a.
Gariide's The Sacrifice of the Eucharist, 718.
Histoxical Scenes from the Old Jesuit Missions, 575.
History of the Protestant Reformation. 574.
Holland's Sevcnoaks, 430.
Holy Ways of the Cross, etc., 717.
#
Illiif.trated Catholic Family Almanac, 430.
Indoors and Out ; or. Views from the Chimney
Conner, 720.
Jannst's Les Etats-Unis Contemporains, etc., 716.
Kavanagh*s John Dorrien, 287.
iCip's Historical Scenes, 575.
Knight and Raikes' Personal Reminiscences, 288.
Lamb, Hazlitt, and Others, Penooal RecoUectioa
of, 428.
Lehibnch des Katholischcn nod Protestantiuzhea
Kirchenrechts, 718.
Lenonnant's Madame R^camier and her Friends,
Life and Letters of Paul Seigncret, 576.
Life of S. Benedict, 575.
Life(^ the Apostle S. John, 573.
Light leading unto Light, 143.
Lynch's (Bishop) Pastoral Letter, 576.
MacEvilly*s Expoution of S. Paurs Epist!es, etc.«
»44.
Manual of the Sisters of Charity, 43a.
Manual of Catholic Indian Missionary Associations,
859-
Medulla Theologiae Moralis, 574 .
Miller's Shi^ in the Desert, 573.
Miscellanea, 433.
Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration, 575.
Moriarty's Wayside PenciUings, 431.
Morris' Tuc Troubles of our Catholic Fore&thc»,
141.
Noethen*s Report of the Albany Penitentiary, 141.
Noethen's Thirteen Sermons, etc., 144.
Pastoral Letter of \ ishop Lynch, 576.
Perry's Full Course of Instruction, etc , 43s.
Persecutions of Annara, The, 719.
Personal Reminiscences by Knight and Raikes, a83.
Personal Recollections of Lamb, HazUtt, and Othcfs,
498.
Persoiul Reminiscences by Constablr and GilHes,
720.
Public Life of Our Lord, 7x7.
Rohling's Medulla Theologiae Moralis, 574.
Sacrifice of the Eucharist, etc., 718.
Sadlier's Excelsior Geography, 430.
Sevenoaks, 430.
Ship in the Desert, The, 573.
Shortland*s The Persecutions of Annam, 719.
Spalding^s Miscellanea 432.
Spalding's Evidences of Catholicity, 574.
Spalding's History of the Reformation, 574.
Story of S. Peter, 718.
Supposed Miracles, 856.
Thirteen Sermons preached in the Albany Peniten-
tiary, X44.
Three Pearls, The, 573.
Troubles of our Catholic Forefathers, The, 141.
Vering's Lehrbuch des Katholischcn und Protestan-
tise hen Kirchenrechts, 718.
Volksthlimliches atis Schwaben, 7x8.
Wayside Pencillingi, etc., 43X.
Young Catholic's Illustrated Tdible Bock, etc., 430^
New Books for 1875.
The Ciitholic Publication Society lias just publislied tlie follow!
works :
liife of ^t. J4»lill tlie £vailgeli!>it. Translated from tbe French.
1 vol. 12nio, cloih, . , . • ^2
manual of the BleK<«ec1 ^aeraiiienl, 1
The Liaiid of the CId, from the French of Frederick Ozauam. 1 vol.
lOmo, iUiistrated, 1
The Spirit of Faitii : or, What nuisl 1 do to Believe? By Bishop
lleadiey, O.S.B
The IJfe of Our l^ord Jt-nua Christ. By Louis Veuillot. Trans-
lated from the French by He v. A. Farle v. iVol. l2mo, ... 2
Adheiiiar de ISeieaf«lei ; or, Be ]%'ot Ha^t)' in Judg^in^.
Tniuhlaied from i\i^- Freueli hy P. S. 12mo. illustrated, ... 1
The Internal ]?IiM*ii4»n of tlie Holy OliOMt. By Archbishop Man-
ninjf. 1 vol. 12mo. Autliorized edition, • . 1
The IJfe of Father Bernard, C.SS.R. Translated from the
Freueu. Wiih P«)rtrHit. 1 vol., ........ 1
The ITIistrewft of Xoviees enlightened upon her Duties. Cloth, . 1
The Kin;;\H Ilis;ll\va3' ; <»r, The Catholic Church the Way of Salvation,
proved from the Scripiures. By Kev. A. F. Hewit. 1 vol. lOino, . . 1
A Letter to the Bnlie of IVorfoili on the Oeea<«ion of Mr.
Glad8tr)ne'8 Heceiit Expostulation. By John Hmry Newiuau, D.D.
Po«it§eript to the above, in answer to ** Vaticanism," ... t
The Vatiean Beeree* and CivH Allefn^nee. In An»v»rer to
Mr. (ibidatone. By His (jrace Archbishop Manning. 1 vol. 12mo, paper, \
The above three pamphlets, bound in cloth, t \
Rt. Rev. Bi<«liop Vau;;lian'{i Re|>ly to Mr. Gladstone. 1
vol. 12mo, paper *
Bishop IJllat home's Repl}* to Ulr. Oladstone. 1 vo]. 12mo,
paper J
The True and the False Infalllhility of the Popes. A
Conrrovernial Keply to Dr. Schulte. By Dr. Jopef)li Fessler. late Bishop
of St. Polten in Auntria, and Secretarv-General of the Vatican Cojiiicil.
Transhited bv Amt»roH« St. John, M. A., of the Oratory of St. Philip
Neri, Edgbaston, Binniiijgjham. 12mo, paper, ..... I
The Syllahiis for the People, with Comments. By a Monk
of Si. Auirusfine. 12n»o. ]>aper, ........ S
The above four pamphlets, bound in cloth, If
DeliarheN Fall Cateehlsni of the Catholie Relig^ion. Trans-
lated bv Fatider, ........... 1
The Youngs Catliolie's Tliustrated Fifth Reader. 12mo, cloth, i l
« " " " Sixth Reader. 12mo, cloth, 1 {
Young Liatlies' TIIUMtrated Reader. 12mo. oloth, . 1 !
The Veil WlthdraAVn. By MrH. Craven. 1 vol. ^vo, . . . . \\
A Traet on Baptism, 20 cents ; per 100 copies 10 (
JUST PUBLISHED.
Bulla .iBihllaei 1N75. Sou sanctissimi domini nostri jiii divina provident
Pa])ae IX. E})istola Encyclica : Gravibus Ecclesiae, cum noti.'^in-acticls ad Usui
cleri Americawi, Curante A. Ivonings, C.^SS.B. Price, .... %
Tlie Calliolic riibliciitioii Society,
LAWRENCE KEHOE, Gen. Agent, 9 WARREN ST., N. Y.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. XXII., No. 127.— OCTOBER, 1875,
MR. TENNYSON'S QUEEN MARY.*
Mr. Tennyson has achieved a
great reputation as a lyric poet.
He urges now a higher claim. In
the sunset of a not inglorious life,
when we should have expected his
lute to warble with waning melodies
and less impassioned strains, he
lays it aside as too feeble for his ma-,
turer inspirations, and, as though re-
newed with the fire of a second
youth, he draws to his bosom a
oobler instrument, and awakes the
echoes of sublimer chords. He
i»as grown weary of the lyric
" hctt«atcm multa cam buide caronrnm,"
and with some confidence claims
the dramatic bays. Nay, he even
invites a comparison with Shaks-
|>cre. True to the temper of the
times, his prestige follows him in
*o hazardous a competition, the
accustomed wreaths are showered
u|>on him with unreflecting haste,
and the facile representatives of
tl incapable of critics — pub-
H "ion— have already offered
.ry: A Dnma. Bjr Alfred T«nny-
Borton : J. R. Osgood ft Co. 1875.
him that homage as a dramatist
which had already been too lavish-
ly offered to his idyllic muse.
It is an ungrateful task to go
against the popular current, and it
is an ungracious one to object to
crowns which the multitude have
decreed. But there is no help for it,
unless we would stoop to that criti-
cism of prestige which is so char-
acteristic of the age, and would fol-
low in the wake of the literary rab-
ble, criticising the works by the
author, instead of the author by his
works.
We may as well say, at once, that
we have never felt it in our power
to acknowledge the . poetical su-
premacy of the English poet-laure*
ate.* It has always appeared to
us that there is, in his poetry, a
lack of inspiration. To borrow a
too familiar but expressive meta-
phor, the coin is highly burnished,
glitters brightly, and has the current
stamp, but one misses the ring of
* It is proper to state that the present criticism is
not by the writer of the article on Mr. TeunyMa in
Thb Catholic Wokld for May, z868.
Tfr'^'t to Act of CoKgnm^ in the year 1875, by Rev. I. T. Hscxn, in the OiBce of th«
Ubnuian of Congreas, at WaihtuKtoa, D. C,
(
Mr. TennysofCs Queen Mary.
the genuine metal. He sits pa-
tiently on the tripod, dealing forth
phrases as musical as Anacreon's
numbers, and as polished as those
of a Greek sophist, spiced with a
refined humor, which has a special
charm of its o^n^ B.ut his soul
does not kindle at the sacred
fire. We miss the divine frenzy.
A passionateness of love of the
beautiful does not appear to be the
quickening inspiration of his crea-
tions. All alike show signs of ex-
treme care and preparation. We
do not forget the counsel of Hor-
ace. But that only refers to a
distant revision of creations which
an unchecked genius may have pro-
duced under the divine influence.
Whereas, Mr. Tennyson's poetry
bears evidence of infinite toil
in production. All his thoughts,
ideas, and images, down to words
and phrases, are too evidently, in-
stead of the happy inspirations of
genius, the labored workmanship
of a polished, refined, and fastidi-
ous mind. They something resem-
ble the tout ensemble of a petit
mattre who has succeeded in con-
veying to his dress an appearance
of such consummate simplicity and
unexceptionable taste that every
one notices the result of hours be-
fore the mirror. His diction is
pure and polished, his phrases sim-
ple and nervous, and the English
language owes him much for what
he has done towards neutralizing the
injury inflicted on it by the gaudy
phraseology of the ** correct" poets,
and the antithetical sesquipedalian-
ism of such prose writers as Johnson
and Gibbon, and for preserving it
in its pure and nervous simplicity.
But his soul is dull to the poetic
meanings of nature. His natural
scenery is rather descriptive than a
creation, much as artists, of whom
there are not a few, who reproduce
with consummate skill of imitatii
objects in detail, and bestow infi
ite care upon color, shade, perspe
tive, grouping, and all the oth
technical details of a picture, whi]
comparatively indiflerent to tl
subject, which ought to be the p
etic meaning of creations of geniv
And what are they but only frui
ful manifestations of the love c
the beautiful, and echoes of i
creative word, not the mere mar
pulations of an artificer.^ Al
Tennyson's descriptions of natui
owe their vividness to the brilliant
of word-painting and a certain r
fined delicacy of touch ; sometime
even, and indeed very often, to
certain quaint humor which is ii
consistent with the highest art —
is not a passionate love which r<
gards the object beloved from
ridiculous point of view — as whe
he describes the willows livin
adown the banks of a streamlet i
** shock- headed pollards pausseiiin
down the stream."
The sensations provoked by h
poetry resemble those of one wh
has sauntered through a museui
of precious stones of rare worl
manship and purest water. Ou
aesthetic taste has been pleased b
the glitter and the color and th
brilliance, but our mind and heai
have not been deeply moved. Hi
poems are ablaze with detacher
thoughts of lofty meaning, and oi
a multitude of others whose mean
ing is not obvious, all alike ex
pressed in vivid imagery, in th<
purest phraseology, and in rar
melody of rhythm. But they ar
confused and cabalistic. He seem
to be always laboring to be incom
prehensible. He calls it " the rid
dling of the bards." And he sue
ceeds. The problem of the Sphinx
the emblematic warning sent byth<
Scythians to their Persian invader
Mr. TennysofCs Queen Mary.
the route counsel sent by the Sami-
an to the Corinthian tyrant, a Del-
phic oracle, all were clear and easy
by comparison with Mr. Tennyson's
]jrics, alike in detached passages
and io entire poems. None of wo-
man bom can fathom the meaning
of the IdyUs of the Kif^.
This defect alone is fatal to po-
etry. So keenly did Spenser feel it
that although the meaning of his
'l^gory, The Faerie Queene^ is obvi-
o«s enough to any ordinary intel-
ligence, he is careful to explain it
in full in a letter dedicated to Sir
Walter Raleigh.
Mr. Tennyson, on the contrary,
involves himself in the thickest
mystery he can contrive, and ex-
pects his worshippers to take it for
inspiration. Take the following,
for example, from " The Coming
of Arthur" :
Kai^nin, and tun, a nuabow in tlie sky !
A yoyos "•*<> ^"^ tie wiser by-«uid4»y,
Ai old man's vit may vaadcr e*er he die.
Km, nia, and sim, a ratnbow on the lea I
Asd truth is this to me, and that to thee
Aad troth, or clothed or naked, let it be.
"Kaa^sun, and rain ! and the free blossom blows,
S<m, rain, and sun ! and where is he who knows ?
^na the grtat deep to the great deep he goes."
These are, no doubt, " riddling
triplets," as he himself calls them.
The riddling of Shakspere's fools,
even the wanderings from the night
of distraught Ophelia's brain, are
'ight itself by the side of them.
^Ve mav well echo his invoca-
lion of " Sun, rain, and sun ! and
where is he who knows .^" What-
ever inspiration may be evident
here, it is not that of the beautiful.
And yet even this has snatches of
weaning which many passages we
might adduce have not ; as the
following, from "Gareth and Ly-
nette " :
** \aam ye not, then, the riddling of the bards }
Coafoiion, and illosioa, and rdation,
Slauoa, and occaskm, and evasion ? **
It is almost a pity that the bard
did not complete his " riddling "
while he was about it. Another
couplet :
Diffusion, and ablution, and abrasion.
Ablution, expectation, botheration,
would have rendered still more im-
penetrable the bardic mystery.
There is no resemblance in this
studied concealment of meaning, if
meaning there be, to that
^ Sacred madoess of the bardt
When God makes music throu^ them,*'
of which he sings. It is more like
the melodious confusion of the
iEolian harp. Even if the poet
have a definite meaning in his own
mind, if he so express it that I
cannot even guess it, to me it is
nonsense ; and nonsense, however
melodious, although it may enchant
ray sense, cannot move my heart.
Here and there, however, our poet
sings snatches of real poetry, as
Sir Bedivere's answer to his king
in "The Coming of Arthur":
*' I heard the water lapping on the craig
And the long ripple washing in the reeds.
n
Upon the whole, Mr. Tennyson
excels in a certain underlying vein
of exquisitely refined humor. And
when his subject admits of it, he
is unrivalled. His is the poetry of
humor. We would name as exam-
ples " The Northern Planner " and
the satirical poem, " Locksley Hall,"
perhaps the most vigorous of all
his productions ; and, of his longer
poems, The Princess » It is for this
reason we think he is more likely
to excel, as a dramatist, in comedy
than in tragedy.
If our readers would estimate the
full force of our remarks, we would
invite ihem to read the works of
any of the principal of our earlier
lyrical poets, as, for example, Col-
lins. We name him because he
4
Mr, Tennysms Queen Mary*
too Excels in that melody of versi-
fication for which Mr. Tennyson is
so distinguished. At tinies, as in his
*' Sonnet on Evening," he surpasses
the Laureate in that respect, aU
though for sustained and unfailing
rhythmical melody the latter bears
atray the palm from him, and per-
haps from every other rival. But
in profound sympathy with nature,
in the fidelity of his creations, in
the echoes of the beautiful which
he provokes within the soul of the
reader, the Poet-Laureate must
yield to the Demy of Magdalen.
Like Shakspere, he peopled inani-
mate nature with a fairy world, and
amongst elves and genii and other
dainty spirits he abandoned him-
self to that power of impersona-
tion which is almost an attribute of
a true poet.
Our space does not admit of il-
lustrative quotations, but we would
refer the reader inclined to insti-
tute the comparison suggested to the
elegy over Fidele, in the play of
Cymbeline^ and to his Eclogues,
Mr. Tennyson's poetry has beau-
ties of its own peculiar kind of so
remarkable and striking a descrip-
tion that we might have hesitated
to take any exceptions whatsoever
to his poetical genius. But his new
poem, his first effort in dramatic
poetry, seems to us to set all doubt
at rest. It convinces us that, for
whatever reasons, of the highest
flights of poetic inspiration Mr.
Tennyson is incapable. We are
convinced that he lacks that which
constitutes a great poet. However
beautiful his poetry, we feel that
it wants something which, however
keenly we may be sensible of it, it
is not easy either to analyze or ex-
plain.
' For what is the inspiration of
poetry but the echoes of the beau-
tiful within the soul of man } The
universe of things is the vtsibi
word of God, It is his essentia
beauty projected by an energy o
creative love — the quickening spir
opening his wings over chaos — in
to an objective existence, on whic
its generator looked with comply
cency as " very good/' and whic
he generated in order that hi
creature, whom he had made i
his own image, might, with hin
self, rejoice in its contemplatior
He did not, at first, endow hir
with the power of beholding him
self "face to face," but only hi
reflex. We have the right to be
lieve that, whilst in union with hi
Maker, he read at a glance th
meaning of the word, he felt in
stantaneously the beauty of th*
image. His nature, into which n(
discord had as yet been introduced
uncondemned to the judgment oi
painful toil, did not acquire chariti
and knowledge by long and labori
ous processes, disciplinary and ra
tiocinative, but by intuition. In
capable as yet. of the Beatific Vis
ion, he comprehended the whole of
the divine beauty as revealed ir
creation, and the comprehension it
self was a transport of love. He
saw, and knew, and loved, and the
three were one simultaneous en-
ergy of the sonship of his nature.
But, as now, " the greatest of these
was charity.'' It was the result
and sum and end of the sight and
knowledge. It was the feeling they
inevitably and unremittingly occa-
sioned. To speak as we can only
speak in our actual condition, it
was as those thuds of loving admi-
ration with which our hearts throb
when we look upon some surpass-
ing embodiment of innocent and
modest female loveliness. When
the mind, jealous of pre-eminence,
led captive, so to speak, the heart
in revolt against the revealed law,
Mr. TennysofCs Queen Mary.
the human being was no longer in
union with himself, a war of im-
pulses and of energies was set up
vithin him, the image of God was
defaced, his perception of created
beauty became more and more ob-
scure as he went further away from
his original abode oi innocence,
until, finally, it was all but lost.
The emotion, if we may describe it
as such, which it was of its nature
to suggest, could not perish, for it is
imperishable. But it had lost its
true object, and surveyed knowl-
edge in a form more or -less de-
graded.
Now out of this very faint and
rapid sketch of a psychological
theory which would require a vol-
ume for its development, we hope
to be able to convey some idea,
however vague, of the nature of the
poetic spirit.
It is certain that the remains of
the divine image have not since
been alike and equal in all the in-
dividuals of the race. It may be
asserted, on the contrary, that there
are no two human microcosms in
which the elements of the confusion
introduced into them by the origi-
nal infidelity exist in the same i>ro-
r-onion. Those in whom the intel-
ligence is the quickest to see, and
liie mind, heart, and soul to love in
unison, tlie image of divine beauty
revealed in creation — those, that is,
in whom the divine image remains
the most pronouncedly — are the
truest poets.
When this echo of the soul to the
l)eautiful does not go beyond the
physical creation, the inspirations
'jf love express themselves in lyric
or idyllic jwetry. The poet imitates
ihe divine Creator in reproducing,
even creating, images of his lower
creation so faithful and suggestive
thatihey who look upon them expe-
nence similar sensations and emo-
tions to those provoked within them
by the divine creation itself, nay, not
unseldom, even profounder ones.
He reveals the beautiful in similar
images to those in which The Beau-
tiful revealed himself to his creature ;
he is thus himself a Ttou^r^S, or
creator, and his work is a noirftm^
or creation. When his forms derive
their inspiration only from the in-
ferior creation, they are exclusively
some form of idyls or lyrics. But
when, soaring above the grosser
medium of the merely material uni-
verse, and poising himself on wings
tremulous with reverent joy at the
confines of the invisible, his soul
echoes the music of the beautiful
issuing from that invisible creation ;
and that imitative energy which is
of its essence, inspired by these re-
awakening inspirations, calls into
being psychical individualities with
their precise bodily expression and
proj)er destinies — that is to say,
with all the causes and results,*
ebb and flow, action and reaction,
in human affairs, of every volition
and energy, he reproduces the,
highest energy of the divine crea-
tive power, he evokes into sensible
existence whole multitudes of fresh
creatures made in the image of God,
and, what is even yet more sublime,
he evokes into equally sensible be-
ing the particular providence which
overrules each and all — the one
difference between the two creations
being that one is original, the other
imitative ; one imaginary — that is,
merely sensible ; the other, not only
sensible, but real also, and essential.
Yet are the accidents of the former
produced occasionally with such
extraordinary fidelity that they
have sometimes, as in the creations
of Shakspere, for example, the same
effect upon those who become ac»
quainted witli them as if they were
in truLli the latter.
Mr. Tennyson s Queen Mary.
Who that has ever studied the
creations of that immortal dra*
roatist has not them all, from high
to low, treasured within his inner
being as vividly as any other of his
absent acquaintances, whom he has
met in society, to whom he has been
formally introduced, with whom he
has eaten, drank, laughed, wept,
walked, and conversed? Has not
that remarkable genius transgressed
even the imitative faculty — imita-
tive, that is, of all the original crea-
tive energy that is known — produc-
ed original creations, and peopled
the preter- rather than supernatural
with beings which have no known
existence, but whom nevertheless
he surrounds with a distinct verisi-
militude which ensures them easy
admission into our minds and
hearts, which presents them to our
senses as concrete beings with as
much positiveness, and even as
clearly defined individuality, as if
they were solid creatures of flesh
and bone, and which makes us
feel that if such beings did really
.exist, they would be none other
than precisely those he has repre-
sented ?
Of such sort, we take it, is the
highest, or dramatic, poetry. And
of it there is a manifest deficiency
in this wofk, which its author terms,
indeed, a drama, but which is in
fact a tragedy.
Mr. Tennyson has not enough of
the divine afflatus to write tragedy.
If he has not sufficient love of the
beautiful in inanimate nature for
his soul to echo to it, and his heart
to throb with the sense of it, with
the rapidity of an intuition, so as to
make unattainable to him the high-
est excellence in lyric poetry, how
much more out of his reach must be
a first rank in the tragic drama;
where* if anywhere, an intuition of
the beautiful amounting to an in*
spiration is demanded in that
preme creation of God which,
the consummation of his *^woi
and word, he has embodied
his own substance ! In that p
found and intuitive perception
the workings of man's inner bei
of the passions, emotions, feelin
appetites, their action and reaclii
ebb and flow ; of the struggle of 1
two natures, its infinite variety a
play of life, under all conce
able conditions and vicissitud
with much more than can
detailed here included in the:
Mr. Tennyson is strikingly de
cient.
In the tragedies of Shakspei
as in ail his dramas, the distin
personality of every one of tl
characters, high and low, is imprcs
ed upon us with vivid distinctnes
But the principal personages in tl
tragedies dilate before us \\\ hero
proportions as the portentous struj
gle progresses. Whether it I
King Lear, or King John, or Kin
Richard, or Othello, or Lady Mac
beth, or Lady Constance, or th
widowed Princess of Wales, o
Ophelia, or whoever else, we looi
on with bated breath, as did thi
spectators of the boat-race witi
which iEneas celebrated the suicid(
of his regal paramour, and we com<
away at its close a prey to th<
storm of emotions which the magic
art of the island sorcerer has con-
jured up within us.
But the drama, or tragedy, as we
prefer to call it, we read with but lan-
guid interest. The psychical strug-
gle is neither very obvious nor very
critical, there is no very striking
revelation of the sublime beauty or
tragic overthrow of human nature,
and although the canvas is crowded
with figures, not one of them im-
presses any very distinct image of
his or her individuality on our mind
Mr. Tennyson s Queen Mary.
and heart. Instead of^ as Shales-
pcrc's creations, retaining every
one of them as a distinct and inti-
mate acquaintance, whom we may
summon into our company at will,
wc rise from the perusal of Queen
Mary without having received any
very definite impression of any,
even the principal, personages, and
we forget all about them almost as
soon as we have read the play.
This vital defect in a drama the
author has rendered doubly fatal
through his having carried his imi-
tation of Shakspere to the extent
of adopting his simplicity of plot.
Shakspere could afford to do this.
The inspired verisimilitude of the
struggle of the two natures in every
one of his human creations, the
profoundness of his development
of the innermost working of the
human microcosm, often by a few
master-touches, surround every one
of his dramatis persona with all the
rapt suspense and sustained interest
of a plot. Every one of his charac-
ters is, as it were, a plot in itself.
But it is quite certain that Mr. Ten-
nyson — and it is no depreciation of
liim — has not this power. He has,
therefore, every right to call to his
aid the interest of an elaborate plot,
which itself would also, we think,
cause him to develop more vividly
his characters. It is in this the
late Lord Lytton, whose poetical
pretensions are very much below
Mr. Tennyson's, achieved whatever
success he had as a dramatist. Mr.
Tennyson has not to depend on
this solely, as was very nearly the
case with Lord Lytton, but it would
contribute very much to a higher
success. The great dramatist he is
unwise enough so avowedly to imi-
tate peoples the simplest plot with
a whole world of stirring destinies.
He moves his quickening wand,
and lo ! as by the master-will of a
creator, appear a Hamlet or a
Malvolio, a Lady Macbeth or a
Goneril or Miranda, an Ariel or a
Caliban, contribute their precise
share to the history, which would
not havfe been complete without
them, and then disappear from the
scene, but never from our memory.
A magic word or two has smitten
them into //, and they live for aye
in our mind and heart. His heroes
and his heroines he clothes with
such a majesty of poetry that we
watch anxiously with bated breath
their every gesture, word, or look ;
we cannot bear their absence, un-
til, entranced into their destiny, and
half unconscious, we watch them
disappear in the catastrophe, our
ears are blank, all voices mute, the
brilliant theatre is the chamber of
death, and they who, to us, were
but now Hving flesh and blood, in
whose destinies our innermost soul
was rapt, have passed away, amidst
a tempest of emotions, and are no
more.
But Thucydides* History of the
Peloponnesian War^ eitlier of the two
great classic epics, or any striking
historic passage in even so ungra-
phic a writer as Lingard, is more
dramatic than this drama. The
feeble plot gives birth to feebler
impersonations. They come and
go without making any deep im-
pression upon us, or seizing our at-
tention by any striking originality.
Their features are indistinct, their
actions insignificant. They are
bloodless and colorless. They are
ghosts, things of air, whoi%a feeble
incantation has summotled from
their slumber, who mutter a few
laborious Spartanisms in a renewed
life in which they seem to have no
concern, and vanish without pro-
voking a regret, nor even an emo-
tion. We observe in them such an
absence of verisimilitude, so marked
8
Mr. Tennyson's Queen Mary.
a want of truth to nature, as very
much to weaken, when it does not
entirely destroy, the dramatic iUu-
sion. Nowhere is this more ob-
servable than where he intends
most manifestly a rivalry of Shaks-
pere. Shakspere not unseldora
introduces the multitude into his
poetic history. But when he does
so, it seizes our interest as forcibly
as his more important personages.
With a few rapid touches he dashes
in a few typical individuals, who
reveal to us vividly what the whole
kind of thing is of which they are
prominent units. They are the
mob of the very time and place to
which they belong. Whether at
Rome in the time of Julius Cassar,
or at Mantua or Verona in the Mid-
dle Ages, or in England during the
time of the Tudors, we feel that
they act and speak just as then and
there they might have said and
done. Every one, too, has his or
her distinct individuality. And
. such a verisimilitude have they that
even an occasional anachronism,
such as, in Troilus and Cressida^
making a Trojan servant talk of
bein^ in the state of grace^ does not
dispel the charm. Hut Mr. Tenny-
son *s mob-types have no more strik-
ing features to seize our interest
than his more exalted creations,
whilst his anachronisms are of a
kind which send all verisimilitude
to the winds. Joan and Tib, and the
four or ^v^ citizens, have nothing
in them for which they should be
singled out of the very ordinary con-
dition of life to which they belong.
And we are tempted to sneer when
we hear an Elizabethan mob talking
like Hampshire or Yorkshire pea-
sants of the present day.
For all that, Mr. Tennyson's
cockneys and rustics are not his
most ineffective portraiture. We
experience a slight sensation of their
having been lugged in, perhaps Ij
cause of the inevitable comparisK
with Shakspere they provoke, sltl
we feel them to be too modLerx
but the poet's sense of humor liej
serves him in good stead, and a
though, in this respect, immeasur«
bly below Shakspere, he gives
kind of raciness to his plebeian
which saves them from being a.
absolute failure.
It is, however, in the principa
personages of the drama that iRr<
most miss the Promethean' fire
and pre-eminently in the hero, il
Cranmer is intended for such t
dignity, and the heroine. Amends 1
these, the most lifelike arc Cour-
tenay and Sir Thomas Wyatt ; be-
cause, in iheir creation, the pecu-
liar vein of quaint irony and ex-
ceedingly refined humor, which is
Mr. Tennyson's most eminent dis-
tinction, comes to his aid. For the
rest, up to the heroine herself and
the canting and recanting Cranmer,
they are colorless and blood less«
We scarcely know one from the
other. And we do not care to.
Nonilles and Renard are but poor
specimens of diplomatists. Their
sovereigns, were the time the pre-
sent, might pick up a dozen such
any day in Wall Street. If the
poet could embody no greater con-
ception of two such men as Bon-
ner and Gardiner than a couple
of vulgar, self-seeking, blood-thirsty
knaves, he should have dispensed
altogether with their presence. He
should have given to them some
elevation, whatever history may say
about it. A drama is a poem, not
a history ; and the poet may take
the names of historic personages
and, within certain limits, fit to
them creations of his own. In Car-
dinal Pole he had an opportunity
for a noble ideal. But all we have
is an amiable dummy^ an old gen-
Mr. Tennyson's Queen Mary.
t/eman, as ordinary and ineffective
as the rest.
Facts have been so distorted by
the influence which for so long had
sole possession of literature, that
there is plenty of room for taking
great liberties with history. Mr.
Tennyson has slightly availed him-
self of this, but in the wrong direc-
tion. Shakspere himself could not
have made a saint of Cranmer. For
poetry, there was nothing for it but
to make him a more splendid sin-
ner. To retain all his littlenesses
and to array them in seductive vir-
tues, is to present us with some
such figure as the dusky chieftains
decked in gaudy tinsel that solicit
our admiration in front of the to-
bacconists* shops. To attempt to
giTc heroic proportions to a man
whose profession of faith followed
subserviently his self-interest until
no hope remained, and then place
in the hands of the burning crimi-
nal the palm of martyrdom, is to
invite the love within us of the
beautiful and the true to echo to
a psychical impossibility, and
that without an element of great-
ness.
Yet had the front figure of the
history been a noble conception
grandly executed all this might have
been condoned. One might well
have looked at them as a few rough
accessories to heighten by their
contrast the beauty of the central
form. There was place for a splen-
did creation. No more favorable
material for a tragic heroine exists
than Mary Tudor — with the single
exception of that other Mary who
fell beneath the Puritans like a lily
before the scythe of the destroyer.
Around her history and person cir-
cle all the elements of the tenderest
pathos, which is of the very essence
^f tragedy. That Shakspere did
not use them is a proof he thought
so. For " the fair vestal throned in
the west" would have resented such
a creation as his quickening genius
would have called to life. A queen
of noble nature gradually swept
away by a resistless current of un-
toward circumstances, is a history
capable of the sublimity of a Greek
catastrophe, with the. added pathos
of Christian suffering. But who
have we here } A silly woman, de-
voutly pious, and endowed with a
conspicuous share of the family
courage. But she is so weak that
her piety has the appearance of su-
perstition, and her fits of courage
lose their rovaltv and fail to rescue
her from contempt. Unattractive
in person, she falls desperately in
love with a man much younger than
herself, and her woman's love, ordi-
narily so quick to detect coldness
in a lover, is blind to the grossest
neglect; and yet not so blind but
that a few words scrawled on a rag
of paper, dropped in her way, could
open her eyes on the spot. The
tenderness of her love and the
importunity of cruel-minded men,
transform her almost suddenly from
a gentle-natured woman to an un-
relenting human tigress. And she,
who would not allow the law to
take its course on her most danger-
ous enemies, can exclaim of her
sister Elizabeth,
" To the Tower with her I
My foes arc at my feet, and I am queen."
Afterwards of Guilford Dudley, the
Duke of Suffolk, and Lady Jane
Grey —
" They shall die."
And again of her sister —
" She shall die.
My foes are at my feet, and Philip king."
This is not the grandness of crime,
as in Richard III., or even in Lady
Macbeth. It is the petty despot-
to
Mr. Tennysofis Queen Mary.
ism of a weak and silly woman.
There is no greatness of any kind
about it. It is the mere triumphant
chuckle of an amorous queen, woo-
ing a more than indifferent husband.
It is little — little enough for a
comedy. There is something ap-
proaching the tragic in the desola-
tion of her last moments. Calais is
lost, her husband hates her, her
people hate her. But the poet has
already robbed her of the dignity
of her position. She has forfeited
our esteem. We experience an or-
dinary sympathy with her. But her
fate is only what was to be ex-
pected. And the highest pathos is
out of the question. When, follow-
ing the example of hor injured mo-
ther in the play of Henry VJII.^
she betakes herself to lute and song,
the author insists on a comparison
with Shakspere, and beside the full
notes of the Bard of Avon the
petty treble of the Laureate pipe
shrinks to mediocrity.
But the most unpardonable of
Mr. Tennyson's imitations of Shaks-
pere are those in which he rings
the changes on the celebrated pas-
sage about '* no Italian priest shall
tithe nor toll in our dominions,"
which inevitably provokes the ap-
plause of those amongst a theatrical
audience who do not know what it
means — unpardonable, because it
makes even Shakspere himself as
ridiculous as a poor travesty can-
not fail to do. He was content
with one such passage through-
out his many plays. If Ter-
ence had filtered the noble sen-
timent of his celebrated passage,
" Ego homo sum, et nihil humanum
a me alienum," through a variety
of forms, it would have excited the
laughter instead of the plaudits of
the Roman "gods." But the au-
thor of Queen Mary is not afraid to
pose his sentiment, itself borrowed
in no less than three different
titudes in one play; comn^itt
the additional absurdity of thrt
ing it, like a quid of tobacco, i
the cheek of two different perso
ges. Gardiner uses it twice, Eli
beth once :
" Yet I know well [says the former]
Your people ....
Will brook nor Pope nor Spaniard here to plar
The tyrant, or ia commonwealth or church** ;
and again, with questionable tas
'* A nd see you, we shall have to dodge again.
And let the Pope trample our rights, and pluj
TAxk foreign fixt into our island church.
To plump the leaner pouch of Italy "
ti
whilst Elizabeth is made to vulgj
ize it beyond hope of redempti
into a mere petty ebullition
splenetic womanly vanity :
** Then, Queen indeed ! No foreign prince or p«
Should fiU my throne, myself upon the steps.'**
It must be owned, indeed, x\
this play lacks the highest poet
in its expression as much as in
conception. We occasionally cor
across passages of vivid and vigc
ous limning, as Count Feria's rep
to Elizabeth towards the end of tl
play, and Howard's description
the Lord Mayor of the state c
mind of the citizens. But even tl
force of this latter passage is n«
dramatic. There is none of tfi
rush and movement of an excite
populace. There are a few strikir
groups. But they are inactive
Theirs is a kind of dead life, if w
may be pardoned such an exprej
sion. Rather, they are mere ta
bleauxvivants. They inspire us wit
no fear for Mary's throne. Mor
near to dramatic power and beaut
is Elizabeth's soliloquy at Wood
stock, suddenly lowered in th<
midst of its poetry, even to nursen
familiarity, by the introduction of
such a phrase as "catch me whc
can."
But for one single effort of the
Mr, Tennyson* s Queen Mary.
II
highest poetic flight we look in
Tain.
Even the few snatches of his lyre
irhich he introduces fail to woo us.
They are not natural. If they are
poetry, it is poetry in a court-dress.
It is rich with brocade, and the
jewels glitter bravely; it treads
delicately, but its movements are ar-
tificial and constrained. Compare,
for example, the song of the Wood-
slock milkmaid, wherein labor is
visible in every line, with those
gushes of nature with which the
poet's soul would seem to be bub-
bling over the brim of the visible in
the various lyrical snatches of Ariel
or with the song of Spring at the
end of Lovers Labor Lost
But what has more surprised us
than the lack of the poetic inspira-
tion in this drama is the occasional
want of correct taste in a writer of
such exceeding polish as Mr. Ten-
nyson. Such a speech as
"Aod God hath blot or cuned me with « bom—
Tour boots are from the hones,"
should not have been put in the
mouth of a lady, still less a lady of
the rank of Elizabeth, and that the
less when she appeals to our sym-
pathies from a kind of honorable
imprisonment.
Lady Magdalen Dacres may have
beat king Philip with a staff for in-
sulting her, and have remained a
lady, but we do not want to be
told, in the midst of dramatic pa-
thos,
*• But by God*s providence a good »tout staff
Lay near me ; and you know me strong of arm ;
1 do believe I lamed his Majesty's."
Is our poet, again, so barren of
invention that he could find no
other way of portraying Philip's in-
difference to his Queen than the
following :
** By S. James, T do protest,
Upon the laith and honor of a Spaniard,
I am vastly grieved to leave your Miyesty.
Simon, is supper ready ?"
** RBNAitx>— Ay, my liege,
I saw the covers laying."
"PHiLiF—Let'shaveit"
Whatever may be the character
he may have wished to depict in
Philip, we expect a Spanish king
to be a gentleman. And such an
ending of a scene susceptible of the
tenderest pathos, where the heroine
and another of the principal per-
sonages of the drama are in pre-
sence, argues a wonderful dulness
of perception of the beautiful.
Worse than all, however, is his
treatment of Cardinal Pole.
Shakspere puts a few words of
Latin into the mouth of Cardinal
Wolsey in a scene in Henry Vlll.y
in which he and Cardinal Campeg-
gio are endeavoring to bend the
queen to the king's will. But it is
a wonderful touch of nature. It is
one of those profound intuitions for
which the great dramatist is so dis-
tinguished. So seemingly simple
an incident reveals, at a touch, as
it were, the preoccupation of
Wolsey's mind, and the hollowness
at once and difficulty of the duty
he had suffered to be imposed upon
him. They had paid her ostensi-
bly a private visit, as friends. But
Wolsey, oppressed with the diffi-
culty of his undertaking, and medi-
tating how he should set about it,
forgets himself, the old habit crops
up, and he begins as if he were be-
ginning a formal ecclesiastical doc-
ument :
" Tanta est erga te mentis integntas, regina sere-
• * f f
Dissuna.
It is a slip. The queen stops him.
He recollects himself, and we hear
no more Latin.
But in this drama the poet liter-
ally makes a cardinal, and such a
cardinal as Pole, address Queen
f^
" O Valde Dicora.
>t
Mary with the angelic salutation to
the Blessed Virgin, and in Latin :
" Ave Maria, sntia plena, beaedicta tu in mulieri-
bus!"
Upon the whole, the defects of
this drama are so many and so seri-
ous, so radical and fundamental,
that no competent criticism can
pronounce it other than a failure ;
and a failure more complete than
would have been thought possil
to a poet of so great a reputation
Mr. Tennyson.*
* The preceding article was ready for the print
before a cc^y fell into our hands dLAfary Sinmr
a drama, by Sir Aubrey de Vexe— a poem whick
had not been our good fortune to have read befb
The public would seem to have ekhibtted an app
ciation of this work we should scarcely have «
pected from them, for it is, we believe, out of pri
For ourselves, we must say that for poetical conc«
tion, appreciation and development of the seve:
personages of the drama, it appean to us to be tc
much sapertor to Quttn Mary,
«0 VALDE DECORA!"
Could I but see thee, dear my love !
That face — but once ! Not dazzling bright-
Not as the blest above
Behold it in God's light —
But as it look'd at La Salette;
Or when, in Pyrenean wild,
It beam'd on Bernadette,
The favor'd peasant child.
Once seen — a moment — it would blind
These eyes to beauty less than thine :
And where could poet find
Such theme for song as mine ?
But if I ask what may not be,
So spell me with thy pictur'd face
That haunting looks from thee
May hold me like a grace.
Art You My Wifel
13
ARE YOU MY WIFE ?
<i
ir THB umcm. or "pajos bbvovk trb war," ** numbbr tmiktvsx/' ** nua ti./* btc
CHAPTER IX.
And now a new life began for
Franceiine.
"You must fly from idleness as
from sin," Father Henwick said ;
"you must never let a regret set-
tle on your mind for an instant,
ll will often be hard work to resist
them; but we are here to fight.
Yo'j must shut the door in the face
of idle thoughts by activity and
usefulness, I will help you in this.
You must set to work amongst the
r»oor; not so as to fatigue yourself,
or interfere with your duties and
occupations at home, but enough
to keep you busy and interested.
At first it will be irksome enough, I
dare say ; but never mind that. By#
and by the effort will bring its own
reward, and be a pleasure as well as
a duty."
He sat down and wrote out a
time-table for her which filled up
every hour of the day, and left not
one moment for brooding. There
were visits to the cottages and a
rlass for children in the morning;
the afternoon hours were to be de-
\otcd to helping her father, writ-
ing and copying for him, sometimes
<opying M3S. for Father Henwick,
with no other purpose than to keep
her mind and her fingers occupied.
But when the excitement caused
I)y this change in her daily routine
juhsided, something of the first
heart-sinking returned. Do what
>hc wouldt thought would not be
dumb. The external activity could
not silence the busy tongues of her
brain or deafen her to their cease-
less whisperings. It was weary
work staggering on under her load,
while memory tugged at her heart-
strings an*d dragged its longings
the other way. It was hard not to
yield to the temptation now and
then of sitting down by the way-
side to rest and look back towards
the Egypt that was for ever out of
sight. But Franceiine very seldom
yielded to the treacherous allure-
ment. When she caught herself
lapsing into dreams, she would rise
up with a resolute effort, and shake
off the torpor, and set to work at
something. When the torpor
changed to a sting of anguish, she
would steep he/ soul in prayer — that
unfailing opiate of the suffering
spirit, its chloroform in pain.
One day, about three weeks after
Father Henwick's return, she was
coming home through the wood
after her morning's round amongst
the cottages. She was very tired
in mind and body. It was dull
work dinning the multiplication-
table into Bessy Bing's thick skull,
and teaching her unnimble fingers
to turn the heel of a stocking; to
listen to the widow's endless lamen-
tations over " the dear departed "
and the good old times when they
killed a pig every year, and always
had a bit of bacon on the rack.
Franceiine came to the old spot
where she used to sit and listen to
the concert of the grove. The song-
sters were nearly all silent now, for
the green was turning gold; but
the felled tree was lying in the
•4
Are You My Wifef
««ine place, and tempted her to rest
a moment and watch the sun shooting
his golden shafts through the wilder-
ness of stems all round. Another
moment, and she was in dreamland ;
but the spell had scarcely fallen
on her when it was broken by
the sound of footfalls crushing the
yellow leaves that made a carpet
on every path. She started to her
feet, and walked on. A few steps
brought her face to face with Fa-
ther Henwick. He greeted her
with a joyous exclamation.
. «*, *^*'™** ™y l'">« mission-
ary ! VVhat has she been doing
to-day ?" *
" She has achieved a great con-
quest -she has arrived at making
Bessy Bing apprehend the problem
that seven times nine and nine
times seven produce one and the
same total/' replied Franceline with
mock gravity.
Father Henwick laughed; but
the tired expression of her face did
not escape him.
I am afraid you will be growing
too conceited if this sort of thing
goes on," he said. " But you must
not overdo it, my dear child; it
won*t do to wear yourself out in
gaining arithmetical triumphs."
" Better wear out than rust out."
And Franceline shrugged her shoul-
ders ; she had learned the expres-
sive French trick from her fii-
ther.
The priest bent his clear eyes on
her for a second without speaking.
She read disappointment, and per-
haps mild reproach, in them.
** I am sorry I said that, father ;
1 did not mean to complain."
** Why are you sorry .?"
'* Because it was cowardly and
** And who bids me be ki
ungrateful.
" To whom ?''
** To you, who are
»o patient with me!"
;
so kind and
Who teaches me to be patient
you } — poor little bruised lamb !'
"I know it, father; I feel it
the bottom of my heart ; but (
can't always be rememberii
There was the slightest touch
impatience in her tone.
" How if God were some day'
grow tired of remembering us,
bearing with us, and forgiving U9|
*"' I know. But I am not rel
ling ; only sickening and sufTerii
You have told me there was no
in that ?" The words came trei
lous, as if through rising tears;
Franceline raised her head with
defiant movement, and forced th
briny drops down. " I cannot hel
it !" she continued impetuously
" I have tried my best, and I car
not help it!"
Father Henwick heaved an al
most inaudible sigh before h
said: "What cannot you help
Franceline? Suffering?"
• ** No ! I don't care about that
Remembering I cannot forget.*
" My poor child ! would to Go<
I could help you ! I v;ould suffe
willingly in your place !" Th<
words came like a gush from hi
inmost heart. They broke dowi
the sufferer's proud resistance an<
let the tears have vent. He tumec
to walk back with her. For som<
time neither spoke ; only the sof
sobs that came unchecked fron
Franceline broke the temple-lik<
stillness of the wood. Suddenl]
she cried out in a tone of passion-
ate desperation : " O father ! it \\
dreadful. It will kill me if it last!
much longer ! The humiliation i*
more than I can bear ! To fee
that I am harboring a feeling thai
my whole soul rebels against, thai
is revolting in the eyes of God and
o{ my conscience ! And I cannol
master it !"
Are You My Wifef
IS
"You will never master it by
pride, Franceline ; that very pride
is your greatest hindrance in set-
ting your heart free. Try and think
more of God and less of yourself.
There is no sin, as you say, in the
suffering, any more than, if you
strayed to the edge of a precipice
in the dark, and fell over and were
killed, you would be guilty of sui-
cide. The sinfulness now is in
your rebellion against the suffering
simply because it wounds your
pride/'
" It is not all pride, father," she
said meekly. Presently she turned
and looked up at him through wet
lashes. ^'Father, I must tell you
somethmg,*' she said, speaking with
a sort of timidity that was unusual
with her towards him — " a thought
that came to me this morning that
never come to me before ..."
•• What was it .>"
''If his wife should die ... he
would be free ?"
A dark shadow fell now on Fa-
ther Hen wick's large, smooth brow.
Franceline read his answer in the
frown and the averted gaze ; but he
spoke soon, though he did not look
at her.
**That was a sinful thought! You
should have cast it behind you with
ontempt. Has it come to that with
you, that you could look forward to
the death of any one as a thing to
be longed for ?"
**I did not long for it. The
thought came to me."
"^ You should have hunted it out
of your mind like an evil spirit, as
u was. You must never let it near
you again. He should be to you as
if he were already dead. Whether
his wife dies or not should not, and
does not, concern you. Besides,
how do you know whether she is not
as young as yourself, and stronger ?
My child, such a thought as that
would lead you to the brink of an
abyss, if you listened to it."
" I never will again, father," she
answered promptly. "I hardly
know now whether I listened to it
or not ; only I could not help telling
you."
'* You were right to tell me ; and
now banish it, and never let it ap-
proach you again."
After a pause he resumed r
" You are sure that silence is
best with M. de la Bourbonais?"
" Oh ! yes. How can you ask me^
father ?" And Franceline looked up
in surprise.
''Yet it cannot remain a secret
from him for ever; he is almost
certain to hear of it sooner or later,
and it might save him a severe shock
if he heard it from you. It would
set his mind at rest about you V*
'' It is quite at rest at present on
that score. He has no idea that
the discovery would be likely to
affect me."
"You are better able to judge
of that, of course, than I am. But it
grieves me to see you have a secret
from your father; I wish it could
be avoided."
"But it cannot; indeed it can-
not !" she repeated emphatically.
" You may trust me to speak, if I
thought it could be done without
injury to both of us. It is much
better to wait ; perhaps by the time
it comes to his ears I may be able
to hear him speak of it without be-
traying myself and paining him."
Father Henwick acquiesced, but
reluctantly. He hoped she was
right in supposing M. de la Bour-
bonais quite blind to what had
been so palpable to a casual ob-
server. But, making even the fullest
allowance for the absent-minded
habits of the studious man, this
seemed scarcely probable. Fran-
celine had affirmed it herself more
x6
Are You My Wife f
confidently, perhaps, than was war-
ranted. She had, however, succeed-
ed in lulling her father into forget-
fulness of his former conjectures
and impressions ; she was certain
of this. It had been done at a ter-
rible price of endurance and self-
control; but she had succeeded,
and it would be doubly cruel now
to revive his suspicions and let him
know the truth.
" I will trust you," said Father
Henwick ; " it is indeed a mercy
that he is not called upon to bear
such a trial while he is yet so un-
prepared."
There was an earnestness about
him as he said this that would have
caused Franceline a deeper emo-
tion than curiosity if her mind
were not fixed wide of the mark.
She replied after a moment's reflec-
tion : ** If anything should occur
to make it necessary to tell him,
will you break it to him, father ?"
" I will," said the priest simply.
Franceline had not the least fear
of Father Henwick. The severity
of his passionless brow did not
frighten her ; it never checked the
outflow of the thoughts and emo-
tions that came surging up from
her own perturbed heart. He seem-
ed too far removed from strife him-
self to be affected by it, except as
a pitying angel might, looking down
from his calm heaven on poor mor-
tals struggling and striving in the
smoke and din of their earthly bat-
tle-field.
" Father," said Franceline sud-
denly, *' I wish I cared more for
the poor! I wish I could love
them and pity them as you do ; but
I don't. I'm so shy of going
amongst them. I'm sure I don't
do them any good, and they don't
do me any good, they're so prosy
and egotistical — most of them, at
least."
He turned an amused, indiil^
smile on her.
"There was a time wfien
thought so too ; but persevere, J
the love will come after a. li
while. All that is worth hav^in|
bought with sacrifice. Oh I iT
could only understand the bless<
ness of sacrifice ! Then we shot
find the peace passing all Lin<i
standing that comes of pa.ssi
overcome, of sorrow generously a
cepted!"
He held out his hand to say g^oo
by. Franceline laid hers in it; \^
did not remove it at once. ** F
ther," she said, with her eyes lirt<
in childlike fearlessness to hi
" one would think, to hear yc
speak of passion overcome and so
row accepted, that you knew som<
thing about them ! I sometime
wish you did. It would make
easier to me to believe in the poss
bility of overcoming and accept
mg.
A change came over Father Hen
wick's face for one moment; it wa
not a cloud nor a tremor, but tli«
shadow of some deep emotion tha.
must pass away before he could an-
swer. Then the words came witli
grave simplicity, and low, as if they
were a prayer :
"Believe, then, my child, and
take courage ; I have gone througli
it all !"
He turned and walked back into
the wood. Franceline stood look-
ing after him -through gathering
tear-drops. Never had he seemed
so far above her, so removed from
human weakness, as at this moment,
when he so humbly acknowledged
kindred with it.
A pleasant surprise met France-
line on her return home. Sir Si-
mon was at The Lilies, and loudly
expressing his indignation at not
Are You My Wife f
17
finding her there to greet him. She
arrived^ however, before he had
quite divested himself of a cargo
of small boxes which he had car*
ried down himself in order to have
the delight of witnessing her curi-
osity and pleasure in their contents.
There was hardly any event which
could have given her so much plea-
sure in her present frame of mind as
the sight of her kind, old friend ;
and she satisfied him to the full by
hei affectionate welcome and her
delight in all his presents. He had
not forgotten her {z\ox\\.^friandi$e —
chocolate bonbons — and she set to
uhhling them at once, in spite of
Angelique's protest against such a
proceeding close on dinner-time.
"Va, petite gourmande !" ex-
claimed the bonne, tramping off to
her kitchen, in high glee to see
Franceline*s gayety and innocent
greediness over the dainty.
Sir Simon was, if possible, in
hrightcr spirits than ever ; like Job's
friends, he was " full of discourse,"
^that there was nothing to do but
listen and laugh as the current
rippled on. He had a deal to tell
about his rambles in the Pyrenees,
and a whole budget of adventures
to retail, and anecdotes about odd
people he had come across in all
sorts of out-of-the-way places. No-
thing checked the pleasant flow
until M. de la Bourbonais had the
unlucky inspiration to inquire for
Lady Rebecca's health ; whereupon
the baronet raised his right hand
and let it fall again with an empha-
tic gesture, shook his head, and
compressed his lips in ominous si-
lence. Raymond, who held the key
of the pantomime, gathered there-
from that Lady Rebecca had for
the six-and-thirticth time rallied
from the jaws of death, and plung-
wi her long-suffering heir once
more into dejection and disappoint-
VOL. XXIL — 2
ment. He knew what was in store
for his private ear, and heaved a
sigh. "But the present hour shall
be a respite," Sir Simon seemed to
say; and he quitted the subject
abruptly, and proceeded to cate-
chise Franceline on her behavior
since his departure. He was sur-
prised and annoyed to find that she
had been to no parties ; that nothing
more exciting than that short visit
to Rydal had come of his deep-laid
scheme with the dowager ; and that
there had been no rivalry of gallant
suitors attacking the citadel of The
Lilies. He had been rather ner-
vous before meeting her; for, though
it had been made quite clear to
him by Raymond's letters that he^
had received no crushing blow of
any description. Sir Simon had a
lurking fear that recent events
might have left a deeper shadow
on his daughter's existence than he
was conscious of. Her aspect, how-
ever, set him at ease on this score.
He could hardly have lighted on a
more favorable moment for the
confirmation of his sanguine hopes
regarding Franceline's heart-whole-
ness. True, she had been crying,
only half an hour ago, bitter, burn-
ing tears enough ; but her face re-
tained no trace of them, and it still
held the glow of inward triumph
that Father Henwick's last words
had called up into her eyes, and
her cheeks had got a faint color
from the rapid walking. Sir Simon
breathed freely as he took note of
these outward signs ; he could in-
dulge in a little chaffing without re-
morse or arriere-pensee. He want-
ed to know, merely as a matter of
curiosity, how many hearts she had
broken in his absence — how many
unfortunates had been mortally
struck as they passed within reach
of her arrows on the wayside. Fran-
celine protested that she carried no
i8
Are You My Wife?
quiver, and had not inflicted a
scratch on any one. Huroph ! Sir
Simon invited her to convey that
answer to the marines.
"And how about Ponsonby
Anwyll? Has he been here late*
ly?"
" No ; he called twice, but papa
and I were out."
" Poor devil ! so much the bet-
ter for him I But he won't have
the sense to keep out of harm's
way ; he'll be at it again before
long."
Franceline gave one of her merry
lauglifl— she was in a mood to enjoy
the absurdity of the joke — and went
to take olTher things ; for Angdlique
^)Ut in her head to say that dinner
was ready.
Things fell quickly into their old
course at the Court. There was a
procession of morning callers ever}'
day, and pleasant friendly dinners,
and a few men down in relays to
shoot. Sir Simon insisted on M.
de la Bourbonais coming to join
them frequently, and bringing Fran-
celine ; he had established a prece-
dent, and he was not going to let it
drop. Franceline, on the whole,
was glad of the excitement ; she
was determined to use everything
that could help her good resolu-
tions ; and the necessity for seeming
to enjoy soon led to her doing so
in reality. After the stillness of her
little home-life, filled as it was with
restless voices audible to no ear but
hers, the gay stir of the Court was
welcome. It was a pleasurable
sensation, too, to feel herself the ob-
ject of admiring attentions from a
number of agreeable gentlemen, to
be deferred to and made much of,
a« if she were a little queen amongst
them all. Sir Simon was more in-
dulgent than ever, and spoiled her
to his he art's content. Father Hen-
wick, who was kept au amratU of
what was going on, could not fkx%\
it in his heart to oppose what seem
ed to be an innocent diversion oi
her thoughts.
It was, therefore, anything but :
welcome break when Lady Anwyl
came down one morning, accom-
panied by Sir Simon, to announce
her intention of carrying off hei
friend the next day to RydaJ.
Franceline fought off while she
could, but Sir Simon pooh-poohed
her excuses about not liking to
leave her father, and so forth ; he
was there now to look after him,
and she must go. So she went.
Rydal had a dreadful association
in her mind, and she shrank from go-
ing there as from revisiting the
scene of some horrible tragedy.
She shrank, too, from leaving her
father. Of late they had been more
bound up in their daily life than
ever; she had coaxed him into ac-
cepting her services as an amanuen-
sis, and he had quickly grown so
used to them that he was sure to
miss her greatly at his work.
There was nothing, moreover, in
the inmates of Rydal to compensate
her for the sacrifice ; they were not
the least interesting. It was always
the same good-natured petting from
Lady Anwyll, as if she were a kit-
ten or a baby. She knew exactly
what the conversation would be —
gossip about local trifles, about
the family, especially Ponce, his
boots, his eccentricities, his pet
dishes, his pranks in the regiment ;
the old tune played over and over
again on the same string. As to
Ponce himself, Franceline knew the
big hussar already by heart; he
would do his best to be entertain-
ing, and would only be awkward
and commonplace. Nothing at
Rydal, in fact, rose above the dead-
level of DuUerton.
The dowager had some few young
Are %u My Wife t
19
people in for a carpet-dance, in
which Franceline had to take her
part, and did without any repug-
nihce. Dancing brought back cer-
tain memories that pierced her like
steel blades ; but her heart was
proof against the thrusts, and she
defied them to wound her. Lord
Roxham was invited, and showed
himself cordial and friendly, but
nothing more. He said he had
been called away to London soon
after they last met, or else he would
have profited by M. de la Bour-
bonais' permission to call at The
Lilies; he hoped that the authoriza-
tion might still hold good.
** Oh ! yes ; do come. I shall be
so glad to see you," was the frank
and unaffected reply.
Lady Anwyll had meantime felt
rather aggrieved at Lord Roxham 's
behavior. Her little scheme had
gone o£f so swimmingly at first she
could not understand why it had
suddenly collapsed in its prosper-
ous course, and come to a dead
halt. At any rate, she would give
him one more chance. The young
legislator seemed in no violent hur-
ry to improve it. He danced a
couple of times with Franceline,
and once with two other young
girls, and then subsided to dummy
whist with the rector of Rydal and
his wife, leaving Franceline to the
combined fascinations of Mr. Charl-
ton and Ponce, who usurped her
between them. The latter bestow-
ed such an unequal share of a
host's courtesy on the young French
girl, indeed, that his mother felt it
incumbent on her to explain to the
other young ladies that Mile, de la
Bourbon ais was a foreigner; there-
fore Ponce, being so good-natured,
paid her particular attention. And
he certainly did — not only on that
occasion, but while she remained.
He was continually hovering about
her like a huge overshadowing
bird whose wings were always in
the way of its movements. He trip-
ped over footstools in attempting
to place them under her feet ; but
then he was always so thankful that
it was himself, not her, he nearly
upset ! He spilt several cups of
tea in handing them to her, and
was nearly overcome with gratitude
when he saw the carpet had got the
contents, and that her pretty muslin
frock was safe ! He would hold an
umbrella open over her because it
looked so uncommonly like rain;
and it was such a mercy to have
only spoiled her bonnet and made
a hole in her veil, when he might
.so easily have run the point into
her eye. Ponce, like many wiser
men, had endless satisfaction in the
contemplation of the blunders he
might have committed and did not.
Yet, with all his boyish awkward-
ness, Franceline was growing very
fond of him. He was so thorough-
ly kind7hearted, and so free from
the taint of conceit ; and then
there was an undeniable enjoyment
in the sense of being cared for,
and thought of, and watched over;
and it was all done in a naive, boy-
ish way, and with a brotherly ab-
sence of compliment or constraint
that left her free to accept it with-
out any sense of undue obligation,
or the fear of being called upon to
repay it except by being pleased
and grateful. When he followed
her into the conservatory with a
shawl and wrapped it round her
unceremoniously, she looked up at
his fresh, honest face, and said, al-
most as if he had been a woman :
" I wish I had you for a brother,
Captain Anwyll !'* He got very
red, and was fumbling somewhere
in his mind for. an answer, when
his mother called to him for the
watering-pot; Ponce seized it, and.
20
Are You My Wife?
dashing out a sudden shower-bath
upon the dowager's dress, narrow-
ly escaped drenching Franceline's.
But it did escape. What a lucky
dog he was !
How pleasant it was riding home
in the fresh afternoon ! Lady An-
wyll came in the carriage, while
Franceline and Capt. Anwyll can-
tered on before. Nothing was like-
ly to have happened at The Lilies
during her absence ; but as they
drew near she grew impatient and
rode at a pace, as if she expected
wonderful tidings at the ride's end.
The air was so clear that Duller-
ton, yet a mile off, sent its hum of
life towards the riders with sharp
distinctness. The panting of the
train, as it moved out of the station,
sounded close by ; every street cry
and tinkling cart-bell rang out like
a chime. Soon the soft cuoing of
the doves came wafted above the
distant voice of the town ; and when
the travellers came within sight of
The Lilies, the flock flew to greet
Franceline, wheeling round high
up in the air several times before
alighting on her shoulders and out-
stretched wrist. Then came her
father's delighted exclamation, as
he hurried down the little garden-
walk, and Ang^lique's affection-
ate embrace. And once more the
small, still home-life, that was so
svvecland so rich in a restored joy,
recommenced. Franceline devoted
hours every day now to working
with her fiUlier, and soon she be-
came almost as much absorbed in
the work as he was. Sometimes,
indeed, she hindered rather than
helped, stopping him in the midst
of his dictation to demand an ex-
planation; but Raymond never
chided her or grudged the delay.
Her fresh young eyesight and dili-
gent, nimble hand were invalu-
able to him, and he wondered
how he had got on so long withoa
them.
Lord Roxham redeemed hi:
promise of calling at The Lilies
He talked a good deal to Raymonc
about p>o]itics and current events,
saying very little to Franceline,' whc
sat by, stitching away at some t>il
of plain sewing. This was jusi
what she liked. Her father was en-
tertained and interested. A breeze
from the outer world always re-
freshed him, though he was hardly
conscious of it, still less of need-
ing any such reviving incident \n
his quiet, monotonous existence ;
but Franceline always hailed it with
thankfulness for him, and was well
content to reftiain in the shade now
while the visitor devoted himself to
amusing her father. Was it fancy,
or did she, on glancing up suddenly
from her needlework, detect an ex-
pression, half compassionate, half
searching, in Lord Roxham's face,
as he looked fixedly at her ? Wheth-
er it was fancy or not, her eyes fell
at once, and the blood mantled her
cheek; she did not venture to let
her gaze light on him again, and it
was with a sense of shyness that she
shook hands with him at parting.
Ponsonby Anwyll was now a fre-
quent visitor at The Lilies, some-
times coming alone, sometimes with
Sir Simon ; and it was a curious
coincidence, if quite accidental,
that he generally made his appear-
ance as Franceline was on the point
of starting for her ride ; and as he
was always on horseback, there was
no conceivable reason why he should
not join the party. The burly hus-
sar was a safer companion in the
saddle than in the drawing-room;
he rode with the masterly ease of
a cavalryman, and, the road being
free from the disturbing influence
of tea-trays and chairs^ he spilt
Are You My Wiftt
21
nothing and upset nobody, and
Franceline was always glad of his
company. She was too inex|^eri-
enced and too much absorl^ed in
other tlioughts to forecast any pos-
sible results from this state of
things. Ponsonby continued the
same familiar, kind, brother-like
manner to her; was mightily con-
cerned in keeping her out of the
bad bits of road, and out of the
way of the cattle that might be
tramping to market and prove of-
fensive to her mettlesome pony.
He never aimed at making himself
agreeable, only useful. But the
eyes of DuUerton looked on at all
this brotherly attention, and drew
its own conclusion. The Langrove
young ladies, of whom somehow
she had of late seen less than ever,
grew excited to the highest pitch
about it, and were already discuss-
ing bow many of them would be
bridemaids at the wedding, if
brideroaids there were. Most like-
ly Sir Simon would settle that
and probably give the dresses.
Even discreet Miss Merry wig could
not forbear shaking her finger and
her barrel curls at Franceline one
dav when the latter hurried off to
gtft ready for her ride, with the ex-
cuse that Sir Simon and Capt.
Anwvll were due at three o'clock.
But Franceline knew by this time
what Duller ton was, and what it
could achieve in the way of gos-
sip; spinning a yarn a mile long
out of a thread the length of your
finger. She only laughed, and men-
tally remarked how little people
knew. They would be marrying
her to Sir Simon next, when Pon-
sonby rejoined his regiment and
^as seen no more at her saddle-
bow.
The three had set out for a ride
o^e afternoon, when, as they were
dishing along at full tilt, Sir Simon
pulled up with a strong formula of
exclamation.
"What's the matter.?" cried Sir
Ponsonby, plunging back heavily,
while Franceline reined in Rosebud,
and turned in some alarm to see
what had occurred.
** If I have not actually forgotten
all about Simpson, who comes down
from London by appointment this
afternoon ! I dare say he's waiting
for me by this, and he must return
by the 5:20. I must leave you,
and |x>st home as quick as Nero
will carry me." And with a '* by-
by " to Franceline and a nod to
Capt. Anwyll, coupled with an in-
junction not to let her ride too
fast and to keep her out of mis-
chief, the baronet turned his horse's
head and galloped away, desiring
the groom to follow on with the
others.
They went on at a good pace
until thev reached the f<x)t of a
gentle ascent, when both of one ac-
cord fell into a walk. For the first
time in their intercourse Franceline
was conscious of a certain vague
awkwardness with Capt. Anwyll ;
of casting about for something to
say, and not finding anything. The
place was perfectly solitary, the
woods on one side, the fields slop-
ing down to the river on the other.
The groom lagged respectfully a
long way behind, quite out of ear-
shot, often out of sight ; for the road
curved and wheeled abruptly every
now and then, and hid the foremost
riders from his view. Ponsonby
broke the silence :
" Miss Franceline " — he would
call her Miss Franceline, because it
was easier and shorter — " I have
something on my mind that I want
badly to say to you. I've been
wanting to say it for some time. I
hope it won't make you angry.?"
** I can't say till I hear it ; but if
22
Are You My Wife?
you are in doubt about it, perhaps
it would be safer not to say it,'* re-
marked Franceline, beginning to
tremble ominously.
" I wouldn't vex you for anything
in the world ! Ton my honor I
wouldn't !" protested Ponce warm-
ly. "But, you see, I don't know
whether what I'm going to say will
vex you or not.'^
"Then don't say it; you are
sure not to vex me then," was the
encouraging advice, and she de-
voutly hoped he would take it.
But he was not so minded.
** That's true," he assented ; ** but
then, you see, it might please you.
I'm half afraid it won't, though,
only I can't be sure till I try."
After musing a moment, in obvious
perplexity, he resumed, speaking
rapidly, as if he had made up his
mind to bolt it all out and take the
consequences. " I'm not a puppy —
my worst enemy won't accuse me
of that ; but I'm not a bad fellow
either, as roy mother and all the
fellows in the Tenth will tell you ;
and the fact is, I've grown very fond
of you, Miss Franceline, and if
you'll take me as I am I'll do my
best to be a good husband to you
and to make you happy."
He said it quickly, as if he were
reciting a lesson got by hearty and
then came to a dead halt and
"paused for a reply." He might
have paused long enough^ if he had
not at last turned round and read
his fate in Franceline's scared,
white face and undisguised agita-
tion.
'* Oh I now, don't say no before
you think it over I" entreated the
young man. " I know you're ten
times too good for me ; but, for
that matter, you're too good for the
best fellow that ever lived. I said
so myself to Sir Simon only this
morning. But I do love you with
all my heart, Franceline ; and 1
only you could care for me ever s
little to begin with, I'd be satisfiec
and you'd make me the happies
man alive !"
Franceline had now recovere<
her self-possession, and was able t
speak, though she still trembled.
" I am so sorry 1" she exclaimed
" I nev^r dreamed of this ; indee<
I did not ! I dare say I have bee]
very selfish, very thoughtless; bu
it was not wilful. I am very un
happy to have given you pain !"
*' Oh ! don't say that. You'll raak<
me miserable if you say that 1" plead
ocl Tonsonby. " Of course you nevei
thought of it. It's great impudence
of me to think of it, I have so little
to offer you! But if you don'i
quite hate the sight of me, I'm sure
I could make you a devoted hus-
band, and love you better than
many a cleverer fellow- I've been
fond of you from the first, and so
has my mother."
" You are both very good to me ;
I am very, very grateful I" The
tears rose to her eyes, and with a
frank, impulsive movement she
held out her hand to him. Pon-
sonby bent from the saddle and
raised it to his lips, although it
was gloved. If he had not been
over-sanguine at heart and a trifle
stupid, poor fellow, he would liave
felt that it was all over with him.
The little hand lay with cold, sis-
terly kindness in his grasp, and
Franceline looked at him with eyes
that were too kind and pitying to
promise anything more than sister-
ly pity and gratitude.
" I cannot, I cannot. You must
never think of it any more. Do
you not see that it is impossible?
I am a Catholic !"
" Pshaw 1 as if that mattered a
whit ! I mean as if it need make
any difference between us I I dcn't
Are You My Wife t
^3:
mind it a pin — 'pon my honor I
don't! I said so to the count.
We've settled all that, in fact, and
if he's satisfied to trust me why
will not vou ?"
**Then you have spoken to my
father?"
** Oh ! yes ; that was the right
thing, Sir Simon told me, as he was
a Frenchman."
** And what did he say to you ?"
"He«aid that if you said yes, he
was quite willing to give you to me.
I wanted to come to settlements at
imce— I only wish I was ten times
beticroff! — but he would not hear
a word about that until I had con-
sulted you. Only, he said he would
be glad to receive me as his son ;
he did indeed, Franceline!" She
was looking straight before her,
her eyes dilated, her whole face
agiow with some strong emotion
that his words seemed to ha 'e stir-
red in her.
'• You remember," continued
Ponsonby, "that you said to me
once you would like to have me for
a brother? Well, it will be nearly
the same thing. You would get
used to me as a husband after a
while ; you would, Franceline I"
"Never, never, never!" she re-
peated, not passionately, but with a
calm emphasis that made Ponson-
by *s heart die within him. He
could not find a word to oppose
to the strong, quiet protest.
"No, it is all a mistake," said
Franceline. " I don't know who is
to blame — I suppose I am. I should
not have let you come so often ;
but you were so kind, and I have
so few people to care for me ; and
when one is sad at heart, kindness is
so welcome ! But I should have
thought of you ; I have been sel-
fish !"
** No, no, you have not been sel-
fish at all ; it's all my doing and
my fault," affirmed the young
man. "I wish I had held my'
tongue a little longer. My mother
will come and see you to-morrow ;
she will explain it all, and how it
sha'n't make any trouble to you, my
being a Protestant."
" She must not come," said Fran-
celine with decision ; "there is no-
thing to explain. I am sincerely
grateful to her and to you ; but I
have only gratitude to give you. I
hope with all my heart that you
may soon forget me and any pain
I am causing you, and that you
may meet with a wife who will
make you happier than I could have
done."
Ponsonby was silent for a few mo-
ments, and then he said, speaking
with a certain hesitation and diffi-
dence :
" I could be satisfied to wait and
to go on hoping, if I were sure of
one thing : . . . that you did not
care for anybody else. Do you ?"
She flashed a glance of indig-
nant pride at him.
" What right have you to put
such a question to me ? I tell you
I do not care for you, and that I
will never marry you ! You have
no right to ask me any more."
Ponsonby recoiled as if a flash
of lightning had forked out of the
cold, gray sky. " Good heavens ! I
did not mean to offend you. I
declare solemnly I did not !"
But he had touched a vibrating
chord unawares, and set every fibre
in her heart thrilling and every
pulse throbbing; and the disturb-
ance was not to be laid by any
words that he could utter. Fran-
celine turned homewards, and they
did not exchange a word until they
reached The Lilies and Ponsonby
was assisting her to alight. .
" Say you forgive me!" he said,
speaking very low and penitently.
24
Are You My Wifet
She had already forgiven him
but not herself.
^' I do, and I am sorry for being
so impetuous. Good-by !"
*'And my mother may come and
see you to-morrow ?"
" No, no ! It is no use ; it is no
use ! I say again I wish you were
my brother, Sir Ponsonby, but, as
you care to remain my friend, never
speak to me again of this."
He pressed the hand she held
out to him ; the groom backed up
to take the reins of her horse, and
Ponsonby rode away with a thorn
in his honest heart.
Miss Merrywig was within, chat-
ting and laughing away with the
count. Franceline was not in a
mood to meet the garrulous old
lady or anybody ; so she went
straight to her room, and only came
down when the visitor was gone.
" Father," she said, going up be-
hind him and laying a hand on
each shoulder, ''what is this Sir
Ponsonby tells me 1 That you are
tired of your clair-de-lune, and
want to get rid of her ?"
M. de la Bourbonais drew down
the two trembling hands, and clasp-
ed them on his breast, and lifted
his head as if he would look at her.
" It would not be losing her, but
gaining a son, who would take care
of her when I am gone ! She has
not thought of that !"
'* No ; and she does not wish to
think of it ! I will live with you
while I live. I don't care to look
beyond that; nor must you, petit
pfere. But I am very sorry for Sir
Ponsonby. You must write and
tell him so, and that he must not
come any more — until he has for-
gotten me; that you cannot give
me up."
" My cherished one ! Let us
talk about this matter; it is very
serious. We must not do anything
rashly." He tried to unclasp hei
hands and draw her to his side^
but she locked them tighter, and
laid her cheek on his head.
" Petit ptre, there is nothing ta
talk about ; I will never marry hina
or anybody !"
'* My child, thou speak est without
reflection. Captain Anwyll is M
good, honorable man, and he loves
thee, and it would be a great com*
fort to me to see thee married to
him, and not to leave thee friend-
less and almost penniless whenever
God calls me away. I understand
it has taken thee by surprise, and
that thou canst not accept the idea
without some delay and getting
used to it ; but we must not decide so
important a matter hastily. Come,
sit down, and let us discuss it."
" No, father," she answered in
a tone of determination that was
quite foreign to her now, and re-
minded him of the wilful child of
long ago ; ** there is no use in dis-
cussing what is already decided.
I will never marry Ponsonby — or
anybody. Why, petit p^re, do you
forget that he is a Protestant ?"
**Nay, I have forgotten nothing;
that has been all arranged. He is
most liberal about it; consents to
leave you to ... to have every-
thing your own way in that respect,
and assures me that it shall make
no difference whatever to you, his
not being of your religion."
** No difference, father ! No dif-
erence to a wife that her hus-
band should be a heretic! You
cannot be in earnest. What bless<>
ing could there be on such a mar-
riage r
"But you would soon convert
him, my little one ; you would
make a good Catholic of him be-
fore the year was out," said M. de
la Bourbonais. " Think of that !"
" And suppose it were the other
Are You My Wifet
25
ray, and that he made a good Pro-
testant of me ? It is no more than
I should deserve for my presump-
tion. You know what happens to
those who seek the danger ..."
**0h : that is a different thing;
that warning applies to those who
seek it rashly, from vain or selfish
motives," protested Raymond, mov-
ing his spectacles, as he always did
instincti¥ely when his argument
was weak; and he knew right well
that now it was slipping into soph-
istry.
*I cannot see anything but a
selfish motive in marrying against
the express i)rohibition of the
charch and without any affection
for the person, but simply because
he could give you a position and
the good things of this life/* said
Franccline.
"The prohibition is conditional,"
persisted Raymond, "and those
conditions would be scrupulously
fulfilled ; and as to there not being
the necessary affection, there is
enougli on his side for both, and
liislove would soon beget thine."
" Father, it is no use. I am griev-
td to contradict you ; but I cannot,
cannot do this to please you. You
must write and say so to Capt.
Anwyll ; you must indeed."
Raymond heaved a sigh. He
felt as powerless as an infant before
this new wilfulness of his clair-de-
lune ; it was foolish as well as im-
prudent to yield, but he did not
know how to deal with it. There
was honest truth on her side ; no
subterfuges could baffle the instinc-
tive logic of her childlike faith.
"We will let things remain as
they are for a few days, and then,
if thou dost still insist, I will write
and refuse the offer," he said, seek-
ing a last chance in temporizing.
"No, petit pere; if you love me,
*rite at once. It is only fair to
Sir Ponsonby, and it will set my
mind at rest. Here, let me find
you a pen !" She chose one out
of a number of inky goose-quills on
the little Japan tray, and thrust it
playfully between his fingers.
The letter was written, and An-
g^lique was forthwith despatched
with it to the pillar at the park
gate.
During the remainder of the af-
ternoon Franceline worked away
diligently at the Causes of the
French Revolution, and spent the
evening reading aloud. But M. de
la Bourbonais could not so lightly
dismiss the day's incident from his
thoughts. He had experienced a
moment of pure joy and unutter-
able thankfulness when Ponsonby
had come in and stammered out
his honest confession of love, and
pleaded so hutnbly with the father
to ** take his part with Miss France-
line." The pleasure was all the
greater for being a complete sur-
prise. Sir Simon had cautiously
resolved to have no hand in nego-
tiating between the parties ; he had
let things take their course from
the first, determined not to inter-
fere, but clearly foreseeing the issue.
Raymond was bewildered by Fran-
celipe*s rejection of the proposed
marriage. He did not try much
to explain it to himself; it was a
puzzle that did not come within the
rule and compass of his philosophy
— a young girl refusing to be married
when an eligible husband present-
ed himself for her father's accep-
tance. He heaved many a deep
sigh over it, as his anxious gaze
rested on the golden -haired young
head bent over the desk. But he
did not ask any questions.
Sir Simon came down next morn-
ing in high displeasure. He was
angry, disappointed, aggrieved.
Here he had been at considerable
26
Are You My Wifet
pains of ingenuity and forethought
to provide a model husband for
Franceline, a young fellow whom
any girl ought to jump at — high-
principled, unencumbered rent-roll,
good-looking, good-tempered — ^and
the little minx turns up her nose at
him, and sends him to the right-
about ! Such perverseness and fol-
ly were not to be tolerated. What
did she mean by it ? What did she
see amiss in Anwyll ? Sir Simon
was for having her up for a round
lecture. But Raymond would not
allow this. He might groan in his
inmost heart over Franceline's re-
fusal, but he was not going to let
her be bullied by anybody ; not
even by Sir Simon. He stood up
for his child, and defended her as
if he had fully approved of her con-
duct.
" I'll tell you whatit is, Bourbon-
ais, you're just as great a fool as
she is; only she is a child, and
knows nothing of life, and can*t see
the madness of what she is doing.
.But you ought to know better. I
have no patience with you. When
one thinks of what this marriage
would do for both of you — lifting
you out of penury, restoring your
daughter to her propec position in
the world, and securing her future,
so that, if you were called away to-
' morrow, you need have no care or
'anxiety about her ! And to think
of your backing her up in rejecting
it all !"
" I did not back her up in it. I
deplore her having done so," re-
plied Raymond. '* But I will not
coerce her ; her happiness is dearer
to me than her interest or my
own.
>i
" What tomfoolery ! As if her
interest and her happiness were not
identical in this case ! A man who
is fond of her, and rich enough to
.give her everything in life a girl
could wish for! What does !
want besides?" demanded Sir
mon angrily.
^ I believe she wants nothing, <
cept to be left with her old fath
She does not care for Capt. An wy]
said Raymond; but his Fren
mind felt this was very weak ar|
ment.
•' The devil she doesn't ! W
does she care for.?" retorted t
baronet. But he had no soot
uttered the words than he regrett
them; they seemed to recoil
him like a stone flung too near. J
seized his hat, and, muttering ii
patiently something about ti\e nc
sense of giving into childish fa
cies, etc., strode out of the cotta^
and did not show himself there i
several days.
He was pursued by that questi
of his own, " Who did Franceli
care for?" and made uncomforl
ble by the persistency with whi
it kept dinning in his ears. He h
made up his mind long ago that ti
failure of his first matrimonial pi
had had no serious effect on h
heart or spirits. She was lookii
very delicate when he came bac
but that was the dulness of the li
she had been leading during his a
sence. She had picked up consi<
erably since then. It was plain
everybody she had ; her spirits we
better. There was certainly n*
thing wrong in that direction. Ho
could there be when he. Sir Simo
so thoroughly desired the contrar
and did so much to cheer up tl
child — and himself into the bargai
— and make her forget any impre
sion that unlucky Glide might ha\
made ? Still, no matter how en
phatically he answered it, the tin
some question kept sounding in h
ears day after day. He could stan
it no longer. He must go and se
tliem at The Lilies — see Francelim
An, You My Wife t
V
read on her innocent young
that all was peace within, and
' up his own depressed spirits
talk with Raymond. Nobody
ed to him and sympathized
him as Raymond did. He
10 worries of his own to dis-
him, for one thing ; and if he
he was such a philosophical
he would carry them to the
and leave them there. Sir
n was blessed with no such
^ faculty. He could forget
roubles for a while under the
ilating balm of cheerful society
;enerous wine ; but as soon as
as alone they were down on
like an army of ants, stinging
goading him. Things were
gloomy just now, and he could
:han ever dispense with the
e of sympathetic companion-
Lady Rebecca had taken a
start, and was less likely to
rt than she had been for the
ten years. The duns, who
led her ladyship's fluctuations
?en life and death with alpiost
icere and breathless an interest
r heir, had got wind of this,
were up and at him again,
ng him like a hare — the low,
ing, insolent hounds ! His
ed money annoyances made
the more irascible with Fran-
B for throwing away her chancy
ring for ever saved and pro*
d from the like. But he would
no more on that string.
; had been into DuUerton on
rback, and, overtaking the post-
on his way home, he stopped
ke his letters, and then asked
ere were any for The Lilies,
ras going there, and would save
>ostman the walk that far.
Thank you, sir ! There is one
be count." And the man held
I large blue envelope, like a
er's letter, which Sir Simon
thrust into his pocket. He left his
horse at the Court, and walked on
through the park, reading his let-
ters as he went. Their contents
were not of the most agreeable, to
judge by the peevish and angry
ejaculations that the reader emitted
in the course of their perusal. He
had not done when he reached the
cottage.
"Here's a letter for you, Bour-
bonais; I'll finish mine while you're
reading it." He handed the blue
envelope to his friend, and, flinging
himself into a chair, became again
absorbed and ejaculatory.
M. de la Bourbonais, meanwhile,
proceeded to open his official-look-
ing communication. He surveyed
it with uplifted eyebrows, examined
well the large red seal, and scrutin-
ized the handwriting of the ad-
dress, before tie tore it open. His
eye ran quickly over the page. A
nervous twitch contracted his fea-
tures ; his hand shook as if a string
at his elbow had been rudely pull-
ed ; but he controlled all farther
sign of emotion, and, after reading
the contents twice over, silently
folded the letter and replaced it in
the en.velope. Sir Simon had seen
nothing; he was deep in suppress-
ed denunciations of some rascally
dun.
** Hang me if I know what's to
be the end of it, or the end of
me — an ounce of lead in my skull,
most likely!" he burst out, ram-
ming the bundle of offending docu-
ments into his coat-pocket. " The
brutes are in league to drive me
mad!"
" Has anything new nappened V*
inquired the count anxiously. " I
hoped things had arranged them-
selves of late y
** Not they ! How can they when
these vampires are sucking the
blood of one.^ It's pretty much
28
Are You My Wife?
like sucking a corpse !" he laughed
sardonically. ** The fools J If they
would but have sense to see that it
is their own interest not to drivfe
me to desperation ! But they will
goad me to do something that will
make an ei)d of their chance of
ever being paid !"
M. de la Bourbonais ought to
have been hardened to this sort of
thing ; but he was not. The vague
threats and dark innuendoes always
alarmed him. He never knew but
that each crisis which called them
out might be the supreme one that
would bring about their fulfilment.
At such moments he had not the
heart to rebuke Sir Simon and add
the bitterness of self-reproach to
his excited feelings. His look of
keen distress struck Sir Simon with
compunction.
'' Oh ! it will blow off, as it has
done so often before, I suppose/* he
said, tossing his head. *' Here's a
letter from L to say he is com-
ing down next week with a whole
houseful of men to shoot. I've not
»cen L for an age. He's a de-
lightful fellow ; he'll cheer one up."
And the baronet heaved a sigh
from the very depths of bis -afflict-
ed spirit.
** Mon cher, is it wise to be ask-
ing down crowds of people in this
way?" asked Raymond dubiously.
*' I did not ask them ! Don*t I
tell you they have written to invite
thcrijwrlves?"
It was true ; but Sir Simon forgot
how often he had besought his
{fv>:n6% to do just what they were
fK/w Co'''t% — to write and say when
ti.ey fJj^A come, and to bring as
m'<i*y z% t';>ey l:ked with them.
'I ':iX hid always been the way at
* 'Jt Co ;rt ; ar-d he was net the man
V> W, e iti C/'i traciiions. Bat
Jp'-i > !^j' 't.yr: o had '.'so his class ci
t-vv-e tfi.C.i-'-!is. could not see it.
"Why not write frankly, an
without explaining the precise m
tive, say that you cannot at prese
receive any one ?"
Sir Simon gave an inipatie
pshaw !
" Nonsense, my dear Bourbonai
nonsense ! As if a few felloe
more or less signified that" — sr^i]
ping his fingers — " at the end c
the year ! Besides, what the deuc
is the good of having a place at al
if one can't have one's frienc
about one in it } Better shut up i
once. It's the only compensatio
a man has; the only thing ths
pulls him through. And then th
pheasants are there, and must b
shot. I can't shoot them all. Bu
it's no use trying to make you tat
an Englishman's view of the case
You simply can't do it."
M. de la Bourbonais agreed, an<
inwardly hoped he never raigh
come to see the case as his frienc
did. But, notwithstanding this, Sii
Simon went on discussing his owr
misfortunes, denouncing the rascaL
ity and rapacity of the modern
tradesman, and bemoaning the good
old times when the world was a fi(
place for a gentleman to live in.
When he had sufficiently relieved
his mind on the subject, and drew
breath, M. de le Bourbonais poured
what oil of comfort he could on his
friend's wounds. He spoke confi-
dently of the ultimate demise of
Lady Rebecca, and expressed equal
trust in the powers of Mr. Simpson
to perfonn once again the meteoro-
logical feat known to Sir Simon as
** raising the wind." Under the in-
fluence of these soothing abstrac-
tions the baronet cheered up, and
before Ic^ng Richard was himself
again « He overhauled Raymond's
latest woik ; rrad aloud some notes
on Mirage Jiu which Franceline had
taken dv'^^n at his dictation the
Are You My Wife?
29
ous evening, and worked him-
nto a frenzy of indignation at
listorian's partiality for that
ering demagogue. Raymond
I warm in defence of his hero ;
lined that at heart Mirabeaii
ished to save the king ; and
I lost his philosophical self-
)l when Sir Simon called him
ister-knave of the Revolution,
or and a bully, and other hard
. to the same effect,
iirash my hands of you, if you
>ing to play panegjrist to that
narked ruffian !" was the ba-
s concluding remark ; and he
out his hands, as if he were
ig the contamination from his
5. Suddenly his eye fell upon
eat blue letter, and, abruptly
sing Mirabeaii, he said : ** By
ay, what a formidable docu-
that is that I brought you
low ! Has it anything to do
he Revolution ?'*
mond shook his head and
icred a rising sigh,
has been as good as a revo-
to me, at any rate."
y dear Bourbonais . what is
S'oihing seriously amiss, I
*" exclaimed Sir Simon, full
rmed interest.
i count took up the letter and
d it to him.
ood heavens ! Bankrupt ! Can
othing ! How much had you
ft
early two hundred — the sav-
o( the last fourteen years,"
d M. de la Bourbonais calmly,
[y dear fellow, I'm heartily
!** exclaimed his friend in an
t of sincere distress; "with
y heart I'm sorry ! And to
of you having read this and
nothing, and I raving away
mv own troubles like a selfish
IS I am ! Why did you not
e at once ?"
** What good would it have done V*
Raymond shrugged his shoulders,
and with another involuntary sigh
threw the letter on the table. " It's
hard, though. I was so little pre-
pared for it ; the house bore such a
good name. . . ."
" I should have said it was the
safest bank in the country. So it
was, very likely ; only one did not
reckon with the dishonesty of this
scheming villain of a partner — if it
be true that he is the cause of it."
"No doubt it is; why should
they tell lies about it ? The whole
affair will be in the papers one of
these days, I suppose."
"And you can stand there and
not curse tKe villain !"
" What good would cursing him
do } It would not bring back my
poor scrapings." Raymond laughed
gently. "I dare say his own con-
science will curse him before long —
the unhappy man ! But who knows
what terrible temptation may have
driven him to the 'deed? Perhaps
he got into some difficulty that no-
thing else could extricate hmi from,
and he may have had a wife and
children pulling at his conscience
by his heart-strings ! Libera nos a
malo, Domine !" And looking up-
wards, Raymond sighed again.
" What a strange being you are,
Raymond !" exclaimed Sir Simon,
eyeing him curiously. " Verily, I
believe your philosophy is worth
sometiiing after all."
M. de la Bourbonais laughed out-
right. "Well, it's worth nearly the
money to have brought you to
that !"
" To see you stand tliere coolly
and philosophize about the motives
that may possibly have led an un-
principled scoundrel to rob you of
every penny you possessed ! Many
a man has got a fit from less."
" Many a fool, perhaps ; but it
Are YouAfy Wifef
would be a poor son of man that
such a blow would send into a fit !"
returned the count with mild con-
tempt. " But I must not be forget-
ful of the difference of conditions,"
he added quickly. " It all depends
on what the money is worth to one,
and what its loss involves. I don't
want it at present. It was a little
hoard for the rainy day ; and — qui
sait ? — the rainy day may never
come ' "
" No ; Francetine may marry a
rich man," suggested the baronet^
not with any intent to wound,
" Just so ! I may never want the'
money, and so never be the poorer
for losing il."
" And supposing there was at
this moment some pressing neces-
sity for it — that your child was in
absolute need of it for some reason
or other — what then?" queried Sir
Simon.
Raymond winced and started
imperceptibly, as if a pain went
through him.
"Thank heaven there is no ne-
cessity to answer that," he said.
" We were taught to pray to be de-
livered from temptation ; let us be
thankful when we are, and not set
imaginary traps for ourselves."
" Some men are, I believe, bom
proof against temptation; I should
say yon are one of them, Bourbon-
ais," said his friend, looking steadily
at him.
" You are mistaken," replied Ray-
mond quietly, " I don't know
whether any human being may be
born with that sort of fire-proof
covering; but I know for certi
that I was not"
" Can you, then, conceive yours*
nnder a pressure of temptation
strong as that your principles, yo
conscience, would give way ,^ C:
you imagine yourself telling a d
liberate lie, for instance, or doing
deliberate wrong to some one,
order to save yourself — or. bette
your child — from sonie grievot
harm ?"
Raymond thought for a momer
as if he were poising a balance :
his mind before he answered ; the
he said, speaking with slow ennph:
sis, as if every word was bein
weighed in the scales : " Yes,
can fancy myself giving way, if, :
such a crisis as you describe, I yvet
left to myself, with only my ow
strength to lean on ; but I hope
should not be left to it. I hope
should ask to be delivered from it.
The humility of the avowal wen
ftirther to deepen Sir Simon's faiil
in his friend's integrity and in ih*
strength of his principles than th<
boldest self-assertion could liavt
done. It informed him, too, of th(
existence of a certain ingredient in
Raymond's philosophy which the
careless and light-hearted man of
the world had not till then sus-
pected.
"One thing I know," he said,
taking up his ha't, and extending a
hand to M. de la Bourbonais : " if
your conscience were ever to play
you false, it would make an end of
my faith in all mankind — and in
something more."
Questiohs concerning the Syllabus.
31
QUESTIONS CONCERNING THE SYLLABUS.
DOCTRINAL AUTHORITY OF THE SYLLABUS,
reOM LIS ETUDES RBLIGIBUSBS, STC.
er on a work whbse prac-
ilness no one, we suspect,
te, since it concerns per-
most memorable act of
>f Pius IX. — the Syllabus.
» been a great deal of dis-
bout the Syllabus — much
written on it in the way*
attack and defence — but
rkable that it has scarcely
lied at all. The remark
by one of the editors of
\r. Father Marquigny, in
ral Congress of 'Catholic
es at Paris ; and, so true
t to be, that it provoked'
ving laughter of the whole -
But to pass by those
' themselves about this
without having read it,
y are tliere, even among
who, after having read it,
the most vague and con-
ons about it — how manv
hey were asked, "What
; Syllabus teach you ;
s it make obligatory on
uld not know what to an-
lus is man constituted. He
lingly over the surface of
jt he has no fancy for stop-
le and digging underneath,
ileased with looking at a
ny things, he does not
roncern himself to gain
e ; because there is no
ice without labor, and la-
Dublesome. Yet nothing
more desirable for him
come by this luminous
from the knowledge to
the possession of truth. Christian
faith, when it is living and active,
necessarily experiences the desire
of it ; for, according to the beautiful
saying of -S. Anselm, it is, by its
very nature, a seeker of science —
of knowing': Firks qucsrens inttl-
ledum.
But, not to delay ourselves by
these considerations, is it possible
to exaggerate the importance of
the study of the Syllabus in the criti-
cal circumstances in which we are
placed.? The uncertainty of the
future; the impossibility of discov-
ering a satisfactory course in the
midst of the shadows which sur-
round us; the need of knowing
what to seize a firm hold of in
the formidable problems whose ob-
scurity agitates, in these days, the
strongest minds ; above all, the fu-
rious assaults of the enemies of the
church, and the authority belong-
ing to a solemn admonition coming
to us from the chair of truth — all
these things teach us plainly enough
how culpable it must be for us to
remain indifferent and to neglect
the illumination offered to us. Tlie
teachings of the Vicar of Jesus
Christ deserve to be meditated on
at leisure. It is this which inspires
us with a hope that our work
will be favorably received. Truth,
moreover, claims the services of all,
even of the feeblest, and we must
not desert her cause for fear our
ability may not suffice for her de-
fence.
Certainly, no one will expect us.
QjtestioHs coMcerning tlu Syllabus.
> give an annlytical exposi-
the eighty propositions con-
\ byPivisIX. Several num-
tlie Eludes would scarcely
for that. General questions
tte all others; it is to the
solution of these that wc
evole ourselves. They have
appeared to us to need clear
-cisive explanation. Often
e incorrectly proposed, oft en-
thcy arc ill-defined. The
of our efforts will be to
Jilt with precision the lim-
,jn which they must be re-
J, the sense in which they
,c accepted, and their neces-
iport ; then, to give them, as
as we are able, a solu-
te most sure and the most
i,]^ble to first principles. If
jld be objected that in this
g entering on a. wide theo-
ficld, we shall not deny it.
lion, who desired anarchy in
in principles — everywhere,
except in reasoning — averred
i^orouB syllogism lands us in-
ly at theology. How, then,
it be possible not to find it
g [jyllabus? They, on the
liand, wiio are unceasing in
violent attacks on this pontifi-
,t ore they not the first to
,\ie theological discussions?
arc compelled to take their
111. A» MgT, Dupanloup ju-
iibIv observed, in his pamphlet
,i,r Kiwyli'^al of the 8th De-
,P, ; " It i* needful to recur to
|,iiii< ipk» in a lime when thou-
, i,{ men, and of women even,
f,ir>' I! lallt ihcoloKy '""om morn-
„ i.rtrlii without knowing much
l,ii rifni aii'l fundamental ques-
(„ lie (Icictrriincd is: What
,,: ,,„^' .« i*cii(>i to be ascribed
,,. ^./lUi.iis.nr, father, what is its
t„ti'\ ituil,i(rity i On the aask'
ner in which we reply to tliis '
pends the solution of nunier*
practical difficulties wJiich inter
consciences, and which have ni<
than once been the subject of 1
polemic of the journals thems^Iv
For example, are the decisions
the Syllabus unchangeable ; is
not possible that they should
modified some day; is it cert£
they will never be witlidrawn ; a
Catholics obliged to accept them
an absolute rule of their belieTs,
may they content themselves wi
doing nothing exteriorly in oppos
tion to them ? It is understoo<J,
fact, that if we are in presence «
an act wherein the successor of
Peter exercises his sovereign ar
infallible authority, the doctrine
irrevocably, eternally, fixed witlioi
possible recall; and, by an inevitj
ble corollary, the most complcl
submission, not of the heart on I]
but also of the intelligence, b<
comes an obligation binding on th
conscience of the Catholic whic
admits of no reserve or subterfuge
If, on the contrary, the step takei
by the Pope is merely an act oj
good administration or discipline
the door remains open for hope:
of future changes, the constiain
imposed on the minds of men ir
the interior forum is much less rig-
orous; a caviller would remain in
Catholic unity provided that, with
the respectful silence so dear lo
the Jansenists, he should also prac-
tise proper obedience. Now, the
question, in the terms in which we
have stated it, although treated of
at various times by writers of merit,
has not always been handled in a
complete manner. Writers have
been too often contented with gen-
eralities, with approaching only the
question, and nothing has been pre-
cisely determined-
Some have asserted, with nuch
Questions concerning the Syllabus.
33
the necessity of this sub-
but they have not suf-
defined its extent and na-
)thers have dwelt upon the
:e and profound respect with
xry word of the Holy Father
)e received, but, not having
ly further explanation, they
t us without the necessary
or ascertaining what pre-
ey intended. Others have
i to insinuate that the Syl-
as perhaps merely an ad-
1, a paternal advice benevo-
ven to some rash children,
such as are docile are happy
)nn, without feeling them-
ider the absolute necessity
ting it. Others, more ad-
js still, have been unwilling
ore in it than a mere piece
lation, an indication. Ac-
to these, Pius IX., wishing
' to all the bishops of Christ-
his principal authoritative
e the commencement of his
ite, had caused a list of
be drawn out, and to be
;d to them. The Syllabus
i illustrious catalogue, nei-
re nor less.
re any excuse to be found
indecision on one hand,
)tion on the other.' We do
k so ; but they do, we must
admit of a plausible ex-
n. And here, let it be ob-
we come to the very marrow
ifficulty. The Syllabus was
>ut in an unusual form. It
es no pontifical documents
published. When, in other
le sovereign pontiffs wished
natize erroneous proposi-
hey did not content them-
vith reproducing the terms
, in order to mark them out
reprobation of the people.
rere always careful to ex-
le motives of the iudgment
VOL. XXII.— 3
they delivered, and above all to
formulate with clearness and pre-
cision the judgment itself. Invari-
ably, the texts they singled out for
condemnation were preceded by
grave and weighty words, wherein
were explained the reasons for and
the nature of the condemnation. In
the Syllabus, there is nothing of the
kind. The propositions, stated
without commentary, are classified
and distributed under general titles ;
at the end of each of them we read
the indication of the Encyclical
Letter, or pontifical Allocution, in
which it had been previously re-
buked. For the rest, there is no
preamble, no conclusion, no dis-
course revealing the mind or inten-
tion of the pontiff, unless it be the
following words, inscribed at the
head of the document, and which
we here give both in the Latin and
in English: Syllabus complectens
prcecipuos nostra cetatis errores^ qui
notantur * « Allocuiionibus consisto-
rialibuSy in Encyclicis^ aliisque Apos-
iolicis Litteris sanctissimi Domini
PapcB Pii IX, — Table, or synopsis,,
containing the principal errors of
our epoch, noted in the consistoiial
Allocutions, the Encyclicals, and
other Apostolic Letters of our most
Holy Father, Pope Pius IX.
We may add, that nowhere does
the Pope formally express an inten-
tion of connecting the Syllabus with
the bull Quanta cura^ although he
issued them both on the salne day,
at the same hour, under the same
circumstances, and upon the same
subjects. He left it to the public
common sense and to the faith of
Christians to decide whether these
two acts are to be taken together,
or whether they are to be consid-
ered as isolated acts having no
common tie between them.
Such are the facts. Minds, either
troubled or prejudiced, or, may be^
34
Questions concerning the Syllabus.
too astute, have drawn from them
consequences which, if we lay aside
accessory details of not much im-
portance here, we may reduce to
two principal ones.
It has been stated — and tjiey
who hold this language form, as it
were, the extreme group of oppos-
ers — that the Apostolic Letters
mentioned in the Syllabus are the
only documents which have au-
thoritative force ; that the latter, on
the contrary, has no proper weight
of its own — absolutely none, wheth-
er as a dogmatic definition, or as a
disciplinary measure, or even as a
moral and intellectual direction.
To these assertions, not a little
hazardous, have been added others
whose rashness would fain be hid-
den under the veil of rhetorical
artifices. We will lift the veil, and
expose the naked assertions. The
meaning of the Syllabus, it is stated,
must not be looked for in the Sylla-
bus, but in the pontifical letters
whence it is drawn. The study of
the letters may be useful ; not only
is that of the Syllabus not ,so, but it
is dangerous, because it often leads
to lamentable exaggerations. To
know the true doctrines of Rome,
we must search the letters for them,
not the Syllabus. In fact, to sum
up all in a few words, as a condem-
nation of error and a manifestation
of truth, the letters are all, the Syl-
labus nothing.
The other group, which we may
describe as the moderates, knows
how to guard itself against excess.
It does not diminish the authority
of the Syllabus to the extent of an-
nihilation. Very far from it — it
recognizes it and proclaims it aloud ;
but, struck with the peculiar form
given to the act, it asserts that it is
impossible to discover in it the
marks of a dogmatic definition, and,
to borrow a stock expression, of a
definition ex catltedra, Tlie S%'
bus, it is said, is undoubtedly so
thing by itself — to deny it >vc
be ridiculous and absurd. It h.
weight of its own ; who would v
ture to dispute it "> It may
termed, if you please, an univei
law of the church, so only that
pretensions be not carried furtl
and that it does not claim to
considered an infallible decision
the Vicar of Jesus Christ.
What, then, have we to do but
demonstrate that the Syllabus is
itself, and independently of the p<
tifical acts which supply the mat
of it, a veritable teaching ; that t
teaching obliges consciences I
cause it issues from the infallil
authority of the head of the chu re
We shall not have omitted, it seei
to us, any of the considerations c.
culated to throw light on this \\
portant subject if, after having th
followed it through all its windin
and discussed all its difficulties, i
succeed in illustrating the trip
character of the pontifical act — i
doctrinal character, its oblig^toi
character, and its character of ii
fallibility.
To assert that Pius IX., when I
denounced with so much firmnei
to the Christian world the errors o
our time, did not propose to teac
us anything, that he had no inten
tion of instructing us, was, even s
the time of the appearance of th
Syllabus, to advance a sufficient!
hardy paradox ; but to state it, t
maintain it, at this time of* day
when we are the fortunate witnesse
of the effects produced by that iai
mortal act, is to speak against evi
dence. Undoubtedly — ^we stated i
at the commencement — the Syllabu!
is not sufficiently known nor suffi-
ciently studied. Little known as ii
may be, however, it cannot be de
nied that it has already set right
Questions concerning the Syllabus.
35
ieas, and corrected and en-
::d many minds. Thanks to
learned men only and those
t close observers of events,
tholics generally, perceive
2arly the dangers with which
doctrines threaten their
They have been warned,
sp themselves on their guard,
: more distinctly the course
ust follow and the shoals
ust avoid. Pius IX. has
a torch and placed it in their
being the case, what is the
►laying with words, as if vain
es could destroy the striking
e of this fact } Let them
aften as they please, " The
s is only a list, a catalogue,
of contents, a memorial of
sly condemned proposi-
-what good will they have
What matter these denom-
;, more or less disrespectful,
otherwise demonstrated that
, catalogue, or table of con-
tplains to us exactly what
it believe or reject, and is
i upon us as a rule to which
* subjection. The impru-
rsons who speak thus would
ever to have studied the
ents of our beliefs. Had
jnsidered their nature more
ely, would they have allow-
iselves to indulge in such in-
mce of language? If they
nore closely examine them,
usions would soon be dissi-
Are not all the series of
tions condemned by the
veritable lists ? Did not Mar-
nd the Council of Constance,
and S. Pius V., when they
with their anathemas the
of Wycliffe, John Huss,
, Baius, draw out catalogues ?
t the canons of our councils
in which are inscribed an
abridgment, summary, or epitome
of the impious doctrines of heretics ^
Is not every solemn definition,
every symbol of the faith, a memo-
rial designed to remind the Chris-
tian what he is obliged to believe }
It is, then, useless to shelter one's
self behind words of doubtful mean-
ing, arid which can only perplex the
mind without enlightening it. It is
to assume gratuitously the air of
men who wish to deceive others and
to deceive themselves. What is the
use of it }
They are much mistaken who im-
agine themselves to be proposing a
serious difficulty when they demand
how the Syllabus, which, before its
publication, existed already in the
letters of the Holy Father, can pos-
sibly teach us anything new.^ Let
us, for the sake of argument, since
they ask it, reduce it to the humble
rSie of echo or reverberator, if we
may be pardoned such expressions.
Let us suppose that its whole action
consists in repeating what has been
already said. We ask if an echo
does not often convey to the ear
a sound which, without it, would
not have been heard — if it does not
sometimes send back the sound
stronger, more resounding, and
even more distinct than the original
voice } It is not a new voice it
brings to us. Be it so. But it does
bring it to us in fact, and is able to
give it to us again fuller and more
sonorous.
Comparison, it is true, is not rea-
son. We will therefore abandon
the redundancy of figurative lan-
guage, and reply directly to the
question put to us. What is want-
ed is to know what the Syllabus is
in itself, independently of the pon-
tifical letters which are its original
sources. It is as follows :
It is, at least, a new promulgation,
more universal, more authentic, and
36
Questions concerning' t/u Syllabus,
tlierefore more efficacious, of pre-
vious condemnations. Now, it is
well known, it is a maxim of law,
that a second promulgation power-
fully confirms and, in case of need,
supersedes the first. The history
of human legislation is full of in-
stances of this. When, by reason
of the negligence of men, of the dif-
ficulty of the times, of the incon-
stancy or waywardness of peoples, a
law has fallen into partial neglect
and oblivion, they in whom the sov-
ereign power resides re-establish its
failing authority by promulgating
it anew. It revives thus, and if it
has been defunct it receives a se-
cond life. What can the greater
number of Christians know of so
many scattered condemnations,
buried, one may say, in the volu-
minous collection of pontifical en-
cyclicals, if the Syllabus had not
revealed them } How could they
respect them, how obey them ?
It was necessary that they should
hear them resound, in a manner, a
second time, in the utterance of the
great Pontiff, in* order to be able
to submit anew to their authority,
and to resume a yoke of which many
of them did not know the very
existence. The salvation of the
church required this.
The Syllabus is, however, not
only a new promulgation, it is often
a luminous interpretation of the
original documents to which it re-
lates ; an interpretation at times so
necessary that, should it disappear,
from that moment the meaning of
those documents would become, on
many points, obscure or at least
doubtful. It is worthy of remark
that in order to deny the doctrinal
value of the Syllabus the following
fact is relied on — that it is unac-
companied with any explanation,
with any reflections. " It is a dry
nomenclature/' it has been said,
•*of which we cannot determir
either the character or the end
Now, it happens to be exactly hei
that brevity has brought forth ligh
The eighty-four propositions, i
fact, isolated from their contex
appear to us more exact, in stroi
ger relief, more decidedly drawi
One may perceive that in the l>ul
their forms were, as ycrt, slightly ii
distinct ; here they detach then
selves vividly, and with remarkab
vigor. And we wish that all oi
readers were able to judge of th
for themselves. They would betti
understand, possibly, wherefoi
certain men insist with so muc
energy on our abandoning th
Syllabus and applying ourselv<
exclusively to the sources — an e:
cellent mode of preventing certai
questions from becoming too cleai
We will cite a few examples in i
lustration of our argument.
The second paragraph of tfa
Syllabus has for its object the con
demnation of moderate rationalisu^
Some of the seven proposition
contained in it reproduce the doc
trine of a man little known ii
France, but much thought of ii
Germany — a kind of independen
Catholic, who, before he opposes
himself to the church, from whicl
he is now, we believe, quite separat
ed, having transferred his allegi
ance to the pastoral staff of th<
aged Reinkens, wrote some work
destined to sow among the studeat!
of the university of Munich th<
damaged grain of infidel science
We allude to M. Froschammer, i
canon who has lost his hood, pro
fessor of misty philosophy, as befitj
a doctor on the other side of th<
Rhine. Pius IX. rebuked his er-
rors in a letter addressed to the
Archbishop of Munich the lath
December, 1862. We will lay aside
the Syllabus, and take merely Xht
Questions concerning tlie Syllabus.
37
letter. We shall find in it onlv th^
condemnation of M. Froschammer
and his works ; nothing whatever
else. But who, in this our country,
France, lias ever opened the works
of M. Froschammer ? The Catho-
lic Frenchman who might read the
letter of Pius IX. knowing nothing
of the condemned works, would say
to himself: "This Munich profes-
sor has doubtless written according
to his own fancy; he must have
been rash, as every good German is
bound to be who loses himself in
the shadowy mazes of metaphysics.
After all, there is nothing to show
that he has written exactly my
opinions. Why should I trouble
rorscif about the letter of Pius
IX. } It does not concern me."
Another example. In Paragraph
X. we find the same principle of
modem liberalism enunciated in
the following manner : " In this our
age, it is no longer expedient that
the Catholic religion should be
considered as the only religion of
the state, to the exclusion of
all others." " >Etate hac nostra,
non amplius exptdit religionem
Cathoiicam haberi, tanquam uni-
cam status religionem, ceteris qui-
huscunique cultibus exclusis." The
document to which we refer is a
consistorial Allocution pronounced
the 26lh July, 1855, and it com-
mences with these words, Nemo
ttstrum. What is this Allocution }
A solemn protest against the crimi-
nality of the Spanish government,
•hich, in contempt of its word and
oath, of the rights of the church
2nd the eternal laws of justice, had
dared to perjure itself by abrogat-
ing, of its own single authority,
the first and second articles of the
concordat. Pius IX., full of grief,
speaks in these terms : "You know,
venerable brethren, how, in this
convention, amongst all the deci-
sions relative to the interests of the
Catholic religion, we have, above
all, established that this holy reli- .
gion should continue to be the only
religion of \he Spanish nation, to
the exclusion of every other wor-
ship." The proposition of the Syl-
labus is not expressed in any other
way in the Allocution. A man of
great ability, or a scfentific man,
taking into account the facts, and
weighing carefully the expressions
of the Pontiff, might perhaps detect
it therein. But how many others
would it wholly escape ! How many
would not perceive it, or, if they
should chance to catch sight of it,
would remain in susp'ense, uncer-
tain which was rebuked, the appli-
cation of the doctrine or the doc-
trine itself! How many, in short,
would be unwilling to recognize, in
these words, aught but the sor-
rowful complaint of the Vicar of
Jesus Christ outraged in his dearest
riglits! Return, however, to tiie
Syllabus, and that which was ob-
scure comes to light and manifests
itself clearly. The two proposi-
tions we have cited do not appear,
in it, confused or uncertain. De-
tached, on the contrary, from the
particular circumstances which were
calculated to weaken their mean-
ing, and clad in a form more lofty,
more universal, more abstract, they
receive an unspeakable signitica-
tion. No hesitation is possible.
It is no longer the doctrine of M.
Froschammer, nor the sacrilegious
usurpations of the Spanish govern-
ment, which are rebuked ; it is but
the doctrine considered in itself
and in its substance. And since
the Roman Pontiff, after having iso-
lated it, fixes on it a mark of rep-
robation by declaring it erroneous,
he denounces it to all ages and all
people as deserving the everlasting
censure of the church.
3S
Questions concerning the Syllabus.
1
It is for this reason, as far as our-
selves, at least, are concerned, we
shall never accept without restric-
tion a phrase which we find, under
one form or other, in all directions,
even from the pen of writers for
whom we entertain, in other re-
spects, the highest esteem: **The
Syllabus has only a relative value, a
value subordinate to that of the
pontifical documents of which it is
the epitome." No ! We are un-
able to admit an appreciation of
it, in our opinion, so full of dan-
ger. We must not allow ourselves
to weaken truth if we would main-
lain its salutary dominion over
souls. They talk of the value of
the Syllabus. What is meant by
this ? Its authority } It derives
that most undoubtedly from itself,
and from the sovereign power of
him who published it. It is as
much an act of that supreme au
tliority as the letters or encycli-
cals to which it alludes. The mean-
ing of the propositions it contains }
Doubtless many of these, if we
thus refer to their origin, will re-
ceive from it a certain illustration.
Others, and they are not the fewest,
will either lose there their precision,
or will rather shed more light up-
on it than they receive from it.
Between the two assertions — The
pontifical letters explain the Sylla-
bus, and, The Syllabus explains the
pontifical letters — the second is, with
a few exceptions, the most rigorous-
ly true. A very simple argument
demonstrates it. Suppose that, by
accident or an unforeseen catastro-
phe, one or other of these docu-
ments were to perish and not leave
Jiny trace of its existence, which
is the one whose preservation we
should most have desired, in order
that the mind of Pius IX. and the
judgment of the church concern-
ing the errors of our age might be
transmitted more surely to futa
generations }
Most fertile in subtleties is tl
mind of man when he wishes to c
cape from a duty that molests hit
We must not, consequently, be a
ton i shed if many opponents of tl
Syllabus have lighted on ingenioi
distinctions which allow of their a
most admitting, in theory, the do<
trines we have just explained, •whil
contriving to elude their practic
consequences. For that, what hai
they done ? They have acknow
edged the real authority of th
grand act in so far as it is a do
trinal declaration, or, if it is pr<
ferred, a manifestation of doctrin<
adding, nevertheless, that the Pop
has not imposed it on us in the wa
of obligation, but only in the w;i
of guidance. 'J'he expression, on.
i'u the way of guidance^ would ha\i
been a happy enough inventioi
had it been possible, in matter s
important, and in an act so solemi
to imagine a guidance truly effic;
cious — such, for instance, as th
Pope could not but wish it to be-
which would not be an obligatior
But we ourselves must avoid re:
soning with too much subtlety, an(
content ourselves with opposing
difficulty more specious than soli<
with a few positive proofs.
We interpose, in the first place
the very title of the Syllabus
" Table, or abridgment, of the i)rin
cipal errors of our time, pointed
out in consistorial Allocutions,'
etc. To which we add the title;
of various paragraphs : " Errors ir
relation to the church "; '* Erron
in relation to civil society "; '* Er
rors concerning natural and Chris-
tian morals," etc. For the Pope,
the guardian and protector of truth
obliged by the duty of his office tc
hinder the church from suflCeritvs
any decline or any alteration, tc
Questions concerning the Syllabus.
39
denounce to the Christian world a
doctrine by inflicting on it the
brand of error, is evidently to for-
bid the employment of it, and to
command all the faithful to eschew
it. What communion is there be-
tween light and darkness, between
life and death ? There can be no
question about guidance or counsel
when the supreme interest is at
stake. The duty speaks for itself.
It is imposed by the nature of
things. When Pius IX. placed at
the hend of his Syllabus the word
"error," and intensified it by add-
ing words even more significant,
when he expressed himself thus,
" Principal errors of this our age,"
he as good as said, '* Here is death !
Avoid it.*' And if, in order still to
escape from the consequences, a
distinction is attempted to be drawn
between an obligation created by
the force of circumstances and an
obligation imposed by the legislator,
wc would wish it to be remembered
that the same Pius IX. uttered, in
reference to the Syllabus, the fol-
lowing memorable sentence : " When
the Pope speaks in a solemn act, it
is to be taken literally ; what he
has said, he intended to say." For
our part, we would say, ** What the
Pope has done, he intended to do."
But what need is there of so
much discussion ? The proof of
what we have urged is written in
express terms in the letter accom-
panying the Syllabus — a letter signed
by his eminence Cardinal Anto-
nelli, secretary of state, and in-
tended to make known to the bi-
shops the will of His Holiness. It
is sufficient to quote this decisive
document, which we do in full, on
account of its importance :
' Most Reverend Excellency :
•* Our Holy Father, Pope Pius IX., pro-
fouodly solicitous for the safety of souls
and of holy doctrine, has never ceased,
since the commencement of his poDtifi«>
cate, to proscribe and to condemn by his
encyclicals, his consistori.il Allocutions,
and other apostolic letters already pub-
lished, the most important errors and
false doctrines, above all, those of our un-
happy times. But since it may come to
pass that all the political acts reach not
every one of the ordinaries, it has seemea
good to the same sovereign Pontiff that a
Syllabus should be drawn out of these same
errors, to be sent to all the bishops of
the Catholic world, in ortier that these
same bishops may have before their eyes all
the errors and pernicious doctfines which
hiWe been reproved and condemned by him.
He has therefore commanded me to see
that this printed Syllabus be sent to your
most reverend excellency, on this occa-
sion, and at this time. When the same
sovereign Pontiff, in co/isequence of his
great solicitude for the safety and well-
being of the Catholic Church, and of the
whole flock which has been divinely com-
mitted to him by the Lord, has thought
it expedient to write another cncyclicil
letter to all the Catholic bishops, thus
executing, as is my duty, with all befitting
teal and respect, the orders of the same
Pontiff, I hasten to send to your excel*
lency this Syllabus with this letter."
This Syllabus, placed by the order
of the Holy Father " before the eyes
of all the bishops," what else is it,
we ask, than the text of the law
brought under the observation of
the judges charged with the duty
of causing it to be executed ? What
is it except a rule to which they owe
allegiance, and from which they
must not swerve ? They must not
lose sight of it. Wherefore ? Be-
cause it is their duty to be careful
to promulgate its doctrine in their
own teaching, because it is their
duty to repress every rash opinion
which should dare .to raise itself
against and contradict it. It is
thus that all have understood the
commandment given lo them. The
fidelity and unconquerable courage
of their obedience prove it. What
has taken place in France ? In
AP
Questions concerning the Syllabus.
the midst of the universal emotion
produced by the appearance of the
Syllabus, the government, abusing
its power, had the sad audacity to
constitute itself judge of it. Through
the instrumentality of the keeper of
the seals, minister of justice and of
public worship, it forbade the publi-
cation of the pontifical document
in any pastoral instruction, alleg-
ing that ** it contained propositions
contrary to the principles on which
the constitution of the empire rests."
What was the unanimous voice of
the episcopate 1 Eighty-four letters
of bishops are in existence to bear
witness to it. All, united in the
same mind, opposed to the ministe-
rial letter the' invincible word of
the apostles, Nonpossumus, All de-
clared that they must obey God
rather then man ; and two amongst
them, ascending courageously their
cathedral thrones, braved the men-
aces of a susceptible government
by reading before the assembled
people that which they had been
forbidden to print. Could they
have acted all alike with this
power truly episcopal, if they had
not been inspired by the conviction
that they were fulfilling a duty, and
putting into practice the adage of
the Christian knights, " I do my
duty, happen what may " ?
We will insist no further on this
point. We approach, lastly, the
question which might well super-
sede all the others. Let us enquire
whether the Syllabus is an infalli-
ble decision of the Vicar of Jesus
Christ.
It appears to us that, in reality,
we have already settled this ques-
tion. Can a definition ex cathedra
be anything else than an instruction
concerning faith and morals ad-
dressed to, and imposed on, the
whole church by her visible head
upon earth? How can we recog-
nize it except by this mark,
not that the idea given to ui
by the Council of the Vati<
Read over the words, so weigh
and selected with so much care \
the fathers of that august asseml>l
and you will find that nothin
could express more accurately X\i
exact and precise notion of i
After that, all doubts ought to dis
appear. The Syllabus emanate
from him who is the master and sov
ereign doctor of Catholic truth. I
belongs exclusively to faith an<
morals by the nature of the subject)
of which it treats. It has received
from the circumstances which hav<
accompanied its publication tXit
manifest character of an universal
law of the cliurch. What is want-
ing to it to be an irreformable de-
cision, an act without appeal, of the
infallible authority of Peter ?
We know the objection with
which we shall be met. Peter may
speak, it will be urged, and not
wish to exert the plenitude of his
doctrinal power. Yes; but when
he restrains thus within voluntary
limits the exercise of his authority,
he gives us to understand it clear-
ly. He is careful, in order not to
overtax our weakness, to apprise
us that, notwithstanding the obli-
gation with which he binds con-
sciences, it is not in his mind, as
yet, to deliver a definitive sentence
upon the doctrine. Frankly, does
the Syllabus ofifer to us an indica-
tion, however faint, of any such re-
serve ? What more definitive than
a judgment formulated in these
terms : " This is error, that is truth '?
Is any revision possible of such a
judgment } Is it possible to be re-
voked or abrogated } Does it not
settle us necessarily in an absolute
conclusion which excludes all pos-
sibility of diminution or of change?
In a word, can the assertion be
Questions concerning t/ie Syllabus.
41
ever permissible — " Error in these
days, truth in others "? It may*be
added that, by the admission of all,
friends and enemies — an admission
confirmed by the declaration of the
cardinal secretary of state, the Syl-
labus is an appendix to, and as it
were a continuation of, the bull
Quanta cura^ to which no one can
reasonably refuse the character of a
definitive and irreformable decree;
and it will be understood how un-
reasonable it would be to despise
the evidence of facts, in order to
cling to an objection without con-
sistency, and which falls of itself for
want of a solid foundation.
For the rest, the mind of the
Holy Father is not concealed, as
has been at times suggested, under
impenetrable veils. It appears the
moment we look for it ; and we
find it, for example, in the prepara-
tion of the Syllabus: It should be
known that the Syllabus was not
the work of a day. Pius IX. has
often asserted this. He had early
resolved to strike a signal blow, and
to destroy from top to bottom the
monstrous edifice of revolutionary
doctrines. To this end, imme-
diately after the proclamation of the
dogma of the Immaculate Concep-
tion, he transformed the congrega-
tion of cardinals and theologians
who had aided him in the accom-
plishment of that work into a con-
gregation charged with the duty of
singling out for the Apostolic See
the new errors which, for a century,
had been ravaging the church of
God. Ten years passed away ;
encyclicals were published, allo-
cutions pronounced ; the theolo-
gians multiplied their labors. At
length, on the 8th of December, 1864,
the moment of action appearing to
have arrived, Pius IX. addressed
to the world that utterance whose
prolonged echoes wc all have heard.
The bull Quanta cura and the Sylla-
bus were promulgated. It is obvi-
ous that an act so long prepared,
and with so much anxiety, cannot
be likened to an ordinary act. The
object of the Pontiff was not simply
to check the evil — it was to uproot
it. The object of such efforts
could not have been to determine
nothing. Who is there, then, who
will venture to assert that the whole
thought of an entire reign, and of
such a reign as* that of Pius IX.,
should miserably collapse in a
measure without authority and
without effectiveness } To believe
it would be an outrage ; to affirm
it would be an insult to the wisdom
and prudence of the most glorious
of pontiffs.
But what need is there for search-
ing for proofs ? A single reflection
banishes every difficulty. We have
in the church two means for ascer-
taining whether a pontifical act is,
or is not, a sovereign definition, an
infallible decision. We have to
enquire of the poritiff who is the
author of it, or the people who sub-
ordinate themselves to his teaching.
Neither one nor the other can de-
ceive us in the answer they give.
The divine promise continues equal-
ly assured in both ; in the former,
when he teaches ; in the latter, when
they listen and obey. It is what
the theologians call active and pas-
sive infallibility. Admit that Pius
IX. had left us in ignorance ; that
he published the Syllabus, but did
not tell us what amount of assent
he required of us. Well, none of
us are in any doubt as to that.
How many times has not this peo-
ple said, how many times has it not
repeated with an enthusiasm in-
spired by love, that this Syllabus,
despised, insulted by the enemies
of the church, they accept as the
rule of their beliefs, as the very word
Qxesti 'tis concerning the Syllabus.
of Peter, as tlia word of life come
down from lieaven to save us. Is
it not thus that hnve spoken, one
after the other, bishops, theologians,
the learned and the ignorant, the
mighty and the humble? Who
amongst us has not heard this lan-
guage ? A celebrated doctor. Tan-
ner, has said that in order to dis-
tinguish amongst the teachings of
the church those which belong to
its infallible atuhority, we must
listen to the judgiflent of wise men,
and above all consult the universal
sentiment of Cliristians. If we ad-
here to this decision, it reveals to
us our duties in regard to tlie
sovereign act by which Pius IX.
has witlidrawn the world from the
shadow in which it was losing its
way, and has prepared for it a fu-
ture of belter destinies.
We have the more reason for
acting thus as hell, by its furious
hatred, gives us, for its part, a simi-
lar warning, and proclaims, after its
fashion, the imperishable grandeur
of the Syllabus. Neither has it,
nor have those who serve it, ever
been under any illusion in this re-
spect. They have often revealed
their mind both by act and word.
What implacable indignation! what
torrents of insults! what clamor
without truce or mercy ! And
when importunate conciliators in-
terfered to tell them they were mis-
taken, that the Syllabus was nothing
or next to nothing, and need not
provoke so much anger, bow well
they knew how to rei>ly to them
and to bury Iheni under the weight
of their contempt ! At the end of
1864. at the moment when the
struggle occasioned by the promul-
gation of the Encyclical and Sylla-
bus was the most furious, an agency
of Parisian publicity, the agency
Bullier, could insert the following
notice: "The Encyclical is not ;
dogmatic bull, but only a doctrina
letter. It is observable that thi
Syllabus does not bear the signa
ture of the Pope. This Syllabu
has besides been published in ;
manner to allow us to believe tha
the Holy Father did not intend U
assign to it a great importance
One may conclude, therefore, tha
the propositions which do not at
tack either the dogma or morals ol
Catholics, and do not at all im
peach faith, are not condemned
but merely bjamed." To thesi
words, poor in sense, but craft]
and treacherous in expression, tht
journal Le Steele replied as follows
"There are now peo|)le who teJ
tis that the Encyclical is not a dog
matic bull, but a doctrinal letter
that the eighty propositions are noi
condemned, because tiiey do noi
ligure in the Encyclical, but onl)
in the Syllabus; that this Syllabu:
does not bear the signature of the
Pope; that it has been composed
only by a commission of theolo-
gians, etc. These people would do
better to be silent. Encyclical 01
Syllabus, the fact is that the theo-
cracy has just hurled as haughty a
defiance against modern ideas as it
was possible for it to do. We shall
soon see what will be the result."
We will leave them to settle iheir
quarrels between themselves. For
ourselves, listening to these voices
of heaven and of hell, of the church
and of the world, which coincide
in exalting the work eternally bless-
ed by Pius IX., we repeat with pro-
founder conviction than ever: "Yes,
the Syllabus is the infallible word
of Peter; and if our modern society
is within the reach of cure, it is by
the Syllabus that it is to be saved!"
•Sir Thomas More.
43
SIR THOMAS MORE.
A HISTORICAL ROMANCE,
ntOM TBB FKSNCR OF THE PSINCBSSB DB CSAON.
S
In a sumptuous apartment,
whose magnificent furniture and
costly adornings announced it as
the abode of kings, in a large
Gothic arm-chair — whose massive
sides were decorated with carvings
in ebony and ivory of exquisite
delicacy, and which was in itself,
altogether, a model of the most
skilful workmanship — there reclin-
ed the form of a stately and ele-
gant woman.
Her small feet, but half-conceal-
ed beneath the heavy folds of a
rich blue velvet robe, rested on a
footstool covered with crimson
brocade, embroidered with golden
stars. Bands of pearls adorned her
beautiful neck, contrasted with its
dazzling whiteness, and were pro-
fusely twined amid the raven
tresses of her luxuriant hair. An
expression of profound melancholy
was imprinted upon her noble fea-
tures ; her eyes were cast down,
and the long, drooping lashes
were heavy with tears which she
seemed vainly endeavoring to re-
press, as she sat absorbed in
thought, and nervously entwining
her snowy fingers with the silk and
jewelled cord which, according to
the fashion of that day, she wore
fastened at her girdle and hanging
to her feet. This royal personage
was Catherine of Aragon, daughter
of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain,
wife of Henry VIII., and queen of
England.
I.
The king himself was hurriedly
pacing to and fro in the apart-
ment, with contracted brow, a
deeply troubled expression gleam-
ing from his dark eyes and obscur-
ing, with a shade of gloomy fierce-
ness, the naturally fine features of
his face. The ordinary grace of
his carriage had disappeared ; his
step was hurried and irregular; and
every movement denoted a man
laboring under some violent excite-
ment. From time to time he ap-
proached the window, and gazed
abstractedly into the distance;
then, returning to Catherine, he
would address her abruptly, with a
sharp expression or hurried inter-
rogation,- neitlier waiting for nor
seeming to- desire a reply.
While this strange scene was be-
ing enacted within the palace at
Greenwich, one of an entirely dif-
ferent nature was occurring in the
courtyard. From the road leading
from Greenwich a cavalcade ap-
proached, headed by a personage
invested with the Roman purple,
and apparently entitled to and sur-
rounded by all the ** pomp and
circumstance " of royalty. He
was mounted on a richly capari-
soned mule with silver-plated har-
ness, adorned with silver bells
and tufted with knots of crimson
silk. This distinguished personage
was no other than the Archbishop
of York, the potent minister, who
united in his person all the digni-
44
Sir Thomas Mare,
tics both of church and state — the
Cardinal Legate, the king*s ac-
knowledged favorite, Wolsey. To
increase his already princely pos-
sessions, to extend his influence
and authority, had been this iTian*s
constant endeavor, and the sole
aim of his life. And so complete
had been his success that he was
now regarded by all as an object
of admiration and envy. But how
greatly mistaken was the world in
its opinion !
In his heart, Wolsey suffered the
constant agony of a profound
humiliation. Compelled to yield
in all things, and bow with servile
submission to the haughty will of his
exacting and imperious master —
who by a word, and in a moment,
could deprive him of his dignities
and temporalities — he lived in a
state of constant dread, fearing to
lose the patronage and favor to se-
cure which he had sacrificed both
his honor and his conscience.
He was accompanied on this
journey by a numerous retinue,
composed of gentlemen attached to
his household and young pages
carrying his standard, all of
whom were eagerly pressing upon
him the most obsequious attentions.
They assisted him to dismount, and
as he approached the palace the
guards saluted and received hira
with the utmost military deference
and respect; and with an air of
grave dignity Wolsey passed on, and
disappeared beneath the arch of the
grand stair-way.
Let us again return to the royal
apartments. The king, seeing
Wolsey arrive, immediately turned
from the window and, confronting
Catherine, abruptly exclaimed :
" Come, madam, I wish you to
retire; the affairs of my kingdom
demand instantly all my time and
attention." And hastily turning to
the window, he looked eagerly into
the courtyard.
Catherine arose without ultering
a word, and approaching the centre
of the apartment she took from the
table a small silver bell, and rang^
it twice.
On this table was a magnificent
cloth cover that she had embroi-
dered with her own hands. The
design represented a tournament,
in which Henry, who was devoted
to chivalrous amusements, had borne
off the prize over all his competi-
tors. Li those days her husband
received such presents with grate-
ful affection and sincere apprecia-
tion, and, as the souvenir recalled
to her mind the joy and happiness
of the past, tears of bitterness flowed
afresh from the eyes of the unhappy
princess.
In answer to her signal, the door
soon opened, the queen's ladies in
waiting appeared, and, arranging
themselves on either side, stood in
readiness to follow their royal mis-
tress. She passed out, and was
slowly walking in silence through
the vast gallery leading to the king's
apartments, when Wolsey appear-
ed, advancing from the opposite
end of the gallery, followed by his
brilliant retinue.
Catherine, then, instantly under-
stood why the king had so abruptly
commanded her to retire. Sud-
denly pausing, she stood transfixed
and immovable, her soul over-
whelmed with anguish ; but, with a
countenance calm and impassible,
she awaited the approach of the
cardinal, who advanced to salute
her. In spite of all her efforts,
however, she could no longer con-
trol her feelings.
** My lord cardinal," she exclaim-
ed in a low voice, trembling with
emotion, *' go, the king waits for
you !'* And as she uttered these
H
Sir Thomas More.
45
words, the unhappy woman fell
senseless to the floor.
The hardened soul of the ambi-
tious Wolsey was moved to its very
depths with compassion as he si-
lently gazed on the noble woman
before him, who possessed the un-
bounded love and grateful esteem
of all her household, not only as
their sovereign, but also as their
beneficent mother.
The cloud of ambition that for-
ever surrounded him, darkening his
soul and obscuring his perceptions,
was for the moment illuminated,
and for the first time he realized
the enormity of Henry's proceed-
ings against the queen.
As this sudden light flashed on
him, he felt remorse for having en-
couraged the divorce, and resolved
that henceforward all his influence
should be used to dissuade his sov-
ereign from it.
At the approach of the royal fa-
vorite the ushers hastily made their
salutations (although the queen
had been permitted to pass them
with scarcely the slightest mark of
respect), and seemed to consider
the most humble and servile atti-
tude they could assume before him
as only sufficiently respectful. They
hastened to throw open the doors
l>efore him as he advanced, and
Wolsey soon found himself in the
presence of the king, who awaited
his arrival in a state of almost
angr\' impatience.
** Well ! what do you come to
tell me.'" he cried. " Do you bring
me good news?*'
Wolsey, whose opinions had so
recently undergone a very great
^'hange, for a moment hesitated.
'*Sire," he at length replied, " Cam-
I^ggio, the cardinal legate, has ar-
rived."
" Has he indeed ?" said Henry,
'^ith an ironical smile. " After so
many unsuccessful applications, we
have then, at last, obtained this fa-
vor. Well, I hope now this affair
will proceed more rapidly ; and,
Wolsey, remember that it is your
business so entirely to compromise
and surround this man, that he
shall not be able even to think
without my consent and sanction.
And, above all, beware of the in-
trigues of the queen. Catherine is
a Spaniard, with an artful, unyield-
ing nature and flerce, indomitable
will. She will, without doubt, make
the most determined and desperate
effort to enlist the legate in favor
of her cause."
" Is the decision of your majesty
irrevocable on the subject of this
divorce V* replied Wolsey, in a hes-
itating and embarrassed manner.
" The farther we advance, the more
formidable the accumulating diffi-
culties become. I must acknow-
ledge, sire, I begin myself to doubt
of success. Campeggio has al-
ready declared that, if the queen
appeals to Rome, he will not refuse
to present her petition, and defend
her cause ; that he himself will de-
cide noihing, and will yield to no-
thing he cannot conscientiously ap-
prove."
On hearing Wolsey express these
sentiments, Henry's face flushed
with rage, and a menacing scowl
contracted his brow.
"Can it be possible," he cried,
" that you dare address me in this
manner? I will castigate the Pope
himself if he refuses his sanction.
He shall measure his power with
mine ! He trembles because
Charles V. is already on his
frontier. I will make him trem-
ble now, in my turn ! I will marry
Anne Boleyn — yes, I will marry her
before the eyes of the whole world !"
"What do you say, sire? Anne
Boleyn !" cried Wolsey.
46
Sir Thomas More.
•
•
M..'
i:'
1^'
L
—
" Yes, Anne Boleyn !'* replied the
king, regarding Wolsey with his
usual haughty and contemptuous
expression, " You know her well.
She is attached to the service of
Catherine."
" Lady Anne Boleyn !" again
cried Wolsey after a moment's si-
lence, for astonishment had al-
most for the time rendered him
speechless and breathless. " Lady
Anne Boleyn ! The King of
England, the great Henry, wish-
es, then, to marry Anne Boleyn!
Why, if contemplating such a mar-
riage as that, did you send me to
seek the alliance of France, and to
offer the hand of your daughter in
marriage to the Duke of Orleans ?
And why did you instruct me to
declare to Francis L that your de-
sire was to place on the throne of
England a princess of his blood ?
It was only by these representations
and promises that I succeeded in
inducing him to sign the treaty
which deprived Catherine of all as-
sistance. You have assured me of
your entire approval of these nego-
tiations. This Alliance with France
was the only means by which to
secure for yourself any real defence
against the Pope and the Emperor.
Do you suppose that Charles V.
will quietly permit you to deprive
his aunt of her position and title
as queen of England ?** Here Wol-
sey paused, wholly transported v/ith
indignation.
"Charles!" replied the king,
" Charles ? I can easily manage
and pacify him by fine promises
and long negotiations. As to our
Holy Father, I will stir up strife
enough to fill his hands so full that
he will not be able to attend to any-
thing else. The quarrels of Aus-
tria and France always end by re-
coiling on his head, and I imagine
he will not soon forget the sacking
K. ) ;i ^ and his former imprison
ment."
" Yes, but you forget," said Wol
sey, "that the King of France wil
accuse you of flagrant bad faith
and will you bring on yourself thei
abhorrence in order to espous<
Anne Boleyn }**
The minister pronounced thes«
last words with an expression anc
in a tone of such contemptuous
scorn as to arouse in a fearful de-
gree the indignation of the king;
accustomed only to the flattery and
servile adulation of his courtiers.
At the same time, he was compelled
to feel the force of the cardinal's
reasoning, although the truth only
served still more to irritate and
enrage him.
** Cease, Wolsey!" cried Henry,
fixing his flashing eyes fiercely up-
on him ; " I am not here to listen
to your complaints. I shall marry
whom I please ; and your head
shall answer for the fidelity with
which you assist me in executing
my will."
" My head, sire," replied Wolsey
courageously, ** has long belonged
to you; my entire life has been de-
voted to your service ; and yet I
shall most probably, in the end,
have bitter cause to repent having
always made myself subservient to
your wishes. But your majesty
will surely reflect more seriously on
the dishonor you will necessarily
incur by such a choice as this.
The queen's party will grow^ strong-
er and stronger, and I tell you
frankly, I fear lest the legate be in-
flexible."
" Wolsey," cried Henry, elevat-
ing his voice in a threatening man-
ner, " I have already declared my
intentions — is that not sufficient?
As to the legate, I repeat, he must be
gained over to my cause. Gold and
flattery will soon secure to us that
Sir Thomas More.
47
lender conscience whose scruples
you now so sorely apprehend.
Bring him to me to-morrow."
** He is suffering too much, sire.
The cardinal is aged and very in-
firm; I have no idea he will be in a
condition to see your majesty for
several days yet."
"Too long, entirely too long to
wall!" replied the king. " I must
see him this very day ; he shall be
compelled to make his appearance.
I wish you to be present also, as
we shall discuss affairs of import-
ance, and then I shall depart."
With these words Henry with-
drev and went to look for a casket,
of which he alone carried the key,
and in which he usually kept his
most valuable and important pa-
pers.
During his absence, Wolsey re-
mained leaning on the table, before
which he was seated, absorbed in
deep and painful reflections. He
feared Henry too much to oppose
him long in any of his designs ; be-
sides, he saw no possible means
to induce him to change his reso-
lution. He had felt, as we have
seen, a momentary compassion for
the misfortunes of the queen, but
that impression had been speedily
effaced by considerations of far
greater moment to himself.
As a shrewd diplomatist, he re-
gretted the alliance with France;
besides, he was really too much in-
terested in the welfare of the king
not to deplore his determination to
contract such a marriage.
But the cause of his deepest
anxiety w^as the knowledge he pos-
?^essed of Anne's great dislike for
lum, and the consciousness that her
family and counsellors were his ri-
vals and enemies ; in consequence
of which he clearly foresaw they
would induce her to use all the in-
fluence she possessed with the
king in order to deprive him ot
Henry's favor and patronage. He
was suffering this mental conflit:t
when the king reappeared, bearing
a bronze casket carved with rare
perfection. Placing it on the table,
he unlocked it. Among a great
many papers which it contained
was a very handsome book, the
printing beautifully executed, and
every page ornamented with ara-
besques exquisitely tinted and shad-
ed. The cover, formed of two
metal plates, represented in bass-
relief the figures of Faith, Hope,
and Charity as young virgins, bear-
ing in their hands and on their fore-
heads the allegorical emblems of
those sublime Christian virtues.
Emeralds of immense value, sur-
rounded by heavy gold settings,
adorned the massive gold clasps,
and also served to hold them firmly
in their places.
On the back of this book, deeply
engraven in the metal, were the
following words : T/i^ Seven Sacra-
vients, Henry had written this work
in defence of the ancient dogmas of
the Catholic Church, when first at-
tacked by the violent doctrines of
a monk named Luther. Whether
the king had really composed it
himself, or whether he had caused
it to be secretly done by another,
and wished to enjoy the reputation
of being the author, he certainly at-
tached great* importance to the
work. Not only had he distributed
it throughout his own kingdom, but
had sent it to the Pope and to all
the German princes, through the
Dean of Windsor, whom he instruct-
ed to sav that he was readv to de-
fend the faith, not only with his
pen but, if need be, with his sword
also. It was at that time that he
asked and obtained from the court
of Rome the title of " Defender of
the Faith."
4S
Sir Thomas Mare.
\m
Now he was constantly busy
with a manuscript, which he took
from the mysterious casket, contain-
ing a Treatise on Divorce, and to
which he every day devoted several
hours. Greatly pleased with a num-
ber of arguments he had just found,
he came to communicate them to
Wolsey. The latter, after urging
several objections, at length remind-
ed him of the fraudulent and per-
sistent means that had been em-
ployed to extract from the Univer-
sity of Oxford an opinion favorable
to divorce. " And yet," added the
cardinal, "it has been found im-
possible to prevent them from in-
creasing the number of most im-
portant restrictions, and thus ren-
dering your case exceedingly diffi-
cult, if not entirely hopeless."
" What ! " said the king, " after
the good example of the University
of Cambridge, are we still to en-
counter scruples ? Consider it
well, cardinal, in order not to forget
the recompense, and, above all,
the punishment, for that is the
true secret of success ! You will
also take care, to write to the
Elector Frederick, and say that
I wait to receive the humble apolo-
gies of that man Luther, whom he
has taken so entirely under his pro-
tection."
" Sire," replied the cardinal, *' I
have received frequent intelli-
gence with regard to * that matter
which I have scarce) v dared com-
municate to vou."
" And why not ? " demanded the
king. *' Do you presume, my lord
cardinal, that the abuse of an ob-
scure and turbulent monk can af-
fect me ? And besides, to tell you
the ^truth, I do not know but
this man may, after all, be useful to
me. He has attracted the attention
of the court of Rome, and may yet
have to crave my protection."
" Well, sire, since you compel m
to speak, I will tell you that, fa
from making humble apologies, hi
violence against you has redoubled
I have just received a tract he has re
cently published. In it I find manj
passages where, in speaking of you
he employs the most abusive epi
thets and expressions. For in-
stance, he repeatedly declares thai
your majesty * is a fool, an ass, and
a madman,' that you are * coarser
than a hog, and more stupid than a
jackass.' He speaks with equal
scurrility of our Holy Father the
Pope, addressing him, in terms of
the most unparalleled effrontery,
this pretended warning, which is
of course intended simply as an in-
sult : * My petit Paul, my petit
Pope, my young ass, walk carefully
— it is very slippery — you may faH
and break your legs. You* will
surely hurt yourself, and then peo-
ple will say, " What the devil does
this mean } The petit Pope has hurt
himself." ' Further on, I find this
ridiculous comparison, which could
only emanate from a vile and shame-
less pen : * The ass knows that he
is an ass, the stone knows that it is
a stone, but these asses of popes
are unable to recognize themselves
as asses.* He concludes at length
with these words, which fill the
measure of his impiety and degra-
dation : * If I were ruler of an em-
pire, I would make a bundle of the
Pope and his cardinals, and throw
them altogether into that little
pond, the Tuscan Sea. I pledge
my word that such a bath would
restore their health, and I pledge
Jesus Christ as my security ! ' "
** What fearful blasphemy !" cried
Henry. " Could a Christian possi-
bly be supposed to utter such ab-
surd, blasphemous vulgarities? I
trow not ! This pretended ' reform-
er ' of the ' discipline and abuses of
ii-
h ';
Sir Thomas More.
49
urch ' seems to possess any
than an evangelical charac-
lo one can doubt his divine
1 and his Christian charity !
I who employs arguments
:se is too vile and too con-
)le to be again mentioned in
sence. Let me hear no more
intolerable apostate ! Pro-
)w with business."
e," then continued the cardi-
esenting a list to the king,
are the names of several
ates I wish you to consider
e purpose of appointing
isurer of the exchequer,
s More has already filled,
lonorably, a number of of-
' public trust, and is also a
equal ability and integrity,
amend him to your majesty
office."
pprove your selection most
atingly," replied the king.
extremely fond of More,
crfectlv satisfied with the
' in which he has performed
:ial duties heretofore. You
inform him from me. What
ould also petition your ma-
liat Cromwell be confirmed
idant-general of the monas-
itterly transformed into col-
lO is this Cromwell V in-
Henry. " I have no recol-
of him."
?,** replied Wolsey, "he is
:ure birth, the son of a full-
his city. He served in the
wars in his youth ; after-
he applied himself to the
of law. His energies and
sare such as to entitle him
favorable consideration of
lajesty."
t him be confirmed as you
* replied the king very gra-
, as he proceeded to sign the
VOL. XXII. — ^
different commissions intended for
the newly appointed officials.
"I wish," he added, regarding
Wolsey with a keen, searching
glance, " that you would find some
position for a young ecclesiastic
called Cranmer, who has been
strongly recommended to me for
office."
The brow of the cardinal con*
tracted into a heavy frown as he
heard the name of a man but too
well knov;n to him. He immedi-
ately divined that it was from Anne
Boleyn alone the king had received
this recommendation.
In the meantime, the queen had
been carried to her apartments.
The devoted efforts of the ladies
of her household, who surrounded
her with the tenderest ministra-
tions, soon recalled her to the con-
sciousness and full realization of
her misery.
Now the night has come, and
found Catherine still seated be-
fore the grate, absorbed in deep
thought. Born under the soft
skies of Spain, she had never be-
come acclimated, nor accustomed
to the humid, foggy atmosphere of
England. Like a delicate plant
torn from its native soil, she sighed
unceasingly for the balmy air and
the golden sunlight of her own
genial southern clime. Such regrets,
added to the sorrows she had expe-
rienced, had thrown her into a state
of habitual melancholy, from which
nothing could arouse her, and which
the slightest occurrence sufficed to
augment. For a long time her
firmness of character had sustained
her; but her health beginning to
fail, and no longer able to arouse the
energy and courage which had be-
fore raised her above misfortune, she
sank beneath the burden and aban-
doned herself to hopeless sorrow.
,U-J
I vas at St. James' Park «
— '^ a rr't:rr AI:ce, and there I met Lady Ai
r .na :-r -:^- Bclern ; she was laughing gaih
^ : -» *". Siie promenaded %vith a number
sf i^vs Jer thends. I ran immediately
u f =1 -suii"- -ler :o say good morning, for I i
-E-. -i . r T <- I -.i'l. imi a rr^r Tcnr glad to see her. H
x«t. -V ^ •. -.'?•■ . - : r rrc * e s *t. mamma — I thought you t(
c -^ . ^- -: «- - : -r^ ler me >.:e had gone to Kent to v
X'sc^ ^- •• ■ . 'r» < ;; •:e .icr iii ler ?**
cr-- - ^-ir ::c vi "^ ^J child," replied the que<
w» -* ^ : .. •. ^ -V— .. . • .;-:ii i«fr ::fArs flowing afresh, " whal
tt *- -, S-. - ,.i . -.^ -wi^. I : i«i T -1 WAS true; but she 1:
.-><r*- T • I. r . . . *^ : '^s- >;nc- r:?: lined without my being i
* Si.:. niAnima, since this is yo
i»r'i :- use, why has she not yet pi
.•on. ^1 -C :4"seii"? 1 am very sorry s
K.> .ic-ic >x tor I love her bett
>iai ITT ?*" the other ladies. Si
-«^. .u -ui nt; i." she saw in France wh<
^ .' .. m^ >!•; :-j..tl!ed with my aunt, tl
-.^<sA...*. Luc^;s5 ct Suffolk. Oh! how
•L u.'..^ if'-*i*.c I?re to see France. Lac
• ' -.-. :»/ Ai^e 5»iys it is a most beautifi
. -N. I ..- o*;:':-T. She has described ton.
'. -v* t a . :t^ niaj:nificent entertainraeni
• •• • . \r , m: K.rg Louis XII. gave in hone
- .. • '^ ,*» ^> aunt. Mamma, when
Tv— ^. I want the King of Franc
• ft, . * v," Nr my husband."
: .-. .^ r *-Aad YOU — ^you also love Ann
^ . , « ^ ^* ^'^' l^.\>vn?" replied the queen.
^ . •••••I . *vr "'O*^! yes, mamma, v^ry much
, . X ,» t ^*' v-N. ^>"> :r-ivh indeed I " innocently an
>« ;r -^\i :he child. ^ I am very sorn
v % *. >.M-. v"e :* r>^ Iv^r.gcr to be here, she i:
,, . , , t*4 : 5o X3iu/ >, nnd when she plavi
,, . 'v .c i"^ % :^ -*v* s-.e alwavs amuses me sc
■• »
«
XV ' -^
"»V "
t>»o ''^^;r*\ niv dear child," replied
- .' ■ • V • -/,N*-^ - I will tell you now wh)
OsT >vfr- 'V.' > '•e^^^ when they are grown
I -rt^ , v i> voii >iy : it is because they
'n love persons who no
X % V ^ X v-^ V<-^«^ r^tini their affection."
** Ar%i Cv"* YOU believe she no
•N ,' s ' ^ • *- * ^
V -nv V
• " •
xcT c::?
,. s. >. . V ^ ^ '^^ ^V-
"^ " '^ \ ^ ^^^ • ;,.... :vN*i.-r :o^^rs me ?" replied the im-
^' - ^' ^^' ^ _ .. v.- ^ \ -^^^^^ '.-•> Mary with a thought-
r^* ewj^ssioo- *' And yet, mamma,
N *
^ \
% »N
^ *X- •'« ^"^ n'^^'^
Sir TAomas More.
51
I kissed her this morning and em-
braced her with all my heart.
However, I now remember that she
scarcely spoke a word to me ; but
1 had not thought of it before.
She seemed to be very much em-
barrassed. But why should she no
longer love me when I still love her
so dearly ?"
As Mary uttered these words, a
woman entered the room and, whis-
pering a moment in the ear of the
queen, placed a note in her hand.
Catherine arose and approached
the light ; after reading the note,
she called the young princess and
retfuested her to retire to her cham-
ber, as she had something to write -
immediately that was very import-
ant.
Mary ran gaily to her mother,
and, after kissing and embracing
her fondly and tenderly again and
again, she at last bade her good*
night, and with a smiling face bound-*
ed from the room in the same lighjt
and buoyant manner that she had
entered it.
'* Leonora," said the queen, " my
dear child, you have left for my
sake our beautiful Spain, and have
ever served me with faithful devo-
tion. Listen, now, to the request I
shall make — go bring me immedi-
ately the dress and outer apparel
belonging to one of the servant
women."
-Why so, my lady?"
"Ask no questions — I have use
for them ; you will acompany me ;
I must go to London this night."
** Good heaven ! my dear mis-
tress, what are you saying ?" cried
Leonora in great alarm. *'*' Go to
London to-night ? It is five miles ;
you will never be able to walk it,
^d you well know it would be im-
possible to attempt the journey in
any other way — they would detect
" Leonora," answered the queen,
**I am resolved to go. Faithful
friends inform me that the legate
has arrived. Henry will now re-
double his vigilance. I have but
one day — if I lose this opportunity,
I shall never succeed. My last re-
maining hope rests upon this. If
you refuse to accompany me, I shall
go alone."
" Alone ! — oh ! my beloved mis-
tress," cried Leonora, her hands
clasped and her eyes streaming
tears, " you can never do this !
Think of what you are going to
undertake ! If you were recog-
nized, the king would be at once
informed, and we would both be
lost."
" Even so, Leonora ; but what
have I to lose } Is it possible for
me to be made more wretched }
Shall I abandon this, my last hope }
No, no, Leonora ; I am accountable
to my children for the honor of
their birth. Go now, my good girl !
fly — there is not a moment to lose.
Fear nothing ; God will protect us !"
Leonora, shrewd and adroit like the
women of her country, was very soon
in possession of the desired habili-
ments. Her actions might have
excited suspicion, perhaps; but en-
tirely devoted to the queen as she
was she felt no fear, and would,
without hesitation, have exposed
herself to even greater danger, had
it been necessary, in the execution
of her mistress* wishes.
Catherine feigned to retire ; and,
after her attendants had been dis-
missed, she left the palace, closely
enveloped in a long brown cloak,
such as was habitually worn by
the working-women of that period.
The faithful Leonora tremblingly
followed the footsteps of her mis-
tress. They breathed more freely
when tl)ey found themselves at
last beyond the limits of. the
5^
Sir Thomas Mare^
castle. Leonora, however, when
they entered the road leading
to London, anxroiisly reflected on
the danger of meeting some one who
would probably recognize them.
Her excited imagination even be-
gan to conjure up vague apprehen-
sions of the dead, to blend with
her fears of the living. She also
dreaded lest the strength of the
queen should prove unequal to the
journey — in fine, she feared every-
thing. The sighing winds, the rust-
ling leaves, the sound of her own
footsteps as she walked over the
stones, startled and filled her with
apprehension. Very soon there was
another cause for alarm. The wind
suddenly arose with violence ; dark
clouds overspread the heavens ; the
moon disappeared ; large drops of
rain began to fall, and soon pour-
ed in torrents, deluging the earth
and drenching their garments.
In vain they increased their
speed ; the storm raged with such
fury they were compelled to take
refuge under a tree by the roadside.
** My poor Leonora," said the
queen, supporting herself against
the trunk of the tree, whose wide-
spread branches were being lashed
and bent by the fury of the storm,
" I regret now having brought you
with me. I am already sufficiently
miserable without the additional
pain of seeing my burdens laid
upon others.**
** My beloved lady and mistress,"
cried Leonora, " I am not half so
unhappy at this moment as I was
when 1 feared my brothers would
prevent me from following you to
England. It seems to me I can
see the vessel now, with its white
sails unfurled, bearing you away,
whilst I, standing on the shore, with
frantic cries, entreated them to let
tne rejoin you. That night, I re-
member, being unable to sleeps I
went down into the orange-gr
the perfume of whose fruits
flowers embalmed the air of
palace gardens. Wiping away
sad tears, I fixed my eyes w
your windows, which the light
our beautiful skies rendered '
tinctly visible even at night.
Spain, at that hour, we can «
by the light of the stars ; but
this land of mud and water,
horri<} England, one' has to be w]
ped to the ears in furs all the y
round, or shiver with cold fi
morning till night. This is dot
less the reason why the English
so dull and so tiresome to oth<
In what a condition is this li
mantle that covers our heads !" a
Leonora, shaking the coarse wooli
cloak dripping with water, that <
veloped Catherine. "These Ei
lishwomen," she resumed^ " kn
no more about the sound of
guitar than they do about i
rays of the sun ; they are all j
as melancholy as moles. There
not one of them, except the Pr
cess Mary, who seems to have I
slightest idea of our beautil
Spain."
" Ah !" sighed the queen, "she
just as I was at her age. God f<
bid that her future should resei
ble that of her mother !"
In the meantime the storm h
gradually abated ; time pressc
and Catherine again resumed h
journey with renewed courage ai
accelerated speed. In spite of t
mud, in which she sank at eve
step, she redoubled her effori
For what cannot the strong hum;
will accomplish, when opposed
feeble, physical strength alone,
even when the obstacles interpose
proceed from the elements iher
selves ? She at length arrived
the gate of the palace of Lam bet
situated on the banlcs of tl
Sir Thomas Mare^
S3
Thanes, where the cardinal Cam*
pcgsio, according to the intelli-
gence conveyed to het, would hold
his court.
The courtyards, the doors, the
ai)te*chambers, were thronged with
servants and attendants, eager and
active vx the performance of their
duties, for Henry had ordered that
tbe cardinal should be entertained
in a style of princely munificence,
ind entirely free from personal ex-
pense. All these valets, being
strangers to their new masters, and
anaccustoroed to their new employ-
ments, permitted the queen to pass
without question or detention, not,
hovevei;, without a stare of stupid
curiosity at lier muddy boots and
draiggled garments.
Catherine, being perfectly fami-
liar with the interior of the palace,
had 00 difficulty in finding the
legate's cabinet.
The venerable prelate was slight-
ly lame, and in a feeble and preca-
rious Slate of health. She found
him seated before the fire in a
large velvet arm-chair, engaged in
reading his Breviary. His face was
{>ale and emaciated; a few thin
locks of snow-white hair hung
about his temples. Hearing the
dofjr open, he rested the book on
his knee, casting upon the queen,
as she entered, a keen, penetrating
glance.
Without hesitation, Catherine ad«
vanced towards irim. ** My lord
cardinal," she exclaimed, removing
ihe hood from her face, " you see
before you the queen of England,
the legitimate spouse of Henry
VIII."
Hearing these words, Campeg-
gio was unable to suppress an ex-
daination of surprise. He arose
at once to his feet, and, perceiving
the extraordinary costume in which
Catlierine was arrayed, he cast upon
her a look of incredulous astonish-
ment. He was about to speak
when she, with great vehemence,
interrupted him.
"Yes," she cried, raising her
hands towards heaven, " I call upon
God to witness the truth of what 1
say — I am Queen Catherine! You
are astonished to see me here at
this hour, and in this disguise*
Know, then, that I am a prisoner in
my own palace; my cruel husband
would have prevented me from com-
ing to you. They tell me you are
sent to sit in judgment on my case.
Surely, then, you should be made ac-
quainted with my bitter woes and
grievances. Lend not your aid to
the cause of injustice and wrong,
but be the strength of the weak,
the defence of the innocent. A
stranger in this country, I have no
friends; fear of the king drives
them all from me. I cannot doubt it
— no, you will not refuse to hear my
appeaL You wili defend the cause
of an injured mother and her
lielpless children. What ! would
you be willing to condemn me
without first hearing my cause — I,
the daughter of kings 1 Have I been
induced to marry Henry of Lan-
caster to enjoy the honors of roy-
alty, when all such honors belong
to me by my birthright? Cathe-
rine of Aragon has never been
unfaithful to her husband ; but to-
day, misled by a criminal passion,
he wishes to place upon the throne
of England a shameless woman, to
deny his own blood, and brand his
own children with the stigma of
illegitimacy] Yes, I solemnly
declare to you that nothing can
shake ray resohiiion or divert me
from niy purpose! Strong in my
innocence and in the justice of my
cause, I will appeal to the whole
world — aye, even to God himself I"
The cardinal stood motionless,
S4
Sir TlwmasMare^
regarding Catherine wiih reverence,
as an expression of haughty indig-
nation lighted up her noble fea-
tures. He was struck with admira-
tion at her courage and filled with
compassion for her woes.
" No, madam," he replied," I am
not to be your judge. I know that
it is but too true that you are sur-
rounded by enemies. But let me
assure you that in roe, at least, you
will not find another. I shall es-
teem myself most happy if, by my
counsel or influence, I may be of
service to your cause, and it is from
the depths of my heart that I beg
you to rely upon this assurance."
Catherine would have thanked
him, but a noise was that moment
heard of the ushers throwing the
doors violently open and announc-
ing, in a loud voice, " His Emi-
nence Cardinal Wolsey ! "
" Merciful heaven !" cried Cath-
erine, "^nust this odious man pur-
sue me for ever ?" She hurriedly
lowered her veil, and took her place
at the left of the door, and the mo-
ment he entered passed out behind
him. Wolsey glanced at her sharply,
the appearance of a woman arousing
instantly a suspicion in his mind,
but, being compelled to respond
with politeness to the legate's salu-
tations, he had no time to scrutin*
ize, and Catherine escaped without
being recognized.
Wolsey was passionately fond of
|>omp and pageant. The principal
positions in his house were filled
by barons and chevaliers. Among
these attendants were numbered the
sons of some of the most distin-
guished families, who, under his
protection and by the aid of his
all-powerful patronage and influ-
en'^e, aspired to civil or military
pr-'ferment.
Dn this occasion, he considered
ir necessary to make an unusual
display of luxurious magnificence
It was with great difficulty an<
trepidation that the queen threadec
her way through the crowd of pre
lates, noblemen, and young gentle
men who awaited in the ante
chambers the honor of being pre
sented by the king's favorite to th<
cardinal-legate.
The courtyard was filled will
their brilliant equipages, conspicu
ous among which were observed 2
great number of mules, richly ca-
parisoned, and carrying on theii
backs immense chests, covered with
crimson cloth, trimmed with fringe
and embroidered with gold.
A crowd of idle valets were en-
gaged in conversation at the fool
of the stairs. The queen, in passing
them, attracted their attention, ex-
citing their ridicule and coarse
gibes, and she heard them also in-
dulge in the most insolent conjec-
tures regarding her.
** Who is that woman V* said one-
"See how dirty she is." "She
looks like a beggar, indeed," cried
another, addressing himself to one
of the new-comers engaged to at-
tend the legate. " Your master
receives strange visitors ; we, on
the contrary, have nothing to do
with people like that, except quickly
to show them the door."
" Ha ! ha ! you will have your
hands full," exclaimed the most in-
solent of the crowd, " if your master
gives audience to such rabble as
that." Emboldened by these re-
marks, one of the porters ap-
proached the queen, and, rudely
pushing her, exclaimed with an
oath : " Well, beldame, what
brought you here.^ Take your-
self off quickly. My lord is rich,
but his crowns were not made for
such as you." These words ex-
cited the loudest applause from the
whole crowd, who clapped their
Sir Thmmu Mart.
hands and cheered vociferously.
Catherine trembled with mortifica-
tion.
** It is thus/* she mentally ex-
claimed, "that the poor are re-
ceiired in the palaces of the rich.
And I myself have probably more
than once, without knowing it, per-
mitted them to sigh in vain at the
gates of my own palace — mothers
weeping for their children, or men,
old and helpless, making a last ap-
fieal for assistance."
The queen, entirely absorbed in
these reflections, together with the
impression made upon her by the
appearance of the venerable legate,
the sudden apparition of Wolsey,
the snares that had been laid for
her, and the temptations with which
they had surrounded her, mechan-
ically followed Leonora, to whom
the fear that her mistress might be
pursued and arrested seemed to
have given wings.
" Leonora,'* at length cried the
qaeen, ** I feel that I can go no far-
ther. Stop, and let us rest for a
moment ; you walk too quickly."
Exhausted with fatigue, she seated
herself on a rock by the roadside.
She had scarcely rested a mo-
ment when a magnificent carriage
passed. The silken curtains were
drawn back, and the flaming
torches, carried by couriers, who
surroanded the carriage, completely
illuminated the interior. Seated in
this princely equipage was a young
girl, brilliant in her youthful beauty
and the splendor of her elegant
dress and jewelled adorn in gs. At
a glance, Catherine recognized
Anne Boleyn, who was returnmg
from a grand entertainment given
her by the Lord Mayor of London.
She passed like the light ; the car-
riage rapidly whirling through the
a)ud and water, that flew from the
wheels and covered anew the al-
ready soiled garments of thehaplesa
queen.
Catherine, completely overcome
by painful emotions, felt as thouglir
she were dying.
^* Leonora, listen !" she said in a
faint voice, scarcely audible — " Leo-
nora, come near me — give me your
hand ; I feel that I am dying ! You
will carry to my daughter my last
benediction !"
She sought in the darkness the
hand of Leonora ; the film of death
seemed gathering over her eyes;
she did not speak, her head sank
on her shoulder, and poor Leonora
thought the queen had ceased to
breathe. She at first held her in
her arms; but at length, overcome
by fatigue, she sank upon the earth
as she vainly endeavored to revive
her by breathing into her mouth
her own life-breath. But seeing all
her efforts to restore animation use-
less, she came to the terrible con-
clusion that Catherine was indeed
dead.
" My dear mistress," she cried
wildly, wringing her hands, *' my
good mistress is dead ! What will
become of me } It is my fault : I
should have prevented her from
going. Ah ! how miserable I am !"
And her tears and cries redoubled.
At length she heard in the distance
the sound of approaching footsteps,
and was soon able to distinguish a
litter, borne by a number of men.
"Help!" she cried, her hopes re-
viving at the sight, and very soon
they were near her — ** help ! come
to my assistance ; my mistress is
dying!" Seeing two women, one
lying on the ground supported in
the arms of another, who appeared
half-deranged, the person who oc-
cupied the litter commanded the
men to stop immediately, and he
quickly alighted. It was the king !
He also was going to London to
ii
Sir T/iomas Morf.
see the legate; to prevent his
anxious haste from being known,
and commented on, he had adopt-
ed this secret conveyance. When
she saw him, Leonora was paralyz-
ed with apprehension and alarm.
The king instantly recognized the
queen and the unhappy Leonora.
In a furious voice, he demanded
what she was doing there and
where she had been. But in vain
she endeavored to reply — her
tongue clove to the roof of her
mouth — she was unable to articu-
late a word. Transported with
rage at her silence, and by what he
suspected, he immediately had the
queen placed in the litter, and o»>
dering the men to walk slowly, he
followed them on foot to the pal*
ace.
Catherine was carried to her own
apartment, and soon restored to
consciousness ; but on opening her
eyes she looked around, vainly
hoping to behold her faithful Leo-
nora. She never saw her again !
She had been taken away, and the
punishment that was meted out to
her, or the fate that befel the unfor-
tunate girl, was for ever involved in
mystery.
While discord filled the royal
palace with perplexity and sorrow
a statesman, simple and peaceful,
awaited, with happiness mingled with
impatience, the arrival of a friend.
In his house, all around him seemed
possessed of redoubled activity.
The family table was more elegantly
spread, fresh flowers decorated all
the apartments, the children ran
to and fro in the very excess of
their joy and delight, until at
length, in every direction, the glad
announcement was heard, ^* He has
come ! he has come !'* The entire
family eagerly descended to the
court-yard to meet and welcome
the visitor, and Sir Thomas, with
feelings of inexpressible joy, folded
in his embrace the Bishop of
Rochester, the wise and virtuous
Fisher, whom he loved with the
purest and tenderest sentiments of
friendship.
" At last you are here," he ex-
claimed ; *' how happy I am to see
you once more !"
While the good bishop was as*
cending the stairs, surrounded by a
troop of Sir Thomas' youngest
children, Margaret, the eldest
daughter, came forward and salut-
ed him, accompanied by I^ady
More, her step-mother, and young
William Roper, her affianced hus-
band. They all entered the draw-
ing-room together, and, after engag-
ing a short time in general conver-
sation, Sir Thomas bade the children
retire, that he might converse with
more freedom.
" My dear friend," he exclaimed,
taking the bishop's hand again in
his own, " I cannot express the joy
I feel at your return. I have been
so long deprived of your presence,
and I have so many things to say to
you. But my heart is too full at
this moment to permit rae to cx-
* press all I feel or would say ! But
why have you not answered my
letters ?"
" Your letters !" replied the bish-
op. " Why, it has been more than
•a month since I received one from
you."
*' How can that be possible un-
less they have been intercepted.^"
replied More. " The king every day
become^ more and more suspicious.
If this continues, it will soon be
considered high treason for a man
to think."
" I cannot tell what has become
of your letters. I only know I have
not received them, and it has caused
me a great deal of anxiety and ap-
prehension. But my friend, since I
Sir Thomas Mare.
j;
}u full of life and health, I am
jatisfied and happy. Now, let
ar all that has happened at
but let nie begin by first
you that the king has sent
1 rough Cardinal Wolsey, a
ent he has written on the
: of divorce, asking my opin^
d advice. I have answered
til all frankness and candor,
>ing myself strongly against
ws. Certainly, there is noth-
re absurd tlian the idea of the
A'ishing to repudiate, after so
years of marriage, a princess
UOU3 and irreproachable, to
he can find no other objec-
an that she was betrothed to
other. Prince Arthur. Be-
a dispensation was obtained
t account at the time of his
ge, therefore it would seem
iscience ought to be perfectly
d."
s, yes, his conscience should
tirely at rest," replied Sir
IS. ** And if he sincerely be-
the marriage has been void
his time, wliy does he not
he effort to have it rendered
late, instead of endeavoring
ul It entirely ? It is because
shes to marry one of the
s ladies — the young Anne
i!"
1 ! horrible," cried Fisher,
you sure, my friend, of what
y? Cracious heaven! If I
ily suspected it ! But I assure
have had entire confidence in
I have, therefore, examined the
t conscientiously and with the
St possible diligence before
him my reply. Had I sus-
l any such scheme as this, I
I never have had the patience
isider the arguments he has
ited with so much duplicity."
ell, my dear Fisher," replied
iiumas, " such is the sad truth,
and such are the 'scruples* that
disturb the tender conscience of
the king. To repudiate the queen
and the Princess Mary, his daugh-
ter, is his sole aim, his only desire.
I also have received an order to
read and give my opinion on the
divorce question; but I have asked
to be excused, on the ground of mv
very limited knowledge of theolog-
ical matters. Moreover, all these
debates and hypocritical petitions
for advice are entirely absurd and
unnecessary. Cardinal Campeggio,
the Pope's legate, has already ar-
rived from Rome, and the queen
will appear before a court com-
posed of the legate and VVolsey,
together with several other cardi-
nals."
" The queen brought to trial ! "
cried the Bishop of Rochester.
** The queen arraigned to hear her
honor and her rank disputed ?
What a shame upon England !
Who will speak for her } I would
give my life to be called to defend
her ! But how is it that Wolsey —
the all-powerful VVolsey — has not
diverted the king from his unworthy
purpose.^"
" He is said to have tried ; but he
stands in awe of the king. You
know an ambitious man never op-
poses him to whom he owes his
power. Nevertheless," added More,
• ** 1 cannot believe he will dare to
pronounce the Princess Mary ille-
gitimate. For, all laws aside, sup-
posing even that the marriage were
annulled, the good faith in which it
was contracted invests her birth
with an inalienable right."
** I hope it may be so," said
Fisher; ** but what immense*calami-
ties this question will bring on our
unhappy country !"
** I fear so, my friend," replied
More. " At present, the people
are pledged to the queen's cause ;
58
Sir Thomas More.
«(
it could not be otherwise, she is so
much beloved and esteemed; and
they declare, if the king does suc-
ceed in repudiating Catherine, that
he will find it impossible to deprive
his daughter of her right to reign
over them."
** And Wolsey," replied the bish-
op thoughtfully, " will be called to
sit in judgment on his sovereign !
He will be against her! And this
Campeggio — what says he in the
matter?"
"We believe," replied More,
that he will sustain the queen ; he
seems to possess great firmness and
integrity of character. His first
interview with the king gave fts
great liopes. Henry has over-
whelmed him with protestations of
his entire subn>ission, but all his
artifices have been frustrated by
the discernment and prudence of
the Italian cardinal. His impene-
trable silence on the subject of hfs
own personal opmions has plunged
the king into despair. Since that
day he has honored him with in-
cessant visits, has offered him the
rich bishopric of Durham, and
worked unceasingly to corrupt his
integrity by promises and flattery."
" How keenly the queen must
suffer," said Fisher — " she that I
saw, at the time of her arrival in the
kingdom, so young, so beautiful,
and so idolized by Henry !"
" Alas ! I think so," said More.
" For some time I have found
it impossible to approach her.
However, she appears in public as
usual, always gracious and affable ;
there is no ciumge in her appear-
ance. The queen is truly a most
admirable woman. During your
absence, an epidemic made its
appearance called the * sweating
sickness,' which made terrible rav-
ages. Wolsey fled from his palace,
several noblemen belonging to his
household having died very sud
denly of the disease. The kinj
was greatly alarmed ; he never lef
the queen for a moment, and unite<
with her in constant prayers t<
God, firmly believing that her peti
tions would avail to stay the pesti
lence. He immediately de$patche<
Anne Boleyn to her father, where
she was attacked by tiie disease
and truly we would have felt ik
regret at her loss if the Lord ir
taking her had only deigned t<
show mercy to her soul. At on<
time we believed the king had en
tirely reformed, but, alas I the dan-
ger had scarcely passed when he
recalled Anne Boleyn, and is again
estranged from the queen."
" Death gives us terrible les-
sons," replied the Bishop of Ro-
chester. " In his presence we judg<
of all things wisely. The illusions
of time are dissipated, to give plact
to the realities of eternity!" As
the bishop said these words, several
persons who had called to see Sii
Thomas entered the room. Conspi-
cuous amongthem was Cromwell, the
protege of Wolsey. This man was
both false and sinister, who made
use of any means that led to the ac-
quisition of fortune. He possessed
the arts of intrigue and flattery.
To a profound dissimulation he
added an air of politeness and a
knowledge of the world that, in
general, caused him to be well
received in .society. A close
scrutiny of his character, however,
made it evident that there was
something in the depths of this
man's soul rendering him unworthy
of any confidence. To him, vice
and virtue were words devoid of
any meaning. When he found a
man was no longer necessary to
his designs, or that he could not in
some manner use him, he made no
further effort to conciliate or retain
Sir Thomas More*
59
his friendship. He saluted Sir
Thomas and theBishopof Rochester
with a quiet ease, and seated himself
Iteside young Cranmer — " with
whom I am very well acquainted/'
he remarked. For Cromwell, like all
other intriguers, assumed intimacy
with all the world.
Scarcely had he uttered the
words wlien a Mr. Williamson was
ushered in, who had returned to
London a few days before, after a
long absence on the Continent.
*' And so you are back, Mr. Wil-
liamson," cried More, taking his
hand. " You are just from Ger-
many, I believe ? Well, do tell us
how matters stand in that coun-
try. It seems, from what we hear,
everything is in commotion there."
**Your supposition is quite cor-
rect, sir," replied Williamson in
a half-serious, half- jesting manner.
**The emperor is furious against
our king, and has sent ambassadors
to Rome to oppose the divorce.
Bnt the empire is greatly disturbed
by religious dissensions, therefore I
doubt if he will be able to give the
subject as much attention as he de-
.sircs. New reformers are every
day springing up. The foremost
now is Bucer, a Dominican monk ;
then comes Zwtngle, the curate
of ZQrich — ^where he endeavored
to abolish the Mass, to the great
scandal of the people — and there
is still another, named CEcolam-
padius, who has joined Zwingle.
Rut strangest of all is that these
reformers, among themselves, agree
in nothing. The one admits a
dogma, the other rejects it ; to-day
they think this, to-morrow that.
Every day some new doctrine is
promulgated. Luther has a hor-
ror of Zwingle, and they mutually
damn each other. The devil
is no longer able to recognize
himself. They occasionally try to
patch up a reconciliation, and agree
altogether to believe a certain doc-
trine, but the compact is scarcely
drawn up before the whole affair is
upset again."
Cranmer, while listening to this
discourse, moved uneasily in his
chair, until at length, unable to re-
strain himself longer, he interrupt-
ed Williamson in a sharp, cutting
manner that he endeavored to
soften.
"In truth, sir, you speak very
slightingly of these learned and
distinguished men. And only, it
seems, because they demand a re-
form in the morals of the clergy,
and preach against and denounce
the abuses of the church in tlie
matter of indulgences."
" Beautiful reformers ! " cried
Williamson. " They protest to-day
against an abuse which they alone
have felt as such, and that but for
a very short time. And permit me
to insist on your observing a fact,
which it is by no means necessary
or expedient to forget, that this
quarrel originated in the dis-
pleasure felt by Luther because it
was not to his own order, but to
that of the Dominicans, to whom
the distribution of indulgences was
entrusted."
** That may be possible, sir," in-
terrupted Cranmer, " but at least
you will not deny that the immor-
ality of the German clergy imper-
atively demanded a thorough re-
formation."
" It is quite possible, my dear
sir, that I may not be ready at once
to agree with you in your opinions.
But if the German church has be-
come relaxed in morals, it is the
fault of those only who before
their elevation to the holy office
had not, as they were bound to
have, the true spirit of their voca-
tion. But I pray you, on this
6o
Sir Tkonms More.
point of morals, it will not do to
boast of the severity of these
new apostles. The disciples of
Christ left their wives, when called
to * go into all the world and
preach the Gospel,' but these men
begin by taking wives. Luther
has married a young and beauti-
ful nun, an act that has almost
driven his followers to despair, and
scandalized and excited the ridi-
cule of the whole city. As to
Bucer, he is already married to his
second wife !"
"What!" cried the bishop,
" these men marry ! Marry — in
the face of the holy church ! Do
they forget the solemn vows of chas*
tity they have made ? — for they are
all either priests or monks.**
" Their vows ! Oh ! they retract
their vows, they say. These
' vows * are what they call abuses;
and the priests of this so severely
reformed church will hereafter en«
joy the inestimable privilege of mar-
rying."
Whilst this conversation had been
going on. Sir Thomas kept his eyes
closely fixed on Cranmer, trying to
discover, from the expression of his
pale, meagre face, the impression
made on him by the conversation.
He was well convinced that latter-
ly Cranmer, although he had al-
ready taken orders, maintained the
new doctrines with all the influence
he possessed. And the reason
why he had so thoroughly espoused
them was because of a violent
passion conceived for the daughter
of Osiander, one of the chief re-
formers.
Born of a poor and obscure
family, he had embraced the ec-
clesiastical state entirely from mo-
tives of interest and ambition, and
without the slightest vocation, his
sole aim being to advance his own
interests and fortunes by every
possible means, and he had al-
ready succeeded in ingratiating
himself with the Earl of Wiltshire,
who, together with all the family of
Anne Boleyn, were his devoted pa-
trons and friends. It was by these
means tiiat he was afterwards ele-
vated to the archiepiscopal see of
Canterbury, where we will find him
servilely devoting himself to the in- '
terests of Henry VIII., and at last
dying the death of a traitor.
Influenced by such motives,
Cranmer warmly defended the new
doctrines, bringing forward every
available argument, and ended by
declaring he thought it infinitely
better that the priests should be al-
lowed to marry than be exposed
to commit sin.
" Nothing obliges them to commit
sin," cried the Bishop of Roches-
ter, who was no longer able to main-
tain silence. ** On the contrary,
sir, every law and regulation of
the discipline and canons of the
church tends to inspire and pro-
mote the most immaculate purity
of morals. These rules may seem
hard to those who have embraced
the ecclesiastical state from motives
of pride and an ambitious self-in-
terest, and without having received
from God the graces necessary for
the performance of the duties of so
exalted and holy a ministry. This
is why we so often have to grieve
over the misconduct of so many of
the clergy. But if they complain
of their condition now, what will
it be when they have wives and
families to increase their cares and
add to their responsibilities ? The
priest !"• continued the bishop,
seeming to penetrafe the very
depths of Cranmer *s narrow, con-
tracted soul, " have you ever re-
flected upon the sublimity of his
vocation 1 The priest is the father
of the orphan, the brother of the
Sir TAoPHos More,
61
poor, the consoler of the dying, the
spiritual support of the criminal on
the scaffold, the merciful judge of
the assassin in his dungeon. Say,
do you not think the entire human
race a family sufficiently large, its
duties sufficiently extended, its re-
sponsibilities, wants, and cares sdf*
iiciently arduous and pressing ?
*How could a priest do more, when
his duty now requires him to de-
vote, and give himself entirely to,
each and every one of the human
family ? No ; a prTest is a man who
has made a solemn vow to become
an angel. If he does not intend to
fulfil that vow, then let him never
pronounce it !"
^•0 Rochester !" cried Sir Thom-
as More, greatly moved, •'how I
delight to hear you express your-
self in this manner!"
And Sir Thomas spoke with all
sincerity, for the bishop, without
being conscious of it, had faithfully
described his own life and charac*
ter, and those who knew and loved
him found no difficulty in recog-
nizing the portrait. .
As Sir l*homas spoke, the door
again opened, and all arose respect-
fully on seeing the Duke of Nor-
folk appear — that valiant captain,
to whom England was indebted for
her victory gained on the field of
Flodden. He was accompanied
br the youngest and best-beloved
of his sons, the young Henry,
Earl of Surrey. Even at his very
tender age, the artless simplicity
and graceful manners of this beau-
tiful child commanded the admira-
tion of all, while his brilliant in-
tellect and lively imagination an-
nounced him as the* future favorite
and cherished poet of the age.
Alas! how rapidly fied those
jjolden years of peace and happi-
ness. Later, and Norfolk, this
proud father, so happy in being the
parent of such a son, lived to be-
hold the head of that noble boy
fall upon the scaffold I The crime
of which Henry VIII. will accuse
him will be that of having imited
his arms with those of Edward the
Confessor, whose royal blood min-
gled with that which flowed in his
own veins.
Sir Thomas approached the duke
and saluted him with great defer-
ence. The Bishop of Rochester
insisted on resigning him his chair,
but the duke declined, and seated
himself in the midst of the com-
pany.
'* I was not aware," said he, turn-
ing graciously towards the bishop,
" that Sir Thomas was enjoying
such good company. I congratu-
late myself on the return of my
Lord of Rochester. He will listen,
I am sure, with lively interest to
the recital I have come to make;
for I must inform you, gentlemen, I
am just from Blackfiiars, where the
king summoned me this morning
in great haste, to assist, with some
of the highest dignitaries of the
kingdom, at the examination of the
queen before the assembly of car-
dinals."
He had scarcely uttered these
words when an expression of pro-
found amazement overspread the
features of all present. More was
by no means the least affected.
** The queen I" he cried. " Has
she then appeared in person ? And
so unexpectedly and rudely sum-
moned ! They have done this in
order that she might not be pre-
pared with her defence !"
" I know not," replied the duke ;
" but I shall never be able to forget
the sad and imposing scene. When
we entered, the cardinals and the
two legates were seated on a plat-
form covered with purple cloth;
the king seated at their right. We
6)
Sir Thomas Mare,
wcr« smnged behind his chair in
jKrrtcci silence. Very soon the
^ue^^n entered, dressed in the deep-
est tttouming. She took her seat
on the left of the platform, facing
the king. When the king's name
wu$ cuUed he arose, and remained
\tauding And in silence. But when
the v^ueen was in her tujn sum-
HHMievt^ she arose, and replied, with
great vhgnity, that she boldly pro-
tected Agviinst her Judges for three
iui^KUtaut reasons: first, because
*Ue w.u a stranger; secondly, be-
vause they were all in possession of
u»vaI Ivnotues, which had beenbe-
'^tvkwevl vm tbem by her adversary;
.mkK lUudlw that she had grave and
^Uiw|H»u.i\\t reasons for believing
that '^ho wuuld not obtain justice
tu*n^ a ttiUunal so constituted. She
.uUlvd that she had already ap-
|K\Ucd tv» the Pope, and would not
^ulmut to the judgment of this
\outt. Having said these words,
^ho hIvhhI in jiilence, but when she
\wM\\ them declare her appeal
•ihv»uid ni»t be nubmitted to the
l\»l'v\ >»^»«> parsed before the cardi-
h.OH» ,nul» w.dking prt>udly across
the cumc hall. »he threw herself at
\\\v h cl v^t llu* kin^,
'* U \NouUl be impossible," con-
\\\\\w\{ Noih^lk, **to describe the
om^UMU lAiUc^l by this move-
** vsuc/ 'iho cried, with a re-
MiM * \\\\\ V\\\ liHU and decided tone,
M i»» i\ \^'^y ^** »*'g»**^l >"<? with com-
|i^,.<h«o IMv mc an a woman, as
.\ 'M \\u\^'\ wnhvmt liiends on whom
I \ .\\\ \\ \\k \\\\\\^^\\\ y\ single disin-
\^ h ^\\\ •uUiHvi UMvhom I can turn
liM \ HHU'>« t ' \ \ M \\V\^\\ ^«od to
y, ihh "' i\\\ i*»uuuucil, raising her
\ s\K\\ a\»» \\^'^ ^owauU luMvcn,
\\\ \\ I \\ \\s* *\\\\'\\^ been Kk\ yo\i a
i »v*l, I \\\\\\\\\ \\^\\\ «H\d liavc made
\\ WW \ \«»ni \\\\ \\\\\\ to luhloun in
.ill ihu^ut b' Nom wtll; that \
have loved those whom you have
loved, whether I knew them to be
my enemies or my friends. For
many years 1 have been your "wife ;
I am the mother of your children.
God knows, when I married you^
I was an unsullied virgin, and since
that time I have never brought re-
proach on the sanctity of my mar-
riage vows. Your own conscience'
bears witness to the truth of what I
say. If you can find a single fault
with which to reproach me, then
will I pledge yoti my word to bow
my head in shame, and at once
leave your presence; but, if not, I
pray you in God's holy name to
render me justice.*
"While she was speaking, a low
murmur of approbation was heard
throughout the assembly, followed
by a long, unbroken silence. The
king grew deadly pale, but made no
reply to the queen, who arose, and
was leaving the hall, when Henry
made a signal to the Duke of Suf-
folk to detain her. He followed
her, and made every effort to in-
duce her to return, but in vain.
Turning haughtily round, she said,
in a tone sufficiently distinct to be
heard by the entire assembly :
** * Go, tell the king, your master,
that until this hour I have never
disobeyed him, and that I regret
being compelled to do so now.*
" Saying these word.s, she imme-
diately turned and left the hall,
followed by her ladies in waiting.
" Her refusal to remain longer in
the presence of her judges, and the
touching, unstudied eloquence of
the appeal she had made, cast the
tribunal into a state of great em-
barrassment, and the honorable
judges seemed to .wish most heart-
ily they had some one else to de-
cide for them ; when suddenly the
king arose, and, turning haughtily
towards them, spoke :
Sir Thomas Mare,
63
** * Sirs,' he said, * most cheerfully
and with perfect confidence do I
present my testimony, bearing wit-
ness to the spotless virtue and un-
sullied integrity of the queen. Her
character, her conduct, in every
particular, has been above re-
proach. But it is impossible for
me to live in the state of constant
anxiety this union causes me to
suffer. My conscience keeps me
in continual dread because of hav-
ing married this woman, who was
the betrothed wife of my own bro-
ther. I will use no dissimulation,
my lords ; I know very well that
many of you believe I have been
persuaded by the Cardinal of York
to make this appeal for a divorce.
But I declare in your presence this
day, this is an entirely false im-
pression, and that, on the contrary,
the cardinal has earnestly contend-
ed against the scruples which have
disturbed my soul. But, I declare,
against my own will, and in spite of
all my regrets, his opinions have not
been able to restore to me the tran-
quillity of a heart without reproach.
1 have, in consequence, found it
necessary to confer again with the
Bishop of Tarbes, who has, unhap-
pily, only confirmed the fears I al-
ready entertain. I have consulted
my confessor and many other pre-
lates, wlio have all advised me to
submit this question to tl\e tribunal
of our Holy Father, the Sovereign
Pontiff. To this end, my lords, you
Have been invested by him with his
own supreme authority and spiritual
power. I will listen to you as I
would listen to him — that is to say,
with the most entire submission.
I wish, however, to remind you again
that my duty towards my subjects
requires me to prevent whatever
might have the effect in the future
of disturbing their tranquillity ; and,
unfortunately, I have but too strong
reasons for fearing that, at some
future day, the legitimacy of the
right of the Princess Mary to the
throne may be disputed. It is with
entire confidence that I await your
solution of a question so important
to the happiness of my subjects and
the peace of my kingdom. I have
no doubt that you will be able
to remove all the obstacles placed
in my way.'
" Saying these words, the king re-
tired, and started instantly for his
palace at Greenwich. The noble-
men generally followed him, but 1
remained to witness the end of what
proved to be a tumultuous and
stormy debate. Nevertheless, after
a long discussion, they decided to
go on with the investigation, to
hear the advocates of the queen,
and continue the proceedings in
spite of her protest."
" Who is the queen's advocate V
demanded the Bishop of Roches-
ter.
" He has not yet been appointed,"
replied Norfolk. " It seems to me
it would only be just to let the
queen select her own counsel."
** But she will refuse, without a
doubt," replied Cromwell, " after
the manner she has adopted to de-
fend herself."
They continued to converse for
a long time on this subject, which
filled with anxious apprehension
the heart of Sir Thomas, as well as
that of his faithful friend, the good
Bishop of Rochester.
TO BE CONTINUBO-
04
The Birth-Place of S. Vinceni de Paul
THE BIRTH-PLACE OF S. VINCENT DE PAUL
" I love an waste
And aolhary placet where we taste
The pleasure of believing what we see
Is boundlen as we wish our souls to be :
And such was this wide ocean and the shoi«
If ore barren than its billows.'*
— Shtllty,
The Landes — that long, desolate
tract on the western coast of France
between the Gironde and the
Adour, with its vast forests of mel-
ancholy pines, its lone moors and
solitary deserts, its broad marshes,
and its dunes of sand that creep
relentlessly on as if they had life —
appeal wonderfully to the imagina-
tion, that folk du iogis^ as Mon-
taigne calls it, but which, in spite
of him, we love to feed. One may
travel for hours through these vast
steppes covered with heather with-
out discovering the smoke of a sin-
gle chimney, or anything to relieve
the monotonous horizon, unless a
long line of low sand-hills that look
like billows swayed to and fro in
the wind ; or some low tree stand-
ing out against the cloudless hea-
vens, perhaps half buried in the
treacherous sands ; or a gaunt pea-
sant, the very silhouette of a man,
on his stilts, " five feet above con-
tradiction,** like Voltaire's preach-
er, perhaps with his knitting-work
in liis hands, or a distaff under his
arm, as if fresh from the feet of Om-
phale, driving his flock before him
— all birds of one feather, or sheep
of one wool ; for he is clad in a
shaggy sheepskin coat, and looks as
if he needed shearing as much as
any of them. Or perhaps this
Knight of the Sable Fleece — for the
sheep of the Landes are mostly
black — is on one of the small, light
horses peculiar to the region, sai(
to have an infusion of Arabiai
blood — thanks to the Saracen inva
ders — which are well adapted t<
picking their way over quaking
bogs and moving sands, but un-
fortunately are fast degeneratinf
from lack of care in maintaining
the purity of the breed.
During the winter season these
extensive heaths are converted h\
the prolonged rains into immense
marshes, as the impermeable alios
within six inches of the surface pre-
vents the absorption of moisture.
The peasant is then obliged to shut
himself up with his beasts in his
low, damp cottage, with peat for his
fuel, a pine torch for his candle»
brackish water relieved by a dash
of vinegar for drink, meagre broth,
corn bread, and perhaps salt fish
for his dinner. Whole generations
are said lo live under one roof in
the Landes, so thoroughly are the
people imbued with the patriarchal
spirit. Woman has her rights here
— at least in the house. The old
till una (from domina^ perhaps) rules
the little kingdom with a high hand,
including her sons and her sons*
wives down to tlie remotest genera-
tion, with undisputed sway. It is
the very paradise of mothers-in-
law. The paterfamilias seldom
interferes if his soup is ready at
due time and she makes both ends
meet at the end of the year, with a
The Birtk-Place of 5. Vincent de Paul.
67
globe may lead to the door of a
hero," says some oixe. We have
spoken of La Teste. This was the
stronghold of the stout old Cap-
tals de Buch,* belonging to the De
Graillys, one of the historic families
of the country. No truer specimen
of the lords of the Landes could
||be found than these old captals,
Inrho, poor» proud, and adventurous,
''entered the service of the English,
lo whom they remained faithful as
, long as that nation had a foothold
in the land. Their name and
deeds are familiar to every reader
of Froissart. The nearness of
Bordeaux, and the numerous privi-
leges and exemptions granted the
. foresters and herdsmen of the
Landes, explain the strong attach-
ttent of the people to the English
own. The De Graillys endeav-
Oied by alliances to aggrandize
ir family, and finally became
_al subjects of France under
Xoois XL They intermarried with
die Counts of Foix and B^arn, and
their vast landed possessions were
at length united with those of the
house of Albret. Where would
Ihe latter have been without them ?
And without the Albrets, where the
Bourbons ?
And this reminds us of the Sires
of Albret, another and still more
renowned family of the Landes.
Near the source of the Midou,
among the pine forests of Marem-
sin, you come to a village of a
thousand people called Labrit, the
ancient Leporetum, or country of
hares, whence Lebret, Labrit, and
Albret. Here rose the house of
A ret from obscurity to reign at
U : over Navarre and unite the
m ;t of ancient Aquitaine to the
cr urn of France. The history of
< ke lith «r espial (from ea^ttUU) was forawr-
ly f^ipM fTT one among Aquitaine lordt, but
ai iiadttdly laid aside. The Capult de Bucb
« Tioae woe tbc hit to bear it.
these lords of the heather is a mar-
vel of wit and good-luck. Great
hunters of hares and seekers of
heiresses, they were always on the
scent for advantageous alliances,
not too particular about the age
or face of the lady, provided they
won broad lands or a fat barony.
Once in their clutches, they sel-
dom let go. They never allowed a
daughter to succeed to any inheri-
tance belonging to the seigneurie of
Albret as long as there was a male
descendant. Always receive, and
never give, was their motto. Their
daughters had their wealth of
beauty for a dowry, with a little
money or a troublesome fief liable
to reversion.
The Albrets are first heard of in
the Xlth century, when the Bene-
dictine abbot of S. Pierre at Con-
dom, alarmed for the safety of
N^rac, one of the abbatial pos-
sessions, called upon his brother,
Amanieu d* Albret, for aid. The
better to defend the monk's prop-
erty, the Sire of Albret built a cas-
tle on the left bank of the Ba'ise,
and played the rdle of protector so
well that at last his descendants
are found sole lords of N6rac, on
the public square of which now
stands the statue of Henry IV., the
most glorious of the race. The
second Amanieu went to the Cru-
sades under the banner of Ray-
mond of St. Gilles, and entered
Jerusalem next to Godfrey of Bou-
illon, to whom an old historian
makes him related, nobody knows
how. Oihenard says the Albrets
descended from the old kings of
Navarre, and a MS. of the XlVth
century links them with the Counts
of Bigorre ; but this was probably
to flatter the pride of the house
after it rose to importance. We
find a lord of Albret in the sen^ice
of the Black Prince with a thou-
68
The Birth-place of S. Vincent de Paul.
sand lances (five thousand men),
ctud owner of Casteljaloux, Lava-
zan, and somehow of the abbey of
Sauve-Majour ; but not finding the
English service sufficiently lucra-
tive, he passed over to the enemy.
Charles d*Albret was so able a cap-
tain that he quartered the lilies of
France on his shield, and held the
constable's sword till the fatal bat-
tle of Agincourt. Alain d'Albret
made a fine point in the game by
marrying Fran^oise de Bretagne,
who, though ugly, was the niece
and only heiress of Jean de Blois,
lord of Perigord and Limoges.
His son had still better luck. He
married Catherine of Navarre. \^
he lost his possessions beyond the
Pyrenees, he kept the county of
Foix, and soon added the lands of
Astarac. Henry I. of Navarre, by
marrying Margaret of Valois, ac-
quired all the spoils of the house
of Armagnac. Thus the princely
house of Navarre, under their
daughter Jeanne, who married An-
toine de Bourbon, was owner of all
Gascony and part of Guienne. It
was Henry IV. of France who
finally realized the expression of
the blind faith of the house of Al-
bret in its fortune, expressed in the
prophetic device graven on the
Chateau de Coarraze, where he
])assed his boyhood : " Lo que ha de
set no puede faltar'-^Th^X. which
must be will be !
But we have not yet come to the
door of our hero. There is another
native of the Landes whose fame
has gone out through the whole
earth — whose whole life and aim
were in utter contrast with the
spirit of these old lords of the
heather. The only armor he ever
put on was that of righteousness ;
the only sword, that of the truth ;
the only jewel, that which the old
rabbis say Abraham wore, the light
of which raised up the bowed d(
and healed the sick, and, after
death, was placed among the st;
It need not be said we refer l<
Vincent de Paul, the great initis
of public charity in France, i
by his benevolence perhaps effec
as much for the good of the ki
dom as Richelieu with his politi
genius. He was born during
religious conflicts of the XVIth c
tury, in the little hamlet of R.
quine, in the parish of Pouy, on i
border of the Landes, a few mi
from Dax. It must not be supp
ed \kit pariicule in his name is in
cative of nobility. In former tin
people who had no name but tl
given them at the baptismal f<
often added the place of their bii
to prevent confusion. S. Vinct
was the son of a peasant, and spc
his childhood in watching 1
father's scanty fiock among t
moors. The poor cottage in whi
he was born is still standing, ai
near it the gigantic old oak to t!
hollow of which he used to reli
to pray, both of which are objec
of veneration to the pious pilgri
of all ranks and all lands. Som
where in these vast solitudes-
whether among the ruins of Not]
Dame de Buglose, destroyed a litt
before by the Huguenots, or in h
secret oratory in the oak, we cann(
say — he heard the mysterious \o\c
which once whispered to Joan o
Arc among the forests of Lorraine-
a voice difficult to resist, which dc
cided his vocation in life. He re
solved to enter the priesthood, Th
Franciscans of Dax lent him book
and a cell, and gave him a pittano
for the love of God ; but he finishe(
his studies and took his degree a
Toulouse, as was only discovere(
by papers found after his death, s(
unostentatious was his life. H<
partly defrayed his expenses ai
The BirtJt^Place of S. Vincent de PauL
Toalouse by becoming the tutor of
some young noblemen of fiuzet.
Near the latter place was a solitary
mountain chapel in the woods, not
Car from the banks of the Tarn,
called Notre Dame de Grace. Its
deluded position, the simplicity of
r ks decorations, and the devotion
Se experienced in this quiet oratory,
tttracted the pious student, and he
pften retired there to pray before
the altar of Our Lady of Grace.
It was there he found strength to
take upon himself the yoke of the
priesthood — a yoke angels might
fiear to bear. It was there, in soli-
' tilde and silence, assisted by a
I fniest and a clerk, that he offered
I llis first Mass ; for, so terrified was he
by the importance and sublimity of
this divine function, he had not the
courage to celebrate it in public.
iThis chapel is still standing, and is
ttDualiy crowded with pilgrims on
'flic festival of S. Vincent of Paul.
It is good to kneel on the worn
flag'Stones where the saint once
prayed, and pour out one's soul
before the altar that witnessed the
fervor of his first Mass. The supe-
rior-general of the Lazarists visited
this interesting chapel in 185 1, ac-
companied by nearly fifty Sisters
ot Ch.irity. They brought a relic
of the saint, a chalice and some
vestments for the use of the chap-
lain, and a bust of S. Vincent for
the new altar to his memory.
Every step in S. Vincent's life is
I marked by the unmistakable hand
of divine Providence. Captured
i in a voyage by Algerine pirates, he
i* sold in the market-place of Tu-
nis, that he might learn to sympa-
thize with tliose who are in bonds ;
^ falls into the hands of a rene-
gade, who, with his whole family,
it soon converted and makes his
ttcapc from the country. S. Vin-
cent presents them to the papal
legate at Avignon, and goes to
Rome, whence he returns, charged
with a confidential mission by Car-
dinal d'Ossat. He afterwards be-
comes a tutor in the family of the
Comte de Gondi — another provi-
dential event. The count is gov-
ernor-general of the galleys, and
the owner of vast possessions in
Normandy. S. Vincent labors
among the convicts, and, if he can-
not release them from their bonds,
he teaches them to bear their suffer-
ings in a spirit of expiation. He
establishes rural missions in Nor-
mandy, and founds the College of
Bons-Enfants and the house of S.
Lazare at Paris.
A holy widow, Mme. Legros, falls
under his influence, and charitable
organizations of ladies are formed,
and sisters for the special service
of the sick are established at S.
Nicolas du Chardonnet. Little
children, abandoned by unnatural
mothers, are dying of cold and ium-
ger in the streets ; S. Vmcent opens
a foundling asylum, and during the
cold winter nights he goes alone
through the most dangerous quar-
ters of old Paris in search of these
poor waifs of humanity.* Clerical
^ In the Journal of the Sisten of Charity of that
time we read :
*^Jan. aa. — M*. Vincent arrived at eleven o*clock
in the' evening, bringing us two children ; one per-
haps six days old, th« other older. Both were cry-
ing. ...
^ Jan. 35. — ^The streets are full of snow. We are
expecting M. Vincent."
^* Jan. 36.— Poor M. Vincent is chilled through.
He has brought us an infant. . . ."
^* Feb. z.— The archbishop came to see us. We
are in great need of public charity ! M. Vincent
places no limit to his ardent love for poor children.**
And when their resources arc exhausted, the saint
makes the following pathetic appeal to the patron-
esses: ^'Compas&ion has led you to adopt the&e
little creatures as your own children. You are their
mothers according to grace, as their mothers by na-
ture have abandoned them Will you also abandon
them in your turn ? Their life and death are in
your hands. I am going to take your vote on the
point. The charity you give or refuse Is a terrible
decision in your hands It is time to pronounce
their sentence, and learn if you will no longer have
pity 00 them.*' — Sermon 0/ S» Vincent to the La-
dUt 0/ Charity in 1648.
70
The Birth-place of 5. Vincent de Paul.
instruction is needed, and Riche-
lieu, at his instance, endows the
first ecclesiastical seminary. The
moral condition of the army excites
the saint's compassion, and the car-
dinal authorizes missionaries among
the soldiers. The province of
Lorraine is suffering from famine.
Mothers even devour their own
children. In a short time S. Vin-
cent collects sixteen hundred thou-
sand livres for their relief. Under
the regency of Anne of Austria he
becomes a member of the Council
of Ecclesiastical Affairs. In the wars
of the Fronde he is for peace, and
negotiates between the queen and
the parliament. The foundation
of a hospital for old men marks the
end of his noble, unselfish life. The
jewel of charity never ceases to
glow in his breast. It is his great
bequest to his spiritual children.
How potent it has been is proved
by the incalculable good effected
to this day by the Lazarists, Sisters
of Charity, and Society of S. Vin-
cent of Paul — beautiful constella-
tions in the firmament of the
church !
In the midst of his honors S.
Vincent never forgot his humble
origin, but often referred to it with
the true spirit of ama nesciri et pro
nihilo reputari. Not that he was
inaccessible to human weakness, but
he knew how to resist it. We read
in his interesting Life by Abb^
Maynard that the porter of the
College of Bons-Enfants informed
the superior one day that a poorly-
clad peasant, styling himself his
nephew, was at the door. S. Vin-
cent blushed and ordered him to be
taken up to his room. Then he
blushed for having blushed, and,
going down into the street, embrac-
ed his nephew and led him into the
court, where, summoning all the
professors of the college, he pre-
sented the confused youth : " Gen-
tlemen, this is the most respectable
of my family." And he continued,
during the remainder of his visit, to
introduce him to visitors of every
rank as if he were some great lord,
in order to avenge his first move-
ment of pride. And when, not
long after, he made a retreat, he
publicly humbled himself before his
associates : " Brethren, pray for
one who through pride wished to
take his nephew secretly to his
room because he was a peasant and
poorly dressed.'*
S. Vincent returned only once to
his native place after he began his
apostolic career. This was at the
close of a mission among the con-
victs of Bordeaux. During his visit
he solemnly renewed his baptismal
vows in the village church where
he had been baptized and made his
First Communion, and on the day
of his departure he went with bare
feet on a pilgrimage to Notre
Dame de Buglose, among whose
ruins he had so often prayed in his
childhood, but which was now re-
built. He was accompanied, not
only by his relatives, but by all the
villagers, who were justly proud of
their countryman. He sang a sol-
emn Mass at the altar of Our
Lady, and afterwards assembled
the whole family around the table
for a modest repast, at the end of
which he rose to take leave of
them. They all fell at his feet and
implored his blessing. **Yes, I
give you my blessing," replied he,
much affected, " but I bless ' you
poor and humble, and beg our
Lord to continue among you the
grace of holy poverty. Never
abandon the condition in which
you were born. This is ray ear-
nest recommendation, which I beg
you to transmit as a heritage to
your chil'dren. Farewell for ever !''
The Birth-Place of S. Vincent de Paul.
71
His advice was religiously kept.
By matual assistance his family
might have risen above its original
ot>scurity. Some of his mother's
family were advocates at the par-
liament of Bordeaux, and it would
have been easy to obtain offices
that would have given them, at
least, prominence in their own vil-
lage ; but they clung to their rural
pursuits. The advice of their
saluted relative was too precious a
legacy to be renounced.
Not that S. Vincent was insensi-
ble to their condition or unambi-
tious by nature, but he knew the
value of the hidden life and the
perils of worldly ambition. We
have on this occasion another
glimpse of his struggles with na-
lure. Hardly had he left his rela-
tives before he gave vent to his
emotion in a flood of tears, and he
almost reproached himself for leav-
ing Ibem in their poverty. But let
us quote his own words : " The
day I left home I was so filled
irith sorrow at separating from my
poor relatives that I wept as I
went along — wept almost incessant-
ly. Then came the thought of
aiding them and bettering their
condition; of giving so much to
this one, and so much to that.
While my heart thus melted within
me, 1 divided all I had with them.
Yes, even what I had not; and I
say this to my confusion, for God
perhaps permitted it to make me
comprehend the value of the evan-
gelical counsel. For three months
1 felt this importunate longing to
promote the interests of my bro-
thers and sisters. It constantly
weighed on my poor heart. Dur-
ing this time, when I felt a little re-
lieved, I prayed God to deliver me
from this temptation, and perse-
vc^d so long in my prayer that at
length he had pity on rte and took
away this excessive tenderness for
my relations ; and though they have
been needy, and still are, the good
God has given ^^ne the grace to
commit them to his Providence,
and to regard them as better off
than if they were in an easier con-
dition."
S. Vincent was' equally rigid as
to his own personal necessities, as
may be seen by the following
words from his own lips : *' When
I put a morsel of bread to my
mouth, I say to myself: Wretched
man, hast thou earned the bread
thou art going to eat — the bread
that comes from the labor of the
poor r
Such is the spirit of the saints.
In these days, when most people
are struggling to rise in the world,
many by undue means, and to an
unlawful height, it is well to recall
this holy example ; it is good to get
a glimpse into the heart of a saint,
and to remember there are still
many in the world and in the clois-
ter who strive to counterbalance all
this ambition and love of display
by their humility and self-denial.
Immediately after S. Vincent's
canonization, in 1737, the inhabi-
tants of Pouy, desirous of testify-
ing their veneration for his mem-
ory, removed the house where he
was born a short distance from its
original place, without changing its
primitive form in the least, and
erected a small chapel on the site,
till means could be obtained for
building a church. The great
Revolution put a stop to the plan.
In 1821 a new effort was made, a
committee appointed, and a sub-
scription begun which soon amount-
ed to thirty thousand francs; but
at the revolution of 1830 material
interests prevailed, and the funds
were appropriated to the construc-
tion of roads.
72
The Birth'Place of S. Vincent de Paul,
The ecclesiastical .authorities at
length took the matter in hand, and
formed the plan, not only of build-
ing a church, but surrounding it
with the various charitable institu-
tions founded by S. Vincent — a
hospital for the aged, asylums for
orphans and foundlings, and per-
haps tkferme module in the Landes.
In 1850 the Bishop of Aire ap-
pealed to the Catholic world for
aid/ Pius IX. blessed the under-
taking. On the Festival of the
Transfiguration, 185 1, the corner-
stone was laid by the bishop, assist-
ed by P^re Etienne, the superior-
general of the Lazarists. Napoleon
III. and the Empress Eugenie
largely contributed to the work, and
in a few years the church and hos-
pice were completed. The conse-
cration took place April 24, 1864, in
the presence of an immense multi-
tude from all parts of the country.
From three o'clock in the morning
there were Masses at a dozen altars,
and the hands of the priests were
fatigued in administering the holy
Eucharist. Among the communi-.
cants were eight hundred members
of the Society of S. Vincent de
Paul, from Bordeaux, who manifest-
ed their joy by enthusiastic hymns.
At eight in the forenoon Pfere
Etienne, surrounded by Lazarists
and Sisters of Charity, celebrated
the Holy Sacrifice at the newly-con-
secrated high altar, and several
novices made their vows, among
whom was a young African, a cou-
sin of Abdel Kader. A chdsse con-
taining relics of S. Vincent was
brought in solemn procession from
the parish church of Pouy, where
he had been held at the font and
received the divine Guest in his
heart for the first time. The road
was strewn with flowers and green
leaves. The weather was delight-
ful and the heavens radiant. At
the head of the procession was
borne a banner, on which S. Vin-
cent was represented as a shepherd,
followed by all the orphans of the
new asylum and the old men of
the hospice. Then came a long
line of Enfanis de Marie dressed in
white, carrying oriflammes, follow-
ed by the students of the colleges
of Aire and Dax. Behind were
fifteen hundred members of the
Society of S. Vincent de Paul, and
a file of sisters of various orders, in-
cluding eight hundred Sisters of
Charity, with a great number of
Lazarists in the rear. Then came
thirty relatives of S. Vincent, wear-
ing the peasant's costume of the
district, heirs of his virtues and
simplicity — Noblesse oblige. Then
the Polish Lazarists with the flaji
of their nation, beloved by S. Vin-
cent, and after them the clergy of
the diocese and a great number
from foreign parts, among whom
was M. Eugene Bor^, of Constanti-
nople, now superior-general of the
two orders founded by the saint.
The shrine came next, surrounded
by Lazarists and Sisters of Charily.
Behind the canons and other dig-
nitaries came eight bishops, four
archbishops, and Cardinal Donnet
of Bordeaux, followed by the civil
authorities and an immense multi-
tude of people nearly two miles \n
extent, with banners bearing touch-
ing devices.
This grand procession of more
than thirty thousand people pro-
ceeded with the utmost order, to
the sound of chants, instrumental
music, and salutes from cannon
from time to time, to the square in
front of the new church, where, be-
fore an altar erected at the foot of
S. Vincent's oak, they were ad-
dressed by Per J Kiiennc in an elo-
quent, thrilling discourse, admira-
ble in style and glowing with ima-
The Birt/i^Ptace of S. Vincent de Paul.
73
gery, suited to the fervid nature of
this southern region. He spoke of
S. Vincent, not only as the roan of
his age with a providential mission,
but of a type suited to all ages.
The man who loved his brethren,
reconciled enemies, brought the
rich and poor into one common
field imbued with a common idea
of sacrifice and devotion, fed the
orphan, aided the needy, and wiped
away the tears of the sufferer, is
the man of all times, and especially
of an age marked by the fomenta-
tion of political passions.
The old oak was gay with stream-
ers, the hollow was fitted up as an
orator}', before which Cardinal Don-
net said Mass in the open air, after
which thousands of voices joined
in the solemn Te Deum Laudamus^
and the thirteen prelates terminated
the grand ceremony by giving their
united benediction to the kneeling
crowd.
A whole flock of Sisters of Cha-
rity, with their dove-like plumage
of while and gray, took the same
train as ourselves the pleasant Sep-
tember morning we left Bayonne
for the birth-place oi S. Vincent of
Paul. They seemed like birds of
good omen. They were also going
to the Berceati (cradle), as they
called it, not on a mere pilgrimage,
bat to make their annual retreat.
What for, the saints alone know;
for they looked like the personifi-
cation of every amiable virtue, and
quite ready to spread their white
wings and take flight for heaven.
It was refreshing to watch their
gentle, unaffected ways, wholly de-
void of those demure airs of supe-
rior sanctity and repulsive auste-
rity so exasperating to us worldly-
minded people. They all made the
sign of the cross as the train moved
out of the station — and a good hon-
est one it was, as if they loved the
sign of the Son of Man, and de-
lighted in wearing it on their breast.
Some had come from St. Sebastian,
others from St. Jean de Luz, and
several from Bayonne; but they
mingled like sisters of one great
family of charity. Some chatted,
some took out their rosaries and
went to praying with the most
cheerful air imaginable, as if it were
a new refreshment just allowed
them, instead of being the daily
food of their souls ; and others
seemed to be studying with interest
the peculiar region we were now
entering. For we were now in the
Landes — low, level, monotonous,
and melancholy. The railway lay
through vast forests of dusky pines,
varied by willows and cork-trees,
with here and there, at long dis-
tances, an open tract where ripened
scanty fields of corn and millet
around the low cottages of the pea-
sants. The sides of the road were
purple with heather. The air was
full of aromatic odors. Each pine
had its broad gash cut by some
merciless hand, and its life-blood
was slowly trickling down its side.
Passing through this sad forest, one
could not help thinking of the drear,
mystic wood in Dante's Inferno,
where every tree encloses a human
soul with infinite capacity of suffer-
ing, and at every gash cut, every
branch lopped off, utters a despair-
ing cry :
" Why pluck'at thou me ?
Then, as the dark blood trickled down its side.
These words it added : Wherefore tear'st me thus ?
Is there no touch of mercy in thy breast ?
Men once were we that now are rooted here."
Though the sun was hot, the
pine needles seemed to shiver, the
branches swayed to and fro in the
air, and gave out a kind of sigh
which sometimes increased into an
inarticulate wail. We look up, al-
most expecting to see the harpies
sitting
74
The BirHi^Place of 5. Vincent de Paul.
** Each OD tne wUd thorn of hjs wretcned sh^e. '
Could we stop, we might ques-
tion these maimed trees and learn
some fearful tragedy from the im-
prisoned spirits. Perhaps they re-
count them to each other in the
wild winter nights when the pea-
sants, listening with a kind of fear
in their lone huts, start up from
their beds and say it is Rey Artus
— King Arthur — who is passing by
with his long train of dogs, horses,
and huntsmen, from an old legend
of the time of the English occupa-
tion which says that King Arthur,
as he was hearing Mass on Easter-
day, attracted by the cries of his
hounds attacking their prey, went
out at the elevation of the Host
A whirlwind carried him into the
clouds, where he has hunted ever
since, and will, without cessation or
repose, till the day of judgment,
only taking a fly every seven years.
The popular belief that he is pass-
ing with a great noise through space
when the winds sweep across the
vast moors on stormy nights prob-
ably embodies the old tradition of
some powerful lord whose hounds
and huntsmen ruined the crops of
the poor, who, in their wrath, con-
signed them to endless barren hunt-
ing-fields in the spirit-land — a le-
gend which reminds us of the Aas-
gaardsreja of whom Miss Bremer
tells us — spirits not good enough
to merit heaven, and yet not bad
enoagh to deserve hell, and are
therefore doomed to ride about till
the end of the world, carrying fear
and disaster in their train.
In a little over an hour we ar-
rived at Dax, a pleasant town on
the banks of the Adour, with long
lines of sycamores, behind which is
a hill crowned with* an old chateau,
now belonging to the Lazarists.
The place is renowned for its ther-
mal springs and mud-baths, known
to the Romans before its connuc*^
by the Caesars. It was from Aqu;je
Augustas, the capital of the an-
cient Tarbelli (called in the Mid-
dle Ages the ville (CAcqs^ or (TAcs^
whence Dax), that the name of
Aquitaine is supposed to be de-
rived. Pliny, the naturalist, speak-
ing of the Aquenses, says: Aquitant
indh nomcn prmnncia. The Bay of
Biscay was once known by the
name of Sinus Tarbellicus, from
the ancient Tarbelli. Lucan savs :
m
*' Tunc rum Nemossi
Qui tenet et ripas Aturri, quo littore cunro
Molliter admissum claudit Tarbellicus equor.**
S. Vincent of Saintonge was the
first apostle of the region, and fell a
martyr to his zeal. Dax formed
part of the dowry of the daughter
of Henry II. of England when she
married Alfonso of Castile, but it
returned to the Plantagenets in the
time of Edward III. The city was
an episcopal see before the revolu-
tion of 1793. F''an9ois de Noailles,
one of the most distinguished of its
bishops, was famous as a diploma-
tist in the XVIth century. He
was sent to England on several im-
portant missions, and finally ap-
pointed ambassador to that coun-
try in the reign of Mary Tudor.
Recalled when Philip II. induced
her to declare war against France,
he landed at Calais, and, carefully
examining the fortifications, his
keen, observant eye soon discovered
the weak point, to which, at his
arrival in court, he at once directed
the king's attention, declaring it
would not be a difficult matter to
take the place. His statements
made such an impression on King
Henry, who had always found him
as judicious as he was devoted to
the interests of the crown, that he
resolved to lay siege to Calais, not-
withstanding the opposition of his
ministers, and the Duke of Guise
The Birth-place of 5. Vincent de Paul.
75
began the attack January i, 155S.
The place was taken in a week. It
had cost the English a year's siege
two hundred and ten years before.
Three weeks after its surrender
Cardinal Hippolyte de Ferrara,
Archbishop of Auch (the son of
Lucretia Borgia, who married Al-
phonso d'Este, Duke of Ferrara)
wrote Fran9ois de Noaiiles as fol-
lows : ** No one can help acknow-
ledging the great liand you had in
the taking of Calais, as it was actu-
ally taken at the very place you
pointed out." French historians
have been too forgetful of the hand
the Bishop of Dax had in the taking
of a place so important to the inter-
ests of the nation, which added so
much to the glory of the French
amis, and was so humiliating to
England, whose anguish was echoed
by the queen when she exclaimed
that if her heart could be opened
the very name of Calais would be
found written therein !
This great churchman was no
less successful in his embassy to
Venice, where he triumphed over
the haughty pretensions of Philip
II., and, as Brantdme says, " won
great honor and affection.'* After
five years in Italy he returned to
Dax, where he devoted most of his
revenues to relieve the misery that
prevailed at that fearful time of re-
ligious war. Dax, as he said, was
" the poorest see in France." In
157 1 he was appointed ambassador
to Constantinople by Charles IX.
Florimond de Raymond, an old
writer of that day, tells us the
bishop was at first troubled as to
his presentation to the sultan, who
only regarded the highest dignita-
ries as the dust of his feet, and ex-
acted ceremonies which the ambas-
sador considered beneath the dig-
nity of a bishop and a representa-
tive of France. He resolved not
to submit to them, and, thanks to
his pleasing address, and handsome
person dressed for the occasion in
red cramoisie and cloth of gold, he
was not subjected to them. More-
over, by his fascinating manners
and agreeable conversation, he be-
came a great favorite of the sultan,
and took so judicious a course that
his embassy ended by rendering
France mistress of the commerce
of the Mediterranean, and giving
her a pre-eminence in the East
which she has never lost.
It was after his return from the
Levant that, in an interview with
Henry III., the sagacious bishop
urged the king to declare war
against Spain, as the best means of
delivering France from the horrors
of a civil war. De Thou says the
king seemed to listen favorably to
the suggestion ; but it was opposed
by the council, and it was not till
ten years later that Henry IV. de-
clared war against that country, as
Duruy states, "the better to end
the civil war."
The Bishop of Dax seems to have
been poorly remunerated for his
eminent services. Like Frederick
the Great's father, he said kings
were always hard of liearing when
there was a question of money, and
complained that, notwithstanding
his long services abroad, he had
never received either honors or
profit. Even his apponitnients as
ambassador to Venice, amounting
to more than thirty thousand livres,
were still due. Many of his letters
to the king and to Marie do Medi-
cis have been preserved, which
show his elevation of mind, and his
broad political and religious views,
which give him a right to be num-
bered among the great churchmen
of the XVIth century.
At Dax we took a carriage to the
Berceau of S. Vincent, and, after
half an hour's drive along a level
road bordered with trees, we came
76
The Birth-Place of S. Vincent de Paul.
in sight of the great dome of the
church rising up amid a group of
fine buildings. Driving up to the
door, the first thing we observed
was the benign statue of the saint
standing on the gable against the
clear, blue sky, with arras wide-
spread, smiling on the pilgrim a
very balm of peace. Before the
church there is a broad green, at
the right of which is the venerable
old oak ; at the left, the cottage of
the De Pauls; and in the rear of
the church, the asylums and hos-
pice — fine establishments one is sur-
prised to find in this remote region.
We at once entered the church,
which is in the style of the Renais-
sance. It consists of a nave with-
out aisles, a circular apsis, and
transepts which form the arms of
the cross, in the centre of which
rises the dome, lined with an indif-
ferent fresco representing S. Vin-
cent borne to heaven by the angels.
Directly beneath is the high altar
where are enshrined relics of the
saint. Around it, at the four an-
gles of the cross, are statues of four
S. Vincents — of Xaintes, of Sara-
gossa, of Lerins, and S. Vincent
Ferrer. The whole life of S. Vin-
cent of Paul is depicted in the
stained-glass windows. And on the
walls of the nave are four paint-
ings, one representing him as a
boy, praying before Our Lady of
Buglose ; the second, his first Mass
in the chapel of Notre Dame de
Grice ; in the third he is redeem-
ing captfves, and in the fourth giv-
ing alms to the poor.
We next visited the asylums, ad-
miring the clean, airy rooms, the
intelligent, happy faces of the or-
phans, and the graceful cordiality
of the sister who was at the head
of the establishment — a lady of
fortune who has devoted her all to
the work.
At length we came to the cottage
— the door of the true hero to
which our path had led. The
broad, one-story house in which S.
Vincent was born is now a mere
skeleton within, the framework of
the partitions alone remaining, so
one can take in the whole at a
glance. There is the kitchen, with
the huge, old-fashioned chimney,
around which the family used to
gather — so enormous that in look-
ing up one sees a vast extent of
blue sky. Saint's house though it
was, we could not help thinking —
Heaven forgive us the profane
thought ! — it must have, been very
much like the squire's chimney in
Tylney Hall^ the draught of which,
like the Polish game of drauglUs,
was apt to take backwards and dis-
charge all the smoke into his sit-
ting-room ! The second room at
the left, where the saint was born,
is an oratory containing an altar,
the crucifix he used to pray before,
some of the garments he wore,
shoes broad and much-enduring as
his own nature, and many other
precious relics. Not only this, but
every room has an altar. We
counted seven, all of the simplest
construction, for the convenience
of the pilgrims who come here with
their curh at certain seasons of the
year to honor their sainted coun-
tryman who in his youth here led a
simple, laborious life like them-
selves. We found several persons
at prayer in the various compart-
ments, all of which showed the
primitive habits and limited re-
sources of the family, though not
absolute poverty. The floor was
of earth, the walls and great rafters
only polished with time and the
kisses of the pilgrims, and above
the rude stairway, a mere loft
where perchance the saint slept in
his boyhood. Everything in this
cottage, where a great heart was
cradled, was from its very simpli-
The Birth-Place of S. Vincettt de Paul.
77
cit J extremely touching. It seemed
the very place to meditate on the
mysterious ways of divine Provi-
dence — mysterious as the wind that
bloweth where it listeth — the very
place to chant the Suscitans ^ ierrd
inopem : ft de siercore erigens paupe-
rrm ; ut coiloctt eum cum principibuSy
cum principibui populi sui,
S. Vincent's oak, on the oppo-
site side of the green, looks old
enough to have witnessed the mys-
terious rites of the Druids. It is
sanounded by a railing to protect
it from the pious depredations of
the pilgrim.^ It still spreads broad
its branches covered with verdure,
though the trunk is so hollowed by
decay that one side is entirely gone,
and in the heart, where young Vin-
cent used to pray, stands a wooden
pillar on which is a statue of the
Virgin, pure and white, beneath
the green bower. A crowd of art-
ists, savantSy soldiers, and princes
have bent before this venerable
tree. In 1823 the public authori-
ties of the commune received the
Duchess of Angouleme at its foot.
The learned and pious Ozanam,
one of the founders of the Society
of S. Vincent of Paul, came here in
his last days to offer a prayer. On
the list of foreign visitors is tlie
name of the late venerable Bishop
Flaget of Kentucky, of whom it is
recorded that he kissed the tree
with love and veneration, and
plucked, as every pilgrim does, a
leaf from its branches.
There is an herb, says Pliny,
found on Mt. Atlas ; they who gath-
er it see more clearly. There is
something of this virtue in the oak
of S. Vincent of Paul. One sees
morfe clearly than ever at its foot
the infinite moral superiority of a
nature like his to the worldly ambi-
tion of the old lords of the Landes.
i'amous as the latter were in their
day, who thinks of them now }
Wlio cares for tlie lords of Castel-
nau, the Seigneurs of Juliac, or
even for the Sires of Albret, whose
ancient castle at Labrit is now raz-
ed to the ground, and, while we
write, its last traces obliterated for
ever .^ The shepherd whistles idly
among the ruins of their once
strong holds, the ploughman drives
thoughtlessly over the place where
they once held proud sway, as in-
different as the beasts themselves;
but there is not a peasant in the
Landes who does not cherish the
memory of S. Vincent of Paul, or a
noble who does not respect his
name ; and thousands annually visit
the poor house where he was born
and look with veneration at the oak
where he prayed.
Charity is the great means of
making the poor forget the fearful
inequality of worldly riches, and its
obligation reminds the wealthy
they are only part of a great bro-
therhood. Its exercise ^ftens the
heart and averts the woe pronounc-
ed on the rich. S. John of God,
wishing to found a hospital at Gra-
nada, and without a ducat in the
world, walked slowly through the
streets and squares with a hod on
his back and two great kettles at
his side, crying with a loud voice :
" Who wishes to do good to him-
self.^ Ah! my brethren, for the
loveofGod,dogoodio yourselves!"
And alms flowed in from every
side. It was these appeals in the
divine name that gave him his ap-
pellation. " What is your name.^"
asked Don Ramirez, Bishop of Tuy.
** John," was the reply. " Hence-
forth you shall be called John of
God," said the bishop.
And so, that we may all become
the sons of God, let us here, at the
foot of S. Vincent's oak, echo the
words that in life were so often on
his lips :
Caritatem, propter Deum !
Lgrd Cattlekaven^ s Memoirs.
LORD CASTLEHAVEN'S MEMOIRS.*
In the year 1638 the Earl of
Castlehavcn, then a young man,
made the Grand Tour, as became a
nobleman of his family in that age.
Being at Rome, whither the duty
of paying his respects to the Holy
Father had (tarried him — for this
lord was the head of one of those
grand old families which had de-
clined to forswear its faith at the
behest of Henry or Elizabeth— he
received a letter from King Charles
I., requiring him to attend the king
in his expedition against the Scots,
then revolted and in arms. With
that instant loyalty which was the
return made by those proscribed
families to an ungrateful court
from the Armada down, Ldrd Cas-
tlehaven, two days after the mes-
senger had placed the royal missive
in his hands, took post for England.
Near Turin he fell in with an army
commanded by the Marquis de Le-
ganes. Governor of Milan for the
King of Spain, who was marching
to besiege, the Savoy capital. But
the siege was soon raised, and Lord
Castlehavcn entered the town.
There he found her Royal High-
ness the Duchess of Savoy in
great confusion, as if she had got
no rest for many nights, so much
had she been occupied with the
conduct of the defence; for even
the wives of this warlike and rapa-
ily soon learned to defend
n by the strong hand,
d stretch it out to grasp
■I t/ Caitlikatiinj Rrvitw : or. Hv
Hu EngiginiEnl ind Cuna(c in the
Enlarged kuj corrccKd. "Wiih an A^
Still more when occasion servcd-
But as yet the ambition of the
House of Savoy stopped short of
sacrilege — or stooped to it like a
hawk on short flights — nor dreamed
of aggrandizing itself with the spoils
of the whole territory of the church.
When Lord Castlehaven came to
take leave of the duchess, her royal
highness gave him a musket-bullet,
much battered, which had come in
at her windoiv and missed her nar-
rowly, charging him to deliver it
safely to her sister, the Queen of
England — as it proved, a present
of ill omen ; for of musket-balls, in
a little lime, the English sister had
more than enough.
Arriving in London, Lord CJstle-
haven followed the king to Berwick,
where he found the royal army en-
camped, with the Tweed before it,
and the Scotch, under Gen. Leslie,
lying at some distance. A pacifica-
tion was soon effected, and both
armies partially disbanded. After
this the earl passed his time "as
well as he could " at home till 1640.
In that year the King of France
besieged Arras, and Lord Castle-
haven set out to witness the siege.
Within was a stout garrison under
Owen Roe O'Neal, commanding
for the Prince Cardinal, Governor
of the Low Countries. This was
the first meeting of Castlehaven
with the future victor of Benburb,
with whom he was afterwards
brought into closer relations in
the Irish Rebellion. The French
pressed Arras close, and the con-
federates being defeated, and the
hope of the siege being raised grown
Lord Castlehaveii s Memoirs.
79
desperate, the town was surrendered
on honorable terms. This action
over, :-ord Castlehaven returned to
England and sat in Parliament till
the attainder of the Earl of Straf-
ford. When that greaf nobleman
fell, deserted by his wavering royal
nuster, and the king's friends were
beginning to turn about — they
scarce knew whither — to prepare
for the storin that all men saw was
coming, Lord Castlehaven went to
Ireland, where he had some estate
and three married sisters. While
there the Rebellion of 1641 broke
out. Although innocent of any com-
plicity in the outbreak, his faith made
him suspected, and he was impris-
oned on a slight pretext by the lords-
jastices. Escaping, his first design
was to get into France, and thence
to England to join the king at
York, and petition for a trial by his
peers. But coming to Kilkenny,
lic found there the Supreme Coun-
cil 6f the Confederate Catholics
just assembled — many of them
being of his acquaintance — and
was persuaded by them to throw in
his lot with theirs, seeing, as they
truly told him, that they were all
nersecuted on the same score, and
ruined so that they had nothing
more to lose but their lives. From
that time till the peace of 1646 he
was engaged in the war of the Con-
federate Catholics, holding impor-
tant commands in the field under
the Supreme Council. His Memoirs
is the history of this War.
After the peace of 1646, con-
cluded with the Marquis of Or-
mond, the king's lord-lieutenant,
out which shortly fell through,
Lord Castlehaven retired to France,
ind served as a volunteer under
Prince Rupert at the siege of Lan-
drecies. Then, returning to Paris,
he remained in attendance on the
Queen of England and the Prince
of Wales (Charles II.) at St. Ger-
main till 1648. In that year he
returned to Ireland with the lord-
lieutenant, the Marquis of Ormond,
and served the royal cause in that
kingdotn against the parliamentary
forces under Ireton and Cromwell.
The battle of Worcester being lost,
and Cromwell the undisputed mas-
ter of the three kingdoms, Castle-
haven again followed the clouded
fortunes of Charles II. to France.
There he obtained permission to
join the Great Cond6. In the cam-
paigns under that prince he had
the command of eight or nine regi-
ments of Irish troops, making alto-
gether a force of 5,000 men. Thus
we find the Irish refugees already
consolidated into a brigade some
years before th^ Treaty of Limerick
expatriated those soldiers whose
valor is more commonly identified
with that title.
Lord Castlehaven returned to
England at the Restbretion. In
the war with Holland he served as
a volunteer in some of the naval
engagements. In 1667, the French
having invaded Flanders, he was
ordered there with 2,400 men to
recruit the "Old English Regi-
ment," of which he was made
colonel. The peace of Aix-la-
Chapelle ended this war. Peace
reigned in the Low Countries till
the breaking out, in 1673, of the
long and bloody contest between
the Prince of Orange and the
confederate Spaniards and Impe-
rialists on the one side, and Louis
XIV. on^the other. This was the
age of grand campaigns, conducted
upon principles of mathematical
precision by the great captains
formed in the school of M. Tu-
renne, before the ** little Marquis of
Brandenburg"* and the ** Corsi-
* This wss the title given at one time by the
French courtiers to Frederick I a.
8o
Lard Casilehaven's Memoirs.
can corporal " in turn revolution-
ized the art of war. Castlehaven
entered the Spanish service, and
shared the clieckered but general-
ly disastrous fortunes of the Duke
of Viliahermosa and the Prince
of Orange (William III.) against
Cond6 and Luxembourg, till the
peace of Nymegen put an end to
the war in 1678.
Then, after forty years* hard ser-
vice, this veteran retired from the
field, and returning to England,
like another Caesar, set about writ-
ing his commentaries on the wars.
Thus he spent his remaining years.
First he published, but without ac-
knowledging the authorship, his
Memoirs of the Irish Wars* This
first edition was suppressed. Then,
in 1684, appeared the second edi-
tion, containing, besides the Me-
moirs^ his " Appendix " — ^being an
account of his Continental service —
his ** Observations " on confederate
armies and the conduct of war,
and a " Postscript," which is a
reply to the Earl of Anglesey.
And right well has the modern
reader reason to be thankful for
his lordship's literary spirit. His
Memoirs is one of the most au-
thentic and trustworthy accounts
we have of that vexed passage of
Irish history — the Rebellion of
1641. Its blunt frankness is its
greatest charm ; it has the value
of an account by an actor in the
scenes described ; and it possesses
that merit of impartiality which
comes of being written by an Eng-
lishman who, connected with the
Irish leaders by the ties of faith,
family, and property, and sympa-
thizing fully with their efforts to
obtain redress for flagrant wrongs
was yet not blind to their mistakes
and indefensible actions.
Castlehaven, neglected for more
than a century, has received more
justice at the hands of later his*
torians. He is frequently referred
to by Lingard, and his work will be
found an admirable commentary on
Carte's Life of Ormond, There
is a notice ^f him in Horace Wal*
pole's Catalogue of Royal and Noble
Authors (vol. iii.)
*• If this lord," says Walpole, " who
led a very martial life, had not taken the
pains to record his own actions (which,
however, he has done with great frank-
ness and ingenuity), wc should know lit-
tle of his story, our historians scarce
mentioning him, and even our writers
of anecdotes, as Burnet, or of tales and
circumstances, as Roger North, not giv-
ing any account of a court quarrel occa-
sioned by his lordship's Memoirs, An-
thony Wood alone has preserved this
event, but has not made it intelligible.
. . . The earl had been much censured
for his share in the Irish Rebellion, and
wrote the Memoirs to explain his conduct
rather than to excuse it ; for he freely
confesses his faults, and imputes them tc
provocations from the government of that
kingdom, to whose rashness and crifelty,
conjointly with the votes and resolutions
of the English Parliament, he ascribes
the massacre. There are no dates nor
method, and less style, in these Memoirs —
defects atoned for in some measure by a
martial honesty. Soon after their publi-
cation the Earl of Anglesey wrote to ask
a copy. Lord Castlehaven sent him one,
but denying the work as his. Anglesey,
who had been a commissioner in Ireland
for tlie Parliament, published Castleha-
ven's letter, with observations and re-
flections ver)' abusive of the Duke of
Ormond, which occasioned first a print-
ed controversy, and this a trial before
the Privj' Council ; the event of which
was that Anglesey's first letter was voted
a scandalous libel, and himself removed
from the custody of the Privy Seal ; and
that the Earl of Castlehaven's Memoirs, on
which he was several times examined, and
which he owned, was declared a sc: nda-
lous libel on the government — a censure
that seems very little founded ; there is
not a word that can authorize that sentence
from the Council of Charles IL but tlie
imputation on the lords-justices of
Charles 1. ; for I suppose the Privy Coun-
cil did not pique themselves on vindicat-
Lard CastMiavetCs Memoirs.
8i
ing the honor of the republican Parlia-
ment ! Bishop Morley wrote A True
Account of the WkoU Proceeding between
James, Duke of Ormonde and Arthur^
Earl cf An^leseyy
Immediately after the Restora-
tion, as it is well known, an act was
passed, commonly called in that
age "the Act of Oblivion," by
which all penalties (except certain
specified ones) incurred in the
late troublous and rebellious times
were forgiven. So superfine would
have been the net which the law
of treason would have drawn around
the three kingdoms, had its strict
construction been enforced, that it
was quite cut loose, a few only of
the greatest criminals and regicides
being held in its meshes. So harsh
had been Cromwell's iron rule that
there were few counties of England
in which the stoutest squires, and
even the most loyal, might not have
trembled had the king's commis-
sion inquired too closely into the
legal question of connivance at the
late tyrant's rule. And in the
great cities, London especially, the
tide of enthusiasm which now ran
so strongly for the king could not
hide the memory of those days
when the same fierce crowds had
clamored for the head of the ** roy-
al martyr." Pnident it was, as well
as benign, therefore, for the " merry
monarch" to let time roll smooth-
ly over past transgressions. But
though the law might grant obli*
vion, and even punish the revival
of controversies, the old rancor be-
tween individuals and even parties
was not so easily appeased after
the first joyful outburst. Books
and pamphlets by the hundred
brought charges and counter
charges. But these *' authors of
slander and lyes," as Castlehaven
calls them, outdid themselves in
their tragical stories of the Irish
VOL. XXII.'
Rebellion of 1641. Nor have imi-
tators been wanting in this age, as
rancorous and more skilful, in the
production of "fictions and invec-
tives to traduce a whole nation."
To answer those calumnies by '* set-
ting forth the truth of his story in
a brief and plain method" was the
design of Castlehaven's work.
Then, as now, it was the aim of
the libellers of the Irish people to
make the whole nation accountable
for the " massacre," so called, of
1 641, and to confound the war of
the Confederate Catholics and the
later loyal resistance to Cromwell
in one common denunciation with
the first sanguinary and criminal
outbreak. LdVd Castlehaven's nar-
rative effectually disposes of this
charge. In a singularly clear and
candid manner he narrates the rise
and progress of the insurrection,
and shows the wide difference be-
tween the aims and motives of
those who planned the uprising of
October 23, 1641, and of those who
afterwards carried on the war un-
der the title of the Confederate
Catholics of Ireland. The former
he does not hesitate to denounce
as a "barbarous and inhumane"
conspiracy, but the responsibility
for it he fixes in the right quarter
— the malevolent character of the
Irish government and the atro-
cious spirit of the English Puritan
Parliament, which, abandoning all
the duties of protection, kept only
one object in view — the extirpa-
tion of the native Irish.
With the successful example of
the Scotch Rebellion immediately
before them, it was a matter of lit-
tle wonder to observant and im-
partial minds in that age that the
Irish should have seized upon the
occasion of the growing quarrel
between the king and Parliament
as the opportune moment for the
82
Lord Castlihaven's Memoirs.
redress of their grievances. For
in the year 1640, two years after
the pacification of Berwick, the
Scotch Rebellion, primarily insti-
gated by the same cause as the
Irish — religious differences — broke
out with greater violence than ever.
The Scots* army invaded England,
defeated the king's troops at New-
burn, and took Newcastle. Then,
driven to extremity by those Scotch
rebels, as mercenary as they were
fanatical,* and his strength para-
lyzed by the growing English se-
<dition, Charles I. called togeth-
:Cr '**that unfortunate Parliament"
which, proceeding from one vio-
lence to another, first destroyed its
master, and then wa% in turn de-
stroyed by its own servant. Far
from voting the Scotch army rebels
and traitors, the Parliament at once
styled them " dear brethren" and
voted them ;;^3oo,ooo for their kind-
ness. Mr. Gervase Holies was ex-
pelled from the House for saying
in the course of debate " that the
best way of paying them was by
arms to expel them out of the
kingdom." The quarrel between
King and Commons grew hotter,
until finally it became evident that,
notwithstanding Charles' conces-
sions, a violent rupture could not
be long delayed.
No fairer opportunity could be
hoped for by the Irish leaders, dis-
satisfied with their own condition,
and spurred on by the hope of
* TKcir fint eoaditioa for a svapenskin of aratf ^
« poiyinent to them of £»s^oao per Boatb. Th<.__
were in Urge part the same forces who aftenrards
sold their fugitive kia$ for so many pounds steriini;
to the Parliament^ violating the rights of sanctuary
and hospitaUty, hekl sacred by the mvv»t harharous
rac«s, It is curious to ohserre the supresne boU*
Bcss with which Macaulay and the popular writers
of the radical schvx^l es»ay to gWias over the di»-
hooorable transactions aOecting the pariiameatary
aide in this contest between the King and Commostt.
The veffic«»t dastards becone heroes; and the lirKl
ranting cut-thioat is safe to be made a martvr of in
their pages for ctwscieace' sake and the rxgbts of
winning as good measure of suc-
cess as the Scotch. The plan to
surprise the Castle of Dublin and
the other English garrisons was
quickly matured ; but failing, some!
of the conspirators were taken and
executed, and the rest forced to re-
tire to the woods and mountains.
But the flame thus lighted soon
spread over the whole kingdom,
and occasioned a war which lasted
without intermission for ten years.
The following reasons are de-
clared by Castlehaven to have been
afterwards offered to him by the
Irish as the explanation of this in-
surrection :
First, that, being constantly look-
ed upon by the English govern-
ment as a conquered nation, and
never treated as natifral or free-
bom subjects, they considered
themselves entitled to regain their
liberty whenever they believed it
to be in their power to do so.
Secondly, that in the North, where
the insurrection broke out with the
greatest violence, six whole coun-
ties had been escheated to the
crown at one blow, on account of
Tyrone's rebellion ; and although
it was shown that a large portion
of the population of those counties
was innocent of complicity in that
rising, nothing had ever been re-
stored, but the whole bestowed by
James I. upon his countrymen.
To us, who live at the distance of
two centuries and a half from those
days of wholesale rapine, these
confiscations still seem the most
gigantic instance of English wrong ;
but who shall tell their maddening
effect ujx>n those who suffered from
them in person in that age — the
men flying to the mountains, the
women |>crishing in the fields, the
children crj'ing for food they could
not get ?
Thirdly, the popular alarm was
Lord CastlehavtfC s Memoirs.
83
heightened by the reports, current
during Strafford's government in
Ireland, that the counties of Ros-
common, Mayo, Galway, and Cork,
and parts of Tipperary, Limerick,
and Wick low, were to share the
fate of the Ulster counties. It
hardly needs the example of our
own Revolution to prove the truth
of Castlehaven's observation upon
this project : " That experience tells
us where the people's property is
hke to be invaded, neither religion
nor loyalty is able to keep them
within bounds if they find them-
selves in a condition to make any
considerable opposition." And this
brings to his mind the story related
by Livy of those resolute ambassa-
dors of the Privernates, who, being
reduced to such extremities that
they were obliged to beg peace of
the Roman Senate, yet, being asked
what peace should the Romans ex-
pect from ihem, who had broken it
so often, they boldly answered —
which made the Senate accept their
proposals — *' If a good one, it shall
be faithful and lasting; but if bad,
it shall not hold very long. For
think not," said they, "that any
people, or even any man, will con-
tinue in that condition whereof
they are weary any longer than of
necessity they must."
Fourthly, it was notorious that
from the moment Parliament was
convened it had urged the greatest
severities against the English Ro-
man Catholics. The king was com-
pelled to revive the penalties of the
worst days of Edward and Eliza-
beth against them. His own con-
sort was scarce safe from the vio-
lence of those hideous wretches
who concealed the vilest crimes
under the garb of Puritan godliness.
Readers even of such a common
and one*sided book as Forster's
Uft 0/ Sir John Eliot will be sur-
prised to find the prominence and
space the " Popish " resolutions and
debates occupied in the sittings of
Parliament. . The popular leaders
divided their time nearly equally
between the persecution of the
Catholics and assaults upon the
prerogative. The same severities
were now threatened against the
Irish Catholics. "Both Houses,"
says Castlehaven, " solicited, by
several petitions out of Ireland, to
have those of that kingdom treated
with the like rigor, which, to a
people so fond of their religion as
the Irish, was no small inducement
to make them, while there was an
opportunity offered, to stand upon
their guard." *
Fifthly, the precedent of the
Scotch Rebellion, and its success-
ful results — pecuniarily, politically,
and religiously — encouraged the
Irish so much at that time that
they offered it to Owen O'Conally
as their chief motive for rising in
rebellion ; " which," says he (quoted
by Castlehaven), " they engaged in
to be rid of the tyrannical govern-
ment that was over them, and to
imitate Scotland, who by that
course had enlarged their privi-
leges " (0'Conally's.£a:aw., October
22, 164T ; £orlace*s History of the
Irish Rebellion^ p. 21).
To the same purpose Lord Castle-
haven quotes Mr. Howell in his
Mercurius Hibernicus in the year
1643; "whose words, because an
impartial author and a known Pro-
testant, I will here transcribe in con-
firmation of what I have said and
for the reader's further satisfac-
tion
•>
" Moreover," says Mr. Howell, *' they
[the Irish] entered into consideration
that they had sundry grievances and
grounds of complaint, both touching
their estates and consciences, which they
pretended to be far greater than those of
I
84
Lord Castlehaven' s Memoirs.
the Scots. For they fell to think that
if the Scot was suffered to intrcduce
a new religion, it was reason they
should not be punished in the exercise
of their oM, which they glory never to
have altered ; and for temporal matters,
wherein the Scot had no grievance at all
to speak of, .the new plantations which
had been lately afoot to be made in Con-
naught and other places ; the concealed
lands and defective titles which were
daily found out \ the new customs which
were enforced ; and the incapacity they
had to any preferment or office in church
or state, with other things, they con-
sidered to be grievances of a far greater
natare, and that deserved redress much
more than any the Scot had. To this end
they sent over commissioners to 'attend
this Parliament in England with certain
propositions ; but they were dismissed
hence with a short and unsavory answer,
which bred worse blood in the nation
than was formerly gathered. And this,
with that leading case of the Scot, may
be said to be the first incitements that
made them rise. . . . Lastly, that
army of 8,000 men which the Earl of
Straifford had raised to be transported
into England for suppressing the Scot,
being by the advice of our Parliament
here disbanded, the country was an-
noyed by some of those straggling sol-
diers. Therefore the ambassadors from
Spain having propounded to have some
numbers of those disbanded soldiers for
the service of their master, his majesty,
by the mature advice of his Privy Coun-
cil, to occur the mischiefs that might
arise to his kingdom of Ireland from
those loose cashiered soldiers, yielded to
the ambassadors' motion. But as they
were in the height of that work (provid-
ing transports), there was a sudden stop
made of those promised troops ; and this
was the last, though not the least, fatal
cause ol that horrid insurrection.
" Out of these premises it is easy for
any common understanding, not trans-
ported with passion or private interest,
to draw this conclusion : That they who
complied with the Scot in his insurrec-
tion ; they who dismissed the Irish com-
missioners with such a short, impolitic
answer \ they who took off the Earl of
Strafford's head, and afterwards delayed
the despatching of the Earl of Leicester ;
they who hindered those disbanded
troops in Ireland to go for Spain, may
be justly said to have been the true
causes of the late insurrectioa of (he
Irish #
«i '1
Thus," continues Castlehaven,
''concludes this learned and ingen-
ious gentleman, who, as being then
his nuijesty's historiographer, was
as likely as any man to know the
transactions of those times, and, as
an Englishman and a loyal Protes-
tant, was beyond all exception of
partiality or favor of the Papists of
Ireland, and therefore could have
no other reason but the love of
truth and justice to give this ac-
count of the Irish Rebellion, or
make the Scotch and tlieir wicked
brethren in the Parliament of Eng-
land the main occasion of that
horrid insurrection."
As for the '^nvissacre,^' so called,
that ensued, Lord Ca»t1ehaven
speaks of it with the abhorrence it
deserves. But this very term ** mas-
sacre " is a misnomer plausibly
afi^xed to the uprising by English
ingenuity. In a country such as
Ireland then was — ^in which, though
nominally conquered, Iq'n English
lived outside the walled towns — an
intermittent state of war was chro-
nic ; and therefore there was noi>e
of that unpreparedness for attack
or absence of means of defence on
the part of the English settlers
which, in other well-known histori-
cal cases, has rightfully given the
name of " massacre " to a premedi-
tated murderous attack tipon de-
fenceless and surprised victims. To
hold the English as such will be re^
garded with contemptuous ridicule
by every one acquainted with the
system of English and Scotch colo-
nization in Ireland in that age.
The truth is, the cruelties on both
sides were very bloody, ** and
though some,'* says Lord Castleha-
ven, " will throw all upon the Irish,
yet *tis well known who they were
f
L$rd CastMioven^s Memoirs^
85
that Hscd to give orders to their
parties sent into the enemies' quar-
ters to spare neither man, woman,
nor child.'* And as to the prepos-
terous muster-rolls of Sir John
Temple — from whom the subse-
quent scribblers borrowed all their
catalogues — giving^f/?y thousand {f)
British natives as the number killed,
Lord Castlehaven's testimony is to
the effect that there was not one-
tenth — or scarcely five thousand —
of that number of British natives
tiien living in Ireland outside of the
cities and walled towns where no
** massacre " was committed. Lord
Castlehaven also shows that there
were not 50,000 persons to be found
even in Temple's catalogue, al-
though it was then a matter of com-
mon notoriety that he repeats the
same people and the same circum*
stances twice or thrice, and men-
tions hundreds as then murdered
vho lived many years afterwards.
Some of Temple's, not the Irish,
victims were alive when Castleha-
ven wrote.
fiot the true test of the character
of this insurrection is to be found,
not in the exaggerated calumnies
of English libellers writing after the
event, but in the testimony of the
English settlers themselves when
in a position where lies would have
been of no avaiL We will there-
fore give here, though somewhat
out of the course of our narrative,
an incident related by Castlehaven
to that effect.
Shortly after he had been ap-
pointed General of the Horse un-
dr- Preston, Commander-in-Chief
ol the Confederate Catholics in
L inster, that general took, among
01 her places, Birr, in King's Coun-
ty. Here Castlehaven had the
good fortune, as he says, to begin
his command with an act of chari-
tr. For, going to see this garrison
before it marched out, he came in-
to a large room where he found
many people of quality, both men
and women. They no sooner saw
him but, with tears in their eyes,
they fell on their knees, desiring
him to save their lives. " I was as-
tonished," says Castlehaven, " at
their posture and petition, and, hav-
ing made them rise, asked what the
matter was.^ They answered that
from the first day of the war there
had been continued action and
bloodshed between them and their
Irish neighbors, and little quarter
on either side ; and therefore, un-
derstanding that I was an English-
man, begged I would take them
into my protection." It is enough
to say that Lord Castlehaven, with
some difficulty, and by personally
taking command of a strong con-
voy, obtained for them the protec-
tion they prayed for from the ex-
asperated and outraged iK>pulation
around them. But what we wish to
point out is this: that here are
those victims of Sir John Temple's
" massacre" — not the garrison of
the fort, observe, but the English
settlers driven in by the approach of
Preston's army, after terrorizing the
country for months — now, with the
fear of death before them, confess-
ing on their knees that from the
first day of the war they had arms
in their hands, and that little quar-
ter was given on either side !
How well the English were able
to take care of themselves at this
time, and what their " massacres "
were like, are shown by the follow-
ing extract from a letter of Colonel
the Hon. Mervin Touchett to his
brother. Lord Castlehaven. Col.
Touchett is describing a raid made
by Sir Arthur Loffens, Governor of
Naas, with a party of horse and
dragoons, killing such of the Irish
as they met, to punish an attack
1
86
Lord Castiehaven*s Memoirs.
upon an English party a few days
before : ** But the most considera-
ble slaughter was in a great strength
of furze, scattered on a hill, where
the people of several villages (tak-
ing the'alarm) had sheltered them-
selves. Now, Sir Arthur, having
invested the hill, set the furze on
fire on all sides, where the people,
being a considerable number, were
nil burned or killed, men, women,
and children. I saw the bodies and
the furze still burning."
We remember the horror-stricken
denunciations of the English press
ttomc years ago when it was stated,
without much authentication, that
Home of the French commanders in
the Algcrine campaigns had smok-
ed some Arabs to death in caves.
Hut it would seem from Col.
'I'ouchctt's narrative that the Eng-
lish troopers would have been able
U) give their French comrades les-
ion* in the culinary art of war
Home centuries ago. A grilled
Irishman is surely as savory an ob-
ject for the contemplation of hu-
manity as a smoked Arab !
Hut whatever the atrocities on
the English side, we will not say
that the cruelties committed by the
Irisli were not deserving of man's
reprobation and God's anger.
Only this is to be observed: that
whereas the ** massacres " by the
Irish were confined to the rabble
and Strafford's disbanded soldiers,
those cojnmitted by the English
side were shared in, as the narra-
tives of the day show, by the per-
Hons highest in position and author-
ity. They made part of the Eng-
lish system of government of that
day. On tlie other hand, the lead-
ing men of tlie Irish Catliolic body
not only endeavored to stay those
murders, but sought to induce the
Hr^vcrnmcnt to bring the authors of
tliom on both sides to punishment.
But in vain ! On the 17th of
March, 1642, Viscount GormaDs- ^
town and Sir Robert Talbot, on be-
half of the nobility and gentry of
the nation, presented a remon-
strance, praying "" that the murders
on both sides committed should
be strictly examined, and the
authors of them punished accord-
ing to the utmost severity of the
law." Which proposal, Castiehaven
shrewdly remarks, would never
have been rejected by their adver-
saries, *'but that they were con-
scious of being deeper in the mire
than they would have the world
believe."
So far the " massacre " and first
uprising.
Now, as to the inception of the
war of the Confederate Catholics,
and its objects. Lord Castiehaven 's
narrative is equally convincing and
clear.
Parliament met in the Castle of
Dublin, Nov. 16, 1641. The Rebel-
lion was laid before both Houses
by the lords-justices, Sir William
Parsons and Sir John Borlace. Con-
current resolutions were adopted^
without a dissenting voice, by the
two Houses, declaring their ablior-
rence of the Rebellion, and pledg-
ing their lives and fortunes to sup-
press it. Castiehaven had a seat in
the Irish House of Lords as an
Irish peer, and being then in Ire-
land, as before related, took his
seat at the meeting of Parliament.
Besides Castiehaven, most of the
leaders of t))e war that ensued
were members of the Irish House
of Lords. Tliese Catholic peers
were not less earnest than the rest
in their unanimous intention to put
down the Rebellion. Both Houses
thereupon began to deliberate upon
the most effectual means for its
suppression. *' But this way of pro-
ceeding," says Castlehaveni *^did
f
Lord Castlehavens Memoirs.
87
not, it seems, square with the lords-
justices' designs, who were often
heard to say that * the more were
in rebellion, the more lands should
be forfeit to them.' " Therefore, in
the midst of the deliberations of
Parliament on the subject, a proro-
gation was determined on. The
lords, understanding this, sent Cas«
clehaven and Viscount Castelloe to
join a deputation from the com-
mons to the lords-justices, praying
them not to prorogue, at least till
the rebels — then few in number —
were reduced to obedience. But
the address was slighted, and Par-
liament prorogued the next day, to
the great surprise of both Houses
and the *' general dislike," says
Castlehaven, '* of all honest and
knowing men."
The result was, as the lords-
justices no doubt intended, that
the rebels were greatly encouraged,
and at once began to show them-
selves in quarters hitherto peaceful.
The members of Parliament retired
to their country-houses in much
anxiety after the prorogation. Lord
Castlehaven went to his seat at
Maddingstown. There he received
a letter, signed by the Viscounts of
Gormanstown and Netterville, and
by the Barons of Slane, Lowth,
and Dunsany, containing an en-
closure to the lords-justices which
those noblemen desired him to
forward to them, and, if possible,
obtain an answer. This letter to
the lords-justices, Castlehaven says,
was very humble and submissive,
asking only permission to send
their petitions into England to
represent their grievances to the
king. The only reply of the lords-
justices was a warning to Castle-
haven to receive no more letters
from them.
Meanwhile, parties were sent out
from Dublin and the various gar-
risons throughout the kingdom to
" kill and destroy the rebels." But
those parties took little pains to dis-
tinguish rebels from loyal subjects,
provided they were only Catholics,
killing promiscuously men, women,
and children. Reprisals followed
on the part of the rebels. The
nobility and gentry were between
two fires. A contribution was levied
upon them by the rebels, after the
manner of the Scots in the North of
England in 1640. But although to
pay that contribution in England
passed without reproach, in Ireland
it was denounced by the lords-jus-
tices as treason. The English
troopers insulted and openly threa-
tened the most distinguished Irish
families as favorers of the Rebellion.
" This," says Castlehaven, " and the
sight of their tenants, the harmless
country people, without respect to
age or sex, thus barbarously mur-
dered, made the Catholic nobility
and gentry at last resolved to
stand upon their guard." Never-
theless, before openly raising
the standard of revolt against
the Irish government, which re-
fused to protect them,, they made
several efforts to get their petitions
before Charles I. Sir John Read,
a Scotchman, then going to Eng-
land, undertook to forward peti-
tions to the king; but, being ar-
rested on suspicion at Drogheda,
was taken to Dublin, and there put
upon the rack by the lords-justices
to endeavor to wring from him a
confession of Charles I.'s compli-
city in the Rebellion. This Col.
Mervin Touchett heard from Sir
John Read himself as he was
brought out of the room where he
was racked. But that unfortunate
monarch knew not how to choose
his friends or to be faithful to them
when he found them. He referred
the whole conduct of Irish affairs
88
Lard CastUhavens Memoirs.
to the English Parliament, thus in^
creasing the discontent to the last
pitch by making it plain to the
whole Irish people that he aban-
doned the duty of protecting them,
and had handed them over to the
mercy of their worst enemies — the
English Parliament. That Parlia-
ment at once passed a succession
of wild votes and ordinances, indi-
eating their intention of stopping
short at nothing less than utter ex-
tirpation of the native race. Dec.
8, 1641, they declared they would
never give consent to any toleration
of the Popish religion in Ireland.
In February following, when few of
any estate were as yet engaged in
the Rebellion, they passed an act
assigning two million five hundred
thousand acres of cultivated land,
besides immense tracts of bogs,
woods, and mountains, to English
and Scotch adventurers for a small
proportion of money on the grant.
This money, the act stated, was to
go to the reduction of the rebels;
but, with a fine irony of providence
upon the king's weak compliance,
every penny of it was afterwards
used to raise armies by the English
rebels against him. *'But the
greatest discontent of all," says
Castlehaven, " was about the lords-
justices proroguing the Parliament
— the only way the nation had to
express its loyalty and prevent
their being misrepresented to their
sovereign, which, had it been per-
mitted to sit for any reasonable
time, would in all likelihood, with-
out any great charge or trouble,
have brought the rebels to justice."
Thus all hopes of redress or safe-
ty being at an end — a villanous
government in Dublin intent only
upon confiscation, a furious Parlia-
ment in London breathing ven-
geance against the whole Irish race,
and a king so embroiled in his Eng-
lish quarrels that he could do no-
thing to help his Irish subjects, even
had he wished it — what was left
those loyal, gallant, and devoted
men but to draw the sword for their
own safety ? The Rebellion by de-
grees spread over the whole king-
dom. "And now," savs Castle-
haven, ** there's no more looking
back ; for all were in arms and full
of indignation." A council of the
leading Catholic nobles, military
officers, and gentry met at Kilken-
ny, and formed themselves into an
association under the title of the
Confederate Catholics of Ireland.
Four generals were appointed for
the respective provinces of the king-
dom — Preston for Leinster, Barry
for Munster, Owen Roe O'Neale
for Ulster, and Burke for Con-
naught. Thus war was declared.
When the Rebellion first broke
out in the North, Lord Castlehaven
had immediately repaired to Dub-
lin and offered his services to
the lords-justices. They were de-
clined with the reply that "his re-
ligion was an obstacle." After the
prorogation of Parliament, as we
have seen, he retired to his house in
the country. Then, coming again
to Dublin to meet a charge of cor-
responding with the rebels which
had been brought against him, he
was arrested by order of the lords-
justices, and, after twenty weeks of
imprisonment in the sheriff's house,
was committed to the Castle. " This
startled me a little," says Castle-
haven — as it well might do ; for the
state prisoner's exit from the Castle
in Dublin in those days was usu-
ally made in the same way as from
the Tower in London, namely,
by the block — " and brought into
my thoughts the proceedings against
the Earl of Straflford, who, confid-
ing in his own innocence, was vot-
ed out of his life by an unprece-
A Sweet Singer.
89
dented bill of attainder." There-
fore, hearing nothing while in prison
but rejoicings at the king's misfor-
tunes, who at last had been forced
to take up arms by the English
rebels, and knowing the lords-jus-
tices to be of the Parliament fac-
tion, and the lord-lieutenant, the
Marquis of Ormond, being despe-
rately sick of a fever, not without
suspicion of poison, and his peti-
tion to be sent to England, to be
tried there by his peers, being re-
fused, he determined to make his
escape, shrewdly concluding, as he
says, that " innocence was a scurvy
plea in an angry time."
Arriving at Kilkenny, he joined
the confederacy, as has been re-
lated.
From this time the war of the
Confederate Catholics was carried
on with varying success until the
cessation of 1646, and then until the
peace of 1648, when the Confeder-
ates united, but too late, with the
Marquis of Ormond to stop the
march of Cromwell.
A SWEET SINGER: ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.
She sang of Love — the love whose fires
Burn with a pure and gentle flame,
No passion lights of wild desires
Red with the lurid glow of shame.
She sang of angels, and their wings
Seemed rustling through each soft refrain ;
Gladness and sorrow, kindred things
She wove in many a tender strain.
She sang of Heaven and of God,
Of Bethlehem's star and Calvary's way,
Gethsemane — the bloody sod,
Death, darkness, resurrection-day.
She sang of Mary — Mother blest,
Her sweetest carols were of thee !
Close folded to thy loving breast
How fair her home in heaven must be !
90
The Colporteurs of Bonn.
THE COLPORTEURS OF BONN.
I WAS very stupid in my youth,
and am still far from being sharp.
I could not master knotty questions
like other boys ; so this natural de-
ficiency had to be supplemented by
some plan that would facilitate the
acquisition of knowledge. The ad-
vantage to be derived from a garru-
lous preceptor, whose mind was
stored with all sorts of learning
without dogmatism or hard formu-
laries, were fully appreciated by my
parents. John 0*Neil was a very
old man when I was a boy, and he
was just the person qualified to im-
part an astonishing quantity of all
sorts of facts, and perhaps fancies.
I hold him in affectionate remem-
brance though he be dead over
twenty-five years, and rests near the
remains of his favorite hero, O'Con-
nell, in Glasnevin Cemetery. When
he became the chief architect of
my intellectual structure, I thought
him the most learned man in the
world. On account of my dulness,
he adopted the method of sermoniz-
ing to me instead of giving me un-
intelligible lessons to be learned
out of books. I took a great fancy
to him, because I found him exceed-
ingly interesting, and he evinced a
strong liking for me because I was
docile. We became inseparable
companions, notwithstanding the
great discrepancy in our years.
His^tall, erect, lank figure and lan-
tern jaw were to me the physiologi-
cal signs of profundity, firmness,
and power, and his while head was
the symbol of wisdom. Our tastes —
well, I had no tastes save such as
he chose to awaken in me, and
hence there came to be very soon
a great similitude in our respective
inclinations. I was like a ball of
wax, a sheet of paper, or any other
original impressionable thing you
may name, in his hands for ten
years, after which very probably I
began to harden, though I was not
conscious of the process. However,
the large fund of knowledge that he
imparted to me crystallized, as it
were, and became fixed in my pos-
session as firmly as if it had been
elaborately achieved by a severe
mental training. After I went to
college he was still my friend, and
rejoiced in my subsequent successes,
and followed me with a jealous eye
and a sort of parental anxiety in
my foreign travels, and even in
death he did not forget me, for he
made me the custodian of his great
heaps of literary productions, all in
manuscript, embracing sketches,
diaries, notes of travel, learned frag-
ments on scientific and scholastic
topics, essays, tales, letters, the be-
ginnings and the endings and the
middles of books on history, politics,
and polemics, pieces of pamphlets
and speeches, with a miscellaneous
lot of poetry in all measures. He
was a great, good man, who never
had what is called an aim in life,
but he certainly had an aim after
life ; and yet no one could esteem
the importance of this pilgrimage
more than he did. He would fre-
quently boast of being heterodox
on that point. "You will hear,"
he would remark, " people depre-
ciating this life as a matter of little
concern. Don't allow their sophis-
Tfie Colporteurs of Bonn.
9X
try to have much weight with you.
Tlie prevalent opinions which are
flippantly spoken thereon will not
stand the test Of sound Christian
reasoning. That part of human
existence which finds its scene and
scop>e of exertion in this life is fill-
ed with eternal potentialities. You
have heard it said that man wants
but little here below. Where else
does he want it } Here is where
he wants everything. Then do not
hesitate to ask, but be careful not
to ask amiss. When the battle is
over, it will be too late to make re-
quisitions for auxiliaries. If you
conquer, assistance will not be
wanted ; if you are defeated, assis-
tance cannot reach vou. The
fight cannot be renewed ; the vic-
tory or defeat will be final. This
life is immense. You cannot think
too much of it, cannot estimate it
too highly. A minute has almost
an infinite value. Man wants much
here, and wants it all the time." I
thought his language at that time
fantastical ; now I regard it as pro-
found. From a survey of his own
aimless career, it is evident he did
not reduce the good of earthly exist-
ence of which he spoke to any sort
of money value. Those elements and
forces of life to which he attached
such deep significance and import-
ance could not have their equivalent
in currency, nor in comforts, nor in
real estate, nor even in fame. My
old preceptor had spent most of his
youth in travelling, and the pic-
turesque mcanderings of the Rhine
furnished subjects for many of his
later recollections, I recall now
irith a melancholy regret the many
pleasant evenings I enjoyed listen-
ing to his narratives of^ravel on that
historic river, and in imagination sat
with him on the Drachenfels' crest,
looking down upon scenes made
mem3*-able by the lives and struggles
of countless heroes and the crowds
of humanity that came and went
through the course of a hundred
generations — some leaving their
mark, and others erasing it again ;
some leaving a smile behind them
on the face of the country, and
others a scar. He loved to talk
about the beautiful city of Bonn,
where he had spent some years, it
being the most attractive place, he
said, from Strasbourg to the sea —
for learning was cheap there, and so
were victuals — the only things he
found indispensable to a happy life.
He would glide into a monologue
of dramatic glow and fervor in re-
citing how he procured access to
the extensive library of its new uni-
versity, and, crawling up a step-lad-
der, would perch himself on top
like a Hiin, who, after a sleep of a
thousand years, had resurrected
himself, gathered his bones from
the plains of Chalons, and having
procured a second-hand suit of mo-
dern clothes from a Jew in Cologne,
traced with eager avidity the vicis-
situdes of war and empire since the
days of Attila. It was there, no
doubt, he discovered the matt^ials
of this curious paper, which I found
among his literary remains. Wheth-
er he gathered the materials him-
self, or merely transcribed the work
of some previous writer, I am unable
to determine. Without laying any
claim to critical acumen, I must
confess it appears to me to be a
meritorious piece, and I picked it
out, because I thought it unique
and brief, for submission to the
more extensive experience and
more impartial judgment of The
Catholic World's readers. Hav-
ing entire t:ontrol of these produc-
tions of my friend and preceptor,
I took the liberty of substituting
modern phraseology for what was
antique, and of putting the sketch
9«
The Colporteurs of Bonn.
in such style that the most super-
ficial reader will have no difficulty
in running it over. Objection may
be raised to the title on the score
of fitness. I did not feel author-
ized to change it, believing the one
chosen by the judgment of my old
friend as suitable as any I could
substitute.
In the year 1250 the mind of
man was as restless and impatient
of restraint as now, and some peo-
ple in Bonn, under a quiet exterior,
nursed in their bosoms latent vol-
canoes of passion, and indulged the
waywardness of rebellious fancy to
a degree that would have proved
calamitous to the placid flow of
life and thought could instrumen-
tality for action have been found.
There is indubitable proof that the
principle of the Reformation, which
three hundred years later burst
through the environment of dogma
and spread like a flood of lava over
Europe, existed actively in Bonn in
the year named, and would have
arrived at mature strength if nature
had not interposed an impassable
barfler to the proceeding. It is
hard to rebel against nature, and it
is madness to expect success in
such a revolt. Fourteen men, whose
names have comtf down to us, gave
body and tone, and a not very clear-
ly defined purpose, to this untimely
uprising against the inevitable in
Bonn. How many others were in
sympathy or in active affiliation
with them is not shown. Those
fourteen were bold spirits, who la-
bored under the misfortune of hav-
ing come into the world three or
four centuries too soon. They
were great men out of plsfce. There
is an element of rebellion in great
spirits which only finds its proper
antidote in the stronger and more
harmonious principle of obedience.
Obedience is the first condition of
creatures. Those fourteen grew
weary of listening to the Gospel
preached every Sunday from the
pulpit of S. RemigiuS) when they
attended Mass with the thousands
of their townsmen. The Scriptures,
both New and Old, were given out
in small doses, with an abundant
mixture of explanation and homily
and salutary exhortation. Their ap-
petites craved a larger supply of
Scripture, and indeed some of them
were so unreasonable as to desire
the reading of the whole book, from
Genesis to Revelations, at one ser-
vice. " Let us," said Giestfacher,
'* have it all. No one is authorized
to give a selection from the Bible
and hold back the rest. It is our
feast, and we have a right to the full
enjoyment thereof.'*
** Well," said Heuck, hrs neigh-
bor, to whom he addressed the re-
monstrance ; " go to the scrivener's
and purchase a copy and send your
ass to carry it home. Our friend
Schwartz finished a fine one last
week. It can be had for sixteen
hundred dollars. When you have
it safe at home, employ a reader,
who will be able to mouth it all off
for you in fifty hours, allowing a few
intervals for refreshment, but none
for sleep." And Heuck laughed, or
rather sneered, at Giestfacher as he
walked away.
Giestfacher was a reformer, how-
ever, and was not to be put down
in that frivolous manner. He had
been a student himself with the
view of entering the ministry, but,
being maliciously charged with cer-
tain grave irregularities, his pros-
pects in that direction were seri-
ously cloudeA, and in a moment of
grand though passionate self-asser-
tion he threw up his expectations
and abandoned the idea of entering
the church, but instead took to the
The Colporteurs of Bonn.
93
rorld. He was a reformer from
his infancy, and continually quar*
relied with his family about the
humdrum state of things at home ;
was at enmity with the system of
municipal government at Bonn ; and
held very animated controversies
vitb the physicians of the place on
the system of therapeutics then pur*
sued, insisting strongly that all dis^
eases arose from bad blood, and that
a vivisection with warm wine would
prove a remedy for everything.
He lacked professional skill to at-
tempt an experiment in the medical
reforms he advocated ; besides, that
department would not admit of
bungling with impunity. For mu-
nicipal reforms he failed in power^
and the reward in fame or popular
applause that might follow success-
ful operations in that limited sphere
of action was not deemed equiva-
lent to the labor. But in the field
of religion there was ample room
for all sorts of tentative processes
without danger; and, in addition
to security, notoriety might be ob-
tained by being simply outrS. He
had settled upon religious reform,
and his enthusiasm nullified the
cautionary suggestions of his rea-
son, and reduced mountains of difli*
culty to the insignificant magnitude
of molehills; even Heuck could
be induced to adopt his views by
cogent reasoning and much persua-
sion. Enthusiasm is allied to mad-
ness — a splendid help, but a dan-
gerous guide. .
Giestfacher used his tongue, and
in the course of a year had made
twelve or fourteen proselytes.
Those who cannot enjoy the mono-
tony of life and the spells of ennui
that attack the best-regulated tem-
peraments, fly to novelty for relief.
The fearful prospect of an unknown
and nameless grave and an obli-
jrioas future drives many restless
spirits into experiments in morals
and in politics as well as in natural
philosophy, in the vain hope of res-
cuing their names from the " gulf
of nothingness " that awaits me-
diocrity. The new reformers, zeal-
ous men and bold, met in Giest-
facher's house on Corpus Christi
in 1 251, the minutes of which meet-
ing are still extant; and from that
record I learn there were present
Stein the wheelwright, Lullman the
baker, Schwartz the scrivener,
Heuck the armorer, Giestfacher
the cloth merchant, Braunn, another
scrivener, Hartzwein the vintner,
Blum the advocate, Werner, another
scrivener, Reudlehuber, another
scrivener, Andersen, a stationer,
Esch the architect, Dusch the
monk, discarded by his brethren
for violations of discipline, and
Wagner the potter. Blum was ap-
pointed to take an account of the
proceedings, and Giestfacher was
made president of the society.
" We are all agreed," said Giest-
facher, " that the Scriptures ought
to be given to the people. From
these divine writings we learn a
time shall come when wars shall
cease, and the Alemanni and the
Frank and the Tartar may eat from
the same plate and drink out of the
same cup in peace and fraternity,
and wear cloth caps instead of
brass helmets, and plough the fields
with their spears instead of letting
daylight through each other there-
with, and the shepherds shall tend
their flocks with a crook and not
with a bow to keep off the enemy.
How can that time come unless the
people be made acquainted with
those promises ? I believe we, who,
like the apostles, number fourteen,
are divinely commissioned to change
things for the better, and initiate
the great movements which will
bring about the millennium. Let us
The Colporteurs of Bonn.
r i se up to the dignity of our position.
Let us prove equal to the inspiration
of the occasion. We are called to-
oretlier by heaven for a new purpose.
-|^- j-ie time is approaching when uni-
versal light will dispel the gloom,
a.w^ peace succeed to all disturb-
anc^- Let us give the Scriptures.
to the people. They are the words
of God, that carry healing on their
wings. They are the dove that was
sent out from the ark. They are
the pillar of light in the desert.
They are the sword of Joshua, the
sling o^ David, the rod of Moses.
Let us fourteen give them to the
people, and start out anew, like the
apostles from Jerusalem, to over-
turn the idols of the times and
emancipate the nations. We have
piled up heaps of stones in every
town and monuments of brass, and
still men are not changed. We see
them still lying, warring, hoarding
riches, and making gods of their
bellies — all of which is condemned
by the word of God. What will
change all this } I say, let the piles
of stone and the monuments of
brass slide, and give the Scriptures
a chance. Let us give them to
the people, and the reign of brother-
hood and peace will commence,
wars shall cease, nation will no
longer rise up against nation, re-
bellion will erect its horrid front no
more. Men will cease hoarding
riches and oppressing the poor.
There will be nojmore robbing rings
in corporate towns, and men in
power will not blacken their char-
acter and imperil the safety of the
state by nepotism. The whole
world will become pure. No scan-
dals will arise in the church, and
there will be no blasphemy or false
swearing, and Christian brethren
shall not conspire for each other's
nun.
♦»
" We see," remarked Heuck, " that
those who have the Scriptures are
no better than other people. They
too are given to lying, hoarding
riches, warring one against another,
and making gods of their bellies.
How is that .?"
" Yes," said Blum, " I know three
scriveners of this town who boast
of having transcribed twenty Bibles
each, and they get drunk thrice a
week and quarrel with their wives ;
and there's Giebricht, the one-
legged soldier, who caa repeat the
Scriptures until you sleep listening
to hiiTv, says he killed nine men in
battle and wounded twenty others.
The Scriptures did not make him
very peaceful. The loss of a leg
had a more quieting effect on him
than all his memorizing of the sa-
cred books."
" We did not get together," said
Werner, ** to discuss that phase of
the subject. It was well under-
stood, and . thereunto agreed a
month ago, that the spread of the
Scriptures was desirable; and to
this end we met, that means wise
and effective may be devised where-
by we can supply every one with
the word of Cod, that all may search
therein for the correct and approv-
ed way of salvation."
"So be it," said Dusch the
monk.
"Hear, hear!" said Schwartz.
" Let us agree like brethren,"
said Braunn.
" We are subject to one spirit,"
said Hartzwein the .vintner, " and
all moved by the same inspiration.
Discord is unseemly. We must
not dispute on the subject of drunk-
enness. Let us have the mature
views of Brother Giestfacher, and
his plans. The end is already clear
if the means be of approved piety
and really orthodox. In addition
to the Scriptures, I would rejoice
very much to see prayer more gen-
The Colporteurs of Bonn.
95
Cfally practised. We ought to do
nothing without prayer. Let us
first of all consult the Lord. What
says Brother Blum ?"
Blum rose and said it was a pure-
ly business meeting. He had no
doubt it ought to have been opened
with prayer. It was an old and
salutary practice that came down
from the days of the apostles, and
Paul recommended it. But as they
were now in the midst of business,
he thought it would be as wise and
as conformable with ancient Chris-
tian and saintly practice to go on
with their work, and rest satisfied
with mental ejaculation, as to inau-
gurate a formal prayer-meeting.
Esch thought differently ; he
held that prayer was always in
season.
Reudlehuber meekly said that the
Scriptures showed there was a time
for everything, whence it was plain
that prayer might be out of place as
well as penitential tears on some oc-
casions. It would not look well for
a man to rise up in the midst of
a marriage feast and, beating his
breast, cry out Mea culpa,
" We have too many prayers in
the church," said Giestfacher, "and
not enough of Scripture ; that is
the trouble with us. Brethren
roust rise above the weaknesses of
the mere pietist. Moses was no
pietist ; he was a great big, leonine
character. We must be broad and
liberal in our views; not given
to fault-finding nor complaining.
Pray whenever you feel like it, and
drink when you have a mind to.
Xoah got drunk. I'd rather be
the prodigal son, and indulge in a
hearty natural appetite for awhile,
than be his cautious, speculating,
avaricious brother, who had not
soul enough most likely to treat
his acquaintances to a pint of wine
once in his lifetime. Great men
get tipsy. Great nations are bibu-
lous. We are not here to make
war on those who drink wine and
cultivate the grape, nor are we au-
thorized in making war on weavers
because Dives was damned for
wearing fine linen. It is our mis-
sion to spread the Scriptures. Tlie
world wants light. He is a bene-
factor of mankind who puts two
rays where there was only one be-
fore."
" Let us hear your plans, Brother
Giestfacher," cried out a number of
voices simultaneously.
In response. Brother Giestfacher
stated that there were no plans
necessary. All that was to be done
was to circulate the Scriptures. Let
us get one hundred thousand sheets
of vellum to begin with, and set a
hundred scriveners to work tran-
scribing copies of the Bible, and
then distribute these copies among
the people.
The plan was plain and simple
and magnificent, Braunn thought,
but there were not ten thousand
sheets of vellum in the town nor in
the whole district, and much of that
would be required for civil uses ;
besides, the number of sheep in the
neighborhood had been so reduced
by the recent war that vellum
would be scarce and costly for ten
years to come.
Werner lamented the irremedi-
able condition of the world when
the free circulation of the word
of God depended on the number of
sheep, and the number of sheep was
regulated by war, and war by the
ambition, jealousy, or pride of
princes.
" It is painfully true," said Heuck,
*' that the world stands in sad need
of reform, if souls are to be rescued
from their spiritual perils only by
the means proposed in the magnifi-
cent sheep-skin scheme of Brother
96
Tlu Colporteurs of Bonn.
Giestfacher. It was horrible to
think that the immortal part of man
was doomed to perish, to be snuffed
out, as it were, in eternal darkness,
because soldiers had an unholy appe-
tite for mutton.
Braunn said the work could be
started on three or four thousand
hides, and ere they were used up a
new supply might arrive from some
unexpected quarter.
Esch said that they ought to
have faith; the Hand that fed
the patriarch in the desert would
provide vellum if he was prayer-
fully besought for assistance. He
would be willing to commence on
one sheet, feeling convinced there
would be more than enough in the
end.
Blum did not take altogether so
sanguine a view of things as Bro-
ther Esch. He was especially du-
bious about that vellum supply ; not
that he questioned the power of
Providence at all, but it struck him
that it would be just as well and as
easy for the society to prayerfully ask
for an ample supply of ready-made
Bibles as to expect a miracle in
prepared sheep-skin ; anci he was
still further persuaded that if the
books were absolutely necessary to
one's salvation, they would be mir-
aculously given. But he did not
put the movement on that ground.
It is very easy for men, and particu-
larly idiotic men, to convince them-
selves that God will answer all their
whims and caprices by the perfor-
mance of a miracle. We are going
upon the theory that the work is
good, just as it is good to feed the
hungry and clothe the naked. We
expect to find favor in heaven be-
cause we endeavor to do a work of
charity according to our honest im-
pression.
" Flow many persons," inquired
Heuck, " do you propose to supply
with complete copies of the Scrip-
tures } "
" Every one in the district," re-
plied Giestfacher.
** Brother Dusch," continued
Heuck, " how many heads of
families are there in the district?
Your abbot had the census taken a
few months ago, while you were yet
in grace and favor at the mon-
astery.**
Brother Dusch said he heard
there were twenty-two thousand
from the Drachenfels to within six
miles of Cologne, but all of them
could not read.
*' We will send out," said Giest-
facher enthusiastically, " an army
of colporteurs, who will distribute
and read at the same time."
'* I perceive," said Blum, " that
this discussion will never stop. New
avenues of thought and new moun-
tains of objection are coming to
view at every advance in the de-
bate. Let us do something first,
and talk afterwards. To supply
twenty-two thousand persons with
expensive volumes will require con-
siderably more than mere resolves
and enthusiasm. I propose that
we buy up all the vellum in the city
to-day, and that we all go security
for the payment. I propose also
that we employ Brothers Braunn,
Schwartz, Werner, and Reudlehu-
ber to commence transcribing, and
that we all go security for their pay.
Unless we begin somewhere, we
can never have anything done.
What says Brother Giestfacher > "
Giestfacher said it did not be-
come men of action, reformers who
proposed to turn over the world
and inaugurate a new era and a new
life and a new law, to stop at trifles
or to consider petty difficulties.
The design that had been develop-
ed at th^t meeting contemplated a
sweeping change. Instead of hav-
The Colporteurs of Bonn.
97
ing a few books, here and there, at
every church, cathedra], monas-
tery, and market'place, learnedly
and laboriously expounded by
saints of a thousand austerities and
of penitential garb, every house
would be supplied, and there should
be DO more destitution in the land.
The prophecies and the. gospels
and the mysteries of revelation
would be on the lips of sucking
babes, and the people who stood at
the street-comers and at the marts
of trade, the tiller of the soil, the
pedler, the sailor, the old soldier,
and the liberated prisoner, together
with the man who sold fish and
the woman who sold buttermilk,
would stand up and preach the Gos-
pel and display a mission, school-
boys would discuss the contents of
that book freely, and even tlie in-
mates of lunatic asylums would
expound it with luminous aptitude
and startling fancy. The proposi-
tion of Brother Blum met his en-
tire approval. He would pledge
everything he had, and risk even life
itself, to start the new principle, so
that the world might bask in
sunshine and not in shadow. It
was about time that men had their
intellects brightened up some.
Even in the days of the apostles
those pious men did not do their
whole duty. They labored with
much assiduity and conscientious-
ness, but they neglected to adopt
measures looking to the spread of
the Scriptures. He had no doubt
but they fell a long way short of
their mission, and were now endur-
ing the pangs of a peck of purga-
torial coal for their remissness.
There were good men who perhaps
loun^ heaven without interesting
themselves in the multiplication of
copies of the Bible. They were not
called to that work ; but what was to
be thought of those who had the
▼OL. XXII. — 7
call, the power, the skill, and yet
neglected to spread the word. He
believed SS. Gregory Nazianzen,
Athanasius, Jerome, Chrysostom,
Augustine, and others of those
early doctors of the church, had a
fearful account to render for having
neglected the Scriptures. S, Paul,
too, was not free from censure. It
was true he wrote a few things, but
he took no thought of multiplying
copies of his epistles.
" How many copies," inquired
Heuck, " do you think S. Paul ought
to have written of his letters before
you would consider him blame-
less r
"He ought," said Giestfacher,
" to have written all the time in-
stead of making tents. * How
many copies' is a professional
question which I will leave the
scriveners to answer. I may re-
mark that it would evidently be un-
profitable for us to enter on a mi-
nute and detailed discussion on that
point here. It is our duty to sup-
plement the shortcomings of those
earlv workers in the field, and
finish what they failed to accom-
plish. They were bound to give
the new principle a fair start. The
plan suggested was the best, sim-
plest, and clearest, and he hoped
every one of the brethren would ,
give it a hearty and cordial
support."
The principle of communism, or
the right of communities to govern
themselves in certain affairs and to
carry on free trade with certain
other communities, had been grant-
ed the previous century, and Bonn
was one of the towns that enjoyed
the privilege ; but the people still
respected religion and did no traf-
ficking on holydays. Giestfacher
could not therefore purchase the
vellum on Corpus Christi, but had
to wait till next day, at which
98
The Colporteurs of Bonn.
time ne could not conveniently find
the other members of the new Bible
society, and, fearing that news of
their project would get abroad and
raise the price of the article he
wanted, he hastened to the various
places where it was kept for sale,
and bought all of it up in the
course of two hours, paying his
own money in part and giving his
bond for the balance. The parch-
ment was delivered to the four
scriveners, who gathered their fami-
lies about them, and all the assist-
ants (journeymen) that could be
found in the town, and proceeded
with the transcribing of the Bible.
At the next meeting each scrivener
reported that he had about half a
book ready, that the work was go-
ing rapidly and smoothly forward,
and that the scribes were enthusias-
tic at the prospect of brisk busi-
ness and good pay. The report
was deemed very encouraging.
It went to show that the society
could have four Bibles every two
SKeeks, or about one hundred a
year, and that in the course of two
hundred and twenty years every
head of a family in the district could
be provided with a Bible of his
own. The scriveners stated, more-
over, that they had neglected their
profane business, for which they
could have got cash, to proceed in
the sacred work, and as there were
several people depending on them
for means of living, a little money
would be absolutely necessary with
the grace of God.
Giestfacher also stated that he
spent all the money he had in part
payment for the parchment, . and
pledged his property for the bal-
ance. His business was some\(^hat
crippled already in consequence of
the outlay, and he expected to have
part of the burden assumed by ev-
ery one of the society.
Werner said he had fifteen tran-
scribers working for him, and each
one agreed to let one-third of the
market value of his work remain in
the hands of the society as a sub-
scription to the good work, but the
other two-thirds would have to be
paid weekly, as they could not live
without means. They were all
poor, and depending solely on their
skill in transcribing for a living.
The debate was long, earnest,
eloquent, and more or less pious.
Blum made a motion that the
bishop of the diocese and the Pope
be made honorary members of the
society. Giestfacher opposed this
with eloquent acrimony, saying it
was a movement outside of all sorts
of church patronage ; that it was
designed to supersede churches
and preaching ; for when every man
had the Bible he would be a church
unto himself, and would not need
any more teaching. He also had a
resolution adopted pledging each
and every member to constitute
himself a colporteur of the Bible,
and to read and peddle it in sun and
rain ; and it was finally settled that
a subscription should be taken up ;
that each member of the. society be
constituted a collector, and proceed
at once to every man who loved
the Lord and gloried in the Gospel
to get his contribution.
At the next meeting the brethren
were all present except Dusch, who
was reported as an absconder with
the funds he had collected, and was
said to be at that moment in Co-
logne, drunk perhaps. Four com-
plete Bibles were presented as the
result of two weeks' hard labor and
pious effort and the aggregate pro-
duction of forty- five writers. The
financial reports on the whole were
favorable ; and the scriveners were
provided with sufficient means and
encouragement to begin another set
The Colporteurs of Bonn.
99
of four Bibles. Brother Giestfacher
was partially secured in his venture
for the parchment, while it was said
that the article had doubled in price
during the past fortnight, and very
little of it could be got from Co-
logne, as there was a scarcity of it
there also, coupled with an extra-
ordinary demand. It was also
stated that the monks at the mon-
asterv had to erase the works of
Virgil in order to find material for
roakmg a copy of the homilies of S.
John Chrysostom which was want-
ed for the Bishop of Metz. In like
manner, it was decided to erase the
histories of Labanius and Zozimus,
as being cheaper than procuring
onginal parchment on which to
transcribe a fine Greek copy of the
whole Bible, to take the place of one
destroyed by the late war. The
heavy purchase that Brother Giest-
facher had made created a panic in
the vellum market that was already
felt in the heart of Burgundy. The
scriveners' business had also ex-
perienced a revulsion. People of
the world who wanted testamentary
and legal documents, deeds, con-
tracts, and the like properly en-
grossed, were offering fabulous sums
to have the work done, as most of
the professionals of that class were
now engaged by the society, and
had no time to do any other sort
of writing. A debate sprung up as
to the proper disposition to be
made of the four Bibles on hand,
and also as to the manner of be-
ginning and conducting the dis-
tribution. In view of the demand
for the written word, and of the
jarcity of copies and the high
rice of parchment, it was suggest-
ibyHeuck to sell them, and divide
e proceeds among the poor and
e cripples left after the late war.
ive hundred dollars each could
5 readily got for the books, he
said, and it was extremely doubtful
whether those who would get them
as gifts from the society would re-
sist the temptation of selling them
to the first purchaser that came
along. In addition to this heavy
reason in favor of his line of policy,
Heuck suggested the possibility of
trouble arising when they should
come to grapple with* the huge diffi-
culties of actual distribution ; to
give one of those volumes, he said,
would be like giving an estate and
making a man wealthy for life.
Giestfacher said it would be im-
practicable to make any private
distribution among the destitute for
some time. The guilds of coopers,
tailors, shoemakers, armorers, ful-
lers, tanners, masons, artificers, and
others should be first supplied ;
and in addition to the Bible kept
chained in the market-place for all
who wished to read, he would have
one placed at the town-pump and
one at the town-house, so that the
thirsty might also drink the waters
of life, and those who were seeking
justice at the court might ascer-
tain the law of God before going
in.
Blum said another collection
would have to be raised to erect a
shed over the Bibles that were pro-
posed to be placed at the town-
pump and at the town-house and
to pay for suitable chains and
clasps to secure them from the dep-
redations of the pilfering.
Esch was of opinion that another
subscription could not be success-
fully taken up until their work
had produced manifest fruit for
good. The people have much
faith, but when they find salt mixed
witli their drink instead of honey,
credulity is turned into disgust. A
Bible chained to the town-pump
will be a sad realization of their
extravagant hopes. Every man
100
The Colporteurs of Bonn.
who subscribed five dollars expects
to get a book worth five hundred,
an illuminated Bible fit for a cathe-
dral church. He warned them that
they were getting into a labyrinth,
and that they would have to resort
to prayer )'et to carry them through
in safety. Werner thought it wquld
be wisest to pursue a quiescent
policy for some time, and to forego
the indulgence of their anxious de-
sire for palpable results until they
should be in a condition to make
an impression. He advocated the
wisdom of delay. They also serve,
he said, who only stand and wait,
and it might prove an unwise pro-
ceeding to come out with their
public exhibition just then. In a
few months, when thirty or forty
Bibles would be on hand, a larger
number than could be found in any
library in the world, they might
hope, by the show of so much la-
bor, to create enthusiasm.
" But still," urged Heuck, " you
will have the difficulty to contend
with — who is to get them V^
" There will," remarked Blum, " be
a greater difficulty to contend with
about that time : the settlement of
obligations for parchment and the
pay of the scriveners who are em-
ployed in transcribing. Our means
at present, even if we pay the scriv-
eners but one-third their wages, will
not suffice to bring out twenty vol-
umes. So we are just in this diffi-
culty : in order to do something, we
must have means, and in order to
get means, we must do something.
It is a sort of vicious circle pro-
jected from logic into finance. It
will take the keen-edged genius
of Brother Giestfacher to cut this
knot."
" The work," said Giestfacher, ** in
which we are engaged is of such
merit that it will stand of itself. I
have no fears of ultimate triumph.
If you all fail, God and I will carry
it on. Heaven is in it. I am in it.
It must succeed. I am a little old-
ish, I confess, but there is twenty
years of work in me still. I feel
my foot 'ufficiently sure to tread
the perilous path of this adventure
to the goal."
** Let us," interposed Schwartz,
" stop this profitless debate, and
give a cheer to Brother Giestfacher.
He is the blood and the bone of
this movement. We are in with
him. We are all in the same boat.
If we have discovered a pusillani-
mous simpleton among us, it is not
too late to cast him out. I feel my
gorge and my strength rise together,
and I swear to you by S. Reraigius,
brethren, that I am prepared to sink
or swim, and whoever attempts to
scuttle the ship shall himself perish
first."
Two or three other brethren, feel-
ing the peculiar inspiration of the
moment, rose up. and, stamping their
feet on the floor, proclaimed their
adherence to the principles of the
society, and vowed to see it through
to the end.
This meeting then adjourned.
There is no minute of any subse-
quent meeting to be found among
the manuscripts that I have con-
sulted, but I discovered a state-
ment made by Heuck, dated six
months later, who, being called be-
fore the municipal authorities to
testify what he knew about certain
transactions of a number of men
that had banded themselves togeth-
er secretly for the purpose of creat-
ing a panic in the vellum market,
and of disturbing the business of
the scriveners, said he was one of
fourteen citizens interested in the
promulgation of the Gospel free to
the poor. That, after five or six
meetings, he left the society in com-
pany with two others ; that two of
The Colporteurs of Bonn.
xoi
the members became obnoxious,
and were expelled — the one, Diisch,
for embezzling money collected for
Scripture-writing and Scripture-dif-
fusing purposes, the other, Werner,
for having retained one of their
volumes, and disposed of it to the
lord of Drachenfels for four hun-
dred dollars; that they did not
parsue and prosecute these delin-
quents for fear of bringing reproach
on the project; and then he went
on to state : " I left the society vo-
luntarily and in disgust. We had
fourteen Bibles on hand, but could
not agree about their distribution.
They were too valuable to give
away for nothing, and it was dis-
covered that tliey were all written
in Latin, and not in the vernacular,
and they would prove of as little va-
lue to the great mass of people for
whom they were originally designed
as if thev had been written in He-
brew. In addition to this I found,
for I understand the language per-
fectly, that no two of them were
alike, and, in conjunction with scri-
vener Schwartz, I minutely exam-
ined one taken at random from the
pile, and compared it with the vol-
ume at the Cathedral. We found
fifteen hundred discrepancies. In
some places whole sentences were
left out. In others, words were
made to express a different sense
from the original. In others, letters
were omitted or put in redundantly,
in such a way as to change the
meaning ; and the grammatical
structure was villanously bad. See-
ing that the volumes were of no
use as a representation of the word
of God, and being conscientiously
convinced that the books contained
poison for the people instead of
medicine, I made a motion in meet-
ing to have them all burned.
Schwartz opposed it on the ground
that they were innoxious anyhow,
there being none of the common
people capable of understanding
the language in which they were
written, and, though they were a
failure as Bibles, the vellum might
be again used ; and as the scriven-
ers were not paid for their labor,
they had a claim upon the volumes.
The scriveners got the books, to
which, in my opinion, they had no
just claim, for the villanous, bad
work they did on them deserved
censure and not pay. I have heard
since that some of those scriveners
made wealth by selling the books to
Englishmen for genuine and care-
fully prepared transcripts from au-
thorized texts. The president and
founder of the society, Giestfacher,
is now in jail for debt, he having
failed to meet his obligations for
the vellum he purchased when he
took it into his head to enlighten
mankind — more especially that por-
tion of it that dwells on the Rhine
adjacent to the city of Bonn — by
distributing corrupt copies of Latin
Bibles to poor people who arc not
well able to read their own lan-
guage. The * good work * still oc-
cupies the brains and energies of
three or four enthusiasts, who have
already arrived at the conclusion
that the apostles were in league
with hell to keep the people igno-
rant, because they did not give
every man a copy of the Bible. The
founder sent me a letter two days
ago, in which he complains of be-
ing deserted by his companions in
his extremity. His creditors have
seized on all his goods, and there
is a considerable sum yet unpaid.
He blames the Pope and the bishop
in unmeasured terms for this ; says
it is a conspiracy to keep the Bible
from the people. He sees no pros-
pect of being released unless the
members of the society come to his
speedy relief. The principles, he
I02
The Colporteurs of Bonn,
says, for which he suffers will yet
triumph. The time will come when
Bibles will be multiplied by some
cheap and easy process. Until then,
the common run of humanity must
be satisfied to be damned, drawing
what little consolation they may
from the expectation that their de-
scendants a few centuries hence
will enjoy the slim privilege of read-
ing Bibles prepared with as little re-
gard to accuracy as these were. I am
sorry to see such a noble intellect
as Giestfacher undoubtedly possess-
es show signs of aberration. The
entire failure of his project was
more than he could bear. He had
centred his hopes upon it. He
indulged dreams of fame and great-
ness arising out of the triumph of
his idea. Esch has become an
atheist. He says the Christian's
God would not have given a book
to be the guide and dependence of
man for salvation, and yet allow
nature, an inferior creation, to inter-
pose insuperable barriers to its pro-
mulgation. Every time a sheep-
skin is destroyed, says Esch, a com-
munity is damned. The dearness
and scarcity of parchment keep
the world in ignorance. Braunn
says the world cannot be saved ex-
cept by a special revelation to every
individual, for there is hardly a
copy of the Bible without errors, so
that whether every human creature
got one or not, they would be still un-
safe. One of the common herd must
learn Latin and Greek and Hebrew
well, and then spend a lifetime
tracing up, through all its changes,
transcriptions, and corruptions of
idiom, one chapter, or at most one
book, and die before he be fully as-
sured of the soundness of one text, a
paragraph, a line, a word. In fact,
says Braunn, there can be no cer-
tainty about anything. Language
may have had altogether a different
meaning twelve hundred years ago
to what it has now. Braunn and
Schwartz and myself wanted to
have a committee of five of our
number appointed to revise and
correct the text of each book that
was produced by comparing it with
such Greek and Hebrew copies as
were represented of sound and cor-
rect authority ; but Giestfacher
laughed at us, saying we knew no-
thing of Greek or Hebrew; that we
would have to hire some monks to
do the job for us, which would be
going back again to the very places
and principles and practices against
which we had revolted and protest-
ed. Moreover, continued Giest-
facher, we cannot tell whether the
oldest, most original copies that
can be found are true in every par-
ticular. How can we know from
any sort of mere human testimony
that this copy or that is in accord-
ance with what the prophets and
apostles wrote. The whole Bible may
be wrong as far as our knouuedge^ as
such, is able to testify. We are re-
duced to faith in this connection
and must rest on that alone.
" I thought, and so did Schwartz,
that the faith of Giestfacher must
be peculiar when it could accept
copies as good enough and true
enough after we had discovered
hundreds of palpable and grievous
errors in them. A book of romance
would do a ^person of Giestfacher's
temper as well as the Bible — faith
being capable of making up for all
deficiencies. I saw that an extrav-
agance of credulity, called faith, on
the part of Giestfacher, led to mo-
nomania ; and a predominance of
irrational reason on the part of
Esch had led to utter negation. I
did not covet either condition, and
I concluded to remain safe at an-
chor where I had been before, ra-
ther than longer follow those ad-
Thi Colporteurs of Bonn.
t03
venturers in a wild career after a
fancied good — a mere phantom of
their own creation. I lost twenty-
five dollars by the temporary mad-
ness. That cannot be recalled. I
rejoice that I lost no more, and I
am grateful that the hallucination
which lasted nearly a year has pass-
ed away without any permanent
injury."
The remainder of Heuck's state-
ment had partially faded from the
parchment by time and dampness,
and could not be accurately made
out. Sufficient was left visible,
however, to show that he expressed
a desire to be held excusable for
whatever injuries to souls might re-
sult from the grave errors that ex-
isted in the Bibles disseminated by
the cupidity of the scriveners with
the guilty knowledge of such errors.
I interested myself in rescuing
fiom oblivion such parts of the re-
cord of those curious mediaeval
transactions as served to show to
the people of later times what ex-
traordinary mental and religious ac-
tivity existed in those ages, when it
was foolishly and stupidly thought
there were but henchmen and slaves
on the one side, and bloody mailed
despots on the other. The arro-
gance of more favored epochs has
characterized those days by the
epithet of " dark." Pride is apt to
be blind. The characterization is
unjust. All the lights of science
could not come in one blaze. The
people of those days looked back
upon a period anterior to their own
as "dark," and those looked still
further backward upon greater ob-
scurity, as tliey thought. The uni-
versal boastfulness of man accounts
for this increasing obscurity as we
reach back into antiquity. Philoso-
phers and poets and men of learn-
ing, thinking themselves, and wish-
ing to have other people think them,
above personal egotism, adopted the
method of praising their age, and
thus indirectly eulogizing them-
selves ; and as they could not com-
pare their times with the future of
which they knew nothing, they na-
turally fell into the nnfilial crime of
drawing disparaging comparisons
with their fathers. There is an in-
clination, too, in the imperfection of
human nature to belittle what is re-
mote and magnify what is near at
hand. Even now, men as enthusi-
astic and conscientious and relig-
ious as Heuck and Giestfacher and
Schwartz find themselves surround-
ed by the same difficulties, and as
deeply at a loss to advance a valid
reason for their revolt and their
protest.
104
Early Persecutions of the Christians.
EARLY PERSECUTIONS OF THE CHRISTIANS.
In one of his bold Apologies *
the great African writer Tertullian
said to the rulers of the Roman Em-
pire that " it was one and the same
thing for the truth [of Christianity]
to be announced to the world, and
for the world to hate and persecute
it." This persecution of the church
began on the very spot that was her
birth-place ; for soon after the as-
cension of our Lord the wicked
Jews tried by every means to crush
her. ** From the days of the apos-
tles," wrote Tertullian in the Hid
century, " the synagogue has been
a source of persecutions." At first
the church was attacked by words
only ; but these were soon replaced
by weapons, when Stephen was
stoned, the apostles were thrown
into prison and scourged, and all
the East had risen in commotion
against the Christians. The Gen-
tiles soon followed the example of
the Jews, and those persecutions
which bore an official character
throughout the Roman Empire, and
lasted for three centuries, are com-
monly called the Ten General Per-
secutions. Besides these, there
were partial persecutions at all
times in some part or other of the
empire. Nero, whose name is sy-
nonymous with cruelty, was the
first emperor to begin a general per-
secution of the Christians; and
Tertullian made a strong point in
his favor when he cried out to the
people {ApoL v.), saying, "That
our troubles began at such a
source, we glory; for whoever has
studied his nature knows well that
• A/a/. vii.
nothing but what is good and great
was ever condemned by Nero."
This persecution began in the year
64, and lasted four years. Its pre-
text was the burning of Rome, the
work of the emperor himself, who
ambitiously desired, when he would
have rebuilt the city and made it
still more grand, to call it by his
own name; but the plan not suc-
ceeding, he tried to avert the odium
of the deed from his own person,
and accused the Christians. Their
extermination was decreed. The
pagan historian Tacitus has men-
tioned, in his Annals (xv. 44), some
of the principal torments inflicted
on the Christians. He says that
they were covered with the skins of
wild beasts and torn to pieces by
savage hounds, were crucified, were
burned alive, and that some, being
coated with resinous substances,
were put up in the imperial garden
at night to serve as human torches.
The Roman Martyrology makes a
special commemoration, on the
24th of June, of these martyrs
for having all been disciples of
the apostles and the firstlings of
the Christian flock which the
church in Rome presented to the
Lord. In this persecution S. Pe-
ter was crucified with his head
downwards ; S. Paul was beheaded ;
and among the other more illus-
trious victims we find S. Mark the
Evangelist, S. Thecla, the first mar-
tyr of her sex, SS. Gervase and
Protase at Milan, S, Vitalis at Ra-
venna, and S. Polycetus at Saragos-
sa in Spain. The number of the
slain, and the hitherto unheard-
Early Persecutions of the Christians,
los
of cruelties practised upon them,
moved to pity many of the hea-
then, and the sight of so much
fortitude for a principle of religion
was the means, through divine
grace, of many conversions. After
this, as after every succeeding per-
secution, the great truth spoken by
Tertullian was exemplified : that the
blood of the martyrs was the seed
of Christians.
By a law of the empire, which
was not revoked until nearly three
hundred years afterwards, under
Constantine, the profession of the
Christian religion was made a capi-
tal offence. This law, it is true,
was not enforced at all times, espe-
cially under benign or indifferent
rulers; but it hung continually sus-
pended over the heads of the Chris-
tians like a sword of Damocles.
The second persecution was that
of Domitian, from 94 to 96. Ter-
tullian calls him "a portion of Ne-
ro bv his crucltv." At first he
only imposed heavy fines upon the
wcahliy Christians ; but, thirsting
for Mood, he soon published more
CTjcl edicts against them. Among
his noblest victims were his cousin-
gcrman, Flavins Clemens, a man of
consular dignity; John the Evange-
list, who was thrown into a caldron
of boiling oil (from which, how-
ever, he miraculously escaped un-
hurt) ; Andrew the Apostle, Diony-
sius the Areopagite, and Onesimus,
S-PaiiTsconvert. Hegesippus, quot-
ed by Eusebius in his Ecclesiastical
History, has recorded a very inter-
esting fact about the children of
Jude, surnamed Thaddeus in the
Gospel, telling us that, having con-
fessed the faith under this reign,
they were always honored in the
church of Jerusalem, not alone as
martyrs, but as relatives of Jesus
Christ according to the flesh.
The third persecution was Tra-
jan's, from 97 to 116. In answer to
a letter from his friend Pliny the
Younger, who had command in
Asia Minor, the emperor ordered
that the Christians were not to be
sought out, but that, if accused,
and they remained obstinate in their
faith, they were to be put to death.
Under an appearance of mercy a
large field was opened for the
cruelty and exactions of Roman
officials, which they were not slow
to work. A single circumstance
attests the severity of the persecu-
tion. This was that the Tiberian
governor of Palestine wrote to the
emperor complaining of the odious
duty imposed upon him, since the
Christians were forthcoming in great-
er numbers than he could, without
tiring, have executed. The perse-
cution was particularly severe in
the East. Simeon, bishop of Jeru-
salem, Ignatius of Antioch, and the
virgin Domitilla, who was related to
three emperors, are among the more
illustrious martyrs of the period.
Next came the persecution of
Hadrian, lasting from 118 to about
129. We have the authority of S.
Jerome for saying that it was very
violent. This emperor was a cow-
ard and, perhaps as a consequence,
intensely superstitious. One of his
particular grievances against the
Christians was that they professed
a religion in which he had no share.
Under him perished, with countless
others. Pope Alexander I. and his
priests, Eventius and Theodulus;
Eustace, a celebrated general, with
his wife and little children ; Sym-
phorosa and her seven sons; Zoe,
with her husband and two children.
The fifth was the persecution of
Marcus Aurelius. Although he
was by nature well inclined, he
was certainly the author of much
innocent bloodshed, which may be
in part ascribed to the powerful in-
io6
\
Early Persecutions of the Christians.
fluence of the so-called philoso-
phers whose company and tone he
affected. The persecution raged
most severely among the Gauls ;
and elsewhere we find the illustri-
ous names of Justin the great Apo-
logist, Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna,
and Felicitas and her seven chil-
dren.
Followed the persecution of
Septimius Severus, which lasted
from 200 to 211, and was so ex-
tremely violent that many Chris-
tians believed Antichrist had come.
It reaped from the church such dis-
tinguished persons as Pope Victor
at Rome ; Leonidas, father of the
great Origen, at Alexandria; Ire-
naeus and companions at Lyons ;
Perpetua and Felicitas in Mauri-
tania. Egypt was particularly rich
in holy martyrs.
After this one came the persecu-
tion of Maximinus, from 235 to
237. It was in the beginning more
especially directed against the sa-
cred ministers of the church. Sev-
eral popes were put to death ; and
among the inferior clergy we find
the deacon Ambrose, who was the
bosom friend of Origen and one of
his principal assistants in his work
on the Holy Scriptures.
The persecution of Decius lasted
from 249 to 251. The Christians,
in spite of all repressive measures,
had steadily increased in numbers ;
but this emperor thought to do
what his predecessors had failed
in, and was hardly seated on the
throne before he published most
cruel edicts against them. Among
the more celebrated names of this
persecution are those of Popes
Fabian and Cornelius ; Saturninus,
first bishop of Toulouse ; Babylas,
bishop of Antioch ; the famous
Christopher in Lycia, about whom
there is a beautiful legend ; and the
noble virgin Agatha in Sicily. The
great scholar Origen was put to
the torture during this persecution,
but escaped death. Like Max-
iminus, this emperor singled out
the heads of the various local
churches, the most active and
learned ministers, the highest of
both sexes in the social scale, aim-
ing less at the death than the apos-
tasy of Christians, hoping in this
way to destroy the faith ; whence
S. Cyprian laments in one of his
epistles that the Christians suffer
atrocious torments without the
final consolation of martyrdom.
One effect of this persecution was
of immense benefit to the church
in the East ; for S. Paul, surnamed
First Hermit, took refuge from the
storm in Upper Egypt, where he
peopled by his example the region
around Thebes with those holy
anchorites since called the Fathers
of the Desert.
The ninth persecution was that
of Valerian, who, although at first
favorable to the Christians, became
one of their greatest opposers at
the instigation of their sworn
enemy, Marcian. At this date we
find upon the list of martyrs the
eminent names of Popes Stephen
and Sixtus II., Lawrence the Ro-
man deacon, and Cyprian, the great
convert and bishop of Carthage.
The persecution of Diocletian
was the last and the bloodiest of
all. It raged from 303 to 310.
Maxiraian, the emperor's colleague,
had already put to death many
Christians, and among others, on
the 2 2d of September, 286, Mau-
rice and his Theban legion, before
the persecution became general
throughout the Roman Empire. It
began in this form at Nicomedia
on occasion of a fire that consumed
a part of the imperial palace,
and which was maliciously ascrib-
ed to the Christians ; and it is re-
Early Persecutions of the Christians.
loj
markable that the two extreme
persecutions of the early church
should both have begun with a
false charge of incendiarism. Dio-
cletian used to sit upon his throne
at Nicomedia, watching the death-
pangs of his Christian subjects who
were being burned, not singly, but
in great crowds. Many officers
and servants of his household per-
ished, and, to distinguish them from
the rest, they were dropped into
the sea with large stones fastened
about their necks. A special ob-
ject of the persecutors was to de-
stroy the churches and tombs of
earlier martyrs, to seize the vessels
used in the Holy Sacrifice, and to
bum the liturgical books and the
Holy Scriptures. The Roman
Martyrology makes a particular
mention on the 2d of January of
those who suffered death rather
than deliver up these books to the
tyrant. Although innumerable cop-
ies of the Scriptures perished, not
a few were saved, and new copies
multiplied either by favor of the
less stringent executors of the law,
or because the privilege was bought
by the faithful at a great price.
Some years ago the German Bibli-
cal critic Tischendorf discovered
on Mount Sinai a Greek codex of
extraordinary antiquity and only
two removes from an original of
Origen. It is connected with one
of the celebrated martyrs of this
persecution, and bears upon what
we have just said of the Sacred
Scriptures. In this codex, at the
end of the Book of Esther, there is
a note attesting that the copy was
collated with a very ancient manu-
script that had itself been correct-
ed by the hand of the blessed mai>
lyr Pamphilus, priest of Csesarea
in Palestine, while in prison, assist-
ed by Antoninus, his fellow-prison-
er, who read for him from a copy of
the Hexapla of Origen, which had
been revised by that author him-
self. The touching spectacle of
these two men, both of whom gave
their blood for the faith, occupied,
in the midst of the inconveniences,
pain, and weariness of captivity, in
transcribing good copies of the
Bible, is one of the many instances,
discovered in every age, showing
the care that the church has had to
multiply and guard from error the
holy written Word of God.
Among the petty sources of an-
noyance during this persecution,
was the difficulty of procuring food,
drink, or raiment that had not been
offered to idols ; for the pagan
priests had set up statues of their
divinities in all the market-places,
hostelries, and shops, and at the
private and public fountains. They
used also to go <around city and
country sprinkling with supersti-
tious lustral water the gardens,
vineyards, orchards, and fields, so
as to put the Christians to the great-
est straits to obtain anything that
had not been polluted in this
manner. We learn from the Acts
of S. Theodotus, a Christian trades-
man of Ancyra, the obstacles he
had to surmount at this time to
procure pure bread and wine to be
used by the priests in the Mass.
We can appreciate the intense se-
verity of this persecution in many
ways ; but one of the most singular
proofs of it is that pagans in Spain
inscribed upon a marble monument,
erected in Diocletian's honor, that
he had abolished the very name of
Christian, This emperor had also
the rare but unenviable privilege
of giving his name to a new chro-
nological period, called by the pa-
gans, in compliment to his bloody
zeal for their rites, the Era of Dio-
cletian ; but the Christians called it
the Era of the Martyrs. It began
io8
Early Persecutions of the Christians.
on the 29th of August, 284, and was
long in use in Egypt and Abyssinia.
Some of the more renowned victims
of this persecution are Sebastian,
an imperial officer; Agnes, a Roman
virgin; Lucy, a virgin of Syracuse,
and the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste.
It may be interesting to note
briefly the chief causes of so much
cruel bloodshed, even under princes
of undoubted moderation in the
general governipent of » affairs, as
were Trajan, Marcus Aurelius,
Antoninus the Pious, and a few
others.
The most continual, if not the
deepest, source of persecution were
the passions of the populace. Cal-
umny of the subtlest and most pop-
ular kind, and pressed at all times
with patient effort, had so inflamed
the minds of the brutal lower class-
es that only a word or a sign was
required to set them upon the
Christians. These were called dis-
loyal to the empire, unfriendly to
the princes, of a foreign religion,
people who refused to fall into
the ways of the majority, and ene-
mies of the human race. From
the remains of ancient histories,
from the Acts of martyrs, from pa-
gan inscriptions, and from other
sources, more than fifty-seven differ-
ent opprobrious qualifications, ap-
plied to the Christians as a body,
have been counted up. But when
particular calumnies became any
way stale, the Christians could al-
ways be accused as the cause of
every calamity that befell the state ;
so that, in the words of Tertullian
{^ApoL ;c/.), "If the Tiber exceeded
its limits, if the Nile did not rise to
irrigate the fields, if the rain failed
to fall, if the earth quaked, if famine
or pestilence scourged the land, at
once the cry was raised, Christians
to the lions!"
The next most constant source
of trouble was the pernicious in flu*
ence of the Philosophers — a set of
men who pretended to be seekers
after wisdom, and distinguished
themselves from the vulgar by a
certain style of dress. Puffed up
as they were with their own know-
ledge, nothing irritated their pride
so much as that men of the despis-
ed Christian class should presume
to dispute their doctrines and teach
that profane philosophy was naught,
since man could not be made per-
fect by human wisdom, but only by
the testimony of Christ who was
crucified. Among the Christians,
too, a special order of men whom
we call Apologists, and among whom
we count Justin, Tertullian, Tatian,
Arnobius, Minutius Felix, Origen,
Aristides, Quadratus, Athenagoras,
and Miltiades the chief, exposed in
their eloquent writings the vanity,
contradictions, and vices of their
opponents, succeeding sometimes
in silencing false accusations, and
even in arresting the course of per-
secution. Their apologies and me-
morials form one of the most in-
structive branches of early Christian
literature, and are a considerable
compensation for the loss of so
many Acts of martyrs and other
venerable documents destroyed by
the pagans or which have otherwise
perished.
The third great cause of persecu-
tion was found (to use a compara-
tively modern word) in the Eras-
tianism of the Roman Empire.
The emperor was, by right of the
purple, high-pontiff, and no religion
was recognized that did not profess
its existence and authority depend-
ent upon the state. Naturally, a
religion whose followers would
reply to every iniquitous command,
" We ought to obey God rather
than men," could expect no mercy,
but only continual war.
Early Persecutions of the Christians.
100
Sometimes the Christians were
pat to death in the same manner
as the common malefactors, such
as by decapitation, crucifixion, or
scourging; sometimes in the man-
ner reserved for particular classes
of criminals, as being hurled down
a precipice, drowned, devoured by
vild beasts, left to starve. But
sometimes, also, the exquisite cru-
elty of the persecutors delighted to
feed upon the sufferings of its vic-
tims, and make dying as long and
painful as possible. Thus, there
are innumerable examples of Chris-
tians being flayed alive, the skin
being neatly cut off in long strips,
and pepper or vinegar rubbed into
the raw flesh; or slowly crushed
between two large stones; or hav-
ing molten lead poured down the
throat. Some Christians were tied
to stakes in the ground and gored
to death by wild bulls, or thinly
uneared with honey and exposed
under a broiling sun to the insects
which would be attracted ; some
were tied to the tails of vicious
borses and dragged to pieces
some were sewed up in sacks with
vipers, scorpions, or other venom-
ooi things, and thrown into the wa-
I ter; some had their members vio-
I Icntly lorn from the trunk of the
' body; some were tortured by lire
I in ways almost unknown to the
. roost savage Indians of America ;
I some were slowly scourged to
i death with whips made of several
bronze chainlets, at the extremity
of each of which was a jagged bul-
let; while jerking out of the
teeth in slow succession ; cutting
off the nose, ears, lips, and breasts ;
Iciring of the flesh with hot pin-
cers; sticking sharp sticks up under
the finger-nails; being held sus-
pended, head downward, over a
soQoking fire; stretching upon a
nek, and breaking upon the wheel,
were some only of the commonest
tortures that preceded the final
death-stroke by sword or lance.
Majiv instruments used in torment-
ing the martyrs have been found
at different times, and are now
carefully preserved in collections
of Christian antiquities ; and from
these, from early-written descrip-
tions, and from the rude represen-
tations on the tombs of martyrs in
the Catacombs, it is known posi-
tively that over one hundred differ-
ent modes of torture were used
upon the Christians.
From the earliest period particu-
lar pains were taken by the pastors
of the church to have the remains
of the martyrs collected and some
account of their sufferings consign-
ed to letters ; and Pope S. Clem-
ent, a disciple of the Apostle Peter,
instituted a college of notaries, one
for each of the seven ecclesiastical
'districts into which he had divided
Rome, with the special charge of
collecting with diligence all the in-
formation possible about the mar-
tyrs. They were ^not to pass over
even the minutest circumstances of
their confession of faith and death.
This attendance on the last mo-
ments of the martyrs was often ac-
companied by great personal risk,
or at least a heavy expense in the
way of buying the good-will of
venal officers; but it was a thing
of the utmost importance, in view
of the church's doctrine concern-
ing the veneration and invocation
of saints, that nothing should
be left undone which prudence
would suggest to leave it beyond
a doubt that the martyrs had con-
fessed the true faith, and had suffer-
ed death /<?r the faith. The pagans
soon discovered the value that was
set upon such documents, and very
many of them were seized and de-
stroyed. The fact that the Acti
no
The Unnmembered Mother
of the martyrs were objects of
careful search is so well attested —
as is also the other fact, that an
immense number perished — that it
is a wonder and a grace of divine
Providence how any, however few
comparatively, have come down to
us. It has been calculated that at
least five million Christians — men,
women, and children — were put to
death for the faith during the first
three centuries of the church.
The French historian Ampere
has very justly remarked that
amidst the moral decay of the Ro-
man Empire, when all else was
lust and despotism, the Christians
alone saved the dignity of human
nature ; and the Spaniard Balmes,
when treating of the progress of
individuality under the influence of
Catholicity {^European Civilization^
ch. xxiii.), remarks that it was the
martyrs who first gave the great
example of proclaiming that " the
individual should cease to acknow-
ledge power when power exacts
from him what he believes to be
contrary to his conscience." The
patience of the martyrs rebuked
the sensualism of the pagans ; and
their fearless assertions that mat-
ters of conscience are beyond the
jurisdiction of any civil ruler prov-
ed them to be the best friends of
human liberty; while their con-
stancy and number during three
hundred years of persecution, that
only ceased with their triumph, is
one of the solid ai^uments to prove
that the Catholic Church has a di-
vine origin, and a sustaining divini-
ty within her.
** A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchansM,
Fed on the lawns, and in the forett rang'd ;
Without unspotted, innocent within,
She fear'd no danger, for she knew no sin :
Vet had she oft heen chased with horns and
hounds,
And Scythian shafb, and many wingM iNrounds
Aim'd at her heart ; was often forcM to fly.
And doomM to death, tho' &ted not to di«."
—Dkvdbn.
THE UNREMEMBERED MOTHER,
Unknown, beloved, thou whose shadow lies
Across the sunny threshold of my years ;
Whom memory with never-resting eyes
Seeks thro* the past, but cannot find for tears ;
How bitter is the thought that I, thy child,
Remember not the touch, the look, the tone,
Which made my young life thrill — that I alone
Forget the face that o*er my cradle smil'd !
And yet I know that if a sudden light
Reveal'd thy living likeness, I should find
That my poor heart hath pictur*d thee aright.
So I will wait, nor think the lot unkind
That hides thee from me, till I know by sight
The perfect face thro' love on earth divin'd.
DuraiioH,
III
DURATION.
Time and duration are usually
considered synonymous, as no du-
ration is perceived by us, except
the duration of movement, or of
soch things as are subject to move-
ment; and such duration is time.
Bat, rigorously speaking, time and
duration are not synonymous ; for
tbcy are to one another in the same
relation as place and space. As
no place is possible without real
absolute space, so no time is possi-
ble without real absolute duration ;
and as place consists of intervals in
space, so time consists of intervals
in duration. Yet there may be
duration independently of time, just
as there may be space independent
of places ; and for this reason the
nature of duration must be deter-
mined apart from the nature of
time. In treating of this subject
ve shall have to answer a series of
questions altogether similar to those
which we have answered in treating
of space and place. Hence we
shall follow the same order and
method in our present treatise
which we have followed in our
articles on space, with this differ-
ence, however: that, to avoid useless
repetitions, we will omit the devel-
opment of some of those reasonings
which the reader himself can easily
transfer from space to duration.
Duration is commonly defined as
"the permanence of a being in its
actuality " — Permaneniia ret in esse.
The duration of a being which per-
ieveres in existence without any in-
trinsic change is called " standing
duration " — Duratio stans. The du-
ration of a being which is actually
tobject to intrinsic mutations is
called "flowing duration "—2>»rtf-
tio fluens.
Flowing duration evidently im-
plies succession, and succession in-
volves time ; for succession is a re-
lation between something which
follows and something which pre-
cedes. On the other hand, time
also involves succession ; whence it
would seem that neither time nor
succession can be defined apart
from one another, the definition of
the latter presupposing that of the
former, and that of the former pre-
supposing the notion of the latter.
Although we need not be anxious
about this point (for time and suc-
cession really involve one another,
and therefore may well be included
under the same definition), we must
observe that the notion of succes-
sion, though ordinarily applied to
duration, extends to other things
also whenever they follow one an-
other in a certain order. Thus the
crust of the earth is formed by a
succession of strata, the Alps by a
succession of mountains, the streets
of the city by a succession of houses,
etc. Hence the notion of succes-
sion is more general than the notion
of time, and consequently there
must be some means of defining it
independently of the consideration
of time.
Balmes explains succession, with-
out mentioning time, in the follow-
ing manner : " There are things
which exclude one another from
the same subject, and there are
other things which do not exclude
one another from the same subject.
The existence of those things which
exclude one another implies sue-
112
Duration.
cession. Take a line ABC, A
body placed in A cannot pass over
to the place B without ceasing to
be in A^ because the situation B
excludes the situation A^ and in a
similar manner the situation C ex-
cludes the situation B, If, then,
notwithstanding this mutual exclu-
sion, the three places are really oc-
cupied by the same body, there is
succession. This shows that suc-
cession is really nothing else than
the existence of such things as exclude
one afiothen Hence succession im-
plies the existence of the thing that
excludes, and the non-existence of
the things that are excluded. All
variations involve some such exclu-
sion ; hence all variations involve
succession. ... To perceive the
existence of things which exclude
one another is to perceive succes-
sion and time ; to measure it is to
measure time." Thus far Balmes.*
But, if the flowing duration can
be easily conceived as the existence
of such things as exclude one an-
other, the case is very different
with regard to standing duration.
For, since we measure all duration
by time or by successive intervals,
we can scarcely conceive that there
may be duration without succes-
sion. Even the word "perma-
nence " which we employ in the
definition of duration, and which
seems to exclude all notion of
change, is always associated in our
tliought with succession and time.
The difficulty we experience in
forming a concept of standing du-
ration is as great at least as that
which we find in conceiving abso-
lute space without formal extension
and parts. In fact, formal exten-
sion is to absolute space what for-
mal succession is to absolute stand-
ing duration. To get over this dif-
ficulty we shall have to show that
* Fundam, Phil, lib. viL c. 7.
there is a duration altogether in-
dependent of contingent changes,
as there is a space altogether inde-
pendent of existing bodies, and
that the succession which we ob-
serve in the duration of created
things is not to be found in the
fundamental reason of its existence,
as our imagination suggests, but
only in the changes themselves
which we witness in created things.
The following questions are to
be answered : Is there any stand-
ing duration ? and if so, is it an ob-
jective reality, or a mere negation
of movement.^ Is standing dura*
tion anything created ? \yhat sort
of reality is it } Is it modified by
the existence of creatures } What
is a term of duration } What is
relative duration 1 What is an in-
terval of duration, and how is it
measured? These questions are
all parallel to those which we have
answered in our first and second
articles on space, and they admit
of a similar solution.
Fifst question, — " Is there any du-
ration absolutely standing V* Cer-
tainly. For if there is a being
whose entity remains always the
same without any intrinsic change,
its duration will be absolutely
standing. But there is such a
being. For there is, as we have
proved, an infinite reality absolute-
ly immovable and unchangeable —
that is, absolute space. Its perma-
nence is therefore altogether ex-
empt from succession ; and conse-
quently its duration is absolutely
standing.
Again : As there is no move-
ment in space without immovable
space, so there is no flowing in du-
ration without standing duration.
For as a thing cannot change its
ubication in space unless there be
a field for real ubications between
the initial and the final term ot
DurattoH.
113
}vement, so a thing cannot
its mode of being (the
in duration, unless there
field for real modes of
between the initial and the
rrm of its duration. Now,
il field, owing to the fact
is, in both cases, prerequired
possibility of the respective
s, is something necessarily
r to, and independent of, any
1 changes. Therefore, as
d of all local movements is
r to all movements and ex-
movement from itself, so also
d of all successive durations
rior to all successivity and
re excludes succession,
i^ugh these two arguments
to establish our conclusion,
e have to say concerning the
lestion will furnish addition-
?nce in its support.
ui question. — "Is standing
n an objective reality or a
ibstract conception ?" We
that standing duration is
ective reality as much as
e space. For, as movement
extend in space, if space is
I real, so movement cannot
in duration, if the field of its
on is nothing real. But we
ist seen that the field through
the duration of movement
s is standing duration,
ore standing duration is an
ve real it V.
mdly, a mere nothing, or a
ction, cannot be the founda-
real relations. But standing
m is the foundation of all in-
of real succession, which
I relations. Therefore stand-
ration is not a fiction, but an
ve reality. The major of
;ument is well known. The
is proved thus : In all real
US the terms must communi-
ith each other through one and
. xxii.-
the same reality ; and therefore the
foundation of a real relation must
reach by one and the same reality
the terms related. But the terms
of successive duration are be/ore
and after. Therefore the founda-
tion of their relation must reach
both before and after with one and
the same reality, and therefore it
has neither bef ore nox after in itself.
Had it before and after in itself, its
after would not be its before ; and
thus the reality by which it would
reach the terms of succession would
not be the same. It* is therefore
manifest that the foundation of all
real intervals of succession is a
reality whose duration ranges above-
succession.
This proof may be presented
more concisely as follows : Suc-
cession is a relation between two
terms, as past and present* Its
foundation must therefore reach all
the past as it reaches the present.
But what reaches the past as well
as the present, is always present;
for if it were past, it would be no
more, and thus it could not reach
the past and the present. There-
fore the foundation of succession
has no past, but only an invariable
present. Therefore there is a real
standing duration, a real field, over
which successive duration extends.
Thirdly, in all intervals of suc-
cession the before is connected
with the after through real duration.
But this real duration has in itself
neither before nor after. For if it
had before and after ^ it would fall
under the very genus of relation of
which it is the foundation ; which
is evidently impossible, because it
would then be the foundation of its
own entity. It is therefore plain that
the real connection between the
before and the after is made by a
reality which transcends all before
and all afUr^ and which is nothing
"4
Duration.
else than absolute standing dura^
tion.
Foarthly, if standing duration were
not an objective reality, but a mere
fiction or a mere negation of move-
ment, there would be no real length
of duration. For the terms of
successive duration are indivisible,
and consequently they cannot give
rise to any continuous quantity of
duration, unless something lies be-
tween them which affords a real
ground for continuous extension.
That the terms of successive du-
ration are indivisible is evident,
because the same term cannot be
before itself nor after itself, but is
wholly confined to an indivisible
instant. Now, that according to
which an interval of successive
duration can be extended from one
of these terms to another, is nothing
but absolute and standing duration.
For, if it were flowing, it would
pass away with the passing terms,
and thus it would not lie between
them, as is necessary in order to
supply a ground for the extension
of the interval intercepted. In the
same manner, therefore, as there
cannot be distance between two
ubicated points without real abso-
lute space, there cannot be an in-
terval between two terms in suc-
cession without real absolute dura-
tion.
A fifth proof of the same truth
may be drawn from the reality of
the past. Historical facts are real
facts, although they are all past.
There really was a man called Sol-
omon, who really reigned in Jeru-
salem ; there really was a philoso-
pher called Plato, whose sublime
doctrines deserved for him the sur-
name of Divine ; there really was a
man called Attila, surnamed the
Scourge of God. These men exist-
ed in different intervals of dura-
tion, and they are no more; but
their past existence and their dis-
tinct duration constitute three dis-
tinct facts, which are r^a/ fads
even to the present day, and such
will remain for ever. Now, how
can we admit that what has wholly
ceased to exist in successive dura-
tion is still a real and indelible
fact, unless we admit that there b
an absolute duration which is, even
now, as truly united with the past
as it is with the present, and to
which the past is not past, but per-
petually present .> If there is no
such duration, then all the past
must have been obliterated and
buried in absolute nothingness ; for
if the succession of past things ex-
tended upon itself alone, without
any distinct ground upon which its
flowing could be registered, none
of past things could have left behind
a real mark of their existence.
Against this conclusion some will
object that the relation between be^
fore and after may be explained by
a mere negation of simultaneous
existence. But the objection is
futile. For the intervals of suc-
cessive duration can be greater or
less, whilst no negation can be
greater or less ; which shows that
the negation of simultaneous exist-
ence must not be confounded with
the intervals of succession.
The following objection is more
plausible. The duration of move-
ment suffices to fill up the whole
interval of succession and to mea-
sure its extent; and therefore the
reality which connects the before
with the after is movement itself,
not standing duration. To this we
answer that the duration of move-
ment is essentially successive and
relative; and therefore it requires
a real foundation in something
standing and absolute. In fact, al-
though every movement formally
extends and measures its own du-
DuratioH.
"5
nevertheless it does not ex-
upon itself, but upon a field
:c to itself ; and this field is
ently the same. It is plain
; beginning and the end of
ent cannot be connected
jal relation through move-
lone, because movement is
in fieri^ and when it passes
\ one term of its duration
the actuality it had in the
ng term; so that, when it
its last term, it has nothing
irhat it possessed in its ini-
m or in any other subse-
erm. This suffices to show
though the duration of the
ent fills up the whole inter-
, owing to its very succes-
t cannot be assumed as the
of the relation intervening
k its successive terms.
iqiusHan. — ^** Is absolute and
g duration a created or an
ed reality ?" This question
answered ; for, in the first
tanding duration is the du-
Df a being altogether un-
ible; and nothing unchange-
created. Hence standing
I is an uncreated reality,
other handy all that is cre-
changeable and constantly
to movement; hence all
(that is, contingent) dura-
>lies succession. Therefore
g duration is not to be found
created realities. Lastly,
g duration, as involving in
II conceivable past and all
! future, is infinite, and, as
; the ground of all contin-
ctualities, is nothing less
e formal possibility of infi-
ms of real successive dura-
But such a possibility can
d in God alone. Therefore
lity of standing duration is
I alone; and we need not
it it must be uncreated.
Fourth question, — "What reality,
then, is absolute standing dura-
tion ?" We answer that this dura-
tion is the infinite virtuality or ex-
trinsic terminability of God's eter-
nity. For nowhere but in God's
eternity can we find the reason of
the possibility of infinite terms and
intervals of duration. Of course,
God's eternity, considered absolute-
ly adintra^ is nothing else than the
immobility of God's existence ; but
its virtual comprehension of all
possible terms of successive dura-
tion constitutes the absolute dura-
tion of God's existence, inasmuch
as the word " duration" expresses
a virtual extent corresponding to
all possible contingent duration ;
for God's duration, though formally
simultaneous, virtually extends be-
yond all imaginable terms and
intervals of contingent duration.
Hence standing duration is the
duration of God's eternity, the first
and fundamental ground of flowing
duration, the infinite range through
whic'n the duration of changeable
things extend. In other words, the
infinite virtuality of God's eternity,
as equivalent to an infinite length
of time, is duration; and as exclud-
ing from itself all intrinsic change,
is standing duration. This virtual-
ity of God's eternity is really no-
thing else than its extrinsic termina-
bility ; for eternity is conceived to
correspond to all possible differ-
ences of time only inasmuch as it
can be compared with the contin-
gent terms by which it can be ex-
trinsically terminated.
Secondly, if nothing had been
created, there would have been no
extrinsic terms capable of extend-
ing successive duration ; but, since
God would have remained in his
eternity, there would have remain-
ed the reality in which all extrinsic
terms of duration hare their vu>
Ii6
Duration.
tual being; and thus there would
have remained, eminently and with-
out formal succession, in God him-
self the duration of all the beings
possible outside of God. For he
would certainly not have ceased to
exist in all the instants of duration
in which creatures have existed ;
the only change would have been
this : that those instants, owing to a
total absence of creatures, would
have lacked their formal denomina-
tion of instantSy and their formal
successivity. Hence, if nothing
had been created, there would
have remained infinite real dura-
tion without succession, simply be-
cause the virtuality of God's eter-
nity would have remained in all its
perfection. It is therefore this vir-
tuality that formally constitutes
standing duration.
From this the reader will easily
understand that in the concept of
standing duration two notions re
involved, viz. : that of eternity j as
expressing the standing, and that
of its virtuality^ as connoting vir-
tual exttnt. In fact, God's eter-
nity, absolutely considered, is simply
the actuality of God's substance,
and, as such, does not connote
duration ; for God's substance is
not said to endure^ but simply to
be. The formal reason of duration
is derived from the extrinsic termi-
nability of God's eternity ; for the
word " duration" conveys the idea
of continuation, and continuation
implies succession. Hence it is
on account of its extrinsic termi-
nability to successive terms of du-
ration that God's eternity is con-
ceived as equivalent to infinite suc-
cession ; for what virtually con-
tains in itself all possible terms
and intervals of succession virtual-
ly contains in itself all succession,
and can co-exist, without intrinsic
change, with all the changes of
contingent duration. Balmes, after
defining succession as the existence
of such things as exclude one an-
other, very properly remarks : " If
there were a being which neither
excluded any other being nor were
excluded by any of them, that being
would co-exist with all beings.
Now, one such being exists, viz. :
God, and God alone. Hence theo-
logians do but express a great
and profound truth when they say
(though not all, perhaps, fully un-
derstand what they say) that God
is present to all times ; that to him
there is no succession, no h4fore or
after ; that to him everything is
present, is Now'' *
We conclude that standing dura-
tion is infinite, all-simultaneous, in-
dependent of all contingent things,
indivisible, immovable, formally
simple and unextended, but equiva-
lent to infinite intervals of succes-
sive duration, and virtually extend-
ing through infinite lengths. This
duration is absolute.
Fifth question, — " Does the crea-
tion of a contingent being in abso-
lute duration cause any intrinsic
change in standing duration V*
The answer is not doubtful ; for
we have already seen that standing
duration is incapable of intrinsic
modifications. Nevertheless, it will
not be superfluous to remark, for
the better understanding of this
answer, that the " when" (the quart-
do) of a contingent being has the
same relation to the virtuality of
God's eternity as has its "where"
(the ubi) to the virtuality of God's
immensity. For, as the "where"
of every possible creature is vir-
tually precontained in absolute
space, so is the "when" of all
creatures virtually precontained in
absolute duration. Hence the cre-
ation of any number of contingent
• Pkii, Fumdam. lib. ril c 7.
Duration.
II?
beings in duration implies nothing
but the extrinsic termination of ab-
solute duration, which accordingly
remains altogether iinafTected by
the existence in it of any number
of extrinsic terras. The "when"
of a contingent being, as contained
in absolute duration, is virtual ; it
does not l>ecome formal except in
the contingent being itself — that is,
by extrinsic termination. Thus the
subject of the contingent " when"
is not the virtuality of God's eter-
nity any more than the subject of
the contingent " where" is the vir-
tuality of God's immensity.
This shows that the formal
**when" of a contingent being is
a mere relativity, or a respectus.
The formal reason, or the founda-
tion, of this relativity is the reality
through which the contingent being
communicates with absolute stand-
ing duration, viz. : the real instant
{quando) which is common to both,
although not in the same manner;
for it is virtual in standing dura-
tion, whilst it is formal in the ex-
trinsic terra. Hence a contingent
being, inasmuch as it has existence
in standing duration, is nothing
but a term related ly its " when"
to divine eternity as existing in a
more perfect manner in the same
**when." But, since the contin-
gent " when" of the creature exclu-
sively belongs to the creature itself,
God's standing duration receives
nothing from it except a relative
extrinsic denomination.
The relation resulting from the
existence of a created term in
standing duration consists in this :
that the created term by its formal
**when "really imitates the eminent
mode of being of God himself in
tlic same " when." This relation is
called simultaneous fuss.
SimuUaneousness is often con-
founded with presence and with
co-existence. But these three no-
tions, rigorously speaking, differ
from one another. Presence refers
to terms in space ; simultaneousness
to terms in duration ; co-existence
to terms both present and simulta-
neous. Thus presence and simul-
taneousness |re the constituents of
co-existence. Presence is to be
considered as the material constitu-
ent, because it depends on the
"where," which belongs to the
thing on account of its matter or
potency ; simultaneousness must be
considered as the formal constituent,
because it depends on the " when,"
which belongs to the thing on ac-
count of its act or of its resulting
actuality.
Before we proceed further, we
must yet remark that in the same
manner as the infinite virtuality of
divine immensity receives distinct
extnnsic denominations from the
contingent terms existing' in space,
and is thus said to imply distinct
virtualities^ so also the infinite vir-
tuality of God's eternity can be
said to imply distinct virtualities,
owing to the distinct denominations
it receives from distinct terms of
contingent duration. It is for this
reason that we can speak of vir-
tualities of eternity in the plural.
Thus when we point out the first
instant of any movement as distinct
from any following instant, we con-
sider the flowing of the contingent
" when " from before to after as a
passage from one to another vir-
tuality of standing duration. These
virtualities, however, are not dis-
tinct as to their absolute beings, but
only as to their extrinsic termina-
tion and denomination ; and there-
fore they are really but one infinite
virtuality. As all that we have
said of the virtualities of absolute
space in one of our past articles
equally applies to the virtualities
Il8
Duration.
of absolute duration, we need not
dwell here any longer on this
point.
Sixth question. — ^**In what does
the ' when ' of a contingent being
precisely consist ?" From the pre*
ceding considerations it is evident
that the "when " of^a contingent
being may be understood in two
luanncrs, vix.. cither objectively or
SHhjtctiveiy. Objectively consider-
ed, the ** when " is nothing else
than <i simple ami inditnsible term in
iiHP^ti^H formally marked out in it
by the actuality of the contingent
being. We say a simple and indi-
vidbU krm, because the actuality of
\\\M contingent being by which it is
dcicnnincd involves neither past
not lulure, neither before nox after,
but only its present existence, which,
i\>^ Much, is confined to an indivisible
W'i*h'. Hence we do not agree with
thoHo philosophers who confound
tlic ^i^<iW<; with the tempus—thsit is,
lla* ** when *' with the extent of
flowing duration. We admit with
IhcHe plulosophers that the'* when "
ot contingent things extends through
movement from be/ore to after, and
draws, so to say, a continuous line
in duration ; but we must remind
thiMU that the before and the after
are distinct modes of being in dura-
tion, and that every term of dura-
tion (Icnignable between them is a
dinlinct ** when " independent of
cvrry other " when," either pre-
ceding or following; which shows
that the lempus implies an uninter-
rupf«Ml HeiicHof distinct " whens,"
mihI (hrrcMorc cannot be considered
utt tiynonymous with quando,
|( ilu« *• when " is considered sub-
Jiillvuly that is, as an appurte-
naiM t* ol thti Miibjcct of which it is
picilic utdil -it may be defined as
Mr? m*hif*»/ Mn^of a contingent thing
in dmaliim. This mode consists
vA a nitti'tf rilutivity; for it results
from the extrinsic termination nf
absolute duration, as a) read v ex-
plained. Hence the " when " is
not received \ii the subject of which
it is predicated, and does not innere
in it, but, like all other relativities
and connotations, simply connects
it with its correlative, and inter-
venes or lies between the one and
the other.
But, although it consists of a
mere relativity, the "when'* still
admits of being divided into absolute
and relative, according as it is con-
ceived absolutely as something real
in nature, or compared with some
other " when " ; for, as we have al-
ready explained when treating of
ubications, relative entities may be
considered both as to what they are
in themselves, and as to what they
are to one another.
If the " when " is considered
simply as a termination of standing
duration, without regard for any-
thing else, it is called absolute, and
is defined as the mode of being of a
thing in absolute duration. This
absolute *' when " is an essential
mode of the contingent being no less
than its dependence from the first
cause, and is altogether immutable
so long as the contingent being
exists; for, on the one hand, the
contingent being cannot exist but
within the domain of divine eternity,
and, on the other, it cannot have
different modes of being with regard
to it, as the standing duration of
eternity is all uniform in its infinite
virtual extension, and the contin-
gent being, however much we may
try to vary its place in duration,
must always be in the very middle
of eternity. Hence the absolute
** when " is altogether unchange-
able.
If the '*when" of a contingent
being is compared with that of
another contingent being in order
DuraiioH.
119
to ascertain their matual relation,
then the ** when " is called r^/a-
tivey and, as such, it may be defined
as iMe mode of ierminoHi^ a relets
turn in duration* This '* when " is
changeable, not in its intrinsic enti-
ty, but in its relative formality ; and
it is only under this formality that
the ** when " (qumndo) can be rank-
ed among the predicamental acci-
dents; for this changeable formal*
ity is the only thing in it which
bears the stamp of an accidental
entity.
The before and the after of the
same contingent being are consid-
ered as two distinct relative terms,
because the being to which they
refer, when existing in the after ^
excludes the before ; though the
absolute ** when " of one and the
same being is one term only. But
of this we shall treat more fully in
the sequel.
Seventh question. — ^ What is rela-
tive duration V* Here we meet again
the same difficulty which we have
encountered in explaining relative
space; for in the same manner as
relations in space are usually con-
founded with space itself, so are the
intervals in duration confounded
with the duration which is the
ground of their extension. But, as
the reasonings by which we have
established the precise notion of
relative space can be easily brought
Co bear on the present subject by
the reader himself, we think we
must confine ourselves to a brief
and clear statement of the conclu-
lions drawn from those reasonings,
as applied to duration.
Relative duration is the duration
ihr<ntgh which any movement extends ;
that is, the duration through which
the ** when " of anything in move-
ment glides from before to after^
and by which the before and the
ajttr are linked in mutual relation.
Now, the duration through which
movement extends is not exactly
the duration of the movement itself,
but the ground upon which the
movement extends its own dura-
tion; because movement has no-
thing actual but a flowing instant,
and therefore it has no duration
within itself except by reference to
an extrinsic ground through which
it successively extends. This
ground, as we have already shown,
is standing duration. And there-
fore relative duration is nothing
else than standing duration as
extrinsicaiiy terminated by distinct
termsy or, what amounts to the same
terminated by one term which, ow-
ing to any kind of movement, ac-
quires distinct and opposite formal-
ities. This conclusion is based on
the principle that the foundation
of all relations between before
and after must be something abso-
lute, having in itself neither before
nor aftery and therefore absolutely
standing. This principle is obvi-
ously true. The popular notion,
on the contrary, that relative dura-
tion is the duration of movement,
is based on the assumption that
movement itself engenders dura-
tion — which assumption -is false;
for we cannot even conceive move-
ment without presupposing the ab-
solute duration upon which the
movement has to trace the line of
its flowing existence.
Thus relative duration is called
relative, not because it is itself re-
lated, but because it is the ground
through which the. extrinsic terms
are related. It is actively, not pas-
sively, relative ; it is the ratio^ not
the rationatum^ the foundation, not
the result, of the relativities. In
other terms^ relative duration is ab-
solute as to its entity, and relative
as to the extrinsic denomination
derived froip the relations of which
120
Duraium.
it is the formal reason. Duration,
as absolute, may be styled *"" the
region of all possible whensy" just
as Absolute space is styled ^* the re-
gion of all possible ubications " ;
and, as relative, it may be styled
*'*' the region of all possible succes-
sion," just as relative space is styl-
ed *' the region of all local move-
ments." Absolute standing dura-
tion and absolute space are the
ground of the h€re and fww as
statical terms. Relative standing
duration and relative space are the
ground of the here and naiv as glid-
ing — that is, as dynamically consid-
ered.
Eighth question,'^^^ What is an in-
terval of duration ?" It is a relation
existing between two opposite
terms of succession — that is, be-
tween before and a/ier. An in-
terval of duration is commonly con-
sidered as a continuous extension ;
yet it is primarily a simple relation
by which the extension of the
flowing from before to after is for-
mally determined. Nevertheless,
since the " when " cannot acquire
the opposite formalities, before
and after^ without continuous
movement, all interval of duration
implies moverhent, and therefore
may be considered also as a con-
tinuous quantity. Under this last
aspect, the interval of duration is
nothing else than the duration of
the movement from before to after.
We have already noticed that the
duration of movement, or the in-
terval of duration, is not to be con-
founded with the duration through
which the movement extends. But
as, in the popular language, the one
as well as the other is termed
' " relative duration," we would sug-
gest that the duration through
which the movement extends might
be called fundamental relative dura-
tion, whilst the relation which con-
stitutes an interval between before
and after might be called resultant
relative duration.
The philosophical necessity of
this distinction is obvious, first, be-
cause the f/a/!r///>r^ duration, through
which movement extends, must not
be confounded with \\\^ flowing du-
ration of movement ; secondly, be-
cause the relation and its founda-
tion are not the same thing, and, as
we have explained at length when
treating of relative space, to con-
found the one with the other leads
to Pantheism. Intervals of rela-
tion are not parts of absolute dura-
tion, though they are so conceived
by many, but they are mere rela-
tions, as we have stated. Absolute
duration is all standing, it has no
parts, and it cannot be divided into
parts. What is called an interval
of duration should rather be called
an interval in duration ; for it is
not a portion of standing duration,
but an extrinsic result; it is not a
length of absolute duration, but
the length of the movement extend-
ing through that duration ; it is not a
divisible extension, but the ground
on which movement acquires its
divisible extension from before to
after. In the smallest conceivable
interval of duration there is God,
with all his eternity. To affirm
that intervals of duration are dis-
tinct durations would be to cut
God's eternity to pieces by giving
it a distinct being in really distinct
intervals. Hence it is necessary to
concede that, whilst the intervals
are distinct, the duration on which
they have their foimdation is one
and the same. The only duration
which can be safely confounded
with those intervals is the flowing
duration of the movement by which
they are measured. This is the
duration which can be considered
as a continuous quantity divisible
Duration.
121
n(o parts ; and this is the duration
vftich we should style ''^resultant
lelative duration," to avoid all dan-
ger of error or equivocation.
The objections which can be
nade against this manner of view-
ing things do not much differ from
tiiose which we have solved in our
Kcond article on space ; and there-
fore we do not think it necessary
to make a new answer to them,
the reader himself will be able to
lee what the objections are, and
bow they can be solved, by simply
substituting the words " eternity,*'
** duration," etc., for the words " im-
mensity," " space," etc., in the arti-
de referred to.
Yet a special objection can be
made against the preceding doc-
trine about tiie duration of move-
ment, independently of those which
regard relations in space. It may
be presented under this form.
'*The foundation of the relation
between before and after is nothing
else than movement itself. It is
therefore unnecessary and unphilo-
sophical to trace the duration of
movement to the virtuality of God's
cternitv as its extrinsic founda-
tion." The antecedent of this ar-
gument may be proved thus :
'*That thing is the foundation of
the relation which gives to its
terms their relative being — that is,
in our case, their opposite formali-
ties, ^^«t7/-^ and after. But move-
ment alone gives to the when these
opposite formalities. Therefore
movement alone is the foundation
of successive duration."
We answer that the antecedent
of the first argument is absolutely
fsdse. As to the syllogism which
comes next, we concede the major,
but we deny the minor. For it is
plain that movement cannot give
to the absolute when the relative
formalities before and after^ except
by flowing through absolute dura-
tion, without which it is impossible
for the movement to have its suc-
cessive duration. And surely, if
the movement has no duration but
that which it borrows from the ab-
solute duration through which it
extends, the foundation of its du-
ration from before to after can be
nothing else than the same absolute
duration through which the move-
ment acquires its before and after.
Now, this absolute duration is the
virtuality of God's eternity, as we
have proved. It is therefore both
philosophical and necessary to trace
the duration of movement to the
virtuality of God's eternity as its
extrinsic foundation. That move-
ment is also necessary to constitute
the relation between before and
afier^ we fully admit; for there
cannot be before and after without
movement. But it does not follow
from this that movement is the
foundation of the relation ; it mere-
ly follows that movement is a con-
dition necessary to give to the abso-
lute when two distinct actualities,
according to which it may be com-
pared with itself on the ground of
standing duration. For, as every
relation demands two opposite
terms, the same absolute «'//r// must
acquire two opposite formalities,
that it may be related to itself.
The only other objection which
may perhaps be made against our
conclusions is the following : The
foundation of a real relation is that
reality through which the terms re-
lated communicate* with one an-
other. Now, evidently, the before
and the after^ which are the terms
of the relation in question, commu-
nicate with one another through
the same absolute when ; for they
are the same absolute when under
two opposite formalities. Hence
it follows that the foundation of
133
Duraium,
the relation between ^fare and a/-
ter is nothing else than the abso-
lute when of a moving being.
To this we answer that the foun-
dation of the relation is not all
reality through which the terms re-
lated communicate with one an-
other, but only that reality by the
common termination of which they
become formally related to one an-
other. Hence, since the before and
the after do not receive their rela-
tive formalities from the absolute
when,^ it is idle to pretend that the
absolute when is the foundation of
the interval of duration. The before
and the after communicate with the
same absolute when not as a formal,
but as a material, cause of their exis-
tence — that is, inasmuch as the
same when is the subject, not the
reason, of both formalities. The
only relation to which the absolute
when can give a foundation is one
of identity with itself in all the ex-
tent of its flowing duration. But
such a relation presupposes, in-
stead of constituting, an interval
in duration. And therefore it is
manifest that the absolute when is
not the foundation of the relation
between before and after.
Having thus answered the ques-
tions proposed, and given the solu-
tion of the few difficulties objected,
we must now say a few words about
the division and measurement of re-
lative duration, whether funda-
mental or resultant.
Fundamental or standing dura-
tion is divided into real and imagi^
nary. This division cannot regard
the entity of standing duration,
which is unquestionably real, as we
have proved. It regards the real-
ity or the unreality of the extrinsic
terms conceived as having a rela-
tion in duration. The true notion
of real, contrasted with imaginary,
duration, is the following : Stand-
ing duration is called real when it
is really relative, viz., when it is ex-
trinsically terminated by real terms
between which it founds a real re-
lation ; on the contrary, it is called
imaginary when the extrinsic terms
do not exist in nature, but only in
our imagination ; for, in such a case,
standing duration is not really ter-
minated and does not found real
relations, but both the terminations
and the relations are simply a fig-
ment of our imagination. Thus
standing duration, as containing
none but imaginary relations, may
justly be called " imaginary,"
though in an absolute sense it is
intrinsically real. Accordingly,
the indefinite duration which we
imagine when we carry our thought
beyond the creation of the world,
and which is also called '* imagi-
nary,*' is not absolute but relative
duration, and is not imaginary in
itself, but only as to its denomina-
tion of relative, because, in the ab-
sence of all real terms, there can be
none but imaginary relations.
It is therefore un philosophical
to confound imaginary and indefi-
nite duration with absolute and in-
finite duration. This latter is not
an object of imagination, but of
the intellect alone. Imagination
cannot conceive duration, except in
connection with some movement
from before to after ; hence absolute
and infinite duration, which has
no before and no after y is altogether
beyond tlie reach of imagination.
Indeed, our intellectual conception
of infinite standing duration is
always accompanied in our minds
by a representation of indefinite
time; but this depends, as we have
stated in speaking of space, on the
well-known connection of our im-
aginative and intellectual opera-
tions, inasmuch as our imagination
strives to follow the intellect, and
Duration.
123
to represent after its own manner
what the intellect conceives in a
totally different manner. It was
by confoanding the objective no-
tion of duration with our subjec-
tive manner of imagining it that
Kant came to the conclusion that
duration was nothing but a subjec-
tive form or a subjective condition,
under which all intuitions are pos-
sible in us. This conclusion is
evidently false; but its refutation,
to be successful, must be based on
the objectivity of absolute standing
duration, without which, as we
have shown, there can be no field
for real and objective succession.
Resultant relative duration — ^that
is> an interval of flowing duration —
admits of the same division into
real and imaginary* It is real
when a real continuous flowing con-
nects the before with the after \ in
all other suppositions it will be im-
aginary. It may be remarked that
the " real continuous flowing " may
be either intrinsic or extrinsic.
Thus, if God had created nothing
but a simple angel, there would have
been no other flowing duration than
a continuous succession of 'intellec-
tual operations connecting the be-
]cT$ with the after in the angel him-
self, and thus his duration would
Have been measured by a series of in-
trinsic changes. It is evident that in
this case one absolute when sufiices
to extend the interval of duration ;
for by its gliding from before to a
ter it acquires opposite formalities
through which it can be relatively
opposed to itself as the subject and
the term of the relation. If, on the
contrary, we consider the interval
of duration between two distinct
beings — say Caesar and Napoleon —
then the real continuous flowing
by which such an interval is meas-
ured is extrinsic to the terms com-
pared ; for the when of Csesar is
distinct from, and does not reach,
that of Napoleon ; which shows that
their respective whens have no in-
trinsic connection, and that the
succession comprised between those
whens must have consisted of a
series of changes extrinsic to the
terms compared. It may seem dif-
ficult to conceive how an interval
of continuous succession can result
between two terms of which the
one does not attain to the other;
•for, as a line in space must be
drawn by the movement of a single
point, so it seems that a length in
duration must be extended by the
flowing of a single when from before
to after. The truth is that the in-
terval between the whens of two
distinct beings is not obtained by
comparing the when of the one
with that of the other, but by re-
sorting to tlie when of some other
being which has extended its con-
tinuous succession from the one
to the other. . Thus, when Caesar
died, the earth was revolving on
its axis, and it continued to revolve
without interruption up to the ex-
istence of Napoleon, thus extend-
ing the duration of its movement
from a when corresponding to
Cflesar*s death to a when corre-
sponding to Napoleon's birth ; and
this duration, wholly extrinsic to
Caesar and Napoleon, measures the
interval between them.
As all intervals of duration ex-
tend from before to after^ there can
be no interval between co-existent
beings, as is evident. In the same
manner as two beings whose ubica-
tions coincide cannot be distant in
space, so two beings whose whens
are simultaneous cannot form an
interval of duration.
All real intervals of duration re-
gard the past ; for in the past alone
can we find a real before and a real
after. The present gives no inter-
DwraiiofU
,- •» -v. T • -
,•1
••n»J >v
1^ ^^T^ ittst stateiL but
:<3esSw The future
-j^yCi-itMlIv — that is» it
'^' r-^a\! '-**- i* >* ^^^ yet.
r«f%«r been, aad never
g9«fr«!r vBOUJiinary. To
- ^->. jt-ssst NfloQ? *^l the inter-
* ^ ' . i-^rtsXx corresponding to
^ * ^ "^ , ^ . -onai events which did
, ^..^^ o«i''i ^'^^ the non-fulfil-
* -^ - v_^ oor'viivioos on which
. ,^ ^^^ Hi^A-iurenient of flow-
^ ^ ^ ^- .: oi* A tVw words will suf-
"^^ ^ . v, ^ my/bc^ cv^nsiviered abso-
• , ^ ^ . KTA:^-'-'^ ^^* measuring an
. ^« via I At ion* for the reason
, v\ ; -^- nvk^ IS unexlended, and
\'\;\\* u:%iuvn^^rtionate to the
hkhV^ ^vo« vW A ixmtinuous inter-
•v*t t^c meJksure roust be of
''wx.rrK* kiJul with the thing to be
L\x vnI lw*t as a continuous
^ . V c.i->H^t iHT wade up of unex-
.. [" \M isnnt^ 5iO cannot a continu-
^v \' v.^,s\^al lH^ made up of indivisi-
C^ -^xMuts ; hence, as a line is di-
V 1 vo >^^^ »"'^^ smaller and smaller
' ...x '^> >^^^^^^ ^^ can'be measur-
v>; xv^ V.xoan interval of duration
vx o.vu^Mo only into smaller and
.kuvUvi intervals, and is measured
>xx v:k^ '^.uue* These smaller inter-
v^Sx ^cinjj continuous, are them-
xsuU divisible and mensurable by
vv,Sv ^ intervals of less duration, and
vSv>»c other intervals are again di-
xi^a^e and mensurable; so that,
iu^u\ the nature of the thing, it is
^u^pi^)>^ible to reach an absolute
u\v\^^ure of duration, and we must
u-»i fculisfted with a relative one,
\\\^\ 4M in the case of a line and
\\\ M\y Oliver continuous quantity.
( Uu lanuUeHt unit or measure of
vlmati\M\ commonly used is the se-
\\\\\\\x K\x nixticth part of a minute.
Hut, iiinre cttntinuous quantities
»Oi3 dlvinihlt' «^ ifi,fimtHm^ it may be
^^V\\\x what prevents us from con-
sidering a finite interval of duration
as containing an infinite multitude
of infinitesimal units of duration ?
If nothing prevents us, then in the
infinitesimal unit we shall have the
true and absolute measure of dura*
tion. We answer that nothing pre-
vents such a conception; but the
mensuration of a finite interval by
infinitesimal units would never sup-
ply us the means of determining
the relative lengths of two intervals
of duration. For, if every interval
is a sum of infinite terms, and is so
represented, how can we decide
which of those intervals* is the
greater, since we cannot count the
infinite ?
Mathematicians, in all dynamical
questions, express the conditions of
the movement in terms of infinite-
simal quantities, and consider every
actual instant which connects the
before with the after as an infinite-
simal interval of duration* in * the
same manner as they consider every
shifting ubication as an infinitesi-
mal interval of space. But when
they pass from infinitesimal to finite
quantities* by integration between
determinate limits, they do not ex-
press the finite intervals in infinite-
simal-terms, but in terms of a finite
unit, viz., a second of time; and
this shows that, even in high mathe-
matics, the infinitesimal is not taken
as the measure of the finite.
Since infinitesimals are consider-
ed as evanescent quantities, the
question may be asked whether
they are still conceivable as quanti-
ties. We have no intention of dis-
cussing here the philosophical
grounds of infinitesimal calculus, as
we may have hereafter a better op-
portunity of examining such an in-
teresting subject ; but, so far as in-
finitesimals of duration are concern-
ed, we answer that they are still
quantities, though they bear no
Duratim.
I2S
comparison with finite duration.
AVhat mathematicians call an infi-
nitesimal of time is nothing else
rigorously than the flowing of an
actual " when " from be/ore to after.
The" when " as such is no quantity,
but its flowing is. However nar-
row the compass within which it
may be reduced, the flowing implies
a relation between before and afier ;
hence every instant of successive
duration, inasmuch as it actually
links its immediate before with its
immediate after ^ partakes of the na-
ture of successive duration, and
therefore of continuous quantity.
Not does it matter that infinites!*
mals are called evanescent quantities.
They indeed vanish, as compared
with 6nite quantities ; but the very
fact of their vanishing proves that
ihey are still something when they
are in the act of vanishing. Sir
Isaac Newton, after saying in his
Principia that he intends to reduce
the demonstration of a series of
propositions to the first and last
sums and ratios of nascent and eva-
nescent quantities, propounds and
solves this very difficulty as fol-
lows : *' Perhaps it may be object-
ed that there is no ultimate pro-
portion of evanescent quantities ;
because the proportion, before the
quantities have vanished, is 'not
ihe ultimate, and, when they are
vanished, is none. But by the
same argument it may be alleged
that a body arriving at a certain
place, and there stopping, has no
ultimate velocity; because the ve-
locity, before the body comes to the
place, is not its ultimate velocity;
when it has arrived, is none. But
the answer is easy ; for by the ulti-
mate velocity is meant that with
which the body is moved, neither
before it arrives at its last place and
the motion ceases, nor after^ but
at the very instant it arrives ; that
is, the velocity with which the
body arrives at its last place, and
with which the motion ceases. And
in like manner, by the ultimate
ratio of evanescent quantities is to
be understood the ratio of the
quantities, not before they vanish,
not afterwards, but with which they
vanish. In like manner, the first
ratio of nascent quantities is that
with which they begin to be."
From this answer, which is so clear
and so deep, it is manifest that
infinitesimals are real quantities.
Whence we infer that every instant
of duration which actually flows
from before to after marks out a
real infinitesimal interval of dura-
tion that might serve as a unit of
measure for the mensuration of all
finite intervals of succession, were
it not that we cannot reckon up to
infinity. Nevertheless, it does not
follow that an infinitesimal duration
is an absolute unit of duration ; for
it is still continuous, even in its in-
finite smallness ; and accordingly it
is still divisible and mensurable by
other units of a lower standard.
Thus it is clear that the measurement
of flowing duration, and indeed of
all other continuous quantity, can-
not be made except by some arbi-
trary and conventional unit.
TO BB CONTXNVBD'
126 The Siars.
THE STARS.
As I gaze in silent wonder
On the countless stars of night,
Looking down in mystic stillness
With their soft and magic light
Seem they from my eyes retreating
With their vast and bright array.
Till they into endless distance
Almost seem to fade away.
And my thoughts are carried with them
To their far-off realms of light ;
Yet they seem retreating ever,
Ever into endless night.
Whither leads that silent army,
With its noiseless tread and slow ?
And those glittering bands, who are they ?
Thus my thoughts essay to know.
But my heart the secret telleth
That to thee, my God, they guide ;
That they are thy gleaming watchmen,
Guarding round thy palace wide.
Then, when shair those gates be opened
To receive my yearning soul,
Where its home shall be for ever.
While the countless ages roll ?
Thou alone, O God ! canst know it :
Till then doth my spirit pine.
Father ! keep thy child from falling,
Till for ever I am thine.
William Till and Altar f.
127
WILLIAM TELL AND ALTORF.
Brunnen, the " fort of Schwy tz,"
standing at that angle of the lake
of Lucerne where it turns abrupt-
ly towards the very heart of the
Alps, has always been a central
halting-place for travellers ; but
since the erection of its large hotel
the attraction has greatly increased.
We found the Waldstatterhof full
to overflowing, and rejoiced that,
as usual, we had wisely ordered our
rooms beforehand. Our surprise
was great, as we threaded the mazes
of the iabU'ithdie room, to see Herr
H come forward and greet us
cordially. We expected, it is true,
to meet him here, but not imtil the
eve of the feast at Einsiedeln^
thither he had promised to accom-
pany us. An unforeseen event,
however, had brought him up the
lake sooner, and he therefore came
on to Brunnen, in the hope of find-
ing us. A few minutes sufficed to
make him quit his place at the
centre table and join us at a small
one, where supper had been pre-
pared for our party, and allow us
to begin a description of our wan-
derings since we parted from him
on the quay at Lucerne. Yes,
"begin" is the proper word ; for be-
fore long the harmony was marred
by George, who, with his usual im-
petuosity, and in spite of Caroline's
warning frowns and Anna's and my
appealing looks, betrayed our dis-
appointment at having missed the
Hermitage at Ran ft, and the re-
proaches we had heaped on Herr
H— ^'s head for having misman-
aged the programme in that particu-
lar. The cheery little man, whose
eyes had just begun to glisten with
delight, grew troubled.
"I am so sorry!" he exdaimed.
" But the ladies were not so enthu-
siastic about Blessed Nicholas when
I saw them. And as for you,
Mr. George, I never could have
dreamt you would have cared for
the Hermit."
" Oh ! but A^ is a real historical
character, you see, about whom
there can be no doubt — ^very un-
like your sun-god, your mythi-
cal hero, William Tell !" replied
George.
" Take care ! take care ! young
gentleman," said Herr H— , laugh-
ing. " Remember you are now in
Tell's territory, and he may make
you rue the consequences of derid-
ing him ! Don't imagine, either,
that your modem historical critics
have left even Blessed Nicholas
alone ! Oh ! dear, no."
" But he is vouched for by docu-
ments," retorted George. " No one
can doubt them."
" Your critics of this age Would
turn and twist and doubt any-
thing," said Herr H . " They
cannot deny his existence nor the
main features of his life ; yet some
have gone so far as to pretend to
doubt the most authentic fact in
it — his presence at the Diet of
Stanz — saying that probably he
never went there, but only wrote
a letter to the deputies. So much
for their criticism and researches !
After that specimen you need not
wonder that I have no respect for
them. But I am in an unusually
patriotic mood to-day ; for I have
128
William Tell and Altorf,
just come from a meeting at Beck-
enricd, on the opposite shore, in
Unterwalden. It was that which
brought me here before my ap-
pointment with you. It was a
meeting of one of our Catholic so-
cieties in these cantons, which as-
sembled to protest against the re-
vision of the constitution contem-
plated hext spring. Before sepa-
rating it was suggested that they
should call a larger one at the
Rtitli, to evoke the memories of
the past and conform themselves to
the pattern of our forefathers."
" Why do you so much object to
a revision ?" inquired Mr. C
" Surely reform must sometimes be
necessary."
"Sometimes, of course, but not
at present, my dear sir. * Revision'
nowadays simply means radical-
ism and the suppression of our re-
ligion and our religious rights and
privileges. It is a word which, for
that reason alone, is at all times dis-
tasteful to these cantons. More-
over, it savors too much of French
ideas and doctrines, thoroughly
antagonistic to all our principles
and feelings. Everything French
is loathed in these parts, especially
in Unterwalden, in spite of — or I
should perhaps rather say in con-
sequence of — all they suffered from
that nation in 1798."
** I can understand that," said
Mr. C— , " with the memory of the
massacre in the church at Stanz
always in their minds."
" Well, yes ; but that was only
one act in the tragedy. The deso-
lation they caused in that part of
the country was fearful. Above
all, their total want of religion at
that period can never be forgotten."
"As for myself," remarked Mr.
C , " though not a Catholic, I
confess that I should much rather
rely on the upright instincts of this
pious population than on the crook-
ed teachings of our modern phi-
losophers. I have always noticed
in every great political crisis that
the instincts of the pure and sim-
ple-minded have something of an
inspiration about them; they go
straight to the true principles where
a Macchiavelli is often at fault/*
Herr H completely agreed with
him, and the conversation soon be-
came a deep and serious discussion
on the tendencies of modern poli-
tics in general, so that it was late
that evening before our party sepa-
rated.
The first sound that fell upon
my ear next morning was the
splashing of a steamer hard by.
It had been so dark upon our arri-
val the night before that we had
not altogether realized the close
proximity of the hotel to the lake,
and it was an unexpected pleasure
to find my balcony almost directly
over the water, like the stern gal-
lery of a ship of war. A small
steamer certainly was approaching
from the upper end of the lake,
with a time-honored old diligence
in the bows and a few travel-
lers, tired4ooking and dust-stained,
scattered on the deck, very unlike
the brilliant throngs that pass to
and fro during the late hours of
the day. But this early morning
performance was one of real busi-
ness, and the magical words " Post"
and " St. Gothard," which stood out
in large letters on the yellow panels
of the diligence, told at once of
more than mere pleasure-seeking.
What joy or grief, happiness or de-
spair, might not this old-fashioned
vehicle be at this moment convey-
ing to unknown thousands ! It
was an abrupt transition, too, to be
thus brought from pastoral Sarnen
and Sachslen into immediate con-
tact with the mighty Alps. Of
William Tell and Altorf.
129
their grandeur, however, nothing
could be seen ; for, without rain or
wind, a thick cloud lay low upon
the lake, more like a large flat ceil-
ing than aught else. Yet, for us, it
had its own peculiar interest, being
nothing more nor less than the
great, heavy, soft mass which we
had noticed hanging over the lake
every morning when looking down
from Kaltbad, whilst we, revelling
in sunshine and brightness above,
were pitying the poor inhabitants
along the shore beneath. There
was a kind of superiority, there-
fore, in knowing what it meant, and
in feeling confident that it would
not last long. And, as we expect-
ed, it did clear away whilst we sat
at our little breakfast-table in the
window, revealing in all its mag-
nificence the glorious view, from
this point up the Bay of Uri,
which we have elsewhere described.
Hnge mountains seemed to rise
vertically up out of the green wa-
tcn; verdant patches were dotted
here and there on their rugged
sides; and, overtopping all, shone
the glacier of the Urirothstock,
inoie dazzlingly white and transpa-
rent than we had ever yet beheld it.
•*Now, ladies!*' exclaimed Herr
H , "I hope you have your
Schiller ready ; for the RUtli is yon-
der, though you will see it better by
and by."
**Why, I thought you disapprov-
ed of Schiller," retorted the irre-
jiressibly argumentative George.
"To a certain degree, no doubt,"
replied Herr H . " But nothing
can be finer than his William Tell
as a whole. My quarrel with it is
iHat the real William Tell would
JiJve fared much better were it not
fortius play, and especially for the
opera. They have both made the
subject so common — so banalt^
M the French say — that the world
VOL. XXII.-
has grown tired of it, and for this
reason alone is predisposed to re-
ject our hero. Besides, the real
history of the Revolution is so fine
that I prefer it in its simplicity.
Schiller is certainly true to its spi-
rit, but details are frequently differ-
ent. For instance, the taking of
the Castle of the Rossberg, which
you passed on the lake of Alpnach :
Schiller has converted that into a
most sensational scene, whereas the
true story is far more characteris-
tic. That was the place where a
young girl admitted her betrothed
and his twelve Confederate friends
by a rope-ladder at night, which
enabled them to seize the castle
and imprison the garrison " with-
out shedding a drop of blood or
injuring the property of the Habs-
burgs," in exact conformity with
their oath on the Rtttli. You will
often read of the loves of Jageli
and Ameli in Swiss poetry. They
are great favorites, and, in my opin-
ion, far more beautiful than the fic-
titious romance of Rudenz and
Bertha. And so in many other
cases. But every one does not ob-
ject to Schiller as I do; for in 1859,
when his centenary was celebrated
in Germany, the Swiss held a festi-
val here on the Riitli, and subse-
quently erected a tablet on that
large natural pyratfiidal rock you
see at the corner opposite. It is
called the Wytenstein, and you can
read the large gilt words with a
glass. It is laconic enough, too;
see : * To Frederick Schiller —
The Singer of Tell— The Urcan-
tone.* The original cantons! Miss
Caroline! let me congratulate
you on being at last in the * Ur-
schweiz' — the cradle of Switzer-
land," continued Herr H , as
v/e sauntered out on the quay,
pointing at the same time to some
bad frescos of Swen and Suiter on a
I30
William Tell and AUarf.
warehouse close by. StaufTacher,
Farst, and Van der Halden also fig-
ured on the walls — the presiding
geniuses of this region. " Brun-
nen is in no way to be despised, I
assure you, ladies ; you are treading
on venerated soil. This is the very
spot that witnessed the foundation
of the Confederacy, where the oath
was taken by the representatives of
Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwalden the
day after the battle of Morgarten.
They swore ' to die, each for all
and all for each ' — the oath which
made Switzerland renowned, and
gave the name of * Ridsgenossen,'
or * oath-participators,' to its inhab-
itants. The document is still kept
in the archives at Schwytz, with
another dated August i, 1291.
Aloys von Reding raised his stand-
ard against the French here in 1798 ;
and he was quite right in begin-
ning his resistance to them at Brun-
nen. It is full of memories to us
Swiss, and is a most central point,
as you may see, between all these
cantons. The increase in the ho-
tels tells what a favorite region it
also is with tourists."
On this point Mr. and Mrs.
C *s astonishment was unbound-
ed. They had passed a fortnight
at Brunnen in 1861, at a small inn
with scanty accommodation, now
replaced by the large and comfort-
able Waldstatterhof, situated in one
of the most lovely spots imagina-
ble, at the angle of the lake, one
side fronting the Bay of Uri and
the other looking up towards
Mount Pilatus. The pension of
Seelisberg existed on the heights
opposite even then — only, however,
as a small house, instead of the pre-
sent extensive establishment, with
its pretty woods and walks ; but
Axenstein and the second large
hotel now building near it, with
the splendid road leading up to
them, had not been thought of.
The only communication by land
between Schwytz and Fluelen, in
those days, was a mule-path along
the hills, precipitous and danger-
ous in many parts. The now famed
Axenstrasse was not undertaken
until 1862, and is said to have been
suggested by the French war in
Italy. With the old Swiss dread
of the French still at heart, the
Federal government took alarm at
that first military undertaking on
the part of Napoleon III., and, see-
ing the evil of having no commu-
nication between these cantons in
case of attack, at once took the
matter seriously in hand. This
great engineering achievement was
opened to the public in 1868. It
looked most inviting to-day, and we
quickly decided to make use of it
by driving along it to Fluelen, and
thence to Altorf, returning in the
evening by the steamer. Some
were anxious to visit the Rtltli ; but
Mr. and Mrs. C had been there
before, and knew that it was more
than an hour's expedition by boat,
so that the two excursions on the
same day would be quite impossi-
ble ; consequently, we chose the
longer one.
It was just ten o'clock when we
started ; Mrs. C ^ Caroline,
Herr H , and myself in one car-
riage, with George on the box, the
others following us in a second ve-
hicle. We had not proceeded far
when Herr H made us halt to
look Ht the Ratli, on the shore
right opposite. We distinctly saw
that it was a small meadow, formed
by earth fallen from above on a
ledge of rock under the precipi.
tous heights of Seelisberg, and now
enclosed by some fine chestnut and
walnut trees. Truly, it was a spot
fitted for the famous scene. So un-
approachable is it, except by water,
William Tell and Altarf.
131
that even that most enterprising
race — Swiss hotel-keepers — ^have
hitherto failed to destroy it. Some
years ago, however, it narrowly es-
caped this fate ; for Herr Mtiller, of
Seelisbergy is said to have been on
the point of building a pension on
the great meadow. But no sooner
did this become known than a na-
tional subscription was at once
raised, the government purchased
it, and now it has become inaliena-
ble national property for ever.
" You may well be proud of your
country, Herr H ," exclaimed
Mr. C from the other carriage.
"* I always look on that tiny spot
with deep reverence as the true
cradle of freedom. Look at it well,
George! It witnessed that won-
derful oath by which these moun-
taineers bound themselves ' to be
faithful to each other, just and
merciful to their oppressors* — the
only known example of men — and
these men peasants, too — binding
themselves, in the excitement of
Tevolt, not to take revenge on their
oppressors."
"Quite sublime!'* ejaculated
George.
**Well, it has borne good fruit,"
returned Herr H in gleeful
tones ; *' for here we are still free !
Except on the one occasion of the
French in '98, no foreign troops
liave ever invaded this part of
Switzerland since those days. Yes,
there are three springs at the RUtli»
supposed to have jutted forth where
the three heroes stood ; but I do
not pledge my word for that," he
answered smilingly to Caroline,
^'nor for the legend which says
I that their spirits sleep in the rocky
vile under Seelisberg, ready to
cotne forth and lead the people in
moments of danger."
*^I hope their slumbers may
never be disturbed," she replied ;
" but I wish some one would pre-
vent these cattle from frightening
the horses," as a large drove swept
past our carriages, making our
steeds nervous. Splendid animals
they were, with beautiful heads,
straight backs, light limbs^ and of a
grayish mouse color.
"All of the celebrated Schwytz
breed," said Herr H . *' This
part of the country is renowned for
its cattle. Each of these probably
cost from five to six hundred francs.
The Italians take great advantage
of this new road, and come in num-
bers to buy them at this season,
when the cattle are returning from
the mountains. These are going
across the St. Gothard to Lombar-
dy. Those of Einsiedeln are still
considered the best. Do you re-
member, Miss Caroline, that the
first mention of German authority
in this land was occasioned by a
dispute between the shepherds of
Schwytz and the abbots of Ein-
siedeln about their pasturage — the
emperor having given a grant of
land to the abbey, while the
Schwytzers had never heard of his
existence even, and refused to
obey his majesty's orders.?"
" Ah ! what historical animals :
that quite reconciles me to them,"
she answered, as we drove on again
amongst a group that seemed very
uneasy under their new masters,
whose sweet language George aver-
red had no power over them.
Who can describe the exquisite
beauty of our drive } — winding in
and out, sometimes through a tun-
nel ; at others along the edge of the
high precipice from which a low
parapet alone separated us ; at an-
other passing through the village
of Sisikon, which years ago suffered
severely from a fragment of rock
fallen from the Frohnalp above.
Time flew rapidly, and one hour
132
William Tell and Altorf.
and a half had glided by, without
our perceiving it, when we drew up
before the beautiful little inn of
** Tell's Platte."
" But there is no Platform here,"
cried George. **We are hundreds
of feet above the lake. The critics
are right, Herr H ^ decidedly
right I I knew it from the begin-
ning. How can you deny it V*
" Wait, my young friend ! Don't
be so impatient. Just come into
the inn first — I should like you to
see the lovely view from it ; and
then we can look for the Platform."
Saying which, he led us up-stairs,
on through the salon to its balcony
on the first floor. This is one of
the smaller inns of that olden type
which boast the enthusiastic attach-
ment of regular customers, and dis-
play with pride that old institution —
the " strangers' book " — which has
completely vanished from the mon-
ster hotels. It lay open on the
table as we passed, and every one
instinctively stopped to examine it.
" The dear old books!" exclaimed
Mrs. C . ** How they used to
amuse me in Switzerland ! I have
missed them so much this time.
Their running fire of notes, their
polyglot verses — ^a sort of album
and scrap-book combined, full, too,
of praise or abuse of the last hotel,
as the humor might be."
" Yes," said Mr. C , " I shall
never forget the preface to one — an
imprecation on whoever might be
tempted to let his pen go beyond
bounds. I learned it by rote :
^* May the mountain spirits disturb his slumbers ;
May his limbs be weary, and his feet sore ;
May the innkeepers give him tough mutton and
Sour wine, and charge him for it as though he
were
Lord Sir John, M.P.r
" How very amusing ! — a perfect
gem in its way," cried Anna. "Lord
Sir John, M.P., must have been the
model of large-pursed Britons in
his time." Here, however, every-
thing seemed to be couUur de ros^.
The book's only fault was its mono-
tony of praise. Two sisters keep
the hotel, and " nowhere," said its
devoted friends, "could one find
better fare, better attendance, and
greater happiness than at Tell's
Platform." The testimony of a
young couple confessedly on their
bridal tour had no weight. We
know how, at that moment, a barren
rock transforms itself into a para-
dise for them; but three maiden
ladies had passed six weeks of un-
alloyed enjoyment here once upon
a time, and had returned often
since; English clergymen and their
families found no words of praise
too strong; while German students
and professors indulged in rhapso-
dical language not to be equalled
out of fatherland.
Duchesses, princesses, and Lords
Sir John, M.P., were alone wanting
amongst the present guests. " But
they come," said Herr H , " by
the mid-day steamers, dine and rest
here awhile, and return in the even-
ings to the larger hotels in ether
places."
And standing on the balcony of
the saloriy facing all the grand moun-
tains, with the green lake beneath,
it truly seemed a spot made for
brides and bridegrooms, for love
and friendship. So absorbed were
we in admiration of the enchanting
view that we did not at first notice
two little maidens sitting at the far
end. They were pretty children,
of nine and thirteen, daughters of
an English family stopping here,
and their countenances brightened
as they heard our exclamation of
delight; for Tell's Platte was to
them a paradise. Like true Bri-
tons, however, they said nothing
until George and Caroline com-
William Tell and Altorf.
133
DCDced disputing about the scen-
ery. Comment then was irresisti-
ble **No," said the youngest,
"that is the Isenthal," pointing to
a valley beneath the hills opposite;
"and that the Urirothstock, with
its glacier above, and the GUtschen.
Those straight walls of rock below
are the TeufelVManster."
"Don't you remember where
Schiller says:
*The bbst, rebounding firom the Devil*8 Minster,
H» driTen them bade on the great Axenbeig* ?
That is it, and this here is the
Axcnbcrg," said Emily, the elder
girl.
"But I see no Platform here,"
remarked George with mischief in
his eye, as he quickly detected the
joung girl's faith in the hero.
"It would be impossible to see
it," she rejoined, " as it is three
hundred feet below this house."
"But we can show you the way,
if you will come," continued the
younger child, taking George's
hand, who, partly from surprise and
partly amusement, allowed himself
to oe- led like a lamb across the
road and through the garden to
the pathway winding down the
clifi; followed by us, under guidance
of the elder sister, Emily.
" Yes," the children answered,
**they had spent the last two
years in France and Germany."
And certainly they spoke both lan-
guages like natives. Emily was
even translatmg William Tell into
English blank verse. " Heigho !"
sighed Mr. C , " for this preco-
cious age." But the lake of the
Forest Cantons was dearer to them
than all else. They had climbed
one thousand feet up the side of the
Frohnalpstock that very morning
with their father ; knew every peak
^d valley, far and near, with all
their legends and histories ; even the
ranz des vaches and the differences
between them— the shepherds* calls
to the cows and the goats. An-
nie, our smaller friend, entertain-
ed George with all their varieties, as
she tripped daintily along, like a lit-
tie fairy, with her tiny alpenstock.
Very different was she from conti-
nental children, who rarely, if ever,
take interest in either pastoral or
literary matters. She knew the
way to the platform well ; for did
she not go up and down it many
times a day ? A difficult descent it
was, too — almost perpendicular —
notwithstanding the well-kept path-
way ; but not dangerous until we
reached the bottom, when each one
in turn had to jump on to a jut-
ting piece of rock, in order to get
round the corner into the chapel.
Most truly it stands on a small
ledge, with no inch of room for
aught but the small building raised
over it. The water close up to the
shore is said to be eight hundred feet
deep, and it made one shudder to
hear Herr H *s story of an artist
who a few years ago fell into the
lake while sketching on the cliffs
above. Poor man ! forgetful of the
precipice, he had thoughtlessly
stepped back a few steps to look at
his painting, fell over, and was
never seen again. His easel and
painting alone remained to give pa-
thetic warning to other rash spirits.
The chapel, open on the side
next the water, is covered with
faded frescos of TelTs history,
which our little friends quaintly
described ; and it contains, besides,
an altar and a small pulpit. Here
Mass is said once a year on the
Friday after the Ascension, when all
the people of the neighborhood
come hither, and from their boats,
grouped outside, hear Mass and
the sermon preached to them from
the railing in front. This was the
134
William Tell and Altorf.
feast which my Weggis guide so
much desired to see. It is unique
in every particular, and Herr
H was eloquent on the beauty
and impressiveness of the scene, at
which he had once been present,
and which it was easy to under-
stand amidst these magnificent sur-
roundings. Nor is it a common
gathering of peasants, but a solemn
celebration, to which the authori-
ties of Uri come in state with the
standard of Uri — ^the renowned
Uri ox — floating at the bows. As
may be supposed, the sermon is
always national, touching on all
those points of faith, honor, and
dignity which constitute true pa-
triotism. Mr. C had Murray's
guide-book in his hand, and would
not allow us to say another word
until he read aloud Sir James Mac-
intosh's remarks on this portion of
the lake, which there occur as
follows :
''The combination of what is grandest
in nature with whatever is pure and
sublime in human condact affected me
in this passage (along the lake) more
powerfully than any scene which I had
ever seen. Perhaps neither Greece nor
Rome would have had such power over
me. They are dead. The present in-
habitants are a new race, who regard
with little or no feeling the memorials of
former ages. This is, perhaps, the only
place on the globe where deeds of pure
virtue, ancient enough to be venerable,
are consecrated by the religion of the
people, and continue to command inte-
rest and reverence. No local super-
stition so beautiful and so moral any-
where exists. The inhabitants of Ther-
mopylae or Marathon know no more of
these f;imous spots than that they are so
many square feet of earth. England is
too extensive a country to make Runny-
mede an object of national affection. In
countries of industry and wealth the
stream of events sweeps away these old re-
membrances. The solitude of the Alps
is a sanctuary destined for the monu-
ments of ancient virtue ; Grttili and Tell's
chapel are as much reverenced by the
Alpine peasants as Mecca by a devont
Mussulman ; and the deputies of the
three ancient cantons met, so late as the
year 1715, to renew their allegiance and
their oaths of eternal union."
<« :
"All very well," said George,
if there really had been a Tell ;
but this seems to me a body with-
out a soul. Why, this very chapel
is in the Italian style, and never
could have been founded by the
one hundred and twenty con-
temporaries who are said to have
known Tell and to have been
present at its consecration."
" I never heard that any one in-
sisted on this being the original
building," said Herr H . " It is
probably ah improvement on it ;
but it was not the fashion in those
times — for people were not then in-
credulous — to put up tablets re-
cording changes and renovations,
as nowadays at Kaltbad and
Klosterle, for instance. But speak-
ing dispassionately, Mr. George,
it seems to me quite impossible
that the introduction of any legend
from Denmark or elsewhere could
have taken such strong hold of a
people like these mountaineers
without some solid foundation, es-
pecially here, where every inhabi-
tant is known to the other, and
the same families have lived on in
the same spots for centuries. Why
is it not just as likely that the same
sort of event should have occurred
in more than one place ? And as
to its not being mentioned in the
local documents, that is not con-
clusive either; for we all know
how careless in these respects were
the men of the middle ages, above
all in a rude mountain canton
of this kind. Transmission by
word of mouth and by religious
celebrations is much more in char-
acter with those times. I go heart
and hand with your own Buckle,
WiUiam TeU and Aliorf.
135
vfao places so much reliance on
local traditions. The main argu-
ment used against tlie truth of the
itory is, you know, that it was first
related in detail by an old chron-
icler called ^gidius Tschudi, a
couple of hundred years after the
event. But I see nothing singular
in that; for most probably he
merely committed to writing, with
all the freshness of simplicity, the
story which, for the previous two
hundred years, had been in the
hearts and on the lips of the peasants
of this region. No invention of any
writer could have founded chapels
or have become ingrained in the
hearts of the locality itself in the
manner this story has done. It was
never doubted until the end of the
last century, when a Prof. Freu-
denbcrger, of Bern, wrote a pam-
phlet entitled William Tell: a
Danish FabUr
** Yes," broke in little Emily, lat-
est translator of Schiller, and who
had been listening attentively to
our discussion, " and the people of
the forest cantons were so indignant
that the authorities of Uri had the
pamphlet burned by the common
hangman, and then they solemnly
proclaimed its author an outlaw."
"I told you, Mr. George, that you
were on dangerous ground here,"
said Herr H ^ laughing.
" I must make him kiss this earth
before he leaves," said Mrs. C ,
''us I read lately of a mother mak-
ing her little son do when passing
here early in this century, regard-
ing it as a spot sacred to liberty.
She little thought a sceptic like
you would so soon follow."
** Well ! I am almost converted,"
he answered, smiling, ** but I wish
Miss Emily would tell us the story
of Tell's jumping on shore here,"
trying to draw out the enthusiastic
little prodigy.
" Oh ! don't you remember that
magnificent passage in Schiller
where, after the scene of shooting
at the apple, Gessler asked Tell
why he put the second arrow into
his quiver, and then, promising to
spare his life if he revealed its ob-
ject, evades his promise the instant
he hears that it was destined to kill
him if Tell had struck his son in-
stead of the apple ? He then or-
dered him to be bound and taken
on board his vessel at Fluelen.
The boat had no sooner left Flue-
len than one of those sudden
storms sprang up so common here-
abouts. There was one two days
ago. Annie and I tried to come
down here, but it was impossible —
the wind and waves were so high
we could not venture, so we sat on
the pathway and read out Schiller.
Oh ! he is a great genius. He
never was in Switzerland. Yes !
just fancy that; and yet he de-
scribes everything to perfection.
Well ! Tell was as good a pilot as
a marksman, and Gessler, in his
fright, again promised to take off
his fetters if he would steer the
vessel safely. He did, but steered
them straight towards this ledge of
rock, sprang out upon it, climbed
up the cliff, and, rushing through
the country, arrived at the Hohle-
Gasse near KUssnacht before the
tyrant had reached it."
" Schiller decidedly has his merit,
it must be confessed, when he can
get such ardent admirers as these
pretty children," said Herr H
when we bade farewell to our dear
little friends.
" Yes," answered the incorrigible
George from the box seat, "poe-
try, poetry ! — ^an excellent mode of
transmitting traditions, making them
indelible on young minds; but I am
so far converted, Herr H ^," con-
tinued he, laughing, ''that I am
136
William Tell and Altarf.
sorry the doubts were ever raised
about the Tell history. It is in
wonderful keeping with the place
and people, and it will be a great
pity if they give it up. * Se non €
ver, € ben trovato,' * at least."
Hence onwards to Fluelen is the
finest portion of the Axenstrasse,
and the opening views of the valley
of the Reuss and the Bristenstock,
through the arches of the galleries
or tunnels, every minute increased
in beauty. Several of us got out
the better to enjoy them, sending
the carriages on ahead. The
Schwytz cattle had quite escaped
our memories, when suddenly a
bell sounded round a sharp angle
of the road and a large drove in-
stantly followed.
A panic seized us ladies. The
cliff rose vertically on the inner
side, without allowing us the possi-
bility of a clamber, and in our
fright, before the gentlemen could
prevent us, we leaped over a low
railing, which there served as a para-
pet, on to a ledge of rock, a few
yards square, rising straight up
from the lake hundreds of feet be-
low. All recollection of their his-
torical interest vanished from our
minds ; for, as the cattle danced
along, they looked as scared and
wild as ourselves, and it was not
until they had passed without no-
ticing us, and that their dark-eyed
masters had spoken some soft Ital-
ian words to us, that we fully real-
ized the extent of our imprudence.
Had any one of these animals
jumped up over the railing, as we
afterwards heard they have some-
times done, who can say what
might not have happened } For-
tunately, no harm ensued beyond a
flutter of nerves, which betrayed
^Italian proverb : " If not trae, it deserves to be
true.**
itself by Anna's turning round to a
set of handsome goats that soon
followed the cattle, crying out to
them in her own peculiar German :
" Nix kommen ! nix kommen !"
Fluelen has nothing to show be-
yond the picturesqueness of a vil-
lage situated \\\ such scenery and a
collection of lumbering diligences
and countless carriages, awaiting
the hourly arrival of the steamers
from Lucerne. The knell of these
old diligences, however, has tolled,
for the St. Gothard Railway tunnel
has been commenced near Arnsty,
and though it may require years to
finish it, its " opening day" will
surely come. Half an hour's drive
up the lovely valley brought us to
Altorf, at the foot of the Grttn-
wald, which, in accord with its
name, is clothed with a virgin for-
est, now called the " Bann forest/'
because so useful is it in protecting
the town from avalanches and land-
slips that the Uri government
never permits it to be touched.
Altorf, like so many of the capitals
in these forest cantons, has a small
population, 2,700 inhabitants only,
but it has many good houses, for it
was burnt down in 1799 ^"^ ^^-
built in a better manner. Tell's
story forms its chief interest, and
certainly did so in our eyes. We
rushed at once to the square, where
one fountain is said to mark the
spot where Tell took aim, and an-
other that upon which his boy
stood. Tradition says that the
latter one replaced the lime-tree
against which the son leant, por-
tions of which existed until 1567.
A paltry plaster statue of the hero
is in the same square, but the most
remarkable relic of antiquity is an
old tower close by, which Herr
H assured us is proved by docu-
ments to have been built before
i307> ^he date of Tell's history.
William Tell and Altarf.
137
Had the young friends we left at
"Teirs Platform" accompanied us
hither, Emily might have quoted
Schiller to us at length. But
George, having recently bought a
Tauchnitz edition of Freeman's
Graivth of the English Constitution^
which opens with a fine description
of the annual elections of this can-
ton, he earnestly pleaded a pro-
longation of our drive to the spot
where this takes place, three miles
farther inland. Accordingly, after
ordering dinner to be ready on our
return at a hotel which was filled
with Tell pictures, and an excel-
lent one of the festival at the Plat-
form, we left the town and pro-
ceeded up the valley. Soon we
crossed a stream, the same, Herr
H told us, in which Tell is said
to have been drowned while en-
deavoring to save a child who had
fallen into it. He also pointed
out to us BQrglen, his home, and an
old tower believed to have been his
house, attached to which there is
now a small ivy-clad chapel. It
stands at the opening of the Schach-
en valley, celebrated to this day
for its fine race of men — likewise
corresponding in this respect with
the old tradition. But more mod-
em interest attaches to this valley,
for it was along its craggy sides
and precipices that Suwarow's army
made its way across the Kinzig-
Kuhn to the Muotta. The whole
of this region was the scene of
fearful fighting — first between the
French and the Austrians, who
were assisted by the natives of Uri,
in i799> and then, a month later,
between the Russians coming up
from Lombardy and the French.
"That was the age of real
fighting," said Herr H ," hand-
to-hand fighting, without mitrail"
leuies or long ranges. But the
misery it brought this quarter was
not recovered from for years after.
Altorf was burnt down at that
time, and everything laid waste.
The memory of the trouble lingers
about here even yet. What won-
der ! Certainly, in all Europe no
more difficult fighting ground
could have been found. In the end,
the French General Lecourbe was
all but cut off, for he had destroyed
every boat on the lake; in those
days a most serious matter, as nei-
ther steamers nor Axenstrasse exist-
ed. When he therefore wished to
pursue the Russians, who by going
up this Schachen valley intended
to join their own corps, supposed
to be at Ztlrich, he too was obliged
to make a bold manoeuvre. And
then it was that he led his army
by torchlight along the dangerous
mule-path on the Axenberg ! Sad
and dreadful times they were for
these poor cantons.*'
Herr H showed us Atting-
hausen, tlie birthplace of Walter
Fttrst, and the ruins of a castle
near, which is the locality of a fine
scene in Schiller, but the last own-
er of which died in 1357, and is
known to have been buried in his
helmet and spurs. Shortly after,
about three miles from Altorf, we
reached the noted field, and George,
opening Freeman, read us the fol-
lowing passage aloud :
" Year by year, on certain spots among
the dales and the mountain-sides of
Switzerland, the traveller who is daring
enough to wander out of beaten tracks
and to make his journey at unusual sea-
sons, may look on a sight such as no
other comer of the earth can any longer
set before him. He may there gaze and
feel, what none can feel but those who
have seen with their own eyes, what
none can feel in its fulness more than
once in a lifetime— the thrill of looking
for the first time face to face on freedom
in its purest and most ancient form. He
is there in a land where the oldest insti-
tutions of our race — institutions which
138
William TeU and Altarf.
may be traced up to the earliest times of
which htstoiy or legend gives us any glim-
mering — still live on in their primeval
freshness. He is in a land where an imme-
morial freedom, a freedom only less eter-
nal than the rocks that guard it, puts to
shame the boasted antiquity of kingly
dynasties, which, by its side, seem but as
innovations of yesterday. There, year
by year, on some bright morning of the
springtide, the sovereigrn people, not en-
trusting its rights to a few of its own
number, but discharging them itself in
the majesty of its corporate person,
meets, in the open market-place or in the
green meadow at the mountain's foot, to
frame the laws to which it yields obe-
dience as its own work, to choose the
rulers whom it can afford to greet with
reverence as drawing their commission
from itself. Such a sight there are but
few Englishmen who have seen ; to be
among these few I reckon among the
highest privileges of my life. Let me
ask you to follow me in spirit to the very
home and birthplace of freedom, to the
land where we need not myth and fable
to add aught to the fresh and gladdening
feeling with which we for the first time
tread the soil and drink in the air of the
immemorial democracy of Uri. It is one
of the opening days of May ; it is the
morning of Sunday ; for men there deem
that the better the day the better the deed ;
they deem that the Creator cannot be
more truly honored than in using in his
fear and in his presence the highest of
the gifts which he has bestowed on man.
But deem not that, because the day of
Christian worship is chosen for the great
yearly assembly of a Christian common-
wealth, the more directly sacred duties
of the day are forgotten. Before we, in
our luxurious island, have lifted ourselves
from our beds, the men of the moun-
tains, Catholics and Protestants alike,
have already paid the morning's worship
in God's temple. They have heard the
Mass of the priest or they have listened
to the sermon of the pastor, before some
of us have awakened to the fact that the
morn of the holy day has come. And
when I saw men thronging the crowded
church, or kneeling, for want of space
within, on the bare ground beside the
open door, when I saw them marching
thence to do the highest duties of men
and citizens, I could hardly forbear
thinking of the sa3ring of Holy Writ,
that ' where the spirit of the Lord is, there
is liberty.' From the market-plaoe d
Altorf, the little capital of the canton,
the procession makes its way to the place
of meeting at BOzIingen. First marches
the little army of the canton, an army
whose weapons never can be used save
to drive back an invader from their land.
Over their heads floats the banner^ tiie
bull's-head of Uri, the ensign which led
men to victory on the fields of Sempach
and Morgarten. And before them all*
on the shoulders of men clad in a gskrb
of ages past, are borne the famous horns,
the spoils of the wild bull of ancient
days, the verv horns whose blast struck
such dread into the fearless heart of
Charles of Burgundy. Then, with their
lictors before them, come the magistrates
of the commonwealth on horseback, tlie
chief-magistrate, the Landamman, with
his sword by his side. The people fol-
low the chiefs Tdiom they have chosen
to the place of meeting, a circle in a
green meadow, with a pine forest rising
above their heads, and a mighty spur of
the mountain range facing thtfm on the
other side of the valley. The multitude
of freemen take their seats around the
chief ruler of the commonwealth, whose
term of office comes that day to an end.
The assembly opens ; a short space is
given to prayer — silent prayer offered
up by each man in the temple of God's
own rearing. Then comes the busi-
ness of the day. If changes in the law
are demanded, they are then laid be-
fore the vote of the assembly, in which
each citizen of full age has an equal
vote and an equal right of speech.
The yearly magistrates have now dis-
charged all their duties ; their term of
office is at an end ; the trust that has
been placed in their hands falls back
into the hands of those by whom it was
given — into the hands of the sovereign
people. The chief of the commonwealth,
now such no longer, leaves his seat of
office, and takes his place as a simple
citizen in the ranks of his fellows. It
rests with the free-will of the assembly
to call him back to his chair of office, or
to set another there in his stead. Men
who have neither looked into the history
of the past, nor yet troubled themselves
to learn what happens year by year in
their own age, are fond of declaiming
against the caprice and ingratitude of
the people, and of telling us that under
a democratic government neither men
nor measures can remain for an hour
S. Philip's Home.
139
adumged. The witness alike of the
resent and of the past is an answer to
less theories lilce these. The spirit
ich made democratic Athens year by
bestow her highest offices on the
ician Pericles and the reactionary
ion, still lives in the democracies
Switzerland, alike in the Landesge-
einde of Uri and in the Federal Assem-
1y at Bern. The ministers of kings,
ether despotic or constitutional, may
inly envy the sure tenure of office which
Is to the lot of those who are chosen
rale by the voice of the people. Alike
in the whole confederation and in the
siDgle canton, re-election is the rule ; the
rejection of the outgoing magistrate is
the rare exception. The Landamman
of Uri, whom his countrymen have
msed to the seat of honor, and who has
done nothing to lose their confidence,
need not fear that when he has gone to
the place of meeting in the pomp of of-
fice, his place in the march homeward
vill be transferred to another against his
will."
The grand forms of the Wind-
galle, the Bristenstock, and the other
mighty mountains, surrounded us
as we stood in deep silence on this
high green meadow, profoundly im-
pressed by this eloquent tribute to
a devout and liberty-loving people,
all the more remarkable as coming
from a Protestant writer. There
was little to add to it, for Herr
H 's experience could only
confirm it in every point. Dinner
had to be got through rapidly on
our return to Altorf, as we wished
to catch the steamer leaving Flu-
elen at five o'clock. Like all these
vessels, it touched at the land-
ing-place beside TelFs Platform,
whence our young friends of the
morning, who had been watching
for our return, waved us a greeting.
Thence we sat on deck, tracing Le-
courbe's mule-path march of torch-
light memory along the Axenberg
precipices, and finally reached the
Waldstatterhof at Brunnen in time
to see the sun sink behind Mont
Pilatus, and leave the varied out-
lines clearly defined against a deep-
red sky.
S. PHILIP'S HOME.*
O Mary, Mother Mary ! our tears are flowing fast,
For mighty Rome, S. Philip's home, is desolate and waste :
There are wild beasts in her palaces, far fiercer and more bold
Than those that licked the martyrs* feet in heathen days of old.
O Mary, Mother Mary ! that dear city was thine own,
And brightly once a thousand lamps before thine altars shone ;
At the corners of the streets thy Child's sweet face and thine
Charmed evil out of many hearts and darkness out of mine.
* Written during the Pope*s exile, 1848
I4D S. Philip's Home.
By Peter's cross and Paul's sharp sword, dear Mother Mary, pray !
By the dungeon deep where thy S. Luke in weary durance lay ;
And by the church thou know'st so well, beside the Latin Gate,
For love of John, dear Mother, stay the hapless city's fate.
For the exiled Pontiffs sake, our Father and our Lord,
O Mother! bid the angel sheathe his keen avenging sword;
For the Vicar of thy Son, poor exile though he be.
Is busied with thy honor now by that sweet southern sea.
Oh ! by the joy thou hadst in Rome, when every street and square
Burned with the fire of holy love that Philip kindled there,
And by that throbbing heart of his, which thou didst keep at Rome,
Let not the spoiler waste dear Father Philip's Home !
Oh ! by the dread basilicas, the pilgrim's gates to heaven,
By all the shrines and relics God to Christian Rome hath given,*
By the countless Ave Marias that have rung from out its towers,
By Peter's threshold. Mother ! save this pilgrim land of ours.
By all the words of peace and power that from S. Peter's chair
Have stilled the angry world so oft, this glorious city spare !
By the lowliness of Him whose gentle-hearted sway
A thousand lands are blessing now, dear Mother Mary, pray.
By the pageants bright, whose golden light hath flashed through
street and square.
And by the long processions that have borne thy Jesus there ;
By the glories of the saints ; by the honors that were thine ;
By all the worship God hath got from many a blazing shrine ;
By all heroic deeds of saints that Rome hath ever seen ;
By all the times her multitudes have crowned thee for their queen ;
By all the glory God hath gained from out that wondrous place,
O Mary, Mother Mary ! pray thy strongest prayer for grace.
O Mary, Mother Mary ! thou wilt pray for Philip's Home,
Thou wilt turn the heart of him who turned S. Peter back to Rome.
Oh ! thou wilt pray thy prayer, and the battle will be won.
And the Saviour's sinless Mother save the city of her Son*
New Publications.
141
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Thz Troubles of Oitb Catholic Fore-
fathers, RELATED BY THEMSELVES.
Second Series. Edited by John Mor-
ris, S.J. London : Burns & Oates.
1S75. (New York : Sold by The Catho-
lic Publication Society.)
Whilst our ears are deafened and our
feelings shocked by the calumnies and
Vying vituperation heaped upon all that
is most worthy of love and veneration
upon earth by the Satanic societies which
ihc Popes have smitten with repeated ex-
comiDunications, it is consoling to be sup-
plied — by limners, too, who are them-
selres no mean exemplars of the noble
development which the Church can give
10 virtue when it follows her counsels—
with lifelike portraits of Christian ath-
letes in times gone by. We do not know
Vtow soon our courage, patience, and
chanty may be put to a similar test.
Multitudes of our fellow-CathoIics are
already subjected to every suffering but
(he martyrdom of death ; and this seed of
the Church our enemies, more wily than
the sanguinary heretics of the age of
Elizabeth, seem to be unwilling to sow.
Hut they will not long be able to restrain
their passion. The word of persecution
has gone forth ; and so bitter *is the hatred
of the very name of Christ, that before
Tery long nothing but the blood of Chris-
tians will satiate its instincts.
The persecution of the Church in Eng-
land in the time of Elizabeth resembled
the persecution which is now raging
against it, in the political complexion
Kiven to it. But there were far stronger
grounds for it then than now. The supe-
rior claims of Mary to the throne, her
rirtues, and her surpassing beauty, were
a just subject of jealousy and uneasiness
10 Elizabeth, and she might very naturally
suppose that her Catholic subjects were
not likely to regard with any fondness the
usurpation of an illegitimate daughter of
Her apostate and tyrannical father.
In the present persecutions there is no
political pretext, but one is made under
cover of which to extirpate from among
mankind the religion and very name of
Christ.
This volume is the second of a series
which promises to supply us with a whole
gallery of Christian heroes, which we of
this age of worldliness, cowardice, and
self-seeking will do well to study atten-
tively. As is often the case, it is to the un-
tiring zeal of the Society of Jesus we owe
so interesting as well as edifying a work.
Father* Morris, formerly Secretary to
Cardinal Wiseman, but who joined the
Society after the death of that eminent
prelate, is its author, and he appears to
us to have executed his task with rare
judgment. By allowing his characters
to speak in great part for themselves,
the biographies and relations he presents
us with have a dramatic interest which is
greatly increased by the quaint and nerv-
ous style of the time in which they ex-
press themselves. We feel, too, that it is
the vtxy innermost soul and mind of the
individual that is being revealed to us ;
and certainly in most of them the revela-
tion is so beautiful that we should possi-
bly have ascribed something of this to the
partiality of a panegyrist, or to his de-
scriptive skill, if the picture had been
sketched by the pen of any other biogra-
pher than themselves. It is, indeed, the
mean opinion they evidently have of
themselves, and the naive and modest
manner in which thev relate incidents
evoking heroic virtue, their absolute un-
consciousness of aught more than the
most ordinary qualities, which lascinate
us. It bears an impress of genuineness
impossible to any description by the most
impartial of historians. They express a
beauty which could no more be commu-
nicated in any other way than can the
odor of the flower or the music of the
streams be conveyed by any touch, how-
ever magic, of the painter.
The present volume of the series con-
tains the " Life of Father William Wes-
ton, S.J.," and "The Fall of Anthony
Tyrrell," by Father Persons ; for " our
wish is," says Father Morris, "to learn
/
142
New Publications.
not only what was done by the strong
and brave, but also by the weak and cow-
ardly."
We are much struck in this history with
the resemblance between those times and
the present in the unsparing calumny of
which the purest and the holiest men
were made the victims.
For confirmation of these remarks, we
refer the reader to the book itself. But
we cannot refrain from quoting, in spite
of its length, the following incident re-
lated by Father Weston. It is a remark-
able example of the salutary effect of the
Sacrament of Penance :
•'For there lay in a certain heretical
house a Catholic who, with the consent
of his keeper, had come to London for the
completion of some urgent business. He
had been committed to a prison in the
country, a good way out of London. He
was seized, however, and overpowered by
a long sickness which brought him near
to death. The woman who nursed him,
being a Catholic, had diligently searched
the whole city through to find a priest,
but in vain. She then sent word to me
of the peril of that person, and entreated
me, if it could be contrived, to come to
his assistance, as he was almost giving
up the ghost. I went to him when the
little piece of gold obtained for me the
liberty to do so. I explained that I was
a priest, for I was dressed like a layman,
and that I had come to hear his confes-
sion. * If that is the reason why you
have come, it is in vain,' he said ; ' the
time for it is passed away.' I said to him :
* What ! are you not a Catholic? If you
are, you know what you have to do. This
hour, which seems to be your last, has
been given you that by making a good
and sincere confession you may, while
there is time, wash away the stains of
your past life, whatever they are.* He
answered : * I tell you that you have come
too late: that time has gone by. The
judgment is decided ; the sentence has
been pronounced ; I am condemned, and
given up to the enemy. I cannot hope
for pardon.' *That is false,' I answered,
*and it is a most fearful error to imagine
that a man still in life can assert that he
is already deprived of God's goodness
and abandoned by his grace, in such a
way tliat even when he desires and im-
plores mercy it should be denied him.
Since your faith teaches you that God is
infinitely merciful, you are to believe with
all certitude that there is no bond so
straitly fastened but the grace of Go<l
can unloose it, no obstacle but grace lias
power to surmount it.' ' But do you not
see,' he asked me, 'how full of evil
spirits this place is where we are? Xliere
is no corner or crevice in the walls wbere
there are not more than a thousand of the
most dark and frightful demons, mrho,
with their fierce faces, horrid looks, and
atrocious words threaten perpetually
that they are just going to carry me into
the abyss of misery. Why, even ray very
body and entrails are filled with tliese
hateful guests, who are lacerating zny
body and torturing my soul with such
dreadful cruelty and anguish that it
seems as if I were not so much on the
point merely of going there, as that I am
already devoted and made over to the
flames and agonies of hell. Wherefore, it
is clear that God has abandoned me for
ever, and l?as cast me away from all hope
of pardon.'
*' When I had listened in trembling to
all these things, and to much more of a
similar kind, and saw at the same time
that death was coming fast upon him, and
that he would not admit of any advice or
persuasion, I began to think within my-
self, in silence and anxiety, what would be
the wisest course to choose. There enter-
ed into my mind, through the inspiration,
doubtless, of God, the following most
useful plan and method of dealing with
him: 'Well, then,* I said, 'if you are
going to be lost, I do not require a con-
fession from you ; nevertheless, recollect
yourself just for a moment, and, with a
quiet mind, answer me, in a few words,
either yes or no to the questions that I
put to you ; I ask for nothing else, and
put upon you no other burden.' Then I
began to question him, and to follow the
order of the Commandments. First,
whether he had denied his faith. 'See,' I
said, 'do not worry yourself; say just
those simple words, yes or no.' As soon
as he had finished either affirming or deny-
ing anything, I proceeded through four
or five Commandments — whether he had
killed any one, stolen anything, etc.
When he had answered with tolerable
calmness, I said to him, 'What are the
devils doing now? What do you feel or
suffer from them?' He replied: 'They
are quieter with me ; they do not seem to
/ be so furious as they were before.* ' Lift
up your soul to God,* I said, 'and
let us go on to the rest.' In the same
fashion and order 1 continued to question
New Publications.
\
U3
\BBi about other things. Then I enquired
again, UTing, ' How is It now?' He re-
plied : 'Within I am not tormented. The
devils stand at a distance ; they throw
stones; they make dreadful faces at me,
and threaten me horribly. 1 do not think
tkat I shall escape.' Going forward as
before, I allured and encouraged the man
bj degrees, till every moment he became
more reasonable, and at last made an en-
tire confession of all his sins, after which
I gave him absolution, ajid asked him
what he was suffering from his cruel and
harassing enemies. ' Nothing,' be said ;
'they have all vanished. There is not a
trace of them, thanks be to God.' Then
I went away, after strengthening him by
a few words, and encouraging him before-
hand against temptations which might re-
tarn. 1 promised, at the same time, that I
would be with him on the morrow, and
meant to bring the most Sacred Body of
Christ with me, and warned him to prepare
himself diligently for the receiving of so
excellent a banquet. The whole following
night he passed without molestation from
the enemy, and on the next day he receiv-
ed with great tranquillity of mind the most
Holj Sacrament, after which, at an inter-
nl of a few hours without disturbance, he
breathed forth his soul, and quietly gave
it up to God. Before he died, I asked the
inan what cause had driven him into such
desperation of mind. He answered me
thas: *I was detained in prison many
rears for the Catholic faith. Neverthe-
less, I did not cease to sin, and to conceal
mj sins from my confessor, being per-
suaded by the devil that pardon must be
sought for from God, rather by penances
and severity of life, than by confession.
Hence I either neglected my confessions
altogether, or else made insincere ones ;
and so I fell into that melancholy of
mind and that state of tribulation which
h^s been my punishment.' "
Light leading unto Light : A Series
uf Sonnets and Poems. By John
Charles Earle, B.A. London : Bums
k Oates. 1875.
Mr. Earle has undoubtedly a facility
rn writing sonnets ; and a good sonnet
has been well called '* a whole poem in
Itself." It is also, we think, peculiarly
suitable Tor didactic poetry. The pre-
sent sonnets are in advance, we consider,
of those we first saw from Mr. Earle's
pen. But we still observe faults, both
o( diction and of verse, which he should
have learnt to avoid. His model seems
to be Wordsworth — the greatest son-
neteer in our language ; but, like him, he
has too much of the prosaic and the arti-
ficial.
We wish we could bestow unqualified
praise upon the ideas throughout these
sonnets. And were there nothing for
criticism but what may be called poetic
subtleties — such as the German notion
of an '* ether body," developed during
life, and hatched at death, for our inter-
mediate state of being— we should have
no quarrel with Mr. Earle. But when we
meet two sonnets (XL VHL and XLIX.)
headed "Matter Non-Existent/' and
"Matter Non-Substantial," we have a
philosophical error serious in its conse-
quences, and are not surprised to find
the two following sonnets teach Panthe-
ism. In Sonnet XLVIII. the author's
excellent intention is to refute mate-
rialism :
«i
' Thought is,* you lay, * a function of the brain.
And matter all that we can ever know ;
** * From it we came ; to it at last we go,
And all beyond it is a phantom vain,' etc.
• • • • • •
" I answer : ' Matter is a form o/mind^
So far as it is aught. It has 00 base.
Save in the self.«xi8tent.* ^'
Sonnet L. is headed, " As the Soul in
the Body, so is God in the Universe."
Surely, this is the old *' Anima Mundi "
theory ! Then, in Sonnet LI., the poet
says of nature, and addressing God :
** She cannot live detached from thee. Her heart
Is beating with thy pulse. / cannot tell
How far shs is or is not 0/ tkte part :
How far in her thou dost or dost not dwell ;
That tkou htr only bast and suhstanc* arts
This— this at least— I know and feel full well.'*
Now, of course, Mr. Earle is uncon-
scious that this is rank Pantheism. He
has a way of explaining it to himself
which makes it sound perfectly orthodox.
But we do call such a blunder inex-
cusable in a Catholic writer of Mr. Earle's
pretensions. The title of his volume,
" Light leading unto Light," has little
to do with the contents, as far as we can
see ; and, certainly, there are passages
which would more fitly be headed *' Dark-
ness leading unto Darkness."
We are sorry to have had to make
these strictures. The great bulk of the
sonnets, together with the remaining
poems, are very pleasant reading, and
cannot fail to do good.
144
New Publications.
First Annual Report op the Rev.
Theodore Noethen, First Catholic
Chaplain of the Albany Peniten-
tiary, TO the Inspectors. April 6,
1875. Albany : J. Munsell. 1875.
Thirteen Sermons preached in the
Albany County Penitentiary. By
the Rev. Theodore Noethen. Publish-
ed under the auspices of the Society
of S. Vinceni de Paul. Albany : Van
Benthuysen Printing House. 1875.
We are glad to see Father Noethen's
familiar hand thus charitably and charac-
teristically engaged. These are the first
documents of the'kind we have observed
under the improving state of things in
this country, in which the priest of the
Church is seen occupied in one of his
most important duties — reclaiming the
erring ; and in doing this the means
which he employs will doubtless be found
more efficacious than any the state has
at its command. Did the state fully
appreciate its highest interest as well as
duty, it would afford the Church every
facilit3% not only in reclaiming such of
her children as have fallen into the temp*
tat ions by which they are surrounded,
but also in the use of those preventive
measures involved in parish schools,
which would save multitudes from peni-
tentiaries and houses of correction. Our
over-zealous Protestant friends throw
every obstacle in the way of the adequate
moral and religious training of the class
most exposed to the temptations arising
from poverty and lack of employment,
and then blame the Church for the resuU.
We heartily welcome these signs of a
better time coming.
An Exposition of the Epistlks of S.
Paul and of the Catholic Epistles ;
consisting of an Introduction to each
, Epistle, an Analysis of each Ohapter,
a Paraphrase of the Sacred Text, and
a Commentary, embracing Notes, Cri*
tical. Explanatory', and Dogmatical,
interspersed with Moral Reflections.
By the Rt. Rev. John MacEvilly, D.D.,
Bishop of Galway. Third edition, en-
larged. Dublin : W. B. Kelly. 1875.
(New York: Sold by The Catholic
Publication Society.)
After quoting this full, descriptive title-
page, it will suffice to say that the notes
which form the commentary have in the
present edition been considerably en-
larged. The work was originally pub-
lished under the approbation of the Holy
Father, the late Cardinals Barnabo and
Wiseman, and the .present venerable
Archbishop of Tuam.
BOOKS AND PAMPHLSTS BBCBXVBO.
From Scribner, Armstrong ft Co., New York : Per-
sonal Reminiscences. Ky 0*Reefe, KeHy, and Tay-
lor. Edited by R. H. Stoddard (Brac-ft-Brac
Series, No. VI 11)
From the Author: An Address on Woman's W<»-k
in the Church before the Presbytery of New
Albany. By Geo. C. Heckman, D.D. Paper,
8vo, pp. 98.
From Wm. Dennis, G.W.S. : Journal of Proceed-
ings of the Ninth Annual Session of the Grand
Lodge of Nova Scotia. Paper, 8vo, pp. 73.
From the Author : The Battle of Life : An Address.
By D. S. Troy, Montgomery, Alabama. Paper,
8vo, pp. 14.
From Ginn Brothers, Boston : Latin Compontion :
An Elementary Guide to Writing in Latin. Fart
I.— Constructions. By J. H. AUea and J. B.
Greenough. zamo, pp. vL, 1x7.
ITERARY
OLLETIN
the CtthoUc Pablication Society has just re-
eeiT0d th« following approval of its School Series
from the ▼enerable Archbishop of Oregon :
PoBTLAi<n>, Orboon, Aug. 21, 187S.
L. Kkbos, E»q.
DiAjft Sib : Among the many services which
•*The CAthoIic Pablication Society" is render-
ing to oar holy Church, that of having published
a Scries of new echool-books, entitled *'The
Yonng Catholic's School Series," is one of the
greatest. It, having spared neither labor uor ex-
pense, has been well rewarded in making the
tferies not only equal to any of a like character,
bat alic, in matter of arrangement and choice,
far saperior to any yet presented to the Catholic
pablic As such, I approve and recommend the
Series to parents, teachers, and public patronage.
Yours truly,
4" P. N. Blanghbt,
ArcJMthop of Oregon.
P.S.— Tour series is in use in Oregon since last
We find the following notice of the Young
tadia' Bimtrat^ Header in the Catholic TeU-
gropK^ CinclnnaLi :
" We have had thifl elegantly-bound volume on
oor table for some time, intending to notice it, but
haviog jttsf received a copy of the New Orleans
Btar. we And in It the following excellent notice,
vhldli contains all we wished to say :
*' * It IS a real tn^l, in these times, to find a
work prepared for young ladies which is not
compiled of lovtf-songs and sentimental essays.
'^^Theone before us affords us this pleasure,
and fully realizes the idea set forth in its title.
As the crowning work of the admirable Series of
Bcsders published by the enterprising house of
The Catholic Publication Society of New York,
It is not surprising that it should be excellent
both in its reading matter and in its pictorial de-
signs. The selections, made with a view to the
Improvement of the female intellect, and as a
sttmuUnt to woman's true ambition, are of
tbf highest order of merit ; and while recog-
aidDg those from standard writers, we flnd^
numy original essays well worthy of the com-
onship in which they are placed. The first
in in the book, '' The Work of Woman in the
"Ch," is from the pen of the learned Father
Becker, and Is a masterly introduction to
Midlng idea of the work, viz., that the world
J to be reminded that *' its best work is not
'^ by nen alone."
** * Advocates of Woman's Rights and preach-
ers against Woman's Wrongs, would do well to
read this paragraph :
*****A11 roads are open to woman's energies
and capacities in the Church, and she knows and
is conscious of this freedom ; and, what is more,
she is equally aware that whatever she has ability
to do will receive from the Church encourage-
ment, sanction, and that honor which Is due to
labor, devotion, and genius."
** * Among the gems in the book our fancy se-
lects as the brightest and bcj^t a poem by Eleanor
C. Donnelly, entitled ** Unseen, Yet Seen,"
which, for true poetic inspiration, delicate fancy,
and exquisite thought, Is unsurpassed by any
poem in the book. The lesson it conveys and
the pleasure it confers upon the reader are alone
sufHclent to repay the cost of the Reader to those
who purchase it.
'' * How few among Catholics, and particularly
among Catholic young ladies, know that there is
a lady of our own times and our own generation
who is shedding lustre upon Catholic literature
and adding to the glory which surrounds the
name of woman ; whose merits, alas ! may never
be fully appreciated until the laurel wreath Is en-
twined with cypress leaves. The North lionizes
Longfellow, the West pays homage to Joaquin
Miller, the South is proud of Father Ryan, but
the East may name Eleanor C. Donnelly as one
in all respects equal to these poets, and whose
writings will live by the side of theirs as long as
the English language is spoken.
" • " St. Cecilia's Day in Home " is another line
piece, original, we think, for the Reader, and,
while most graceful in its style, is most instruc-
tive in its lesson. We close this notice of the
work, which is more than a mere Reader, for it
may be called a manual of beautiful composi-
tions and pure thoughts, by a quotation from its
pages :
♦»» "Cecilia, in her short and heavenly life,
seems a fitting model for all women, and especial-
ly for young maidens and wives. She was one
of those who know how to put religion before
men in its mont enthralling form ; purity with
her was no ice-cold stream and repellant rocky
fastness ; it was beauty, it was reward, it was
glory. Crowns of lilies and roses, heavenly per-
fume and angelic companionship, were to be its
lovely guerdon ; and not othcrwiHO should it ever
be preached, nor otherwise surrounded, when its
precepts are presented to man.
**'''Had we more CeclUas among our Chris-
8
Litirary Bulletin.
tian woi^en of to-day there woiild be more Va-
Itrlani and TibartU among onr men, and virtue
wonid be more readily deemed an honor than a
yoke ; home would be more of a temple than a
mere resting-place; home-life more of a prayer
than a simple Idol. For blameles^ness is not
ChriHtian fiaith. We want the visible blessings
of the Church on our daily lives, even as Cecilia
brought into the cixcle of home the visible, an-
gelic gifts of flowprs ; and we know that to those
whopet'k them wher»» Vnleiiaii and liib br thtr
sought the heavenly apparition— that is, through
faith and prayer— these ble««j«ing?, these cifts.
these blossoms, these safeguards are never de-
nied."
" *The only fault we can find with this excel-
lent work is the noiformity of the portraits on
the frontispiece, a- 1 of them representing women
of religions orders. We think that for the gene-
ral reader a few such characters as Joan of Arc,
the warrior maiden ; Grace Darling, the heroic
daughter of the light-house- keep^rr; Eugenie de
Guerin, the heroic, humble Chrlstiaa, and Ma-
dame 89(etchlne, the friend and confidante of
Lacordaire, would prove a pleasing variety,
without at all interfering with the aim of the
book.' "
With reference to the suggestion made by our
learned critic, the editor of the Yorung Ladies'
Reader would most respectfully remark that the
Frontispikok could not contain the portraits of
the persons mentioned, for the reason that they
were not founders of tMchmg orders in the
Church, whose ' followers have schools for
young ladies in this country. The frontispiece
was not intended to contain portraits of any
others.
The CaUi'ilic Review says : ** We undertook to
read the Younflr Ladies' Header, of the
Young Catholic Series of School-books, without
much prepossession in its favor, but. after read-
ing the book, we foel bound to express great
satisfaction with the seUctlons made, and par-
ticularly with the original lessons specially pre-
pared for this reader. Some of them are so ex-
cellent that we feel disposed to transfer them to
our own columns for the benefit of readers whom
it won Id be asking too much to send back to
school again for the purpose of reading them in
thia collection of elegant extracts, which form-
ing, aa they do, a school-book, we presume no
one will think of trying for interesting and
amusing reading. Yet the public might do
worse, and are continually buying less delight-
ful books than this. As to what a young ladies'
reader should contain, opinions and tastes will
vary, but the editor of this volume has certainly
shown admirable ta«te in the selections made.''
A new, live paper, the Texas Cath4)lfc^ pub-
lished in Gdlveston, comes to us containing the
following notice of onr Headers :
" We are in receipt of the following aeries of
school-books : TJt^ Young Cutkolit't
Primer^ SptW^^ First Readsr, Second
Third Reader, Fowih Reader, Fifth Reader,
Siath Reader, and the Young Ladies' Readt-ef.
These constitute the seties of school-books pub-
lished by I'he Catholic Publication Society, aod
are called *The Young Catholic's IlInatrcLtc^
School Series.'
'* We have examined them carefully, and, ivc!
may add,, somewhat critically, and aie free Co
confcj^i^ that we coi.sider them most adm1rat>l3r
suited to the wants of Catholic scholars, l^lie
typography is most excellent, the binding sub-
stantial, and the engravings, or rather iUustrm-
tions, the best we have yet seen in any books of
this class. The arrangement and plan we lilce
very much. Beginning with tlie /Vim^r and end-
ing with the Sixth Reader^ the gradual progres-
sion is most admirable. The selections, beic^
from the most approved authors, give the stu-
dents examples in elegant diction, chaste lan-
guage, and variety of style. The iUaetraUons
are apt and apposite, and well illustrate the text,
giving the student all the advantages of object-
teaching.
'' This series is edited by the Rev. J. L. Spald-
ing, S.T.L., the nephew of the late Archbishop
Spalding ; and no Catholic need fear placing
them in the hands of his children. We most
heartily recommend them to our Catholic
teachers as being by far the best that we have
yet seen."
The Catholic Telegraph says of the ManuAl
of the Blessed Sacrament, that '* the trans-
lation of this valnable and- edifying little volame
is a true and devoted act of worship to the Bless-
ed Sacrament and to the Most Sacred Heart of
Jesus. The original work was so intended by
the learned and pions Father Boone, one of the
most earnest, successful, and popular mission-
aries of Belgium in the present century. This,
no doubt, is equally so intended by the zealous
and pious lady who has favored us with an Ed|(-
liah translation. We sincerely hope that this
same exalted devotion which inspired the zeal
of author and translator may be enkindled and
increased in the hearts of its readers, and that
all Catholics may be numbered in the list of its
readers.
*'The volume translated and thus published
bears the first official approbation given to a
book by His Eminence the Cardinal-Archbishop
of New York, and was no doubt grattsfol to his
devout heart, as it is to us a pleasure to call
special attention to so good and inspiring a tri-
bute to the Sacred Heart of Jewus. Mistress
her own tongue and of the French, Mrs. Storr
has succeeded admirably in her work, and, whM
giving a faithful translation, has rendered th<
work of Father Boone into easy and elegani
English. We thank her for her good intentloni
Literary Bututin.
3
n^ tor her tuccessfal labor, fbr the senrice she
Im leadercd to religion, aud the good work of
tNvmotiug the worship and the love of God."
Jodn Marpby A Co., Baltimore, announce as
ia preM The SftidtnV» ManwU of ^figlUh LU-
«r9tatrt^\ij Rer. O. L. Jenkins, A.M., late Pre«i-
tkntofSu Charles' Cjllei^e, EllicottCity, Md.^.irid
lurmerly President of St. Mary's College, Baltl-
ttorc. Thi* work is to be an elementary history
oftneEnglirh language and literature, intended
for Catholic colleges. It is divided into two
part», Brititfh and American literature. The first
part is flu^iridcd into five periods : The Anglo-
Saxjd Period, M9-1065 ; the Semi-Saxon Period,
Ii»-l«jO; the Old Buglii»h Period, 13^0-1360 ; the
Viddie Kngli»h Period, 12)50-1580 ; and the Mo-
dem Period, extendlog from 16S0 to our time.
The socood part Is subdivided into the Colo*
nial, Revolutionary, aud Present Cei^tury Pe-
riods. The end proposed In the publication of
this work is to present to Cathoiic institutions a
well-digested text-book of the Kuglish language
and literature, imparting Information under an
attractive style, and avoiding sectarian views
aud party prejtidices.
OfVenillot's Ufeof Olirikt the Ate Mar a
says:
" This life of our Lord, which has received the
approbation of the Holy Paiher, was written to
refute the blahphemiea of Reuan. Its author, as
every one knows, is one of the ablest writers in
France ; and wlmt is more, is a fear' ess cham-
pion of the Church. Kenan's Life ol Christ has
had an immense t^ale in the United States, and
has helped very much to increase the infldel ele-
ment in the di'fferent sects. The Catholic Publi-
cation Socii ty has done a good work in issuing
this excellent work of LouIh Veuillot. We hope
It will have a wide circulation among nou-Catho-
lies as well aa Catholics."
FOREIGN BOOKS.
Jke Secret Warfare of Freematonty
aQoimsi Ckurek an4 State, Translated
from the German, i vol. lamo H 50
Tke TrQubtes of Our Cattkolie ForefatherM,
Related bv Themselves. Edited by Rev. J.
Morrtss. Second Series, i vol. 8vo 7 OO
tt^t Iritis £eel€siattieat fiecord. A
Monthly Juurnal. 6 vols., lor '6o, '70, '71, '73,
•73, '74 <^^0 00
TU £uehariit and the Christian Life.
Translated from the French ^f 75
Catharine Grown Older. A Sequel to
**C*thannc Hamilton." Sf J9S
Oratoiy Mymnt ^f 36
Jke ^ieren Saeramente Explained and De-
tended m Question and Answer 60
S»me Semper J^adem. By Denis Patrick
Micbael O Mahony 75
Ike Spirit of Faith ; or, What Must I Do to
believe ? Five Lectures delivered in S. Peter's,
Cardiff, hy Bishop HcdIcy.O.S.B 75
life of Father Menry Young, By Lady
Fulierton 1^/ 75
Tke f^btie Life of Our Lord Jetue Christ,
Bv the Rev. H. J. Coleridge, S.J. Part I
S3 a5
Our Laify'e t>owry$ or, How England Gained
tod Lost this Title. A Compilation by the
Rev. T. B. Rridgett, C.Sb.R. Crown 8vo,
4% pagfli. With four illustrations. By H. W.
Hrewer, Baq SZ- 50
Ike frisonerefthe Tempte: or. Discrowned
and Crowned. By M. C. O'Connor Morris.
S:9 25
furpmtofy Surr^ed; or, A Particular Ac-
oount of the Happy and yet Thrice Unhappy
Stale of the Souls There. Edited by Dr. An-
derdon Sf 50
Tkt t^erfeet Lt^y Srother. By Felix Cum-
pledo ; S2 25
liret of the Irish Saints, By Rev. J. O'Han-
loa. Noa. i, 9, 3, 4, 5 6, 7, 8, 9 now ready. Price
Pfrtetory for J^Torioes of erery Setipioue
tr, partirutarfy those f/eroted to the
nation of Touth ^/ ^5
tojMtf t\>putar Errors Concerning
ities and Setigion. By Lord Robert
.tafu.M.P. I vol. lamo SS 00
f Utter- Vocks of Sir Amias J^uiet,
per of Mary, V^ueen of Scots. Edited by
I Morris. S.J . i vol. 8vo S5 25
h f\ M p ^ r » / or. Thoughts on the Litanies
orcuo. By Edward Ignatius Purbrick,
The l>iatogues of S. Gregory the Great,
Edited by Henry James Coleridge, S.J. .SS 00
Tke Life of Luisa Do Carrajat, By Lady
Fulierton SS 50
JKeditations of St. Hnselm. A new Trans-
lation. By M. R. With Preface by His Grace
the Archbishop of Westminster $S 50
the Question of jingtiean Ordinations
7>iscussed. By E. S. Estcourt, M.A.,
F.A.S., Canon of S. Chad's Cathedral. Bir-
mingham. With an appendix of original doc-
uments and photograpnic facsimiles. i vol.
8vo S7 00
The Life of the Slessed John Serehmans .
By Francis Golde. i vol. lamo SS SO
The f*ope and the Emperor, Nine Lec-
tures delivered in the Church of S. John the
Evanarelist, Bath. By the Very Rev. J. N.
Swcenev. O.S.B,. D.D Sf OO
If ho is Jesus Christ ? Five Lectures deliv-
ered at the Catholic Church, Swansea. By the
Right Rev. Dr. Hedlev, O.S.B., Bishop Auxil-
iary of Newport and Menevia 65 ets.
Life of Anne Catherine Fmmerieh, B)*
Helen Ram. i vol. larao SS 5V
f^ace through the Truth / or. Essay's on
Subjects connected with Dr. Pusey's Eireni-
con. By Rev. T. Harper, S.J. Second Series.
—Part 1.— Dr. Pusey's First Supposed Papal
Contradiction ; or. The Levitical HTohibitions
oi Marriage in their Relation to the Dispens-
ing Power of the Pope. 1. The Prologue. 2.
Fundamental Principles. 3. The Issue, con-
taining a detailed examin:ition of Dr. Pusey's
evidence respecting Marriage with a De-
ceased Wife*s Sister. 4. Doctrinal Postil. 5.
The Epilogue, i vol. 8 vo S^O 00
First Part S7 50
Meditations on the Life and Doctrine of
Jesus Christ, By Nicholas Avancinus, S.J.
Translated by George Porter, S.J. a vols,
lamo S5 S5
The Formation of Christendom, Part
Third. By T. W. Allies S8 00
headings from the Old Testament t for the
use of Students, x vol. lamo 75 ets,
JTistory of the Irish Famine of f 8 17, By
Rev. J.'O'Kourke x vol. lamo SA 00
Sotne and her Captors ^ Letters, i vol.
xamo SS 00
Sossuet and his Contemporaries, z vol.
xamo S6 00
Bssays on Catholicism, Liberalism^ and
Socialism, Bv John Donoso Cortes. Tram-
lated by Rev. W. McDonald, x vol. xamo,
SS CO
SBPTBMBBR XO, 1875.
This supersedes aU previous Catalogues.
BOOKS PUBLISHED
BY
The Catholic Publication Society,
9 WARSEN STREET, NEW lOEK.
In consequence of the increase of postage on books, which took
effect in March this year, we must request all persons ordering
books by mail to accompany the order by the retail price of the
book.
E^ No books will be sent by mail to booksellers, or others entitled to
a discount, unless at least the money to cover postage accom-
panies the order.
All the publications of the several Catholic Publishers, both in
this country and in England, kept in stock.
'' A wonderful book."— i7M/<m Pilot.
Ky Olerical Friendl, and their Rela-
tions to Modern Thought. Contents : Chap.
I. The Vocation of the Clergy.— II. The
Clergy at Home.— III. The Clergy Abroad.
— rvT The Clergy and Modern Thought
I vol. xamo, 1 OO
By the same author.
Ohnrch Deftncet Report of a Conference
on the Present Dangers of the Church.
By the author of "My Clerical Friends."
The Comedy of Convocatioii in the
English Church. In Two Skrenes. Edited
by Archdeacon Chasuble, D.D., and dedi-
cated to the Pan-Anglican Synod. 8vo,
cloth 1 00
BiUiographia Catholica Ameriftana.
A List of American Catholic Books published
up to the year 1835. Hy Rev. J. M. Finotti.
X vol. Svo, 5 00
ffellie Netteryille; or^ One of the
Transplanted. A Tale of the Times of Crom-
well in Ireland. By Miss Caddell. x vol.
xamo, cloth, extra, .... 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
Vild Times, a Tale of the Days of gueen
Elizabeth. By Cecilia Mary Caddell. First
American edition, i vol. x2mo, 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
The ProneMdenista and Angela.
From the German of Bolanden. i voL Svo,
1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
The Neshiti \ or, A Mother's Last Reauesi,
and Other Tales, x vol. lamo, . . 1 25
Ma^gie'e Roiary, and Other Talee.
(Contents : By the author of *' Marion How-
ard." Maggie^s Rosary— The While Angel
—Mabel— Old Morgan's Rose-Tree. From
the French of Sou vestrc. translated by Emily
Bowles : The Sawyer of the Vosges — A Meet-
ing on the Alps— The Godson.) x vol. xamo,
1 00
The Bense of Torke: A Stoij of
American Lift. Cl*tk, extra, . . a 00
Cloth, Ml gUt, • . . • ,3
Little Pierre, the Pedlar of Alnce,
Translated from the French, and illustrateo
by 17 first- class woodcuts. (This makes one
of the handsomest premium books ever
issued in this country.) Cloth, extra, 1 50
Cloth, full gilt, 2 OO
Peter'i Jonmey, and Other Talaoy
and Wilfulness and its Consequences, x voL
xamo, frontispiece, .... 1 5#
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
The Threshold of the CathoUc
Church. A course of plain instructions tor
those entering her communion. By Fr.
Bagshaw. With preface by Mgr. Capel.
X vol. xamo, 1 50
Sermone on Bcdesiastical SniQeeta.
Vol. I. By Archbishop Manning. Cloth,
extra, 2 00
The same. Vol. 11., .... 2 OO
The Internal BUasion of the Bolir
Ghost. By Archbisnop Manning, x vol.
i2mo, 2 00
A Winir^ Word, and Other Storiea.
By the author of ''The House of Yorke.**
etc I 5iD
Cloth gilt, . . . • . 2 00
The Life of Saint John of the Cron. of
the Order of our Lady^ of Mount Carmel. i
vol. x6mo, 1 25
Life and Doclnne of Saint Catherine
of Genoa. Translated from the Italian.
I vol. lamo, 2 00
Catherine Hamilton. A Tale for Little
Girls. i8mo 00 cts.
The Parm of niniceron, and Madame
Agnes. Translated from the French, i vo^
Svo, cloth, extra, • I 5
Cloth, gilt, 2
The Prench Priioner in Bnni
Jransiated from the French by P. S. Oi
illustration, t vol. i6mo, cloth, extra, 1 O
Cloth, gilt, Is
The Spirit of Paith ; or, What mnat .
do to Believe. By Biakop Headier. CloU
00 tn
5
QHurj mad Sorrow, aad SoUm the
Pmshft •f Saloaique. Translated from the
French by P. S. x vol. i6mo, cloth extra,
with two illustrations, .1 QQ
Cloth, pit, X 50
Oalf m Pin. Tranalatad from the
French bv a Graduate of St. Joseph's Aca-
demy, SmmittsburK. i vol. i6ino, cloth
eitrm, 1 00
Cloth, gnu . .... 1 50
Tl^ Obidstoiie Contnnren7< Man-
niitg'» and Newman's Reply. lamo, cloth,
1 50
The Oladstone Oontrovorey. Vawhp
an sand Ullathorne's Reply, and Fesslei on
lofaliibility, with Syllabus. lamo, cloth,
1 50
■yrrika Lake j or, Into the Light of
Catholicity. By Minnie Mary Lee. i vol.
i6bo, 1 00
CoBitaBee Sherwood: Am AntoUo^
ffraphy of the Sixteenth Century. By Lady
Georgiana FuUerton. With four illustra-
tions. I vol. 8vo, extra cloth, . . 2 00
aoth, (Tilt, 3 00
The Betrothed. From the Italian of Man-
loni. s vol. lamo, .... 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
Fnaeh Bg go in an Bngliih Baiket.
Translated by Emily Bowles, x vol. xamo,
1 50
Two ThouHu&d Mileo onBonehaek.
A Summer Tour to the Plains, the Rockv
MouBtaJns, and New Mexico. By James F.
Meline. i vol. xamo. ... 1 50
■ary Queen of Seota and Her Lai>
est Kngiish Historian. A Narrative of the
Principal Events in the Life •( Mary Stuart.
With some Remarks on Mr. Froude's His-
tonr of England. By James F. Meline. i
vol. xamo, 1 75
The Life and Times of Siztni the
Fifth. Tr«nsla.led from the French by James
F. Meline. t vol. T6mo, ... 1 00
All-Ballow Bve; or The Test of
Futurity, and Other Stories. 1 vol. 8vo,
2 00
Qoth, gilt, 8 00
bapreaidons of Spain. By Lady Herbert.
I vol. lamo, fifteen Illustrations, cloth extra,
200
Oradle Lands. Egypt, Syria, Palestine,
Jerusalem, etc. By Lady Herbert. Illus-
trated by eight full-page Illustrations, x vol
xtmo, vellum cloth 2 00
Cloth, full gilt, 2 50
Half-calf, 4 00
Uft of J. Theophane Venard, Martyr in
Tonquin. Translated from the French by
Lady Herbert, x vol. x6mo, 1 00
Three Phases of Christian Love.
The Mother, the Maiden, and the Reliffious.
Ladv Herbert One vol. xamo, . 1 50
t. extra, 2 00
I Jistor's Story. By Madame Augustus
aven. Translated ffom the French by
ally Bowles. One vol. -crown 8vo, pp.
', cieCh, extra, 2 50
th. rilt. 3 00
The Lift of Henry Dorie* Martyr. Trans-
lated from the French by Lady Herbert, x
vol., i6mo, 75 cts.
Anne Severin. By the Author of '' A Sis-
ter's Story." X vol. xamo, cloth, . 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
Flenrang'e. By Madame Augustus Craven.
X vol. 8vo, 1 50
*CIoth, gilt 2 00
Visits to the Blessed Sacrament and
to the Blessed Virgin, for every day in the
Month. By St. Alphonsus Liguori. a4mo,
cloth, new edition, .... 50 cts.
Way of Salvation, in Meditations
for Every Day in the Year. Translated from
the Italian of St. Alphonsus Liguori by Rev.
James Jones. 34mo, cloth, . . 75 cts.
Honrs of the Passion) or, Pathetio
Reflections on tbe Sufferings and Death of
our Blessed Redeemer. By St. Liguori.
New edition. Translated by Right Rev. W.
Walsh, Bishop of Halifax, with a sketch of
the Life of St. Alphonsus Liguori. x8mo,
cloth, 50 cts.
Love of Onr Lord Jesns Christ B^
duced to Practice. By St. Alphonsus Li-
guori. Translated by the Rieht Rev. W.
Walsh, Bishop of Halifax. New edition.
x8mo. cloth, 50 cts.
Short Treatise on Prayer. Adapted to
all Classes of Christians. By St: Alphonsus
Liguori. The holy author of this treatise
says : " Were it in my |>ower, I would pub-
lisa as many copies of this work as there are
Christians on earth, and would give each a
copy, that each might be convinced of the
absolute necessity of prayer." New edition,
a^mo, cloth, 40 cts.
Spirit of St. Alphonsns do LinorL
A Selection from his Shorter Spiritual Trea-
tises. Translated from the lulian by the
Rev. J. Jones. With a Memoir of the author.
94mo, cloth 50 cts.
The Calories of Mary. Translated
from the Italian of St. Alphonsus Maria de
Liguori. Second edition. Revised by Rev.
Robert A. Coffin, C.SS.R. x vol. xamo,
125
Liie and Letters of Madame Swot-
chine. Translated from the French of the
Count Falloux. One vol. xamo, . 2 00
The Writings of Madame SwetcUne.
Edited by Count de Falloux. x vol. xamo,
150
Oakeley on Catholic Worship i AMa^
nual of Popular Instruction on the Ceremo-
nies and Devotions of the Church. By Fre-
derick Canon Oakeley, M.A., ^fissIonary
Rector of St. John's, Islington, x vol. x6mo,
50 cts.
Oakeley on the Mass. The Order and
Ceremonial of the most Holy and Adorable
Sacrifice of the Mass explained in a Dialogue
between a Priest and a Catechumen. With
an Appendix on Solemn Mass, Vespers,
Compline, and the Benediction or the Most
Holy Sacrament. Ry Canon Frederick
Oakeley. x vol. i8mo. . 50 cts.
Manresai or, The Spiritnal Bxsreises
of St. Ignatius. For General use. New
Edition. X vol. xamo, . ' . 1 50
Dr. TTii ■■■■'■ Ammmmr toDr.FBMy*!
E r. licoa. Pap«r, 75 cts.
Am C«bt a Ail af m Gramiiuur of
x-^ •-: Ky J >hr» Henry Xewman, D.D., of
:*ie »»-At:'rv i roL xsaic. cknti, . 2 50
n V rv> A PA3:r'!o: cu:::Icd "What, then.
Docs r»r N<»*u;.k:: Me*ii ' *' Bv Jonn Heary
Ntf>*3U3. D I/. New e«i:Uoa. t vol. xaino,
2M
P^-:*' <T^* Sv c^-^xirJ yi Pope Pms V.
r-k ;x;,-i!r\^« ^v Ktfv I DccovAC, Professor
i<.c«:i: > v«.ltf|ce. Msvaoo:!!. Svo, . 2 00
S. r-rOvt:ea.
I vol. i2mo,
. . 2 00
of the
•^ 4 V'l'v v"^ia-v:b "1 M.i::er^o' Cont.over«v.
H\ '. i< S41, :<cr }. H. ^-ssuei. A new
<%• ;-v».» w ,1 cv'- ou* oo*es„ by Rev. J.
h'cxci^rr. ;.^ t> ii:«o. 60 cts.
ef Saif^tmie i«
K »*^«^ >>r vi ^ ^v^wtlen. i vol. umo.,
2 00
Wtton «• a PMtMtaat Frioid on the
►. s<w :Sv'- vutv^ Bv Rev. D. A. GaUuzin.
\-**KS ^•-•A. .... 50 cts.
Sk^tMl Wilier el Peve«t and Re-
»lfc»«,»^'« S.'a X Kv S«. Kiuncis de Sales,
50 cts.
Ifctyed^otiea te a Ilev*e«t Lift. From
^H' »« c »N "» oi <: h^lilK■lH v>t Sale"*, Kishopand
^•v.*nv ,». \..v.'>'\* lo N^bich is prctixed ar
V'^^', *s<. ^'^i ^.'k t thf. i$vwo» cloth, 75 CIS
T%fi«h Well Oat » er, Reflectloiis en
.■»v v'v^Av t'xu'.hx v>t tUc t'hiKti'*^ Relic ion,
•V'* ,;^ss. ^ Us ' ' ;hc M » ub. Hv Right Kcv.
K V 'V«l\ (IV4 i.uu\ «.U>!h, 30 cts.
«ia^M^ OhHetima lutmcted in the
\.4 . « u»» V », N*\ •i.'^.cv v\Mcu»v>nieN, and Ob-
^v » 4 nv^\»i U»c V hu»\h. t>\ >%av of (juesiiou
4 t * »*>svsi ^'n k 'V K >jSi Rev. Dr. t'hal-
\. 4^1 *., vKS vU'iU. tU'viUle, 25 cts.
V^%l^ie OhirietiMi laetnieted. onio
w>l Vi.'U V Unh . 90 cts.
^k\M% amd the Ohwreh, Lectures deli.
\v V i >n St \>n\ V huuh. New York, dur-
i»^ VvUvOi. »?<tv- Hv Rov. Thos. S. Pres-
ks>a « \\>i i4Uto. . • . . IL 50
lliMMII and Hevelatiea. Lectures De-
ll^ uivil iti M \nn'5» t'huutt, New York.dur
lu^ V^ui'i. y^y>^^ bv Rov. T S, Prcsion.
S»tu v^l ijiuo, .... X 50
V^lUe Tveative ea the Uttle Tlrtaet.
\N I viou v>Ui,'ut<iHv in It'ilun by Father Ro>
li'ji I v>i ihg S1.H itftv i»t Ic^uH rv>\\h>ohare
^l IvV VI uiioi on VtfiNoi by Father X'aMois,
4 I i4>i>l \i4\uit» (ivMU an unpuv>U!ihed
kdinit »iii»ii'l I'jihvjj Sv<nsMi, S I. ; at»o, De>
^ ><•• ti 10 vh(* H^^ust HvMit ot lesius. i«reio,
I I •!>( . . 45 cts.
|>wuW^ |im-U^\%U^ »;'\^n» the Italian of
r*;!. . . *v»wii >* I V»«l I. k*mk», 1 50
\ ..> >1 ■ • 1 50
>^ IU\i«iMM tiuWiT af irelaad,
. ,u 1* Uot' .» k'vuv'J to thtf k*iONrnt
« (i , xv''^ «to\4ii«l iti*( vl*t<i ^tlt pAg« en
ffravines of Historical Scenes deri^oect by
Henry Doyle, and engraved by George Hax^
Ion and George Pearson ; together -writh up-
ward of One Hundred Woodcuts, by eminent
Artists, illustratingr Antiquities, Sceaery , and
Sites of Remarkable Events ; and three lax^c
Maps— one of Ireland, and the others ot
Family Homes, Statistics, etc. x vol. 8vo,
nearly 700 pages, extra cloth, S IM
Half-mor 7 OO
The Xdfe of St Patrick, Apostle of Ire-
land, by M. F. Cusack, author of *' The Il-
lustrated History of Ireland," etc Illus-
trated, one vol., C 00
The Patriot's Hiitory of XrelaniL By
M. F. Cusack x vcl., ' % Sd
The Works of the Most ReTorend
John Hughes, tirst Archbishop of New Voric,
containing Biography. Sermons. Lectures.
Speeches, etc. Carenilly compiled from the
Best Sources, and edited oy Lawrence
Kehoe. a vols. 8vo, cloth, 8 OO
a vols., half-calf, extra, . 12 OO
Poor Man's Catechism $ or.
Christian Doctrine Explained, with Short
Admonitions. By John Mannock, O.S.B.
24mo, cloth, . . 50 cts.
Poor Man's Controversy. By j. Man-
nock, author of " Poor Man's Catechism."
x8mo, cloth 50 cts.
Catholic Tracts. Fifty Catholic 1 racts of
*'The Catholic Publication Society," on
various subjects, i vol. lamo, clotli extra,
1 2S
Irish Odes, and Other Poems. By Au-
brey de Vere. x vol. lamo, toned paper.
2 00
Cloth, gilt, . . ... 2 50
May Carols, and Hymns and Poemi
By Aubrey de Vere. Blue and gold, 1
The Zaqnefiiction of the Blood of St.
Januarius. Cloth 1 OO
Ristory of the Old and New Testa*
ments. By J. Reeve. 8vo, half-bound, em-
bossed roan. f OO
Compendious Abstract of the Bistory
of the Church of ChrisL By Rev. Wm.
Gahan,O.S.A. With continuation down to the
present time, by John G. Shea, LL.D. xamo .
125
The LiA of Mother Jnlia, Ponndreas
of the Sisters of Notre Dame, i vol. xamo.
cloth, extra, with Portrait of Mother Julia
Cloth, gilt.
50
2 00
Bistory of finfland, Ibr the Use of
Schools. By w. F. Mylius. Continued
down to the present time by John G. Shea
LL.D. xamo, .... 1 25
Lift of Mother Margaret Mary Bal*
lahau, founder of the English Congregation
of St. Catherine of Siena, of the Third Order
of St. Dominick. By her Religious Children
With a Preface by the Right Rev. Bishoi
Ullathorne. x vol. 8vo, . • 4 Oi
Barly Bistory of the Catholic Ghvrc
In tbe Island of New York. By the Riri
Rev. J. R. Bayley, D.D. With four Ste
Plates of the tour first Bishops and a wqoi
cut of old St. Peter's. 1 vol. xame, dotl
isi
of tiM 8oci«t7 of Jesni.
. 9 ro\».^ .... 3 00
Thm Uft of Pmfhor RavigBaii, &J.
By Father Ponlcvoy, SJ. Translated froxn
tkc Prcoch. k vol. crown 8vo, toned paper.
4 00
Uft •! St. Tiacent de PaoL jamo,
^otk. 45ctft-
Ulb of B l ewed Margaret Mary
Alaooque. With some Account of the Devo-
tion to the Sacred Heart. By the Rev. George
Tickell, S.J. ivoLSvo, . . 2 uO
Omr Isady of Litanlei. By Rev. x. D.
McLcoo, 1 00
ftaicTifnmitali of the Holy Cath-
oUc 'Church. By the Rev. W. J. Barry,
1 00
HoBitor, or Bloral Befloc-
tions and Devout Aspirations on the Gospel
for each day, from Ash- Wednesday till Raster
Sunday. By Rev. P. Baker, O.S.F. i4mo,
dCJi, new edition 00 cts.
Bad of Balijriom Costrovony.
By Rt. Rev. John Milner, D.D. z vol. xamo.
70 cu.
Pictorial BiMo and Chnrch Bistory
Stories. An easy, continuous narrative for
the Younj;, from Adam and Sve in Paradise
down to the Middle of the Reign of Pope
Pius IX. Profusely illustrated by over 500
Woodcuts from orif^inal designs by the most
eminent artists. Crown 8vo.
I. The Old Testament Stories. Containing
soo illustrations and 6 maps, 530
pp 3 00
11.. The Life of Christ. Containing 100
illustrations, 186 pp.. 1 00
III. The History of the Church. Con-
taining 300 illustrations, 540 pp., 3 00
The above beautiful books can be had in
■eta, put up in boxes, suitable tor presents, as
follows:
In three vols., cloth extra, . 7 00
In five vols., cloth extra, . 00
In five Tols., cloth gilt, 12 00
la five vols, half calf, 20.00
lo are vols full calf antique, 30 00
Tho Pictorial Biblo and Church
History Stories, Abridged and Complete, i
vol. with a view of Solomon's Temple, a
bird's-eye view, of Jerusalem, and upwards
of one hundred beautiful Engravings. Crown
Ivo, 390 pp. By Rev. Heoiy Formby. Cloth,
•xtrs, 1 50
Cleth, gilt 2 00
Half-calf, 3 50
Full-calf, 00
This la an abridgment of the larger work
dnerlbed above.
• Book df tho Boly Rofary^ A Full,
^pular. Doctrinal Exposition of its Fifteen
rsteries, and of their Corresponding Types
the Old Testament Illustrated with thirty-
I fvlUpage engravings, printed in the best
anner 00 toned paper, extra ornamental
lodlac, and gilt edges. By Rev. H. Form-
TTMreK^aMte, iQll gtlk. . . 4 00
Lift, PaadoBy Death, and Borarroo>"
tioQ of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Being aa
Abridged Harmony of the Four Gospels in
the Words of the Sacred Text. Edited by the
Rev. Henry Formby. With over sixty en-
gravings from original designa z vol. lamo,
1 00
Cloth gilt, 1 50
Tho Lift of S.
Siena, i vol. lamo, .
Cathorino of
. . . 1 75
An Epistle of Jesrn Christ to the
Faitliful Soul that is devoutly affected to-
ward Him. z vol. z6mo, . . . 1 00
Sstory of the Church ftom its Bs-
tablishment to the Reformation. By the laie
Rev. C. C. Pise, D.D. 5 vols. 8vo, . 7 50
Another edition. 5 vols, zamo, cloth, 5 00
The ninstrated Catholic Sunday.
School Library. First Series. The follow-
ing are the titles of the different volumes :
Madeleine the Rosi^re. Crusade of the
Children. Tales of the Affections. Adven-
tures of Travel. Truth and Trust. Select
Popular Tales. Handsomely bound and put
up in a box. Cloth, extra. . 3 00
Cloth, gilt, 4 00
The ninstrated Catholic Snnday-
School Library. Second Series. The follow-
ing are the titles of the different volumes :
The Rivals. The Battle of Lepanto. etc.
Scenes and Incidents at Sea. Tne Scaool-
boys, and the Boy and the Man. Beautiful
Little Rose. Florestine. Handsomely bound,
and put up in a bex, cloth^ extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt 4 00
The ninstrated Catholic Sunday*
School Library. Third Series. The follow-
ing are the titles of the different volumes :
Nettlethorpe the Miser. Tales of Naval and
MiliUry Life. Harry O'Brien, and Other
Tales. The Hermit of Mount Atlas. Leo ;
or. The Clioice of a Friend. Anton4o; or.
The Orphan of Florence. Handsomely
bound, and put up in a box. Cloth, extra,
3 00
Cloth, gilt 4 00
The ninstrated Catholic Snnday-
School Library. Fourth Series. The follow-
ing are the titles of the different volumes :
Tales of the South of France. Stories of
Other Lands. Emma's Cross, and Other
Tales. Uncle Edward's Stories. Joe Baker.
The Two Painters. Handsomely bound,
and put up in a box. Cloth, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt 4 00
The ninstrated Catholic Snnday-
School Library. Fifth Series. The follow-
ing are the titles of the different volumes :
Bad Example. May-Dav, and Other Tales.
James Chappian. The Young Astronomer,
and Other Tales. Angel Dreams. EUerton
Priory. Handsomely bound, and put up in
box. Cloth, extra, .... 3 00
Cloth, gilt 4 00
The ninstrated Catholic Snnday-
School Library. Sixth Series. The follow-
ing are the titles of the different volumes :
Idleness and Industry. The Hope of the
Katzekopfs. St. Maurice. The Voung Emi-
grants. Angels' Visits Scrivener's Daugh-
ter, and Orange Git I. Handsomely bound,
and put up in a box. Cloth, extra, . 3 00
Oleth, gilt 4 00
8
The ninstrated Catholic Sunday-
School Library. Seventh Series. The follow-
inj; are the titles of the different volumes :
Tales of Catholic Artists. Honor O'More's
Three Homes. Sir iElfric, and Other Tales.
Select Tales for the Younigf. Tales for the
Many. Frederick Wilmot. In a box. illus
trated. Cloth extra, .... 3 00
Cloth, gilt,' 4 00
The ninstrated Catholic Snnday-
School Library. Eighth Series. The follow-
ing are the titles of the different volumes:
The Apprentice, and other Sketches. Mary
Benedicta, and Other Stories. Faith and
Loyalty, and The Chip Gatherers. AgneSv
ana Other Sketches. Lame Millie. The
Chapel of the Angels. Handsomely boiin^.
and put up in box. Cloth extra, . 3 Ov
Cloth gilt ■ 4 00
Dion and the SihyUi : A wmmi^w,
tian Novel. By Miles Gerald Keon. One
vol. 8vo, cloth, extra, .... 1 50
ninstrated Catholic Family Almanac
for 1869, 1870, 187X, 1873, and 1873, each,
25cts.
The Two Schools: A Moral Tale.
By Mrs. Hughes, xamo, cloth, 1 00
Lives of the Fathers of the Desert,
and of many Holy Men and Women who
dwelt in Solitude. Translated from the
French. Embellished with eighteen engrav-
ings. x8mo, cloth, CO cts.
Lonisa; or? The Virtnons Villaffer.
A Catholic Tale. New edition. z8mo, cloth,
60 cts.
Borne of the Lost Child. This story
is founded on fact, and records in a most In-
teresting manner a singular instance of God's
mercy. i8mo, cloth, . 00 cts.
Oenevieve : A Tale of Anti^nity,
showing the Wonderful Ways of Providence
in the Protection of Innocence. From the
German ol Schmid. z8mo, cloth, 00 cts.
Christine^ and Other Poems. By
George H. Miles. Cloth, . . .2 Ov
Gilt, extra, ...
2 50
The ''Old-Oatholics" at Cologne. A
Sketch in Three Scenes. By the author of
"Comedy of Convocation." x vol. x8mo
76 cts;
Father Rowland. A North American
Tale. i8mo, cloth, 00 cts.
The Reverse of the MedaL A Drama
for Girls, 20 cts.
BmsdifT BalL A Drama for Giris, 20 cts.
The Dea^Mnte. A Drama for Boys,
50 cts.
■lia; or, Spain Fifty Years Ago. From
the Spanish of Fernan Caballero. x vol.
xamo, 1 50
■liza Despres) or, The Effects of
Reading Bad Books, .... 50 cts.
Glimpses of Pleasant Homes, By the
author of " The Life of Mother McCauley."
Illustrated with four full-page Illustrations.
X vol. xzmo, cloth extra, • . . 1 50
Oloth, gUt, 2 00
Books of Irish flSart^prsL
of those who Suffered for the Catholic Pldth
in Ireland during the Sixteenth, Seveateenth.
and Eighteenth Centuries. Collected mnd
edited by Myles O'Reilly, B.A., LL^- x
vol. crown 8vo. vellum cloth,
Diary of a Sister of Mercy-
from the Diary of a Sister of Mcrcv. ^Tj^.
M. Brame. x vol. xsmo, extra cloth, X ^^'
Extra gilt, 2
Chrepings After Tmth. A Life-Joumey
from New England Congregationalism to
the One Catholic Apostolic Church. By
Joshua Huntington. One volume veltnm
cloth
The Clergy and tlie Pnlpit
their Relations to the People. By M. l* A bbtf
Isidore MuUois, Chaplain to Napoleon III.
One vol. lamo, extra cloth, . . X
Half-calf, extra, > • 3
Siinholism) or, fizpositien of thm
Doctrinal Differences between Catholics and
Protestants, as evidenced by their Symbolic
Writings. By John A. Moehler, D.D. Trans-
lated from the German, with a Memoir of the
Author, preceded by an Historical Slcetch off
the State of Protestantism and CatboUcmoa
in Germany for the last Hundred Years, tyy
J. B. Robertson, Esq., ^ Ov
An Amicahle Discussion on tlie
Church of England, and on the Reformation
ic general, dedicated to the Clergv of every
Protestant Communion, and reduced into
the form of letters, by the Right Rev. J. F.
M. Trevern, D.D., Bishop of Strasbourg,
'the Rev. William Richmond.
Translated by
X vol. xamo, 580 pages.
200
Anima Divotai or, Devont SoaL
Translated from the Italian of Very Rev. J.
B. Pagani, Provincial of the Order of Char-
ity in England. This is one of the most
instructive and useful books that enrich our
spiritual literature. It is a series of excellent
considerations relative to the Eucharist as a
sacrifice and sacrament, and will be found by
the pious Catholic to be a valuable manuiu
in tne preparation for Holy Communion.
a4mo, cloth, CO cts.
fiona Mors : A Pions Association of
the Devout Servants of our Lord Jesus
Christ, dying on the Cross, in order to obtain
a good death. a4mo, cloth, 25 cts.
Why Men do not Believe ) or The
Principal Causes of Infidelity. Translated
from the French of Mgr. liiforet. Cloth,
100
In Beaven we Enow Onr Mwn.
Translated from the French of Pire Blot, x
vol. x8mo 60 cts.
The See of Peter, the Bock ol the
Church, the Source of Jurisdiction, and the
Centre of Unity. By Thomas William Allies
X vol., cloth, 70 cts.
Oronnds of the Catholic Doctrine^
contained in the Profession of Faith publish-
ed by Pope Pius IV. ; to which are added.
Reasons why a Catholic cannot Confora
to the Protestant Religion, jamo^^ cloth
eta
The Gentle Skeptic or Bssays am
Conversations of a Country Justice on th<
Authenticity and Truthfulness of the Oh
Testament Records. Edited by the Rev. C
A. Walworth, x vol. xamo, • 1 0<
Th0 Doctrim of Bell; ventilated in a
Dncuasioa between Rev. C. A. Walworth
mnd VFm. Henry Burr, x vol. i8mo, 60 cts.
The Devout Conuniuiicanl By Rev.
P- BdLker, 24100, .... 50 cts.
Xko Vinble Unity of the Catholic
Church maintained ag^ainst Opposite Theo-
ries ; with an Explanation of Certain Pas-
st|C«v in Ecclesiastical History erroneously
appealed to in their support. By M. J.
KhodeSs, M.A. a vols, in i. 8vo. cloth extra,
5 00
to a Prebendary. Being an An-
swer to Reflections on Popery by Rev. J.
Sturgis, LL.D. By Right Rev. J. M liner.
O.D, 94010, cloth, .... '75 cts.
A Viadication of Italy and the Papal
States, 40 cts.
Vhm Government of the Papal
States, 50 cts.
KAy Beaeons vrhy the Catholic Re-
Ue^ioc ought to be Preferred, . 40 cts.
Ulb of St. John the Evangeliit 2 00
lafib of Father Bemardy • . 1 50
The BUstrea of Novices Enlightened
upon Her Duties. Translated by a Sister
of Mercy. Net, .... 1 50
CstechUm of Christian Religion.
Tran«Uied from the German of Deharbe,
by Pander, S.J., .... 75 cts.
The Veil Withdrawn. From the French
of Mme. Craven 1 50
Tho Boly Conunonion. Its Philoso-
phy, Theolojfy, and Practice. By John Ber-
nard Daliratrns, Priest of the Oratory of St.
Pbilip Neri. x vol. xamo, . . .2 00
FamiHar IKsconrses to the Tonncf,
Preceded by an Address to Parents. By A
C)«tholic Priest, i vol. lamo, cloth, 75 cts.
Boraihold on the Commandments,
etc. The Commandments and Sacraments
explained in Fifty-two Discourses. By the
RiKhl Rev. Dr. Hornihold, author of '' Real
Principles of Catholics." xamo, cloth, 2 00
SvlritBal Combat. To which is added.
The Peace of the Soul and the Happiness ot
the Heart which Dies to itself in oraer to Live
to God. 3am o, ..... 40 cts.
Practical Discoorses on the Peribc-
tionft and Works of God, aid the Divinitv
and Works of Jesus Chrut. By Rev. J.
Reeve. 8vo, cloth, 2 50
Triumph of Beligionj or, A Choice
Selection of Kdifying Narratives. Compiled
from various autnors. <8mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Syftrttval Consoler $ or, Instmctions
to Eolii^hten Pious Souls in their Doubts and
allavther hears. Written originally in Latin
by Father Quadiupani. i8mo, . 50 cts.
jries on the Seven Tirtaes. ByAgne.
[. Stewart, authoress of *' Festival oi the
osary." (This is a series of moral- and in-
rcalinfl: tales told with an elegant sim-
idty, each illostrating the triumph of one
the seven virtues.) 18 mo, cloth, 50 cts.
tsvy of the Faithfhl Sonl ) or, De-
>tloiis to the Most Holy Stucrament and to
our Blessed Lady. Translated from the work«:
of Venerable Abbot Blosius. By Robert
Aston Coffin, Priest of the Oratory. <8mo,
cloth, 50 cts.
Nonef s Meditations on the liife and
Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, tor Every
Day in the Year. By Rev. J. Nouet, S.J.
To which are added. Meditations on the Sa-
cred Heart of Jesus Christ, being those taken
from a Novena in preparation for a Feast of
the same. By Fatncr C. Borj?o, S.J. One
vol. xamo, 880 pages, .... 2 50
Familiar Instmctions on Mental
Prayer. By the Abb^ Courbon. Translated
from the French, and edited by Rev. W. T.
Gordon, of the Oratory, London, xvol. 16 mo,
cloth 75 cts.
Abridrment of the Christian Doctrine.
By the Right Rev. Bishop Hay. pmo,
cloth, 30 cts.
Confidence in the Mercjr of God.
Reflections on the Confidence in the Mercy
of God. By the Right Rev. Joseph Languet.
i8mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Memorial of a Christian Life.
Containing all thata soul newly converted to
God ought to do that it may attain the per-
fection to which it ought to aspire. By Rev.
Lewis de Granada, O.S.D. Revised and cor-
rected by Rev. F. J. L'Estrange, O.S.D.
T8mo, cloth 75 cts.
Adhemar de Belcastel; or. Be not
Hasty in Judging-, . 1 50
Mary, Star of the Sea: A Story of Cath-
olic Devotion, • • X 50
Life of Christ. Translated from the French
of Louis Veuillot by Rev. A. Farley, i vol.
lamo, 2 00
A Memoir of Thomas Swing of Ohio.
I vol. quarto, net, .... 3 00
Sacred Heart of Jesns and the Sa-
cred Heart of Mary. Translated from the
Italian of Father Lanzi, author of ** History
of Painting," etc. With an introduction by
Rev. C. P. Meehan. 24mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Month of Mary. Containing a Series of
Meditations, etc.. in Honor of the B. V. M.
Arranged for each day of the Month, ^^mo,
cloth, 40 cts.
Peter Claver: A Sketch of His Lile
and Labors in behalf of the African Slave.
X vol. i6mo 75 cts.
Homilies on the Book of Tohias } or.
A Familiar Kxplanalion of the Practical
Duties of Domestic Life. By Rev. T. Mar-
lyn. (Only a few copies of this book left.)
xamo, cloth, 1 00
Connsels of a Christian Mother. 50 cts.
Shadows of the Sood. Eight Lenten
Lectures, .1 00
The Divinity of Christ. By Right Rev.
S. H. Rosecrans, D.D., . 50 cts.
Legends of Holy Mary . 50 cts.
Lenten Lectoros. By the Rev. T. Mc-
Guire 75 cts.
Price of a Sonl, • • • * SO eta.
The Progress of the Age, • • 50 cts.
A Treatise on the Catechism, 50 eta.
Marriage and Family Duties, By Arch-
bishop rurcell, ... • 25 cti.
lO
«t.* s««w «Md ttMBMi iMf ttintioii, 30 cts.
w««iii Nbuuud «f Oovotioii to tho
* • s : lc.il (. ol JesMs, and Spiritual Rou-
50 cts.
UuitAtiMi of fl^crod Heart of Jerai.
tM.Mii 'he L^iiii ot Arnoudt. . 2 50
The Hiddoa Troamre ; or, The Valne
fi Ihih Mass, 50 cts.
Imitatioa of the Blessed
hum Houks. i8mo, cloth.
60 cts.
Interior Chriitiaii, in Eig-ht Books.
with a Supnlement. Extracted from the
WntiriKs ofM. Bernier de Louvigny. iSmo,
-lolU 60 cts.
BOOKS BT THB PA0LIST
The King's Bisrhway; or. The Cath-
'>lic Ohurch the Onlj' Way o< SalTation as
. Revealed in the Holy Scriptures. By Rev.
A. F. Hewit.. i vol. lamo, . 1 50
Questions of the SonL
Hccker. New edition,
Cloth, gilt, .
Bv Rev. I. T.
. . 1 50
. . 2 00
Aspirations of Nature. By Rev. I. T.
Hecker. Fourth Edition, revised, cloth,
extra, 1 ~~
Sermons of the Panlist Fathers, for
1864. New Edition. Cloth, extra, . 1 50
Sermons of the Panlist Fathers, for
1865 and 1866. Cloth, extra, 1 50
Guide to Catholic Tounsr Women.
Especially for those who earntheir own liv-
JnR- By Rev. George Deshon, Missionary
Priest. I vol. lamo. 1 aA
1 00
Life of Father Baker. The Life and
S'ermons of the Rev. Francis A. Raker,
Priest of the Congregation of St. Paul.
Edited by Rev. A. F. Hewit. One vol.
crown 8vo, pp. 504 2 50
Half-calfor morocco extra, .4 00
Sermons of the Panlist Fathers. Vol.
VI. lamo, 336 pages, cloth, . 1 50
A New and Enlarged Edition of Father Young's
Catiiolic Hymns and Canticles. This
edition contains twenty-one new Hymns ;
among which are five Christmas Carols, a
charming carol for Easter, entitled '* The
Alleluia Bells"; several new and original
Songs for Catechism ; the popular Congrega-
tional Hymns sung in the Paulist Church by
the Rosary and Christian Doctrine Societies,
and at the Way of the Cross, etc., the whole
tormmg the most complete Catholic Hymn-
Book ever published. One vol. lamo, 1 00
Problems of the Age, With Studies
in St. Augustine on Kindred Subjects. By
Rev. A. F. Hewit. z vol. tamo, extra cloth,
2 00
New and Enlarged Edition of
The Office of Vespers. Containing Uie
order of the V^espcr Service; the Gro^orUui
Psalm Tones, harmonized, with the Psalms
for all the Vespers during the year pointeci
for chanting. Common melodies for tlie
Antiphons, and the Four Anthems ot tlie
B. V^. Mary. By Rev. Alfred Young. With
the Imprimatur of the Most Rev. Archbishop
of New York. (The Gregorian Tones, a.nd
tl^e words of the Psalms, by a new and
original division, arc so arranged that bm
one pointing of the Psalms, as given, is
needed for all the Tones, with their various
endings.) Single copies, . . 76 cts.
Per dozen, 5 0O
Hymns aud Songs for Catholic Chil-
dren. Containing the most popular Catholic
Hymns for everv season of the Christian
Year, together with May Songs, Christmas
and Easter Carols, for the use of Sunday-
Schools, Sodalities, and Confraternities.
Paper covers, 1 5 cts,
Cloth, flexible, 25 cts.
losrht in Darkness: A Treatise on ^e
Obscure Night of the Soul. By Rev. A. F.
Hewit. i6mo, cloth, extra, . . 75 cts.
The Invitation Heeded : Reasons for a
Return to Catholic Unity. By James Kent
Stone, late President of Kenyon and Hobart
Colleges. I vol. i2mo, . . . 1 "^
The Lift of the^Most Rei^ M. J. Spsl.
ding, D,D., Archbishop of Baltimore. By
Rev. J. L. Spalding. S.T.L. t vol. 8vo, 480
pp., with portrait on steel, bevelled
cloth 4 110
Half-mor. ^ 00
Qood Thinflrs fbr CathoUc Readem.
A Miscellany of Catholic Biography, His-
tory, Travels, etc. Containing Pictures and *
Sicetches of Eminent Persona, representing
the Church and Cloister, the State and Home,
Remarkable Places connected with Religion,
Famous Events in all Lands and Tmies.
With 108 illustrations. Being a compilation
from the first five years of *^The Illustrated
vol. lamo,
200
By
Catholic Family Almanac."
Pleadings of the
Jesus. From the French.
Comerford. Cloth,
Rev. M.
60 cts.
Grapes and Thorns. By the author of
" The House of Yorke." x vol. 8vo, 2 OO
Irish Emisrration to the United States.
Wbat itjias Been, and What Itis. Facts
and Reflections especially Addressed to the
Irish People intending to Emigrate from
their Native land, and to those living in the
Large Cities of Great Briuin and of the
United States. By Rev. Stephen Byrne,
O.S.D. I vol. xamo, cloth, . 1 25
P»Peri 60 cts.
Sacrum Septenarinm; or. The Seven
Gifts of the Holy Ghost, as Exemplified in the
Life and Person of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
for the Guidance and Instruction of€hildrea.
By Rev. Henry Formby. 1 vol. i6nio, 1 25
II
K8 Df PAPfiB GOVEBS.
'■ Beplj to OladstMie.
SOcts.
IWanniwg^i Beply to Glad-
ffO cts.
Tme and tho False Infijlliliility.
By Bishop Fessler 50 cts.
stone..
Syllabtti fiir the People. Ry a
Monk of St. Augustine's, . 25 eta.
St. Rev. Bishop ▼aug'haui'B Beply to
Mr. Gladstone, 25 cts.
UUathome'i Beply to Mr.
Gfasdstoae, 25 cts.
Catholic ChristiaB Instmcted.
By Bishop Challoner. . 20 cts.
Bjtpo e i t ion of the Doctrines
of the Catholic Church on Matters of Con-
trorersy. With Notes. Large edition.
25 cts.
D oBB uu tfs Bzpositioii of the Doctrines
of the Catholic Church on Matters of Con-
trorersy. Without Notes. Small edition,
20cts>
The Peer HIen's Catechism ; or. The
<'hristian Doctrine Explained. . 25 cts.
The Poor Blan's Controversy, 25 cts.
Bad of Beli^ioiis Controversy, 50 cts.
OaSitBin on the Boly Scriptures,
cts.
Omtholic Tracts. Vol. i., . . eo cts.
m
Oaheiwy on the mass, 25 cts.
Oaksley en Catholic Worship, 25 cts.
The Comedy of Convocation in the
English Church, 25 cts.
Net ftr the Fishers of Men, • 6 cts.
FATBBB POBBOBT'S BOOKS.
The Parahles of Onr Xiord Jesns Christ
With twenty-one illustrations, . 25 cts.
Penahy's School Sonn. The junior and
Senior School Song-Book, complete In one.
20 cts.
The Seven Sacraments. With Sixteen
lustrations 25 cts.
9 Seven Dolors of the Blessed Vir-
in Mary. With Seven lUustrations, 15 cts.
• School Eeepsafce. With Hour Illus-
itions 12 cts.
e of Christ Abridged. With several
liuitralions. ..... 25 cts.
Twelve Mhrsteries of the Holy
hood, 25 cts.
BEistorical Catechism. By M. rAbb^
Fleury. Continued down to the Present
Day, Sy Father Formby. i8mo, paper cover,
10 cts.
TBB HOLT BIBLB.
Pocket edition, embossed, plain, . $1 26
Embossed, gilt, 1 75
Calf, red or gilt edge, .... 6 00
Morocco, extra, red edges or gilt, . . 4 60
Morocco or calf, extra, full gilt, . . 6 60
Tooled edge, 6 60
Morocco Turkey, bevelled, . 6 00
12mo editiony embossed, plain, 1 60
Embossed, gilt 2 00
Morocco, 4 00
Morocco, extra, 6 00
Full calf, 6 60
** or morocco, tooled edge, . 7 6Q
8vo edition printed on the finest quality of
paper, with Illustrated Family Record, etc.
Arabesque, gilt, $4 GO
Roan, gilt, 6 00
Morocco, extra, bevelled, . .7 60
Full calf, bevelled 8 60
** or morocco, tooled edge, . 60
NBW TESTAniEZVT.
12mo cloth, $0 76
Embossed, gilt, 1 26
Roan, gilt, 2 60
Morocco, extra, bevelled 4 60
32mo cloth, embossed, . $0 40
Arab, gilt, 76
Roan, full gilt 1 00
Turkey morocco, 2 60
Full calf, 8 00
POLLOWDTO OP CUBIST.
In Four Rooks. By Thomas k Kern pis, with
Reflections at the conclusion of each chapter.
Translated from the French for this edition.
iSmo, cloth, $0 60
Arabesque, gilt 1 00
ninstrated 12mo edition. , .^
Roan 1 60
Turkey morocco, super extra, . . 4 00
Full calf, 6 00
Withont the Beflections. 3^mo.
Cloth, extra 40
Roan, gilt edge 1 00
Turkey morocco, super extra, . . 2 60
Full calf, 3 00
OPPICB OF HOLT WBBK.
According to the Roman Missal and Breviary,
in Latin and English. New and revised edi-
tion. i8mo, cloth, $0 76
Arabesque, gill, 1 60
Roan, gilt 2 00
Morocco, gilt, ... .3 60
12
PRAYER-BOOKS.
\ '.KW, RSVISBD, AND BNLARGBD EDITION OT
THB MISSION BOOK.
A Manual of Instructions and Prayers, adapted
to preserve the Fruits of thb Mission.
Drawn chieflv from the Works of St. Al-
phonsus Lie:uori Nbw. Improved, and Hn-
LAK'-BD EmriON. TAe handsomest Prayer-
Boflk ^uhliskid. Edited by the Paulist
Kalhera. 6ao pa^es. illustrated with new
Steel Bnirravings, got up exoresslv for this
edition. It contains a complete Vesperal,
with notes and other additions, making it lao
pa^es larger than former editions.
Fine fiditioil. -Arabesque plain.
Arabesque, eilt, ....
Roan, iull gilt, ....
Roan, lull gilt, clasps, .
Morocco, exira, bevelled, .
Morocco, extra, bevelled, clasps.
Mor., extra, bev. tooled edges, etc.,
Morocco, rims and tooled e«(ges.
Full calf, . ...
Full calf, flexible, ....
Full calf, bevelled.
Full calf, tooled edges, etc.,
Full calf, rims and tooled edges,
.$1 00
50
76
2 00
4 00
60
60
00
60
00
00
6 60
7 60
1
1
4
6
7
4
6
6
Cheap BditiolL-Arabesque, plain, . $0 76
Arabesque, embossed, eilt edges, 1 26
Arab., embossed, gilt eciges and dps. 1 50
Roan, gilt, 1 60
Roan, gilt and clasps, .... 1 76
Morocco, 2 26
Morocco, full gilt, .... 2 50
Morocco, extra, 3 50
Morocco, extm, bevelled clasps, . 4 50
This edition is printed on clear white paper
from the same type, and contains the same
matter as the fine edition, making it the cheap-
.est Prayer-Book ever published.
DAILY COniPANION.
Containing a Selection of Prayers and Devo-
tional Exercises for the use of Children.
Embellished with thirty-six very neat illus-
trative Engravings. 3amo, cloth, . $0 25
Arabesque, plain, 60
Arabesque, gilt, 60
Roan, gilt, 75
Roan, full gilt, 1 00
Morocco, gilt, 2 00
Full calf, antique, .... 2 60
Full calf, rimmed and clasp. . 4 00
This book is printed on the finest quality of
paper, and is a most appropriate present for
children.
CHRISTIAN'S OUIDB TO
HBAVEN.
jamo, arabesque $0 50
Arabesque, gilt, 75
Roan, full gUt, 1 25
Morocco, extra, 2 50
Full calf, antique, .... 3 00
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 4 00
CATBOLIC MA lV0AIk
Containing a Selection of Prayers »°<' JJ^^^Jr
tional Exercises. i8mo, cloth, . . $0 Vo
Arabesque, plain.
Arabesque, gilt.
Am. mor. gilt,
Morocco, extra,
FuH calf, antique.
Full calf, rimmed and clasp
1
1
3
4
6
6ARDBN OF THB SOUIi)
Or, A Manual of Spiritual Exercises and
structions for Christians who, living in
world, aspire to devotion. By Right R
34mo, cloth, . . 90
A
I li-
the
Dr. Chai.i.onf.r.
Arabesque, gilt.
Roan, full gift,
Morocco, gilt.
Full calf, antique.
Full calf, rimmed and clasp
1
2
8
5
THE EBT OF HEAVBN ;
Or, Devout Christian's Daily Companion. Xo
whicli is added. Daily Devotion; or. Profit-
able Manner of Hearing Mass. Illustrated.
S4mo, cloth $0 50
Arabesque, gilt, 1 OO
Roan, full gilt, 1 50
Morocco, gilt 2 60
Full calt antique 3 OO
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . . 5 OO
TRUB PDBTT;
.Or, The Day Well Spent. A Manual of Fer-
vent Prayers, Pious Reflections, and Solid
Instructions for Catholics. i8mo.
Arabesque and cloth, .... $0 75
Arabesque gilt, 1 25
Roan, red edge, 2 00
American morocco, gilt, . . .2 25
American morocco, full gilt, . . 2 50
Morocco, gilt, 8 QO
Full calf, antique, , . . . 4 50
Full calt, rimmed and clasp, . . 6 OO
PIOUS GUIDB TO PRATBB AND
DEVOTION.
Containing various Practices of Piety calcu-
lated to answer the demands of the devout
members of the Catholic Church. i8mo.
Arabesque ^0 75
Arabesque, gilt, 1 25
Am. mor., gilt edge, .... 2 26
Am. mor., full gilt, .... 2 1^
Turkey mor., super extra, 8 plates, . $3 06
Full calf, antique, .... 4 50
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 OO
This Prayer-Book contains the Profession ot
Faith, Bona Mors Festivals explained, as well
as other important things not generally JFound
in prayer-books.
PIOUS GUIDB.
141110, cloth, .
Arabesque, gilt, . . . ,
Roan, full gilt
Morocco, gi>t, . . . ,
Full calf, antique.
Full calf, rimmed and clasp,
$0 50
1 00
1 60
260
8 00
600
13
PATH TO PAHADISS.
\ Scieclion of Prayers and Devotions for Ca-
'Jiolics. 48mo, cloth, . . $0 2C
Aimbesqoe, gilt^ 40
Roan, full gilt, . . t. . . 75
Morocco^ {silt, 1 26
Fall caJf, antique 1 76
Full cmU, rimmed and clasp, . 8 00
Ths most completb Praysr-Book
published.
TBB CATHOLIC'S ViU>B MECUM.
K Select Manual of Prayers for Daily Use.
Compiled from approved sources. New and
unproved edition, reprinted from the last
London edition, containini^ Epistles and
Gospels. SCO P»gc«, 24010. A^ ««
Arabesque, plain, 90 76
Arabesque, gilt, 1 00
Roan, fiiU gilt, 1 60
Full morocco, 3 00
Fall calf. 4 00
KXnr OT PARADISE;
Openinfc the Gate to Eterna> Salvation, lamo
arabesque $0 76
Arabesque, gilt, . . ' . .1 26
Am. mor. full eilt, .2 60
Morocco, gilt, 3 60
Fall calf, antique, . 4 60
Fell calf, rtmmed and clasp, . . 6 00
A PraycT-Book for Men. This book is printed
from beautiful lar^e type, on extra fine
French paper, and, although containing 650
paec^, is only ^ inch thick, ??-4 inches long,
ana a)^ inches wide. It contains, besides
Festival Days, etc., A Summary of Christian
Doctrifcc—Mornlng and Evening Prayers—
TUe Tkree LiUnies— The Complete Mass. in
I-atin and English— Vespers— and the Epis-
tles and Gospels*
Arabesque, $6 60
ATat>esque, gilt edge 76
Ro«Q.inlt 1 26
Morocco, extra 2 60
Full calf, 3 00
Mor-Kjco, tuck 3 00
The Pocket Praver-Book, without Epistles
and Gos{>els. Suitable for the Vhst Pockkt.
Arabesque $0 40
Embossed, gilt, 66
Roan, gilt 1 00
Morocco 1 60
Full calf, limp 2 00
Morocco, tuck, 2 00
The ^'' Nonpartir'' 0/ Prayer- Beaks.
"" RED LlXra " POCKET
PRATER-BOOS FOR MEN.
Containing Epistlbs axd Gospels.
Arabesque, gilt edge, -91 00
Roan, full gilt, . . * . . • ^ gg
Morocco, extra, 3 00
Full calf, 4 00
Large Type Frayer-'B4>«k,
MANUAL OF_CATHOLIC DIVI-
NITT.
With Epistles and Gospels. i8mo.
Arabesque, plain, $0 76
Arabesque, gilt, 1 26
Roan, full gilt 1 60
Morocco, extra, 3 60
Full calf, extra, 4 00
Xnannal of the Blessed Sacrament.
Published with the Approhaiion ol his Emi-
nence Cardinal McCloskey.
Arabesque, $1 00
Roan, gilt 2 00
Morocco, extra 3 50
Calf, extra, 4 50
The People't; Pictorial Lives of the
Saints, Scriptural and Historical. Abridged,
for the most part, from those of the late Kev.
Alban Butler. In packages of la each. One
packet now ready, containing the lives of
twelve different saints. Per packet, 25 cts.
These are got up expressly for Sunday-school
presents.
Packets of Scripture ninstrations.
Containing Fifty Engravings of Subjects
from the Old and New Testaments, aflci
original designs by Elster. Price, loose
packages of fifty, .... 75 cts.
Twenty Dlnstrations of the Holy
Gospels. Done in colors after original de-
signs. With appropriate texts, . 25 cts.
ninminated Sonday-School
Ten Cards in each Packet.
Cards.
First series, net.
Second series, net, .
Third scries, net, .
Fourth series, net, .
SUNDAY-SCHOOL CLASS-BOOKS.
The Catholic Teacher's Sunday-school Class
Book. No. 1, paper, per dozen, . 1 00
The Sunday-school Class-books. Cloth, No. «,
per doz. ... 2 00
The Catholic Publication Society,
LAWRENCE KEHOE, Gen. Agent,
9 Warren Street,
New York.
Foreign Books.
t-??* Bookn ordered from this lid will not be taken back or exchanged,
J-iV" ^1 diMVitiit from prices not marked net is allowed to cle7'gym^\\
libraries, and relifjious institutions.
I'^?" Any of the folio win (J books not on hand, will be ordered if so desired!
-♦♦4-
A CoiupariBon between tbe His-
tory of the Church and the
Prophociea of the Apocalypse, $1 00
A Devout Paraphrase on the Seven
Penitential Psalms ; or, Practi-
cal Uuide to Repentance. Rev.
K. Blyth. ... .50
A Dialogue of Comfort ajfalnst
Tribulation. Sir Thomas More, 1 50
A Directory for Novices of every
Rellfyious Order, . . . 1 00
Adventures of a Watch, . 1 00
A Few Flowers from the Garden, 1 00
At'ttirnoous with the Saints. W.
H. Anderdon, D.D. First and
Second Series, . . 1 20
A Hundred Meditations on the
Love of God. Robert Southwell,
of the Society of Jesus, Priest
and Martyr. With Portrait.
1 vol. 12mo, . . 3 00
Allies' St. Peter, his Name and his
Office, as set forth in Holy Scrip-
ture, 2 50
Allies, T. W. The Formation of
(•hristendom. 2 vols., . . 13 00
An Essay on the Druids, Ancient
Churches, and Round Towers
of Ireland. Rev. R. Smiddy.
18mo 2 00
An Introduction to History of
France 1 50
Ante-Nicene Christian Library.
Translations of the Writinfirs of
the Fathers down to a.d. 325. 24
vols. out. Per vol., . . . 3 00
Apostolic Fathers. 1 vol.
Justin Martyr and Athenafi^oras. 1
vol.
Tatian. Theophilus, and the Cle-
mentines. 1 vol.
Clement of Alexandria. Vol. 1.
Irenasue. Vol. 1.
Hippolytus. Vol. 1.
Tertullian a(;rain8t Marcion. 1 vol.
Cyprian. Vol. 1.
The Completion of IrenfiPus and
Hippolytus. 1 vol.
The Writinjrs of Orisren. Vol. 1.
Clement of Alexandria. Vol. 2.
Tertullian. Vol. 1.
The Writings of Methodius. 1 vol.
Cyprian. Vol. 2.
Apocryphal Writings. 1 vol.
Tertullian. Vol. 2.
The Clementines and Apostolic
Constitutions. 1 vol.
Tertullian. Vol. 3.
Arnobius. 1 vol.
Dionysius, Gregory Thaumaturg-us,
etc.
Lactantius. 2 vols.
Origen. Vol. 2 (completion).
Early Liturgies and Remaining
Fragments.
Anti-Janus. Dr. HergenrOther, $2 50
Arbitration Instead of War. Rt.
Hen. Ijord Montagu, M.P.
Paper, . 1 00
A Remembrance for the Living to
Pray for the Dead. Rev. James
Mumford, S.J 1 00
A Reply to Faber's " Difficulties
of Romanism/' Rev. F. C. Hu-
senbeth, 3 00
A Series of Papers in Vindication
of Catholicism. E, W. Atwood,
B.A 2 50
A Spiritual Compendium, in
which the Principal Difficulties
in the Way of Perfection are ex-
plained. Father Gaspar de la
Figuera, of the Society of Je-
sus. 2 00
A Theory of the Fine Arts, . . 2 00
Atwood 8 Stromata Procatholica.
A Series of Papers principally
Procatholic or Antidotal to Anti-
christianism, . 1 50
Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury,
Life of. Mrs. Hope, . . 2 00
Bellarmlne, Cardinal. Commen-
tary on the Psalms. Cloth, 3 50
Book of Moses ; or, The Penta-
teuch, in its Authdrship, Credi-
bility, and Civilization. Rev.
W. Smith, Ph.D. Vol. 1, . .71
British and Irish History, a Manu-
al of. R«v. Thos. Flanagan, . 5
Butler's (Rev. Alban) Meditations
and Discourses on the Sublime
Truths and Important Duties of
14
15
< lirialiaBity. 2 voIb. post Wvo,
cloth $4 00
('Alderon, Dramas of. Traffic,
Oomic, and L*»gpndary. Trans-
lated from the Spanish by D. F.
McCarthy. 2 vols., . . 6 00
Campion, Kdmond : a Biography.
Riehani Simpson, .5 25
Cardinal Mezzofanti, the Life of.
(\ W. RuMell. D.D., . . 4 00
rafliian*B Conferences. Father Ro-
bert, of Mount St. Bernard'H Ab-
bey. 2 vols 2 50
CtflwaU's Hymns and Poems, . 2 50
Caiechetical Reading-Book — Hia-
lory and Doctrine, ... 75
Catholic Doctrine of the Atone-
ment. Henry Nutcombe Oben-
ham, M.A., . . 5 00
Ceremonial according to the Ro-
man Rite. Translated from the
Italian of Joseph Baldesclii. Rev.
J. D. Hilarius Dale. New «d., . 3 25
Challoner's Memoirs of Missionary
Priests, and other Catholics of
both sexes, that have suffercKl
iVath in England on Religious
Accoants from 1557 to 1684, . 1 50
Christian Counsels. Selected from
the Devotional Works of F(*n-
eloD, 2 50
Chronicles and Memorials of Great
Britain and Ireland during the
Middle Ages. Henry Thomas
Riley, M.A. 2 vols., . 12 00
Companion of the Sick. A. F.
Ounam. Large type, . 1 50
Compendium of the Art of Always
Rejoicing. F. Alphonsus de
Sarasa, 1 00
Contemporary Annals of Rome, . 2 50
CoDverslon o'f the Teutonic Race,
Mrs. Hope. 2 vols. 12mo, . 6 00
Gooat de Montalembert's Letters
to a Schoolfellow— ia27--30.
Translated from the French by
C. F. Audley 2 50
Connt Lucanor ; or, Fifty Pleasant
Stories of Patronio. Don Juan
Maoual 2 00
•reation, The Simplicity of; or,
The Astronomical Monument
to the Blessed' Virgin. W.
Adolph, 2 50
D«ily Manual of the Third Order
of St. Dominic, in Latin and
Eoglish, 1 00
D-— n of Gold. Hendrlk Con-
nce, 1 50
1^ oinville's Life of St. Louis,
ig of France. . 1 25
^ re's Infant Bridal, and other
ros, 3 00
C ire'n Sitters Inisfail, and other
ms, 2 50
De Vere's Legends of St. Patrick, %2 00
Diana : The Sonnets and other
Poems of Henry Constable, with
Notes. Thomas Park, . . 2 50
Digby's Children's Bower ; or.
What You Like. 2 vols., . . 5 50
Digby's Conipitum ; or. The Meet-
ing of the Ways of the Catholic
Church. 4 vols., . 12 00
Digby's Evenings on the Thames.
2 vols 7 50
Directory for Novices of every
Religious Order, particularly
those Devoted to the Education
of Youth, 1 25
Divinity of Jesus Christ. Augus-
te Nicolas, . . . . . 2 00
Dublin, Gilbert's History of, from
the earliest period to the present
timq. 3 vols., . . . 6 00
Ecclesiastical Antiquities of lion-
don and Suburbs. Alexander
Wood, M.A., . . 2 50
Echoes of the Vatican, . . 1 75
England, Dodd's Church History
of. 5 vols. 8vo, . . . 20 00
Essay on Beatification, Canoniza-
tion, and the Processes of the
Congregation of Rites. Faber, . 1 00
Extracts from the Fathers, Histo-
rians, and other Writers of the
Church. Literally Translated, . 1 50
Faber's Hymns, . . . 3 25
Faber's Poems, . . . . 4 00
Faber's Notes on Doctrinal and
Spiritual Subjects. 2 vols., . 5 00
Fabei's Spirit and Genius of St.
Philip Neri 1 00
Faith and Reason. Abbe Martinet, 2 75
Father Ignatius, Life of, . 2 50
Fathers of the Desert, Lives of
the, 3 75
Florine. Princess of Burgundy.
A Tale of the First Crusade.
William Bernard McCabe. New
edition 2 00
Flowers of Mary ; or. Devotions for
each Month in the Year, . . 1 50
Fullerton (Lady Georgiana), Seven
Stories, 1 50
God in his Works. Father Rawes, 1 25
Gold Digger, and other Poems.
Lady Fullerton, . . 2 00
Good Deeds. Sketches of Holy and
Devoted Lives 50
Gospel Harmony of the Life of
Our Lord, 1 00
Gosselin. The Power of the Pope
during the Middle Ages. 2 vols., 5 00
Great Truths in Little Words. Rev.
Father Rawes, O.S.C, . . 1 50
Heart to Heart with Jesus. 75
Henry Suso, The Life of. By him-
self, 2 00
Henry VIII., The Life of, . .2 50
16
Hutory of the Church in Ed (inland.
Very Rev. Canon Flanigan. 2
vols., $9 00
Higher Paths in Spiritual Life, . 50
Historyof the Viceroys of Ireland.
J. T. Gilbert, . . . . 3 50
Holy Confidence. Father Rogacci, 1 00
Holy Isle, The, ... 50
Homeward : A Tale of Redemp- *
tion. Rev. Father Rawe8,O.S.C., 1 50
Howard. The Life of Philip Tho-
mas Howard, O.P., Cardinal of
Norfolk, 3 75
Hymns of the Church, . . 2 25
Intentions for Mass and HolyX'oui-
munion, for every Day in the
Year, 75
In the Snow. Rev. W. H. Ander-
. don, 1 00
Ireland, A History of. Martin
Haverty, 4 00
Ireland and her Churches. James
Godkin, 8 00
Ireland. A Selection from the
Family Archives of The Mc-
Gillicuddy of the Reeks, with
an Introductory Memoir. W.
Maziere Brady, D.D. 4to, cloth, 10 50
Ireland. Ecclesiastical History of
Ireland, from the Introduction of
Christianity into that Country to
the Year 1829. Rev. M. J. Bren-
nan, O.S.F., . . . 5 00
Ireland. Prof. O'Curry's I^ectures
on the MS. Materials for Irish
History 5 00
Ireland. Rise and Fall of the Irish
Franciscan Monasteries in the
17th Century. Father Meehan, 75
Ireland. The Life and Letters of
Florence McCarthy Reagh, Ta-
nist of Carbery, McCarthy Mor.
Daniel McCarthy, of Glean-a-
Chroim. 1 vol. 8vo, . , . . 8 50
Ireland. The Towers and Tem-
ples of Ancient Ireland. Marcus
Keane, M.R.I.A., . . 8 00
Ireland. The Irish Reformation ;
or, The Alleged Conversion of
the Irish Bishops at the Acces-
sion of Queen Elizabeth, and the
Assumed Descent of the Present
Established Hierarchy in Ireland
from the Ancient Irish Church,
Ex|»08ed. W. Maziere Brady,
D.D . 1 00
Ireland under English Rule. Rev.
Father Perraud, ... 4 60
Jesus Christ : A Reply to M.
Renan. Pdre Gratry, . 76
Jesuits in Conflict ; or, Historic
Facts IllustrKtive of the Times
of Queen Elizabeth. 1 vol.
12mo, 2 60
JesuB, the Son of Mary ; or, The
Doctrine of the Catholic Churclx
upon the Incarnation of God ttie
Son. Rev. John Brande Morris ,
A.M. 2 vols. 8vo, . . ^6 00
Julian Watts Russell, Pontific&l
2iOuave. A Memoir, . .1 00
Lady May: A Pastoral. Lady
Chatterton, . . . . 1 50
Lectures on Certain Portions of
the Earlier Old Testament His-
tory. Rev. Philip G. Muuro.
1 vol. 12mo, . . . 1 75
Lectures on Catholic Faith and
Practice. Sweeney, . . . -4 50
Lectures on the Lite, WritingB,
and Times of Edmund Burke.
J. B. Robertson, Esq., . . 3 00
Lectures on the (Ecumenical Conn-
cil. Rev. J. N. Sweeney, O.S.B. 2 50
Legends of Our Lady and the
Saints ; or, Our Children's Book
of Stories in Verse, . . . 1 25
Letters of the Most Rev. John
MacHale, D.D., Archbishop of
Tuam ^ . 5 26
Life and Death of the Most Rev.
Francis Kirwan, Bishop of Kil-
lala, 2 50
Life and Spirit of Father Augus-
tine Baker, 1 25
Life of Beato Angelico da Fiesoie,
of the Order of Friars-Preach-
ers, 4 00
Life of Blessed Alphonsus Rodri-
guez, Lay -Brother of the Society
of Jesus. With engraved por-
trait. 1 vol. crown 8vo, . . 2 50
Life of Blessed Margaret Mary.
Rev. George Tickell. 1 vol.
8vo . 2 50
Life of Blessed Peter Favre, of the
Society of Jesus, first companion
of St. Ignatius Loyola. From
the Italian of Father Gulseppe
Boero, . . . . 3 25
Life of Louis Marie Grignon de
Montfort 2 50
Life of St. Bernardine of Siena. 1
vol. 12mo, 2 50
Life of St. Dominick and other
Saints. Illnstrated, . . . 5 50
Life of St. Francis of Assisium.
Rev. Father Murphy, O.S.F.. . 1 00
Life of St. Francois de Sales.
1 vol., 2 00
Life of St. German, Bishop of Aux-
erre 1 75
Life of St. Philip Neri, Apostle of
Rome. Mrs. Hope, . . . 1 60
Life of St. Walburge. Rev.
Thomas Meyrick, . . . 1 00
Life of Vincent Palloti, Founder
of the Pious Society of Missions.
Melia, 2 00
Life of Father Henry Young, . 1 75
17
life of Stephen L&ngrton, A.rcb-
biahop of Canterbarj, $1 25
Life of Anne Catherine Emme-
rich 2 50
liipiori on the Reli^rionB State, . 50
linirard. The History and An-
tiqaitT of the Anglo-Saxon
Chareh. 2 vols., . 5 00
Un«rard's True Acconnt of the
Ganpowder Plot, . 1 25
Lhtle Book of the Love of God, . 1 00
LlTes of the most Eminent Paint-
nv, Scalptore, and Architects
of the Order of St. Dominic.
Translated hj Rev. C. P. Mee-
han. 2 vols 5 00
\joird Dacre of Gilsland ; or, The
Rjsinii^ in the North. An His-
torical Romance. E. M. Stewart, 2 50
Loretto and Nazareth. William
Antonj Hutchison, . . 2 50
Love of Holy Church. From the
French of M. I'Abb^ Petit. Ed-
ward Caswall, 1 00
Love for the Holy Eucharist, . 1 00
Luther. History of the Life, Writ-
ings, and Doctrines of. M. Au-
din. 2 vol* 5 00
Mahometanism in its Relation to
Prophecy. Andrew Lisle Phil-
lips 2 25
Manning's Celebrated Answer to
the Rev. C. Ijeelie's Case Stated,
between the Church of Rome and
the Church of England, . . 1 75
Manning's England and Christen-
dom -. 6 00
Manning's Essays on Religion and
Literature. Various Writers.
Edited by Archbp. Manning.
Vol. L, 5 25
Manning. The same. Vol. II., . 7 00
Manning. The same. Vol. III., 5 25
Manning's Love of Jesus to Peni-
tents 1 00
Manning's Moral Entertainments. 2 00
Manning's St. Francis Assisi, the
LlUle Flowers of, . . 1 50
Manning's Temporal Power of the
Pope 2 50
Maaaal of Devotions to Our Holy
Father Saint Benedict, . 1 50
Mianal of Devotion to the Sacred
Heart of Jesus. Father Gautrelet, 1 25
Ma&nal of Instruction in the Chris-
tian Doctrine 1 50
Manoal of the Third Order of St.
ancts of Assisi. 2 vols., . 8 00
M jTuerite Hibbert. A Memoir, 50
M -faret Verflassen : A picture
m the Catholic Church, . 1 50
M yrs Omitted by Foxe. Being
ix>rds of Religious Persecu-
IS in the 16th and 17th Cen-
'-» 1 25
Mary Magnifying God. Rev. F.
Humphrey, O.S.C., •.$! 25
May Papers ; or. Thoughts on the
Litanies of Loretto, .
Meynell's Short Sermons, chiefly
on Doctrinal Subjects, . . 2 00
Meditations for Every Day in the
Year. 2 vols., . . 4 50
Meditations for the Use of the
Clergy. From the Italian of
Scoti. 4 vols., . . . 8 00
Meditations of St. Anselm, . . 2 50
Meditations of St. Thomas on the
Purgatiye,Illuminative.and Uni-
tive Ways, for a Retreat of Ten
D»y8, 2 50
Meditations on Divine Love.
Father Vincent Huby, S.J., . 1 50
Meditations on the Veni Sancti Spi-
rituB» 50
Meditatio7tB for Every Day in the
Year and the Principal Feasts.
F. Lan* icius, S.J., . .8 25
Meditati( ns on the Life and Doc-
trine ol Jesus Christ, . . 5 25
Memoir and Correspondence of
Viscount Castlereagh. 4 vols., 12 00
Mllner, Life of the Right Rev.
John, D.D. F. C. Husenbeth,
D.D.,V.Q., 4.00
Month of March, St. Joseph, Pro-
tector of the Church and Model
of Christians. Madame de Gen-
tell es. Paper. ... 50
Month of Mary of Our Lady of
Lourdes.* Henry Lasserre, . 1 25
Moran's Essays on the Origin,
Doctrines, and Discipline of the
Early Irish Church, . . 8 26
Moran's Life of Oliver Plunket,
ArchbishoD of Armagh, . . 8 76
Moran's History of the Catholic
Archbishops of Dublin since the
Reformation, . . . 8 00
Nature and Grace. William Geo.
Ward. . . 6 00
Nazareth. Mrs. Cashel Hoey, . 1 50
Newman, V. Rev. John Henry,
D.D., Works of. " New
Eklitions :
Theological Tracts, . 4 00
Lectures on the Present Posi-
tion of Catholics in Eng-
land 8 50
Sermons on Various Occa-
sions, 3 00
Difficulties of Anglicanism, . 8 50
An Espay on the Miracles, . 8 00
The Office and Work of Uni-
versities 8 00
The Scope and Nature of
University Education, . 8 00
Parochial and Plain Sermons.
Complete in 8 vols. Per
vol., 2 86
i8
Sermons on Sabjects of the
Day. .... |2 25
SermoBB before the Univer-
sity of Oxford, . . . 2 25
EsBays, Critical and Historical.
2 vols., . . . 6 00
The History of the Arians, . 4 00
Historical Sketches. 3 vols., 9 00
Lectures on Justification, . 2 25
Callista, 2 25
Church of the Fathers, . . 2 50
Discussions and Ar^raments, . 3 00
Never Forjfotten ; or. The Home
of the Lost Child, . 1 75
Nine Considerations on Eternity, 1 25
Of Adoration in Spirit and Truth.
Written in Four Books. John
Eusebius Nieremberpr, S.J., . 3 00
Oliver's Collections Illustrating
the History of the Catholic Re-
lijirion in the Counties of Corn-
wall, Devon, Dorset, Somerset,
Wilts, and Gloucester, . 4 00
Oliver's Collections toward Illus-
trating the Biography of the
Scotch, English, and Irish Mem-
bers of the Society of Jesus, . 6 00
On Justification: What Saith the
Scripture ? Canon S. Eccles, . 1 50
On some Popular Errors Concern-
fng Politics and Religion, . 3 00
Origin and Progress of Religious
Orders, and Happiness of a Re-
ligions State. Patrick Man-
nock, 1 50
Our Lady's Month, . 1 00
Our Lady's Dowry, . . . 4 50
Paganism in Education. Abb^
Gaume, . ' . 1 00
Papal Sovereignty, The, Viewed in
its Relations to the Catholic Re-
ligion. Mgr. Dupanloup, . . 3 00
Particular Ezamen of Conscience
according to the Method of St.
Ignatius. Father Luis de la
Palma, 1 25
Peace through the Truth. Father
Harper, S. J. Part I., . . 7 00
Peace through the Truth. Part
II 10 50
Perry's Practical Sermons for all
the Sundays of the Tear. First
Series, 2 00
The Same. Second series, . . 2 00
Pictures of Youthful Holiness.
Rev. R. Cook, O.M.L 1 vol.
16mo, 1 25
Pizarro, Life of. Arthur Helps, . 3 00
Plunket, Life, Letters, and
Speeches of. His grandson, Hon.
David Plunket. 2 vols., . .14 00
Protestant Journalism, . . 5 00
Purgatory Surveyed, . . 1 50
Realities of Irish Life. W. Bteuart
Trench, 5 00
•
. 2
75
2 00
. 9 50
3 00
Reflections and Prayers for Holy
Communion, ^3
Remarkable Conversions, .1
Revelations of Rome. Rev. J.
Turner, M.A., .
Rise and Fall of the Franciscan
Monasteries in Ireland,
Robertson's Lectures on Ancient
History, . . . . -
Ritual of the New .Testament.
An Essay on the Character and
Origin of the Catholic Ritual.
Being the second edition of "In
Spirit and in Truth." Rev. T
E. Bridgett. 1 vol. 12mo,
Robertson's Lectures on Modem
History, Biography, and Mason •
ry.
Rock's Church of our Fathers.
Illustrated with many Engrav-
ings on Wood and Copper. 4
vols. 8vo, ... 24 00
Rock's Letter t6 Lord Manners, . 1 50
Saint Mary and her Times. The
author of Geraldine, . . 1 00
Selections from the Poets. De
Vere . 2 00
Septem ; or. Seven Ways of Hear
ing Mass,
Sermons — Liguori's,
McCarthy's,
'Massillon's,
Bourdaloue's, .
Murray's (Archbishop), .
Meynell'S) . . ^
Moroney's,
Murphj's,
By the Fathers of the Sodety
of Jesus,
By Father Harper, S. J.,
Rossi's, 1 76
Newman's Parochial. 8
vols 18 00
Newman's Subjects of the
Day, ....
Newman's Various Subjects, .
Newman's University Ser-
mons, . , \ .
Sketches of Religious Life on the
Continent, 1 75
Spirit of St. Gertrude, ... 75
Spirit of St. Teresa, . . 1 00
Spirit of the Cur6 of Ars, . . 1 50
Spiritual Retreat of the Rev.
Father Colombi^re, of the So-
ciety of Jesus, . 1 00
Spiritual Works of Louis of
Blois, 1 75
St. Augustine on Christian Doc-
trine, etc., . . . .80
St. John of the Cross, The Com-
plete Works of. 2 vols., 14
St. Peter's Day in the Vatican.
Canon Pope, .20
8t. Teresa, Life of. David Lewis, 5 5
1 00
8 00
3 00
8 00
. 8 00
10 50
2 00
3 00
3 00
8 00
8 00
2 25
3 00
2 25
19
1 00
1 50
25
1 00
1 00
5 00
Teresa's Interior Castle. |1 75
Teresa's Book of FouDdstioDS, 5 00
'it Tereaa's Lettersi, . 1 75
Bt. Tereea'8 Way of Perfection, . 1 75
ioema, tbe Little African Slave, . 1 00
6«mmer Talks aboQt I^ardes, . 1 00
Barsam ; or. Sparks Flying Up-
warda. Rev. H. A. Rawes, . 1 50
8oao, Blessed Henry. Little Book
^ of Et«mal Wisdom, . 1 76
Sweeney's Lecture on the Nature,
tlie Q rounds, and the Home of
Faitb, 1 75
Tales and Sketches for Fireside
ReadinfTB 1 50
T<*stimr>nies to the Most High,
drawn from tbe Books of Na-
ture and Revelation, .
Tbe Abb6 Zouave ; or. The Life of
'Joseph Louis Querin,
Tbe AbboU of St. Albans. A
Chrofniele, ....
Tbe Art of Dying well,
Tbe Blessed ODmelius, Archbishop
of Annsgb. Dr. Dixon. .
The Blened Viripn's Root traced
In the Tribe of Ephraim,
Tbe Catholic Church in Scotland.
Rev, J. F. 8. Gordon. 1 vol.
qnarto, ... 12 50
Tbe Choice of a State of Life, . 1 50
Tbe Christian ^eop. Edited by
Dr. Anderdon 2 00
The Condition of Catholics under
Jsmes I.. Father Gerard's Nar-
lative of the Gunpowder Plot.
Edited, with his Life, by John
Horns, B.J.,
The Corean Martyrs. Canon
Shortland, ....
Tbe Crown Hymn-B(X)k,
Tbe Day Sancti6ed , being Medi.
tatioQs and Spiritual Headings
for Daily Use,
The Devout Client of Mary In-
structed in the Motives and
Mfaos of Serving? her Well.
Father 8t>flrneri, S.J..
The Dialogues of 8. Grejfory the
Or»at
Ths Directorium Ascetioum; or,
Guide to the Spiritual Life.
John Baptist Scaramelli, S.J.
4 vols 13 00
The Divine Cloud. Father Au-
irustiu Baker, O.S.B., . 2 00
The Eternal Happiness of the
"'inU I 50
T Dolorous Pa5«ion of our Lord
tus Christ. From the Medi-
ons of Catharine Emme-
1 1 75
T .Sodesiastical Choir-Book. A
t^ection of Motets, Hymns, and
I, fren the Great Masters
6 00
1 00
8 00
1 75
1 00
8 00
of the Sixteenth Century. 1
vol. qaarto, $6 00
The Evidence for the Papacy.
Hon. Cohn Lindsay, . . . 6 00
The Hidden Lifeof J(«us, . 1 50
The History of the Christian Coun-
cils, from Ori^nal Documents to
tbe close of tl^e Council of Nice,
A.D. 825. Bishop Hefele, . 6 00
The History of Irish Periodical
Literature. Richard Robert
Madden, M.R.I. A. 2 vols., 10 00
The History of the Sacred Passion.
Palma, 3 00
The King and the Cloister; or,
Le^feDds of the Dissolution. 1
vol. 12mo, . . 1 25
The LeiQrends of Mount Leinster, 1 25
The Letters of Placidas on Educa-
tion, 1 50
The Life and Labors in Art and
Archaeology of George Petrie.
William Stokes, M.D., . 6 25
The Life of Father Baltbasar Al-
varez, Religious of the Society of
Jesus. F. Louis Du Pont. 2
vols 8 60
The Life of John Banim, the Irish
Novelist. Patrick J. Murray, . 1 00
Tbe Life of M. Olier, . . 2 JX)
The Life of Luisa De Carvajal.
Lady Fullerton, . 2 50
The Life of Monseigneur Verneux,
Vic. Apostolic of Cores. With
a Preface by Lady Herbert. 1
vol. 16rao 1 26
The Life of Paul Seigneret of Saint
Sulpicie. 1 vol. 18mo. . 76
The Life of St. Ignatius of Loy-
ols. Father Gennelli. 1 vol.
12mo, 8 00
The Life of St. Jane Frances de
Cbantal. Emily Bowles. 1 vol.
12mo, 2 76
The Life of St. Philip Neri, . 2 50
The Life of the Baron de Renty.
Edited by Edward Healy Thomp-
son, M.A., '3 00
The Life of Luisa De Carvajal, . 2 50
The Life of the Blessed John
Berchmans. Francis Goldie. 1
vol. 12mo, 2 50
Tbe Literary Workman ; or. Life
i and Leisure. A Magazine of
I Amusing Literature and Gener-
al Information 2 00
The Liturgical Year. Very Rev.
Dom ProHp»»r Gueranger, Ab-
bot of Solesnies. Translanted
from the French by the Rev.
Dom Laurence Shepherd, Monk
of the English Benedictine Con-
gregation. The vo}umes now
out are :
Advent, . 8 0#
20
K 0\
ChriBtmafl. Vol. I.. ' ^:i (K)
OhriBtmaR. Vol. II., .8 00
SepliiaixeBima, . .2 r»0
Lent 8 00
Passion -tide and Holv Week. iJ (X)
Pasclial Time. Vol. I.. . :? 00
Paschal Time. Vol. II., . 3 00
PanciiRl Time. Vol. III., . n 00
The Mystic Vine. From St. Ber-
nard, . . . . 75
The Ordinal of Kinjr Edward VI. :
Its llistnrv, Theology, liiturjjv.
Dom Wilfrid UaynaliO.S.B.. ' . 2 00
The Orijrin, Porsecution, aud Doc-
trines of the Waldenses. Pius
Melia, D.D. 1 vol. 4to, . . 5 00
The Passion Flower : A Novel. 1
vol. 12iiio 2 00
The People's Martyr : A Legend
of CantHrbury. . 2 00
The Perfect Lay Brother. . . 2 25
The PhilosopheV's Stone. F. ( 'ros-
bie, M.A.. . . 1 00
The Pop<' and the Emperor, . 1 00
The Pope and the Church. Uev.
. Paul Battalia
The Priest on the Mission. Canon
Oakeley. 1 vol. 12iiio, . . 2 00
The Pri.**oner of the Temple. . 2 20
The Pro])h«.'i of Carmel. A Series
of Pructical Considvratidus upon
tlie Ilistorv of Elins in the Old
Testament. Rev. C. B. (iarside.
1 vol. 12mo, . . . 2 50
Th*i Public Life of Our Loid Jesus
Christ. Uev. n.J.Cok'Tid^rM,S..J.
L a ri- 1., . . . . .
The Reijirn of Law. The Duke
of Arpryll, .2 50
The Rosary: A Lejjrend of Wilton
Abbey, 1 50
The Question of An^rli^J^n Ordina-
tions Discussed. E. E. Estc<mrt.
M.A. 1 vol. 8vo. . . 7 (X)
The Religious and Social Position
of Catholics in England. Wi5?e-
man, 50
The Russian Cler^^y. Translated
from the French of Father Oaga-
rin, S.J., , . . 2 50
The Scale of Perfection, by Wal
ter Hilton, 2 50
The Sonnets and other Poems of
Henrv Constable, . . 3 00
The Spirit of St. Gertrude, . (>0
The Spiritual Doctrine of Father
Louis Lallemant, of the Society
of Jesus 2 00
The Spiritual Retreat of Father
Bourdaloue. S.J 75
The Treasure of Superiors; or. Let-
Address,
ters upon the Manner of Oomn-
in if Religious Hourcxb. From thm
French of Pere Beanfili,
cs T f
The Troubles of our Catholic
Forefathers Relat^^d by Them-
selves. Edited from hitherto
unpublished manuBcripta hj
Rev. John Morris, S.J. 1 vol. 8vo, (
The r^n forgiven Sister,
The Truth. By the Dnke of Bal-
dana, . . . . . . 1
The Vaticjan Council, '. . . 1
The Virtues of Marv, Mother of
God. Father FranciB Arias, 8 J.
1 vol. Hhno, . . . . 1
Thoughts on Some Passages of
Holy Scripture. By a I^iyman, ]
The Year of Preparation for the
Vatican Council, . . 1
Tradition, Principally with Refe-
rence to Mythology and the
Law of Nations. Ijord Arundell
of Wardour. 1 vol. 8vo, . . {
True to Trust ; or, The Story of a
Portrait, 5
I-nitm with Rome,
Ver.sicles and Tales. . . . 1
Vesper- Book, . . .5
Visions and Instructions of Blessed
Angela of Foligno, . . .5
Visits to the Altar of Mary,
Walsingham's Search Made in
Matters of Religion, . . .3
Waterworth's Origin and Develop-
ments of Anglicanism, . .i
Waterworth's England and Rome, i
Waterworili's The Fathers on St.
Peter, I
When Does the Church speak In-
fallibly "? Knox. . . . !
Who is Jesus Christ V .
Why do we believe"? Henry John
I ye, 31. A., . . . , ,
Works of St. AuguBtine :
Writings m Connection with
tlie Donatist Controversy, . !
St. John. Vol. 1 {
T^o. Vol. 2. . . .J
Christisn Doctrine, . . S
(^ityofGod 2 vols.. . .C
The Anti-Pelagian Writings.
Vol. 1 I
The same. Vol. 2. . .J
The Manichean Heresy, . 2
Letters I
On the Trinity, . . . i
On Harmony of the Qospels, . 1
Ximenes, Cardimil, The Life of, . l
Zeal in the Ministry. Duhois. 1
vol. 8vo I
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION
LAWRENCE KEHOE, General Agent, No. 9 Warren Street. N.
FATHER DRUMaOOLE'S
HARITY BAZAAR AND CONCERT
For the erection of the first House of the
Mission of the Immaculate Virgin,
FOR THE
PROTECTION OF HOMELESS CHILDREN.
Oi9^ Thousand Dollars to be Distributed in JPreminnis,
ST. VINCENT'S HOME FOR BOTS, 53 and 66 Warren Street,' established in 1870, has been yery
- . docceaiBfui. Up to the present time, over nine thousand children have been sheltered, moat
«f tfarm ixi»traot«d in the principal mysteries of our holy religion, and more than a thousand
a>«pttT«d. for Holy Oonununion. Macy of these boys, who had preriously been addioted to vloious
Wbtte, bAve been reclaimed, noyr hold respectable situations, and give great satisfaction to their
CBiploTera.
AJUkough tvo years ago the Home was enlarged to double its former size, so as to accommo-
date two hundred boyn^, yet, on many occasions, we are obliged to refuse children admission for
want of room ; thus thousands of well-disposed children, through necessity, and without any
taoli of theirs, are compelled to seek shelter in places where they are exposed to all sorts of
temptations, imbibe Ticious habits, grow up without any knowledge of the duties they owe to
Ood and tlieir f<*Uow-man, and are liaole to become troublesome members of society.
To remedy this evil, we are about to collect means to build (with the cordial approbation of
Us EanssjrcE the Cardinal-Arobbi««hop of New Tork, and with the aid and sympathy of the
fUr. cleric of the Archdiocese), a Mission House, where these homeless and destitute children
tram all parts of the city will be admitted and taught habits of honest industry and self-reliance,
and at the same time enjoy all the advantages of a Christian family, where they will learn their
duty to God and their neighbor: and be prepared in due time to take their places in society as
honest, Industrious, intelugentj and law-abiding citizens. This House, once completed, and in
vorkioip order, will be s^^lf-kuMaining^ and will aiford thousands of children earning wages less
than three dollars a week a hortie where thev can support themselves nicely and independently,
UBlil they can pay their way in a respectable boarding-house ; in this maimer, thousands of souls
can be saved tnat could not be reached in any other way.
In order to give all an opportunity of contributing to this Mission House, tickets have been
placed at the small sum of twenty-five cents.
Eaeh purchaser of a ticket will participate in the benefits of two Masses every week, until
It&ujary 1. 1876 ; these Masses will be said on Tuesday and Friday mornings, by Father Drum-
oooEX.fii th<» Chapel of the Immaculate Virgin, attached to the Mission- tickets may be pur-
ekased for deceased friends. This ticket also gives- the purchaser a chance for a valuable
preolum.
That the friends of homeless children, not only in the city, but throughout the entire coun-
try, mav have an opportunity of aiding this good work by purchasing tickets, the Bazaar for the
crstuitrous distribution of premiums will not be opened until Tuesday Evening, November 80,
HTSi. at Ferrero's Assembly Rooms, Fourteenth Street, next door to the Academy of Music ; the
ttAribution will be preceded by a Orand Concert ; ticket-holders admitted free by showing
their tickets at the door.
Any number of single tickets or books containing twentv tickets each may be obtained, or
will, upon application, be sent to any part of the eitv or country. Each genuine ticket will bear
ttis seal stamp of the Mission. Tickets can be obtained at the Home, 58 Warren Street, any
time between the hours of 6 a.m. and 10 p.m.
Among the LIST OF PREMIUMS may be mentioned
A Premium conslatlnc ofThree Hundred Dollara In Gold, $300.
A Premium consiatlncor One Hundred Dollars In Gold, $100.
A Photosraph of Hbi HollneMii Pope Plus IX., kindly given by Joseph P. Pat-
Tlie beat Pboiofrrapli of HI* Eminence the Cardinal- A reliblstaop of Neur
Tork* The gift of Mr. Cbas F. Paytsn, of the American College at Rome.
A Pony* Wa«on, and Harnea». A Family Newlns-Iflachlne. A Family
WaalilnifJIacblne. A Family Cooklnff-Stove and irtensila complete. An
liiab Spmninc Jenny, on which, during the evening of distribution, a lady over seventy
J«ar« of a«ce will spin a hank of yam. A Complete JDlnner 8et. over lOO plecea.
tagie Bedeiead and Beddlne, suitable for an old bachelor. Besides 33 other valuable
Memiums, conaistlng of Barrela of Flour, Tons of OoaK Valuable Books, etc.
Some oTtoese Premiums have been already donated by kind friends for the purpose.
We return our thanks to Tbos. H. O^Comnor, Esq., for the gift of a beautiful Oil-Painting
vortb over $800.
• nrmu. Drvmooolb most earnestly requests all friends of the Institution, the St. Vincent
4< ixa Society, beads of families, mtimbers of Sodalities, Schools and Academies, all Catholic
S> ities. Protective, Benevolent, and Temperance Societies, Catholic Literary Associations,
li • aiul gentlemen employed in factories, stores, printing-houses, hotels, and all similar es-
ta ihinentfl. kindly to assist in this benevolent undertaking, by not only purchasing tickets, for
tl ii*lves, but also uiiglng their friends and acquaintances to do so.
\ communications to be addressed,
1 V. 9. O. DRVBiOOOLE, 53 tfl 55 Warren St., Iff. "S-.
THE (LONDON) TABLET.
A WEEMLY NEWSPAPER AND REVIEW.
«
(KSTABLrSHED 1840.)
An effort has been made duriug the last three years— aiid it ha^ proved in eTery
speot successful — to raise the character of the Tablet to a level with the tastes and cq>
tfvation of the most highly educated classes among English -speaking Catholics It had
attained a wide circulation nut only among the clergy and the educated Catholics in thai
British Empire, but is also extensively read in the London clubs, and by Statesmen and]
Anglicans, and such as, from eitlier relijrious, social, or political motives, desire to kecfij
themselves informed on impoitant Catholic events, or to test from week to week the statal
of the Catholic mind and feeling. It is now obtaining an extended circulation amonif
the clergy and laity of the United States. ^
In politics, the Tablet behmgs to no party. It professes to be simply Catholic, and '
to sustain the principles of truth, justice, morality, and honor in whatsoever partv thes« ;
may be found. In the words of Magna Charta : " Imprimis volumus ut Becle^da D«j
libera sit." • j
An important feature in the Tablet, and one which will commend it to the Catholics i
of America, is its carefullv prepared editorial chronicle of the week's news, which is not
confined to purely English or political topics, but gathers up each week the chiel evenUs '
of Catholic interest in Christendom.
Those interested in Catholic and general literature will find reviews and notices of
some ten or twelve publications in every number of the Tablet.
With regard to Roman news, the Tablet has peculiar advantages on account of ita
exceptional and reliable sources of information.
All official documents published by the Holy See, having any kind of public or gen- !
oral interest, are carefully translated and printed in the Tablet. * And in order to render '
this journal a complete and, for many, an indispensable work of reference, a carefully
digested index is printed at the end of each half-yeai*Iy volume, together with an appro- '
priate title-page, and forwarded to all subscribers.
The Tablet consists of from thirty-two to forty pages each number.
A reduction in price has been made in favor of* American annual subscjribeis who
prepay. Henceforth the paper can be had, if prepaid, for |7 50, currency. Draw a
money-order to that amount at your nearest post-office in favor of Mr. fl. E. HBATUKR, *
Manager, and forward it, with name and addrcHs, to the Tablet Office, 27 Wellington
Street, Strand, London, W. C. / ©
Subscriptions also received by "The Catholic Publication Society," 9 Warren
Street, New York, who will forward the money lor you to London. No name sent until
the ^ 50 is received.
Every Wednesday, at THE TA BLET Offlee, 27 fVellington Street,
Strand,
Catholic Opinion.
HOME AND FOBEIGN AND EDUCATIONAL EECOED.
A New Series, price One Penny, illustrated.
Containing the best selections from the Catholic Continental, American, and Colonial Papers, witk a
digest of the English Press on Catholic Topics. •
The Summary of News will principally chronicle the events occurring since the issue of the Satur-
day's Tabubt, though it will also touch upon the general topics of the week.
Space will be given to everything concerning the Propagation of the Faith throughout these k g-
donu. A continuous tale of interest, by a noted author, will form one of its features.
On the first Wednesday of each month, one-half of the paper will be devoted to an Educational a-
cord, under the Editorship of a Diocesan Religious Inspector, for the special benefit of Catholic Te. b-
ers and their Scholars throughout the country, and will be full of matters either important, tnstmc* c,
or amusing. *
Literary commonlcations to be addressed to the Editor. Business communications to be s it
to the Manager, H. B. Heather, at the Oflice, S7 Wellington Street, Strand. SubacriptionB only ia 1-
vaiio»--$SM|idd-~wU«hcanbtMntdlx«ottotheoffice,ortoMr. L.KBHOS,0(iMoHe19^^ w
ELDER'S CATHOLIC AGENCY,
NE^V ORLEANS, LA.,
BromptW all kinds of oommlsBlons for the CATHOLIC CLERGY, RELIGIOUS INSTITU-
rrcATIONAL ES rABLIsHMBKTS, and CH IZBXS GENERALLY.
1 h« and«rf4gned is ^o prepared to fill with despatch all orders for BOOKS, STATIONERY,
sad PKlMTiNQ, and gires, as heretofore, spcoial attention to the ooUection and remlttanoe of
TTITlON BILLS AND OTHER ACCOUNTS due in this section.
CHAS. D. ELDER,
124 Camp Street— Lafayette Square,
p. O. Box 8,084. NEW ORLEANS, LA.
Have been familiarly and favorably known
to the American public for upward of tfiree-
muirUm of a century^ with yearly increas-
ing popularity.
They speak their own praise wherever planted.
Landreth's Rural liegister and Almanac
1875 will be mailed without charge to all
who Apply, enclosing a stamp to prepaj
postage.
DAVID LANDRETH & SON,
Nos. 81 and 83 South Sixth St., Philadelphia.
A Undertabery
CHURCH OP ST. PAUL THE APOSTLE,
59th Street and 9th Ave., New York.
Residence, 921 Eiglith. Avenue,
Between 54th and 65th Streets.
METALLIC AND OTHER CASKETS.
Funerals furnished with everything requisite.
miDillD AMIIICAI filimiO TABUS.
TRADE
MARK.
H. W. COLLENDER,
SucceHHor to PHELAN ib COLLENUEJRy
738 Broadway, .
p. O. BOX 1,847.
NEW TORK
Cloth, Balls, Cues, and eyerything appertaining to Billiards at lowest prices. Illustrated Cata-
logues sent by mail.
DBADDT BROTHERS,
/lonumental Sculptors,
1446 AND 1448 BROADW^AY,
tf Forty-Saeond street, * NEW TOMML
MoBttBeiita, Tombs, Altars, Biuta, ate, areotad in Vraastoae, Oranlta, and Bronse.
The Ave IMEaria^
A CATHOLIC JOURNAL
Devoted to the Honor of the Blessed Yir^iiL
"Published every Saturday at
NOTRE DAME, INDIANA.
APPROVED BY
HIS HOLINESS POPE PIU8 IX.
AND MANY DISTINGUISHED PRELATES.
•
This Periodical, the first established in the New World in the interests of the Blessed
Virgin, commends itself to all who love the Mother of Jesus and wish to see her honored
throughout the land. •
The aim of the Ave Maria is to give the true doctrine of the Catholic Church on de-
votion to the Blessed Virgin ; to answer the objections made by unbelievers ; and in-
crease to'the utmost the filial devotion which every Christian should entertain for tfatf^ |
Mother of the Redeemer of the world.
It contains, also, a summary of events relating to religion, edifying Tales, accredited
Legends, Essays on subjects referring directly or indirectly to the Blessed Virgin, Itema^j
of Catholic News, choice Poetry, a weekly letter from Rome, etc. ; also, a regular bulle- '
tin of the Association of our Lady of the Sacred Heart, and a record of some of the most
remarkable cures effected by the miraculous water of Lourdes.
Among the contributors to the Ave Maria are some of the besft Catholic writers at
home and abroad : Lady FuUerton, Aubrey De Vere, Grace Ramsay, Mrs. Anna H.
Dorsey, Eleanor C. Donnelly, Eliza Allen Starr, Miss Howe, the authoress of ** Ty*
borne,'' Dame Dolores, etc., Marie, and others who desire to remain incogfn,^\
term:s. •
One Year, - - - $300
Two Years, *- - - -500
Single Copies, »- - - - -.- - - 10
A specimen copy sent free to any address on application.
Payments invariably in advance.
All subscriptions, communications, books {or periodicals for notice, etc., should be
addressed to the
Bditor of the "Ave Maria,"
, Notre 'Dame, Ir
New Books for 1875.
Tlie Catholic Publication Society has just published the following
works :
Life of St. John tbe Evangelist. Trannlated from the French.
1 vol. 12mo, cloih, f;3 00
manual of the Blessed Saerament, 1 00
The I^and of the CId, from the French of Frederick Ozanam. 1 vol.
16mo, illustrated, 1 00
The l^pirlt of Faith: or, What m\ist I do to Believe? By Bishop
lleadley, 0.8.B 60
The I^ife of Our L.ord Jesus Christ. By Louis Veuillot. Txans-
lated from the French bv Rev. A. Farlev. iVol. 12mo, . . . 2 0(^
Adliemar de Beleastel ; or, Be IVot Ilasiy in Jude^lng.
Trannlaied from the French by P. S. 12nio, ilhijitrated, . . . 1 50
The Internal mission of the Holy diliost. By ArchbiBhopMan-
uinjf. 1 vol. 12mo. Authorized edition, 1 00
The Life of Father Bernard, C.^Jii.R. Trunslated from the
French. With Portrait. 1 vol., 1 50
The mistress of 1%'ovices enlijjhtened upon her Duties. Cloth, 1 50
The KiUfif's IIIjs:1l\vay ; or, Tho CHtholic i'lmrcli the Way of Salvation,
proved from the Scriptures. By Kev. A. F. Hewit. 1 vol. IGnio, . . 1 50
A I^effer to the Duke of l¥orfolk on the Oet^asion of mr.
(f ladrttone's Recent ExjKJstulaticm. Bv John ll^nrv Newman, D.D.
Paper, . . . . . . .* ' . . . ' . . . . .50
Pi»stseript to the above, in answer to ** Vaticanism," ... 20
The Vati€*an Decrees and Civil Allr;;lanee. In Answer to
Mr. (ihulMtone. By HIh Grace Arc]d)iftliop Manning. 1 vol. 12mo, paper, 50
The above three pamphlets, bound in cloth ^ 1 50
Rt. Rev. Bishop Vau^han's Reply to mr. Gladstone. 1
vol. 12nio, paper, 25
Bishop Ullathorne's Reply to mr. Oladstone. 1 vol. 12mo,
paper, 25
The True and the False Infallihillty of the Popes. A
Controverpial Reply to Dr. Schulte. By Dr. Joseph Fennler.Jate Binhop
of St. Polten in Austria, and Secretary-Cieneral of the Vatican Council.
Translated by Ambrose St. Jobn, M.A., of the Oratory of St. Philip
Neri, Edgbaston, Birmingham. 12mo, paper, ..... 50
The (Syllabus for the People, ivith Comnients. By a Monk
of St. Aujrnstine. 12mo, paper, t . . . 35
The above four pamphlets, bound in cloth, 1 50
Deharbe's Full Cateehism of the Catholie Religion. Trans-
lated by Fander, 75
The Young Catholle's Illustrated FIflh Reader. 12mo, cloth, 1 25
" « " « l^ixth Reader. 12mo. cloth. 1 50
Young l<adles' Illustrated Reader. 12mo. cloth, 1 25
The Veil Withdrawn. By Mrs. Craven. .1 vol. 8vo, . , . 1 50
A Traet on Baptism, 20 cents; per 100 copies 10 00
JUST PUBLISHED.
Bulla Jubilaei 1ST5. Seu sanctissimi domini nostri pii divina providi^ntia
Papjie IX. E])is!ola Eucj'clica : GraviliusKcr-lesiae, cum notis practici.s ad usum
clcri Americani, Curanle A. KoninL'^s, C.SS.R. Price, .... 25
The Catliolic PiiWieation Society,
LAWRENCE KEHOE, Gen. Agent, 9 WARREN ST., N. Y.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD
VOL. XXII., No, 128.— NOVEMBER, 1875.
FREEMASONRY*
The saints have all, whilst yet in
the flesh, foietastes of heavenly
bliss. But in these the closing days
of time -all the elect have a pre-
sentiment of coming judgment.
And that presentiment is strong in
proportion to their faith ; stronger
still in proportion to their charity.
Let our readers be assured at the
outset. We are not about to imi-
tate the irreverence of the Scotch
Presbyterian minister who, some few
years ago, pretefi^ed that he had
discovered in the prophetic visions
of S. John the year in which will
come to pass that event of stupen-
dous awfulness, of which He, before
whom all mankind will then be
judged, said : " Of that day or hour
no one knows, neither the angels in
heaven, nor the Son, but the Father
only.''
One fearful catastrophe, however,
mankind before the general
'nt is insisted on so often
r<. w wi Wmr/ar9 0/ Fretmmt^nry agaitut
trek mmd SUU, Tnunlatcd irom the
a, with an latroductioo. London : Burnf ,
kCo. 187$. (Ncv York: The Catholic Pub-
- iety.)
and with such solemn emphasis by
the Holy Spirit that the love of God
seems to be, as it were, trembling
for his redeemed creature, and long-
ing to reveal to him more than is
consistent with his own designs in
the trial of his faith. For it must
be remembered that faith is a merit,
and the absolutely indispensable
condition of our receiving the bene-
fits of the divine atonement. Al-
though the gift of God, it is the
part we ourselves, by co-operating
with the gift, contribute towards
our own salvation. And what we
are required to believe is so beau-
tiful and ennobling to the moral
sense, and so satisfying to the rea«
son, that, supported as it is by the
historical evidence of the divinity
of Christ and of his church, no one
can refuse to believe but those who
deliberately choose darkness rather
than light, sin rather than virtue,
Satan rather than God.
Yet so formidable was to be that
last trial of the faith of Christians,
so crucial that conclusive test of
their charity, which was to "de-
rcrdiiv to Act of Cocvreas, in the year 18751 ^ Rev. I. T. Htcxn, in the Office of the
librarian of Coogreai, at Washington, D. C.
146
Freemasonry.
ceive, if it were possible, even the
very elect,** * that the Spirit of Love,
yearning for the safety of his regen-
erate ones, and compassionating
the weakness of human nature, re-
vealed its marks and signs in the
fullest and most circumstantial de-
tail ; so that, warned of the danger,
and recognizing it when it 2|rrivcd>
they might pass through it unhurt,
whilst those who succumbed to it
might be without excuse before the
divine justice. It is the yearning
of the heart of Christ towards his
children, whom he foresees will fail
by thousands in that decisive trial,
which prompts the ejaculation that
sounds almost like a lament over
his own inability to put any pressure
on their free-will : ** When the Son
of man cometh, will he find faith on
the earth ?" It is his anxiety, as it
were, about the fate of his elect
amidst the seductions of that appal-
ling apostasy, which urged him, after
he had indicated the signs that
would accompany it, to be on the
perpetual, sleepless lookout for
them. " Be ever on the alert. Lo !
I have foretold you all." \
" Be ever on the alert, watch and
pray. For you do not know when
the time may be." J
" Watch, then, lest when he (the
head of the family) shall have
come on a sudden, you be found
sleeping." §
" Moreover, what I say to you I
say to all: Watch!"]
Throughout all the ages that have
elapsed since those words of solemn
import fell from the lips of Jesus
Christ it has been the plain duty
* S. Mark xiit. 39.
t ** Vos eico videte ; ecce, pnedixi Tobis omniaL^*
—lb. 23.
% *^ Videte, vigilate, et orate : neschU enim, quan-
do tempus Bit."->Ib. 33.
S '* Vigilateergo . . . ne, cum venerit repente, io-
veniat vos dormientes.**— lb. 35, 36*
I '* Quod autem TobU dico, omnibus dice : Vigi-
Utc!"-Ib.37.
of all Christians — ^n.ay, of all to
whose knowledge they were brought
— to narrowly scrutinize events, to
keep their attention fixed upon
them, watching for the signs he
foretold, lest they should appear
unheeded, and they be seduced from
the faith ; or be the cause, through
their indifference, of others being,
carried away in the great mislead-
ing.
But who now can be insensible
to the predicted portents .' So no-
torious are they, and so exactly do
they answer to the description of
them handed down to us from the
beginning, that they rudely arouse
us from sleep ; that they force our
attention, however indifferent to
them we may be, however dull our
faith or cold .our charity. And
when we see a vast organization
advancing its forces in one united
movement throughout the entire
globe in an avowed attack, as insid-
ious as it is formidable, upon altars,
thrones, social order, Christianity,
Christ, and God himself, where is
the heart that can be insensible to
the touching evidence of loving
solicitude which urged Him whom
surging multitudes pf his false crea-
tures were deliberately to reject in
favor of a fouler being than Barab-
bas, to iterate so often the warning
admonition, "Be ever on the
watch " }
To study, therefore, <he signs of
the times, cannot be without profit
to all, but especially to us who
have but scant respect for the spirit
of the age, who are not sufficiently
enlightened by it to look upon
Christ as nothing more than a re-
markable man, the sublime morality
he taught and set an example of as
a nuisance, and his church as the
enemy of mankind, to be extirpated
from their midst, because it forbids
their enjoying the illumination of
Freemasonry^
147
the dagger-guarded secrets of the
craft of Freemasonry.
To fix the date of the Dies ira ia
completely out of our power. It is
irreverent, if not blasphemous, to
attempt it. It is of the counsels of
God that it should come with the
swiftness of " lightning " and the
unexpectedness of " a thief in the
night ** ; and that expressly that we
may be ever on the watch. But
the signs of its approach are given
to us in order to help those who
do not abandon " watching " in
indifference, to escape the great
delusion — the imposition of Anti-
christ — which is to immediately
precede it. It is these signs we
propose to study in the following
pages. ^
The predictions of Christ himself
on this subject are far more obscure
than those subsequently given to
us by his apostles. But this has
always been God's way of revela-
tion to his creature. To Moses
alone, in the mount, he revealed
the moral law and that wondrous
theocratic polity which remained
even after the perversity of his peo-
ple had given it a monarchical
form ; and Moses communicated it
to the people. To the people
Christ spoke in parables, ** and
without a parable spake he not
unto them. But when he was
alone with them, he explained all to
his disciples."* **To you," he
said, "it is given to have known
the mystery of the kingdom of
God ; but to those without every-
thing is a parable." f 'I'^^e apostles
themselves, who were to declare
the revelation, in order to increase
the merit of their faith, were not
* ** Sbt pi fmb ola aotem non loquebatur eis ; aeoiw
•^ uica ditciiMilu auk dincrebat omnia."— S.
t** Vobtf dfttaa ot nomt mystcrium n^ Dei :
H« autem, qui foris Mint, in parabolu mania
fully illuminated before the coming
down of the Holy Spirit. " You do
not know tins parable .>" he said ;
" and how are you going to under-
stand all parables.?"* To their
utterances, therefore, it is we shall
confine ourselves, as shedding as
much light as it has seemed good to
the Holy Ghost to disclose to us
upon the profounder and more ora-
cular predictions of God himself in
the flesh.
Besides SS. Peter, Paul, and
John, S. Jude is the only other
apostle, we believe, who has be-
queathed to the church predictions
of the terrible apostasy of Anti-
christ which is to consummate the
trial of the faith of the saints under
the very shadow of the coming
judgment. We will take them in
the order in which they occur. The
first is in a letter of S. Paul to the
church at Thessalonica, where, ex-
horting them not to ** be terrified
as if the day of the Lord were at
hand," he assures them that it will
not come " before there shall have
first happened an apostasy, and the
man of sin shall have been revealed,
the son of perdition — he who op-
poses himself to, and raises himself
above, all that is called God, or
that is held in honor, so that he may
sit in the temple of God, showing
himself as if he were God. . . .
And you know what now is hin-
dering his being revealed in his
own time. For the mystery of ini-
quity is already working; only so
that he who is now keeping it in
check will keep it in check until
he be moved out of its way. And
then will the lawless one be reveal-
ed, whom the Lord Jesus will slay
with the breath of his mouth, and
destroy with the illumination of his
coming; whose coming is after the
*"Nesciti$ parabolam hnnc ; et quomodo oo^
net parabolas cognotcetit." — lb. 13.
143
Freemasonry.
Doanner of working of Satan, with
all strength and symbols, and lying
absurdities, and in every enticement
of iniquity in those who perish ; for
the reason that they did not receive
the love of the truth that they
might be saved. So God will send
them the working of error, that they
may believe falsehood ; that all may
be judged who have not believed
the truth, but have consented to
iniquity." *
In a letter to Timothy, Bishop
of Ephesus, S. Paul writes : ** Now,
the Spirit says expressly that, in the
last times, some shall apostatize
from the faith, giving heed to spirits
of error and to doctrines uf demons,
speaking falsehood in hypocrisy,
and having their own conscience
seared." \
In a second letter to the same
bishop he writes : " Know this,
moreover: that in the last days
there will be a pressure of perilous
times ; men will be self-lovers, cov-
etous, lifted up, proud, blasphe-
mous, disobedient to parents, un-
grateful, malicious, without affec-
tion, discontented, calumniators,
incontinent, hard, unamiable, trai-
tors, froward, fearful, and lovers of
pleasures more than lovers of God,
having indeed a form of piety, but
* " Nisi venerit discessioprimum, et revelatus fuerit
homo peccad, filius perditionis, qui adversatur et ex-
toUitur supra omne,quod diatur Deus, aut quod coli-
tur,*ita ut in templo Dei sedeat, ostendens se, tarn-
quam sit Deus. . . . Et nunc quid detineat, sdtis, ut
reveletur in suo tempore. Nam mysterium jam opera-
tur iniquitatis, tantum ut qui tenet nunc, teneat, do-
nee de medio fiat. Et tunc revelsbitur ille iniquus (o
Avofiof), quem Dominus Jesus interficiet spiritu oris
BUt, et destniet illustrationc adventus sui eum ; cujus
est adventus secundum operationem Satana in
omni virtute, et signis et prodtgiis mendacibus, et
in omni seductione iniquitatis iis, qui pereunt ; eo
quod caritatem veritatis non receperunt, ut salvi
fierent. Ideo mittet ilUs Deus operationem erroris,
ut credant mendacto, ut judicentur omaes, qui non
crediderunt reritati, sed conseoienmt iniquitati."
— 2 Thess. ii. 3-xx.
t " Spiritus mutem manifeste dicit, quia in novisti-
mis temporibus disced ent quidam a fide, attendentes
apiritibus erroris et doctrinis dmmoniorum ; in hy-
pocrisi kiquentium mendacium, et cauteriatam ha-
brntium tuam cooadentaam."— s Tim. iv, s, s.
denying its power." * S. Peter
writes that " there will come in the
last days mockers in deception,
walking according to their own
lusts." t
S. Jude describes them as
" mockers, walking in impieties ac-
cording to their own desires. These
are they who separate themselves —
animals, not having the Spirit."^
It would seem from the expres-
sions of S. John — who of all the
apostles appears to have had most
pre-eminently the gift of prophecy
— as well as from the manner in
which the last days of Jerusalem
and the last days of the world ap-
pear to be mingled^ together in the
fore-announcement of Christ, that
powerful manifestations of Anti-
christ were to precede both events ;
although the apostasy was to be far
more extensive and destructive be-
fore the latter. " Little children/'
writes the favorite apostle, ** it is
the last time; and as you have
heard that Antichrist comes, so
now many have become Anti-
christs; whence we know that it
is the last time. ... He is Anti-
christ who denies the Father and
the Son." §
" Every spirit who abolishes Je-
sus is not of God. And he is Anti-
christ about whom we have heard
* ** Hoc autem scito, quod in novissimis diebos in-
stabunt tempora periculosa : erunt homines seipaos
amantes, cupidi, elatijlkuperbi, blasphemi, parenti-
bus non obedientes, ingriti, scelesti, sine^ afiecti-
one, sine pace, criminatores, incontinentes, immitca
sine benignitate, proditorea, protervi, timidi, et
voluptatum amatores magis quam Dei, habeDte&
spedem quidem pieutis, virtutem autem ejus
abnegantes." — a Tim. in. 1-5.
t '* Venient in novissimis dicbus in deceptiooe illu-
soces, juxta propriaa concupiacentias a mh nia nt tm."
— a Peter iii. 3.
X ** In novissimo temoore venient illusotcs. scorn
dum, desideria sua ambulantes in impietatibus.^ Hi
sunt, qui scgregant semctipsos, animates, Spiritum
non habentes." — S. Jud. xS.19.
S *' FilioU, novisima hnra eat, et «cut andistis,
quia Antichristus venit, et nunc Antichristi muld
facti sunt : unde sdmus, quia novissima hocacst. . . .
Hie est Antichristus qui negat Pattern et Fllium."—
X S. John ii. 18, sa.
Freemasonry.
149
that he is coining, and is even now
in the world." *
We believe that these are the on-
ly passages wherein the Holy Ghost
has vouchsafed to give us distinct
and definite, information as to the
marks and evidences by which we
are to know that there is amongst
us that Antichrist whose disastrous
although short-lived triumph is
to precede by only a short space
the end of time and the eternal en-
franchisement of good from evil.
The prophetic utterances on this
subject in the revelations of S. John
arc veiled in such exceedingly ob-
scure imagery that we do not propose
to attempt any investigation of their
meaning in this article. It is our ob-
ject to influence the minds of such
Protestants as believe in God the Fa-
ther, Son, and Holy Spirit, and of
Catholics whose faith is so dull and
whose charity is so cold that they
can listen to the blasphemies of
Antichrist without emotion.
We may remark here, however,
that if we succeed in supplying so-
lid reasons for believing that Anti-
christ is already amongst us, and
that his dismal career of desolating
victory has already begun, the du-
ty of studying those utterances of
the Holy Ghost, so darkly veiled
that the faith ofahose who stand
firm may have more merit in the
trial of that great tribulation, will
have assumed a position of impor*
tance impossible to be overrated.
Tliat tl)ey are to be understood,
the Holy Ghost himself implies.
He intimates that their meaning is
accessible to the spiritually mind-
ed, and would even seem to make
dulness of apprehension of it a re
proach, a lack of spiritual discern-
ment. ** If any one has the ear,
* * Et oank ipSritus qui mAnt Jesum, ex D«o noa
i« : ct hk cit Aatkhristos, de quo audiftcii, quoni-
oi vcnit, et nunc jaa in mundo est.** — n>. !▼. 3.
let him hear,"* he writes. And
again : " This is wisdom. Let
him who has understanding reckon
the number of the beast." f
It is not necessary to the object
we have in view that we should
identify " the beast " of the Apoc-
alypse, seven-headed and having
ten horns crowned with diadems,
with Antichrist. The question we
propose to answer is simply, " Are
there under our eyes at this mo-
ment evidences of a present Anti-
christ, or of his being close at
hand ?*' In other words, " Is what
is called * the spirit of the age ' the
spirit of Antichrist ?"
For us, that we may be on our
guard against his wiles, and armed
to the teeth to fight against him to
the death, it is comparatively un-
important whether we decide him
to be actually amongst us or only
just about to appear. His marks
and characteristics, his badges or
decorations — these are all we re-
quire.
If the Antichrist of the prophe-
cies is a single, separate impersona-
tion of the demoniac attributes de-
scribed by the Holy Ghost — if, in
short, he is an individual man, then
he has not yet been revealed. In
that case, our identification of Anti-
christ will only have exposed that
temper and spirit with which " the red
dragon "—"the devil "— " Satan "—
•* the ancient serpent " — has pos-
sessed such vast multitudes of the
human race throughout the entire
globe as to afford ground for call-
ing it "the spirit of the age,'* and
which is to culminate in some ter-
rible personal embodiment — a typi-
cal personage, as men speak. But
if the prophecies do not designate
an individual man, but only the
* " Si quit hsbet aufcn, audiat.*'~Apoc. xiii. 9.
t*' Hie sapientia est. Qui habet inteUectum
putet numenim besii«e.*' — lb. 18.
ISO
Freemq^cnry.
impersonation of a multitude of in-
dividuals organized into a unity and
animated with the same spirit, then
we think we shall be able to point the
finger of horror and loathing at the
very Antichrist at present amongst
us, and in the midst of victory, as
decisively and as clearly as the pro-
phet of penance pointed the finger
of adoring love towards the Lamb
of God.
We incline, and strongly, to the
latter view. We must withhold our
reasons, partly because, as we have
said, our object is equally subserv-
ed by either view ; but more be-
cause to do so would leave us too
little space for treating the main
subject. We will content ourselves
Avith stating that those reasons are
founded on the internal evidence
supplied by the several predictions ;
and also on our aversion to admit
the possibility of a more depraved
individual impersonation of evil
than that unhappy man whom God
in human flesh pronounced a
devil !
Whether, however, Antichrist be
or not an individual man, one
thing is certain : that if we can
point out an immense army of men,
co-extensive with the globe, highly
organized, animated with the same
spirit, and acting with as much
unity of purpose as if their move-
ments were directed by on^ head,
who exhibit precisely those marks
and characteristics described in
the predictions of Antichrist, we
may expect even on the supposi-
tion that they are to have a visible
head, an individual leader, who has
yet to make his appearance; and
that they are his hosts, who have
already achieved a great part of
his victories.
What is first noticeable is that
the stigma which is to be deeply
branded on the front of the Anti-
christian manifestation which is to
precede the close of time is '* ^pos^
tasy.
The day of the Lord will not
come, '* nisi venerit discessio pri-
mum ; Spiritus dicit quia in novis-
simis teniporibus quidam a fide
discedunt."
There can be no need of dwell-
ing on this. It is sufficiently ob-
vious that the great apostasy in-
augurated by Luther was the first
outbreak of Antichristian victory.
The success of that movement as-
sured the spirit of error of a career
of victory. He was lurking in
the fold, watching for his oppor-
tunity, and snatching away stray
souls, as S. John tells us, in the
time of the apostles. For a millen-
nium and a half has he been prepar-
ing his manifestation. He inspired
Julian, he inspired the Arians, he
inspired all the heresies against
which the definitions of the faith
were decreed. But when he had
seduced men away from the church,
whole nations at a time, '^domina-
tionemconteranentes " (2 S. Peter ii.
10), and captivated them to the irra-
tional opinion that there is no higher
authority for the obligatory dogmas
of the Christian Church than the
conviction of every individual, sol-
vere Jesum^ and then God, was mere-
ly a matter of time. What human
passion had begun human reason
would complete. The life of faith
could not be annihilated at a blow.
It has taken three centurit;^ for the
sap of charity to wither away in
the cut-oflf branches. But sooner
or Utter the green wood could not
but become dry ; and reason, void
of charity, would be forced to ac-
knowledge that if the Bible has no
definite meaning other than what
appears to be its meaning to every
individual, practically it has no
definite meaning at all; that God
JPnemawnry.
151
cannot have revealed any truth at
allf if we have no means of ascer-
taining what it is beyond our own
private opinions; that a book the
text of which admits of as many in-
terpretations as there are sects can«
not, without an authoritative living
expositor, reveal truths which it is
necessary to believe in order to
escape eternal punishment. The
claim of the Catholic Church to
this authority having been pro-
nounced an usurpation, theprogresst
although slow, was sure and easy
towards pronouncing Christianity
itself an usurpation. God himself
cannot survive Christianity. And
we have now literally " progress-
ed '* to so triumphant a manifesta-
tion of Antichrist that the work of
l>ersccution of God's Church has
set in with a vengeance, and men
hear on all sides of them the exis-
tence of God denied without hor-
ror, even w^ithout surprise.
The first mark of a present Anti-
Christ we propose to signalize is that
distinctly assigned to htm by S.
Paul — 6 avo/ioS, This epithet is but
feebly rendered by the Latin i7/g
iniquuSy or the English '' that wick-
ed one.** " The lawless one " bet-
ter conveys the force of the Greek.
For the root vo^oi includes in its
meaning not only enacted law of all
kinds, but whatever has become, as it
were, a law by custom ; or a law of
nature, as it were, by the universal
observance of mankind.
The first marked sequel of the
apostasy, the first outbreak of suc-
cess of Antichrist in the political
order, was the first French Revolu-
tion, during which a harlot was
placed for worship upon the altar
of Notre Dame.
That fearful outbreak may have
sat for its portrait to S. Peter in
the following description of the
members of the Antichrist of the
** last times " : ** Who walk after the
flesh in the lust of concupiscence,
and despise authority ; . . . irra-
tional beasts, following only their
own brute impulses, made only to
be caught and slain ; . . . hav-
ing eyes full of adultery and of cease-
less sin ; • . , speaking proud
things of vanity, enticing, through
the desires .of the. luxury of the
flesh) those who by degrees go away
from the truth, who become habitu-
ated to error; promising them lib-
erty, whereas they themselves are
the slaves of corruption" (2 Pet.
ii. 10, 12, 14, 18, 19).
That saturnalia of lawlessness,
which Freemason writers have ever
since dared to approve, was the
work of the " craft " of Freema-
sonry, to whose organization and
plan of action does indeed, in an
especial sense, apply S. Paul's de-
signation of TO lAVOrrfpiov r^t
avopiiaS " the mystery of lawless-
ness." Mirabeau, Siey^s, Gregoire,
Robespierre, Condorcet, Fauchet,
Guillotine, Bonneville, Volney,
"Philippe Egalit^," etc., had all
been initiated ' into the higher
grades.
Louis Blanc, himself a Free-
mason, writes thus : " It is neces-
sary to conduct the reader to the
opening of the subterranean mine
laid at that time beneath thrones
and altars by revolutionists, differ-
ing greatly, both in their theory and
their practice, from the Encyclo-
pedists. An association had been
formed of men of every land, every
religion, and every class, bound to-
gether by mysterious signs agreed
upon amongst themselves, pledged
by a solemn oath to observe invio-
lable secrecy as to the existence of
this hidden bond, and tested by
proofs of a terrible description*
. . . Thus we find Freemasonry
to have been widely diffused imme-
IS2
Freemasonry.
diately before the outbreak of the
Revolution. Spreading over the
whole face of Europe, it poisoned
the thinking minds of Germany,
and secretly stirred up rebellion in
France, showing itself everywhere
in the light of an association rest-
ing upon principles diametrically
opposed to those which govern
civil society. . . . The ordi-
nances of Freemasonry did indeed
make great outward display of obe-
dience to law, of respect to the out-
ward forms and usages of profane
society, and of reverence towards
rulers ; at their banquets the Ma-
sons did indeed drink the health of
kings in the days of monarchy, and
of presidents in the time of repub-
lics, such prudent circumspection
being indispensable on the part of an
association which threatened the
existence of the very governments
under whose eyes it was compelled
to work, and whose suspicion it had
already aroused. This, nevertheless,
did not suffice to counteract the
radically revolutionary influence
continually exercised by the craft,
even while it professed nothing but
peaceful intentions.*' *
In the work from which the
above and the greater part of our
materials in this article are borrow-
ed, we read as follows : "It was
precisely these revolutionary de-
signs of the secret society which
induced its Provincial Grand Mas-
ter, the Prussian Minister Count
von Haugwitz, to leave it. In the
memorial presented by him to the
Congress of Monarchs at Verona,
in 1830, he bids the rulers of
Europe to be on their guard against
the hydra. * I feel at this moment
firmly persuaded,* writes the ex-
grand master, * that the French
Revolution, which had its first
commencement in 1788, and brole
out soon after, attended with all tU
horrors of regicide, existed heareb
knows how long before, having;
been planned, and having had thd
way prepared for it, by assoctationt
and secret oaths.* " *
And the following :
"After the events of Februaij^ -
1848, the 'craft' sang songs of |
triumph at the open success of it^ \
secret endeavors. A Belgian bro-
ther, Van der Heym, spoke thns:
* On the day following the revohh -
tion of February a whole natiotf
rose as one man, overturned the
throne, and wrote over the frontal oT'
the royal palace the words Libei^
ty. Fraternity, Equality, all thecitt
zens having adopted as their owtf *j
this fundamental principle of Free^
masonry. The combatants hldr.:
not to battle long before the vic-
tory over their oppressors wtl
gained — that freedom won whidi
for centuries had formed the tbeme
of Masonic discourses. We, the
apostles of fraternity, aid the found*
ation-stone of the Republic' "f
And another master of the Free-
masons, one Peigne, said about the
same lime : " In our glorious Revo-
lution of 1792 the Lodge of the
Nine Sisters gave to the world
such men as Garat, Brissot, Bailly,
Caniille Desmoulins, Condorcet,
Champfort, Petion ; the Lodge of
tlio Iron Mouth gave to it Fauchet,
Goupil de Prefeln, Siey^s ; the
Lodge of Candor, Custine, the two
Lamcths, and Lafayette.**
The horrors of that Revolution
occasioned a temporary reaction
and checked the triumphs of the
Freemasons. But well they know
how to repair their broken fortunes,
bide their time, and reappear with
renewed force.
• Tkt Secret War/art of Frttmtu^nry^ p. n>
* Hi*toir€ de la Riv^imiitn Fretnfe^iu^ y. fi. c. 3. f I bid. 1 24.
Frtemasonry,
J53
Barruel, who was an eye-witness
of the events of the period, and
also himself intimately acquainted
with many Freemasons in Paris, re-
lates that the brethren, considering
that the lime had come when they
were free to publish the secret they
had sworn to keep, shouted aloud :
''At last our goal is reached; from
thii day France will be one vast
lodge, and all Frenchmen Free-
masons."
A strong reaction of disgust and
terror at the satanic orgies of Free-
masonry in the ascendant, moderat-
ed for a while this shout of triumph.
Bm in the disasters inflicted on
France by the conquering Germans,
the " craft " thought to find a re-
clining opportunity. If the Com-
munist attempt at Paris in 187 1
vas not originally planned by the
Freemasons, tliey openly and offi-
cially joined it. ** A procession
composed of at least five thousand
persons, in which members of all
the grades look part, wearing their
insignia, and in which one hundred
and fifty lodges of France were re-
presented, wended its way to the
town hall of Paris. Maillet, bearing
the red flag as a token of universal
peace, headed the band, and openly
proclaimed, in a speech which met
with the approval of all present,
that the new Commune was the an-
titype of Solomon's temple and the
corner-stone of the social fabric
about to be raised by the efforts of
ihe craft. The negotiations carried
on with the government of Ver-
sailles on behalf of the socialists,
and the way in which they planted
the banners of the craft on the walls
of the capital, accompanying this
action with a threat of instantly
ioiniog the ranks of the combatants
if a single shot were fired at one of
those banners (of which a graphic
account appeared in the Figaro at
the time), was all of a piece with
the sentiments they expressed " {The
Secret Warfare of Freemasonry ^ p.
172).
Figaro closed its account of
these strange events with the follow-
ing reflections : " But when poster-
ity shall be informed that in the
middle of the XlXth century, in
the midst of an unbelieving genera-
tion, which openly denied God and
his Christ, under the very guns of
an enemy in possession of all the
French fortresses, hostilities were
all at once suspended, and the
course of a portentous and calamit-
ous civil war interrupted because,
forsooth, Brother Thirifoque, ac-
companied by two Knights Ka-
doscli, went to offer to M. Thiers'
acceptance the golden mallet of
supreme command (in the craft) —
when, I say, this story is told to
those who come after us, it will
sound in their ears as a nursery
tale, utterly unworthy of cre-
dence." *
In Rhelations (Tun Franc-ma^on
* Those in this country who respect religion, law,
and the peace of society shouM not be imposed upon
by the aspect of Freemasonry here. The principles
and modes of acting of the society are those we
have described. The application of them depends
wholly on time, place, and circumstances. The or-
dinary observer sees nothing in the members of the
craft here but a number of inoflfenKive individuals,
who belong to a sor^disant benevolent association
which, by means of secret signs, enables them to gel
out of the clutches of the law, procure employ^nent
and office, and obtain other advantages not possess-
ed by the rest of their fellow-citizens. But then the
innocent rank and file are the dead weight which
the society employs, on occasion, to aid in compass
ing its ulterior designs. Here there are no civil or
religious institutions which stand, in their way. and
their mode of action is to sap and mine the morals
of the community, on which society rests, and with
which it must perish. Of what it is capable, if it
seems needful to compassing its ends, any one may
understand by the fiendish murder of ^ illiam Mor-
gan. This murder was decided on at a lodge-meet-
ing directed by Freemason officials, in ^nrsunnc*
0/ the rules of the craft, and was perpetrated by
Freemasons bearing a respectable character, who had
never before been guilty of a criminal action, who
were known, yet were never punished nor even tried,
but died a natural death, and who do not appear to
have experienced any loss of reputation for their
foul deed. (See Mr. Thurlow Weed's recent letter
to the New York ^#r<s/</.)
154
Ertemasanry.
au lit de mort^ pilce autheniique^ pub*
liciy par M. de Hallet (Courtrai,
1826, p. 10), we find the following:
" We must restore man to his prime-
val rights, no longer recognizing
rank and dignity — two things the
mere sight of which offends the eye
of man and wounds his self-love.*
Obedience is a mere chimera, and
has no place in the wise plans of
Providence."
In the Astraa^ Taschcnhuch fur
Freimaurer^ von Bruder Sydow
(1845), ^^ orator thus speaks :
•* That which is destined to destruc-
tion must in the course of things
be destroyed ; and if human pow-
ers resist this law, at the behest of
fate, a stronger power will appear
upon the scene to carry out the
eternal decrees of Providence. The
Reformation of the church, as well
as the French Revolution, proves
the existence of this law. . . .
Revolution is a crisis necessary to
development."
The Revelations says : " The poi-
son must be neutralized by means
of its antidote, revolution must
succeed to obedience, vengeance
follow upon effeminacy, power must
grapple with power, and the reign
of superstition yield before that of
the one true natural religion."
Barruel, who had been a master
Mason, states that the oath admin-
istered to him was: "My brother,
are you prepared to execute every
command you may receive from
the Grand Master, even should con-
trary orders be laid on you by king
or emperor, or any other ruler
whatever?"
" The grade of Krfdosch "—the
thirtieth grade — writes Barruel (p.
222), " is the soul of Freemasonry,
and the final object of its plots
is the reintroduction of absolute
liberty and equality through the
destruction of all royalty and the
abrogation of all religious wor-
ship."
" Socialism, Freemasonry, and
communism have, after all, a com-
mon origin" (The Latomia — an or-
gan of the craft — vol. xii. p. 237).
Le LibertairCy a Masonic journal
published in this city, had the fol-
lowing in 1858 : ** The Libertaire
knows no country but that which is
common to all. He is a sworn ^q^
to restraints of every kind. He
hates the boundaries of countries ;
he hates the boundaries of fields,
houses, worksliops ; he hates the
boundaries of family."
Is it within the power of the hu-
man mind to conceive of any possi*
ble individual or spiritual incarna-
tion more deeply, vividly, and dis-
tinctly branded with the note-mark
or sign of Antichrist, given to us
by the Holy Spirit some two thou-
sand years ago, by which we might
recognize him when he appeared —
" the lawless one," " spurning au-
thority " — o avo}io%^ qui contem-
nunt dominationem }
And when we add to this, the one
special and most wicked and law-
less characteristic of the " craft" —
its portentous mystery — to our
thinking, they must willingly, and
of set purpose, close their eyes who
fail to detect in it the very Antichrist
whom the apostle declares shall be
manifested in the last days, after
the apostasy, and whom he desig-
nates by the epithet ro fxvarrfpiov
rff^ avo/iiaS — " the mystery of law-
lessness" — which he tells us had
even then, at the very cradle of
the church, begun to put in move-
ment its long conspiracy against
the salvation of mankind : to yap
^varrfpiov t^Stf evepysiTai rrf^
avopiia^ — " for the mystery of
lawlessness is even now already
working."
No sooner was Christ bom than
Freemasonry,
155
his infant life was sought ; no soon-
er did he begin to teach than *' the
ancient serpent" sought his ruin ;
)u^ before the triumph of his re-
surrection the enemy of mankind
iceined to have finally and com-
pletely triumphed in his crucifix-
ion; no sooner had his church,
brought to life by his resurrection,
begun her work of saving mankind
than the devil was at work with his
"mystery of lawlessness" for her
destruction. All along it is Anti-
christ dogging the steps of Christ ;
before the second coming of Christ
there is to be the second coming
of Antichrist ; before the final tri-
UDph over evil and revelation of
the sons of God, Antichrist is to
bare that his last open and avow-
ed manifestation — djroxaXvtf^tS —
and success, which the craft of
Freemasonry is already so far on
the road to compassing.
^Vheiher or no he is to receive a
serious check before that terrific
triumph over all but the few re-
maining elect we know not. But
so Unmistakable is his present mani-
festation that it is woe to those
who blink their eyes and follow in
his wake ! Woe to those whose ju-
dicial blindness causes them to
** believe a lie" ! Woe to those who
are cauglit napping !
The next of the indications given
us by the Holy Spirit of the Anti-
christ is his modus operandi — his
method — the way in which he will
effect his purposes, " whose coming
is according to the way of working
of Satan" — cujus est advenius secun-
dum operationem Satance,
The beast with seven heads and
ten horns crowned with diadems
described in the Apocalypse is, we
arc there told, fully commissioned
with his own power by the red
dragon, whom we are distinctly in-
formed is the old serpent, who is
called the devil {Sidfioko^y oi
slanderer), " Satr.n, who deceives
the whole world."
Now, Satan is designated as " the
yJrince of darkness" in oi)position
to Christ, '* who is the true lij^ht, en-
lightening every one that cometh
into the world"; he is the father
of those who " hate the light be-
cause their deeds are evil." When
he would destroy Ciirist, " night
was his hour and the jxnver of
darkness." But in taking a survey
of the craft of Freemasonry, what
first seizes our attention ? Is it not
the profound darkness in which all
its operations are veiled ? Those
terrible oaths of secrecy, made un-
der the assured menace of assassi-
nation, attended with all that san-
guinary gibberish, the lie involved
in which is not known until the
"seared conscience" is already in
the chains of hell — surely, if any-
thing is, these are "secundum op-
erationem Satanse."
In the Vienna Freemasons Jour*
naiy MSS. for circulation in the
craft, second year of issue. No. i,
p. 66, is the following : " We wan-
der amidst our adversaries, shroud-
ed in threefold darkness. Their
passions serve as wires, whereby,
unknown to themselves, we set
them in motion and compel them
unwittingly to work in union with
us.
»t
In a work written in High-Ger-
man, the authorship of which is
ascribed to a Prof. Hoffman of
Vienna, the contents of which are
supported by documentary evi-
dence, and of which a Dutch
translation was published in Am-
sterdam in 1792, which was re-
printed at the Hague in 1826, the
method of working of this " mys-
tery of lawlessness" is thus summed
up :
2. To effect this, a literary as-
»(
156
Freemasonry.
sociation must be formed to pro-
mote the circulation of our writings,
and suppress, as far as possible, those
of our opponents.
*' 3. For this end we must contrive
to bave in our pay the publishers
of the leading literary journals of
tbe day, in order that they may
turn into ridicule and heap con-
tempt on everything written in a
contrary interest to our own.
" 4. * He that is not with us is
against us.' Therefore we may
persecute, calumniate, and tread
down such an one without scruple ;
individuals like this are noxious in-
sects which one shakes from the
blossoming tree and crushes be-
neath one's foot.
" 5. Very few can bear to be made
to look ridiculous; let ridicule,
therefore, be the weapon employed
against persons who, though by no
means devoid of sense, show them-
selves hostile to our schemes.
*' 6. In order the more quickly to
attain our end, the middle classes
of society must be thoroughly im-
bued with our principles ; the low-
er orders and the mass of the
population are of little importance,
as they may easily be moulded to
our will. The middle classes are
the principal supporters of the
government; to gain them we must
work on iheir passions, and, above
all, bring up the rising generation
in our ideas, as in a few years they
will be in their turn masters of the
situation.
" 7. License in morals will be the
best means of enabling us to pro-
vide ourselves with patrons at
court — persons who are nevertheless
totally ignorant of the importance
of our cause. It will suffice for
our purpose if we make them abso-
lutely indifferent to the Christian
religion. They are lor the most
part careless enough without us.
"8. If our fwms are to be pursued
with vigor, it is of absolute neces-
sity to regard as enemies of en-
lightenment and of philosophy all
those who cling in any way to re-
ligious or civil prejudices, and ex-
hibit this attachment in their writ-
ings. They must be viewed as
beings whose influence is highly
prejudicial to the human race, and
a great obstacle to its well-being
and progress. On this account it
becomes the duty of each one of
us to impede their action in all
matters of consequence, and to
seize the first suitable opportunity
which may present itself of putting
them entirely hors du combat,
" 9. We must ever be on the watch
to make all changes in the state
serve our own ends ; political
parties, cabals, brotherhoods, and
unions — in short, everything that
affords an opportunity of creating
disturbances must be an instrument
in our hands. For it is only on
the ruins of society as it exists at
present that we can hope to erect a
solid structure on the natural sys-
tem, and ensure to the worshippers
of nature the free exercise of tiieir
rights."
If this method of working, opera-
iio^ is not secundum advent um Satana^
we should be glad to know what is.
Herein we find every feature of
Antichrist and his hosts which the
Holy Ghost has drawn for our warn-
ing. They are heaped together in
such hideous combination through-
out this summary as scarcely to
need particularizing. Our readers
may not, however, be unwilling that
we should single them out one by
one as they appear more or less
prominently in the several para-
graphs ; premising that through-
out one characteristic reigns and
prevails, and, indeed, lends its color
to all the rest, that special attri-
Freemasonry.
157
butc of " the father of lies " —false-
hood !
We will take the paragraphs in
order, and photograph their most
\>rominent Antichristian features.
The /rj/.— Spurning authority.
Giving ear to spirits of error and
doctrines of demons.
Speaking lies in hypocrisy, having
a conscience seared.
Blasphemers.
Mockers, walking according to
their own desires ; animals, not hav-
ing the Spirit.
Mockers in deception, walking
according to their own lusts.
The second and MiW.— Lovers of
rhemselves, lawless, proud, mali-
i:ious, traitors, froward, discourte-
ous, fearful, mockers in deception.
ZA^/^^wrM.— Calumniators, cruel,
traitors.
The >/M.— Mockers in decep-
tion. . ^ ^
The j/a:M.— Traitors, without af-
fection, without peace.
The mv/iM.— Traitors, walkmg
in impieties, walking according to
their own lusts, incontinent.
The «^/i//i.— Having their con-
science seared, without peace,
cruel.
The «/«M.— Spurning authority,
traitors, lawless, without peace.
It must be borne in mind, more-
over, that these are not merely re-
pulsive infirmities of individuals,
hut the essential and inevitable
characteristics deliberately adopt-
ed by the craft of Freemasons, and
which it cannot be without, if they
are the brand which the finger of
Cod has marked upon the loathsome
brow of the Antichrist of " the last
time.
•' %
• Befire we proceed to expose ih? even yjt m >re
hiacottB loathiomenew of this vile association, a few
voids oC cspUnatioo ire neccfsftry. In all we write
vc have in view an o^anixation— its constitution
aad numveft^-nnd that only. The individual re-
ipeaabifity of iu tevtial memStmn is a matter for
In illustration of the former of
these we quote the words of Brother
Gotthold Salomon, D.Ph., preacher
at the new Synagogue at Hamburg,
member of the lodge entitled " The
Dawn in the East," in Frankfort-
on-Main, who thus writes in his
Stimmen aus Osteiiy MSS. for tiie
brethren : " Why is there not a
trace of anything appertaining to
the Christian Church to be found
in the whole ritual of Freemasonry .^
Why is not the name of Jesus once
mentioned, either in the oath ad-
ministered, or in the prayers on
the opening of the lodges, or at
the Masonic banquets.? Why do
Masons reckon time, not from the
birth of Christ, but from the crea-
their own conscience ; it is no affair of ours. We
believe that the bulk of the association, all up to the
thirtieth degree, or *' Knights of the White Eagle,"
or ** Kadosch." are in complete ignorance of the
hellish criminality of its objects. Even the Rosicru-
cian has something to learn ; although to have be-
come that he must have stamped himself with the
mark of Antichrist by the abandonment of his be-
lief in Chrbt and in adl revealed religion. But the
vast majority^ whose numbers, influence, and re-
spectabiUty the dark leaders use for the furtherance
of their monstrous designs, hve and die in complete
ignorance of the real objects and principles of the
craft. We ourselves know an instance of an individ-
ual, now reconciled to the church, who was once a
Master Mason, and who to this moment is in utter
ignorance of them. They are sedulously concealed
from all who have not dispossessed themselves of the
** prejudices of religion and morality.** The author
of the work to which we are indebted for almost all
our documentary evidence meniions the case of one
who had advanced to the high grade of Rosicnician,
but who, not until he wau initiated into the grade
of Kadosch, was completely stunned and horrified
by the demoniacal disclosures poured into his ears.
Most of the Freemasons, however, have joined the
body as a mere philanthropic institution, or on the
lower motive of self-interest. Nor is it possible to
convince these people of the fearful consequences to
which they are contributing. Of course, tut few
of these, it is to be hoped, are involved in the full
guilt of the *' craft.'* Every Catholic who belongs
to it u in mortal un. For the rest, we cannot but
hope and believe that an overwhelming majority are
innocent of any sinister motives. But it is impossi-
ble to exonerate them entirely. For, first, the
*' craft "is now pursuing its operation i with such
unblushing effrontery that it is difficult for any but
illiterate people to plead entire ignorance ; and
next, no jne can, without moral guilt, bind himself
by terrible oaths, for the breaking of which lie con-
sents to be assassinated, to keep inviolable secrets
with the nature of which he is previously unac-
quainted. It cannot but be to his everiasting peni
that any one peimita himiclf to be bnwded with
this' mark of the beast."
158
Freemasonry.
tion of the world, as do the Jews ?
Why does not Freemasonry make use
of a single Christian symbol ? Why
have we the compasses, the triangle,
the hydrometer, instead of the cross
and other emblems of the Passion ?
Why have wisdom, beauty, and
strength superseded the Christian
triad of faith, hope, and charity?" *
Brother Jochmus MtiUer, presi-
dent of the late German-Catholic
Church at Berlin, says in his Kir*
chenreform (vol. iii. p. 228): "We
have more in common with a free-
thinking, honest paganism than
with a narrow-minded Christian-
ity." f
In the Waarschenving (vol. xi.
Nos. 2 and 8) we find the following :
** The laws of the Mosaic and
Christian religions are the contemp-
tible inventions of petty minds bent
on deceiving others ; they are the
most extravagant aberrations of the
human intellect.
" The selfishness of priests and
the despotism of the great have for
centuries upheld this system (Chris-
tianity), since it enabled them to
rule mankind with a rod of iron by
means of its rigid code of morality^
and to confirm their power over
weak minds by means of certain
oracular utterances, in reality the
product of their own invention, but
palmed off on the world as the
words of revelation." J
In a review of Kirchenlehre and
Ketzerglaube by Dr. A. Drechsler
in vol. iv. of the Latomia^ we find :
" The last efforts made to uphold
ecclesiastical Christianity occasion-
ed its complete expulsion from the
realm of reason ; for they proved
but too plainly that all negotiations
for peace must result in failure.
Human reason became aware of
the irreconcilable enmity existing
* Secret lVar/mr4 of Frttmmtonry^ pp. 51, 5a.
t lb. p. 65. % lb. 207.
between its own teachings and the
dogmas of the church."
At a congress of Masons held at
a villa near Locarno, in the district
of No vara, preparatory to a social-
istic demonstration to be held in
the Colosseum at Rome, in answer
to the sapient question, " What nei«r
form of worship is to supersede Cath-
olicism V* the equally sapient ans-wrer
was returned, " Communist princi-
ples with a new religious ideal."
From a document published, the
author of Secret Warfare of Free-
masonry tells us,* by the Orient of
Brussels, " to the greater glory of
the Supreme Architect of the world,
in the year of true light 5838 "
(^838), we quote the following :
'* I. That at the head of every
document issued by the brethren,
in an individual or corporate ca-
pacity, should stand a profession
of faith in our lawgiver Jesus, the
son of Mary Amram (the Josue of
^le Old Testament), the invariable
formula to be employed being, * To
the glory of the Great Architect of
the Universe,' ... to expose and
oppose the errors of pope and priest,
who commence everything in the
name of their Trinity. *
" 3. That in remembrance of the
Last Supper or Christian love-feast
of Jesus, the Son of Mary Amram,
an account of which is given in the
Arabic traditions and in the Koran,
a solemn festival should be held,
accompanied by a distribution of
bread, in commemoration of an an-
cient custom observed by the slaves
of eating bread together, and of
their deliverance by means of the
liberator (Josue). The distribution
is to be accompanied by these
memorable words: *This is the
bread of misery and oppression
* lb. pp. 196-8.
Freemasonry.
159
which our fathers were forced to
eat under the Pharaos, the priests
of Juda; whosoever hungers, let
him come and eat ; this is the Pas-
chal sacrifice ; come unto us, all you
who are oppressed; yet this one
year more in Babylon, and the next
year shall see us free men V This
instructive, and at the same time
commemorative, supper of the
Rosicrucians is the counterpart of
the Supper of the Papists."
Dr. Dupuy, indeed, informs us
of the corrupt portion of the Order
of Templars, that " Receptores di-
cebant illis quos recipiebant, Chris-
tum non esse verum Deum, et ipsum
fuisse falsum, non fuisse passu m
pro redcmptione h u man i generis, sed
pro sceleribus suis" — " They who
received said to those whom they
received that Christ was not reallv
'God ; that he was himself false, and
did not suffer for the redemption
of the human race, but for his own
crimes.
i»
In harmony with all this was the
offensively blasphemous utterance
of Mr. Froth in gham at the Masonic
hall in this city some weeks ago, at
which the New York Tablet express-
ed a just indignation — ^an indigna-
tion which must have been shared by
all who believe, in any way or form,
in Jesus Christ, Redeemer of the
world : ** Tom Paine has keyed my
moral being up to a higher note
than the Jesus of Nazareth."
The argument we have advanced
seems to us to be convincing
enough as it stands. Could we
have taken a historical survey of
y^tiivarY\piov r^S avo/xiai in the
two hemispheres from the ''apos-
tasy*' up to the present time, but es-
pecially during the last fifteen years,
it would have acquired the force of a
logical demonstration. The limits
to which we are necessarily re-
strained in a monthly periodical
put this completely out of our
power. Whoever he may be who
has intelligently appreciated the
political events of the latter period
will be able to supply the deficiency
for himself. Merely hinting, there-
fore, at the impossibility of getting
an ti- Freemason appreciations of
contemporary events before the
public — well known to all whose
position has invited them to that
duty — as an illustration of the plan
of action laid down in the second
clause of the above summary; at
the recent unconcealed advocacy of
the " craft" by the New York Herald^
and the more cautious conversion
of the London Times^ * of that in
the third; at the ribaldry of the
press under Freemason influence di-
rected against the bishops, clergy,
and prominent laymen, as well as
against the Pope ; the nicknames
they are for ever coining, such
as. "clericals," "ultramontanes,"
" retrogades," ** reactionists"; their
blasphemous travesties of the sol-
emnities of religion in theatres
and places of public resort, and
so on, of that in the fourth and
fifth ; at the world-wide effort to
induce states to exclude religious
influences from the education of
youth, of that of the sixth ; at Vic-
tor Emanuel, the Prince of Wales,
etc., of that of the seventh ; at the
assassination of Count Rossi at the
beginning of the present Pope's
reign, the quite recent assassination
of the President of Ecuador, the
repeated attempts at assassination
of Napoleon III., the deposition
of so many sovereigns, even of the
Pope himself — so far as it was in
their power to depose him — of that
* This jouroal, at the time of the first initiation
of the Prince of Wales into the *' craft," in an ar-
ticle on that erent, heaped contempt and ridicule on
the whole affair. A recent article on the yoong
man's initiation at Master may satisfy the most «;•-
acting MaaoD.
i6o
Freenunonry.
of the eighth ; and at the whole
area of Europe strewn with the
wreck of revolution, of that of the
ninth; we pass on to the last two
marks of Antichrist with which we
brand the Freemason confraternity
— Qui solvit Jesum (Who abolishes
Christ) and Qui adversatur et extol-
litur supra omne quod dicitur DeuSy
aut quod colitur^ ita ut in templo
Dei sedeat ostendens se ianquam sit
Deus (Who opposes himself to,
and raises himself above, all that is
called God, or is worshipped, so
that he may sit in the temple of
(rod, making himself out to be, as
it were, God).
Barruel, who was completely vers-
ed in Freemasonry, and who had
been himself a Mason, states (p.
222) that " the grade of Kadosch
is the soul of Freemasonry, and the
final object of its plots is the rein-
troduction of absolute liberty and
equality through the destruction
of all royalty and the abrogation
of all religious worship." And he
backs this statement by a tragic in-
cident in the history of a friend of
his, who, because he was a Rosicru-
cian, fancied himself to be ** in pos-
session of the entire secret of Free-
masonry." It is too long to admit
of our quoting it. The reader
anxious for information we refer to
The Secret Warfare of Freemasonry
(pp. 142-144).
Le Libertaire^ a New York paper, in
the interests of Freemasonry, about
tlie year 1858 had the following:
** As far as religion is concerned,
tlie Liber taire has none at all ; he
protests against every creed; he
is an atheist and materialist, openly
denying the existence of God and
of the soul."
In 1793 belief in God was a
crime prohibited in France under
pain of death.
Those of our readers who have
some acquaintance with modent^
philosophy we need here only re-
mind of the natura naturans and
iMtura naturata of Spinoza, bom
a Jew, but expelled from the syna.*
gogue for his advocacy of these
principles of Freemasonry : *' THe
desire to find truth is a noble im-
pulse, the 'search after it a sacred
avocation; and ample field for this
is offered by both the mysterious
rites peculiar to the craft and those
of the Goddess Isis, adored in our
temples as the wisest and fairest of
deities." — Vienna Freemason's /our-
nal (3d year. No. 4, p. 78 et seq.)
In the Rappely a French organ of
Freemasonry, was the following pas-
sage a few weeks ago : " God is
nothing but a creation of the hu-
man mind. In a word, God is the
ideal. If I am accused of being
an atheist, I should reply I prefer
to be an atheist, and have of God
an idea worthy of him, to being a
spiritualist and make of God a
being impossible and absurd."
In short, the craft is so far ad-
vanced in its course of triumph as
to have at length succeeded in fa-
miliarizing the public ear with the
denial of the existence of a God ;
so that it is now admitted as one
amongst the " open questions" of
philosophy.
Our illustration of the crowning
indications of the satani^ mark of
Antichrist afforded by the Freema-
sons — the sitting in the temple of
God, so as to make himself out
to be, as it were, God — will be short
but decisive.
The well-known passage in the
last work of the late Dr. Strauss, to
the effect that any worship paid to
a supposed divine being is an out-
rage on the dignity of human nature^
goes far enough, we should have
thought, in this direction ; but they
go beyond even this.
Freemasonry*
i6i
A Dutch Mason, N. J. Mouthan,
in a work entitled Naa een werknur
int M iddcKverirek Losse Bladzijde ;
Zaarboekjc voor Ncderlandsche Vrij^
meisdartn (5872, p. 187 et seq.),
says: *^ The spirit which animates
us is an eternal spirit ; it knows no
division of time or individual ex-
istence. A sacre/i unity pervades
the wide firmament oHieaven ; it is
our one calling, our one duty, our
one God. Yes, we are God ! We
ourselves are God !"
In the Freemasons* periodical
" for circulation amongst the breth-
ren" (Altenberg, 1823, vol. 1., No.
1) is the following : " The idea of
religion indirectly includes all men
as men ; but in order to compre-
hend this aright, a certain degree
of education is necessary, and un-
fortunately the overweening egoism
of the educated classes prevents
their taking in so sublime a con-
ception of mankind. For this rea-
son our temples consecrated to
the worship of humanity can as
yet be opened only to a few. * We
should, indeed, expose ourselves to
a charge of idolatry, were we to at-
tempt to personify the moral idea
of humanity in the way in which
divinity is usually personified. .
. . . On this account, there-
fore, it is advisable not to reveal
the cuUus of humanity to the eyes
of the uninitiated, until at length the
time shall come when, from east to
west, this lofty conception of hu-
*The writer icfen to tlie highest gradei.
manity shall find a place in every
breast, this worship shall alone pre-
vail, and all mankind shall be gath-
ered into one fold and one family."
The principles of this united
family, ** seated in the temple of
God," the Masonic philosopher Hel-
vetius expounds to us ; from whom
we learn that " whatever is benefi-
cial to all in general may be called
virtue; what is prejudicial, vice
and sin. Here the voice of inte-
rest has alone to speak. . . .
Passions are only the intensified ex-
pression of self-interest in the indi-
vidual; witness the Dutch people,
who, when hatred and revenge
urged them to action, achieved
great triumphs, and made their
country a powerful and glorious
name. And as sensual love is
universally acknowledged to afford
happiness, purity must be con-
demned as pernicious, the marriage
bond done away with, and children
declared to be the property of the
state."* The father of such a
" one fold and one family " no one
not himself signed with the *' mark
of the beast "could hesitate to point
out. The consummation above
anticipated we are bid to expect.
Nor is it now far off. They who
are not " deceived" have, how-
ever, the consoling assurance that
our Lord will "slay him with the
spirit of his mouth, and destroy
him with the illumination of his
coming."
* Sicrtt War/art of Frttmatonryy pp. a3«, 833.
VOL. XXII. — II
l62
Sir Thomas More.
SIR THOMAS MORE.
A HISTORICAL ROMANCE,
FROM THB FRENCH OF THS PRXNCBSSB DB CRAON.
II.
" You understand, M. de Soria,"
said Wolsey to one of his secretaries,
in whom he placed the greatest con-
fidence. ** As soon as you see him,
present yourself before him, give
the usual password, and then con-
duct him through the subterranean
passage that leads to the banks of
the Thames. Bring him here by
the secret stairway. He will be
dressed in a cloak and suit of brown
clothes, wearing a black felt hat tied
round with a red ribbon."
" My lord, you may feel perfectly
satisfied," replied the secretary with
a self-sufficient air, "that all your
orders will be punctually executed.
But he cannot possibly arrive for
an hour yet; I will vouch for that,
my lord."
"Go, however, sir," replied the
minister, impatiently; "I fear be-
ing taken by surprise. Have less
confidence in your own calculations,
sir, and be more prompt in your
actions." And saying this he made a
sign for him to go at once.
The door had scarcely closed on
Soria, when the cardinal, who sat
writing in silence, heard in the court
of the chancellor's palace an unusual
noise. For some time he continu-
ed his work ; but the tumult increas-
ing, and hearing loud bursts of
laughter, he arose, opened the win-
dow and went out on a high bal-
cony, whence he had a view of all
that was passing in the principal
court.
There a crowd of servants had
assembled, and formed a circle
around an old woman who was
apparently the object of their ridi-
cule. Her large felt hat, around
which was tied a band of red rib-
bon, had fallen to the ground leav-
ing uncovered, not the head of an
old woman, as they had supposed,
but one thickly covered with short
hair, l)lack and curling.
On seeing this head-dress the
crowd redoubled their cries, and
one of them advancing suddenly,
raised the mask concealing the fea-
tures. What was their surprise to
find under that disguise a great
rubicund face, the nose and cheeks
of which were reddened with the
glow that wine and strong drink
alone produce, and giving sufficient
evidence of the sex to which it be-
longed. The man, seeing he was
discovered, defended himself with
vigor, and, dealing sharp blows with
his feet and hands, endeavored to
escape from his*tormentors ; but he
was unable to resist their superior
numbers. They threw themselves
upon him, tearing off his brown
cloak, and one of his blue cotton
petticoats. The wretched creature
cried out vociferously, loudly
threatening them with the indigna-
tion of the cardinal ; but the valets
heard nothing, vain were all his ef-
forts to escape them. Nevertheless,
being exceedingly robust, he at
length succeeded in overthrowing
Sir TAoptas More,
163
two of his antagonists, and then,
dashing across the courtyard, he
sprang quickly into the second
court, where, finding a ladder plac-
ed at the window of a granary, he
clambered up with all the dexterity
of a frightened cat, and hid himself
under a quantity of straw which
had been stored there. In the
meantime, the cardinal had recog-
nized from his elevated position on
the balcony the red ribbon that
announced the messenger for whom
he awaited with so much anxiety.
Greatly enraged at the scene before
him, and forgetting his dignity, he
hurried from the balcony, rush-
ing through the apartments that
led from his own room (in which
were seated the numerous secreta-
ries of state, engaged in the work of
the government). Without address-
ing a word to them, he descended
the stairs so rapidly that in another
instant he stood in the midst of
his servants, who were stupefied at
finding themselves in the presence
of their master, all out of breath,
bareheaded, and almost suffocat-
ed with indignation. He com-
manded them in the most emphatic
temis to get out of his sight, which
they did without waiting for a repe-
tition of the order. From every
direction the pages and secretaries
had assembled, among them being
M. dc Soria, who was in great trep-
idation, fearing some accident had
happened to the individual whom
he had been instructed to introduce
with such great secrecy into the pal-
ace. His fears were more than
realized on seeing the cardinal, who
cast on him a glance of intense an-
ger, and in a loud voice exclaimed :
" Go, sir, to the assistance of this un-
fortunate man who is being subject-
ed to such outrages in my own house.
Not a few of those who have at-
tempted to drive him off shall
themselves be sent away !" Then the
cardinal, giving an authoritative
signal, those around him understood
that their presence was no longer
desired, and immediately ascended
the stairs and returned to their
work.
Wolsey himself quickly followed
them ; and M. de Soria, greatly
confused, in a short time appeared
and ushered into the minister's cab-
inet the messenger, who was still
suffering from the effects of the con-
test in which he had been compelled
to engage.
" Your letters ! your letters !"
said Wolsey eagerly, as soon as they
were alone. "All is right, Wilson.
I am satisfied. I see that you are
no coward, and all that you have
just now suffered will be turned to
your advantage. Nevertheless, it is
quite fortunate that I came to your
rescue when I did, for I really do
not know what those knaves might
have done to you."
"They would have thrown me
into the water, I believe, like a
dog," said Wilson, laughing. " Oh !
that was nothing though. I have
been through worse than that in
my life. All I was afraid of was,
that they might discover the pack-
age of letters and the money."
As he said this, the courier pro-
ceeded to unfasten the buckles of
an undervest, made of chamois
leather, that he wore closely strap-
ped around his body. After he
had taken off the vest he unfasten-
ed a number of bands of woollen
cloth which were crossed on his
breast. In each one of these
bands was folded a great number
of letters, of different forms and
sizes. Then he unstrapped from
his waist and laid on the table a
belt that contained quite a large
sum of money in gold coin, that
Francis I. had sent to the minister.
i64
Sir Thomas More.
The avarice of Wolsey was so well
understood by the different princes
and sovereigns of Europe that they
were accustomed to send him val-
uable presents, or to confer on him
rich annuities, whenever they wish-
ed to gain him over to their inter-
ests. Wolsey had for a long time
been engaged in a correspondence
with France. He carried it on
with the utmost secrecy, for he well
understood if discovered by Hen-
ry he would never be pardoned.
His apprehensions were still great-
er, now that he was endeavoring to-
direct the influence of his political
schemes, and that of the paid
agents whom he had at the differ-
ent courts of Europe, towards
bringing about a reconciliation be-
tween the Emperor Charles V.
and the King of France ; hoping
by such an alliance to prevent the
marriage of the king with Anne
Boleyn, and thus to destroy the
hopes of that ambitious family.
He saw with intense satisfaction
his intrigues succeeding far beyond
his most sanguine expectations.
Francis I. anxiously entreated
him to use his influence with the
King of England, in order to dis-
pose him favorably toward the
treaty of peace which he was de-
termined to make with Charles
V. ** I assure you," he wrote,
**that I have so great a desire to
see my children, held so long now
as hostages, that I would without
hesitation willingly give the half
of my kingdom to ensure that hap-
piness. If you will aid me in re-
moving the obstacles that Henry
may interpose to the accomplish-
ment of this purpose, you may
count on my gratitude. The place
of meeting is already arranged ; we
have chosen the city of Cambrai;
and I have felt great pleasure in
the assurance that you prefer, above
all other places, that the confer-
ence should be held in that cit^'^.*'
Charmed with his success, the car-
dinal sent immediately in quest of
Cromwell, whom he found every
day becoming more and more in-
dispensable to him, and to whom
he wished to communicate the haf>*
piness he experienced in receiving
this joyful intelligence ; but, at the
same time, closely concealing the
manner in which he had obtained
the information.
On a terrace of Windsor Castle
a tent had been erected of heavy
Persian cloth interwoven with silk
and gold. Voluminous curtains
of royal purple, artistically looped
on each side with heavy silk cords,
descended in innumerable folds of
most graceful drapery. Rare flow-
ers embalmed the air in every di-
rection with exquisite perfumes,
which penetrated into an apart-
ment of the royal palace, through
the open windows of which were
seen the richness and elegance of
the interior.
In this apartment were seated
three persons apparently engaged
in an animated conversation.
"So there is yet another diffi-
culty!" cried a young girl, a charm-
ing and beautiful blonde, who
seemed at this moment in an ex-
tremely impatient and excited
mood. " But what say you ?" she
added presently, addressing her-
self with vivacity to a gentleman
seated immediately in front of her ;
" speak now, Sir Cromwell ; say,
what would you do in this desper-
ate situation } Is there no way in
which we can prevent this treaty
from being concluded V*
" Well truly, madam," he replied,
" it will be useless to attempt it. The
Duchess of Angoul^me has at this
moment, perhaps, already arrived at
Sir Thofftas More.
i6s
Cambrai, for the purpose of signing
the treaty ; and we cannot reason-
ably hope that the Archduchess
Margaret, who accompanies her,
will not agree with her on every
point, since the preliminaries have
already been secretly concluded
between the Emperor and the
King of France."
"Well, my dear Cromwell," she
replied, in a familiar and angry
tone, ** whaft shall we do then ?"
*' If I have any counsel to give
you, madam," answered Cromwell,
with an air of importance, *'it is
to begin by preventing the king
from consenting to the departure
of Cardinal Wolsey ; because his
greatest desire now is to be sent
as envoy to the congress at Cam-
brai, and you may be well assured,
if he wishes to go there, it is certain-
ly not with the intention of being
useful to you, but, on the contrary,
to injure you."
** Do you think so ?" replied Lady
Anne. ** Then I shall most cer-
tainly endeavor to prevent him
from making his appearance there.
But has he told you nothing about
the letter I wrote him the other
day ?"
"Excuse me, madam," replied
Cromwell, " he has shown me the
letter; in fact, he conceals nothing^
from roe."
"^ Well ! and did it not give him
pleasure.' It seemed to me it
ought to please him, for I made
protestations of friendship sufficient
to reassure him, and remove all
apprehensions he may have felt
that I would injure him in the es-
timation of the king."
^ He has said nothing to me
on the subject ," replied Cromwell,
" but I remarked that he read the
letter over several times, and when
he handed it to me it was with a very
ominous shake of the head. Un-
derstanding so well his every ges-
ture and thought, I comprehended
perfectly he was but little convinc-
ed of what you had written, and
that he has no confidence in it.
Moreover, madam, it is necessary
that you should know that Wolsey
has been most active in his endeav-
ors to forward the divorce so long
as he believed the king would es-
pouse a princess of the house of
France; but since he knows it is
you he has chosen, his mind is en-
tirely changed, and he tries in every
possible manner to retard the deci-
sion and render success impossi-
ble."
" It is clear as day, my dear sis-
ter !" exclaimed Lord Rochford,
earnestly interrupting Cromwell.
" You know nothing about the af-
fairs you are trying to manage;
therefore you will never be able
to rid yourself of this imperious
minister. I have already told you
that all your efforts to flatter or
appease him will be in vain. He
believes you fear him, and he likes
you no better on that account.
What Cromwell says is but too
true, and is verified by the fact
that nothing advances in this affair.
Every day some new formalities
are introduced, or advantages
claimed, or they wait for new in-
structions and powers. They tell us
constantly that Campeggio is inflex-
ible ; that nothing will induce him
to deviate from his instructions
and the usages of the court of
Rome. But whom has he chosen
— with whom has he conferred }
Is it not Wolsey ? And he has
certainly prevented us from ob-
taining anything but what he him-
self designed to accomplish."
" You are right, brother !" cried
Anne Boleyn, with a sudden ges-
ture of displeasure. " It is neces-
sary to have this haughty and jeal-
i66
Sir Thomas More.
ous minister removed. Henceforth
all my efforts shall be directed to
this end. It may, perhaps, be less
difficult than we suppose. The king
has been violently opposed to this
treaty, which Wolsey has so earn-
estly labored to bring about — or
at least the king suspects him of it
— and he told me yesterday that it
was vain for the king of France to
address him as Miis good brother
and perpetual ally,' for he regarded
as enemies all who presumed to
oppose his will. * Because,' he
added, * I understand very well, be-
forehand, what their terms will be.
Once become the ally of Charles
v., Francis will use all his efforts to
prevent the repudiation of his aunt ;
but nothing under heaven shall di-
vert me from my purpose. I will
resist all the counsels he may give
me !* "
" He is much disappointed," said
Lord Rochford, " that the Pope
should have been raised, as it were,
from the dead. His death would
have greatly lessened these difficul-
ties ; for he holds firmly to his opin-
ions. I am much deceived, or the
commission of legates will pass
All their time, and a very long time
too, without coming to any deci-
sion."
As Lord Rochford made this re-
mark, his wife, the sister-in-law of
Anne Boleyn, entered the apart-
ment, accompanied by the young
v/ife of Lord Dacre. Now, as Lady
Rochford belonged entirely to the
queen's adherents, and Lady Anne
was very much in fear of her, the
tone of conversation was immediate-
ly changed, becoming at once gen-
eral and indifferent
" The Bishop of Rochester lias
returned lo London," carelessly re-
marked Anne Boleyn, as she stoop-
ed to pick up a little embroidered
glove.
(C
Yes, madam," replied Crom-
well. " I have seen him, and I find
him looking quite old and feeble."
**Ah! lam truly sorry to hear
it," replied Lady Anne; "the king
is very much attached to him. I
have often heard him say he re-
garded him as the most learned
and remarkable man in England,
and that he congratulated himself
on possessing in his kingdom a
prelate so wise, virtuous, and ac-
complished."
" What would you wish, madam ?"
replied Cromwell, who never could
suffer any one to be eulogized in
his presence; *'aU these old men
should give place to us — it is but
just ; they have had their time."
" Ah ! Sir Cromwell," replied
Lady Boleyn, smiling, ** you have
no desire, I am sure, to be made
bishop ; therefore, the place he will
leave vacant will not be the one for
you."
" You have decided that ques-
tion very hastily, madam. Who
knows 1 I may one day, perhaps,
be a curate. It has been predicted
of me."
" Oh ! that would indeed be a
very strange sight," she replied,
laughing aloud. "You certainly
have neither the turn nor the tasic
for the office. How would you
ever manage to leave off the habit
of frequenting our drawing-rooms ?
Truly we could not afford to lose
you, and would certainly get up a
general revolt, opposing your ordi-
nation, rather than be deprived of
your invaluable society."
"You are very kind, madam,"
said Cromwell ; " but I should per-
haps not be so ridiculous as you
imagine. I should wear a grave
and severe countenance and an air
of the greatest austerity."
" Oh ! I understand you now,"
she replied; "you would not be
Sir Thomas More.
167
converted ; you would only become
a hypocrite !"
** I have a horror of hypocrites!"
said Cromwell scornfully.
** I wonder what you are, then ?"
thought Lady Rochford.
'* And I also/* replied Lady Anne.
''I have a perfect detestation of
liypocrites; it is better to be bad
out and out!"
*^ Is it true there has been a riot
in tJie city ?" asked Lady Rochford.
" Yes, madam," replied Crom-
ncll; '*but it was suppressed on
(lie spot. It was only a hun-
dred wool-spinners, carders, and
drapers, who declared they were
no longer able to live since the
market of the Netherlands has
been closed, and that they would
soon starve if their old communi-
cations were not re-established.
The most mutinous were arrest-
ed, tile others were frightened and
'luickly dispersed."
"Oh!" said Lord Rochford,
*'t!u're is nothing to fear from
Mich a rabble as that; they are too
much afraid of their necks. Let
tiicm clamor, and let us give our-
selves no uneasiness on the subject.
1 met Sir 1 homas More this morn-
mi; going to the king with a peti-
tion which they had addressed to
him yesterday."
*' Why was he charged with the
commission ?" asked young Lady
Dae re.
" In virtue of his office as sheriff
of the city," replied Cromwell.
*'He constitutes, then, part of
our city council?" she replied.
'' He is a man I have the greatest
desire to know; they say such
marvellous things of him, and I
find his poetry full of charming
and noble thoughts."
** I see," replied Cromwell, " you
have not read the spirited satire
just written by Germain de Brie .'
It points out the perfectly prodig-
ious faults of More's productions.
It is certainly an anii-Morus T
"I am inclined to think your
opinion is prompted by a spirit of
jealousy, Sir Cromwell," answered
Lady Rochford, sharply. " Read,
madam," she continued, addressing
young Lady Sophia Dacre, "his
History of Richard III,; I suppose
Sir Cromwell will, at least, accord
some merit to that work V*
"Entirely too light, and super-
ficial indeed, madam," said Crom-
well; "the author has confined
himselC wholly to a recital of the
crimes which conducted the prince
to the throne. The style of that
history is very negligent, but, at
the same time, very far above that
of his other works, and particular-
ly of his Utopia^ which is a work
so extravagant, a political system
so impracticable, that I regard the
book simply as a wonderful fable,
agreeable enough to listen to, but
at which one is obliged to laugh
afterwards when thinking of the
absurdities it contains."
"Your judgment is as invidious
as it is false !" exclaimed Lady
Rochford, who always expressed her
opinions bluntly, and without dis-
simulation. "If it is true," she
continued, "that this philosophical
dream can never be realized, yet it
is nevertheless impossible not to
admire the wise and virtuous max-
ims it contains. Above all others
there is one I have found so just,
and so beautifully conceived, I
could wish every young girl capa-
ble of teaching it to her future hus-
band. * How can it be supposed,'
says the author, * that any man of
honor and refinement could resolve
to abandon a virtuous woman, who
had been the companion of his bo-
som, and in whose society he had
passed so many days of happiness ;
i68
Sir Thotnas More.
only because time, at whose touch
all things fade, had laid his de-
stroying hand upon the lovely fea-
tures of that gentle wife, once so
cherished and adored ? Because
age, which has been the first and
most incurable of all the infirmities
she has been compelled to drag
after her, had forcibly despoiled
her of the charming freshness of her
youth ? Has that husband not en-
joyed the flower of her beauty and
garnered in the most beautiful days
of her life, and will he forsake his
wife now because she has become
feeble, delicate, and suffering?
Shall he become inconstant and
perjured at the very moment when
her sad condition demands of him
a thousand sacrifices, and claims a
return to the faithful devotion and
vows of his early youth ? Ah !
into such a depth of unworthiness
and degradation we will not pre-
sume it possible»for any man to de-
scend ! It was thus the people of
the Utopian Isle reasoned, declare
ing it would be the height of injus-
tice and barbarity to abandon one
whom we had loved and cherished,
and who had been so devoted to
us, at the moment when suffering
and affliction demanded of us re-
newed sympathy and a generous
increase of our tenderest care and
consolations !* * And now, my dear
sister," she added, fixing her eyes
steadfastly on Lady Boleyn, " what
do you think of that passage ?
Are you not forcibly struck by the
truth and justice of the senti-
ment ? Let me advise you when
you marry to be well satisfied be-
forehand that your husband enter-
tains the same opinions."
As she heard these last words
the beautiful face of Anne Boleyn
became suddenly suffused with a
• Vto^a* By Sir Thomas More.
deep crimson, and for some mo-
ments not a word was uttered by
any one around her. They un-
derstood perfectly well that L^dy
Rochford's remarks were intended
to condemn in the most pointed
manner the king's conduct towards
the queen, whose failing health w^as
entirely attributable to the mortifr-
cation and suffering she endured
on account of her husband's ingrati-
tude and ill-treatment.
In the meantime, the silence be-
coming every moment more and
more embarrassing, Anne Boleyn,
forcibly assuming an ?.ir of gayety,
declared her sister was disposed to
look very far into the future ; " but,"
she added, " happily, my dear sister,
neither you nor I are in a condi-
tion to demand all those tender
cares due to age and infirmity."
"Come, ladies, let us go," said
Cromwell in a jesting tone, hoping
to render himself agreeable to
Lady Anne by relieving the em-
barrassment the conversation had
caused her. "I am unable to ex-
press my admiration for Lady
Rochford. She understands too
well the practice of the Utopian laws
not to wish for the position of
Dean of the Doctors of the Univer-
sity of Oxford."
" You are very complimentary
and jocose, sir," replied Lady Roch-
ford ; " and if you wish it, I will in-
troduce you to one who will be
personally necessary if you should
ever aspire to fill a position in that
kingdom. You must know, how-
ever, that their wise law-giver, Uto-
pia, while he accorded to each one
liberty of conscience, confined that
liberty within legitimate and right-
eous bounds, in order to prevent
the promulgation of the pernicious
doctrines of pretended philoso-
phers, who endeavor to debase
the dignity of our exalted human
Sir Thomas More.
169
nature ; he also severely condemn-
ed every opinion tending to degen-
erate into pure materialism, or,
what is more deplorable still, verit-
able atheism. The Utopians were
taaght to believe in the reality of a
future state, and in future rewards
and punishments. They detested
and denounced all who presumed
to deny these truths, and, far from ad-
mitting them to the rank of citizens,
tliey refused even to class among
men those who debased themselves
to the abject condition of vile ani-'
mals. ' What,* they asked, * can be
done with a creature devoid of
principle and without faith, whose
only restraint is fear of punishment,
who without that fear would violate
' every law and trample under foot
those wise rules and regulations
which alone constitute the bulwark
of social order and happiness ?
What confidence can be reposed in
an individual purely sensual, living
without morals and without hope,
recognizing no obligation but to
himself alone ; who limits his hap-
piness to the present moment ;
whose God is his body ; whose law,
his own pleasures and passions, in
the gratification of which he is at
all times ready to proceed to the
extremity of crime, provided he can
find means of escaping the vij^ilant
eye of justice, and be a villain with
impunity ? Such infamous charac*
ters are of course excluded from all
participation in municipal affairs,
and ail positions of honor and public
trust; they are veritable automatons,
abandoned to the " error of their
ways," wretched, wandering " cum-
bcrcrs of the earth *' on which they
live!* You perceive, Sir Crom-
well," continued Lady Rochford
ironically, *' that my profound
knowledge and retentive memory
*«ay prove very useful to you,
should you ever arrive at the Uto-
pian Isle, for you must be convinc-
ed that your own opinions would
meet with very little favor in that
country."
Cromwell, humiliated to the last
degree, vainly endeavored to re-
ply with his usual audacity and
spirit. Finding all efforts to recov-
er his self-possession impossible, he
stammered forth a few incoherent
words, and hastily took his leave.
The desire of winning the appro-
bation of Anne Boleyn at the ex-
pense of her sister-in-law had
caused him to commit a great blun-
der, and he received nothing in re-
turn to remove the caustic arrows
from his humiliated and deeply
wounded spirit. Extremely bril-
liant and animated in conversa-
tion, Lady Rochford was accus-
tomed to "having the laugh en-
tirely on her own side," which,
knowing so very well, Anne had
pretended not to ifhderstand the
conversation, although the remarks
had been so very piquant. i
As soon as he had retired Crom-
well became the subject of conver-
sation, and Anne timidly, and with
no little hesitation, ventured to re-
monstrate with her sister-in-law,
expressing her regret that the con-
versation should have been made
so personal, as she liked Cromwell
very much.
" And that is just what you are
wrong in doing," replied Lady
Rochford; "for he is a deceitful
and dangerous man ! He pretends
to be extremely devoted to you,
but it is only because he be-
lieves he can make you useful to
himself; and he is full of avarice
and ambition. This you will dis-
cover when it is perhaps loo late,
and I advise you to reflect seriously
on the subject. It is so cruel to be
mistaken in the choice of a friend
that, truly, the surer and better way
I70
Sir Tfiatnas More.
would seem to be, to form no friend-
ships at all ! There are so few, so
very few, whose affections are pure
and disinterested, that they scarcely
ever withstand the ordeal of mis-
fortune, or the loss of those extra-
neous advantages with which they
found us surrounded."
" You speak like a book, my dear
sister," cried Lady Boleyn, laughing
aloud; ''just like a book that has
been sent me froni France, with
such beautiful silver clasps."
Saying this, she ran to fetch the
book, Avhich she had opened that
evening in the middle, not having
sufficient curiosity to examine the
title or inquire the name of the
author of the volume. She opened
it naturally at the same place, and
read what follows, which was, as
far as could be discovered, the frag-
ment of a letter :
" You ask me for the definition of
a friend ! In reply, I am compelled
to declare that the term has become
so vague and so obscure, it has been
used in so hiany senses, and applied
to so many persons, I shall first be
obliged to give you a description of
what is called a friend in the world — a
title equivalent, in my estimation, to
the most complete indifference, inter-
mingled at the same time with no in-
significant degree of envy and jeal-
ousy. For instance, I hear M. de
Cleves speaking of his friend M. Joy-
euse, and he remarks simply : * I
know more about him than anybody
ielse ; I have been his most intimate
friend for a great many years; he
is meanly avaricious — I have re-
proached him for it a hundred times.'
A little further on, and I hear the
great Prof, de Chaumont ex-
claim, * Valentino d'Alsinois is a
most charming woman ; everybody
is devoted to her. But this popu-
larity cannot last long — she is full
of vanity ; intolerably conceited and
silly ; it really amuses me !* I go
on still further, and meet a friend
who takes me enthusiastically by
both hands : * Oh ! I expected a
visit from you yesterday, and was
quite in despair that you did not
come ! You know how delighted I
always am to see you, and how
•highly I appreciate your visits !'
But I happen to have very keen
eyes, and an ear extremely acute
and delicate; and I distinctly heard
her whisper to her friend as I ap-
*proached them, ' How fortunate I
have been to escape this visit!'
What a change ! I did not think it
could last long. Well, with friends
like these you will find the world
crowded ; they will obstruct, so to
speak, every hour of your life ; but
it is rare indeed to encounter one
who is true and loyal, a friend of
the heart! A man truly virtuous
and sincerely religious is alone ca-
pable of comprehending and lov-
ing with pure and exalted friend-
ship. A man of the world, on
the contrary, accustomed to refer
everything to himself, and consult-
. ing his own desires, becomes his
own idol, and on the altar of self
offers up the only sincere worship
of which his sordid soul is capable.
And you will find he will always
end by sacrificing to his own inter-
ests and passions the dearest inter-
ests of the being who confided in
his friendship.
" But with the sincere and ear-
nest friend, love and gratitude are
necessities of his nature ; they con-
stitute the unbroken chain which
links all pure and reasonable friend-
ship. He will assist his friend in all
emergencies, for he has assumed in
a manner even his responsibilities.
He will never flatter; his counsi:!
and advice, on the contrary, may be
severely administered, because it is
impossible to be happy without be-
Sir Thomas More.
171
ing virtuous, and the happiness of
his friend is as dear to him as his
own. He is ready to sacrifice his
own interests to those of his friend,
and none would dare attack his
friend's reputation in his presence ;
for they know he will defend and
sustain him under all circumstances,
sympathizing in his misfortunes,
mingling tears with his tears — in a
word, that it is another self whom
they would presume to attack.
** Death itself cannot dissolve the
ties of such an affection — the soul^
nearer to God, will continue to im-
plore unceasingly for him the di-
vine benediction. Oh ! what joy,
what happiness, to participate in a
friendship so pure and exalted !
He who can claim one such friend
possesses a source of unbounded
joy, and an inexhaustible conso-
lation of which cruel adversity
can never deprive him. If pros-
perity dazzles him with its dan-
gerous splendor, if sorrow pierce
him with her dart, if melancholy
annihilate the life of his soul, then
ever near him abides this friend,
like a precious gift which God
alone had power to bestow !"
Queen Catherine was walking in
that portion of the vast grounds
of Greenwich called the Queen's
Garden, which in happier days had
often been her favorite retreat.
Jets of limpid water (conveyed
by means of pipes through the
grounds) burst in every direction,
and then fell in silvery showers
among the lovely parterres of fiow-
crs, and covered the green velvet
turf with a glittering veil of dia-
mond-like spray. On the bosom
of the murmuring waters floated
myriads of leaves and flowers,
flung with gentle hand by the
vooing breeze, while thousands of
gold fishes sported amid their crys-
tal depths. The eye of the stran-
ger was at once arrested and ravish-
ed by these marvels of nature and
art, admiring the power and riches
thus united; but the queen, with
slow and painful steps, only-sought
this solitude for liberty there to in-
dulge her tears in silence and ob-
livion.
At no great distance Mary, full
of joy, engaged in the sportive
plays of the ladies of the queen.
A golden insect or a brilliant but-
terfly was the only conquest to
which she aspired. Gaily flitting
from place to place, with step so
light that her little feet scarcely
impressed the delicate white sand
covering the walks, her shouts of
expectation and happiness were still
powerless to rejoice the maternal
heart.
Catherine hastily withdrew from
the scene. Fatigued and worn
with suffering, she regarded with
painful indifference all that sur-
rounded her.
In the meantime one of the gar-
deners advanced towards her and
presented a bouquet.
"Give it," said she, "to one of
my ladies." And she turned away ;
but the gardener would not with-
draw. " The queen does not recog-
nize me," he said at length in a
low voice.
" Ah ! More," exclaimed Cathe-
rine, greatly agitated. " Friend al-
ways faithful ! But why expose
yourself thus to serve me.^ Go
on. I will follow!" And Cathe-
rine continued her walk until she
reached a wide and extended avenue
planted with venerable old lindens.
" More," she exclaimed, trem-
bling with fear, yet still indulging a
slight hope, " what have you to
tell me } Speak, oh ! speak quick-
ly ! I fear we may be observed ;
every step of mine is watched."
173
Sir Thomas Mare.
"Madam," cried More, "a gen-
eral peace has been concluded.
The emperor's difficulty with the
Holy See is ended; he consents to
surrender all the conquered terri-
tory originally belonging to the
Ecclesiastical States. He binds
himself to re-establish the domin-
ion of the Medici in Florence; he
abandons Sforza, leaving the Pope
absolute master of the destiny of
that prince and the sovereignty of
the Milanese. Urged on by these
concessions, the two princesses cut
short their negotiations, and the
treaty between France and Austria
was concluded immediately. Your
appeal and protestation have been
despatched, and conveyed safely out
of the kingdom. The messenger
to whom they were entrusted was
most rigorously searched, but the
papers were so securely and adroit-
ly concealed they were not discov-
ered. They were carried to Ant-
werp by Peter Gilles, the * friend
of my heart,' and from thence he
despatched them to Rome. Hope,
therefore hope; let us all hope!"
** Ah ! More," replied the queen,
who had listened with deep anxi-
ety, " would that I were able to
acknowledge your services as I ap-
preciate them. Your friendship
has been my only consolation.
But I know not why it is, hope
every day grows more and more
faint in my heart. And so utterly
insensible to joy have I become
that it seems now I am incapable
of aught but suffering, and that for
me I fear greater sorrow is to be
added."
" What do you say, madam ?"
replied More. " How sadly dis-
couraging and painful to your ser-
vants to hear such reflections from
you at the very moment when
everything becomes favorable to
your cause. The emperor will
use his influence at the court of
Rome, and Francis, between the
two allies, will at least be forced to
remain neutral."
"What were the conditions of
the Treaty of Cambrai .^" asked the
queen.
" They were very hard and ex-
acting," replied More. " The king
of France entirely renounces his
pretensions to Burgundy and Italy ;
thus nine years of war, the battle
of Pavia, and a humiliating cap-
tivity, become of no avail. He
sacrifices all, even his allies. Fear-
ing to add to these harsh condi-
tions the reconciliation of their in-
terests, he abandoned to the mercy
of the emperor, without the slight-
est stipulation, the Venetians, the
Florentines, the Duke of Ferrara,
and the Neapolitan barons who
were attached to his arms."
"What a cruel error !" exclaimed
the queen. " The prince has sure-
ly forgotten that even in political
and state affairs, he who once sac-
rifices his friends cannot hope to
recall them ever again to his sup-
port. It is very evident that he
has not more prudent nor wise
counsellors in his cabinet than
skilful and accomplished generals
in the field. Who now among
them all can be compared with
Pescaire, Anthony de Leve, or the
Prince of Orange .?"
" He miglit have had them, ma-
dam, if his own negligence and the
wickedness of his courtiers had not
alienated and driven them away.
The Constable of Bourbon, Moran,
and Doria would have powerfully
counterbalanced the talents and in-
fluence of the chiefs you have just
named, had the king of France en-
gaged them in his own cause, in-
stead of having to encounter them
in the ranks of his enemies. His
undaunted courage and personal
Sir Ttiomas More.
173
ydor, however, have alone caused
the unequal and hopeless contest to
be so long continued."
** And what does your king say
of these afifairs *" asked the queen,
anxiously.
** Alas ! madam, he seems but
little satisfied," responded More,
hesitating.
**That is just as I suspected,"
replied the queen. ** Yes, it is be-
catise he foresees new obstacles to
the unjust divorce he is prosecuting
with so much ardor. O More!"
she continued, bursting into tears,
"what have I done to merit such
cruel treatment.? When I look
back on the happy years of my
youth, the years when he loved me
so tenderly ; when I recall the de-
voted and affectionate demon-
strations of those days, and com-
pare them with the actual rudeness
and severity of the present, my
bleeding heart is crushed by this
sorrow ! What have I done. More,
to lose thus so suddenly and en-
tirely my husband's affection? It
is true, the freshness of my early
youth has faded, but was it to such
ephemeral advantages alone I owed
his devotion 1 Can a marriage be
contracted by a man with the in-
tention of dissolving it as soon as
the personal attractions, the youth-
ful charms, of his wife have faded }
Oh! it seems to me it should be
just the contrary, and that the hour
of affliction should only call forth
deeper proofs of affection. No,
More, no ! neither you nor any
other of my friends will be able to
accomplish anything for me. I feel
, that my life is rapidly ebbing away ;
that my spirit is crushed and bro-
ken for ever. For admitting, even,
that Henry will not be successful in
his attempt to sever the sacred
bonds of our union, what happiness
could I ever hope to enjoy near one
to whom I had become an object
of aversion — who would behold in
me only an invincible obstacle to
his will and the gratification of his
criminal and disorderly passions.?"
"Alas! madam," replied More,
" we are all grieved at the contem-
plation of the great affliction by
which you are overwhelmed, and
how much do we wish the expres-
sion of our sympathy and devotion
had power to relieve you. But re-
member the Princess of Wales — you
will surely never cease to defend
her rights."
" Never, never !" exclaimed the
queen passionately. ** That is the
sole inducement I have once more
to arouse myself — it sustains my
courage and animates my resolu-
tion, when health and spirits both
fail. O More ! could you but
know all that passes in the depths
of my soul ; could you but realize,
for one moment, the anguish and
agony, the deep interior humilia-
tion, into which I am plunged !
Oh ! fatal and for ever unfortunate
day when I left my country and
the royal house of my father ! Why
was I not born in obscurity } Would
not my life then have passed quietly
and without regret } Far from the
tumult of the world and the ^clat
of thrones, I should have been ex-
tremely happy. Now I am dying
broken-hearted and unknown."
" Is it really yourself, madam,"
answered More, " who thus gives
way to such weakness } Truly, it is
unworthy of your rank, and still
more of your virtues. When adversi-
ty overtakes us, we should summon
all our courage and resolution. You
are our queen, and you should re-
member your daughter is born sov-
ereign of this realm, beneath v.hose
soil our buried forefathers sleep.
No, no ! Heaven will never permit
the blood of such a race to be sul-
174
Sir Tfiofnas More.
lied bv that of an ambitious and de-
graded woman. That noble race
will triumph, be assured of it ; and
in that triumph the honor of our
country will shine forth with re-
newed glory and splendor. I swear
it by ray head, and hope it in my
heart 1" As he said these words,
footsteps were heard, and Catherine
l)crr.eived the king coming towards
them. Khe turned instantly pale,
but, remaining calm in the danger-
ous trisis, made a sign for More to
withdraw. The king immediately
approached her, and, observing with
heartless indifference the traces of
recent tears on her cheek, exclaim-
ed :
•* Always in tears !" Then, assum-
ing a playful manner, he continued:
** Come, Kate, you must confess that
you are always singularly sad and
depressed, and the walls of a con-
vent would suit you much better
than this beautiful garden. You
have in your hand a fine bouquet ;
I see at least you still love flowers."
" I do indeed,'* replied the queen,
with a deep sigh.
" Well," said Henry, " I do not
mean to reproach you, but it would
be advisable not to hold those
roses so close to your check ; the
contrast might be unfavorable — is
it not so, my old Kate } Have you
seen the falcons just sent me from
Scotland } They are of a very rare
species, and trained to perfection.
I am going out now to try them."
" I wish your majesty a pleasant
morning," answered the queen.
** Adieu, Kate," he continued,
proceeding on his way, and giving
in the exuberance of his spirits a
flourish with his trumpet. Very
tioon the notes of the hunting-horns
announced his arrival in the outer
courtyard. He found there assem-
\tU*.i\ tt crowd of lords and pages,
UiWnwuiX by falconers, carrying the
new birds on their wrists. These
birds were fettered, and wore on
their heads little leathern hoods,
which were to be removed at the
moment they mounted in the atr in
search of their accustomed prey-
In a very short time the party
rode off, and Catherine thoughtful-
ly entered the palace, thinking it
was a long time since the king had
shown himself so indulgent and
gracious towards her.
" Are you well assured of the
truth of these statements V said
the king, returning Cromwell a let-
ter he had just read. " No ! I will
not believe it," he cried, stamping
his foot violently on the richly- tes-
sellated floor of his cabinet. "* I
certainly hoped to have gained the
legate over."
" But your majesty may no long-
er indulge in this illusion," replied
Cromwell, who stood before the
king in an attitude the most hum-
ble and servile possible to assume.
"You are furnished with incontro-
vertible proof; Campeggio, in or-
der to escape your imperious com-
mands, urges the Pope to evoke the
trial to his own tribunal. Of this
there is no doubt, for this copy of
his letter I received from the hand
of his confidential secretarv."
** You are v«ry adroit, sir," re-
plied the king, haughtily. " Later,
I will consider the manner of
rewarding you. But I declare
to you your patron is on the
brink of xuin. I shall never par-
don him for permitting that piotest
and appeal of the queen to reach
Rome."
" That was truly an unfortunate
affair," replied Cromwell; '*but it
was perhaps not the fault of my
lord, Cardinal Wolsey."
" Whose fault was it then ?" de-
manded Henry in the imperious
Sir T/iofMas More.
175
tone he used to disconcert this spy
whenever his reports displeased
him.
" The queen has friends," replied
Cromwell, whilst on his thin, col-
orless lips hovered a false and
treacherous smile, worthy of the
wicked instinct that prompted and
directed all his suspicions, and
made him foresee the surest plan
of injuring those whom he envied
or destro)dng those whose reputa-
tion he intended to attack.
'* And who are they ?" demanded
the king, his ill-humor increasing
with the reflection. "Why do you
not name them, sir.^"
"Well, for instance, Sir Thomas
More, whom your Majesty loads
I with favors and distinctions, the
Bishop of Rochester, the Duke of
I Norfolk, and the . . ."
I ** You will soon accuse ray entire
court, and each one of my servants
in particular," cried the king ; " and
in order still more to exasperate
and astound me, you have taken
particular pains to select and name
those whom I most esteem, and
who have always given me the sin-
cerest proofs of their devoted affec-
tion. Go!" he suddenly cried in a
furious tone; and he fell into one
of those wild transports of rage
that frequently attacked him when
his will clashed against obstacles
which he foresaw he could neither
sumiount nor destroy. He often
passed entire days absorbed in these
moods of violence, shut up in his own
apartments, suffering none to speak
to or approach him, nor on any ac-
count to attempt to divert him.
Abashed and alarmed, Cromwell
hastily withdrew, stammering the
most humble apologies, none of
which, however, reached the ear of
Henry VIII., who, on returning to
his chamber, raving in a demonia-
cal manner, exclaimed :
" Vile slaves ! you shall be taught
to know and to respect my power.
I will make you sorely repent the
hour you have dared to oppose
me!"
Just as he had uttered this threat-
ening exclamation. Cardinal Wol-
sey appeared. He could not have
chosen a more inauspicious mo-
ment. The instant he beheld him,
the king, glaring on him with flash-
ing eyes, cried out : .
"Traitor! what has brought you
here 1 Do vou know the ambassa-
dors of Charles and Ferdinand, for-
tified by the queen's appeal and
protest, have overthrown all I had
accomplished at Rome with so
much precaution and difficulty }
Why have you not foreseen these
contingencies, and known that the
Pope would prove inflexible } Why
have you not advised me against
undertaking an almost impossible
thing, which will sully the* honor
of my name and obscure for all
time the glory of my reign."
'* Stop, sire," replied Wolsey ; " I
do not deserve these cruel re-
proaches. You can readily recall
how earnestly I endeavored to dis-
suade you from your purpose, but
all my efforts were vain."
" It is false !'* cried the king, giv-
ing vent to his rage in the most
shocking and violent expressions
he could command, to inflict upon
his minister. " And now," he con-
tinued, " remember well, if you fail
to extort from your legate such a
decision as I require, you shall
speedily be taught what it is to de-
ride my commands.'
The sun had scarcely risen above
the horizon when already Cardinal
Campeggio (whose age and in-
firmities had not changed the loni;
habits of an austere and laborious
life) was silently kneeling in the
176
Sir Thomas Mare,
midst of the choir of the palace
chapel.
The velvet cushions of his prie-
dieu protected him from the cold
marble of the sacred pavement,
while the rays of the rising sun,
descending in luminous jets through
the arches of the antique windows,
fell on the head of the venerable
old man, giving him the appearance
of being surrounded by a halo of
celestial light. His eyes were cast
down, and he seemed to be entirely
absorbed in pious and profound
meditation.
Other thoughts, however, intrud-
ed on his agitated mind, and filled
him with anxious apprehension.
" The hour rapidly approaches,"
he mentally exclaimed — " the hour
when it will be essential to come
to a decision. I have still hoped
to receive a reply — it has not yet
arrived. I alone am made respon-
sible, and doubtless the wrath of
the king will burst upon my head.
His vengeance will be terrible.
More than once already he has
taken occasion to manifest it.
What cruel incertitude! What
dreadful suspense! Yet what shall
be done ? Speak ! O my con-
science !" he exclaimed, " let me
listen, and be guided by thy voice
alone!"
** Despise the power of the king
who demands of thee an injustice,"
immediately replied that faithful
monitor whose stern and inflexible
voice will be summoned to testify
against us at the last judgment.
*' Sayest thou, thou art afraid ?
Then thou hast forgotten that the
last even of those, gray hairs still
remaining to thee cannot fall with-
out the permission of him who cre-
ated the universe. Know that the
anger of man is but as a vain re-
port — a sound that vanishes in
space ; and that God permits thee
not to hesitate for one instant, O
judge ! when the cause of the feeble
and the innocent claims all the
strength of thy protection."
Irrevocably decided, Campeggio
continued his prayer, and waifed
without further apprehension the
decisive moment, so rapidly ap-
proaching.
In the meantime, another cardi-
nal, Wolsey, in great anguish of
mind, contemplated w^ith terror the
approaching day when he would
be compelled to decide the fate of
the queen. Weary after passing a
sleepless night, spent in reflecting
on the punishment threatening him
if the will of the king was not ac-
complished, he had scarcely closed
his eyes when a troop of valets
entered the chamber to assist at his
toilet. They brought his richest
vestments, with all the insignia of
his elevated rank. Wolsey regard-
ed them with a feeling of terror.
And when they presented him
the ivory rod which the high-chan-
cellor is alone empowered to carry,
he seized it with convulsive eager-
ness, grasping it in his hand, as
though he feared they would tear
it from him ; and with that fear
the reflection overshadowed his
soul that yesterday he had made a
last effort to ascertain and influence
the decision of the legate, without
being able to succeed !
Followed by his pages and gen-
tlemen, and still harassed by these
misgivings, he arrived at Blackfriars,
where the court awaited him. The
assembly of cardinals arose defe-
rentially as he entered, though all
remarked with astonishment the
pallor of his countenance and his
extreme embarrassment of manner,
so invariably composed and assur-
ed. A portion of this visible re-
straint was communicated to the
assembly, on learning that the king
•Sir Thomas Mare.
177
himself had arrived, and was resolv-
ed to sit in the adjoining apartment,
where he could see and hear the
entire proceedings.
Dr. Bell, his advocate, after a
long preamble, began a discourse,
and during its delivery hurried ex-
clamations and hasty comments
were constantly indulged in by the
excited assembly, so different in
their hopes, desires, and opinions.
"O Rochester," cried More, in-
vested with the grand official robes
of the king's exchequer, " do you
think this man will succeed with
his arguments in carrying the
crown by storm?"
**No, no," replied Rochester,
**and especially as he wishes to place
it upon such a head."
** But listen, listen !" exclaimed
More, "he declares the brief of dis-
pensation to have been a fraud."
** Ah ! what notorious bad faith !"
murmured the bishop.
** What answer can they make to
that?" said Viscount Rochford,
in another part of the hall, address-
ing the lords belonging to Anne
Bolcyn's party. '^It is certainly
encouraging; we cannot doubt of
our success now."
But at length the arguments,
principally dictated by Henry him-
self, were closed ; his advocate de-
manding, in the most haughty and
authoritative manner, that a deci-
sion should at once be rendered,
and that it should be as favorable
AS it was prompt. The king dur-
ing this time, in a state of great
excitement^ paced to and fro be-
fore the entrance of the hall, the
<ioor being left open by every one
in passing, as if he were afraid to
('lose it behind him. He surveyed
from time to time, with a glance of
«tern, penetrating scrutiny, the as«
Mmbly before him, each member
of which tried to conceal his true
sentiments — some because they
were secretly attached to the queen, ,
others through fear that the cause
of Anne Boleyn might ultimately
triumph. When the advocate had
finished his discourse, each one sat
in breathless suspense anxiously
wailing the queen's reply ; but not
recognizing the authority or legali-
ty of the tribunal, she had refused
to accept counsel, and no one con-
sequently appeared to defend her.
Profound silence reigned through-
out the assembly, and all eyes were
turned toward Campeggio, who
arose and stood ready to speak.
The venerable old man, calm and
dignified, in a mild but firm and
decided tone began :
** You ask, or rather you de-
mand," he said," that we pronounce
a decision which it would be im-
possible for us in justice to render.*
Here, on seeing the king turn ab-
ruptly around and confront him, he
paused, looking steadily at him.
" Knowing that the defendant hath
challenged this court, and refused
to recognize in our persons loyal
and disinterested judges, I have
considered it my duty, in order to
avoid error, to submit every part
of the proceedings of this council
to the tribunal of the Sovereign Pon-
tiff; and we shall be compelled to
await his decision before rendering
judgment or proceeding further. For
myself individually, I will further-
more affirm, that I am here to ren-
der justice — strict, entire, and im-
partial justice, and no earthly power
can induce me to deviate from the
course I have adopted or the reso-
lutions I have taken ; and I boldly
declare that I am too old, too fee-
ble, and too ill to desire the favor
or fear the resentment of any liv-
ing being." Here he sat down,
visibly agitated.
Had a thunderbolt fallen in the
VOL. XXII, — 12
178
Thontas Mare,
midst of the assembly, the tumult
and astonishment could not have
been greater. Anger, joy, fear, hope
— all hearts were agitated by the
most contradictory emotions ; while
nothing was heard but the deep
murmur of voices, the noise of
unintelligible words, as they cross-
ed and clashed in an endless diver-
sity of tones. The Duke of Suffolk,
brother-in-law of the king, cried out,
beating his fists violently on the
table before him, with the gross
impetuosity of an upstart soldier,
that the old adage had again been
verified : ** Never did a cardinal do
any good in England." And with
flashing eyes and furious gestures
he pointed to Cardinal Wolsey.
The cardinal at once comprehend-
ed his danger, but found it impos-
sible not to resent the insult. He
arose, pale with anger, and with
forced calmness replied that the
duke, of all living men, had the
least cause to depreciate cardinals.
For, notwithstanding he had him-
self been a very insignificant car-
dinal, yet, if he had not held the
office, the Duke of Suffolk would
not this day actually carry his
head on his shoulders. " And you
would not now," he added, "be
here to exhibit the ostentatious
disdain you have manifested to-
ward those who have never given
you cause of offence. If you were,
my lord, an ambassador of the king
to some foreign power, you would
surely not venture to decide impor-
tant questions without first con-
sulting your sovereign. We also
are commissioners, and we have
no power to pronounce judgment,
without first consulting those from
whom we derive our authority ; we
can do neither more nor less than
our commissions permit. Calm
yourself, then, my lord, and no more
address, in this insulting manner,
your best friend. You very well
know all I have done for you, and
you must also acknowledge thai
on no occasion have I ever refer-
red to your obligations before."
But the Duke of Suffolk heard
nothing of the last words uttered
by Wolsey. Exasperated beyond
measure, he abruptly turned his
back on the cardinal and went to
join the king in the next aparb.
ment. He found the latter in the act
of retiring, being no longer able to
restrain his wrath within bounds;
and as his courtiers entered and
stood regarding him with a look
of hesitation he went out, com*
manding them in a fierce tone and
with an imperious gesture to fol^
low him immediately.
Meanwhile, in the council chan^
ber the utmost confusion prevailed]
"God be praised!" cried Sir
Thomas More, who in the sim-
plicity of his heart and the excess
of his joy was incapable of dissimu-
lation or concealment. "God be
praised ! Our queen is still queen;
and may she ever triumph thus
over all her enemies !"
Ensconced in the deep embrasure
of a window stood Cromwell, a si-
lent observer of the scene; not
permitting a word to escape him,
but gathering up every sentence
with keen avidity, and cherishing it
in his envious and malicious mem-
ory. He found himself, neverthe-
less, in a precarious and embar-
rassing situation. Foreseeing the
downfall and disgrace of Wolsey, he
had sought to make friends by be-
traying his benefactor. But the
king treated him with indignant
scorn. Viscount Rochford with su-
preme contempt, and he strongly
suspected he had prejudiced his
sister, Anne Boleyn, also against
him.
Anxious and alarmed, he at once
Sir Tkomas Mere.
179
^ennined to begin weaving a new
web of intrigue, and instantly cast
about him to discover what hope
remained, or what results the future
might possibly bring forth from the
[ discord and difficulties reigning in
I the present.
When selfish, corrupt creatures
like Cromwell find themselves sur-
Toanded by great and important
events, they at once assume to be-
come identified with the dearest
interests of the community in which
they live, without however in reality
being in the slightest degree affect-
ed, unless through their own inte-
Itsts— seeking always themselves,
iDd themselves alone. Thus this
bcartless man, this shameful leprosy
<rf'the social body that had nurtured
him, regarding the whole world en-
tirely with reference to his own sel-
fish designs, coolly speculated upon
his premeditated crimes, revolving in
his mind a thousand projects of ag-
gnndizement, which he ultimately
succeeded in bringing to a culpable
but thoroughly successful termina-
tion.
The night had already come, yet
all were in a state of commotion in
the household of the French am-
bassador, in consequence of William
du Bellay, his brother, having at a
late hour received a few hasty lines
(rem the bishop, written in the midst
of the assembly at Blackfriars, com-
manding him to hold himself in
readiness to depart.
rhe young envoy, at once obey-
ing orders, assumed his travelling
costume, and had scarcely more
than attended to the last instruc-
tions of his brother when the latter
inade his appearance.
** Well, brother," he exclaimed on
entering the chamber, " all is over.
Arc you ready to set out V* he con-
tinned, hurriedly surveying his
brother's travelling attire. "The
king is furiously enraged — first
against the legate, then against
Woisey. But Campeggio has dis-
played an extraordinary degree of
firmness and courage. After he
had refused tp pronounce the de-
cision, and just as the king was re-
tiring, the expected courier arrived
with instructions from Rome. The
queen's protestation has been re-
ceived, and the Pope, dissolving the
council, revokes the commissioners'
authority, and requires the case to
be brought before his own tribunal.
The adherents of Catherine, as you
may suppose, are wild with delight
— the people throng the streets,
shouting * Long live the queen !*
Our gracious king, Francis I., will
be in despair. "
" Well," replied William, " I am
satisfied, for I am in favor of the
queen. And now, between ourselves,
my dear brother, laying all diplom-
acy aside — for we are alone, and
these walls have no ears — I know as
well as you that it matters not to
our king whether the wife of Henry
VIII. be named Anne or Catherine.
"And yet, after all, it may be
the name of this new Helen will
become the signal for war," re-
plied the bishop. " You forget
that in marrying Anne Boleyn
Henry will be compelled to seek an
alliance with France, in order to
resist the opposition of the Em-
peror Charles V. ; and as for our-
selves, we have use for the five
thousand crowns he has promised
to assist us in paying the ransom
of the children of France. This
family quarrel can be arranged so
entirely to our advantage that it
would really be a misfortune should
it come to a sudden termination.
I hope, however, such may not be
the result."
" You are right, brother," said
i8o
Sir Thomas Mare.
Du Bellay, laughing. " I see I have
too much heart to make a skilful
diplomatist. I have already let
myself become ensnared, you per-
ceive, and drawn over to the cause
of this Queen Catherine. But it is
nevertheless a veritable fact, while
families are engaged in disputing
among themselves, they generally
leave their neighbors in peace. It
would seem, however, the king
must have become a madman or a
fool, thus to ignore kindred, allies,
fortune, and kingdom — all for this
Lady Anne."
" Yes, much more than a mad-
man," replied his brother, phleg-
matically ; " after he has married
her, he will be cured of his insanity.
But come, now, let us leave Lady
Anne and her affairs. You must
know that immediately after the
adjournment of the cardinals, the
king sent for me. I found him ter-
ribly excited, walking rapidly up
and down the great hall formerly
used as a chapter-room by the
monks. Wolsey alone was with
him, standing near the abbot's great
arm-chair, and wearing an air of
consternation. The instant he saw
me approaching, he cried out,
* Come, come, my lord, the king
wishes to have your advice on the;
subject we are now discussing/
And I at once perceived my pre-
sence was a great relief to him.
"The king spoke immediately,
while his eyes flashed, fire. * M.
du Bellay,* he exclaimed, * Cam-
peggio shall be punished ! — ^^yes, pun-
ished ! Parliament shall bring him
to trial ! I will never submit, to
defeat in this matter. I will show
the Pope that he has underrated
both my will and my power.*
" * Sire,* I answered, * after mature
reflection, it seems to me it would
be a mistaken policy in your majes-
ty to resort to such violent meas-
ures. Nothing has yet been decid*
ed, and the case is by no means
hopeless; the wisest course would
therefore be to restrain all manifes-
tation of displeasure toward Cam-
peggio. What advantage could you
possibly gain by insulting or ill-
treating an old man whom you have
invited into your kingdom, or how
could you then expect to obtain a
favorable decision from the Holy
See .>*
"Delighted to- hear me express
such opinions, Wolsey eagerly
caught at my words, declaring he
agreed with me entirely. He also ,
advised that the doctors of the
French and German universities
should be consulted, opinions fa-
vorable to the divorce obtained
from them, and afterwards this high
authority brought to bear upon thc^
decision of the court of Rome.
"*What do you think of that.>*
demanded the king of me. * As
for His Eminence Monseigneur
Wolsey,* he added, in a tone of
cruel contempt, his counsels have
already led me into so many diflfi-
culties, or proved so worthless, I
shall not trouble him for any fur-
ther advice.* And he abruptly
turned his back on the cardinal.
" A tear rolled slowly down Wol-
sey's hollow cheek, but he made
no reply. I at once assured the
king that I thought, on the contrary,
the cardinal's advice was most ex-
cellent, and doubted not our king,
and his honored mother, Madame
Louise, might be induced to^usc
their influence in order to secure
him the sufi'rages of the University
of Paris. Whereupon he appeared
very much pleased with me, and
bowed me out in the most gracious
manner imaginable.
" Report all these things faith-
fully to your master; tell him I
fear the downfall of Wolsey is inevi-
Sir T/tofnas More.
l8i
table ; he is equally disliked by the
queen's adherents and those of
Anne Boleyn, and I have every rea-
son for believing he will never
again be reinstated in the king's
favor. You will also say to him he
need not be astonished that I so
often send him despatches by ex-
press, as Cardinal Wolsey informs
ne confidentially that the Duke of
Suffolk has his emissaries bribed to
0|>en all packages of letters sent by
post, and that one addressed to me
has been miscarried; which circum-
; Stance troubles me very much."
\ '* I will also inform my mas-
ter," replied William, " that the Pi-
cardy routes are so badly manag-
ed, the gentlemen and couriers he
tends are constantly detained and
> kept a considerable time on the
I journey. I have complained re-
cently to the authorities themselves,
who assure me that their salaries
are not paid, and consequently they
are unable to keep the routes in
better condition."
The sun descended toward the
horizon. Sir Thomas More, seated
on a terrace of his mansion at Chel-
sea, sought temporary quiet and re-
pose from the oppressive burdens
of a life every hour of which was
devoted to the service of his king
and country. His young children
formed a joyous group around him,
their flaxen heads crowned with
blades of wheat and wild flowers
they had gathered in the fields, for
it i|p the golden time of harvest.
Margaret, assisted by William Roper,
directed their games, and was now
trying to teach them a Scotch
dance, marking the wild, fantastical
rhythm with the notes of her
iweet, melodious voice. Sir Tho-
mas himself had joined in their
play, when suddenly the king made
his appearance. He had many
times already honored them with
such visits since Sir Thomas be-
came a member of the council, hav-
ing apparently conceived a great
affection for him, and every day
seeming to become more and more
pleased with his conversation.
" I know not why it is," he would
often say, " but when I have been
for any length of time in conversa-
tion with More I experience a sin-
gular tranquillity of soul, and in-
deed feel almost happy. His pres-
ence has the magical effect of lull-
ing my cares to sleep and calming
my anxieties."
On seeing the king, More imme-
diately advanced with great defer-
ence to receive him, while the chil-
dren at once left off their sports.
"Why, what is this?" he ex-
claimed ; " I did not come to inter-
rupt your amusements, but on the
contrary to enjoy them with you."
But the wild mirth and abandon of
the children had fled at the ap-
proach of royalty, and, in spite of
these kind assurances, they withdrew
in rapid succession, too glad to re-
cover their liberty, and their father
was thus left alone with the king.
" Who is the young man I see
here ?" inquired the sovereign.
" He is the affianced husband of
my daughter, siVe ; his name is
William Roper," answered More.
" What ! is she afHanced already .?"
said the king.
" Yes, sire ; the family of Roper
has for many years been united to
ours by the sincerest ties of friend-
ship, and, strengthening these by
ties of blood, we hope greatljr to
increase our mutual happiness."
" That is so," replied the king.
" And they will doubtless be happy.
In your families you preserve liberty
of choice, while we princes, born to
thrones, sacrifice our interior hap-
piness to those political combina-
l82
Sir Thoinas More.
tions demanded by the interests of
our subjects."
** But," replied Sir Thomas— who
understood at once the king's in-
tention was to introduce the subject
of his divorce, a topic he especially
wished to avoid — "I believe that
happiness depends on ourselves, on
our dispositions, and the manner in
which we conduct our affairs, a great
deal more than on circumstances,
or the social position in which we
chance to be born. There are
some who, possessing every advan-
tage in life, are still unable to enjoy
it. We would suppose them to be
perfectly happy, and they really
should be so; but true happiness
consists alone in tranquillity of soul,
which is attained by always doing
good to others, and suffering with
patient submission the trials and
afflictions with which life is inevi-
tably beset. Such, it seems to me, is
the circumscribed circle in which
man is confined ; it is well with
him so long as he accommodates
himself to its legitimate limits, but
all is lost the moment he endeavors
to venture beyond it."
" I am every day more entirely
convinced that this figure of the
circle is a painful reality," replied
the king, with ill-concealed impa-
tience. " I have *ahvays hoped to
find happiness in the pursuit of
pleasure — in the gratification of
every desire — and believed it might
thus be attained, but never yet have
I been able to grasp it."
" Which means, your majesty ex-
pected to pass through the world
without trials — a thing utterly im-
possible," added More, smiling.
** It is that which makes me de-
spair, my dear Thomas. Reflecting
on the bitter disappointments I
have experienced, I am often al-
most transported with rage. No,
More, you can never understand
ine. You are always equally calm
and joyous. Your desires are so hap
pily directed that you can feel well
assured of a peaceful, quiet future
awaiting you."
" Your majesty is entirely mis-
taken," replied More, " if you be-
lieve I have never entertained other
desires than those I have been able
to accomplish. The only secret I
possess, in that respect, is, I compel
my inclinations to obey mty instead
of making my will subservient to
them. Nevertheless, they often-
times rebel and contend bitterly
for supremacy, but then, it is only
necessary to command silence, and
not be disturbed by their cries and
lamentations. Ultimately, they be-
come like refractory children, who»
constantly punished and severely
beaten, at last are made to tremble
at the very thought of the chastise-
ment, and no longer dare to revolt."
'* This explanation of your system
of self-government is very inpren-
ious," replied the king ; " and hearing
you speak in this quiet manner one
would be induced to believe it were
the easiest thing imaginable to ac-
complish, rather than the most diffi-
cult. Ah !" he continued with a
deep sigh, " I understand but too
well ho7v difficult."
"It is true," replied More with
earnest simplicity, " and I would
not deny that, far from being agree-
able, it is often, on the contrary,
exceedingly painful and difficult
for a man to impose these violent
restraints upon his inclinations.
But if he who hesitates on all oc-
casions in the practice of virtue to
do this necessary violence to him-
self and remain faithful to the re-
quirements of duty, would reflect
but for a single instant, he will find
that although at first he may esca]>e
suffering and privation by volun-
tarily abandoning himself to his
Sir Thomas More.
183
passions, yet, later, he will inevita*
biy be made to endure a far more
bitter humiliat'on in the torturing
reproaches of conscience ; the shame
he will suffer in the loss of self-re-
spect and the respect of others ;
and, in the inevitable course of
events, he will at last discover
tliat his passions have carried him
far beyond the power of self-con-
trol or reformation !"
" Let us banish these reflections,
my dear More/* exclaimed the king
in a petulant tone, passing his hand
across his forehead ; " they distress
me, and I prefer a change of sub-
ject.** Saying this he arose, and,
putting his arm around Sir Thomas'
neck, they walked on together to-
ward the extremity of the garden,
which terminated in an extensive
aad beautiful terrace, at the foot of
which flowed the waters of the
Thames.
The view was an extended one,
and the king amused himself watch-
ing the rapid movements of the little
boats, filled with fishermen, rowing
in every direction, drawing in the
nets, which had been spread to dry
on the reeds covering the banks of
the river. Quantities of water-lilies,
blue flowers, floating on their large
brilh'ant green leaves, intermingled
with the dark bending heads of the
reeds, presenting to the distant ob-
server the appearance of a beautiful
variegated carpet of flowers. ** What
a charming scene !" said the king,
gazing at the prospect, and pointing
t^ boat just approaching the oppo-
se side of the river to land a troop
of young villagers, who with their
bright steel sickles in hand were re-
turning from the harvest fields.
"And the graceful spire of your
Chelsea belfry, gleaming in the dis-
tance through the light silvery
clouds, completes this charming
landscape, " he added.
" Would it were possible to
transport this view to the end of
one of my drives in St. James'
Park," continued the king.
" Will it be very soon complet-
ed ?" asked Sir Thomas, at a loss
what to say to his royal visitor.
" I hope so," replied Henry lan-
guidly, ** but these architects are so
very slow. Before going to Graf-
ton, I gave them numerous orders
on the subject."
"Your majesty has been quite
pleased with your journey, I be-
lieve," replied Sir Thomas, instant-
ly reflecting what he should say
next.
" I should have been extremely
well pleased," he answered, with a
sudden impatience of manner, " had
Wolsey not persisted so obstinately
in following me. I have been much
too indulgent," he continued sharp-
ly, ** infinitely too indulgent towards
him, and am now well convinced
of the mistake I have made in re-
taining the slightest affection for a
man who has so miserably deceived
me. What would you think, More,"
he continued, his manner suddenly
changing, ** if I appointed you in
his place as lord chancellor?"
And, turning towards Sir Thomas,
he gazed fixedly in his eyes, as if to
read the inmq^t emotions of his
soul.
" What would I think ?" answered
More, calmly — then adding with a
careless smile, " I should think
your majesty had done a very
wrong thing, and made a very bad
choice."
" Well, I believe I could not pos-
sibly make a better," said the king,
emphasizing the last words. ** But I
have not come here to discuss busi-
ness matters ; rather, on the contrary,
to get rid of them. Come, then,
entertain me with something more
agreeable." But the words design-
1
184
Sir Thomas More.
edly (though with seeming uncon-
cern) uttered by the king cast a
sudden gloom over the spirit of Sir
Thomas he vainly endeavored to
dispel.
'* Sire, your majesty is greatly mis-
taken in entertaining such an idea,"
he said, stammering and confused ;
for, with his sincere and truthful
nature, More under all circum-
stances resolutely looked to the
end of everything in which he sus-
pected the least dissimulation.
The king whirled round on his
heel, pretending not to hear him.
" This is a beautiful rose," he said,
stooping down, " a very beautiful
variety — come from the seed, no
doubt? Are you a gardener? I
am very fond of flowers. Oh ! my
garden will be superb."
" Sire," said More^ still pursuing
his subject.
" I must have a cutting of that
rose — do you hear me. More?" As
he ran on in this manner, to prevent
Sir Thomas from speaking, the sil-
very notes of a bell were heard, fill-
ing the air with a sweet and pro-
longed vibrating sound.
" What bell is that ?" asked the
king.
" The bell of our chapel, sire,"
replied More, " summoning us to
evening prayers, wBich we usually
prefer saying all together. But to-
day, your majesty having honored
us with a visit, there will be no ob-
ligation to answer the call."
" By all means," replied Henry.
" Let me interfere with nothing. It
is almost night : come. We wiU re-
turn, and I will join in your devo-
tions."
Sir Thomas conducted him
through the shrubbery towards the
chapel, a venerable structure in
the Anglo-Saxon style of architec-
ture. A thick undergrowth of
briers, brambles, and wild shrub-
bery was matted and interlaced
around the foundation of the build
ing ; running vines clambered ove
the heavy arches of the antique win-
dows, and fell back in waving gar-
lands upon the climbing brancfae
from which they had sprung. Th
walls, of rough unhewn stone, were'
thickly covered with moss and ivy,
giving the little structure an ap-
pearance of such antiquity that the
most scrupulous antiquarian would
have unhesitatingly referred its foun-
dation to the time of King Atheistan
or his brother Edmund. The inte-
rior was adorned with extreme care
and taste. A bronze lamp, suspend-
ed before the altar, illuminated a
statue of the Holy Virgin placed
above it. The children of Sir
Thomas, with the servants of his
household, were ranged in respect-
ful silence behind the arm-chair of
his aged father. Margaret knelt
beside him with her prayer-book,
waiting to begin the devotions.
The touching voice of this young
girl as she slowly repeated the sub-
lime words — **^Our Fattier who art
in heaven" — those words which
men may so joyfully pronounce,
which teach us the exalted dignity
of our being, the grandeur of our
origin and destiny — those sublime
words penetrated the soul of the
king with a profound and singular
emotion.
" What a happy family f" he ex-
claimed, mentally. " Nothing dis-
turbs their harmony ; day after day
passes without leaving a regret be-
hind it. Why can I not join in
this sweet prayer — why, O my soul,
hast thou banished and forgotten
it ?" He turned from the contem-
plation of these youthful heads
bowed before the Mother of God,
and a wave of bitter remorse swept
once again over his hardened^ hypo-
critical soul.
Sir Thomas More.
185
After the king had returned to
his royal palace and the evening
repast was ended, William Roper
approached Sir Thomas and said :
"Vou must consider yourself
most fortunate, my dear father,
in enjoying so intimately the favor
of his majesty — why, even Cardinal
Wolsey cannot boast of being hon-
ored with such a degree of friend-
ship and familiarity."
With a sad smile More, taking
the young man's hand, replied :
** Know, my son, I can never be
elated by it. If this head, around
which he passed his royal arm so
affectionately this evening, could
in falling pay the price of but one
single inch of French territory, he
would, without a moment's hesita-
tion, deliver it up to the execu-
tioner."
**What acknowledgments do I
not owe you, madam,*' said Sir
Thomas Cheney to Lady Anne Bo-
Icyn, " for the services you have
rendered me. But dare I hope for
a full pardon from the king ?"
** Feel perfectly secure on that
point," replied Lady Anne. " ite
is convinced that VVolsey had you
bmished from court because of
your disagreement with Cardinal
Campeggio, and he considers you
now one of his most faithful ad-
herents."
** And I hope, madam, to have
the happiness of proving to you
that I am none the less faithfully
ytor servant," replied Sir Thomas
Cheney.
** You must admit now," said
Lady Anne, addressing her father
and brother, the Earl of Wiltshire
and the Viscount Rochford, who
were both present, " that I succeed
in doing what I undertake."
** You succeed in what you un-
dertake," replied her father humor-
ously, " but you are a long time in
deciding what to do. For instance,
Cardinal Wolsey finds himself to-
day occupying a position in which
he has no right to be."
" Ah ! well, he will not remain in
it very long," replied Anne Boleyn,
petulantly. "This morning the
king told me the ladies would at-
tend the chase to see the new fal-
cons the king of France has sent
him by Monsieur de Sansac. I
will talk to him, and insist on his
having nothing more to do with
this horrid cardinal, or I shall at
once quit the court. But," she
added, pausing suddenly with an
expression of extreme embarrass-
ment, " how should I answer were
he to demand what his eminence
Monseigneur Wolsey had ever done
to ine ;"
"Here, sister, here 4s your an-
swer," replied Viscount Rochford,
taking a large manuscript book
from his father's portfolio. " Take
it and read for yourself; you will
find here all you would need for a
reply."
"That great book!" cried Anne,
strongly opposed to this new com-
mission, and pouting like a spoilt
child. Taking the book, she read
— skipping a great deal, however — .
a minutely derailed statement, for-
mally accusing Wolsey of having
engaged in a secret correspondence
with France, and with the most
adroit malice misrepresenting every
act of his administration as well
as of his private life.
*• What ! can all this be true ?"
cried Anne Boleyn, closing the
book.
"Certainly true," replied Roch-
ford. "And furthermore, you
should know, the cardinal, in or-
der to reward Campeggio for the
good services he has rendered >^<w,
has persuaded the king to send
i86
Sir Thomas More.
him home loaded with rich pres-
ents, to conciliate the Pope, he says,
by his filial submission and pious
dispositions, and incline him to a
favorable decision. That is the
way he manages," continued Roch-
ford, shrugging his shoulders, "and
keeps you in the most humiliating
position ever occupied by a wo-
man."
Hearing her brother speak thus,
the beautiful face of Anne Boleyn
became instantly suffused with a
deep crimson.
" Oh ! that odious man," she
cried passionately. ** I shall no
longer submit to it. It is to insult
me he makes such gracious ac-
knowledgments to that old cardi-
nal. I will complain to the king.
Oh ! how annoying all this is,
though," and she turned the book
over and ov^r in her white hands.
" But see, it is time to start," she
added, pointing to a great clock
standing in one corner of the apart-
ment. "Good-by; 1 must go!"
And Anne, attired in an elegant
riding-habit, abruptly turning to a
mirror, proceeded to adjust her
black velvet riding-cap, when, ob-
serving a small plume in her hat
that was not arranged to her taste,
she exclaimed, violently stamping
her little foot :
" How many contradictions shall
I meet this day 1 I cannot endure
it ! All those horrid affairs to
think of, to talk about and explain ;
all your recommendations to fol-
low in the midst of a delightful
hunting party; and then, after all,
this hat which so provokes me !
No ; I can never fix it." And she
hurried away to find a woman skill-
ed in the arts of the toilet. But
after making her sew and rip out
again, bend the plume and straight-
en it, place it forward and then
back, she did not succeed in fixing
it to suit the fancy of Anne Boleyn,
who, seeing the time flying rapidly,
ended by cutting off the plume
with the scissors, throwing it angri-
ly on the floor and stamping it,
putting the offending cap on her
head without a plume ; then mount-
ing her horse she rode off, accom-
panied by Sir Thomas Cheney, who
escorted her, knowing she was to
join the king on the road.
** How impulsive and thottgh-tless
your sister is," said Earl Wiltshire
to his son, after Anne had left
them, looking gloomily at the plume,
still lying on the floor where she
had thrown it. " She wants to be
queen ! Do you understand how
much is comprised in that word ?
Well, she would accept a crown and
fix it on her head with the same
eager interest that she would order
a new bonnet from her milliner.
Yet I firmly believe, before accept-
ing it, she would have to be well
assured by her mirror that it was
becoming to her style of beauty."
" I cannot comprehend her," re-
sponded Rochford. " Her good
sense and judgment sometimes as-
tonish me ; then suddenly a ball,
a dress, a new fashion has sufficed
to make her forget the most im-
portant matter that might be un-
der discussion. I am oftentimes
led to wonder whence comes this
singular mixture of frivolity and
good sense in women. Is it a pe-
culiarity of their nature or the re-
sult of education ?"
" It is entirely the fault of edu-
cation, my son, and not of their
weakness. From infancy they are
taught to look upon ribbons, laces,
frivolities, and fashions as the most
precious and desirable things. In
fact, they attach to these miserable
trifles the same value that young
men place on a brilliant armor or
the success of a glorious action."
Sir Thonuxs More.
187
" It may be so," replied Roch-
ford, "but I think they are gener-
ally found as incompetent for busi-
ness as incapable of managing af-
fairs of state."
'* While very young, perhaps not,"
answered Wiltshire ; " proud and
impulsive, they are neither capable
of nor inclined to dissimulation ;
but later in life they develop a
subtle ingenuity and an extreme
degree of penetration, that enable
them to succeed most admirably."
" Ah ! well, if the truth might be
frankly expressed, I greatly fear
that all this will turn out badly.
Should we not succeed in espous-
ing my sister to the king, she will
be irretrievably compromised ; and
then you will deeply regret having
broken off her marriage with Lord
Percy."
"You talk like an idiot," re-
plied the Earl of Wiltshire. " Your
sister shall reign, or I perish.
ANTiy should my house not give a
queen to the throne of England }
Would it not be far better if our
kings should select wives from the
nobility of their country instead
of marrying foreign princesses —
strangers alike to the manners and
customs as well as to the interests
of the people over whom they arc
destined to reign ?"
** You would probably be right,'
replied Viscount Rochford, " if the
king were not already married ;
but the clergy will always oppose
this second marriage. They do
not dare to express themselves
openly because they fear the king,
but in the end they will certainly
preserve the nation in this sentiment.
I fear that Anne will yet be very un-
happy, and I am truly sorry now
she cannot be made Countess of
Northumberland."
** Hold your tongue, my son,"
cried Wiltshire, frantic with rage;
** will you repeat these things to
your sister, and renew her imagin-
ary regrets also.? As to these
churchmen over whom you make
so great an ado," he continued
with a menacing gesture, " I hope
soon we shall be able to relieve
them of the fortunes^ witli which
they are encumbered, and com-
pel them to disgorge in our favor.
You say that women are weak and
fickle ! If so, you certainly resem-
ble them in both respects — the least
difficulty frightens you into chang-
ing your opinions, and you hesitate
in the midst of an undertaking that
has been planned with the greatest
ability, and which, without you, I
confidently believe I shall be able
to accomplish."
TO BB COimNUBO.
i88
Is She Catholic t
IS SHE CATHOLIC?
The claim put forth by the Epis-
copal Church — or, to use her full
and legal title, The Protestant
Episcopal Church of the United
Slates of America — of being the
Holy Catholic Church— Holy, Cath-
olic, and Apostolic — and the accep-
tance of her theory by a small por-
tion of the Christian world, makes
her and her theory, for a little time,
worthy our attention.
She is accustomed to use the for-
mula, " I believe in the Holy Cath-
olic Church." It is but natural to
infer that she considers herself to
be at least an integral part of that
church. We have examined the
question, and thus present our con-
victions as to her status.
We note, in the first place, that
her bishops possess no power.
They are bishops but in name.
There is not one of them, no mat-
ter how eminent he may be, who
can say to a clergyman in his dio-
cese : " Here is an important parish
vacant ; occupy it.** He vrould be
met with the polite remark from
some member of the parish, " We
are very much obliged to you, bi-
shop, but you have nothing to say
about it. Mr. M. is the warden."
Mr. M., the warden, may be, and
in many instances is, a man who
cares so little about the church
that he has never yet been baptized,
much less is he a communicant.
He and his brother vestrymen,
whether baptized or not, may, if
the bishop claims an authority by
virtue of his office, meet him at the
church door, and tell him he can-
not come in unless he will pledge
himself to do as they wish ; and the
bishop may write a note of protest,
and leave it behind him for them to
tear up, as was done in Chicago
with Bishop Whitehouse. Some
local regulations have occasionally
varied the above, but in the major-
ity of parishes the authority is
vested as we have stated.
The bishop's power of appoint-
ing extends to none but feeble
missionary stations ; and even these
put on, at their earliest convenience,
the airs of full-grown parishes.
We note an instance where a
bishop wrote to a lady in a remote
missionary station, and asked re-
garding some funds which had
been placed in her hands by parties
interested in the growth of the
church in that place. It had been
specified that the money was to be
used for whatever purpose was
deemed most necessary. The
bishop requested that the money
be paid to the missionary toward
his salary. The lady declined on
tlie ground that she did not like
the missionary. Another request in
courteous language, as was befit-
ting a bishop. He also stated his in-
tention of visiting the place shortly
in his official character.
The lady's reply equalled his
own in courteous phraseology ; but
the money was refused and the
bishop informed that he " need not
trouble himself about making a visi-
tation, as there was no class to be
confirmed ; besides, the church had
been clos<!d for repairs, and would
Is She Catholic f
189
not be open for some months, at
least not until a new minister was
settled/'
To the bishop's positive know-
ledge, no repairs were needed ; but
he deemed it wise to stay away, and
no further steps were taken.
With the clergy in his diocese
the case is not very different.
If a presbyter of any diocese
chooses for any reason to go from
one parish to another for the pur-
])Ose of taking up a permanent
abode, he can do so with or with-
out consulting his bishop. In fact,
the bishop has nothing to do with
it. Should the presbyter desire to
remove to another diocese, it is re-
quisite that he obtain letters dimis-
sory from the bishop, and the
bishop is obliged to give them. So
also is the bishop in the diocese to
which he goes obliged to receive
them, unless they contain grave
criminal charges.
There is, in reality, but one thing
the bishop of the Protestant Epis-
copal Church can do, and that is
make an appointment once in three
years to confirm. So insignificant
is his power in any other direction
that certain persons, ill-natured or
otherwise, have fastened upon him,
whether deserved or undeserved,
the name of "confirming machine."
Certain it is that, were the power
of confirming in any degree, vested
in the " priests " of the church,
the office of bishop might easily be
dispensed with. He would appear
only as the ornamental portion of a
few occasional services. For he
cannot authoritatively visit any
parish, vacant or otherwise, except
on a confirmation tour ; and should
this be too frequent in the estima-
tion of the vestry, the doors of tlie
church could be shut against him
on any plea the vestry should
choose to advance.
2. He cannot increase the num
ber of his clergy, except as parishes
choose.
3. He cannot prevent a man fix-
ing himself in the diocese if a con-
gregation choose to "call " him, no
matter how worthy or unworthy
the man may be.
4. He cannot call a clergyman
into his diocese, though every par-
ish were empty.
5. He cannot officiate in any
church without invitation.
6. He has no church of his
own, except as he officiates as rec-
tor; and unless invited to some
place, he is forced, although a bi-
shop, to sit in the congregation as a
layman, if he do not stay at home.
And, lastly, he cannot on any
account visit a parish unless the
vestry of that parish is willing.
We sum up : That so far as the
bishops of the Protestant Episco-
pal Church of the United States
of America are concerned, they are
simply figure-heads, ornaments pos-
sessing the minimum of authority —
in point of fact, no authority at all.
Their own convention addresses
are a virtual confession of the con-
dition of affairs as above laid down.
To every one who has ever heard
an Episcopal bishop's address, as
delivered before the anpual conven-
tion of clergymen and laymen, the
following sample will not appear
as in the least overdrawn :
July 10. — Visited the parish of
S. John, Oakdale, and confirmed
three.
July 17. — ^Visited the parish of
Longwood, and preached and con-
firmed one.
July 24. — Visited S. Paul's, and
preached and confirmed two in the
forenoon. Preached also in the af-
ternoon.
This is a very large and thriving
parish.
190
Is She Catholic f
July 26. — At Montrose I visited
and confirmed one at the evening
service.
July 29, — Took a private convey-
ance to Hillstown, and preached in
the evening; confirmed one. The
rector of this parish is very ener-
getic.
Aug. 2. — Attended the burial of
a dear friend.
Aug. 7. — Attended the consecra-
tion of S. Mark's Church in Hyde
Park. It is hoped that the difficul-
ties in this parish are settled. The
Rev. John Waters has resigned
and gone to Omaha. Mr. Wil-
liam Steuben is the senior warden.
May the Lord prosper him and
his estimable lady !
[To continue the list would cause
a tear, and we do not wish to weep.]
The address each year of a Pro-
testant Episcopal bishop is thor-
oughly exemplified in the foregoing
specimen. It is the same endless
list of enUuthen exelauneisy varied
only by the number of parasangas*
To tjje lazy grammar-boy it is a
most fascinating chapter of ancient
history when he reaches the en-
ieuifien section in the Anabasis,
There is an immense list of them,
and the lesson for that day is easy.
When the first phrase is mastered,
he knows all the rest, except the
occasional figures.
We once saw a reporter for a
prominent Daily making a short-
hand report of an address before
an illustrious diocesan gathering.
Having had some experience in the
matter, he came to the meeting with
his tablets prepared. They were
as follows :
Visited at
AND CONFIRMED.
Three-quarters of the address
was thus prepared beforehand^ it
only being necessary to leave the
lines suflficiently far apart to permit
the insertion of occasional notes.
By his extra care he was enabled
to present the most complete re-
port of any paper in the city.
The specimen we have given is a
fair average. In future generations,
when a classical student is given a
bishop's address to read, his labor
for that day will be easy.
Almost any bishop's address will
substantiate the statements we have
made. We refer to them freely,
without wasting time in selection.
We begin a new paragraph : The
system of the Protestant Episccr-
pal Church is eminently congrega-
tional.
If a parish chooses to " call " a
given man, he is " called."
Should the bishop ** interfere "
and recommend him, the recom-
mendation, without an exception
that has ever come to our know-
ledge, militates against the propos-
ed "call."
Should a parish desire to get rid
of a pastor, it does so with or with-
out the consent of the bishop, as
happens, in the estimation of the
wardens, to be most convenient,
The officers may consult the bishop,
and, if he agree with them, well and
good. The words of the diocesan
are quoted from Dan to Beersheba,
and the pastor is made to feel the
lack of sympathy — " Even his bi-
shop is against him," is whispered
by young and old.
If the bishop does not agree with
them, they do not consult him
again. They proceed to accom-
plish what they desire as if he had
no existence, and — they always suc-
ceed.
There is a farcical canon of the
Protestant Episcopal Church which
says, if a parish dismiss its rector
Js She Catliolic t
191
without concurrence, it shall not
be admitted into convention until
it has apologized.
It is a very easy thing for the
wardens and vestrymen to address
the convention, after they have ac-
complished their ends, with " Your
honorable body thinks we have
done wrong, and — we are sorry for
it," or something else equally am-
biguous and absurd. The officers
of the parish and the laymen of the
congregation have done what they
wished, and are content. As the
convention is composed principally
of laymen, the sympathy is natu-
rally with the laymen's side of the
question. The rector is hurriedly
passed over, his clerical brethren
looking helplessly on.
To get a new parish the dis-
missed rector must " candidate " —
a feature of clerical life most revolt-
ing to any man with a spark of man-
hood in him.
We note, in the next place, an ut-
ter want of unity in the Protestant
Episcopal Church.
There are High-Church and Low-
Church bookstores, where the pub-
lications of the one are discarded
by the other. There are High-
Church and Low-Church semina-
ries, where a man, to graduate from
the one, will be looked upon inimi-
cally, at least with suspicion, by
the other. There is a High-Church
"Society for the Increase of the
Ministry," where the principal thing
accomplished is the maintenance
of the secretary of the said so-
ciety in a large brick house in a
fashionable city, while he claims to
support a few students on two
meals a day; and a Low^Church
Evangelical Society, where they re-
quire the beneficiary to subscribe
to certain articles of Low-Church-
ism before they will receive him.
The one society is thoroughly
hostile to the other, and, in point of
fact, the latter was created in oppo-
sition to the former.
There is but one thing in com-
mon between the two, and that is
cold-shoulderism.
There are High- Church and Low-
Church newspapers, in which the
epithets used by the one toward
the other do not indicate even re*
sput.
Some of the " church's" minis-
ters would no more enter a "de-
nominational" place of worship
than they would put their hand in
the fire. Others will fraternize
with everything and everybody,
and when Sunday comes will close
their eyes — sometimes they roll
them upward — and pray publicly :
" From heresy and schism good
Lord deliver us."
It may be necessary that there
should be wranglings and bickerings
within her fold, in order to consti-
tute her the church militant; but
we cannot forgive hypocrisy.
With some of her ministers the
grand object of existence seems \.6
be to prove "Popery" an emana-
tion from hell. With others the
effort is equally great to prove the
Episcopal Church as a " co-ordi-
nate" branch with the Roman
Church, and entitled to the same '
consideration as is paid by the
devotees of Rome to its hierarchy.
In both instances — viz.. High
Church and Low Church — history
records failure.
We notice next the relation which
the Protestant Episcopal Church
holds to the Church of England.
The English Church evidently
regards the Protestant Episcopal
Church of the United States of
America as a weaker sister, and not
to be admitted to doubtful disputa-
tions. She is courteous toward her,
and accepts her present of a gold
192
Is She Catholic t
alms-basin from an unrobed repre-
sentative with a certain amount of
ceremony. She invites her bishops
to the Lambeth Conference, and
they pay their own fare across the
Atlantic ; but they confer about
nothing. It is true the Protestant
Episcopal Church approved the ac-
tion of the English Church in con-
demning Colenso ; 6ut this was a
safe thing for the English Church
to present. It would have been
hardly complimentary to have their
guests go home without doing
something, especially as they were
not to be invited into Westminster
Abbey, and were to have nothing to
do with the coming Bible revision.
The bishops of the Protestant
Episcopal Church of the United
States of America were invited to
the English conference very much
as country cousins are invited to
tea, and that was all.
By way of asserting her right to
a recognition as an equal with the
Church of England, she — the Pro-
testant Episcopal Church of the
United States of America — has
established, or rather individuals
have established and the act has re-
ceived the sanction of the Gen-
eral Convention, certain rival con-
gregations in a few foreign cities
where the English service was al-
ready established. If she be of
the same Catholic mould as the
Church of England, why does she
thus in a foreign city attempt to
maintain an opposition service.^
The variations in the Prayer-Book
are no answer to the question. If
the English Church be Holy, Catho-
lic, and Apostolic, and the Protest-
ant Episcopal Church be Holy,
Catholic, and Apostolic, the two
are therefore one; for they both
claim that there is but one Holy,
Catholic, and Apostolic church.
She is in this case unmistakably
uncatholic, or else the English
Church is. In either case she falls
to the ground.
Our attention is directed again
to the many laws enacted against
her bishops as compared with the
laws enacted against the other mem*
bers of the church. If Mosheim
were to be restored to the flesh,
and were to write the history of
the Episcopal Church, and used as
an authority the Digest of Canons,
as he has been accustomed in his
Ecclesiastical History to use eccle-
siastical documents generally, he
would style the bishops of the
Protestant Episcopal Church a set
of criminals of the deepest dye,
and the priests and deacons not
much better. The laity would be
regarded as all that could be desired
in lofty integrity and spotless mo-
rality. -For why? A glance at their
vade-mecum of law — the Digest of
Canons — shows an immense bulk
of its space to be devoted " to the
trial of a bishop." The laity go
scot-free.
We question the propriety, as well
as the Catholicity, of covering the
higher clergy with laws till they are
helpless, while the laity revel in a
freedom that amounts, when they
choose, to mob-license ; but it is
done, and the Episcopal Church is
degraded to a level lower than any
of the denominations around her.
With other bodies who call them-
selves Christian there is a certain
amount of consistency. Their ru-
lers are from among their own
members. With the church under
consideration, her rulers, in many
cases, are any unbaptized heathen
who may choose to work themselves
into a temporary favor with the
pew-holders. It is not necessary
that they should even have ever at-
tended church. We note an in-
stance where the chief man of a
small parish was a druggist, and
kept in the rear of his drug-store a
Is She Catholic f
193
low drinking-room ; and this man
was elected treasurer year after
Tear by a handful of interested
parties, and, when elected, he man-
aged all the finances of the parish
according to his own notions of
propriety. It was his habit to go
to the church near the close of the
sermon, and go away immediately
after the collection.
We note another instance where
a warden visited the rector of his
parish, and threatened, with a polite
oath, to give him something hotter
than a sect ion of the day of judgment
if he did not ask his (the warden's)
advice a little more on parish mat-
ters. The parish grew so warm
that at the end of three weeks the
rector was candidating for another.
We note another instance where
a warden was so overjoyed at hav-
ing settled a rector according to
his own liking that, on the arrival
of the now incumbent, he not only
did not go to hear him preach, but
stayed at home with certain friends,
and enjoyed, to use his own expres-
sion, a "dooced big drunk." Out of
consideration for the feelings of his
family we use the word " dooced "
instead of his stronger expression.
The rector of this happily-ruled
i>arish was imprudent enough to
incur the displeasure of his warden
after a few months of arduous la-
hor. He received a note while sit-
ting at the bedside of his sick wife,
j^aying that after the following Sun-
tliiy his services would be dispensed
with; that if he attempted to stay,
the church would be closed for
repairs.
We are well acquainted with a
parish where a congregation wished
to displace both the senior and
junior wardens. These two gentle-
tnen had been shrewd enough to
foresee the event. They succeeded.
by calculating management, in hav-
VOL. XXII. — 13
ing vested in themselves the right
of selling pews. When Easter
Monday came, they sold for a dol-
lar a pew to loafers on the streets,
and swarmed the election with men
who never had entered the place be-
fore. The laws of the parish were
such that there was no redress.
As a matter of course, the rector
was soon candidating.
During the earliest portion of the
official life of one of the oldest
and most eminent bishops, he was
called on to officiate at the institu-
tion of a Low-Church rector. At
the morning service the bishop
took occasion to congratulate the
congregation on the assumed fact
that they had now " an altar, a
priest, and a sacrifice,*' and went on
to enlarge on that idea. In the
evening of the same day the insti-
tuted minister, in addressing the
congregation, said : " My brethren,
so help me God ! if the doctrines
you heard this morning are the
doctrines of. the Protestant Episco-
pal Church, then I am no Protes-
tant Episcopalian ; but they are
not such" — ^and essayed substan-
tiating the assertion. All that
came of the affair was the publica-
tion, on the part of each, of their
respective discourses. On the sup-
position of the bishop's having any
foundation for his ecclesiastical
character and for the doctrines he
taught, would that have been the
end of the matter ?
Can it be that the Episcopal
Church is Catholic ? Is it possible
that she is part of the grand struc-
ture portrayed by prophets and
sung in the matchless words of in-
spiration as that against which the
gates of hell shall not prevail?
Rather, we are forced to class her
as a " sister ' among the very ** here-
tics " from whom in her litany she
prays, " Good Lord deliver us."
'94
Art y»a My Wife f
ARE YOU HY WIFE ?
«» ti ,
iurmoB or ** rAUS bsfokb thk wak,^' ** unn
CHAPTER X.
Alarming Symptoms.
TnxmM,** ^ nvB ruT
November had come, and was
gathering up the last tints and blos«
soms of autumn. One by one the
garden lights were being put out ;
the tall archangel lilies drooped
their snow and gold cups languidly ;
the jasmine, that only the other
day twinkled its silver stars amidst
the purple bells of the clematis, now
trailed wearily down the trellis of
the porch ; the hardy geraniums
made a stand for it yet, but their
petals dropped off at every puff of
wind, and powdered the gravel with
a scarlet ring round their six big
red pots that flanked the walk from
the gate to the cottage door; the
red roses held out like a forlorn
hope, defying the approach of the
conqueror, and staying to say a last
good-by to sweet Mother Summer,
ere she passed away.
It was too chilly to sit out of
doors late of afternoons now, and
night fell quickly. M. de la Bour-
bonais had collapsed into his brown
den ; but the window stood open,
and let the faint incense of the gar-
den steal in to him, as he bent over
his desk with his shaded lamp be-
side him.
Franceline had found it cold, and
had slipt away, without saying why,
to her own room upstairs. She was
sitting on the floor with her hands
in her lapi and her head pressed
against the latticed window, watch-
ing the scarlet geraniums as they
'shivered in the evening breeze and
dropped into their moisC autumn
tomb. A large crystal moon was
rising above the woods beyond the
river, and a few stars were coming
out. She counted them, and listen-
ed to the wood-pigeon cooing in the
park, and to the solitary note of an
owl that answered from some distant
grove. But the voices of wood and
field were not to her now what they
once had been. There was some-
thing in her that responded to them
still, but not in the old way ; she
had drifted somewhere bevond their
reach ; she was hearkening for
other voices, since one ha^ touched
her with a power these had never
possessed, and whose echoing sweet-
ness had converted the sounds that
had till then been her only music
into a blank and aching silence.
Other pulses had been stirred, other
chords struck within her, so strong
and deep, and unlike the old child-
ish onesj that these had become to
her what the memory of the joys of
childhood are to the full-grown
man — a sweet shadow that lingers
when the substance has fled; part
of a life that has been lived, that
can never be quickened again, but
is enshrined in memorv.
m
She was very pale, almost like a
shadow herself, as she sat there in
the silver gloom. Mothers who
met her in her walks about the
neighborhood looked wistfully after
the gentle young face, and said with
a sigh : " What a pity ! And so
young too !" Yet Franceline was
not ill; not even ailing; she never
Are You Mf Wtfet
^195
complained even of fatigne, and
when her father tapped the pale
cheek and asked how his Ciair-de^
lutu was, she would answer brightly
that she had never been better in
her life, and as she had no cough,
he believed her. A cough was
Raymond's single diagnosis of dis-
ease and death ; he had a vague
but deei>-seated belief that nobody,
no young persoft certainly, ever died
a natural death without this fatal
premonitory symptom. And yet
he could not help following France-
line with an anxious eye as he saw
her walking listlessly about the gar-
den, or sitting with a book in her
hand that she let drop every now
and then to look dreamily out of
the window, and only resumed with
an evident effort. Sometimes she
would go and lean her arms on the
rail at the end of the garden, and
stand there for an hour together
gazing at the familiar landscape as
if she were discovering some new
feature in it, or straining her eyes
to see some distant object. He
could not lay his finger on any par-
ticular symptom that justified anx-
iety, and still he was anxious ; a
change of some sort had come over
the child ; she grew more and more
like her mother, and it was not until
Armcngarde was several years older
than Franceline that the disease
which had been germinating in her
system from childhood developed
itself and proved fatal.
M. de la Bourbonais never allud-
ed to Franceline's refusal of Sir
Ponsonby Anwyll, but he had not
forgotten it. In his dreamy mind he
cogitated on the possibility of the
offer being renewed, and her ac-
cepting it. As to Glide de Winton,
he had quite ceased to think of
him, and never for an instant coup-
led him in his thoughts with France-
line. It did not strike him as signi-
ficant that Sir Simon had avoided
mentioning the young man since
his return. After the conversation
that Glide had once been the sub-
ject of between them, this reticence
was natural enough. The failure
of his wild, affectionate scheme
placed him in a somewhat ridicu-
lous position towards Raymond|
and it was no wonder that he
shrank from alluding to it.
Sir Ponsonby had left Rydal im-
mediately after the eventful ride we
know of He could not remain in
Franceline's neighborhood without
seeing her, and he had sense enough
to feel that he would injure rather
than serve his cause by forcing his
society on her after what had pass-
ed. This is as good as admitting
that he did not look upon his cause
as lost. What man in love for the
first time would give up after one
refusal, if his love was worth the
name } Ponsonby was not one of
the faint-hearted tribe. He com-
bined real modesty as to his own
worth and pretensions with un-
bounded faith in the power of his
love and its ultimate success. The
infallibility of hope and persever-
ance was an essential part of his
lover's creed. He did not apply
the tenet with any special sense of
its fitness to Franceline in particular.
He was no analyzer of character;
he did not discriminate nicely be-
tween the wants and attributes of
one woman and another ; he blend-
ed them all in a theoretical worship,
and included all womankind in his
notions as to how they were indi-
vidually to be woed and won. He
would let them have their own way,
allow them unlimited pin-money,
cover them with trinkets, and grati-
fy all their little whims. If a girl
were ever so beautiful and ever so
good, no man could do more for
her than this; and any man who
196^
Are You My Wiftt
was able and willing to do it, ought
to be able to win her. Ponsonby
took heart, and trusted to his uni-
form good luck not to miss the
prize he had set his heart on. He
would rejoin his regiment for the
present, and see what a month's
absence would do for him. He
had one certain ground of hope :
Franceline did not dislike him, and,
as far as he could learn or guess,
she cared for no one else. Sir Si-
mon was his ally, and would keep
a sharp lookout for him, and keep
the little spark alive — if spark there
were — ^by singing his praises judi-
ciously in the ear of the cruel fair
one.
She, meanwhile, went on in her
usual quiet routine, tending the
sick, teaching some little children,
and working with her father, who
grew daily more enamored of her
tender and intelligent co-operation.
Lady Anwyll called soon after Pon-
sonby's departure, and was just as
kind and unconstrained as if no-
thing had happened. She did not
press Franceline to go and stay at
Rydal, but hoped she would ride
over there occasionally with Sir
Simon to lunch. Her duties as
secretary to Raymond made the
• sacrifice of a whole afternoon re-
pugnant to her; but she did go
once^ just to show the old lady that
she retained the same kind feeling
towards her as before anything had
occurred to make a break in their
intimacy. It was delightful when
she came home to find that her fa-
ther had been utterly at sea without
her, mooning about in a helpless
way amongst the notes and papers
that under her management had
passed from confusion and chaos
into order and sequence. While
everything was in confusion he
could find his way through the
maze, but he had no key to this i
new order of things. Franceline
declared she must never leave him
so long again ; he had put everything
topsy-turvy, he was not to be trust-
ed. The discovery of his depend-
ence on her in a sphere where she
had till lately been as useless to
him as Ang^lique or Miss Merry wig
was a source of infinite enjoyment
to her, and she threw herself into
her daily task with an energy that
lightened the labor immensely to
her father, without, as far as France-
line could say, fatiguing herself.
But fatigue for being unconscious
is sometimes none the less real.
It may be that this sustained ap-
plication was straining a system al-
ready severely tried by mental pres-
sure. She was one day writing
away as usual, while Raymond, with
a bookful of notes in his hand,
stood on the hearth-rug dictating.
Suddenly she was seized with a fit
of coughing, and, putting her hand-
kerchief quickly to her mouth, she
drew it away stained with crimson.
She stifled a cry of terror that rose
to her lips, and hurried out of the
room. Her father had seen no-
thing, but her abrupt departure
startled him ; he hastened after her,
and found her in the kitchen hold-
ing the handkerchief up to Ange-
lique, who was looking at the fatal
stain with a face rather stupefied
than terrified.
** My God, have pity upon nie !
My child ! My child !" he cried,
clasping his hands and abandoning
himself to his distress with the im-
passioned demonstrativeness of a
Frenchman.
Woman, it is said truly, is more
courageous at bearing physical pain
than man; it is true also that she
has more self-command m control-
ling the expression of mental pain.
Her instinct is surer too in guiding
her how to save others from suffer-
Are You My WifeT
197
ing; let her be ever so untutored,
she will prove herself shrewder
than the cleverest man on occa-
sions like the present. Ang^lique's
womanly instinct told her at once
that it was essential not to frighten
Franceline : that the nervous shock
would infallibly aggravate the evil,
wherever the cause lay^ and that
the best thing to do now was to
soothe and allay her fears.
** Biess me ! what is there to
make a row about ?" she cried with
an angry chuckle, crushing the
handkerchief in her fingers and
darting a look on her master
which, if eyes could knock down,
must have laid him prostrate on
ihc spot ; " the child has an indi-
gestion and has thrown up a
mouthful of bread from her stom-
ach. Hein !"
" How do you know it is from
the stomach and not from the
hings ?" he asked, already reas-
sured by her confidence, and still
more by her incivility.
*• How do I know ? Am I a
fool? Would it be that color if it
was from the lungs ? I say it is
from tile stomach, and it is a good
business* But we must not have
loo much of it. It would weaken
the child; we must stop it."
**I will run for the doctor at
once !" exclaimed M. de la Bour-
bonais, still trembling and excited.
"Orstay !— no!— I will fly to the
Court and they will despatch a
man on horseback !" He was hur-
rying away when Ang^lique literal-
ly shouted at him :
"Wilt thou be quiet with thy
doctor and thy man on horseback !
I tell thee it is from the stomach ;
I know what I am about. I want
neither man nor horse. It is from
the stomach ! Dost thou take me
for a fool at this time of my life .^"
Raymond stood still like a chid-
den child while the old servant
poured this volley at him. France-
line stared at her aghast. In her
angry excitement the grenadier
had broken through not only all
barriers of rank, but all the com-
mon rules of civility — she who was
such a strict observer of both that
they seemed a very part of herself.
This ought to have opened their
eyes, if nothing else did ; but Fran-
celine was only bewildered, Ray-
mond was cowed and perplexed.
" If thou art indeed quite sure,"
he said, falling into the familiar
" thee and thou" by which she ad-
dressed him, and which on her def-
erential lips sounded so outrageous
and unnatural — " if thou art indeed
certain I will be satisfied ; but, my
good Ang^lique, would it not be a
wise precaution to have a medical
man ? — only just, as thou say est
well, to prevent its going too far."
'* Well, well, if Monsieur le Comte
wishes, let it be; let the doctor
come ; for me, I care not for him ;
they are an ignorant lot, pulling
long faces to make long bills ; but
if it pleases Monsieur le Comte, let
him have one to see the child."
She nodded her flaps at him, as if
to say, " Be off then at once and
leave us in peace !*'
He was leaving the room, when,
turning round suddenly, he came
close up to Franceline. ** Dost
thou feel a pain, my child V he said,
peering anxiously into her face.
" No, father, not the l^ast pain.
I am sure Ang^lique is right ; I feel
nothing here," putting her hand to
her chest.
" God is good ! God is good !"
muttered the father half audibly,
and, stroking her cheek gently, he
went.
" Let not Monsieur le Comte go
rushing off himself; let him send
one of those thirty-six lackeys at
198
Are You My. Wife f.
the Court !" cried Ang6lique, call-
ing after him through the kitchen
window.
In her heart and soul Ang^lique
was terrified. She bad thrown
out quite at random, with the in-
stinct of desperation, that confident
assurance as to the* color of the
stain. Her first impulse was to
save Franceline from the shock,
but it had fallen full upon herself.
This accident sounded like the first
stroke of the death-knell. No one
\;'ould have supposed it to look at
her. She set her arms akimbo and
laughed till she shook at her own
impudence^o M. le Comte, and
how meekly M. le Comte had borne
it, and how scared his face was, and
what a joke the business was alto-
gether. To see him stand there
wringing his hands, and making
such a wailing about nothing !
But when Franceline was going to
answer and reproach her old bonne
with this inopportune mirth, she
laid her hand on the young girl's
mouth and bade her peremptorily
be silent.
'* If you go talking and scolding,
child, there is no knowing what
mischief you may do. Come and
lie down, and keep perfectly quiet.*'
Franceline obeyed willingly
enough. She was weak and tir-
ed, and glad to be alone awhile.
Ang^lique placed a cold, wet
cloth on her chest, and made her
some cold lemonade to drink. It
was making a fuss about nothing,
to be sure ; but it would please NT.
le Comte. He was never happier
than when people were making a
fuss over his Clair -de-lune^
It was not long before the count
returned, accompanied by Sir Si-
mon. Ang^lique saw at a glance
that the baronet understood how
things were. He talked very big
about his confidence that Ang^-
lique was right ; that h was an acci*
dent of no serious import whatever;
but he exchanged a furtive glance
with the old woman that sufficiently
belied all this confident talk. He
was for going up to see Franceline
with M. de la Bourbonais, but An-
gelique would not allow this. M« le
Comte might go, if he liked, pro-
vided he did not make her speak ;
but nobody else must go ; the room
was too small, and it would excite
the child to see people about her.
So Raymond went up alone. As
soon as his back was turned. An-
g^lique threw up her hands with
a gesture too significant for any
words. Sir Simon closed the door
gently.
'* I am not duped any more than
you," he said. *' It is sure to be
very serious, even if it is not fatal.
Tell me what you really think."
*'I saw her mother go through
it all. It began like this. Only
Madame la Comtesse had a cough ;
the petite has never had one.
That is the only thing that gives
me a bit of hope ; the petite has
never coughed. O Monsieur Si-
mon ! it is terrible. It will kill
us all three; I know it will."
" Tut, tut ! don't give up in this
way, Ang^lique," said the baronet
kindly, and turning aside ; '^ that
will mend nothing; it is the very
worst thing you could do. I agree
with you that it is very serious;
not so much the accident itself,
perhaps — we know nothing about
that yet — but on account of the
hereditary taint in the constitution.
However, there has been no cough
undermining it so far, and with
care — I promise you she shall
have the best — there is every reason
to hope the child will weather it
At her age one weathers every-
thing," he added, cheerfully.
''Come now, don't despond; a
Are YwMy Wi/ef
199
gr<at deal depends on your keep-
ing a cheerful countenance."
'' I know it, monsieur, and I will
do my best. But I hear steps !
Could it be the doctor already?
For goodness' sake run out and meet
him, and tell htm, as he hopes to save
us all, not to let Monsieur le Comte
know there is any danger ! It is
all up with us if he does. Monsieur
le Conate could no more hide it
than a baby could hide a pin in its
clothes."
She opened the door and almost
' pushed Sir Simon out, in her ter*
ror lest the doctor should walk in
without being warned.
Sir Simon met him at the back
of the cottage. A few words were
exchanged, and they came in to-
gether. Raymond met them on
the stairs. The medical man pre-
ferred seeing his patient alone ; the
nurse might be present, but he
could have no one elsc« In a very
few minutes he came down, and a
glance at his face set the father's
heart almost completely at rest.
" Dear me, Sir Simon, you would
never do for a sick nurse. You
prepared me for a very dangerous
case by your message ; it is a mere
trifle ; hardly worth the hard ride
I've had to perform in twenty min
utes."
*' Then there is nothing amiss
with the lungs?"
'* Would you like to sound them
yourself, count ? Pray do ! It
will be more satisfactory to you."
And he hanSed his stethoscope to
M. de la Bourbonais — not mock-
ingly, but quite gravely and
kindly.
That provincial doctor missed
his vocation. He ought to have
been a diplomatist.
Instead of the i)roffered stetho-
scope, M. de la Bourbon;iis grasped
his hand. His heart was too full
for speech. The reaction of secur*
ity after the brief interval of agony
and suspense unnerved him.* He sat
down without speaking, and wiped
the great drops from his forehead.
The medical man addressed himsejf
to Sir Simon and Ang^lique. There
was nothing whatever to be alarmed
at ; but there was occasion for care
and certain preventive measures.
The young lady must have perfect
rest and quiet ; there must be no
talking for some time ; no exciter
ment of any sort. He gave sundry
directions about diet, etc., and
wrote a prescription which was to
be sent to the chemist at once.
M. de la Bourbonais accompanied
him to the door with a lightened
heart, and bade him au rcvoir with
a warm pressure of the hand.
" Now, let me hear the truth,"
said Sir Simon, as soon as they en*
tered the park.
" You have heard the truth —
tliough only in a negative form. If
you noticed, we did not commit our-
selves to any opinion of the case ;
we only prescribed for it. This
was the only way in which we
could honestly follow your instruc-
tions," observed the doctor, who
always used the royal " we " of au-
thorship when speaking profession^
ally.
" You showed great tact and pru-
dence; but there is no need for
either now. Tell me exactly what
you think."
"It will be more to the purpose
to tell you what we know," rejoined
the medical man. " There is a
blood-vessel broken ; not a large
one, happily, and if the hemorrhage
does not increase and continue,
it may prove of no really serious
consequence. But then we must
remember the question of inheri*.
tance. That is what makes m
symptom in itself trifling assume a
200
Are You My Wifef
grave — we refrain from saying fatal
— character."
" You are convinced that this is
but the beginning of the end — am
I to understand that?" asked Sir
Simon. He was used to the doc-
tor's pompous way, and knew him
to be both clever and conscientious,
at least towards his patients.
" It would be precipitating an
opinion to say so much. We are
on the whole inclined to take a
more sanguine view. We consider
the hitherto unimpaired -health of
the patient, and her extreme youth,
fair grounds for hope. But great
care must be taken ; all excitement
must be avoided."
" You may count on your orders
being strictly carried out," said Sir
Simon.
They walked on a few yards with-
out further speech. Sir Simon was
busy with anxious and affectionate
thoughts.
*' 1 should fancy a warm climate
would be the best cure for a case of
this kind," he observed, answering
his own reflections, rather than
speaking to his companion.
" No doubt, no doubt," assented
Dr. Blink, " if the patient was in a
position to authorize her medical
attendant in ordering such a mea-
sure."
" Monsieur de la Bourbonais is in
that position," replied Sir Simon,
quietly.
. " Ah ! I am glad to know it. I
may act on the information one of
these days. The young lady could
not bear the fatigue of a journey to
the south just now ; the general
health is a good deal below par;
the nervous system wants toning;
it is unstrung."
Sir Simon made no comment —
not at least in words — but it set his
mind on painful conjecture. Per-
haps the electric chain passed from
him to his companion, for the lat-
ter said irrelevantly but with a sig-
nificant expression, as he turned
his glance full upon Sir Simon :
" We medical men are trusted
with many secrets — secrets of the
heart as well as of the body. We
ask you frankly, as a friend of our
patient, is there any moral cause at
work — any disappointed affection
that may have preyed on the mind
and fostered the inherited germs
of disease .?"
"I cannot answer that question, "^
replied the baronet after a mo-
ment's hesitation.
**You cannot, or you will not?
Excuse my pertinacity ; it is profes-
sional and necessary."
Sir Simon hesitated again before
he answered.
" I cannot even give a decided
answer to that. I had some time
ago feared there existed something
of the sort, but of late those appre-
hensions had entirely disappeared.
If you had put the question lo me
yesterday, 1 should have said em-
phatically there is nothing to fear
on that score ; the child is perfect-
ly happy and quite heart-whole."
" And to-day you are not pre-
pared to say as much," persisted
Dr. Blink. *'Somethinghas occur-
red to modify this change of- opin-
ion ?"
" Nothing, except the accident
that you know of and youj" question
now. These suggest to me that I
may have been right ii} the first in-
stance."
" Is it in your power or within
the power of circumstances to set
the wrong right — to remove the
cause of anxiety — assuming that it
actually exists ?"
" No, it is not ; nothing can re-
move it."
" And she is aware of this?"
" I fear not."
Are You My Wife?
20I
"Say rather that you hope not.
In such cases hope is the best phy-
sician ; let nothing be done, as far
as you can prevent it, to destroy
this hope in the patient's mind ; I
wonld even venture to urge that
yoa should do anything in your
power to feed and stimulate it."
**That is impossible; quite im-
possible/' said Sir Simon emphati-
callv. The doctor's words fell on
hiro like a sting, and this very feel-
ing increased to conviction what
bad, at the beginning of the con-
versation, been only a vague mis-
giving.
Franceline rallied quickly, and
j with her returning strength Sir Si-
I mon's fears were allayed. He had
i not been able to follow the doctor's
advice as to keeping alive any
soothing delusions that might exist
in her mind, but he succeeded, by
dint of continually dinning it into
his ears that there was no danger,
in convincing her father that there
was not; and the cheerfulness and
sccuritv that radiated from him
acted beneficially on her, and
proved of great help to the medi-
cal treatment. And was Dr. Blink
right in his surmise that a moral
cause had been at work and con-
tributed to the bursting of the
blood-vessel.' If Franceline had
been asked she would have denied
it; if any one had said to her that
the accident had been brought on
by mental suffering, or insinuated
that she was still at heart pining
for a lost love, she would have an-
swered with proud sincerity : ** It
is false; I am not pining. I have
ceased to think of Glide de Win*^
Ion; I have ceased to love him."
But which of us can answer truly
for our own hearts ? We do not
want to idealize Franceline. We
wish to describe her as she was, the
good with the evil; the struggle
and the victory as they alternated
in her life; her heart fluctuating,
but never consciously disloyal.
There must be flaws in every pic-
ture taken from life. Perfection is
not to be found in nature, except
when seen through a poet's eyes.
Perhaps it was true that Franceline
had ceased to love Glide. When
our will is firmly set upon self-
conquest we are apt to fancy it
achieved. But conquest does not
of necessity bring joy, or even
peace. Nothing is so terrible as
a victory, except a defeat, was a
great captain's cry on surveying the
bloody field of yesterday's battle.
The frantic effort, the bleeding tro-
phies may inflict a death-wound on
the conqueror as fatal, in one
sense, as defeat. We see the
" good fight" every day leading to
such issues. Brave souls fight and
carry the day, and then go to reap
their laurels where "beyond these
voices there is peace." Franceline
had gained a victory, but there was
no rejoicing in the triumph. Her
heart plained still of its wounds ;
if she did not hear it, it was be-
cause she would not ; it still be-
moaned its hard fate, its broken
cup of happiness.
She rose up from this illness,
however, happier than she had
been for months. It was difficult
to believe that the period which
had worked such changes to her
inward life counted only a few
months ; it seemed like years, like
a lifetime, since she had first met
Glide de Winton. She resumed
her calmly busy little life as before
the break had come that suspended
its active routine. By Dr. Blink's
desire the teaching class was sup-
pressed, and the necessity of guard-
ing against cold prevented her do-
ing much amongst the sick; but
20t-
Are You My Wife?
this extra leisure in one way en-
abled her to increase her work in
another; she devoted it to writing
with her father; this never tired
her, she affirmed — it only interested
and amused her.
The advisability of a trip to some
southern spot in France or Italy
had been suggested by Dr. Blink;
but the proposal was rejected by
his patient in such a strenuous and
excited manner that he forebore to
press it. He noticed also an ex-
pression o/ sudden pain on M. de
la Bourbonais' countenance, accom-
panied by an involuntary deep-
drawn sigh, that led him to believe
there* must be pecuniary impedi-
ments in the way of the scheme,
notwithstanding Sir Simon's assur*
ance to the contrary. The imigri
was universally looked upon as a
poor man. Who else would live as
he did.^ Still Sir Simon must have
known what he was saying. How-
ever, as it happened, the cold
weather, which was now setting in
pretty sharp\ was by no means fa-
vorable to travelling, so the doctor
consented willingly enough to abide
by the patient's circumstances and
wishes. A long journey in winter is
always a high price for an invalid to
pay for the benefit of a warm climate.
In the first days of December,
Sir Simon took flight from Duller-
ton to Nice. Lady Rebecca was
spending the winter at Cannes, and
as Mr. Simpson reported that "her
ladyship's health had declined visi-
bly within the last month," it was
natural that her dutiful step-son
should desire to be within call in
case of any painful eventuality. If
the climTite of the sunny Mediterra-
nean town happened to be a very
congenial winter residence to him,
so much the better. It is only fair
that a man should have some com-
pensation for doing his duty.
The day before he started Sir
Simon came down to The Lilies.
** Raymond," he said, ** you have
sustained a loss lately ; you must
be in want of money ; now is the
time to prove yourself a Christian,
and let others do unto you as you
would do unto them. You offered
me money once when I did not
want it ; I offer it to you now that
you do." And he pressed a bundle
of notes into the count's hands.
But Raymond crushed them back
into his. " Mon cher Simon ! I do
not thank you. That would be un-
grateful ; it would look as if I were
surprised, whereas I have long
since come to take brotherly kind-
ness as a matter of course fron
you. But in truth I do not want
this money; I give you my word I
don't!"
" If you pledge your word, I
must believe you, I suppose," re-
turned the baronet ; ** but promise
me one thing — if you should want it«
you will let me know.^"
" I promise you I will."
Sir Simon with a sigh, which
Raymond took for reluctance, but
which was really one of relief, re-
placed the notes in his waistcoat
pocket. " I had better leave you a
blank check all the same," he said ;
''you might happen to want it, and
not be able to get a letter to me at
once. There is no kno«ving where
the vagabond spirit may lead rae,
once I am on the move« Give me
a pen." And he seated himself at
the desk.
Raymond protested; but it was
no use. Sir Simon would have
his own way; he wrote the blank
check and saw it locked up in the
count's private drawer. M. de la
Bourbonais argued from this reck-
less committal of his signature that
the baronet's finances were in a
flourishing condition, and was
Are YouMy Wiftf
203
freatly rejoiced. Alas ! if the
truth were known, they had never
been in a sorrier plight. He had of-
inred the bank-notes in all sincer-
ilT, bat if Raymond had accepted
it. Sir Simon would have been at
his wit's end to find the ready
money for his journey. But he
kept this dark, and rather led his
friend to suppose him flush of
money ; it was the only chance of
getting him to accept his generosity.
** Mind you keep me constantly
mformed how Franceline gets on,"
' were his parting words ; and M.
de la Bourbonais promised.
She got on in pretty much the
i tame way for some time. Languid
I HkI pale, but not suffering ; and
she had no cough, and no return of
Ihe symptoms that had alarmed
them all so much. Ang^lique
watched her as a cat watches a
mouse, but even her practised eye
could detect no definite cause for
anxiety.
One morning, about a fortnight
tftcT Sir Simon's departure, Fran-
celine was alone in the little sitting-
room — her father had gone to do
some shopping for her in the town,
as w was too cold for her to ven-
ture out — when Sir Ponsonby
Anwyll called. The moment she
Mw him she flushed up, partly with
snrprise, partly with pleasure. A
casual observer would have con-
cluded this to be a good sign for the
visitor; a male friend would have
unhesitatingly pronounced him a
lucky dog. Ponsonby himself felt
«lig!uly elated.
** I heard you were ill," he said,
and as I am at home on leave for
* few days, I could not resist com-
^^Z to inquire for you. You are
not displeased with me for com-
ing?"
"No, indeed ; it is very kind of
Jou. I am glad to see you," Fran-
celine replied with bright, grateful
eyes.
Hope bounded up high in Pon-
sonby.
"They told me you had been
very ill. I hope it is not true.
You don't look it," he said anx-
iously.
"I have been frightening them a
little more than it was worth ; but
I am quite well now. How is
Lady Anwyll ?"
" Thank you, she's just as usual ;
in very good health and a tremen-
dous bustle. You know I always
put the house topsy-turvy when I
come down. Not that I mean to do
it ; it seems to come of itself as a
natural consequence of my being
there," he explained, laughing. " Is
M. de la Bourbonais quite well V
** Quite well. He will be in pre-
sently ; he is only gone to make a
i^^ purchases for me."
** How anxious he must have
been while you were ill!"
** Dear papa ! yes he was."
" Do' you ride much now.^"
'^ Not at all. I am forbidden to
take any violent exercise for the
present."
All obvious subjects being now
exhausted, there ensued a pause.
Ponsonby was the first to break \i.
" Have you forgiven me, France-
line.^" he said, looking at her ten-
derly, and with a sort of slieepish
timidity.
" Indeed I have ; forgiven and
forgotten," she replied ; and then
blushing very red, and correcting
herself quickly : " I mean there was
nothing to forgive.*'
*' That's not the sort of forgive-
ness I want," said Ponsonl)v, grow-
ing courageous in proportion as she
grew embarrassed. " Franceline, why
can you not like me a little ? I
love you so much ; no one will ever
love you better, or as well !"
[
204
Are You My Wife t
She shook her head, but said no-
thini;, only rose and went to the
window. He followed her.
"You are angry with me again !"
he exclaimed, and was going to
break out in entreaties to be for-
given ; when stooping forward he
caught sight of her face. It was
streaming with tears !
" There, the very mention of it
sets you crying ! Why do you hate
me so ?'*
** I do not hate you. I never
hated you ! I wish with all my
heart 1 could love you ! But I can-
not, I cannot ! And you would not
have me marry you if I did not love
you .? It would be false and selfish
to accept your love, with all it would
bring me, and give so little in re-
turn .?'* She turned her dark eyes on
him, still full of tears, but unabash-
ed and innocent, as if he had been
a brother asking her to do some-
thing unreasonable.
" So little !" he cried, and seizing
her hand he pressed it to his lips;
** if you knew how thankful 1 would
be for that little ! What am I but
an awkward lout at best! But I
will make you happy, Franceline;
I swear to you I will ! And your
father too. I will be as good as a
son to him."
She made no answer but the
same negative movement of her
head. She looked out over the
winter fields with a dreamy expres-
sion, as if she only half heard him,
while her hand lay passively in
his.
" Say you will be my wife ! Ac-
cept me, Franceline!" pleaded the
yoimg man, and he pas.sed his arm
around her.
The action roused her ; she
snatched away her hand and start-
ed from him. It was not aversion
or antipathy, it was terror that dic-
tated the movement. Something
within her cried out and forbad^
her to listen. She could no mori^
control the sudden recoil than slk
could control the tears that gushedj
out afresh, this time with loud sob9
that shook her from head to foot.
** Good heavens ! what have I
done?" exclaimed Ponsonby, help*,
less and dismayed. " Shall I gOj
away ? shall I leave you ?"
" Oh ! it is nothing. It is ovcti
now," said Franceline, her agita*
tion quieted instantaneously by
the sight of his. She dashed thej
tears from her cheeks impatient^
Iv ; she was vexed with herself for
giving way so before him. **Sit
down ; you are trembling all over,*|
said the young man ; and he gently |
forced her into a chair. " I am sor-
ry I said anything ; I will never
mention the subject again without
your permission. Shall I go away V*
" It would be very ungracious to
say * ye§,' " she replied, trying to
smile through the tears that hung
like raindrops on her long lashes;
** but you see how weak and foolish
I am."
** My poor darling ! I will go and
leave you. I have been too much
for you. Only tell me, may I come
soon again — just to ask how you
are ?"
She hesitated. To say yes
would be tacitly to accept him;
yet it was odious to turn him off
like this without a word of kindly
explanation to soften the pang.
Ponsonby could not read these
thoughts, so he construed her hesi-
tation according to the immemorial
logic of lovers.
" Well, never mind answering
now," he said ; " I won't bother you
any more to-day. You will present
my respects to the count, and say
how sorry I was not to see him."
He held out his hand for good-
by.
Are You My Wiftt
205
"You will meet him on the road,
III dare say,*' said Franceline, ex-
nding hers. " You will not tell
■im how I have misbehaved to
\*
>"
The shy smile that accompanied
f the request emboldened Ponsonby to
liaise the soft, white hand to his lips.
tThen turning away he overturned a
pittle wicker flower-stand, happily
with no injury to the sturdy green
pbnt, but with considerable dam-
to the dignity of his exit.
Perhaps you will say that Mile.
£c la Bourbonais behaved like a
[flirt in parting with a discarded
lover in this fashion. It is easy
for you to say so. It is not so easy
lor a woman with a heart to inflict
unmitigated pain on a man who
bves her, and whose love she at
least requites with gratitude, esteem,
tfld sisterly regard.
Sir Ponsonby met the count on
the road ; he made sure of the en-
counter by walking his horse up
and down the green lane which
commanded the road from Duller-
Ion to The Lilies. What passed
between them remained the secret
of themselves and the winter thrush
that perched on the brown hedge
close by and sang out lustily to the
trees and flelds while they con-
versed.
M. de la Bourbonais made no
comment on his daughter's tear-
suincd cheeks when he came home ;
J>'U taking her face between his
Viands, as he was fond of doing, he
g^ve one wistful look, kissed it,
and let it go.
** How long you have been away,
l»«tii p^re! Shall we go to our
writing now ?" she inquired cheer-
fully.
**Art thou not tired, my child?"
** Tired ! What have I done to
Urc me ?"
She sat down at his desk, and
nothing was said of Sir Ponsonby
Anwyll's visit.
The excitement of that day's inter-
view told, nevertheless, on France-
line. It left her nervous, and weak-
er than she had been since her re-
covery. These symptoms escaped
her father's notice, and they would
have escaped Ang^lique's, owing to
Franceline's strenuous efforts to
conceal them, if a slight cough had
not come to put her on the quivive
more than ever. It was very slight
indeed, only attacking her in the
morning when she awoke, and quite
ceasing by the time she w^as dress-
ed and down-stairs. Franceline's
room was at one end of the cot-
tage ; Ang^lique slept next to her;
and at the other end, with the
stairs intervening, was the count's
room: He was thus out of ear-shot
of the sound, which, however rare
and seemingly unimportant, would
have fllled him with alarm. Fran-
celine treated it as a trifle not
worth mentioning; but when her
old bonne insisted on taking her
discreetly to Dr. Blink and having
his opinion about it, she gave in to
humor her. The doctor once more
applied his stethoscope, and then,
smiling that grim, satisfied smile
of his that was so reassuring to pa-
tients till they had seen it practis-
ed on others and found out it was
a fallacy, remarked :
" We are glad to be able to as-
sure you again that there is nothing
to be frightened at ; no mischief
that cannot be forestalled by care,
and docility to our instructions," he
added emphatically. ** We must or-
der you some tonics, and you must
take them regularly. How is the
appetite ?" turning to ' Ang^lique,
who stood by devouring the ora-
cle's words and watching every line
of his features with a shrewd, al-
ao6
Art You My Wifet
most vicious expression of mistrust
on her brown face.
" Ah ! the appetite. She will not
be eating many; she will be want-
ing dainty plates which I can-
not make," explained the French-
woman, sticking pertinaciously to
the future tense, as usual when she
spoke £ngiish.
** Invalids are liable to those ca-
prices of the palate," remarked Dr.
Blink blandly ', "but Miss France-
line will be brave and overcome
them. Dainty dishes are not always
the most nourishing, and nourish-
ment is necessary for her; it is es-
sential."
" That is what I will be tell-
ing mamselle," assented Ange-
lique ; " but she will not be be-
lieving me. I will be telling her
every day the strength is in the
bouillon ; but she will be making a
grimace and saying * Pshaw !' "
The last word was uttered with a
grimace so expressive that France-
line burst out laughing, and the
pompous little doctor joined in it
in spite of his dignity. She prom-
ised to do her best to obey him
and overcome her dislike to the
bouillon, Ang^lique's native pana-
cea, and to other substantial food.
But she found it very hard to
keep the promise. It required
something savory to tempt her
weak appetite. Ang^lique saw she
was doing her best, and never press-
ed the poor child needlessly; but
she would groan over the plate as
she removed it, sometimes un-
touched. " I used to think myself
a * blue ribbon* until now," she
said once to Franceline, with an im-
patient sigh ; " but I am at the end
of my talent ; I can do nothing
to please mamselle." And then
she would long for Sir Simon to
come home. It happened unluck-
ily that the professed artist who
presided over the kitchen at
Court was taking a holiday dui
his master's absence. Ang^liqi
would have scorned to invoke
skill o{ the subaltern who repla<
him, but she had a profound admi
ration for the chef himself, am
though an Englishman, she bow<
unreservedly to his superior talenl
The belief was current that Sir
mon would spend the Christmas
Dullerton ; he always did when
at too great a distance at that tir
It was the right thing for an £ng<|
lish gentleman to do, and bis btl
terest foe would not accuse tl
baronet of failing to act up to tbi
standard.
This year, however, it was w
possible. The weather was gl<
ous at Nice and it was anythii
but that at Dullerton, and the loi
journey in the cold was not at*
tractive. He wrote home desiringl
the usual festivities to be arranged!
according to the old custom of tbc|
place; coals and clothing were to
be distributed ad libitum ; the fat-
ted calf was to be killed for the
tenantry, and everybody was en-
joined to eat, drink, and be merry
in spite of the host's absence.
They conscientiously followed these
hospitable injunctions, but it was a
grievous disappointment that Sir
Simon was not in their midst to
stimulate the conviviality by his
kindly and genial presence. Pretty
presents came to The Lilies, but
they did not bring strength to
Franceline. She grew more trans-
parent, more fragile-looking, as the
days went on. Angdlique held pri-
vate conferences with Miss Merry-
wig, and that lady suggested that
any of the large houses in the
neighborhood would be only too
delighted to be of any use in send-
ing jellies flavored with good strong
wine. There was nothing so nour-
Ar^ YMMy Wifit
'3a7
Ming for an invalid ; Miss Merry-
pig would speak to one where
ilbere was a capital cook. Rut An-
ifiiique would not hear of it. No,
90 ! Much as she longed for the
}cUy she dared not get it in this
i»ay. M. le Comte would never
•forgive her. ** He will be so proud,
VL le Comte ! He will be a
iScotchmanT! He will not be con-
iessing even to me that he wants
vothing. But Monsieur Simon will
W coming ; he will be coming soon,
and then he will be making little
I plates for mamselle every day."
Meantime she and Franceline did
tbeir best to hide from Raymond
this particular reason for desiring
Acir friend's return. But he no-
ticed that she eat next to nothing,
a&d that she often signed to Ang^-
liqne to remove her plate on which
tlic food remained un tasted. Once
lie could not forbear exclaiming :
"Ah! if we were in Paris I could
get y^xsM^ friandise to tempt thee !"
In the middle of January one
morning a letter came from Sir
Simon, bearing the London post-
mark.
He had been obliged to come to
England on pressing business of a
harassing nature.
**Is Sir Simon coming home,
petit p^re.'" inquired Franceline
eagerly, as her father opened the
letter.
"Yes; but only for a day. He
•ill be here after to-morrow, and
fljr away to Nice the next day."
**How tiresome of him ! But it
IS better to see him for a day than
not at all. Does he say what hour he
wrivcs ? We will go and meet him."
" It will be too late for thee to be
out, my child. He comes by the
late afternoon train, just in time to
dress for dinner and receive us all.
He has invited several friends in
the neighborhood to dine/'
'' What a fuhny idea ! And he is
only coming for the day.?"
"Only for the day."
Raymond's eyebrows closed like
a horseshoe over his meditative
eyes as he folded the baronet's let-
ter and laid is aside. There was
more in it than he communicated
to Franceline. It was the old
story; money tight, bills falling
due, and no means of meeting
them. Lady Rebecca had taken a
fresh start, tl!anks to an Italian
quack who had been up from Naples
and worked wonders with some dia-
bolical elixir — diabolical beyond a
doubt, for nothing but the black-
art could explain the sudden and
extraordinary rally ; she was all but
dead when the quack arrived — so
Mr. Simpson heard from one of
her ladyship's attendants. Simpson
himself was terribly put out by the
news ; it overturned all his immedi-
ate plans ; he saw no possibility of
any longer avoiding extremities.
Extremities meant that the princi-
pal creditor, a Jew who had lent a
sum of thirty thousand pounds on
Sir Simon's life-interest in Duller-
ton, at the rate of twenty per cent,
was now determined to wait no
longer for his arrears of twenty per
cent, but turn the baronet out of
possession and sell his life-interest
in the estate. This sword of Dam-
ocles had been hanging over his
debtor's head for the last ten years.
It was to meet this usurious inter-
est periodically that Sir Simon was
driven to such close quarters. He
had up to this time contrived to an-
swer the demand — Heaven and Mr.
Simpson alone knew at what sacri-
fices. But now he had come to a
point beyond which even he de-
clared he could not possibly carry
his client. He had tried to nego-
tiate post-obit bills on Lady Re-
becca's fifty thousand pounds, but
208
Are You My Wife t
the Jews were too sharp for that.
Lady Rebecca was sole master of
lier fifty thousand pounds, and
might leave it to whom she liked.
She had made her will bequeathing
it to her step-son, and he was mor-
ally as certain of ultimately possess-
ing the money as if it were entailed ;
but moral security is no security at
all to a money- lender. The money
was not entailed; Lady Rebecca
might take it into her head to alter
her will ; she might* leave it to a
quack doctor, or to some clever
sycophant of an attendant. There
is no saying what an old lady of
seventy-five may not do with fifty
thousand pounds. Sir Simon pshaw-
ed and pooh-poohed contemptuous-
ly when Simpson enumerated these
arguments against the negotiation
of the much-needed P. O. bills;
but it was no use. Israel was inex-
orable. And now one particular
member of the tribe called Moses
to witness that if he were not paid
his ** twenty per shent " on the first
of February, he would seize upon
the life-interest of Dullerton Court
and make its present owner a bank-
rupt. He could sell nothing, either
in the house or on the estate; the
plate and pictures and furniture
were entailed. If this were not the
case, things need not have come to
this with Sir Simon. Two of those
Raphaels in the great gallery would
have paid the Jew principal and
interest together ; but not a spoon
or a hearth-brush in the Court
could be touched ; everything be-
longed to the heir. No men-
tion has hitherto been made of
that important person, because
he in no way concerns this story,
except by the fact of his exist-
tMice. He was a distant kinsman
of the present baronet, who had
never seen him. He was in diplo-
macy, and so lived always abroad.
People are said to dislike their
heirs.
If Sir Simon disliked any human
being, it was his. He did not dis-
like Lady Rebecca; he was only out
of patience with her ; she certain-
ly was an aggravating old woman
— living on to no purpose, that he
could see, except to frustrate and
harass him. Yet he had kindly
thoughts of her ; he had only cold
aversion towards the man who was
waiting for his own death to come
and rule in his stead. He had
never spoken of him to M. de la
Bourbonais except to inform him
that he existed, and that he stood
in his way on many occasions. In
the letter of this morning he spoke
of him once more. The letter was
a long one, and calmer than any
previous effusion of the kind that
Raymond remembered. There
was very little vituperation of the
duns, or even of the chief scoun-
drel who was about to tear away
the veil that had hitherto concealed
the sores and flaws in the popular
landlord's life. This was what he
felt most deeply in it all; the dis-
grace of being shown up as a sham
— a man who had lived like a prince
while he had been in reality a beg-
gar, in debt up to his ears, and who
was now about to be made a bank-
rupt. Raymond had never before
understood the real nature of his
friend's embarrassment ; he was
shocked and distressed more than
he could express. It was not the
moment to judge him; to remem-
ber the reckless extravagance, the
crimmal want of prudence, of con-
science, that had brought him to
this pass. He only thought of the
friend of his youth, the kind, faith-
ful, delightful companion who had
never failed in friendship, whatever
his other sins may have been. And
now he was ruined, disgraced be-
jEschylus.
209
fore the world, going to be driven
forth fr6m his ancestral home
branded as a life-long sham. Ray-
mond could have wept for pity.
Then it occurred to him with a
strange pang that he was to dine
with Sir Simon the next day; the
head cook had been telegraphed
for to prepare the dinner; there
was to be a jovial gathering of
friends to "cheer him up." What
a mystery it was, this craving for
being cheered up, as if the process
were a substantial remedy that in
some way helped to pay debts, or
postpone payment ! The count
was too sad at heart to smile. He
rose from the breakfast-table with a
sigh, and was leaving the room
when Franceline linked her hands
on his ann, and said, looking up
with an anxious face :
" It is a long letter, petit p^re ; is
there any bad news ?"
" There is hardly any news at
all," he replied evasively. In truth
there was not.
" Then why do you look so sad ?"
" Why dost thou look so pale ?"
was the reply. And he smiled ten-
derly and sighed again as he kissed
her forehead.
TO BB C0NT1MX7BD<
iCSCHYLUS.
A SEA-CLIFF carved into a bas-relief .
Art, rough from Nature's hand ; by brooding Nature
Wrought out in spasms to shapes of Titan stature ;
Emblems of Fate, and Change, Revenge, and Grief,
And Death, and Life ; in giant hieroglyph
Confronting still with thunder-blasted frieze
All stress of years, and winds, and wasting seas —
The stranger nears it in his western skiff.
And hides his eyes. Few, few shall dare, great Bard,
Thy watery portals ! Entering, fewer yet
Shall pierce thy music's meaning, deep and hard !
But these shall owe to thee an endless debt ;
The Eleusinian caverns they shall tread
That wind beneath man's heart ; and wisdom learn with dread.
Aubrey de Vers.
vol.. XXII. — 14
210
A Precursor of Marco Polo.
A PRECURSOR OF MARCO POLO.
The naerchants and missionaries
who were the first travellers and
ambassadors of Christian times lit-
tle thought, absorbed as they were
in the object of their quest, how
large a share of interest in the eyes
of posterity would centre in the
quaint observations, descriptions,
and drawings which they were able
incidentally to gather or make.
Marco Polo's name, and even those
of his father and uncle, Niccolo and
Matteo Polo, are well known, and
are associated with all that barbaric
magnificence the meniory of which
had a great share in keepingaliyethe
perseverance of subsequent explor-
ers. It was fitting that traders in
jewels should reach the more civil-
ized and splendid Tartarjs, and no
doubt their store of rich presents,
and their garments of ample dimen-
sions as well as fine texture, would
prove a passport through tribes so
passionately acquisitive as the Tar-
tars seem to have been. Nomads
are not always simplesminded or un-
ambitious. The Franciscan whose
travels come just between the ex-
pedition of the elder Polo and the
more famous Marco — Friar Wil-
liam Rubruquis — did not have the
good-luck to see the wonders his
successor described ; but he men-
tions repeatedly that his entertain-
ers made reiterated and minute
inquiries as to the abundance of
flocks and herds in the country he
came from, and that they wonder-
ed — rather contemptuously — at the
presents of sweet wine, dried fruits,
and delicate cakes which were all
he had to offer their great princes.
Rubruquis was traveller, mission*
ary, and ambassador, but in the
two pursuits denoted by the last-
mentioned titles his success was
but small. As a traveller, however,
he was hardy, persevering, and ob-
servant. Though not bred a horse-
man, he often rode thirty leagues a
day, and half the time at full gal-
lop, he says. His companions,
monks like himself, could not
stand the fatigue, and both, at differ-
ent intervals, parted company from
him. But Rubruquis was young and
strong, though, as he himself says,
corpulent and heavy ; and, above all,
he was enterprising. He was not
more than five-and-twenty when he
started on his quest of the Christian
monarch whom all the rulers of
Europe firmly believed in, and
whose name has come down to us
as Prester John.
Born in 1230, he devoted himself
early to the church, and during the
Fourth Crusade went on a pilgrim-
age to the Holy Land. His real
name was Ruysbroek, but, accord-
ing to the unpatriotic fashion of
the times, he Latinized it into Ru-
bruquis. S. Louis, King of France,
eager for the Christian alliance
which the supposed Prester John
would be able to enter into with
him, had once already sent an em-
bassy of monks to seek him ; but
they had failed to perform a sixth
part of the journey set down for
them, and had heard no tidings
of a monarch answering to the de-
scription. The king, nothing daunt-
ed, determined to send another em-
bassy on a voyage of discovery
A Precursor of MaHo Polo,
211
Vague news of a Christian Tartar
chief, by name Sartach, had come
to him ; probably the toleration
extended by the Tartars to Chris-
tians — a contrast to the behavior of
most Saracenic chiefs — led to this
obstinate belief in a remote Chris-
tian empire of the East.
William de Rubruquis, Bartho-
lomew of Oemona, and a compan-
ion named Andrew, all Franciscan
friars, were chosen for this new expe-
dition. On the 7th of May, 1253
(says his narrative, though it has
since been calculated that, as S.
Louis was a captive at the time, the
date 1255 is more likely to be cor-
rect), the travellers, having crossed
the Black Sea from Constantino-
ple, landed at Soldaia, near Cherson.
The king, somewhat unwisely as it
proved, had told his envoy to rep-
resent himself as a private individ-
ual travelling on his own account.
But the Tartars were acute and
jealous of foreigners; they knew
that travelling entailed too much
fatigue and danger to be undertaken
simply for pleasure, and they had
small regard for any stranger, unless
the representative of a prince. They
guessed his mission, and taxed him
with it, till he was obliged to ac-
knowledge that he was the bearer
of letters from the Christian King
of France to the mighty khan, Sar-
tach. But though the people do
not seem to have taken him for a
private person, they were puzzled
by the poverty of his dress and the
scantiness of the presents he offer-
ed thein. Even small dignitaries
expected to be royally propitiated.
He explained his vow of poverty
to them, but this did not impress
the Tartars as favorably as he wish-
ed Still, he met with nothing but
civility and hospitality.
Rubruquis says that Soldaia was
i great mart for furs, which the
Russians exchanged with the mer-
chants of Constantinople for silks,
cotton, spices, etc. The third day*
after his departure he met a wan-
dering tribe, '* among whom being
entered," he says, " methought I
was come into a new world."
He goes on to describe their
houses on wheels, no despicable or
narrow habitations,'even according
to modern ideas :
"Their houses, in which they
sleep, they raise upon a round
foundation of wickers artificially
wrought and compacted together, *
the roof consisting of wickers also
meeting above in one little roundel,
out of which there rises upwards a
neck like a chimney, which they cov-
er with white felt ; and often they lay
mortar or white earth upon the felt
with the powder of bones, that it
may shine and look white; some?
times, also, they cover their houses
with black felt. This cupola . . .
they adorn with a variety of pic-
tures. Before the door they hang
a felt curiously painted over; for
they spend all their colored felt in
painting vines, trees, birds, and
beasts thereupon. These houses
they make so large that they contain
thirty feet in breadth ; for, measur-
ing once the breadth between the
wheel-ruts, ... I found it to be
twenty feet over, and when the
house was upon the cart it stretch-
ed over the wheels on each side
five feet at least. I told two-and-
twenty oxen in one draught, draw-
ing an house upon a cart, and
eleven more on the other side.
(Two rows, one in front of the
other, we suppose.) ... A fellow
stood in. the door of the house,
driving the oxen."
Sometimes a woman drove, or
walked at the head of the leaders
to guide them. " One woman will
guide twenty or thirty carts at once ?
I
212
A Precursor of Marco Pbla^
for their country is very flat, and
they fasten the carts with camels
* or oxen one behind another. A
girl sits in the foremost cart, driv-
ing the oxen, and all the rest of
themselves follow at a like pace.
When they come to a place which
is a bad passage, they loose them,
and guide them one by one. ..."
The baggage was so arranged as
to be taken through the smaller
rivers of Asia without being injur-
ed or wetted. It consisted of square
chests of wicker-work, with a hollow
lid or cover of the same, " covered
with black felt, rubbed over with
tallow or sheep's milk to keep the
rain from soaking through, which
they also adorn with painting or
white feathers." These were placed
on carts with very high wheels, and
drawn by camels instead of oxen.
The encampment was like a large
village, well defended by palisades
formed of the carts off which the
houses had been taken, and which
were drawn up in two compact lines,
one in front and one in the rear of
the dwellings, " as it were between
two walls," says our traveller. A rich
Tartar commonly had one hundred,
or even two hundred, such cart-
houses. Each house had several
small houses belonging to it, placed
behind it, serving as closets, store-
rooms, and sleeping chambers, and
often as many as two hundred
chests and their necessary carts.
This made immense numbers of
camels and oxen for draught neces-
sary; and, besides, there were the
animals for food and milk, and the
horses for the men. They had
cow's milk and mare's milk, two
species of food which they used
very differently, and even made of
social and religious im|x>rtance.
Only the men were allowed to milk
the mares, while the women attend-
ed to the cows ; and any interchange
of these offices would have beei
deemed, in a man, unpardonable
efleroinacy, and in a wcunan indeli-
cacy. At the door of the houses
stood two tutelary deities, monsters
of both sexes. The cow's milk
served for the food of women and
children, while the mare's milk was
made into a fermented liquor called
cosmos. This was supposed to
make a heathen of the man who
drank it ; for the Nestorian Chris-
tians found among them, " who keep
their own laws very strictly, will
not drink thereof; they account
themselves no Christians after they
have once dnmk of it; and their
priests reconcile them to the church
as if they had renounced the Chris-
tian faith."
This cosmos was made thus:
The milk was poured into a large
skin bag, and the bag beaten with a
wooden club until the milk began
to ferment and turn sour. The
bag was then shaken and cudgelled
again until most of it turned to but-
ter ; after which the liquid was sup-
posed to be fit for drinking. Ru-
bruquis evidently liked it ; says it
was exhilarating to the spirits, and
even intoxicating to weak heads;
pungent to the taste, ^' like raspberry
wine," but left a flavor on the palate
*^ like almond- milk." Cara-cosmos,
*
a rarer quality of the same, and re-
served for the chiefs only, was pro-
duced by prolonging the beating
of the bag until the coagulated
portions subsided to the bottom.
These drinks were received as tri-
bute or taxes. Baatu, a chief with
sixteen wives, received the produce
of three thousand mares daily, be*
sides a quantity of common cosmos,
a bowl of which almost always stood
on the threshold of every rich man's
house. The Tartars often drank of
it to excess, and their banquets were
relieved by music.
A Precursor of Marco Polo.
213
At these feasts, in which both
sexes participated, the guests clap-
ped their hands and danced to the
music, the men before their host,
the women before his principal
wife. The host always drank first.
The moment he put his lips to the
bovl of cosmos, his cup-bearer
cried aloud '^Ha!" and the musi-
cians struck up. This almost sounds
like a mediaeval Twelfth-night ban-
quet, when all the guests rose
and shouted, "The king drinks!"
and then drained their goblets in
imitation of the monarch of the
night. The Tartars respectfully
waited till the lord of the feast had
finished his draught, when the cup-
bearer again cried " Ha ! " and the
music ceased. After a pause, the
guests, male and female, drank round
in turns, each one to the sound of
music, with a pause and silence be-
fore the next person took up the
cup. This fashion of drinking con-
tinued unchanged for many cer»tu-
ries, and later travellers, amid the
increased pomp of the court of the
Tartar emperors of China, found it
still in force — music, cries, pauses,
and all. We have also seen, not
many years ago, on the occasion of
the marriage of the late young em-
peror of China, illustrations of the
wedding procession, representing
immensely wide carts, drawn by
eleven oxen abreast, laden with
costly state furniture ; and if we take
away the pomp and gilding, the pic-
ture is not unlike that of the Tartar
camp-carts seen by our traveller.
Rubruquis hints that the Tartars
were not a temperate people ; they
drank much and not cleanly, and
the way of " inviting " a person to
drink was to seize his ears and
poll thcra forcibly. The sweet
wine, of which the monk had a small
supply, pleased them very well, but
they thought him not lavish enough
in his hospitality; for once, on his
offering the master of the house
one flagon of this wine, the man *
gravely drained it and asked for
another, saying that " a man does
not go into a house with one foot."
In return, however, they did not give
him much to eat; but perhaps he
suffered hunger rather from his pre-
judice to the meat they ate than
from their niggardliness in giving.
He at last learned to eat horse-fiesh,
but was disgusted at his friends* eat-
ing the bodies of animals that had
died of disease. The Tartars were
honest enough, and never even took
things by force ; but they begged for
everything that took their fancy as
unblushingly as some of Paul Du
Chaillu's negroes in Africa. It
surprised them to be refused any-
thing — knives, gloves, purses, etc. —
and, when gratified, never thought
it necessary to thank their guests.
After a while Rubruquis met the
carts of Zagatai, one of the chief-
tains, to whom he brought a letter
from the Emperor of Constantino-
ple. Here the Tartars asked ** what
we had in our carts — whether it
were gold, or silver, or rich gar-
ments "; and both Zagatai and his
interpreter were haughtily discon-
tented at finding that at least some
garment of value was not forth-
coming. This is not wonderful,
considering the wealth of their own
great khans, of whom a later one,
Kooblai, so celebrated in Marco
Polo's travels, gave his twelve lords,
twelve times in the year, robes of
gold-colored silk, embroidered with
gold and precious stones. Zagatai,
however, received the ambassador
graciously. " He sat on his bed," *
says Rubruquis, " holding a musi-
* A lort of divan, not unusual in the Eatt at the
present day. The sultan, when receiving a visit
of ceremony, sits on a §ort of sofa or post-bed. Traces
of it were abo found b the "palaces*' of Ashaatee,.
214
A Precursor of Marco Polo.
cal instrument in his hand, and his
wife sat by him, who, in my opin-
ion, had cut and pared her nose
between the eyes, that she might
seem to be more flat-nosed ; for she
had left herself no nose at all in
that place, having anointed the
very scar with black ointment, as
she also did her eyebrows, which
sight seemed to me most ugly. . . .
I besought him tliat he would ac-
cept this small gift at our hands,
excusing myself that I was a monk,
and that it was against our profes-
sion to possess gold, silver, or pre-
cious garments, and therefore that
I had not any such thing to give
him, unless he would receive some
]>art of our victuals instead of a
blessing." The Tartars were always
eager to receive a blessing over and
above any present. He was constant-
ly asked to make over them the sign
of the cross ; but it is to be feared
that they looked upon it as a charm,
and of charms they couldn't have
too many. From Zagatai, Rubru-
quis went to Sartach, who said he
had no power of treating with him,
and sent him on to his father-in-law,
Baatu, the patriarch with sixteen
wives and several hundred houses.
Losing his ox-wagons and baggage
on the way — for the independent
tribes did not scruple to exact tri-
bute from a traveller, even if he was
a friend of their neighbors — he
never lost his courage and his de-
termination to sow the seeds of
truth in Tartary. He did not know
the language at first, and only
learnt it very imperfectly at the
last. Here and there a captive
Christian, mostly Hungarians, or a
Tartar who had learnt the rudi-
ments of Christianity during an in-
vasion of his tribe into Europe,
acted as interpreter. All were
uniformly kind to him. One of
themi who understood Latin and
psalmody, was in great request at
all the funerals of his neighbor-
hood : but the " Christianity " of
tlie natives was but a shred of Ncs-
torianism worked into a web of
paganism, so that, the farther he
advanced, the farther the great, pow-
erful, united Christian community
headed by Prester John seemed
to recede. 'I'he people took kindly
to Christian usages, and had some
respect for the forms and ceremo-
nies which the monk and his com«
panions endeavored to keep up; \
but when it came to doctrine and
morality, they grew impatient and
unresponsive. One of Rubniquis'
interpreters often refused to do hit
office. " And thus," says the tra-
veller, " it caused me great chagrin
when I wished to ad(]ress to them
a few words of edification ; for he \
would say to me, 'You shall not. "\
make me preach to-day ; I unde^ ^
stand nothing of all you tell me.' ^
. . . And then he spoke the tnith;
for afterwards, as I began to under-
stand a little of their tongue, I per-
ceived that when I told him one
thing he repeated another, just ac-
cording to his fancy. Therefore,
seeing it was no use to talk or
preach, I held my tongue."
Hard riding was not the onljr
tiling that distressed the ambassa-
dor of the King of France. His com-
panions gave him meat that was
less than half-cooked, and some-
times positively raw. Then the
cold began to be severe, and still
there were at least four months'
travel before him. The Tartars
were kind to him in their rough
way, and gave him some of their
thick sheepskins and hide shoes.
He had insisted on journeying
most of the time in his Franciscan
sandals, and, full of ardor for his
rule, had constantly refused gifts
of costly garments. This the Tar-
A Precursor of Marco Polo.
215
tars never quite understood, but
they respected the principle which
caused him to make so many sacri-
fices for the sake and furtherance of
his religion. Wherever he passed,
he and his companions endeared
themselves to the inhabitants by
many little services (doubtless also
by cures wrought by simple reme-
dies), and generally by their gentle,
unselfish conduct towards all men.
Rubruquis observed everything mi-
nutely as he passed. The manners
and customs of the people interest-
ed him, and perhaps he did not
consider them quite such barba-
rians as we of later days are apt to
do. When we read the accounts
of domestic life among the majority
of people in mediaeval times, and
see that refinen^ent of manner was
less thought of than costliness of
apparel and wealth of plate and
tattle, the difference between such
manners and those of the Tartars
is not appreciable. Tew in those
days were learned, and learning it
is that has always made the real
difference between a gentleman and
a boor. The marauding chieftains
of feudal times were only romantic
and titled highwaymen after all.
So were the wandering Tartars.
The difference that has since
sprung up between the descend-
ants of the marauding barons and
those of the Tartar chiefs is mainly
one of race. The former are of an
enterprising, improving race, the
latter of a stagnant one ; and while
the European nations that then
trembled before the invading
hordes of Jengis-Khan have now
developed into intellectual superi-
ority over every other race in the
world, the Tartar is still, socially
and intellectually^ on the same old
level, and his political advantages
have vanished with his rude war-
like superiority before the diplo-'
macy and the military organization
of his former victims.
Rubruquis noticed that among the
superstitions common in Tartary was
a belief that it was unlucky for a
visitor to touch the threshold of a
Tartar's door. Modern travellers
assert the same of the Chinese.
Whenever our envoy paid a visit,
he deferred to this belief by care-
fully stepping across the threshold
of the house or tent, without let-
ting any part of his person or dress
come in contact with it. Their
dress, on festive occasions, was
rich ; for they traded with China,
Persia, and other southern and
eastern countries for " stuffs of silk,
cloths of gold, and cotton cloths,
which they wear in time of summer ;
but out of Russia, Bulgaria, Hun-
garia, and out ot Chersis (all which
are northern regions and full of
woods), . . . the inhabitants bring
them rich and costly skins and furs
of divers sorts, wl^ch I never saw
in our countries, wherewithal they
are clad in winter." The rough
sheepskin coats had their place also
in their toilet, and a material made
of two-thirds wool and one-third
horsehair furnished them with caps,
saddle-cloths, and felt for covering
their wagons.
The women's dress was distin-
guished from the men's simply
by its greater length, and they
often rode, like the men, astride
their horses, their faces protected
by a white veil, crossing the nose
just below the eyes and descending
to the breast. Immense size and
flat noses were the great desidera-
ta among them. Marriage was a
mere bargain, and daughters were
generally sold to the highest bid-
der. Though expert hunters, the
Tartars were scarcely what we
should call sportsmen. They hunt-
ed on the battue system, spreading
2l6
A Precursor of Marco Polo,
themselves in a wide circle, and
gradually contracting this as they
drove the game before them, until
the unfortunate animals being pen-
ned in in a small space, they were
easily shot down by wholesale.
Hawking was also in vogue among
the Tartars, and was reduced as
much to a science as in Europe.
They strenuously punished great
crimes with death, as, for instance,
murder, theft, adultery, and even
minor offences against chastity.
This, however, was less the conse-
quence of a regard for virtue per
se than of a vivid perception of
the rights of property. No code
but tlie Jewish and the Christian
ever protected the honor of women
for its own sake. In mourning for
the dead it is strange that violent
howling and lamentation, even on
the part of those not personally
concerned, should be a form com-
mon to almost all nations, not only
of different religions, but of vari-
ous and widely-separated races.
The Tartars, as well as the Celts,
practised it. Rubruquis mentions
that they made various monuments
over the graves of their dead, some-
limes mere mounds or barrows of
earth, or towers of brick and even
of stone — though no stone was to
be found near the spot — and some-
times large open spaces, paved with
stone, with four large stones placed
upright at the corners, always facing
the four cardinal points.
It was during winter that the en-
voy arrived at the court or encamp-
ment of Mandchu-Khan. He says
that it was at the distance of twenty
days* journey from Cataya, or Ca-
thay (China), but it is difficult to
say exactly where that was. Here
Rubruquis found a number of
Nestorian priests peacefully living
under the khan's protection, and
among them one who had only ar-
rived a month before the Francis-
can friar, and said he had come, in
consequence of a vision, to convert
the khan and his people. He was
an Armenian from the Holy Land.
Our missionary describes him thus
in his terse, direct way, which has
this advantage over the long-wind-
ed and minute descriptions of our
day, that we seem to see the man
before us : " He was a monk, some-
what black and lean, clad w^ith a
rough hair-coat to the knees, having
over it a black cloak of bristles,
furred with spotted skins, girt with
iron under his hair-cloth." Mand-
chu-Khan was tolerant and liberal,
and rather well disposed than other-
wise to the Christian religion. His
favorite wife, whom he had lately
lost, had been a Christian, and so
was his first secretary, but both
Nestorian Christians. The khan,
or his servants — who doubtless ex-
pected to be propitiated with the
usual gifts if they could only suc-
ceed in wearying out the patience
of the new-comers — made the en-
voy wait nine days for an audience.
The Tartars thought it strange that
a king's ambassador should come
to court bare-foot ; but a boy, a
Hungarian captive, again gave the
required and often-repeated expla-
nation. Before entering the large
hall, whose entrance was closed by
curtains of gayly-painted felt, the
monks were searched, to see if
they carried any concealed arms;
and then the procession formed,
the Christian missionaries entering
the khan's presence singing the
hymn A So/is orius car dine. The
khan, like the lesser chieftains Ru-
bruquis had already met, was seat-
ed on a " bed" or divan, dressed
"in a spotted skin or fur, bright
and shining." The multitudinous
bowings and prostrations in use at
the Chinese court were very likely
A Precursor of Marco Polo.
217
exacted, though the envoy says in
general terms that " he had to
bend the knee." Such simplicity
is, however, very far from the cere-
monious Oriental ideal of homage,
and it was not then, as it is now,
esteemed an honor to receive Frank-
iah envoys in the Frankish manner.
Mandchu first offered his guests a
drink of fermented milk, of which
they pirtook sparingly, not to of-
fend him ; but the interpreter soon
made himself unfit for his of-
fice by his indulgence in his
fivorite beverage. Rubruquis stat-
ed his mission with modest sim-
plicity. In his quality of am-
bassador he might have resented
the delay in receiving him ; he
might have complained of the fa-
miliarity and want of respect with
which he had been often treated,
and of the advantage taken of his
gentleness and ignorance of the
language to plunder him ; but he
was more than a king's messenger.
He was intent upon preaching the
** good tidings " to the Tartars, and
only used human means to compass
a divine end. He acknowledged
that he had no rich presents nor
temporal goods to offer, but only
spiritual benefits to impart. His
practice certainly did not belie his
ihcory. The people never disbe-
lieved him, nor suspected him of
being a political emissary. But still,
He was unsuccessful. He soon per-
ceived that his interpreter was
blandering, and says : " I easily
found he was drunk, and Mandchu-
Kban himself was drunk also, as I
thought.*' AH he could obtain was
leave to remain in the country dur-
mg the cold season. Inquiries met
^im on all sides as to the wealth
and state of Europe *, but of reli-
fioB, beyond the few forms that
pleased their eye, the people did not
icen to think. They looked down
with lofty indifference on the faith
of those various adventurers whom
their sovereign kindly sheltered, and
ranked the Christian priests they
already knew in the same category
with conjurers and quack doctors.
The Christianitv of these Nestorians
m
was even more imperfect than that
of the Abyssinians at the time of
the late English invasion of the un-
lucky King Theodore's dominions.
Rubruquis was horrified to find
in these priests mere superstitious
mountebanks. They mingled Tar*
tar rites with corrupt ceremonies of
the Catholic Church, and practised
all manner of deceptions, mixing
rhubarb with holy water as a medi-
cinal drink, and carrying to the
bedside of the sick lances and
swords half-drawn from their sheaths
along with the crucifix. Upon
these grounds they pretended to
the power of working miracles and
curing the sick by spiritual means
alone. The Franciscan zealously
tried to reform these abuses and to
convert the Nestorians before he
undertook to preach to the Tartars ;
but here again he was unsuccessful.
The self-interest of these debased
men was in question, and truth was
little to them in comparison with
the comfort and consideration they
enjoyed as leeches.
A curious scene occurred while
at this encampment of the khan.
There were many Mahometans in
the country, and the sovereign, with
impartial tolerance, protected them
and their commerce as he did the
person and property of other re-
fugees. They, the Christians, and
some representative Tartars were
all assembled one day, by order of
Mandchu, to discuss in public the
merits of their respective faiths.
But even on this occasion no bit-
terness was evinced, and the meet-
ing, though it turned out useless in
2l8
A Precursor of Marco Polo.
a spiritual sense, ended in a friend-
ly banquet. Rubruquis did his
best to improve this opportunity of
teaching the truth ; but the hour of
successful evangelization had not
yet struck, and much of the indif*
ference of the Tartars is to be at-
tributed to the culpable practices
of the Nestorians, whose behavior
was enough to discredit the religion
they pretended to profess. But if
the missionary, notwithstanding all
his zeal, was unable to convert the
heathens, he at least comforted and
strengthened many captive Chris-
tians. We have already mentioned
a few of these, and in Mandchu*s
camp he met with another, a
woman from Metz in Lorraine, who
had been taken prisoner in Hunga-
ry, and been carried back into their
own country by the invaders. She
had at first suffered many hardships,
but ended by marrying a young
Russian, a captive like herself, who
was skilful in the art of building
wooden houses. The Tartars priz-
ed this kind of knowledge, and were
kind to the young couple, who were
now leading a tolerably comforta-
ble life, and had a family of three
children. To fancy their joy at
seeing a genuine Christian mission-
ary is almost out of our power in
these days of swift communication,
when nothing is any longer a mar-
vel ; but if we could put ourselves in
their place, we might paint a won-
derful picture of thankfulness, sur-
prise, and simple, rock-like faith.
The latter part of Lent was spent
in travelling, as the khan broke
up his encampment, and went on
across a chain of mountains to a
great city, Karakorum, or Kara-
k<im, on the river Orchon. Every
vestige of such a city has disappear-
ed centuries ago, but Marco Polo
mentions it and describes its
streets, situation, defences, etc. He
arrived there nearly twenty years
later, and noticed that it was sur-
rounded by a strong rampart of
earth, there being no good supply
of stone in those parts.
The passage of the Changai
Mountains was a terrible undertak-
ing ; the cold was intense and the
weather stormy, and the khan, with
his usual bland eclecticism, begged
Rubruquis to " pray to God in his
own fashion " for milder weather,
chiefly for the sake of the cattle.
On Palm Sunday the envoy bless-
ed the willow-boughs he saw on
his way, though he says there were
no buds on them yet ; but they were
near the city now, and the weather
had become more promising. Ru-
bruquis had his eyes wide open as
he came to the first organized city
of the Tartars, as Marco Polo af-
firms this to have been. It had
scarcely been built twenty years
when our monk visited it, and owed
its origin to the son and successor
of Jengis-Khan. " There were
two grand streets in it," says Rubru-
quis, " one of the Saracens, where
the fairs are kept (held), and many
merchants resort thither, and one
other street of the Cathayans
(Chinese), who are all artificers."
Many of the latter were captives, or
at least subjects, of the khan ; for the
Tartars had already conquered the
greaterpart of Northern China. The
khan lived in a castle or palace
outside the earthen rampart. In
Karakorum, again, the monk found
many Christians, Armenian, Geor-
gian, Hungarian, and even of West-
ern European origin. Among oth-
ers he mentions an Englishman —
whom he calls Basilicus, and who
had bten born in Hungary — and a
few Germans. But the most im-
portant personage of foreign birth
was a French goldsmith, William
Bouchier, whose wife was a Hunga-
\
\
A Precursor of Marco Polo.
219
but of Mahometan parentage.
Benveniito Cellini of the East
rich and liberal, an excellent
^terpreter, thoroughly at home in
Tartar dialects, a skilful artist,
in high favor at court. He
just finished a masterpiece of
hanism and beauty which Ru-
iquis thus minutely describes :
In the khan's palace, because it
IS unseemly to carry about bottles
milk and other drinks there, Mas-
William made him a great silver
at the root whereof were four
cr lions, having each one pipe,
ugh which flowed pure cow's
and four other pipes were
iVeyed within the body of the
unto the top thereof, and the
spread back again downwards,
upon every one of them was a
.en serpent, whose tails twined
ut the body of the tree. And
of these pipes ran with wine,
her with cara-cosmos, another
bail — 2l drink made of honey —
another with a drink made of
rice. Between the pipes, at the
top of the tree, he made an angel
holding a trumpet, and under the
tree a hollow vault, wherein a man
might be hid ; and a pipe ascended
from this vault through the tree to
the angel. He first made bellows,
httt they gave not wind enough.
Without the palace walls there was
1 chamber wherein the several
drinks were brought ; and there
were servants there ready to pour
Ihcm out when they heard the angel
sounding his trumpet. An^ the
boughs of the tree were of silver,
and the leaves and the fruit. When,
therefore, they want drink, the mas-
tcr-butlcr crieth to the angel that
he sound the trumpet. Thea he
hciring (who is hid in the vault),
bloweth the pipe, which goeth to
the angel, and the angel sets his
ttumpet to his mouth, and the
trumpet soundeth very shrill. Then
the servants which are in the cham-
ber hearing, each of them poureth
forth his drink into its proper pipe,
and all the pipes pour them forth
froiBi above, and they are received
below in vessels prepared for that
purpose."
This elaborate piece of plate
makes one think rather of the
XVIth century banquets of the
Medici and the Este than of feast-
ings given by a nomad Tartar in
the wilds of Central Asia. The
goldsmith was not unknown to
fame even in Europe, where he was
called William of Paris. Several
old chroniclers" speak of him, and
his brother Roger was well known
as a goldsmith " living upon the
great bridge at Paris." This clever
artist very nearly fell a victim to
the quackery of a Nestorian monk,
whereupon Rubruquis significantly
comments thus : " He entreated him
to proceed either as an apostle do-
ing miracles indeed, by virtue of
prayer, or to administer his potion
as a physician, according to the art
of medicine." Besides the Tartars
and their Christian captives, Ru-
bruquis had opportunities of ob-
serving the numerous Chinese, or
Cathayans, as they were called, who
have been mentioned as the artifi-
cers of the town. There were also
knots of Siberians, Kamtchatkans,
and even inhabitants of the islands
between the extremities of Asia
and America, where at times the
sea was frozen over. Rubruquis
picked up a good deal of miscella-
laneous information, chiefly about
the Chinese. He mentions their
paper currency — a fact which Mar-
co Polo subsequently verified — and
their mode of writing; i>., with
small paint-brushes, and each char-
acter or figure signifying a whole
word. The standard of value of
220
A Precursor of Marco Polo,
the Russians, he says, consisted in
spotted furs — a currency which
still exists in the remoter parts of
Siberia.
It was not without good reason,
no doubt, that the monk-envoy
made up his mind to leave the
country he had hoped either to
evangelize or to find already as or-
thodox as his own, and ruled by
a great Christian potentate. Such
perseverance as he showed through-
out his journey was not likely to
be daunted by slight obstacles ; but
finding the object of his mission as
far from attainment as when he
first entered Tar tar y, he at last re-
luctantly left the field. Only one
European besides himself had ven-
tured so far — Friar Bartholomew of
Cremona; but even he shrank be-
fore a renewal of the hardships of
mountain and desert travel, and
chose rather to stay behind with
Master William, the hospitable gold-
smith, till some more convenient
opportunity should present itself
of returning to his own coun-
try. Rubruquis accordingly started
alone, with a servant, an interpreter,
and a guide; but though he had
asked for leave to go on Whitsun-
day, the permission was delayed till
the festival of S. John Baptist, the
24th 'of June. The khan made
him a few trifling presents, and gave
him a complimentary letter to the
King of France ; but no definite re-
sults were obtained. The home-
ward journey was long and tedious,
and the only provision made for
the sustenance of the party was a
permission from the khan to take
a sheep " once in four days, wher-
ever they could find it." Some-
times they had nothing to eat
for three days together, and only a
little cosmos to drink, and more
than once, having missed the sta-
tions of the wandering tribes whom
they had reckoned on meedoj
even the supply of cosmos was
hausted. About two months
his departure from Karakonii
Rubruquis met Sartach, the gr
chief who had sheltered hioi
some time on his way to the ri
Don. Some belongings of the m:
sion having been left in Sartacb'
care, the envoy asked him to reta
them, but was told they were
charge of Baatu, Rubruquis' oth
friend and protector. Sartach w.
on his way to join Mandchu-Khatt|-
and was of course surrounded
the two hundred houses and in
merable chests which belonged
the establishment of a Tartar
triarch. If this was not exact]
civilization, it was companionshi
and the envoy must have been gl
of a meeting which replenished
exhausted stores and suggested
domestic comfort and abundance.
More rough travelling on horse
back, more experiences of hunger
and cold (for the autumn was al-
ready coming on), more fording of
rivers, and the monk found him-
self at Baatu's court. It was the
1 6th of September — a year after he
had left the chieftain to push on
to the court of the Grand- Khan.
Here he was joyfully and courte-
ously received, and recovered near-
ly all his property ; but as the Tar-
tars had concluded that the whole
embassy must have perished long
ago, they had allowed some Nesto-
rian priest, a wanderer under the
protection now of Sartach, now of
Baatu and other khans, to appro-
priate various Psalters, books, and
ecclesiastical vestments. Three
young men, Europeans, whom Ru-
bru^is had left behind, had nearly
been reduced to bondage under
the same pretext, but they had
not suffered personal ill-treatment.
The kind offices of some influential
A J^f cursor 0/ Marco Poh,
221
jbmenians had staved off the evil
||iy« and the timely arrival of the
fOBg-missing envoy secured them
(heir freedom. Rubruquis now
foined Baatu's court, which was
{Minieying westward to a town
laUed Sarai^ on the eastern bank
tf the Volga ; but the progress of
Rie encumbered Tartars was so
ibw that he left them after a
felonth*s companionship, and push-
tA on with his party, till he reached
Barai on the feast of All Saints.
After this the country was almost
•A unbroken desert ;^but our travel-
er once more fell in with one of
Iris Tartar friends, a son of Sar-
nch, who was out upon a hawking
expedition, and gave him a guard
S"^ protect him from various fierce
abometan tribes that infested the
[tteighborhood.
I Here ended his travels in Tarta-
l|y proper; but his hardships were
far from ended yet. Through Ar-
menia and the territories of Turk-
iihand Koordish princes he jour-
neyed slowly and uncomfortably, in
dread of the violence of his own
guides and guards, as well as of the in-
sults of the populations whose coun-
try he traversed. He says these de-
lays "arose in part from the difficulty
of procuring horses, but chiefly be-
cause the guide chose to stop, often
for three days together, in one
place, for his own business ; and,
though much dissatisfied, I durst
not complain, as he might have
slain me and those with me, or
sold us all for slaves, and there was
none to hinder it."
Journeying across Asia Minor
and over Mount Taurus, he took
ship at last for Cyprus, Here he
kamt that S. Louis, whm had
been in the Holy Land at the time
of his departure, had gone back to
France. He would very much
have wished to deliver his letters
and presents of silk pelisses and
furs to the king in person ; but this
was not granted him. The provin-
cial of his order, whom he met at
Cyprus, desired* him to write his
account and send his gifts to the
king; and as in those days there
was creeping in among the monks
a habit of restless wandering, his
superior, who was, it seems, a re-
former and strict disciplinarian,
tried the obedience and humility
of the famous traveller by sending
him to his convent at Acre, whence,
by the king's order, he had started.
Rubruquis stood the test, but
could not forbear imploring the king,
by writing, to use his influence
with the provincial to allow him a
short stay in France and one au-
dience of his royal master. Little
is known of the great traveller and
pioneer after this ; and whether he
ever got leave to see the king is doubt-
ful. He fell back into obscurity,
and it is presumed that Marco Po-
lo did not even know of his previous
travels over the same ground as
the Polos explored. No record of
his embassy remained but the La-
tin letter addressed to S. Louis, and
even in France his fame was un-
known for many centuries. It was
not till after the invention of print-
ing that his adventures became fair-
ly known to the literary world, al-
though Roger Bacon, one of his
own order, had given a spirited
abstract of his travels in one of his
works. This, too, was in Latin, and
after a time became a sealed book
to the vulgar ; so that it was not at
least till the year 1600 that the old
traveller's name was again known.
Hakluyt's Collection of Voyages and
Travels contains an English trans-
lation of Rubruquis* letter, and
twenty-five years later Purchas re-
produced it in toio from a copy
found in a college library .it Cam-
222
A Piaraphrase^ from the Greek.
bridge. Bergeron, a French priest,
put it into French, not from the
original, but from Purchas' English
version. Since then Rubruquis
has taken his place among the fe\T
famous voyagers of olden times; but
from the vagueness of his language,
the lack of geographical science
in his day, and perhaps also the
mistakes of careless copyists, it is
not easy to trace his course upon
the map. One fact, however, he
ascertained and insisted upon, which
a geographical society, had it ex-
isted in his time, would have been
glad to register, together with an
honorable mention of the discover-
er — ue,y the nature of the great
called the Caspian Sea. The
Greeks had correctly called it
inland sea, but an idea had sii
prevailed that it possessed soi
communication with the Northei
Ocean. Rubruquis proved the col
trary, but no attention was pal
to his single assertion, and bool
of geography, compiled at hoi
from ancient maps and MSS., wit]
out a reference, however distai
to the facts recorded by advej
turous men who had seen foreij
shores with their eyes, call
continued to propagate the o|
error.
A PARAPHRASE, FROM THE GREEK.
ProtI^, thou didst not die.
But thou didst fly,
When we saw thee no more, to a sunnier clime ;
In the isles of the blest,
In the golden west.
Where thy spirit let loose springs joyous and ifght
O'er the verdurous floor,
That is strewn evermore
With blossoms that fade not, nor droop from their prime.
Thou hast made thee a home
Where no sorrow shall come,
No cloud overshadow thy noon of delight ;
Cold or heat shall not vex thee,
Nor sickness perplex thee.
Nor hunger, nor thirst ; no touch of regret
For the things thou hast cherished,
The forms that havej^erished.
For lover or kindred, thy fancy snail fret ;
But thy joy hath no stain.
Thy remembrance no pain.
And the heights that we guess at thy sunshine makes plain.
TAt Law of God and the Regulations of Society.
223
THE LAW OF GOD AND THE REGULATIONS OF SOCIETY.
SUMMARY CONSIDERATIONS ON LAW.
raoM Tm mBKcu or thb comtb db bbbda.
** Tbcf« are laws for the society of ants and of bees ; how could suiy one suppose that there are none fiv
society, aad that it is left to the chance of inventing them ?" — Dt Bonald,
usurping the place of God, and de-
claring itself the sovereign master
of the soul as well as of the body.
The last refuge of the slaves of
antiquity — the human conscience —
would no longer exist for the people
of modern times, if it were true that
every law is binding from the mere
fact of its promulgation. Hence
the modern state, but lately so
boastful, has begun to waver and
to doubt its own powers. It en-
counters two principal obstacles, as
unlike in their form as in their
origin.
On one hand it beholds Catho-
lics, sustained by their knowledge
of law, its origin and its essence,
resisting passively, and preparing
themselves to submit to persecu-
tions without even shrinking. On
the other it meets, in these our
days, the most formidable insurrec-
tions. There are multitudes, blind
as the state representatives — but
excusable, inasmuch as their rebel-
lion is against an authority which
owes its sway only to caprice
or theory — who reply thus to
power : " We are as good as you ;
you have no right over us other
than that of brute force; we will
endeavor to oppose you with a
strength equal to yours ; and
when we shall have gained the
victory, we will make new laws and
new constitutions, wherein all that
you call lawful shall be called un-
I. — THE MODERN STATE.
Never before was liberty so
much talked about; never before
was the very idea of it so utterly
tost Tyrants have been destroy-
ed, it is said. This is a false asser-
I tion ; it may be (or rather, is it not
I certain ?) that it has become more
difficult for a sovereign to govern
\ tyrannically, but tyranny is not
dead — quite the contrary.
All unlimited power is, of its own
nature, tyrannical. Now, it is|^uch
a power that the modem state desires
to wield. The state is held up to
us as the supreme arbiter of good
and evil ; and, if we believe its de-
fenders, it cannot err, its laws be-
ing in every case, and at all times,
binding.
People have banished God from
the government of human society ;
but they have it^ade to themselves
a new god, despotic and blind,
without hearing and without voice,
whose power knows how to reach
its slaves as well in the temple as
in the public places, as well in the
palace as in the humblest cot.
What is there, indeed, more di-
vine than not to do wrong ? God
alone, speaking to the human con-
science, either directly or by his
representatives, is the infallible
judge of good and evil. ^ No
human power whatsoever can de-
clare all that emanates from it
to be necessarily right without
224
The Law of God and the Regulations, of Society.
lawful, and all that you consider
crime shall be deemed virtue."
If it were true that law could
spring only from the human will,
these madmen would be reasonable
in the extreme. Thus the state is
powerless against them. It drags
on an uncertain existence, con-
stantly threatened with the most
terrible social wars, and enjoying a
momentary peace only on condi-
tion of never laying down arms.
Modern armies are standing ones ;
the modern police have become
veritable armies, and they sleep
neither day nor night. At this
price do our states exist, trade, grow
rich, and become satisfied with
themselves.
These constant commotions are
not alone the vengeance of the liv-
ing God disowned and outraged ;
they are also the inevitable conse-
quence of that extremity of pride
and folly which has induced human
assemblies to believe that it belongs
to them to decide finally between
right and wrong.
In truth, "if God is not the au-
thor of law, there is no law really
binding." We may, for the love of
God, obey existing powers, even
though they be illegitimate; but
this submission has its limits. It
roust cease the moment that the
human law prescribes anything
contrary to the law of God. As
for people without faith, we would
in vain seek for a motive powerful
enough to induce them to submit to
anything displeasing to them.
II. — MODERN LIBERTY.
The people of our generation
consider themselves more free,
more unrestrained, than those who
have gone before them. It is not
to our generation, however, that
the glory accrues of having first
thrown off the yoke. Our moderns
themselves acknoAvledge that th<
have had predecessors, and th(
agree with us in declaring tl
'* the new spirit " made its appe*
ance in the world about the XVIl
century.*
In truth, the only yoke whi<
has been cast off since then is th;
of God, which seemed too heai
All at once thought pronounc<
itself freed from the shackles of
clesiastical authority ; but, at
outset, it was far from intended 1
deny the idea of a divine right si
perior to all human right.
Despite the historical falseho<
which have found utterance in 01
day, it was chiefly princes who pi
pagated Protestantism; and, most
ten, they attained their end only b|
violence. When successful, thc|
added to their temporal title a reli
gious one; they made theinselv<
bishops or popes, and thus
camf all the more powerful ov<
their subjects. There was no lonj
er any refuge from the abuse o|
power of the rulers of this worh
for it was the interest of these des
pots to call themselves the repn
sentatives of God. By means o|
this title they secularized dioces<
convents, the goods of the church,"
and even the ministers of their new
religion. This term was then used
to express in polite language an
idea of spoliation and of hypocriti-
cal and uncurbed tyranny.
The moderns have gone farther :
they have attempted to secularize
law itself. This time, again, the
word hides a thought which, if it
were openly expressed, would shock;
the law has become atheistical,
^ "* The new spirit made its appearanoe ia the
wocid tibout the X Vlth century. Its end is to nh>
stitute a new society for that of the Middle Agek
Hence the necessity that the fiist modern ivvoIb>
tion should be a rdigious one. ... It was Germany
and Luther that produced it." — Cooain, Cmn
^kist, de Uphilos.^ p. 7, Paris, 1841.
7^ LaiB of God and the Regulations of Society. 225
and not all the opposition which
the harshness of this statement has
aroused can prevent it from still
expressing a truth. The inexora-
ble logic of facts leads directly
from the Reformation to the Revolu-
tion. Princes themselves sowed
the seeds of revolt which will yet
despoil them of their power and
their thrones; while as for the
people, they have gained nothing.
They are constantly tyrannized
over; but their real masters are
unknown, and their only resource
against the encroachments or the
abuse of power is an appeal to arms.
It is not, then, true that liberty
finds greater space in the modern
world than in the ancient Christian
'world. To prove this, I need but
ft single fact which has direct rela-
tion with my subject.
While Europe was still envelop-
ed in *' the darkness of the Middle
Ages,** Catholic theologians freely
Uoght, from all their chairs, that
**an unjust law is no law " — ** Lex
injusta non est lex." Now, are
there, at the present day, many
pulpits from which this principle,
the safeguard of all liberty and of all
independence, the protector of all
rights, and the defence of the help-
less, might be proclaimed with im-
punity? Do we not see the pro-
hibitions, the lawsuits, the appeis
comme d*abus which the boldness of
»iich a maxim would call forth }
Human governments have chang-
ed in form, but their tyranny has
not ceased to grow; and the free
men of the olden society have be-
come the slaves in a new order of
things — they have even reached a
point at which they know not even
in what liberty consists.
III.-->DXVINE ORIGIN OF LAW.
I know, and I hear beforehand,
the response which the doctors of
VOL. XXII. — 15
modern rights will here give me
** Yes," say they, " it is very true
that the Catholic Church has al-
ways claimed the right of judging
laws and of refusing obedience to
such as displeased her ; but in this
is precisely the worst abuse. That
which would domineer over human
reason, the sovereign of the world,
is tyranny par excellence ; this, in
truth, is the special mark of Catho-
licity, and it is this which has ever
made it the religion of the igno-
rant and the cowardly."
Is, then, the maxim I have just
recalled the invention of Catholic
theologians ? Is it true that the
teachers of the ultramontane doc-
trine alone have contended that
the intrinsic worth* of a law must
be sought beyond and above them,
beyond and above the human power
which proclaims it } Not only has
this elementary principle not been
devised by our theologians, but
even the pagan philosophers them-
selves had reached it. Cicero but
summed up the teaching universally-
received by philosophers worthy
of the name, when he said that the
science of law should not be sought
in the edicts of the pretor, nor
even in the laws of the twelve-
tables ; and that the most profound
philosophy alone could aid in judg-
ing laws and teaching us their
value.*
This is not to degrade reason,,
which this same Cicero has defined,,
or rather described, in admirable
language. He found therein some-
thing grand, something sublime r-
he declared that it is more fit to-
command than to obey ; that it val-
ues little what is merely human ;.
that it is gifted with a peculiar ele-
* ^* Noa a pnBt(»is edicto, ut plerique nunc,,
neqae a duo decim Tabulit, ut Buperiores, ted
peaitus ex intuaa phikaophia haurienda est juiv-
disctplina."-Cic., De Itgib. ttb. i.
22C
The Law of God ami the Regulations of Society,
vation which nothing daunts, which
yields to no one, and which is un-
conouerable.*
But remark, it is only with re-
j^ard to human powers and allure-
ments that re<ason shows itself so
exalted and haughty. It requires
something greater than man to
make it submit; and it obeys only
God or his delegates. " Stranger,*'
said Plato to Clinias the Cretan,
** whom do you consider the first
author of your laws? Is it a god?
Is it a man /*'
** Stranger," replied Clinias, "it
is a god ; we could not rightly ac-
cord this title to any other." f
So, also, tradition tells us that
Minos went, every ninth day, to
•consult Jupiter, his father, whose
replies he committed to writing.
Lycurgus wished to have his laws
•confirmed by the Delphian Apollo,
and this god replied that he would
dictate them himself. At Rome
the nymph Egeria played the same
rSle with Numa. Everywhere is
felt the necessity of seeking above
man the title in virtue of which
he may command his fellow-men.
If we turn now from the fabu-
.lous traditions of the ancient world,
we still find an absolute truth pro-
'Claimed by its sages; one that af-
firms the existence of an eternal
•law — quiddam aternum — which was
•called the natural law, and which
•serves as a criterion whereby to
judge the worth of the laws pro-
•mulgated by man.
Cicero declares it absurd to con-
sider right everything set down in
-the constitutions or the laws. J
And he is careful to add that
neither is public opinion any
more competent to determine the
right.*
The sovereign law, therefore — that
which no human law may violate
without the penalty of becoming
void — has God himself for its
author.
The laws of states may be un-
just and abominable, and, by con*
sequence, bind no one. There is,
on the other hand, a natural law,
the source and measure of other
laws, originating before all ages, be-
fore any law had been written or
any city built.f
This doctrine, to support which
I have designedly cited only pagan
authors, is also that of Catholic
theologians; for example, S. Thom-
as and Suarez. But the philosophic
cal school of the last century has
so perverted the meaning of the
term nature — law of nature^ that ccr- '
tain Catholic authors (M. de Bon aid,
for instance) have scrupled to use
the consecrated term. It is neces-
sary, then, to explain its true sense.
IV. — NATURAL LAW ACCORDING TO PAGAN
PHILOSOPHERS.
The nature of a being is that
which constitutes its fitness to at-
tain its end. The idea, therefore,
which a person has of the nature of
man, by consequence determines
that which he will have of his end,
and hence of the rule which should
govern his actions.
The materialists, for example,
who deny the immortality of the
soul, and whose horizon is bounded
by the limits of the present life, are
able to teach only a purely epi-
curean or utilitarian morality.
They cannot consistently plead a
* Cic, dtfin. b»n, et malor, L ix.
t Plato, Des lou^ liv. i.
X lUud stultiasimuin (est), exittimare oomia justa
>eMM,qott scripta sint in poputorum inscicutis ct legi-
•bus."— /?//<X7*««.
* ** Neque opinione sed natura coostitatuai
jtts."-Ibid.
fSeculis omnibus ante nata est, (ante)
•cripu lex uUa, aut quam omnino dvitas coostitvta.
—Ibid.
The Law of God and the Regulations of Society. 227
motive higher than an immediate^
or at least a proximate, well-being ;
for, what is more uncertain than
the duration of our life ? In the
strikingly anti-philosophic language
of the XVIIIth century, the state
of nature was a hypothetical state,
at once innocent and barbarous,
anterior to all society. It is to
society that this theory attributes
the disorders of man and the
loss of certain primitive and in-
alienable rights which the sect of
pseudo-philosophers boasted of
iiaving regained, and by the con-
quest whereof the corrupted and dot-
ing France of 1789 was prostrated.
The philosophers of antiquity, on
the contrary, notwithstanding their
numerous errors, and despite the po-
lytheism which they exteriorly pro-
fessed, had arrived at so profound a
knowledge of man and his nature
that the fathers and doctors of the
church have often spoken of the
discoveries of their intellect as a
kind of natural revelation made to
Ihem by God.*
We have already heard Cicero
say that the natural law is eternal,
and superior to all human laws. I
shall continue to qu'ote him, because
of his clearness, and because he ad-
mirably sums up the teaching of the
philosophers who preceded hirn.f
The sound philosophy which
should guide us — according to him,
the science of law — teaches us that it
is far more sublime to submit to
the divine mind, to the all-power-
ful God, than to the emperors and
mighty ones of this earth ; for it is
a kind of partnership between God
and man. Right reason (ratio recta)
* ** Qnidain eorum qujedam magna ^ fuantmm di^
nnitu* a4j»ti tumf^ inveoeruiit.**— S. Aug., Civil.
Oft, I ii. c 7.
^ Has tcicBtiftt dederoiit philoaophi et illuatrati
TCtt; Deuienim iUb m^/A»vi7.'*~S Bonavenc,
Imm. />r/., Serm. 5.
t The two (bllowing pangrapha are taken freely
fan ibc ircatiac D* tegihu*^ paaum.
is the same for the one and the
other; and law being nothing else
than right reason, it may be said
that one same law links us with the
gods. Now, the common law is
also the common right, and when
people have a common right they
belong, in some manner, to the
same country. We must, then, con-
sider this world as a country com-
mon to the gods and to men. Man
is, in truth, like to God. And for
what end has God created and gift-
ed man like to himself? Thatf he
may arrive at justice.
Human society is bound by one
same right, and law is the same for
all. This law is the just motive
(the right reason, ratio recta) of all
precepts and prohibitions ; he who
is ignorant of it, whether written or
not, knows not justice. If uprigiit-
ness consisted in submission to the
written laws and constitutions of
nations, and if, as some pretend,
utility could be the measure of
good, he who expected to profit
thereby would be justified in neg-
lecting or violating the laws.
This remark is peculiarly applica-
ble to the present time. It is pre-
cisely utility and the increase of
wealth or of comforts — in a word,
material interests — which the great-
er number of modern legislators
have had cliiefly in view; tlie result
is that society scarcely has the
right to feel inaignant against those
who may deem it to their advan-
tage to disturb it. Religion, say
they, has nothing in common with
politics; the state, inasmuch as it
is a state, need not trouble itself
about God ; the things of this
world should be regulated with re-
gard to this world, and without
reference to the supernatural. Sup-
pose it so ; but then, in virtue of
what authority will you impose
your laws.' There is no human
228
The Law of God and the Regulations of Society,
power able to bend or to conquer
one human will which does not
acknowledge it.*
The basis of right is the natural
love of our fellow-beings which na-
ture has planted within us. Nature
also commands us to honor God.
It is not fear which renders wor-
ship necessary ; it is the bond
which exists between God and man.
If popular or royal decrees could
determine right, a whim of the mul-
titude might render lawful theft,
adiijitery, or forgery. If it be true
that a proclamation dictated by
fools can change the order of nature,
why may not evil become, one day,
good } But the* sage.s teach that
the human mind did not invent law ;
it has its birth-place in the bosom of
(iod, and is co-eternal with him ; it
is nothing else than the unerring
reason of Jupiter himself; it is re-
flected in the mind of the wise
man ; it can never be repealed.
This " right reason which comes
to us from the gods " (recta et a
numine deorum tracta ratio) is what
is usually termed the natural law ;
and the beautiful language of Cicero
recalls this magnificent verse of the
IVth Psalm : '* Quis ostendit nobis
bona.' Signatum est super nos
lumen vultus tui, Domine."
v. — INFLUENCE OF PANTHEISM ON MOD-
ERN LAW.
Pagan teaching, how elevated so-
ever it may be, is always incom-
plete ; and this is evident even from
the words of Cicero.
Since law comes from God, it is
very clear that it will be known
more or less correctly according as
our idea of God is more or less
correct. This it is that gives so
great a superiority, first, to the law
of Moses, before the coming of
*Th< foUowiag pafagraph is alw taken from
Cicero,
Jesus Christ, and to all ChriNiian
legislation since.
The Jews had not merely a vague
knowledge of the precepts of ihe
divine law. This law, in its princi-
pal provisions, had been directly
revealed to them. Christians have
something better still, since the
Eternal Word was made man, and
the Word is precisely ** the true
light which enlighteneth every man
coming into this world." * The
philosophers of antiquity saw this
light from afar off; we have beheld
that of which they merely affirme^
the existence ; the Jews contem-
plated it as through a veil, and
awaited its coming. It was made
flesh ; it brought us life ; "it shone
in the darkness, but the darkness
did not comprehend it." f
It is not the fault of the Word or
of his manifestation, says S. Thomas
on this subject, if there are minds
who see not this light. There is
here, not darkness, but closed
eyes.J
It is God himself, therefore, whom
man refuses to acknowledge when
he rejects the fundamental law,
which alone deserves the name of
law. Human pride and insolence
go beyond forgetfulness or simple
negation when they have the auda-
city to put a human law in the place
of and above the divine law ; which
last crime is nothing less than the
deification. of man. This philoso-
phic consequence of the seculariza-
tion of the law was inevitable, and
is openly displayed in modern doc-
trines. Atheists, properly so called,
are rare ; but the present generation
is infected with Pantheism. Now,
Pantheism proclaims, without dis-
*^** Ent lux vera qiue inuminat
Tenaentem in hunc mundnm."— S. J
t**Et vita etat lux boauDttm
luoet« et tenebne earn noo com]
X C«mt» gfnt. IT. tj.
oan., t.9.
m
ipcehendemst. ^Ia.
The Law of God and tlu Regulations of Society.
229
guise and without shame, the di-
vinitv of man.
Let us add that this error is the
only foundation upon which man
may logically rest to defend modern
rights. It produces, with regard to
constitutions and laws, two princi-
pal effects, which it suffices but to
indicate, that every honest mind
may at once recognize their exist-
ence and their lamentable conse-
quences.
Pantheism, firstly, destroys indi-
vidualities, or, as the Germans call
ihem, subjectivities; it sweeps them
away, and causes them to disappear
in the Great Whole. Do we not
likewise see personality, simple or
associated — that is to ^ay, individ-
ual liberty, associations, and corpo-
rations — little by little reduced to
annihilation by the modern idea of
the state ? Does not modern theory
make also of the state another
grand whole, beside which nothing
private can exist }
To reach this result, they repre-
sent the state as expressing the ag-
gregate of all the particular wills,
and they seek, in a pretended " gen-
eral will,** the supreme and infalli-
ble source of law. But even were
this will as general as theory desires,
it would not be the less human, or,
by consequence, the less subject to
error. Whence comes it, then, that
they make it the sovereign arbiter
of good and evil, of truth and false-
hood, of justice and injustice ?
The Pantheists reply that ** God is
in man and in the world ; that he
is one and the same thing with the
world ; that he is identical with the
nature of things, and consequently
subject to change." The general
will, the expression of the universal
conscience, is then a manifestation of
the divine will; and this would allow
it to change without ever erring^
This answers all, in truth ; but it
may lead us too far. If, as says
Hegel, God is subjective — that is to
say, if He is in man, or, more ex-
actly still, if He is man himself and
the substance of nature — neither
right, nor law, nor justice could re-
main objective. In other words, if
man is God, there is no longer any
possible distinction between good
and evil. And this conclusion has
been drawn by the learned German
socialist, Lassalle. He denies the
notion of an immutable right ; he
is unwilling that we should ^ny
longer speak of the family, proper-
ty, justice, etc., in absolute terms.
According to him, these are but
abstract and unreal generalities.
There have been, on all these sub-
jects, Greek, Roman, German, etc.,
ideas ; but these are only historical
recollections. Ideas change, some
even disappear ; and if, some day,
the universal conscience should de-
cide that the idea of proprietorship
has had its day, then would com-
mence a new era in history, during
which there could be no longer
either property or proprietors with-
out incurring the guilt of injus-
tice. * From the stand-point of
Pantheism, tliis reasoning is irrefu-
table; and, on the other hand, we
have just seen that Pantheism alone
could justify the modern theory of
the general will, the supreme arbiter
of law.
VI. — HAS TIIK GENFRAL WILL RULED SINCE
1789?
I have just, quoted a socialist
whose works, though little known
in France, are of extreme import-
ance. Ferdinand Lasj-alle, a Jew-
by birth, by nationality a Prussian,
is possessed of extensive know-
ledge, critical genius of the highest
order, and unsparing logic. We
*V. LaittUc, D(U System der trwcrhtmtm
Richtty i. a, not. k h pag. 70.
230
Tilt Law of God and tite Regulations of ^ociHy,
have seen liim draw the theoretical
consequences of Pantheism applied
to law ; and it will not be without
interest to know how he judges the
practical results of the modern
theory of rights, as shown in the
French Revolution. The socialists
have a special authority for speak-
ing of " immortal principles" ; for
they admit them without hesitation,
and their teaching proved that they
comprehend them wonderfully.
The Declaration of the Rights of
Man is the most authentic sum-
mirtg up of these famous princi-
ples; and it is therein that the
modern theory of law will be found
most clearly stated. " Law," says
Art. 6, ** is the expression of the
general will. Every citizen has the
right of co-operating in its forma-
tion, either personally or by his
representatives."
It would seem, from this solemn
proclamation, that since then, or at
least in the first fervor of this "glo-
rious" revolution, the majority of
the ** sovereign people" should have
been called to " form the laws."
This has been said ; it lias even
been supported at the mouth of
the cannon — for, as has been wittily
remarked by M. de Maistre, " the
masters of these poor people have
had recourse even to artillery while
deriding them. They said to them :
* You think you do not will this
law ; but, be assured, you do will
ii. If von dare to refuse it, we will
pour upon you a shower of shot, to
pun is)) you for not willing what you
ill) will.* .\nd it was done."*
Wliat then took place, and how
did it happen that the general will,
whirh had undertaken to make
hnulamental and irrevocable laws,
should have accepted, in the first
five years of its freedom^ three dif-
ferent constitutions and a regimi
like that of the Reign of Terror ?
Lassalle replies that it is not
at all the people who made the rev-
olution, and that the general will
was not even asked to manifest it-
self. He recalls the famous pam-
phlet of Siey^s, and corrects its title.
It is not true, says he, that the
Tiers Etat was then nothing ; the
increase of personal property has,
since then, brought about a rivolu^
tion ^conomique^ thanks to which
the tiers hat was, in truth, all. But
legally it was nothing, which was
not much to its liking; for the for-
mer ranks of society still existed
by right, although their real strength
was not in keeping with their legal
condition. The work of the French
Revolution was, therefore, to give
to the tiers hat a legal position
suitable to its actual importance.
Now, the tiers^ first and foremost,
assumed itself to be the equivalent
of the entire people. ** It consider-
ed that its cause was the cause of
humanity." Thus the attraction
was real and powerful. The voices
raised to protest were unable to
make themselves heard. Our au-
thor cites, on this subject, a curi-
ous instance of clear-sightedness.
An anti-revolutionary journal. The
Friend of the Kingy exclaimed,
" Who shall say whether or not the
despotism of the bourgeoisie shall
not succeed the pretended aristo-
cracy of the nobility V
It is this, indeed, which has come
to pass, continues Lassalle ; the
tiers hat has become, in its turn, the
privileged class. The proof is that
the wealth of the citizen became
immediately the legal condition of
power in the state.
Since 1791, in the constitution
of Sept. 3 we find (chap, i^ sects.
I and 2) a distinction established
between actiYe citizens and passive
The Law of God and the Regulations of Society. 23 1
citizens. The former axe those
who pay a certain quota of direct
coQtribution ; and they alone pos-
sess the right of voting. Moreover,
all hired laborers were declared not
active ; and this excluded workmen
from the right of voting. It mat-
ters little that the tax was small;
the principle was laid down requir*
ing some amount of fortune in or-
der to exercise a political right.
•'The wealth of the citizen had be-
come the condition necessary for
obtaining power in the state, as
nobility or landed property had
been in the Middle Ages."
The principle of the vote-tax
held sway until the recent intro-
duction of universal suffrage-
Our socialist, proceeding directly
to the question of taxes, proves
that llie bourgeoisie moderne^ without
inventing indirect taxation, has
nevertheless made it the basis of
an entire system, and has settled
upon it all the expenses of state.
Now, indirect taxes are such as are
levied beforehand upon all neces-
saries, as salt, corn, beer, meat, fuel,
or, sliU inore, upon what we need
for our protection — ^the expenses
of the administration of justice,
stamped paper, etc. Generally, in
making a purchase, the buyer pays
the tax, without perceiving that it
is that which increases the price.
Now, it is clear that because an
individual is twenty, fifty, or a
hundred times richer, it does not
follow that he will, on that account,
consume twenty, fifty, or a hundred
times more salt, bread, meat, etc.,
(ban a workman or a person of
humble condition. Thus it hap-
pens that the great body of indi-
rect taxes is paid by the poorest
classes (from tlie single fact that
they are the most numerous).
Thus is it brought about, in a hid-
den way, that the tiers itat pay rela-
tively less taxes than the quatrieme
itat.
Concerning the instruction of
adults, Lassalle says that, instead of
being left to the clergy as hereto-
fore, it now in fact belongs to the
daily press. But securities, stamps,
and advertisements give to journal-
ism another privilege of capital.*
This sketch suffices ; and I deem
it needless to add that I am far
from concluding with the socialists.
I am so much the more free to dis-
agree with them as I do not by any
means admit the " immortal prin-
ciples," but it seems to me to fol-
low evidently from the preceding ob-
servations that it is not true, in
fact, that the general will has made
the laws since 1789.
VII. — DOES UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE EXPRESS
THE GENERAL WILL?
* Has the introduction of universal
suffrage modified, in any great de-
gree, this state of things.? Is it
any more certain since 184S, than
before, that the nation is governed
by the general will ? We may con-
tent ourselves here by appealing to
the testimony of honest men. If
the general will were truly the mas-
ter of all the powers in France, our
country, which to-day, so it is said,
has only the government that it de-
sires, would be a model of union
and concord ; there could be in
the opposition party only an ex-
ceedingly small minority (otherwise
the term general would be unjustifi-
able), and we would follow peace-
fully the ways most pleasing to us.
This would not be saying — mark
it well ! — that those ways are good.
That is another question, to which
we will return ; but now we are
dealing with the question, Are our
laws to-day formed or not formed
^ Arhtittr Prpgramm.y t. Fad. LasaaQe.
232
The Law of God and the Regulations of Society.
by the general will, according to
the formula which I have quoted
from the Declaration of the Rights
of Man ?
Notwithstanding the evidence for
the negative, I think it well here to
analyze hastily that which M. Taine
has just given in a little pamphlet
containing many truths.* M. Taine,
being a free-thinker and a man of
the times, cannot be suspected of
taking an ultramontane or clerical
view of the case.
M. Taine is far from demanding
the abolition of universal suffrage.
He believes it in conformity with
; justice ; for he does not admit that
his money can be demanded or he
himself sent to the frontier without
his own consent, either expressed
or tacit. His only wish is that the
right of suffrage be not illusory,
and that the electoral law be adapt-
ed "to the French of 1791, to the
peasant, the workman, etc.," be he
" stupid, ignorant, or ill-informed."
From this M. Taine proves at the
outset that the ballot-roll is a hum-
bug ; and I believe that no person
of sense will contest the point.
He immediately enters upon a sta-
tistical examination of the compo-
sition of the elective world in
France; and he arrives at the fol-
lowing result : ** Of twenty voters,
ten are peasants, four workmen,
three demi-bourgeois, three edu-
cated men, comfortable or rich.
Now, the electoral law, as all law,
should have regard to the majority,
to the first fourteen." It behooves
us, then, to know who these fourteen
are who are called to frame the law ;
that is to say, to decide, by their
representatives it is true, but sover-
eignly, on good and evil, justice
and injustice, and, necessarily, the
fate of the country.
* Dm Muffrngt mnivertti tt d* la maniire dt
-voter. Pur H. Taine. Paris: Hachette 1873.
M. Taine, in this connection,
makes some new calculations which
may be thus summed up : The ru-
ral population embraces seventy
out of one hundred of the entire
population, hence fourteen voters
out of twenty. Now, in France,-
there are thirty-nine illiterate out
of every hundred males, almost all
belonging to the classes which M.
Taine numbers among the rural
population ; which enables him to
find that seven out of every four-
teen rural voters cannot even read.
I may observe, in passing, that a
peasant who cannot read, but who
knows his catechism, may be of a
much sounder morality than M.
Taine himself; but I willingly pro-
claim that the seven electors in
question could and should have a
mediocre political intelligence.
This agreeable writer recounts,
in a spicy way, a number of anec-
dotes which prove "the ignorance
and credulity" of the rural popula-
tions on similar matters ; and he
thence concludes that the peasants
" are still subjects, but , under a
nameless master." This is pre-
cisely what I said at the beginning,
not only of peasants, but of all
modern people in general. Be
there a king on the throne or not,
somebody decrees this, somebody
decrees that ; and the subject de-
pends, in a hundred wai's, on this
abstract and undetermined some-
body — "Through tne collector,
through the mayor, through the
sub-inspector of forests, through
the commissary of police, through
the field-keeper, through the clerks
of justice, for making a door, for
felling a tree, building a shed, open-
ing a stall, transporting a cask of
wine, etc., etc."
All this expresses well and de-
picts admirably the ways of mod-
ern liberty; and I cannot refrain
The Law of God and the Regulations of Society.
233
fram citing this last sketch, equally
amusing and true : '* The mayor
knows that in town, in an elegant
apartment, is a worthy gentleman,
attired in broidered gown, who re-
ceives him two or three times a
year, speaks to him with authority
and condescension, and often puts
to him embarrassing questions.
Bat when this gentleman goes
away, another takes his place quit«
similar and in the same garb, and
the mayor, on his return home, says
with satisfaction: * Monsieur the
prefect always preserves his good
will towards me, although he has
been changed many times/ "
The plebiscitey the appeal to the
people, the invitation to vote on
the form of government, addressed
to this kind of electors — is it not all
a cunning trick ? M. Taine thinks
so« and many others with him ; but
be supposes that this same elector
will be, at least, capable of ^* choos-
ing the particular man in whom he
has mo^t confidence. " It is with
him, says he, in the choice of one
who shall make the laws, as in the
choice of the physician or the law-
yer whom one may prefer. Al-
though it is not my intention to
discuss here the opinions of this
author, I beg him to remark that
his comparison is strikingly faulty ;
we cannot choose whom we please
for our physician or for our lawyer.
The former is obliged to go through
a course of studies in order to merit
his diploma ; the latter must fulfil
the conditions necessary to be ad-
mitted to the bar. To frame the
laws is another thing; not the
slightest preparation is exacted
from those eligible to this duty.
Apparently it is not considered
worth the trouble.
The ballot-roll ^r\d .pUbisciie be-
ing disposed of, M. Taine returns
to figures, to study what transpires
when the electors are called upon
to choose a deputy by district.
This gives, says he, one deputy for
twenty thousand voters spread over
a surface of one thousand kilome-
tres square, etc. Of the twenty
thousand voters, how many will
have a definite opinion of the can-
didate presented to them } Scarcely
one in ten beyond the outskirts of
the town ; scarcely one in four or
five in the whole district. There
remains the resource of advice ; but
" the spirit of equality is all-power-
ful, and the hierarchy is wanting."
We touch here the most sorrow-
ful wound of our social state ; and
this term even, is it not misapplied ?
— for we have no longer any order,
or, by consequence, any social state.
" As a general rule," continues M.
Taine, " the country people receive
counsel only from their equals.**
Therefore it is easy to employ evil
means. These evil means may be
summed up, according to the same
author, in the abuse of governmen-
tal influence, and in a corruption
whose form varies, but which makes
the affair of an election an affair of
money.
There should be, and I have
alluded to it in passing, many ex-
ceptions made with regard to what
M. Taine says concerning the rural
population. He believes them
manifestly less able to vote than
the city populations, while I am of
quite the contrary opinion ; but it
still remains true that direct univer-
sal suffrage, such as we have, does
not allow a person to choose from
a knowledge of the case, and that,
in reality, the general will has not,
up to the present day, been able to
find its true expression.
This is all that I need prove for
the present.
234
The Law of God and the Regulations of Society.
VIII. — IS THE GENERAL WILL COMPETENT
TO MAKE LAWS ?
This is a still higher question,
and one which wc raust now ap-
proach. Admitting that the gene-
ral will could make itself known, is
it an authority competent to make
laws }
But before starting let us lay
down a first principle which, quite
elementary as it is, seems to be as
much forgotten as the others : if
the natural law exist not anteriorly
to enjoin respect for human laws,
human power would have no other
ground of existence, no other sup-
port than force. Without a divine
lawgiver, there is, in truth, no
moral obligation.* The hypothe-
sis of a previous agreement among
the members of society would not
resolve the difficulty ; for an agree-
ment would not be able to bind
any one, at least if there were no
higlier authority to secure it. \
Whatever may be the immediate
origin of law — be it promulgated by
a sovereign, enacted by an assem-
bly, or directly willed by the multi-
tude — it would still be unable to rule,
if we do not suppose a law anterior
and, as Cicero says, eternal, which,
in the first place, prescribes obedi-
ence to subjects, and, in the se-
cond, fidelity to reciprocal engage-
ments, promises, and oaths. This
superior law being the natural law,
it is always, and in every case, im-
possible to suppress or to elude it.
Meanwhile, what is understood
by the general will .^ Is it the
unanimity of wills } No one, so
fiir as I know, has ever exacted this
condition. The question is, then,
taking things at their best, of the
will of the majority. People grant
this, and often give to our modern
governments the name of govem-
• Bergier, after TettuUkn.
tDc Maisira, Primci/. giuirmi.
ments of the majority. They de-
duce then from this principle, that
in a population of thirty millions
of men, for example, it is lawful
that the will^of the twenty millions
should rule over that of the re
maining ten millions. If the con-
stitution of a kingdom, says Burke,
is an arithmetical problem, the cal-
culation is just ; but if the minor-
ity refuse to submit, the majority
will be able to govern only by the
aid of la lanterned
Scafibld.s, shootings, exile^ prison
— such are, in truth, the institutions
which have chiefly flourished since
the famous Declaration of the Rights
of Man.
In the eyes of a man who knows
how to reason, continues the Eng-
lish orator, this opinion is ridiculous.
It could not be justified, unless
it were well proved that the major-
ity of men are enlightened, virtu-
ous, wise, self-sacrificing, and inca-
pable of preferring their own inte-
rest to that of others. No one has
ever dared to say that legislators
should make laws for the sake of
making them, and without troub-
ling themselves concerning the wel-
fare of those for whom the laws
are made. Now, the laws being
made for all, the majority, if it hid
the qualities necessary for legislat-
ing, should concern itself still more
about the minority than about itself.
The Comte de la Marck f relates
that when Mirabeau became too
much excited concerning the rights
and privileges of man, it happened
sometimes that he amused himself
by curtailing his accounts. He
cut off first women, children, the
ignorant, the vicious, etc. Once,
the nation being thus reduced to
the little portion whose moral qual-
•• RejUdUms M ikt Rtvai mH»m im Ft
t Cmrts^, tntre it C^mte de 9firnAeam *i U
C$m^ 4t u Marck, Puis : Lc Nccmauit. xSsu
The Law of God and tits Regulations of Society.
23s
ities it became necessary to esti-
mate, " I began," says he, " to de-
duct those who lack reason, those
who have falst notions, those who
vahie their own interests above
everything, those who lack educa-
tion and knowledge matured by re-
flection ; and I then asked him if
the men who* merit to be spoken
of with dignity and respect would
not find themselves reduced to a
number infinitely small. Now, ac-
cording to my principle, I main-
tained that the government should
act for the people, and not by them
— thAt is to say, not by the opinion
of the multitude ; and I proved, by
historical extracts and by examples
which we had unfortunatelv under
00 r eyes, that reason and good
sens^ fly from men in proportion
as they are gathered together in
greater numbers.'*
Mirabeau contented himself with
replying that one must flatter the
people in order to govern them,
which amounts to saying that one
must cheat them.
For the rest, this same Mirabeau
acknowledged that equality, in the
revolutionary sense, is absurd, and
ihe passion which some have for it
he called a violent paroxysm. It is
he who best characterized the true
result of the destruction of all social
order. He called it " vanity's up-
setting." He could not have spok-
en better; and the vanity which
goes so low could have no other
result than that which we behold —
the premeditated absence or sup-
pression of all true superiority.
This episode on equality is not a
digression, for the system of majori-
ties supposes it. Now, it is abso-
Uitely anti-natural. According to
the beautiful idea of Aristotle :*
there is in man himself a soul and
a body ; the one predominating and
made to command, the other to
obey ; the equality or the shifting
of power between these two ele-
ments would be equally fatal to
them. It is the same between man
and the other animals, between
tame animals and wild. The har-
mony of sex is analogous, and we
even find some traces of this princi-
ple in inanimate objects; as, for
example, in the harmony of sounds
Therefore S. Augustine defines or-
der thus : '* Such a disposition of
things similar and dissimilar as
shall give to each what is proper to
it " — Or do est parium dispariumque
rerum sua cuiqite iribuens dispositio y*
and S. Thomas hence concludes that
order supposes inequality : Nomen
or dints inaqualitatem imporiat.\
^ But the " immortal principles "
have changed all that, according to
Sganarelle; so their work, in its
final analysis, results in a disorder
without name.
The external disorder is visible
and pretty generally acknowledged ;
but the moral disorder passes un-
perceived. By means of equality
on the one hand, and of the secu-
larization of the law on the other,
they arrive at this frightful result :
for example, that regicide and par-
ricide are, in justice, but ordinary
crimes ; if, moreover, regicide pro-
fits the people, it is worthy of cu-
logy. Sacrilege is nothing more
than a superstitious fiction. In
fine, respect being no longer possi-
ble nor even reasonable, according
to the prediction of Burke,t " the
laws have no other guardian than
terror. ... and in perspective,
from our point of view, we see
but scaffolds," or courts-martial,
which amount to the same thing.
• Dt civU, DfL 19. , ...
236
Tki Law of God and the Regulations of Society.
IX.— CONSEQUENCES OF THE SECULARIZA*
TXON OF LAW.
How often do we not hear it said
that almost all our misfortunes, and,
above all, our inability to repair
our losses, come from the little re-
spect we have for the law ! This
statement, which has become almost
trite, indicates most frequently a
strange wandering. After having
destroyed respect for persons, is it
not absurd to claim it for their
works ? But they have done more :
they have denied the mission of a
legislator. The secularization of
the law — that is to say, the denial
of a divine sanction applied to law —
has no other meaning. Legislators
being no longer the mandataries of
God, or not wishing to be such,
now speak only in virtue of their
own lights, and have no real com^
mission. By what title, then, would
you have us respect them ? Every
one is at liberty to prefer his own
lights and to believe that Be would
have done better.
I hear the reply : " It is to the
interest of all that order should
reign, were it but materially, and
the law is the principal means of
maintaining order." You may
hence conclude that it would be
more advantageous to see the laws
obeyed; but a motive of interest is
not a motive of respect, and there
is a certain class of individuals who
may gain by the disorder. No, you
will have the right to claim respect
for the law only when you shall
have rendered the law truly re-
spectable ; and to do this you
must prove that you have the mis-
sion to make the law, even were
you the Sliie of our statesmen and
doctors of the law, and much more
if you are but a collection of the
most uncultivated tax-payers in
the world.
Knowledge is something; it is
something also to represent real
and considerable interests ; and I
do not deny the relative importance
of the elements of which legislative
bodies are comj^osed. But nothing
of all this can supply the place of a
commission ; and you will have
that only when you sjiall have con-
sented, as legislators, to acknow-
ledge the existence of God, to sub-
mit yourselves to his laws, and to
conform your own thereto.
People have but a very inade-
quate idea of the disastrous conse-
quences which, one day or other,
may ensue from the secularization
of law. Until now the only dan-
ger of which they have dreamed is
that with which extreme revolu-
tion menaces us.
This is a danger so imminent, so
undisguised, that every one sees it ;
and some have ended by under-
standing that without a return to
God society is destined to fall.*
Nay, more, the Assembly now sitting
at Versailles has made an act of
faith by ordering public prayers ;
and this first step has caused hope |
to revive in the hearts of men of
good-will. But it is not, perhaps,
inopportune to draw the attention
of serious men to another phase of
the question.
What would happen if modem
law should go so far as to enjoin a
crime upon Christians > The hy-
pothesis is not purely imaginary;
and although, happily, thanks to
Heaven, it has not yet come to pass,
there is a whole party which threat-
ens to reach this extreme. In other
countries there has been something
like a beginning of its realization.
I would like to speak of the school
law and the avowed project of im-
posing a compulsory and lay edu-
cation. We know what is meant
by iay in such a case ; and experi-
ence proves that the state schools
The Law of God and the Regulations of Society. 237
often entrusted to roen whose
vowed intention is to bring up the
hildren in infidelity. What would
appcn if such a law were passed,
hich supposes that everywhere, at
e same time, parents would be
ompelled to put their children in
minent danger of losing their
ith ? The 'Catholic Church is
ery explicit in her doctrine on the
bligation of obeying even a bad
overnment; she orders that use-
s, unjust, and even culpable laws
borne with, so long as this can
done without exposing one's self
commit a sin. Neither plunder
or the danger of death excuses
levolt in her eyes. But in this case
o we understand to what we would
reduced } To resist passively,
nd to allow one's self to be punished
y fines, by prison, by torture, or
y death, would not remedy the
vil; the soul of the child remains
ithout defence, and the father is
esponsible for it. This kind of
|)cr$ecution is, then, more serious in
ts consequences, and may lead to
deeper troubles, than even the direct
persecution, which might consist,
for example, in exacting apostasy
front adults. In this last case the
martyr bears all, and the first Chris-
tians have shown us the way ; but
here the torments of the parents
cannot save the children, and the
parents cannot abandon them ;
whatever becomes of the body, the
soul must be guarded until death.
It belongs not to me to decide ;
for in this case, as in all those of
a similar kind, the line of conduct
to be followed ought to be traced
by the only competent authority;
but the problem is worth proposing,
and by it alone it is already easy
to throw great light on the abysses
to which the atheism of the law
is leading the people by rapid
ttrides.
X. — CHRISTIAN DEFINmON OF NATURAL
LAW.
It remains to explain in a few
words the great principles which
should form the basis of hnv, and
which were never completely ignor-
ed until these days of aberration
and wretchedness. I could not ex-
pect to give here, in these few pages,
a course of natural law, nor even
to trace its outline ; but there are
some perfectly incontestable truths
which it is very necessary to recall
since people have forgotten then).
When one has no personal author-
ity, he feels a certain timidity in
broaching so grave a subject, and
in speaking of it as if he aspired to
enlighten his kind; and meanwhile
error is insinuated, preached, dis-
seminated, commanded, with a skill
so infernal and a success so great
that ignorance of truth is almost
unbounded. Of such elementary
rules we often find influential per-
sons, and sometimes persons of
real merit, totally ignorant. In
other days they would have known
them on leaving school, or even
from their catechism.
Let us go back, then, to the defi-
nition of the word nature, and it
will serve as a starting-point from
which to treat of what the laws des-
tined to govern man should be.
The nature of a being is that
which renders it capable of attain-
ing its end. This is true of a plant
or an animal as well as of man ; but
there are two kinds of ends subor-
dinate one to the other. The end
for which God created the world
could be no other than God him-
self.* The Creator could only pro-
pose to himself an end worthy of
himself, and, he alone being per-
fect, he could not find outside him-
self an end proportioned to his
* ^ UniTertR propter temttipiufli opeiattn Ml
Domitttts." — ^Praverbt xri. 4.
238
The Law of God and the Regulaiums of Sccieiy.
greatness. God is, then, the last
end of all creatures. But there are
particular ends ; and it is in their
subordination that the order of the
world consists. The primary ends
are, in a certain sense, but a means
for arriving at the last end.
But God being unable to add
anything to his infinite perfection,
the end which he proposed to him-
self could not be to render him-
self more perfect ; hence he could
seek only an exterior glory, which
consists in manifesting himself to
his creatures. For this it was ne-
cessary that some of these creatures
should be capable of knowing him.
These reasonable creatures are su-
perior to the others and are their
primary end ; therefore it is that
theologians call man a microcosm,
a compendium of the universe, and
king of the world.
Man is placed in creation to ad-
mire it, and by means of it to ren-
der homage to God ; for, in his
quality of a creature gifted with
reason, he knows his end, which is
God, and the essential character-
istic of his nature is the ability to
attain this end. He is, moreover,
endowed with an admirable preroga-
tive — liberty, or free-will ; that is
to say, he is called on to will this
end ; and God, in his infinite boun-
ty, will recompense him for having
willed his own good. But man has
need of an effort to will good ; for
his primitive nature has been cor-
rupted by the original fall. He
lias, therefore, an inclination to evil,
against which he must incessantly
struggle ; and the greatest number
of political and social errors have
their source in ignorance or forget-
fulness of this perversion of human
nature.
This granted, the natural law
comprises the obligations imposed
on man in order that he may reach
his end| together with the prohibi-
tion of all that could turn him away
from it. This law obliges all men,
even those who have no knowledge
of the positive divine law — ^that is to
say, the revealed law.
Behold how Gerson has defined
it:
" The natural law is a sign im-
printed upon the heart of every man
enjoying the right use of reason,
and which makes known to him the
divine will, in virtue of which the
human creature is required to do
certain things and to avoid certain
others, in order to reach his end."
Among the precepts which God
has engraved upon the hearts of all
men is found, in the first rank, that
which obliges them to refer them-
selves to God as to their last end.
From this it follows that every
law which tends to hinder or pre-
vent the progress of men toward
God is a law against nature, and
consequently null {Ux injusta nan
est lex) ; for no human law can
change or abrogate the natural law.
XI.— CONTINUATION : THE END OF SO-
CIETY ACCORDING TO THE NATURAL
LAW.
The considerations of the pre-
ceding chapter have reference to
man considered abstractly from so-
ciety. But man cannot exist alone.
For life and subsistence, during his
early childhood, he has need of his
kind ; so that, from the first mo-
ment of his existence, he forms part
of a domestic society — the family.
The family being certainly of di-
vine institution, and the duties which
it imposes being of the number of
those which the natural law com-
mands, we find therein the first
elements of all society : authority,
hierarchy, consequently inequality,
mutual love, and protection — in a
word, varied and reciprocal duties.
The Law of God and the Regulations of Society. 239
But the family suffices not for man's
social cravings. Man naturally
longs after his like ; he possesses
the marvellous gift of speech for
communication with his fellows;
he bears engraven on his heart the
first precept of his duty towards
them : ** Do unto others that which
you would have others do unto
vou; and do not unto them that
which you would not that they do
to you." The existence of society
is, therefore, still a law of nature.
Once formed, society itself has
its duties ; it has its proper end,
vhich not only should not be op-
posed to tlie end of man considered
singly, but should moreover con-
tribute to facilitate the attainment
of that end. The end of man being
God, and this end being attainable
only by virtue, the principal end
of society will necessarily be to
aid men in the practice of virtue;
and, that I may not be accused of
depending exclusively on theology,
I will adduce what Aristotle has
said on this subject : " The most
perfect slate is evidently that in
which each citizen, whoever he
may be, may, by favor of the laws,
best practise virtue and be most
secure of happiness." * And what
is happiness, according to Aristo-
tle ? ** We consider it a point per-
fectly established that happiness is
always in proportion to wisdom ; . .
[for] the soul, speaking absolutely
and even relatively to us, is more
precious than wealth and the
body. . . . Following the laws of
nature, all exterior goods are desir-
able only insomuch as they serve
the soul, and wise men should
not desire them except for this end ;
whereas the soul should never be
placed in comparison with them." f
We are assuredly far off from
this pagan, and he goes still further
even than the foregoing; for he
lays down as incontestable a prin-
ciple which is the formal condem-
nation of the secularization of the
law. ** The elements of happi-
ness," says he, " are tlie same for
the individual and for the city." *
We have just seen what he under-
stands by happiness ; but he adds,
in order that he may be the better
comprehended, that if the felicity
of the individual consisted in wealth,
it would be the same for the city.
According to Aristotle, therefore,
the moral law obliges society as it
does the individual. Now, it is pre-
cisely this which the partisans of
atheistical or merely secular law
deny.
XII.— CHRISTIAN LAW,
I have designedly quoted the
ancient philosophers, because cer-
tain diseased minds who shrink from
the authority of the sacred books
accept more willingly that of the
learned; but I believe that from
what precedes one could easily infer
the true rule of the relations be-
tween church and state. I will
not undertake it now ; nevertheless,
as I address myself, by preference,
to those who profess the same faith
as myself, I will take the liberty to
point out to them some inevitable
corollaries of the principles I have
just recalled.
The natural law, properly so call-
ed, has been confirmed and com-
pleted by revelation. Although
the precepts whose observance is
indispensable to man to reach his
end are engraven in the depths of
his heart, the blindness and the
evil propensities which are the con-
sequences of his fall render him
but too forgetful of his duties. Be-
•Aib'/.,viLa.
t Id. ibid. e. I.
• Aristotle knew no other state than the city.
240 The Law of God and tlu Reguiaiions of Society.
sides, God, having resolved to save
man, chose to himself a privileged
people, that from it he might cause
the Messias to be born ; and tor
the accomplishment of his merciful
designs he guided this people and
made it the guardian of his law,
even to the day on which the prom-
ises were fulfilled.
To this end God charged Moses
with the promulgation of a positive
divine law which contained moral
precepts — precepts relating to the
ceremonies of the ancient worship —
and political precepts ; that is to say,
precepts relating to the civil govern-
ment of the Jewish people. The
last two classes of precepts no lon-
ger oblige; but those which con-
cern morals — that is to say, those
of the Decalogue — retain all their
force, because they are the precepts
of the natural law.
But it is no longer by virtue of
the promulgation of Moses that we
are bound by the moral obligations
contained in the old law. He who
is our Judge, our Legislator, our
King,* has come himself to give us
a more perfect law : " Mandatum
novum do vobis " (Joan. 13). Ac-
cording to the expression of Suarez,
Jesus Christ has made known more
perfectly the natural law \\\ com-
pleting it by new precepts. Jesus
Christ has done still more : lie has
founded a new kingdom — the church,
the mystical body, of which he is
the head. He has, therefore, ap-
pointed interpreters and guardians
of his law, who have the mission to
proclaim it to those who know it
not; to pardon in his name those
who, having violated it, confess and
repent; and, finally, to distribute
the numberless succors of divine
grace— all whiph have for their
object to help us to observe the
tatt i Tu didi <ittia Rex «go wm."
law as perfectly as possible, and
consequently to enable us ourselves
to approach perfection. The new
precepts added by Christ to those
of the natural law are those which
enjoin upon us the use of the sac-
raments and which determine their
form ; these articles of the new law
— if we may be allowed so to term
them — are all as obligatory as those
of the natural law, because they
have God himself for their author.
Behold how S. Thomas suras up
the whole of the new law, or the
law of grace, which Christ came to
bring us: "It comprises," says he,
" the precepts of the natural law,
the artfcles of faith, and the sacra-
ments of grace."
One of the most remarkable char-
acteristics of the Christian law is
that it was not written. . Jesus
Christ spo^e his commandments,
.and, /its word being divine^ it engrav-
ed them upon the hearts of his
apostles and disciples;* but the
Incarnate Word had nothing writ-
ten during the time he spent upon
earth. The first Gospel appeared
at least eight years after the death
of Jesus Christ. If to this obser-
vation we add the common belief
of theologians, according to which
it was only from the coming of the
Holy Ghost— that is to say, from the
day of Pentecost and after the As-
cension—that the law of Christ be-
came obligatory, we arrive at this
conclusion : that the means of oral
teaching was expressly chosen by
the Word for the transmission of
his law and his will.
Nothing throws greater light
upon the sovereign importance of
the church and its hierarchy ; no-
thing manifests better the extreme
necessity of a permanent infallibil-
ity residing somewhere in the mys-
^ *' Dabo I^^ea ia Tiaceribus eQnta.**~Jer.
TJke Law of God and thi Regulations of Society.
241
tical body of Christ. The Council
of the^Yatican, conformably to the
tradition of all Christian ages, has
defi/ud that " the Roman Pontiff
enjoys the plenitude of that iufalli
biliiy with ivhich it was necessary
fur the church to be provided in
defining doctrine touching faith or
morals."
These last words show that the
Pope is the unfailing interpreter of
the natural law, and the judge,
from whom there is no appeal of
its violations.
The decisions given by the Sov-
ereign Pontiff upon human laws
2xt not recognized at the present
day by the powers of the earth.
But neither is God recognized j and
thjVi it is that, little by little, vio-
lence has overrun the world and
law has vanished. Europe is re-
taming to a worse than primitive
barbarism ; and Catholics are no
longer alone in saying it
.\t the epoch at which tne bish-
ops were gathered together at Rome
for the last council, a publicist of
great merit, an Englishman and a
Protestant, speaking in the name
of h:j co-religionists, addressed an
appeal to the Pope entreating him
to labor for the re-establishment of
the rights of the people.
The rights of the people, or the
law nf nature, said Mr. Urquhart,
is the Ten Commandments applied
to society. After having cited
Lord Mansiield, who says that this
right "is considered to form part
of the English law," and that "M<?
ads of the government cannot al-
ter it,'* Mr. Urquhart fears not to
add •' that it is against their govern-
ments that nations should protect
this right." And why did this Pro-
tesunt appeal to Rome ? Because,
in sight of the unjust wars which
ravage Europe, he hoped that the
Ecumenical Council "would lay
▼OL. XXII. — 16
dpwn a rnlie enabling Catholics to
distinguish the just from the un-
just ; so that the Pope might after-
wards exercise juridical power over
communities, nations, and their sov-
ereigns." *
The rule exists ; for the natural
or divine law engraven by God
from the beginning upon the hearts
of all men, and more expressly re-
vealed in the Decalogue, was the
subject of the teaching of Christ.
The juridical power and the tri-
bunal from which there is no ap-
peal equally exist ; but the voice
of the judge is no longer listened
to by those who govern human so-
ciety. But it is not this which is
important, and Mr. Urquhart is
right — it is the nations which should
invoke against their new tyrants
the only efficacious protection; it
is the people who should first bend
before the beneficent authority of
the infallible master of the moral
law; there would then be no fur-^
ther need of the consent of govern.-
ments.
XnX.^-CONCLl) SION.
I said, in beginning the last para-
graph, that it was addressed to
Catholics by right of corollary
from the preceding considerations.
It is certain, indeed, that if all
Catholics were truly instructed and
well convinced of the truths that I
have endeavored to set forth as
briefly and clearly as I could, a
great step in the right path would
already have been taken.
But there is a much-used, widely-
spread, and very convenient objec-
tion which many excellent men fail
not to proffer in such a case. " It
is true," say they, " that if human
discussions and quarrels could be
referred to the highest moral au-
thority on earth, it would afford
* Virt frotettmntiei md smmmmm P^nii/Uimr
0^UatU.--ljamdMA^ Wyiaaa et fil, 1860.
242 The Law of God atid the Regulations of Society.
great advantages; but this is not
practicable. Times have changed,
and it is impossible to hope that
this authority can ever recover the
influence it would require in ordCr
to act efficaciously."
If good men adhere to the fatal
habit they have acquired of re-
nouncing beforehand all. effort, for
fear it will not be successful, nothing
can be done; and there remains
ito us nothing but to veil our fiices
-while awaiting the destruction of
our country and of all organized
•society. But even were we re-
duced to despair, we never have
the right of renouncing our con-
victions nor of ceasing to act per-
sonally according to the prescrip-
tions of our faith. Before concern-
ing ourselves about the doings of
-others, and without needing to
•count on success, we must begin by
conforming ourselves to the teach-
ings of truth, which is by its nature
unchangeable; for there is no pro-
gress or civilization which can alter
•one iota of the divine laws.
Moreover, he is very bold who
would dare to predict what Europe
will or will not be several years
hence. Either it is condemned —
.and then, for his own peace of
mind, a man should allow himself
to be guided by his conscience with
the full certainty of not doing
wrong — or God wills to save Europe
still another time; and this can
never be, save by truth.
With regard to practical means,
of which they make so much at the
present day, I see no one who pro-
.poses them inspiring any confi-
dence. Every one hesitates,
gropes, and most often acknow-
ledges that he can only invent.
The present hour is favorable to
good, in this sense : that the greater
number oi practical errors no longer
exercise the same seduction as at
the beginning of the century.
Evil presses us on all sides ; and,
according to the expression %of one
of our most distinguished publicists,
"1789 has failed."* After 17S9
there is no middle way between so-
cial war and the return to good.
We meet at every step upright
minds who break their idols ; there
are too many who know not yet
with what to replace them, but it
is still much to have seen one's
error.
Furthermore, there are untiring
seekers, some of whom have found
the whole truth, and others who
find but the fragments ; all help to
prepare the way for the re-construc*
tion of the social edifice. He to
whom I have dedicated this work f
will pardon me, I hope, if J
quote from him. I do not believe
that there is another example of an
equal influence so rapidly exercised
by a book so serious, so grave in
matter, so little attractive to the
frivolous reader, as that which he
has written upon Social Reform.
To rediscover social truth by the
method of observation and analysis
was already a phenomenon which 1
consider unique of its kind; to
cause it to be adopted by so great
a number of minds biassed and fill-
ed with hostile prejudices, and
most frequently badly prepared by
their previous studies, is a fact still
more astonishing. Thus, as I said
in my dedicatory epistle, it is im-
possible for me not to see herein
one of the most consoling signs of
our age. The scientific processes
of M. Le Play were, perhaps, the
only ones which would find favor
with a generation so dialectical and
so enamored with the exact sciences
as ours.
Notwithstanding the sorrows
which oppress us, we must not dc-
* M. Em. Montaigut, in Uie Rtvut det DeuM
Mond*s,
tM.UPlay.
The Law of God and ike Regulations of Society.
243
spair ; and, above all, wc must not
troubTe ourselves too much con-
cerning the errors of what people
agree to call public opinion.
The errors regarding the general
Trill reproduce themselves, under
another form, in the uneasiness
which this self-styled queen of the
world instils into the minds of men
ofgood-wiU. If we consider close-
ly wliat the elements of opinion are,
we very quickly perceive that, in
general, it merits the name of pub-
lic only because it proclaims itself
very loudly and makes itself known
in all the public squares. In reality,
a party much less considerable than
we suppose announces to the world,
and imagines, most frequently in
good faith, that it alone is enlight-
ened. Its boldness inspires awe,
and by degrees those who compose
it succeed in persuading the multi-
tude, and in persuading themselves
that they represent the only opinion
worthy of note. And who are
these? Financiers and journalists
who carry on business in common ;
load- voiced lawyers ; professors
much tainted themselves; officers
occupying a position, and others
wishing to obtain one from them ;
ihc idle pleasure-seeking men
and women. Is it, then, true that
these represent the nation }
Eagei for their own interest or
for that of others, these pretended
echoes of public opinion are wont
to say • " The people believe, the
people wish, the people will never
consent, it does not suit the people,
etc. What a pity ! The people
are nothing in revolutions in which
they are but passive instruments.
France no longer ardently desires
anything except repose. At first
sight this proposition would seem
true — ^the previous consent of the
French is necessary for tne re-
establishment of the monarchy.
Nothing is more false. The mul-
titude never obtains what it wills ;
it always accepts, it never chooses.
We may even notice an affectation
of Providence ( if I may be allowed
the expression), inasmuch as the
efforts of the people to attain an
object are the very means which it
makes use of to withdraw them
from it.
** In the French Revolution the
people were constantly chained, out-
raged, ruined, torn by factions ; and
the factions, in their turn, the sport
of one another, constantly drifted
(notwithstanding all their efforts),
only to be dashed against the rock
which awaited them. ... In the
establishment and the overthrow of
sovereignties . . . the mass of the
people enter only as the wood and
the cord employed by a machinist.
Their chiefs even are such only to
strangers ; in reality, they are led as
they lead the people. When the
proper moment shall arrive, the Su-
preme Ruler of empires will chase
away these noisy insects. Then we
shall be astonished at the profound
nothingness of these men.
" Do people imagine that the po-
litical world goes on by chance,
and that it is not organized, direct-
ed, animated, by the same wisdom
which shines in the physical world }
Great malefactors who overthrow
the state necessarily produce me-
lancholy, internal dismemberments
. . . but when man labors to re-
establish order, he associates him-
self with the Author of order, he
is favored by nature — that is to say,
by the aggregate of secondary
causes which are the instruments
of the Divinity. His action has
something divine ; it is at once gen-
tle and powerful ; it forces nothing
and nothing resists it." *
These beautiful words are as true
to-day as in 1797.
De Mautre, Cotuidcrai, tmr is Framci,
244
Duration.
DURATION.
II
All change implies succession.
Hence the duration of contingent
beings, inasmuch as they are sub-
ject to actual change, involves suc-
cession. The duration of the
changes brought about by purely
spiritual operations transcends our
experience ; for we are not pure
spirits. Hence we have no means
of measuring such changes by their
intrinsic measure. But the dura-
tion of the changes which occur in
the material world through local
movements lies within the range of
our apprehensive faculty, and can
be measured by us ; for we find in
nature many movements which, by
their constant recurrence and their
uniformity, are calculated to serve
as terms of comparison for measur-
ing the length of successive dura-
tion.
Definitions of time. — The duration
of local movement, which we meas-
ure by a given standard, is called
" time." And therefore time may
be properly and adequately defined
as the duration of local movement :
Duraiio moius. From this defini-
tion it immediately follows that
where there is no movement there
can be no time. Accordingly, there
was no time before creation, as
there was no movement. It follows
also that the duration of created
things^ inasmuch as it expresses the
permanence of those things in their
pwn being, is not time ; for it is of
the essence of time to be successive,
and there is no succession where
there is no change, and no change
without movement. Hence, when
we say that contingent beings exist
in time, we do not refer to their
essence or substance as such, but
to their successive modes of being,
by which their duration acquires
its accidental successivity. Were
the whole world reduced to perfect
stillness by impeding or suspending
the actions and movements of all
creatures, time would at the same
instant cease to flow ; for time is
not the duration of things, but the
duration of movement.
Time may be considered either
as a relation or as a quantity. In
fact, intervals of successive dura-
tion are, like distances, real rela-
tions; but when we think of the
greater or less extent of space which
can be measured with a given velo-
city between two correlated terms
of time, these same intervals exhi-
bit themselves under the form of
continuous quantities.
Time, as a relation, is defined by
S. Thomas and by all the ancients
as Ratio prions et posterioris tnotus —
that is, as the link between the " be-
fore " and the " after " of any move-
ment ; and, as a quantity, it is d^-
fined siS JVumerus Motus — that is, as a
number arising from the mensura-
tion of the movement. This move-
ment is always local, as we have
already intimated ; for we cannot
measure successive duration by any
other kind of movement. Hence
it is that the duration which is pre-
dicated of spiritual substances and
of their operations differs in kind
from our time. For, since such
substances are not subjected to
Duration.
US
local movementSy their duration
cannot be measured in terms of
s\)acc and velocity, as pur time, but
only in terms of intellectual move-
ments, which have nothing common
with the periodical revolutions from
which we desume the measure of
our days, years, and centuries.
When we say that angels have ex-
isted for centuries, we measure the
duration of their existence by a
measure which is altogether extrinsic
to them ; and in the same manner
we measure the duration of our own
intellectual operations by a measure
extrinsic to them — that is, by com-
paring it with the duration of some
movement occurring in our bodies
or in the surrounding world.
Since time is the duration of
movement, it is plain that when we
perceive movement we immediate-
ly perceive time ; and since move-
ment implies a continuous change,
il is plain also that the greater the
number of changes we can distinct-
ly perceive in a given succession,
the better we realize the flowing of
time. It is for this reason that
time seems longer in sickness or in
a sleepless night than in good
health and in a pleasurable occupa-
tion; for gladness and amusement
distract our minds, and do not allow
us to reflect enough on what is go-
ing on around us; whilst anything
which affects us painfully calls our
attention to ourselves and to our
sensations, and thus causes us to
reflect on a great number of move-
ments to which in other circum-
stances we would pay no attention
at all. It is for this reason, also,
that when we are fast asleep we
have no perception of the flowing
of lime. The moment one falls
asleep he ceases to perceive the
succession of changes, both interior
and exterior, from the considera-
tion of which time should be esti-
mated ; hence, when he awakes, he
instinctively unites the present fi<nif
with that in which he fell asleep, as
if there had been no intermediate
time. Thus, in the same manner as
there is no time without movement,
there is no actual perception of
time without the actual perception
of movement.
Measure of time, — We have said
that time, as a quantity, is measured
by movement The sense of this
proposition is that a body moving
with uniform velocity describes
spaces proportional to the times
employed ; and therefore, if we
assume as a unit of measure the
time employed in describing a cer-
tain unit of space with a given ve-
locity, the duration of the move-
ment will contain as many units of
time as there are units of space
measured by that velocity. Thus,
if the revolution of the earth around
its axis is taken as the unit of move-
ment, and its duration, or the day,
as the unit of time, the number of
days will increase at the same rate
as the number of revolutions.
Speaking in general, if the time
employed in describing uniformly a
space V be taken as a unit of time,
and / be the time employed in de-
scribing uniformly a space s with
the same constant velocity, we have
the proportion —
s\v\\i\ I.
The unit of time is necessarily
arbitrary or conventional. For
there is no natural unit of measure
in continuous quantities wliose di-
visibility has no end, as we have
explained in a preceding article.
The space v uniformly described
in the unit of time represents the
velocity of the movement ; and
therefore the duration of the move-
ment comprises as many units of
time as there are units in the ratio
of the space to the constant veio-
-•res -nejissr^d* In
"ime s -:e nr 3 ot
. rr^c-i rj Lie T'iiicUT
.m r -n-'vimeTi^ so
17 ir ne-LFirrri Ir
• _: :zic s neJ5Tin«i
. t:* B-jii ■i-ir : Tie ts
::i "TIL.': zi tie
- • -.* — .-•• -f *«•,»
■• -• >
.•>*
^ » ^
«
<•..»--
vol
■
.
•
. . \'^- ■ -tf -:)
.V. .
■«^
- <»
• \ ^ .ll
* '--v
.
%
1 •■» » • ^
• - •
1
-•
♦
T.s:. V
:; i :''«rr
*
•
5-4 '
-•^JLCi to
*
>k
■
. -,
>^ * . . c
. V t'^e
^
»
. ^. .J.. X
-,
• - »
-» «■ * » •> » •*
•
^: ^
: n, by
» ,^
*
•v
^.».'.r
cjs Ih;
^
X
of t'-:e
»
"v
• -« »
V r:xie.
1
V
V
•
0: :>e
V
V
'r>f C^**'
X **
■^
^> .v.:v
,x . 'c o X- Oi-
. V % X « N * 'O fv -v.S-0
time" jnust be interpreted in a very
limited sense, as simply meaning
that between movement and time
there is a necessary connection,
and that, all other things remaining
equal, the length of the movement
is proportional to the length of the
tioie employed. Yet this does not
mean that the length of the move-
ment depends entirely on the time
employed, for the same length may
be described in different times ; but
it means that the time employed
depends on the material and formal
extent of the movement, as above
explained ; for, according as we
take different velocities, different
lengths will be described in equal
time, and equal lengths in different
times. It is not the time that ex-
tends the movement, but it is the
movement that by its extension ex-
tends its own time.
The true measure of movement
is its velocity ; for the measure of
any given quantity is a unit of the
same kind, and velocity is the unit
of movement. Time, as measured
bv us, is a number which arises
from the mensuration of the move-
ment by its velocity ; and therefore
time results from the movement
as already measured. This shows
again that time is not the measure
of the extent of the movement.
We have seen, also, that time is not
the measure of the intensity of (he
movement. It follows, therefore,
tliat the quantity of movement is
not measured by time.
Time, being the ratio of two
quantities mathematically homoge-
neous, is represented by an abstract
number. Yet the same time may
be e.\pressed by different numbers,
accord mg as we measure it by dif-
terent units, as days, hours, min-
utes, etc. These numbers, how-
ever, are only virtually discrete, as
time cannot be discontinued.
J
Duration.
247
Balmes from the equation
s
V = J
deduces the consequence that " the
velocity is essentially a relation;
for it cannot be otherwise express-
ed than by the ratio of the space
to the time." * We think that this
conclusion is faulty. Space and
time are not homogeneous quanti^
ties ; hence the mathematical ratio
of space to time is not an abstract
but a concrete number, and there-
fore It represents an absolute quan-
tity. S|>ace divided by time is a
length divided into equal parts ;
hence the quotient — viz., the velo-
city — represents the length of the
movement made in the unit of
time. And since Balmes admits
that the length of the movement is
a quantity having a determinate
value, we do not see how he can
escape the consequence that ve-
locity, too, is a quantity of the
same kind, and not a mere rela-
tion. "In the expression of ve-
locity," says Balmes, " two terms
enter— space and time. Viewing
the former in the real order, ab-
straction made of that of phenom-
ena, we more easily come to regard
it as something fixed ; and we com-
prehend it in a given case without
any relation. A foot is at all times
a foot, and a yard a yard. These
are quantities existing in reality,
and if we refer them to other quan-
tities it is only to make sure that
they are so, not because their re-
ahty depends upon the relation.
A cubic foot of water is not a cu-
bic foot because the measure so
says, but, on the contrary, the mea-
sure so says because there is a cubic
fiK)t. The measure itself, is also
an absolute quantity; and in gen-
t:ral all extensions are absolute, for
• fmrndmrn, PkiL, book vii. cfa, 6.
Otherwise we should be obliged to
seek measure of measure, and so
on to infinity" (loc. cit.) This
passage shows that a length de-
scribed in space is, according to
Balmes, an absolute quantity. And
since the mathematical value of
velocity represents a length de-
scribed in space, as we have just
proved, it follows that velocity has
an absolute value.
But leaving aside all mathemati-
cal considerations, we may show
that velocity has an absolute value
by reference to metaphysical data.
What is velocity but the develop-
ment in extension of the intensity
of the momentum impressed on a
material point ? Now, the intensi-
ty of the momentum is an absolute
quantity, equal to the quantity of
the action by which it is produced.
Hence it is evident that, as the
action has an absolute value, great-
er or less, according to circumstan-
ces, so also the momentum impress-
ed has an absolute value ; and con-
sequently the velocity also, which
is nothing else than the momentum
itself as developing its intensity
into extension, has an absolute val-
ue, and is an absolute quantity.
Balmes thought the contrary, for
the following reason : ** If the de-
nominator, in the expression of ve-
locity, were a quantity of the same
kind as space — that is, having deter-
minate values, existing and con-
ceivable by themselves alone — the
velocity, although still a relation
might also have determinate values,
not indeed wholly absolute, but
only in the supposition that the
two terms s and /, having fixed val-
ues, are compared. . . But from the
difficulties which we have, on the one
hand, seen presented to the consid-
eration of time as an absolute thing,
and from the fact that, on the other
hand, no solid proof can be adduced
248
Duration.
to show such a property to have
any foundation, it follows that we
know not how to consider velocity
as absolute, even in the sense above
explained " (loc. cit.)
This reason proves the contrary
of what the author intends to es-
tablish. In fact, if the denomina-
tor were of the same kind as the
numerator, the quotient would be
an abstract number, as we know
from mathematics ; and such a
number would exhibit nothing more
than the relation of the two homo-
geneous terras — that is, how many
times the one is contained in the
other. It is pre'cisely because the
denominator is not of the same
kind as the numerator that the
quotient must be of the same kind
as the numerator. And since the
numerator represents space, which,
according to Balmes, is an absolute
quantity, it follows that the quo-
tient — that is, the number by which
we express the velocity — exhibits a
quantity of the same nature : a con-
clusion in which all mathematicians
agree. When a man walks a mile,
with the velocity of one yard per
second, he measures the whole mile
yard by yard, with his velocity.
If the velocity were not a quanti-
ty of the same kind with the space
measured, how could it measure
True it is that velocity, when
considered in its metaphysical as-
pect, is not a length of space, but
the intensity of the act by which
matter is carried through such a
* length. Yet, since Balmes argues
here from a mathematical equation,
we must surmise or presume that
he considers velocity as a length
measured in space in the unit of
time, as mathematicians consider
it ; for he cannot argue from math-
ematical expressions with logical con-
sistency, if he puts upon them a con-
struction of an unmathematicalcbar-
acter. After all, it remains true that
the velocity or intensity of the move-
ment is always to be measured by
the extension of the movement in
the unit of time ; and thus it is ne-
cessary to admit that velocity ex-
hibits an absolute intensive quan-
tity measured by the extension
which it evolves.
We therefore '* know how to con-
sider velocity as absolute," though
its mathematical expression is drawn
from a relation of space to time.
The measure of any quantity is
always found by comparing the
quantity with some unit of mea-
sure ; hence all quantity, inasmuch
as measured, exhibits itself under
a relative form as ratio mensuraii
ad suam mensuram ; and it is only
under such a form that it can be
expressed in numbers. But this
relativity does not constitute the
nature of quantity, because it pre-
supposes it, and has the whole rea-
son of its being in the process of
mensuration.
We have insisted on this point
because the confusion of the abso-
lute value of velocity with its rela-
tive mathematical expression would
lead us into a labyrinth of difficul-
ties with regard to time. Balmes.
having overlooked the distinction
between the mathematical expres-
sion and the metaphysical charac-
ter of velocity, comes to the strik-
ing consequence that " if the whole
machine of the universe, not ex-
cluding the operations of our soul,
were accelerated or retarded, an
impossibility would be realized;
for the relation of the terms would
have to be changed without under-
going any change. If the velocity
be only the relation of space to
time, and time only the relation of
spaces traversed, it is the same
thing to change them all in the
Dundi&n.
249
same proportion, and not to change
them at all. It is to leave every
thing as it is" (loc. cit.) The
author is quite mistaken. The
very equation
'=^
V
on which he grounds his argument,
suffices to show that if the velocity
increases, the time employed in
measuring the space s diminishes ;
and if the velocity diminishes, the
time increases. This being the
case, it is evident that an accelera-
tion of tlie movements in the whole
machine of the universe would be
a real acceleration, since the same
movements would be performed in
less time ; and a retardation would
be a rfol retardation, since the same
movements would require more
time. We are therefore far from
realizing an impossibility when we
admit that, in the hypothesis of the
author, time would vary in the in-
verse ratio of the velocity of the
universal movement.
Division of time, — Philosophers
divide time into real and imaginary.
We have already explained this
division when speaking of flowing
duration. The reality of time evi-
dently depends on the reality of
movement ; hence any time to
which no real movement corre-
sponds is imaginary. Thus if you
dream that you are running, the
lime of your running is imaginary,
because your running, too, is imag-
inary. In such a case the real time
corres{K>nds to your real move-
ments—say, to your breathing,
pulse, etc. — while the dream con-
tin nes.
Imaginary time is often called
also ideal time, but this last epithet
is not correct ; for, as time is the
duration of local movement, it is in
the nature of time to be an object
of the imagination. And for this
reason the duration of the intellec-
tual movements and operations of
pure spirits is called time only by
analogy, as we have above stated.
However, we are wont to think of
such a duration as if it were homo-
geneous with our own time ; for we
cannot measure it except by refer-
ence to the duration of the move-
ments we witness in the material
world.
Time is also divided into pasl^
present^ ^nd future. The past cor-
responds to a movement already
made, the future to a movement
which will be made, and the present
to a movement which is actually
going on. But some will ask : Is
there really any present time ?
Dc%s not the now, to which the
present is confined, exclude all
before and all after ^ and therefore
all- succession, without which it is
impossible to conceive time } We
concede that the nouf^ as such — that
is, considered in its absolute reality —
is not time, just as a point is not a
line ; for, as the point has no length,
so the no7V has no extension. Yet,
as a point in motion describes a
line, so also the nou'j by its flowing
from before to after ^ extends time.
Hence, although the no^Vy as such, is
not time, its flowing from before to
after is time. If, then, we consider
the present as the link of the imme-
diate past with the immediate fu-
ture — that is, if we consider the noiv
not statically, but dynamically — we
shall see at once that its actual
flowing from before to after implies
succession, and constitutes an in-
finitesimal interval of time.
This may also be shown by refer-
ence to the nature of uniform local
movement. When a material point
describes a line with uniform ve-
locity, its movement being continu-
ous, its duration is continuous ; and
therefore every flowing instant of
250
Duration,
its duration is continuous, as no
discontinuous parts can ever be
reached in the division of contin-
uum. Hence every flowing instant
has still the nature of time. This
conclusion is mathematically evi-
dent from the equation
/=^
V
for, V being supposed constant, we
cannot assume /=o unless we
also assume j = o. But this latter
assumption would imply rest in-
stead of movement, and therefore
it is out of the question. Accord-
ingly, at no instant of the move-
ment can we assume / = o ; or, which
is the same, every flowing instant
partakes the nature of time. •
The same conclusion can be
established, even more evidently,
bv the consideration of accelerated
or retarded movements. When a
stone is thrown upwards, the velo-
city of its ascent suffers a continuous
diminution till at last it becomes
=0 ; and at the very instant it be-
comes = o an opposite velocity be-
gins to urge the stone down, and
increases continually so long as the
stone does not reach the ground or
any other obstacle. Now, a con-
tinuous increase or decrease of the
velocity means that there are not
two consecutive moments of time
in which the stone moves at exactly
the same rate ; and hence nothing
but an instant corresponds to each
successive degree of velocity. But
since the duration of the movement
is made up of nothing but such in-
stants, it is clear that the succession
of such instants constitutes time;
and consequently, as time is con-
tinuous, those instants, though in-
finitesimal, are themselves contin-
uous ; and thus every flowing in-
stant is really time.
From this it is plain, first, that
although the fum\ as such, is not
time, yet its actual flowing ts^time.
Secondly, it follows that infinite-
simals of time, as employed in dy-
namics, are not mathematical fig*
ments, but realities, for time flows
only through infinitesimal instants;
and therefore to deny the reality of
such infinitesimals would be to
deny the reality of time.
Thirdly, we gather that the abso-
lute funv diff*ers from s^n actual infi-
nitesimal of time ; because the for-
mer, as such, is only a term of time,
whereas the latter, is the flowing of
that term from its immediate before
to its immediate after^ Hence an
infinitesimal of time is infinitely
less than any design able duration.
In fact, its before and its after arc
so immediately connected with the
same absolute now that there is no
room for any designable length of
duration between them.
Fourthly, whilst the absolute now
is no quantity, the infinitesimal of
time is a real quantity ; for it im-
plies real succession. This quan-
tity, however, is nascent, or in fieri
only ; for the now^ which alone is
intercepted between the immediate
before and the immediate afttr^ has
no formal extension.
Fifthly, the infinitesimal of time
corresponds to a movement by
which an infinitesimal of space is
described. And thus infinitesimals
of space, as considered in dynamics,
are real quantities. To deny that
such infinitesimals are real quanti-
ties would be the same, in fact, as
to deny the real extension of local
movement ; for this movement
flows and acquires its extension
through such infinitesimals only.
And the same is true of the infinite-
simal actions by which the rate of
local movement is continually mod-
ified. These latter infinitesimals
are evidently real quantities, though
Duraiion.
2St
infinitely less than any design able
quantify. They have an infinitesi-
mal intensity, and they cause an in-
finitesimal change in the rate of the
movement in an infinitesimal of
time.
Evolution of time. — The preceding
considerations lead us to understand
hoir it is that in any interval of time
there is but one absolute now al-
ways the same secundum rem^ but
changing, and therefore manifold
secundum raticmem, S. Thomas, in
his opuscule De Instantibus^ c. ii., ex-
plains this truth in the following
m'ords : " As a point to the line, so
is the now to the time. If we im-
agine a point at rest, we shall not
be able to find in it the causality of
any line; but if we imagine that
point to be in movement, then, al-
though it has no dimensions, and
consequently no divisibility in it-
self, it will nevertheless, from the
nature of its movement, mark out a
divisible line. . . . The point, how-
ever, does in no way belong to the
essence of the line ; for one and the
same real term, absolutely indivisi-
ble, cannot be at the same time in
difierent parts of the same perma-
nent continuum. . . . Hence the
mathematical point which by its
movement draws a line is neither
the line nor any part of the line;
hut, remaining one and the same^in
itself, it acquires different modes
of being. 'I'hese different modes
of being, which must be traced to
its movement, are really in the line,
irhilst the point, as such, has no
place in it. In the same manner,
an instant, which is the measure of
9 thin;; movable, and adheres to it
permanently, is one and the same
:is 'o ic^ absolute reality so long as
tlie substance of the thing remains
unimpaired, for the instant is. the
inseparable measure of its being ;
but the same instant becomes mani-
fold inasmuch as it is diversified by
its modes of being ; and it is this
its diversity that constitutes the
essence of time."*
From this explanation we may
infer that, as each point, or primi-
tive element, of matter has its own
now,, one in its absolute reality, but
manifold in its mode of being,
there are in nature as many mrws
describing distinct lines of time as
there are material points in move-
ment. Accordingly, there are as
many particular times as there are
elements moving in space. The
{Proposition that in time there is
only unuin instans in re is, therefore,
to be limited to the particular time
of one and the same subject of
motion. S. Thomas did not think
of this limitation, because he be-
lieved, according to the old astro-
nomical theory, that the movement
of \\\^ primtim mobile — that is, of the
supreme sphere — was the natural
measure of time ; and for this rea-
son he thought that, as the first
movement was one, time also was
one, and constituted the common
measure of all simultaneous move-
ments, f But the truth is that there
must be as many distinct particular
times as there are things actually
* Sicut punctum se habet ad lineare, ita se habel
nunc ad tempos. Si imaginemur punctum quiescere,
BOn poterimus imaginari ipsum esse causam Une« :
si vero imaginemur ipsum moveri, licet in ipso nulla
fit dimcnsio, ncc aliqua divisio per consequens, per
naturam tamen motus sui relinquitur aliquid divisi-
bile. . . . IVud tamen punctum non est de lineae es-
sentia ; quia nihil unum ct idem realitcr omnimodb
indivisibile potest simul in diversts partibus ejus-
dem continui permanentis esse. . . . Punctum ergo
mathematice imaginatum, quod motu suo causat
Imeam, necessario nihil lines erit : sed erit unum
secundum rem, et diversum secundum rationem ; et
hacc diversitas, qu« cousistit in motu suo, realiter
est in linea, non identitas sua secundum rem. . . .
Eodem Tero modo instans, quod est mensura mobilis
sequens ipsum, est unum secundum rem, quum
mhil pereat de substantia ipsius mobilis, cuius in-
stans est mensura inseparabilis, sed diversum et di-
versum secundum rationem. Et h»c ejus diversi-
tas est tempus essentialiter.
t Quia motus primus unus est, tempus est unum,
mensuians omncs motiu simul actoft. — Opuic 44,
Ih Um/ort^ c. a.
2SZ
Duration.
moving. This is a manifest conse-
quence of the doctrine wliich as-
similates a flowing now to a point
describing a line. For as every
point in movement describes a dis-
tinct line in space, so also must the
absolute now of every distinct being
describe by its flowing a distinct
line of time.
The general time, which we re»
gard as one successive duration, is
the duration of the movement from
the beginning of the world to our
day, conceived in the abstract — that
is, without reference to the particu-
lar beings concerned in the move-
ment. Time, when thus conceived,
is a mere abstraction ; whereas the
particular times of particular move-
ments are concrete in their con-
tinuous extension, notwithstanding
# their being represented by abstract
i « numbers. If we knew of any spe-
cial body created and put in move-
ment before any other body, we
might regard it as primum mobile^
and take its movement, if uniform,
as the natural measure or standard
of general time ; but as we know
of no such particular body, and as
we have reason to believe that the
creation of all matter was made in
one and the same moment, we are
led to admit an exceedingly great
multitude of prima mobiliay every
one of which was from the begin-
ning of time the subject of dura-
tion. It is clear that we cannot
reduce their distinct durations to
one general duration, except by
making abstraction of all particular
subjects, and considering move-
ment iji the abstract.
Nevertheless, as we inhabit the
earth, we usually restrict our con-
sideration of time to those periodi-
cal intervals of duration which
correspond to the periodical move-
ments we witness in, or from, our
planet ; and thus we take the dura-
tion of the diurnal or of the orbttt!
movement of the earth as cur-
standard for the measure of time.
If other planets are inhabited by
rational beings, it is obvious that
tl>eir time will be measured by
other standards, as their diurnal
and orbital movements diflTer from
those of our earth.
To the doctrine that time is
evolved by the flowing of a single
instant, S. Thomas adds an import-
ant remark to the effect that the
now of contingent things should
not be confounded with the now of
eternity. He proposes to himself"
the following objection : " To stand
and to move are not essential dif-
ferences, but only different manners
of being. But the now of eternity
is standing, and the noiv of time is
moving. The one, therefore, seems
to differ from the other in no-
thing but in the manner of being.
Hence the no7V of time would be
substantially the same as the now
of eternity, which is absurd."*
S. Thomas replies: "This can-
not be true, according to our doc-
trine ; for we have seen that eter-
nity and time differ essentially.
Moreover, when of two things the
one depends on the other as an ef-
fect from a cause, the two things
essentially differ; but the now of
eternity (which does not really dif-
fer from eternity itself) is the cause
of time and of the noiv of lime;
therefore the now of time and the
noiv of eternity are essentially dif-
ferent. Furthermore, the now of
time unites the past with the future,
which the no^v of eternity does not
do ; for in eternity there is no past
and no future, because eternity is
*Stani et movens ae non vtdentur diiTerre se-
cundum subsUuidam, t«d lolttin secundum ntioocm.
Nunc autem mtemitatis est stans, et nunc tcmporis
fluens ; quare non videntur diflerre nisi ntiooe sola
— /?/ ttmport^ c 4.
Duration.
253
together. Nor has the objec-
n any force. That to stand and
move do not constitute an essen-
ial difference is true of those
ings which are liable both to
and and to move ; but that which
ways stands without possibility
moving differs essentially from
at which always moves without
e possibility of standing. And
is is the case with the now of
mity on the one hand, and the
of time on the other."*
Beginning of time, — Here the
lucstlon aiises whether time must
ve had a beginning. Those who
ieve that the world could have
n created ab aterno will answer
at time could have existed with-
|ut a beginning. But we are con-
nced that the world could not be
eatcd ab aternoj and therefore
e maintain that time must have
cgun.
Our argument is drawn from the
ntingency of all things created.
The duration of a contingent be-
g cannot be without a beginning;
»r the contingent being itself must
ttave had a beginning. In fact, as
that cannot be annihilated which
lias never been in existence, so that
cannot be educed from nothing
which has never been nothing. It
is therefore necessary to admit that
every creature had a beginning of
*]ttt 000 ponant habere reritatem lecundum
tti qus dctctmiaata sunt. Visum est enim, quod
•lenutas et tempus essentialiter differunt. Item
qwBomiqae se habent ut causa et causatum, esaen-
tidilcr diflcruat ; nunc autem sotemitatiSf quum
Boadiffcratab atemitate nisi sola ratione, est causa
tcaporis, et nunc ipaius, ut dictum est. Quare
■ttic lemporis et nunc seternitatis essentialiter dif-
fcniBt. Pneteica nunc temporis est ccmtinuativum
pBteriti cum futuro ; nunc autem atemitatis noo
en oaatinuatiTum praeteriti cum futuro, quia in
Meraitaie nan est prius nee posterius, nee pneteri-
^, aec futurum, sed tota mtemitas eat tota simul.
Kcc ralet ratio in oppoaitum, quum dicitur quod
taas cc ineas aoo differunt per essentiam. Verum
est ia omai co qood cootingit stare et 6ttens esse ;
taaca staas quod aullo modo contansit fluere, et flu-
Mi^ qaod nnllo modo cootingit stare, differunt per
wwriwH , TaHa autem ioat miac mtemitatia, et
nac tcmperis.-»n»d.
its existence, and consequently of
its duration also; for nothing en-
dures but inasmuch as it exists.
Nor can this argument be evaded
by saying that a contingent being
may have initium natures^ without
having initium temporis. This dis-
tinction, though suggested and em*
ployed by S. Thomas, has no
foundation, because the beginning
of the created nature is the begin-
ning also of its duration ; and he
who concedes that' there must be
an initium natura cannot consis-
tently deny the initium temporis.
In fact, no contingent being can be
said to have been created, if there
was no instant in which it was
created ; in other terms, every
creature must be traced to the now
of its creation. But the now of its
creation is the beginning of its du-
ration no less than of its existence.
Surely, whatever has a first now
has a beginning of duration ; but
every creature has its first now — viz.,
the now of its creation ; therefore
every creature has a beginning of
duration. That the fww of creation
is the first now is self-evident ; for
the now of creation is that point of
duration in which the passage is
made from not being to being; and
therefore it marks the beginning of
the existence of the created being.
And since we cannot say that the
duration of the created being pre-
ceded its existence, we are bound
to conclude that the nowoi its crea-
tion is the beginning of its duration
as well as of its existence.
Some will object that we assume
what is to be proved — viz., the very
now of creation. For, if the world
had been created ab aternoy no now
of creation could be pointed out.
To this we answer that the now
of creation, whether we can point
it out determinately or not, must
always be admitted. To suppress
Dmratifitt,
IP
For,
r ^vr assniDe tLnl a li.:^ bad no
M.-^ x r^m.r.iL trr rrr c-rinp^flcd
irrrrr TT^ji'-ii. Ii jcicT rsiiis» if
::r— : '^ :.rs tt wir^iiin:! :f durar
t — . :- ¥ ^ «. w v^ n jct. :t never
jLo-* r. *i-i ix:i?enctt^ and it
Tt •- '^s^'i r-m ^o^~cHtiste^ce to
^ - ^ ''^^"j-.r — 'TiJLZ :s» :c is no
— „- -T -1 ^. i.r Ti je a creature
i - , - '-iVf^ 'r^m aon-exis-
JL'.: -u r^is
And
^ -we- :r •-; ."nv- .ue 'hat to cie*
UT -> '. »-**.»: 1 'cu-inirt^-Jt time.
■ 'r r: •--►>. ti:^' Jt i world
•T .r«v :^ s:.'''*t0 Vds Jiso been
^. ^ .. ..1 c :u'v««bit:iv ot aa
; >^" '1^ ^ ^s:*":^:^ T'le force
^ . ^ I' c> T'C. i-MTeifer* lie
^ .. >^ -*.-^ ji Alt miittite
'.--.> --:■•.:... vs. t-^ i«iv-r bieen
-^ •., «^ra.r'i — • ■: t '•^'^ -n the
-, -^^, * ■ ''-v.- ♦'^ I jc*^'.t;t:.^^ to
. ^ -* - ■■.I i ^ x.«*c^ I'-c'f: tor.
^•c > t •■! t ''c ^c*'*^*!' Ids i be-
>. * « 'iiK.ss, is we
^ >....., t \ v.-- , \t: a:t in-
^ ' ,, >i • ; ^ s •^^c ^>> be
-c., . •' .'^^i •• .:w^re
^ ^ •• . . . t^-^*' -r.^^ d*
• * . « - * -^ -
V
♦
l«
" Jf^
*. »
■^ . *. « ^ ^\
proved only by authority, and nol
by natural reason. He was there
fore obliged to maintain that tl
beginning of time could not be d(
monstrated by reason alone. ^' TU
newness of the world," says h(
^cannot be demonstrated from thei
consideration of the world itspll
because the principle of demonstn
tion is the quiddity of things. Noi
things, when considered as to theii
quiddity or species, do not involve
the JUc^t nunc ; an d for this reason th(
universals are said to be everywhen
and in all time. Hence it cann<
be demonstrated that man or an]
other thing did not always exist'
To this argument we respectfullyj
reply that, when the necessary con-j
ditions of a contingent fact are toj
be demonstrated, the principle of
demonstration is not the abstract;
quiddity, or intelligible essence, of
the things, but the contingency of
their actual existence. But it is
evident that whatever exists contin-
gently has been educed out of no-
thing. It is therefore necessary to
conclude that all contingent things
have had a first moment of exist-
ence and of duration.
The Angelic Doctor refers also to
a similitude by which some phi-
losophers mentioned by S. Augus-
tine undertook to explain the crea-
tion ah aterno. If a foot had been
,«,* ^Urno pressed on the dust, the
;ra;>ression made by it would be ab
*.V'4i,». In the same manner the
^ or!d might have been ab aterno :
ur God, its maker, is eternaLf But
« X^^isas anndt mm potest deaonstTatiooem
'•^-^;«r« tT parte ipsaos mundi. Demnostratiods
c r .a vTL-vtpium est quod quid est. Unumquod*
r t« xjceflKKCiiBd'jin radonerasuae speciei abstnhit
t ^ \ c ct auac ; propter quod dicttur quod anirir
^xi.^ >s3t abtqne et semper. Undo demonstiari aoo
rNvv-< <;*«'«i kono, aut caelum, aut hpis boh sem-
jv - :-n>id.
• Sv-jt cflim si pes ab Kteraitate semper foisset ia
3u Nvr^, temper sabesset Testi^um, quod a calcant^
«k.t-x-K aemo dabitazet, sic et m and us semper fnk,
exBCeate qui (ecic — Ibid.
Duration.
2S5
we humbly reply that the impres-
sion of the foot on the dust cannot
be ab ctterno if it is contingent.
For, if it is contingent, it has neces-
sarily a beginning of its existence,
and therefore of its duration also,
as we have already shown. What-
ever is made has a beginning of
duration. Hence the fathers of
the church, to prove that the divine
Word was not made, thought it
sufficient to point out the fact that
be was ab aterno like his Father.
S. Thomas, after stating his con-
clusion that the temporal beginning
of the world is not demonstrable,
but simply credible, remarks as fol-
lows : "And this should be kept in
mind, lest, by presuming to demon-
strate what is matter of faith by in-
sufficient proofs, we be laughed at
by the infidels, who may think that
on the strength of such proofs we
believe our articles of faith."*
This advice is good. But we need
not tell our readers that what we
hold as of faith we hold on divine
authority, irrespective of our phi-
losophical reasons.
Perpetuity of time. — That time
may go on without end is an evi-
dent truth. But will it go on for
ever, or will it cease at last ? To
this question we answer that time
will for ever continue. As long as
there will be movement there will
be tiir-e. There will ever be move-
ment ; therefore there will ever be
lime. The major of this syllogism
Tweeds no explanation ; for time is
nothing but the duration of move-
ment. The minor is quite certain.
For not only the rational creatures,
but the earth itself and other cor-
poreal things, will last for ever, as is
ihe common doctrine of philoso-
* Et hoe utile est ut coofadcretur, ne forte aliquis
qood fiidei est demonstrare pnesumeiis rationes non
Becemria* indacat^qiuB pnobeant matenam irri-
^f»S\ infidelibtis existiinantibus nos propter eiusmo-
dt raaones credere qua fidei sttnt.— Ibid.
phers, who hold that God will never
destroy what he has created. These
material things will therefore con-
tinue to celebrate God*s glory for
ever — that is, will continue to exert
their motive power and to bring
about divers movements ; for such
is their nature, and such their man-
ner of chanting the praises of their
Creator. Moreover, we know by
faith that we shall rise from death
and live for ever, and that the glo-
rious bodies of the saints will pos-
sess, besides other privileges, the
gift of agility, which would evident-
ly be of no use if there were to be
no local movement and no succes-
sion of time. Hence it follows that
time will last for ever.
And let no one say that the Sa-
cred Scriptures teach the contrary.
For wherever the Sacred Scriptures
mention the etid of time^ they speak,
not absolutely and universally, but
only with reference to certain par-
ticular periods or epochs of time
characterized by some special
events or manifestation of divine
Providence. Thus we read in the
Apocalypse that " there will be
time no more "^ — Tempusnon eritam-
plius — and yet we find that after
the end of that time there will be a
thousand years ; which shows that
the phrase "there will be time no
more " refers to the time of mercy
and conversion. Thus also we
read in Daniel that " time has its
end" — Quoniam habet tempus finem
suum — but we see by the context
that he speaks there of the Anti-
christian epoch, which of course
must have an end. And the like is
to be said of other similar passages.
The most we can admit in regard
to the cessation of time is that, ow-
ing to the great catastrophe and
the wonderful changes which the
consummation of the present epoch
shall bring about, the diurnal and
-^e me coikcept of eternity excludes
3: *r vrr and afUr.* Thus far S. Tho-
j 1.
T< ^I We may be allowed to remark on
— r-i. V. s passage that, according to ihe
D-inj pr:nc'4>ies which we have estab-
-.rr<-; ..i.ied in our articles on Substantia!
*:r tr G-rtaratians^\ not only the pure intcl-
L ^-Eces, but all primitive and cle-
si^inuTT substances are substan-
n^\r incorruptible, and have a fix- *
e-i ind permanent being. Hence
r -^r. -.r '-e disiinction made by the holy
» zT. r .c-i. C'ict-r between itvum and endless
rv-^ usT^js — ae ceases to have a foundation,
-r- \- — \..:s. ^^'^ ^^ whole difference between
-:.-. r-.. '^ :j --^^ er.dless duration of spiritual
iT.ii jf material changes will be re-
i:c5^ to this: that the movements
.'£' 5-.-.ntuaI substances are intellec-
s::>;c<: ^^* whereas those of the material
i: - i^v. ~ clenients are local.
I ...^ : s Tts fhrase ''*' before creatwnj* —
1 :.t, i '*^e otien hear of such expressions
...rr?. -i* L>.ese : ** Before creation there
- -,.:jC 'f^i^ ^^^ alone/' "Before creation
- lie ill- tLiere was no time," etct; and since
* >^.-« 5iiv:Ii expressions seem to involve a
cnrmdiction in terms, we think it
w_. not be superfluous to give their
n:iocal explanation. Of course, if
:lie words " before creation " be
anierstood absolutely — that is, ex-
cl^u:ng any creation either made
or iiua^^ined — those words will be
cjairadictory. For the preposition
_ -^^ i* A*
^ TV UV.-L-
^ U-J.-
«
*C«D modo didtar aetemitas mensura dando-
■M» '^ Mumptx similiter ae habcntts, nihil acquirentis
jx ruciTQ ct Bihil aauttentis in pnetcrito * et sic pf»-
v*£SKaie fiuucnr aeteroitas. S«cundo raodo dic>>
7ir . — ur a t CB. ■easura durationis ret habenck c«k
ijbia s£ ifjaflr, redpiends camen vices in opera-
«ctti Ju» saGfr . «c ceeniitas sic accepta propria dk^-
'•» 3Ajr««uEs: arram eaia est mensura eomm, quorum
fssc «c ^cxbtki, qTue tamen kabent successtoacm in
"*" M.'««^is sirs, sicat inteHigentiae. Tertio mod>
I *^ 4tv.<^jr n « e rqit as BMnsora durationis successivx ha-
» ^ • .» ' * " '
)«<H!» jrtuset po.t?rijs, carentis tamen principio
ec ine. v«i carcBtis fine et tamen babentts prindpi-
> ^*:>C ^ ^^ -toi 9C xcroi^ac saodo pooitor mundiis aetemus, Ecet
, ^ >csrxmruia veritntem sit temporalis : et ista impf9>
'^ ^''*^* ^"^ * ,*r>iae4nnr JadcuraBteraitas; rationi enimaetemitatii
V •. V** i.<k xpv^twt pdns ec postcrius. — Opusc , £>€ ttmp^rt,
. ^» "V•*••*'':^ «^5t«TtoCAT«oucWoBLO.May,x875,page2^
Duration,
257
Wf&r^ is relative, and implies suc-
cession ; and it is contradictory to
suppose succession without any-
thing capable of succession. When
no creature existed there could be
iM) 1 1 1 i n g flo w i n g f ro m before t o after ^
btrcause there was no movement,
there being nothinf; movable.
Nor can it be said that the now
of divine eternity gives us a suffi-
cient ground for imagining any ^^-
f^e and after without referring to
something exterior to God himself.
The naiif of eternity has in itself
neither before nor after ; and when
ve say that it is equivalent to all
imaginable time, we do not affirm
that it implies succession, but only
acknowledge that it is the supreme
reason of the possibility of succes-
i sion in created things. Hence,
when we use the phrase " Before
'' creation ** in an absolute sense, we
in fact take away all real before
; and all real after ; and thus the
words ** Before creation," taken
absolutely, iner l.e for-
gotten. More forcibly and clearly
than words did it convey the story
that some overwhelming deluge of
calamity had swept from her life
every vestige of earthly hope and
joy. By no outward token did
262
An Incident of t lie Reign of Terror.
she paraae her griefs. Her dress,
plain, even severe, iryfits perfect
neatness and simplicity, displayed
no mourning-badge, but her very
smile was an intimate revelation of
sorrow.
She was known by the title of
" Madame," though some of our
guests would now and then add,
when speaking of her in an under-
tone — not lost upon a small listener
like myself — ** la Comtesse." Her
waiting-maid, Celeste, was entirely
devoted to her, and always served
her slight and simple meals to her
in her own room.
Soon after her arrival I was sent
on some errand to madame*s apart-
ment, and her agitation upon seeing
me was a thing to be remembered
for a lifetime. She drew me to her
bosom, caressing me with many
tears, suppressed sobs, and rapid
exclamations in her own language.
I learned afterwards from Celeste
that I was of the same age and
bore a striking resemblance in form
and face to her daughter, who had
been torn from her in the storm
and turmoil of their escape. They
had been rescued by a faithful ser-
vant, and hurried off, more dead
than alive, in the fright, confusion,
and uproar of a terrible outbreak
in Paris, and had discovered, when
too late, that her daughter had been
separated from tliem and was miss-
ing. Their deliverer promised to
make every possible effort to find
the child, but Celeste had little
hope ; for slie had heard from the
servantof another lady, who escaped
later — but had never told her mis-
tress — that one of the women who
daily watched the carts which con-
veyed the victims to the guillotine
had averrc*d that she was sure she
saw the cliild among their number.
From the first I was a welcome
visitor in the lady's room. She en-
couraged me to pass all the time
with her which could be spared^
from household duties ; for in those
days every child was required ta
perform a portion of these. The-
schools in Hartford were, for the
most part, closed during that period,
that the buildings might be devot*
ed to the accommodation of the
strangers, who requited the kind-
ness by teaching the children of
each household where they were
entertained, daily. I was the
chosen pupil of madame. She
soon imparted sufficient knowledge
of the French to give her instruc-
tions in her own language. Never
was child blest with a more gentle
and painstaking teacher! To a
thorough course in the simple^
branches of study she added many
delicate accomplishments then un-
known in our country, and the
most patient training in all matters
connected with dress and deport-
ment. After lessons she would
hold long conversations with rae,
more profitable than the lessons
themselves, awakening interest by
suggestions and inquiries tending to
form habits of thinking, as well as
of acquiring knowledge. Then
such wonderful fairy tales as she
would relate ! I used to listen
perfectly entranced. Never have
I heard in English any fairy lore
that would compare with it. Trans-
lations we may have, but ilie faiiy
charm of the original is lost.
At that time the spirit of infidelity
and atheism which laid the train
for the horrors of the French Revo-
lution prevailed widely in our own
country. When too young to com-
prehend their import, I had often lis-
tened to warm discussions between
my father, who was strongly tinc-
tured with those opinions — while in
politics he was an ultra-democrat
— and my maternal grandfather, a
An Incident of the Reign of Terror.
263
High-Churchman and Tory. The
latter always insisted — and it was
all I understood of tlieir conversa-
tions — that it was impossible for a
government founded upon popular
unbelief and insubordination to
stand. He was utterly hopeless for
ours, not because it was democratic
in form, but because the people no
longer reverenced authority, had
ceased to be imbued with the first
principle of loyalty to God as Su-
preme Ruler, and to the "powers
that be " as his appointed instru-
ments. These subjects were themes
of constant debate, and were treated
with a warmth that commanded
even the notice of children.
Some of our guests affected a gay
and careless indifference to the
cbims of God and man that
amounted to a rejection of both ;
others vehemently denounced all
religion as a figment of priest-craft ;
wlnle still another class met such
questions with the solemnity arising
from a conviction of the tremen-
dous temporal and eternal interests
which they involved.
It was refreshing to steal away
from these evening debates in the
drawing-room to the peaceful at-
mosphere of madame's apartment.
I frequently found her saying her
beads, of which I knew nothing,
only that they were exceedingly
l>eautiful to the sight, and composr
ed of very costly materials. I used
to enter her room very quietly, and
lake my accustomed seat in silence,
until her devotions were closed.
Of her religion I knew no more
than tl)e name; but its evident in-
fluence upon every action of her
life left an indelible impression
upon i¥iy mind that it was a power
above and beyond any of the pre-
vailing forms around us. Siie nev-
er spoke expressly of her religion
to me, but the purely Christian lone
of her instructions upon all the du-
ties of life, social and domestic, ex-
emplified by her own conduct,
proved abundantly that it was more
than a mere sentiment or a name.
I was too young at that time to
reason upon these things, but, as I
have said, they left an indelible im-
pression, and, as life advanced, fur-
nished food for many reveries
which at length ripened into serious
thought.
How the weary months must have
dragged along for those exiled un-
fortunates! Yet the cheerfulness,
even gayety, with which they en-
dured their misfortunes and the
torturing suspense of their position,
was a matter of constant marvel to
their New England friends. They
watched the arrival of every ship
from France with intense anxiety,
and a renewal of grief and mourn-
ing was sure to follow the tidings it
brought. Yet the polite amenities
and courtesies of their daily life,
which seemed a part of their nature,
were never for a moment abated,
and in the wildest storm of grief
even the women never lost that ex-
quisite sense of propriety which
distinguishes their nation.
And so the time wore on until a
(:ertain memorable night in Septem-
ber, 1794. My father's residence
was situated upon an elevated
street which commanded a wide
view of the city and its environs.
How well I remember standing
with my sisters by the window of
our attic dormitory, looking out
upon the quiet city sleeping under
the calm light of the harvest moon,
on that never-to-be-forgotten night !
The contemplation of the scene
was too pleasant to be easily relin-
quished, and it was late before we
could turn away from its fascina-
tions to our rest. We were scarcely
lost in sleep when we were awakened
An Incident of ike Reign of Terror.
denly by a thrilling shout in
street, accompanied by the wild
zahs of an excited multitude,
hastened to tlie lower rooms,
re \vc found the strangers gath-
1 around tlie open nindows,
:1 which they were waving hand-
:hiefs, hats, and scarfs, and
gling their shouts wiili those of
1 the street the city crier moved
ig in advance of the crowd,
mted on a tall white horse, and
ry crossing he would pause and
It through a speaking-trumpet,
.■joice ! rejoice ! Robespierre,
tyrant, has fallen ! has fallen !"
■n followed the jubilant cheers
llic ra|>idly-increa!iing crowd.
I so lliey passed on through
■y s
iiy.
soui;hl uiadame's apartment,
found lier kneeling in the same
■it-nt atliiiide of humble devo-
wiih which I had so long been
ili.ir. Strange to say, my first
ud to others was one of dismal
relicnsion, and my first emotion
of inetr:ible sadness! Quick as
ii^hl came the painful assurance
ly heart that this was Ihe signal
my final separation from the
iig IVit-nd, ihe gentle teacher, to
\\\ 1 had become inexpressibly
rhfil. As she arose and ex-
h-il her arms towards me, I
w mysrlf into them, and, hiding
liiii- ill her bosom, gave way
burt.1 of uncontrollable grief.
(In were not neccssarv lo ex-
1 ii. ...tiif. Understanding it
I'l.iiw I , hlu- r.ircssed and sooih-
\i.' Mitli Msiiiranrcs of her urdy-
li...-, Muil lliiil she could never
I I.I I ..iiT to pray for the child
XI li.Mv.u h.id .Tppoinlcd lobe
ili.Mtii (I'liiiiilaiion under her
My apprehensions proved well
founded. The same ship which
brought tidings of the tyiant's fall
brought letters also lo ma'dame from
faithful friends, urging her immedi-
ate return to France-
My father accompanied her i.i
Boston, in order to make needful
preparation for her departure an
the next outward-bound vessel. I
was thrown into such an agony o(
grief at the thought of parting with
her that madame begged I might
be permitted to go with them, urg-
ing that the change of scene and a
visit lo relatives in Boston might
divert my thoughts and soothe the
biiicr anguish of my young heart.
He consented, and, when we reach-
ed llie city, he left us at ihe house
of his sister, where I found niv
cousins all eog.iged preparing for
an examination and exhibition
which was to take place the next
day lo close the term of the school
they were attending, on the same
street and near by.
'I'hey insisted that I should go
with them, and madame dressed nic
in a while muslin with a blue sasli
She then hung the locket you sn
much admire, suspended from a
delicate gold chain, around my neck,
and I set off wiih my consins.
U'e found the girls grouped to-
gether in great glee, awaiting ihe
opening exercises. In the centre
of the group was a fair and grace-
ful girl, near my onn age and siw,
with a large basket containing bou-
quets of flowers arranged wiih ad-
mirable taste, which the girls were
purchasing for themselves and to
decorate the school-room.
My cousins replied to my ques-
tions about the voung sir.inner:
"Oh! we call her Ihe little flo'^ifer
girl. She lives with a f^irnierjust
out of the cily. The family are
very fond of her, and he gives her
Af^ Incident of tke Reign of Terror.
265
a little place in the gaiden to culti-
vate flowers, and lets her come with
liim on market days to sell them for
herself in the city. She heard of
what was going on here, and thought
this would be a good market for
her bouquets ; and so it has been,
for she has sold them all."
For some reason I could not
turn my eyes from the child. There
seemed to be a mutual fascination
which drew us together, and I ob-
ser\'ed she was looking intently
and with much emotion at the
locket I wore. I asked her why
she was so much interested in it.
She answered with a slight French
accent: '* My mamma had such a
locket, and all the ladies of the
queen's household wore them."
*' And wiiere is your mamma .^" I
inquired.
*' Alas! I do not know if she is
living. I lost her in a great crowd
in the streets of Paris, and was so
frightened at the horrors around
nic that I remember nothing until
I found myself on board the ship
which brought me here. How I
came there I never knew. The
kind-hcnrted farmer with whom I
live was on the wharf when we
landed, and, in great pity for my
bewildering loneliness and grief,
took me to his home, where I have
since received every attention and
sympathy."
Almost sinking under agitation, I
turned to my cousins, who had been
too much occupied with their own
affairs to notice us, and faintly
gasped: "She is, she must be,
the daughter for whom madame
mourns !"
At the bare suggestion all else
was forgotten ! There was an im-
petuous huddling of our electrified
conq)anions around the bewildered
htllc stranger, and a petition that
the school exercises might be de-
layed until they could escort her to
my aunt and learn whether my
conjecture was true. So great
was their excitement that it was
useless to deny the request, and we
led our heroine olT with hasty steps.
On the way we decided that my
aunt should break the matter gen-
tly to madame, and introduce the
child to her in her room.
There was no need of an intro-
duction ! The morfient their eyes
met the exclamations " Antoinette !"
"Mamma!" burst from their lips,
and my aunt left them locked in a
close embrace. The scene was too
sacred for intrusion !
The news flew with the speed of
the wind, and there were great re-
joicings far and near over the
timely discovery brought about by
means of the locket, which madame
bestowed upon me (after remov-
ing the knot of hair, too precious,
as a relic of her lamented queen
and the Princess Elizabeth, to* be
relinquished) in memory of this
joyful event, and as a souvenir of
the beloved friend and teacher with
whom I had passed so many happy
and profitable hours.
Soon after the reunion of the
mother and child they sailed for
France, and I returned with iny
father to a home which was now
bereft of a charm that could never
be replaced or restored. But my
sympathy with their joy was too
sincere to be chilled by selfish re-
grets.
During my father's stay in Bos-
ton he made some final arrange-
ments connected with a large terri-
tory of wild lands which he had re-
ceived from the government in par-
tial requital of his services in the
army.
To that distant wilderness he re-
moved his family immediately after
our return. The absence of mail
The Charities of Rome. I
::a such remote marlced by many changes and sot- I
liayi, was d",«l)t- rows, I have cherislied grateful
hy »■« n-jver re- memories of ilic early lessons I n
=^i :V;nj one who ceivcd from lier lips, and ihey havt
n ,1^ :i-.e i.ivoted proved, llirough their influence up-
2:;:;a;nt:d angels on my religious and moral being, a
legacy far more precious ihan a
^ of mr forest thousand cAskets of gold and pre-
:^i a long life cious stones.
THE CHARITIES OF ROME.
-!;%;.■■:* -\iv:i:s cbarity as Rome, and in none a
■.,- 1:: .;■.:,■ .-.Lr^e the hospitals more magnificently
.:..■•.■ ..:t, i~i I'jdged or endowed with n
;o-- .■.":•; , "^ ^- princely liberality. Theannuale'n-
. : cit : ; v-i-- downients of these establishments
:■ .i: , ;■.! :tr« no less (lian 158,390 scudi.de-
.:,■■.- ■ ; ■ i r-ivid from lands and houses, f
^' -, ... ,-. .-.: .".r": jLrani*, and frcm the papa! frea-
,■ ■-- 1 i :>.; \Viien S. Peter entered Rome
.i.-s~ -t .; ;;■.-- i">t the first time, and looked upon
, : r,'-^ ,-. -;\;:>i the miser.iule condition of those
■ -, ■,,- ,• rv -. ",-■.;- whom the favors of fortune were
,-,;; : ■. -.: i* rv>s- nied, lie rec.illed to mind the n*(
.v- ■■.,-~^:.-^ ;o addressed to his forefathers about
. ^,- ,-, :"-,-js n-,-.;;- to enter into the promised land;
■: ■ L, : *;t,;Vj: up "There shall be no poor nor beggar
■. -i ■.. -crt [vn- among you : that the Lord thy God
, , ; •■.v'.i ".;ive may bless thee in (he land ivliicli
; ■ %., •';:■;>■ s'.i-.w lie giveth thee to possess" (Deut,
:„.; i' i^- -.v.;:::^ J kv. 4), and saw before him one of
,* ,■: : '; ;v\>,i- the greatest obstacles to be over-
u,. « . ■: li 01 come — involving a change of what
iv .■.\ ;\ >:,'\; in was second nature to the Romans
,• ■ .; \.M- >:.:r- Ci.udness of heart), thev being, ai
. ■ V ^ ;■,■ ; -:;.al S, Paul wrote (Rom. i. 31), "willi-
,■,-■ .■; ,;■ : L'-.-.i. o'.it affection, without mercy"—
. V -^ ,> l*- ■;.-4t- hut knowing that it was aiso said in
•v- ,.," ; :;: K,;-.!;:. t'-e s;iine holy text ' Poor will not
,',• ^;.t- -.■•is i>f l>e wanting in the I.md: therefore I
■■. ..'.■ -^ ■."-''. "" uw command ihee to open thy liand
<v ■•.• .-. -■ ■■^.:.>"i- to ihv need V and poor brother," and
v:-'. V-: i-.-'-iiC having heaid the blessed Lord Je-
The Charities of Rome.
267
sus say of tlie new dispensation,
**The poor ye have always with
you," he understood that God's
object was not to forbid mendicity,
but to leave no room for it. There-
fore to the rich and powerful, when
brought by grace to his apostolic
feet, he enjoined : " Deal thy bread
to the hungry, and bring the needy
and the harborless into thy house "
(Isaias Iviii, 7). The faith of the
Roman Christians was illustrious
throughout the world, and so was
their charity. From the days of
S. Peter it had been customary to
take up collections on Sundays in
all the congregations of the city for
the relief of the confessors con-
demned to labor in the public
mines and other works, or lan-
guishing in prison, or wandering in
exile; and Eusebius has pre-
served in his Ecclesiastical History
(lib. iv. cap. 23) the testimony of
Dionysius, Bishop of Corinth (161-
i92),in favor of the long-established
charitable institutions of the Ro-
mans, and in praise, at the same
time, of the piety of his contempora-
ry, Pope S. Soter, who not only re-
tained these customs of his people,
but surpassed them in sending
money to the Christians of other
parts of the world, and in receiv-
nig, as though they were his own
riultjren, all faithful pilgrims to
R«>mc. In the year 236 Pope S.
F.iliian gave charge of the poor
••I Rome to seven deacons each of
^^Immi) superintended two of the
tuuntrcn civil divisions or regions,
whence ihey were called region-
iiry deacons. A memorial of
ilicir occupation still remains in
tlic dalmatic, or deacon's vestment,
ilje wide sleeves of which served
originally for pockets ; and Pope
Innocent III., in his treatise on the
Mass, remarks that this kind of dress
is attributed to deacons because, in
the first institution of their order*
the distribution of alms wai; assign-
ed to them. A council of the IVth
century, held under Pope Sylvester,
decreed that one- fourth part of the
church revenues should be set
apart for the poor. S. Jeron»e at-
tests in one of his letters that a no-
ble matron named Fabiola erected
a hospital in the year 400; and
about the same time S. Gallicanus,
a man of consular dignity, who had
also been honored with a triumph,
becoming a Christian, founded a
similar institution at the mouth of
the Tiber for the accommodation
of pilgrims and of the sick. He
waited upon them in person. In
1869 Rome had a population of
about 220,000 inhabitants, and, al-
though the climate is not unhealthy,
it is hardly one of the most salubri-
ous in the world. The low land
upon which a great part of the mod-
ern city is built ; the turbid Tiber,
which, passing through it in a
winding course, is apt to overflow
its banks>; the open position of the
city, which is exposed, according to
the season, either to the sultry Afri-
can wind or to the piercing blasts
from the neighboring mountains ;
and the large floating population,
which is everywhere a likely subject
ofdisease, combine to make it desira-
ble that Rome should be well provid-
ed with institutions of succor andre-
lief. While under papal rule, she
was not wanting in this respect, but
was even abundantly and excellent-
ly supplied.
Man, being composed of spirit
and matter, having consequently a
soul and a body to look after, has
wants of two kinds, corresponding
to the twofold claims of his nature.
We should therefore divide the
charities man is capable of receiv-
ing into two classes. He received
them in Rome with a generous
I
* to tlie
The Charities of Rome.
269
talents to the poor. The cashier,
Prince Borghese, gave, besides his
services, a part of his magnificent
IKilace io be turned into offices for
the business transactions of the
bank.
The Apostolic Almonry in the
Vatican next claimed our attention
in the quiet days of the Pope.
From the earliest period the vicars
of Christ have made it a practice
to visit in person the poor, and dis-
tribute alms with their own hands,
in love and imitation of Him who
** went about doing good." As the
wealth of the church in Rome in-
creased, it was found necessary for
the better ordering of things to
have some administrative assistance
in ilie distribution of these private
charities. S. Conon I., in the Vllth
<cnlury, employed the arch-priest
Paschal to dispense the bounty of
the privy purse; and in the year
1271 Blessed Gregory X. created
the perpetual office of grand al-
moner in the i)apal court. This
ofticer is always an archbishop in
partibus^ and lives under the same
roof as the Holy Father, in order
to be ready at all times to receive
his commands. Besides the many
!»tanding largitions issued from the
(trand Almonry, there were occa-
sional ones, such as the largess of
8300 which was distributed in the
great court-yard of Bclvidere on
each anniversary of the Pope's
coronation. This sum was doub-
led the first year. On each of the
following civil or religious festivals,
Christmas, Easter, and Coronation
day, $165 were divided among a
certain number of the best-be-
haved prisoners confined in Rome.
About J650 a month were paid out
either at the word of the sovereign
or on his order; while a sum of
$2,000 was annually divided among
one hundred poor families. Be-
sides this, the Grand Almonry sup-
ported a number of free schools,
dispensed food and medicines, and
performed many acts of more se-
cret charitv. A memorial of the
earlier personal distribution of alms
by the popes is retained in the Sue-
cinctorium^ which they wear in sol-
emn pontificals. It is an ornament
of silk of tl)e color of the feast,
fringed with gold, and suspended
down the left side from the girdle.
On Good Friday the succinctory is
not worn, in execration of the evil
use Judas Iscariot made of the
purse when he betrayed our Lord
for thirty pieces of silver.
Another of the great charities
of Rome was the Commission of
Subsidies established by Pope Leo
XI L, in 1826, to give assistance
and employment to poor but hon-
est people, willing to help themselves
if they could find the opportunity.
The whole tendency of Roman char-
ities under the popes was to frown up-
on sloth and vagrancy, and encour-
age self-reliance and mutual support;
for S. Paul wrote to the Thessaloni-
ans (2, iii. 10) : " If any man will not
work, neither let him eat." The
commission received a yearly sub-
sidy from government of $88,500.
In each of the fourteen rioni or
wards of the city a physician, sur-
geon, pharmacist, and midwife ren-
dered gratuitous services under its
control. It was by the judicious
employment of such men, thrown
on the hands of the commission,
that within the last thirty years so
much was done in making excava-
tions in and about Rome in search
of antiquities and in studying its
ancient topography. We have some-
times heard English and American
sight-seers make brutal remarks
about " those dirty, lazy Romans,"
as they would stop a moment to
look at some party of these poof
The Charities of Ronu.
taking their work so easily
'orum,ontliePalatine,oreIsc-
biit we should rather .ip-
Itie paternal government
rained from calling poverty
1 or driving the poor and
:o their work like galiey-
and while contributing a
IS support, gave them enough
I save their self-respect.
iich thing as work-houses,
English sense, have ever
iiaintatned where Catholic
eshave predominated; and
we may thank God.
ler category of Roman char-
mpiised the confraterniiies.
ssiiciutions for purposes of
id mutual help convey in
me the idea of brotherli-
d union. There were no
lan ninety-one confraterni-
ome under tlie popes. The
ind most famous of these
in 1460 by tiie Dominican
John Torqiieniada, in
laria-in-Minerva, the head
i his order in Rome." Its
r object was to give por-
poor but virtuous young
that they might either mar-
nler a religious house if
a vocation. On the t^^ti
), Ladyday, the pope, car-
nd prelates, with the rest
lurt, used to assist at Mass
:hurch, and preside at the
on of dowers which follow-
■diately. The girls were
rested in plain white; such
Kiiirn.-(1 their choice of the
Spouse being distinguish-
wreath on the head. On
sion the ponlilT gave one
f;olden scudi, and each
ta Cillulici. line* il hu b<
»Archbiibop of ^cm
cardinal present gave one, to the
funds of the confraternity. There
were fourteen other confraternities
that had the same object, ahhougli
carried out with less solemnity. In
this way $42,000 used to be expend-
ed annually.
The Confraternity of the Twelve
Apostles made it a special point lo
find out and relieve in a delicate
manner those who. having known
better days, were fallen into reduc-
ed circumstances. The Confrater-
nity of Prayer and Death buried
the dead; and if an accident in
or about Rome was reported in
which life was lost, a party was de-
tailed to go and bring the body
in decently for Christian burial.
Sometimes a poor herdsman on the
Campagna had been gored by an
ox, or some fellow had been swept
away and drowned in the Tiber, or
perhaps a reaper been prostrated
by the heat ; at whatever hour 01
the day or night, and at all seasons
a band of this confraternity weni
out, and returned carrying the un-
fortunate person on a stretcher
upon their shoulders. It must be
remarked in this connection* that
the members of the confraternity
always observed the laws concern-
ing deatlis of this kind, not inter-
fering with, but merely placing
themselves at the disposal of, the
officers of justice, to give a body
burial at their own expense and in
consecrated ground. The Confra-
ternity of Pity for Prisoners was
founded in 1575 by Father John
Tallter, a French Jesuit. It pro-
vided religious instruction for pris-
oners, distributed objects of piety
among them, looked afier their
families if destitute, and assisted
them to pay their debts and fines
if they had any. The Confratemitv
of S. John Baptist was composed
exclusively of Florentines and the
The Charities of Rot»te,
271
descendants of Florentines. Its
object was to comfort arrd assist to
ihe last, criminals condemned to
death. As decapitation was the
mode of judicial punishment, S.
John Baptist, who was slain by He-
rod, was their patron, and his head
on a charger the arms of the con-
fraternity. Although there were
so many confraternities and other
pious associations in Rome, con-
nected by their object with institu-
tions of every kind, sanitary, cor-
rective, etc., they were very careful
never to interfere with the regula-
tions of such establishments ; and
consequently, by minding their own
business, they were not in the way
of the officials, but, on the contrary,
were looked upon as valuable as-
sistants. The Society of S. Vin-
cent of Paul was started in Rome
in 1842 by the late venerable Father
deRavignan, SJ. It counted tvyen-
ty-eight conferences and one thous-
3ind active members, clergy and lay-
men, titled folks and trades-people
all working harmoniously together.
About $2,100 was annually dispens-
ed by the society. . The Congrega-
tion of Ladies was founded in 1853 by
Monsignor — now Cardinal — Borro-
meo to give work, especially needle-
work, to young women out of em-
ployment. A great many ecclesias-
tical vestments were thus made
under the direction of the ladies,
^nd either sent as presents to poor
missions, or sold, for what they
would bring, at the annual fair
held for the purpose of disposing
of them.
There were seven public hospi-
tals in Rome, under the immediate
direction of a general board of ad-
ministration composed of twelve
members, of whom three belonged
to the clergy and the rest to the
laity. The oldest, largest, and best-
appointed institution of this kind
was Santo Spirito, situated in the
Leonine quarter of the city, on the
border of the Tiber. Its site has
been occupied by a charitable in-
stitution ever since a.d. 728 ; the
earliest building having been found-
ed there for his countrymen by
Ina, King of Wessex. For this rea-
son the whole pile of buildings is
called Santo Spirito /// Saxia — /.^.,
in the quarter of the (West) Saxons.
There are three distinct establish-
ments under the administration of
Santo Spirito — viz., the hospital it-
self, the Foundling Hospital, and
the Lunatic Asylum. The first was
founded by Pope Innocent III. in
1 198, the Saxons having abandoned
this locality for a more central po-
sition — the present S. Thomas-of-
the-English. It has received since
then many additions, until it has as-
sumed the enormous proportions
that we now admire. Every improve-
ment was made to keep pace with
the advance of hygienic knowledge.
This hospital was for men only. It
had 1,616 beds and an annual aver-
age of 14,000 patients. The wards
were twelve in number, in which the
cleanliness was refreshing, the ven-
tilation excellent, and the water-
supply pure and abundant. The
principal parts of the exterior, and
some of the interior parts of the
building, were by distinguished
architects ; while some of the wards
had their ceilings and upper walls
painted in fresco with scenes from
Sacred Scripture, such as the suffer-
ings of Job and the miraculous cures
made by our Lord. Not only the
eye but the ear too of the poor pa-
tients was pleased ; for three times a
week they were entertained with
organ music from a lofty choir
erected at one end of the largest
wards. The spiritual care of the
sick was perfect ; it was impossible
for any one to die without the rites
272
The Charities of Rofne.
of the cluirch. In the centre of
every ward tliere was a fixed altar,
upon which Mass was said daily.
The Confraternity of Santo S[)irito,
troniposed of clergy and laymen, as-
sisted the regular ministers of reli-
gion in attendance day and niglit.
These volunteers brought flowers
to the patients, read to them, pre-
pared them for confession and otlier
sacraments, and disposed them to
die a good death, besides perform-
ing for them the most menial ser-
vices.
We remember to have read a let-
ter addressed to the New Yov\i Post
by an eminent Protestant clergyman
of New York, in which, after de-
scribing this institution (then under
papal rule), he said that he could
not speak too highly of the excel-
lent attendance the patients receiv-
ed from the kind-hearted religious
wiio were stationed there, and add-
ed that if ever he had to come to a
hospital, he hoped it would be
Santo Spirito. The Foundling Hos-
pital was opened by Pope Innocent
III. ; and the Lunatic Asylum, for
both sexes, was founded in 1548 by
three Spaniards, a priest and two
lavmen. It was called the House
of Our Lady of Mercy. A fine
garden on the Janiculum Hill was
attached to it for the recreation of
the patients. We do not know how
it is conducted since it has changed
hands, but formerly it was managed
on the system of kindness towards
even the fiercest madmen, using
only so much restraint as was posi-
tively necessary. It was then under
the care of religious. The Hospi-
tiil of the Santissimo Salvatore, near
St. John of Lateran, was founded
in 1236 by a Cardinal Colonna.
It was for women onlv. Another
Cardinal Colonna founded the Hos-
pital of S. James, for incurables, in
«339- Our Lady of Consolation
was a fine hosoital near the Foruui
for the maimed and wounded : while
San Gallicano, on the other side of
the river, was for fevers and skin*
diseases. San Rocco was a small
lying-in hospital, with accommoda-
tion for 26 women. It was founded
at the beginning of the XVIIth
century by a Cardinal Salviati.
The most delicate precautions were
always used there to save any sense
of honor that might still cling to a
victim of frailtv. Guilt could at
least blush unnoticed. The Santis-
sima Triniti was founded bv S.
Philip Neri for convalescents of
both sexes and for poor pilgrims.
It could lodge 488 patients, had
beds for 500 pilgrims, and table-
room for 900. In the great refec-
tory of this building the members
of the confraternity came on every
Holy Thursday evening to wash the
feet of the pilgrims and wait on
them at table. Of course the two
sexes were in different parts of the
building, and each was attended by
its own. We remember the delight-
ful ardor with which the late Car-
dinal Barnabo on such occasions
would turn up his sleeves, twitch
his apron, and, going down on his
knees, give some ])oor man's feet a
better washinc; than thev had had
before in a year. There was much
raising of soap-suds in that wooden
tub, and a real, earnest kiss on one
foot when the washing was over.
The Hospital of S. Joiin (^alabyta
was so called from a Spaniard, the
founder of the Brothers of Charity
(commonly called the Benfratdli)^
who attended it. It was opened in
1581, on the island of the Tiber;
and by a coincidence then perhaps
unknown, but since fully brought
to light, it stood on the very site of
an asclepium which the priests of Es-
culapius kept near their god's temple
two thousand years ago. The Hos-
The CkaHties of Rome.
273
pital of Santa Galla was founded in
1650 by the princely Odescalchi
family. It gave a night asylum to
homeless men. There were 224
beds, distributed through nine
dormitories. Another night refuge,
called S. Aloysius, was founded
about the year 1730 by Father Gal-
luzzi, a Florentine Jesuit. It is for
women. We can get some idea of
the great charity such refuges are
when we know that during the year
ending December, 1869, no less than
iJSJboo persons sought a resting-
place at night in the station-houses
of New^ York. Besides these pub-
lic hospitals, almost every Catholic
country had a private national one.
One of the picturesque and not
least of the Roman charities used
to be the daily distribution of food
at the gates of monasteries, con-
vents, and nunneries, the portals of
palaces, and the doors of seminaries,
colleges, and boarding-schools. •
With all this liberality, there was
still some room for hand-alms.
There used to be beggars in Rome ;
assassins have taken their place.
Under the papal government a limit
was put to beggary, and we have
never seen the sturdy beggar who
figures so maliciously in some Pro-
ttstani books about Rome. Beg-
gary may become an evil ; it is not
a crime. We confess to liking beg-
gars if ihey are not too numerous
and importunate. Few scenes have
seemed to us more venerable, pic-
turesque, and Christian than the
double row of beggars, with their
sores and crippled limbs, their
sticks and battered hats and out-
stretched hands, imploring per ^
atnore di Dio^ as we pass between
them to the church or cemetery or
oilier holy place on feast-day after-
noons in Rome.
The Hospice of San Michele was
founded in 1686 by a Cardinal
VOL. xxn. — 18
Odescalchi. In this asylum nearly
800 persons used to be received.
They were divided into four classes
— old men, old women, boys, and
girls. The institution had an an-
nual endowment of ||52,ooo; but
some years ago the aged of both
sexes were removed elsewhere, and
their part of the building was con-
verted into a house of correction
for women and juvenile offenders.
The hospice, in its strict sense, now
consists of a House of Industry
for children of both sexes, and a
gratuitous school of the industrial
and fine arts. The carping author
of Murray's Hand-book (1869), al-
though he acknowledges that this
school of arts has produced some
eminent men, says that " the edu-
cation of the boys might be turned,
perhaps, to more practically useful
objects !" As if, forsooth, it were a
lesser charity, in the great home of
the arts that Rome is, to help a
poor lad of talent to become an ar-
chitect, for instance, than to make
him a tailor ! The orphan asylum
of Saint Mary of the Angels was
near the Baths of Diocletian. The
boys numbered 450, under the care
of male religious, and the girls 500,
under that of female religious.
The institution received annually
338,000 from the Commission of
Subsidies. In the same quarter of
the city is the Deaf and Dumb Asy-
lum. It was opened in 1794 by
Father Silvestri, who had been sent
to Paris by Pope Pius VI. to re-
ceive instruction from the celebrat-
ed Abbti de I'Epde in the art cf
teaching this class of unfortunates.
Visitors to the house are made wel-
come, and are often invited to test
the knowledge of the pupils by ask-
ing them questions on the black-
board. The first time we called
there was in 1862, and, having ask-
ed one of the boys, taken at hazard,
274
The Charities of Rome.
who was the first President of the
United States, we were a little sur-
prised (having thought to puzzle
him) to have the correct answer at
once. The House of Converts
was an establishment where per-
sons who wished to become Catho-
lics were received for a time and
instructed in the faith. It was
founded in 1600 by a priest of the
Oratory. Other interesting hos-
pices were the Widows' Home and
the House for Aged Priests, where
the veterans of the Roman clergy
could end their days in honorable
comfort. A peculiar class of Ro-
man charities \vere the conservato-
ries. They were twenty-three in
number. Some of them were for
penance, others for change of life,
and others again to shield unpro-
tected virtue. The Infant Asylum
was a flourishing institution direct-
ed by female religious. Even fash-
ion was made to do something for
it, since a noble lady years ago sug-
gested that the members of good
society in Rome should dispense
with their mutual New Year visits
on condition of giving three pauls
(a small sum of money) to the asy-
lum, and having their names pub-
lished in the official journal.
The Society for the Propagation '
of the Faith was established at
Rome in 1834. No city of the size
and population of Rome was better
supplied with free schools of every
description. The night-schools
were first opened in 1819. In con-
nection with studies we should
mention the liberal presents of
books, vestments, and liturgical ar-
ticles made to young missionaries
by the Propaganda, and the books
on learned subjects, which, being
printed at government expense, were
sold at a reduced price to students
of every nation on showing a cer-
tificate from one of their professors.
It is written (Matthew iv. 4),
"Man liveth not by bread alone**;
and consequently Rome multiplied
those pious houses of retreat in
which the soul could rest for a time
from the cares of life. There were
five such establishments in the
city. Another great Roman char-
ity was the missions preached by
thf^Jesuits and Franciscans in and
around the city, thus bringing the
truths of the Gospel constantly be-
fore the people. We have given
but a brief sketch of our subject.
It has been treated in a complete
manner by Cardinal Morichini in a
new and revised edition of his in-
teresting work entitled DegP Istituti
di Pubblica Cariid. ed isiruzione prt-
tnaria e delie prigioni in Roma,
Sang. « 275
SONG.
I.
When in the long and lonely night
That brings no slumber to mine eyes,
Through dark returns the vision bright,
The face and form that day denies,
And, like a solitary star
Revealed above a stormy sea,
Thy spirit soothes me from afar,
I mourn thee not, nor weep for thee.
II.
And when I watch the dawn afar
Awake her sleeping sister night,
And overhead the dying star
Return into her parent light,
And in the breaking day discern
The glimmer «f eternity,
The goal, the peace, for which I yearn,
I mourn thee not, nor weep for thee.
in.
And when the melancholy eve
Brings back the hour akin to tears.
And through the twilight I perceive
The settled, strong, abiding spheres.
And gently on ray heart opprest
Like dew descending silently.
There falls a portion of thy rest,
I mourn thee not, nor weep for thee.
IV.
But when once more the stir of life
Makes all these busy highways loud^
And fretted by the jarring strife,
The noisy humors of the crowd,
The subtle, sweet suggestions born
Of silence fail, and memory
Consoles no more, I mourn, I mourn
That thou art not, and weep for thee.
2^6
Progress versus Grooves.
PROGRESS VERSUS GROOVES.
" How do you like your new min-
ister, Mrs. B. ?*'
" Very much indeed ! He is
progressive — is not fixed in any of
the old grooves. His mind does
not run in those ancient ruts that
forbid advance and baffle modern
thought."
How strangely this colloquy be-
tween a Methodist and Congrega-
tionalist fell upon the Catholic ear
of their mutual friend ! Comment,
however, was discreetly forborne.
That friend had learned in the very
infancy of a Catholic life, begin-
ning at the mature age of thirty-
five by the register, the futility of
controversy, and that the pearls of
truth are too precious to be care-
lessly thrown away. Strangely
enough tliese expressions affected
one whose habits of thought and
conduct had been silently forming
in accordvince with that life for
twenty-five years !
" Old grooves" indeed ! Lucifer
found them utterly irreconcilable
with his " advanced ideas" in hea- .
ven. Confessedly, the success of
his progressive enterprise was not
encouraging ; but the battle and
its results established his unques-
tionable claim as captain and lead-
er of the sons and daughters of
progress for all time.
"Modern thought!" So far as
we can discover, the best it has
done for its disciples is to prove to
^them beyond a doubt that their
dear grandpapa of eld was an ape,
and that they, when they shake off
this mortal coil, will be gathered to
their ancestors in common with
their brethren, the modern mon-
keys !
We, who believe the authentic
history of the past, can see in this
boasted new railroad, upon which
the freight of modern science and
advanced civilization is borne, a
pathway as old as the time when
our dear, credulous old grandmam-
ma received a morning call in
Eden from the oldest brothef of
these scientific gentlemen, who con-
vinced her in the course of their
pleasant chat that poor deluded
Adam and herself were fastened in
the most irrational rut — a perfect
outrage upon common sense — and
that a very slight repast upon " ad-
vanced ideas" would lift them out
of it, emancipate thought, and
make them as " gods knowing good
an# evil."
We all know how well they sue- J
ceeded in their first step on the
highway of progress. They lost a
beautiful garden, it is true, of limit-
ed dimensions, but they gained a
world of boundless space, and a
freedom of thought and action
which was first successfully and
completely illustrated by their first-
born son when he murmured,
"Why.?" and killed his brother,
who was evidently attached to
grooves.
They left the heritage thus gain-
ed to a large proportion of their
descendants. A minority of thera,
it is true, prefer to "seek out the
old paths " of obedience to the
commands of God, " and walk
therein " — to shun the " broad
road " along which modern civili-
zation is rolling its countless throngs,
and to " enter in at the strait
gate " which leadeth to life eternal,
to the great disgust of the disciples
Traces of an Indian Legend.
277
of modem thought, who spare no
effort to prove their exceeding lib-
erality by persecuting such with
derision^ calumny, chains, impri-
sonment, and death !
Thank God this is all they can
do ! Rage they never so furiously,
He that sitteth in the heavens laughs
them to scorn. He will defend and
preserve his anointed against all the
combined hosts of Bismarks, kai-
sers, and robber princes, who illus-
trate the liberal ideas that govern
the march of modern civilization.
TRACES OF AN INDIAN LEGEND.
It has been said of our energetic
republic that it had no infancy;
that it sprang into a vigorous and
complete existence at a bound.
However true this may be with re-
spect to its material structure in
the hands of the remarkable men
who first planted colonies on Amer-
ican soil, there is another view of
the picture which presents widely
different features.
To the eye of the Christian phi-
losopher the religious and moral as-
pects of our country to this day
afford subjects for anything but sat-
isfactory reflection.
The pioneers of civilization along
the northeastern borders of our
territory were — whatever their pro-
fessions to the contrary may have
been — worshippers of material pros-
perity. The worship of God and
t)ie claims of religion were indeed
important and proper in their place
for a portion of the seventh part
of each week, but the moment they
came in conflict with Mammon
tiiere was little question which
should yield. It was not to be ex-
|)ected that the saints whom the
Wd had specially chosen, and un-
to whom " He had given the earth,**
should be diverted from their pur-
suit of the great *' main chance** by
precepts which were applicable only
to ordinary and less favored mor-
tals.
Whatever progress the cliurch
has yet achieved in this region
is the result of appalling labors
and sacrifices. The foundation
was laid in sufferings, fatigues,
and perils, from the contemplation
of which the self-indulgent Chris-
tians of our day would shrink
aghast ; laid long before the so-
called Pilgrim fathtrs landed at
Plymouth, while the savage still
roamed through the unbroken for-
ests of New England, and disputed
dominion with wild beasts hardly
more dangerous than himself to
the messengers of the Gospel of
peace. Amid the wonderful beauty
and variety of the panorama which*
her mountains, lakes, and valleys-
unfold to the tourists and pleasure-
seekers of to-day, there is scarcely
a scene that has not been traversed'
in weariness, in hunger, and cold by
those dauntless servants of God
who first proclaimed the tidings of
salvation to the wild children of
the forest.
Futile, and even foolish, as the
toils of these early fathers may ap-
pear to the materialist and utilita-
rian of this day, because of their
tardy and apparently inadequate
fruits, the designs of Heaven have
Traces of an Indian Legend.
strated, and its light re-
difTerent history. We
I how He whu causes
and foolish things of
to confound the wise"
claim his praise, sent
ing angels to liover over
jr moistened with the
ood of his servants, to
footprint through the
irness, to gather the in-
:h prayer, and to mark
lid peril of their sacri-
, for record in the ar-
ernity, as an earnest for
to those regions, and
; testimony before the
of heaven to their fil-
crown — far surpassing
earthly crowns — which
■ their burning zeal and
patience.
their efforts in the field
thly labors so vain as
lur modern historians
: US suppose. Prayer
1 iR the service of God
uitless. If it is true —
t Champlain was wont
.at one soul Eiained for
of more value than the
an empire for France,"
from the roving tribes
many sincere and stead-
its to the faith — whose
recorded in the book
[ scattered benedictions
painful pathway which
deir beneficent influen-
e scenes they traversed
he present day. We
istrate and sustain this
1 the following sketch,
our memory, of tradi-
trvedamongthe Indians
i — to which we listened
ago.
along the southern
;ia St. Lawrence, from
Lake Ontario to the vil-
lage of St. Regis— while St. I,iw
rence County, N. Y., was yet for
the most part covered with primi-
tive forests — were many encamp-
ments of these Indians. That
whole region abounded in game
and furnished favorite hunting-
grounds, to which they claimed a
right in connection with their spe-
cial reservation in the more imme-
diate neighborhood oi St. Regis,
At each of these encampments an
aged Indian was sure to be found,
who, without the title of chief, was
a kind of patriarch among his
younger brethren, exercised great
influence in their affairs, and was
treated with profound respeci
thei
He
s tlKtr
nail
disputes, their adviser in doubtful
matters, and the "leader of prayer"
in his lodge — .ilways the largest and
most commodious of the wigwam^
an<|the one in which they assem-
bled for their devotions.
One of the oldest of these sagts
— called "Captain Simon" — must
have been much more than a hun-
dred years of age, judging from Ihe
dates of events of which he retain-
ed a distinct remembrance as an
eye-witness, and which occurred in
the course of the French and In-
dian wars, over a century previous
to the time when we listened to his
recital. His head was an inex-
haustible store-house of traditions
and legends, many of them relating
to the discovery and settlement of
Canada and the labors of the Rrsl
missionaries. He was very fond
of young people, and, gathering
the children of the white settlers
around him, he would hold them
spell-bound for hours while he re-
lated stories of those early days in
his peculiarly impressive and figu-
rative language. He claimed that
his grandfather was one of the
party who accompanied Cbamplain
Traces of an Indian Legend.
279
on his first voyage through the lake
which bears his name, and that he
afterwards acted as guide and in-
terpreter to the first priest who vis-
ited the valley of Lake Champlain.
When he heard that we were from
Vermont, he asked for a piece of
chalk, and, marking on the floor an
outline of the lake and the course
of the Richelieu River, he pro-
ceeded to narrate the voyage of
Champlain and his party in the
summer of 1609.
Embosomed within the placid
waters of Lake Champlain, near its
northern extremity, is a lovely is-
land, of which Vermonters boast as
the " Gem of the Lake," so remark-
able is it for beauty and fertility.
Here the party landed, and Cham-
plain, erecting a cross, claimed the
lake — to which he gave his own
name — its islands and shores, for
France and for Christianity. Half
a century later one La Motte built
a fori upon this island, which he
named St. Anne, giving the island
his own name; and it is called the
Isle La Motte to this day.
Champlain explored the lake as
far as Crown Point, where they en-
countered and defeated a band of
Iroquois Indians; but not deeming
it wise to adventure further at that
lime so near such powerful foes,
they returned down the lake with-
out delay. This encounter was
the first act of that savage drama
which so long desolated New
France, and threatened it with en-
tire destruction.
Six years later, in the summer
of 1615, another party landed on
the Isle La Motte. It was made
up of a missionary of the Recollect
Order and his escort of Indians in
two bark canoes. The grandfather
of our narrator was one of these.
They remained a day or two on
the island, and the missionary of-
fered the Christian sacrifice for the
first time within the territory now
embraced by the State of Ver-
mont.*
The object of his journey was to
visit scattered bands of hunters who
were encamped along the eastern
shore of the lake and its vicinity,
at different points in the valley of
Lake Champlain.
Leaving the Isle La Motte, they
steered for the mouth of the Missis-
que River, which they navigated
up to the first falls, where the vil-
lage of Swanton now stands. Here
they found a flourishing encamp-
ment, and remained some days for
the purpose of instructing the In-
dians in the truths of Christianity.
The missionary found that some
dim reports of the Christian teach-
ers had preceded him, and prepar-
ed the way for his work, the suc-
cess of which encouraged and con-
soled him.
From that place they proceeded
on foot for some m^les to the base
of a line of hills, sketched by the
narrator, and corresponding to
those east of St. Alban's. Here
they also remained several days,
the reverend father toiling early
and late in the duties of his voca-
tion. He was now surrounded by
a crowd of eager listeners ; for not
only did his former audience ac-
company him, but a goodly number
from the surrounding hills and
from Bellamaqueau and Maquam
Bays — distant three and five miles
respectively — flocked to hear his
instructions and to be taught " The
Prayer " revealed to them by the
Great Spirit through his servant.
Here they brought to him also
* There is a va^e tradition among the Penob-
scot Indians in Maine that a Jesuit father croosc;)
from the head-waters of the Kennebec to the valley
of the Passumpsic, east of the Green Mour:au:«,
at am earlier dat«.
Traces of an Indian Legend.
beautiful Indian maiden, of
n her race cherish the legend
her declining health led her
le to bring her to these hills,
ng the Changs from the low
i and damp atmosphere of her
i to the bracing mountain air
t prove beneficial. Instead
iding relief, she only declined
nore rapidly, so that she was
unable to be carried back.
too, had heard whispers of
men who had come to teach
race the path of heaven, and
iilly she had sighed daily, as
epeated the yearning aspira-
; "OhliftheGreatSpiriCwould
let me see and listen to his
icnger, I could die in peace!"
le Indians, to this day. tell with
joy she listened to his words ;
eagerly she prayed that she
t receive the regenerating wa-
how, when they were poured
her head, her countenance be-
: bright with the ligltt of hea-
and how her departure soon
was full of joy and peace. Her
J-pIace was made on one of
; eastern hills. It was the fir.sl
itian burial for one of her race-
srmont, and her people thought
ntercessions would not fail to
! down blessings upon all that
n.
rsiiing their journey by the
of those who had preceded
I through the dense wilderness
: our aborigines were skilled
acing lines of communication
een their different camps with
line directness by aid of their
: observations of nature — the
' arrived at another camp on
bank of a river discovered by
nplaiii, and named by him the
oille.
this place an Indian youth
; to the missionary in great disT
. His young squaw was lying
at the point of death, and the medi-
cine men and women could do no-
thing more for her. Would not
"The Prayer" restore her.* Oh!
if it would give her back to him, he,
with all his family, would gratefully
embrace it! The reverend father
went to her, and, when he found she
desired it, baptized her and her
new-born infant in preparation for
the death which seemed inevitable.
Contrary to all expectation, she re-
covered. Her husband and his
family, together with her father's
family, afterwards became joyful
believers.
After some days the Indians of
that placs accompanied the party
in canoes to the lake and along its
shores to the mouth of the Winoo-
ski River, which they ascended as
far as the first falls. Here they re-
mained many days, during which
time the missionary visited the pre-
sent site of Burlington, and held
two missions there — one at a camp
on the summit of a hill overlook-
ing the valley of the Winooski as it
ajiproaches the lake, and one near
the lake shore.
If Vermonters who are familiar
with the magnificent scenery which
surrounds the " qneen city" of
their State never visit the place
without being filled with new admi-
ration at the infinite variety and
beauty of the pictures it unfolds
from every changing point of view.
we may imagine how strangers must
be impressed who gaze upon thent
for the first time. Not less pictur-
esque, and if possible even more
striking, were its features when,
crowned by luxuriant native forests
and fanned by gentle breezes from
the lake, it reposed within the em-
brace of that glorious amphitheatre
of hills, in the undisturbed tran-
quillity of nature. It was not
Strange that the natives were drawn
Traces of an Indian Legend,
281
by its unparalleled attractions to con-
gregate there in such numbers as to
require from their reverend visitor
a longer time than he gave to any
other place in this series of missions.
\ In the course of three months
the party had traversed the eastern
border of the lake to the last en-
campment near its southern ex-
tremity. This was merely a mim-
fmcr camp, as the vicinity of the
Iroquois made it unsafe to remain
there longer than through that
|>ortion of the season when the Mo-
hawks and their confederates were
too busy w^ith their own pursuits
among the hills of the Adirondacks
to give much heed to their neigh-
bors. At the close of the mis-
sion this camp was broken up for
that season, and its occupants join-
ed the reverend father and his par-
ty in canoes as far as the mouth of
the Winooski River, whence men
were sent to convey them to the
starting-point at Swan ton, where
their own canoes were left.
On their way thither they linger-
ed for some days on Grand Isle,
then, as now, a vision of loveliness
lo all admirers of the beautiful, and
a favorite annual resort of the na-
tives for the period during which
they were safe from the attacks of
their merciless foes.
At every mission thus opened the
roissionary promised to return him-
self, or send one of his associates,
to renew his instructions and min-
i^ter to the spiritual wants of his
converts. This promise was fulfill-
ed as far as the limited number of
laborers in this vineyard permitted,
^hc brave and untiring sons of
Loyola afterwards entered the field,
and proved worthy successors of
^c zealous Recollects who first
Enounced the Gospel message in
^^osc wilds
I
Our Indian narrator, when he
had finished his recital of mission-
ary labors in this and other, regions,
would always add with marked em-
phasis : " And it is firmly believed
by our people, among all their
tribes, that upon every spot where
the Christian sacrifice was first
offered a Catholic church will one
day be placed."
There seemed to his Protestant
listeners but slight probability of
this prediction ever being fulfilled
in Vermont — settled for the most
part by the straitest sect of the
Puritans — as there was not then,
or until twenty years from that
time, a Catholic priest or church
in the State. Yet at this- writing —
and the fact has presented itself
before us with startling effect
while tracing these imperfect rem-
iniscences — there is at every point
indicated in his narrative a fine
church, and in many places flour-
ishing Catholic schools.
The labors of an eminent servvint
of God — to whom Vermont cannot
be too grateful — have Ueen partic-
ularly blessed on the Isle La Motte,
where the banner of the cross was
first unfurled within her territory.
A beautiful church has been erect-
ed there with a thriving congrega-
tion and school.
Much as remains to be accom-
plished in this field, when we reflect
upon all. that has been done since
the first quarter of this XlXth cen-
tury, we can see great cause for
encouragement and gratitude to Al-
mighty God, who has not withheld
his blessing from the work of
his servants of the earliest and the
latest times. " Going on their way,
they went and wept, scattering the
seed," the fruits of which we are
now gathering into sheaves with
great joy.
i
FindiHg a Lost Churek,
FINDING A LOST CHURCH.
? present age is pre-eminently
pf discovery. In spile of the
man's saying, " Nothing un-
le sun is new," mankind, wiser
own conceit than the wise
insists upon the newness of its
production. In Rome a dif-
spirii prevails. While the
s not entirely neglected, the
delight of many Romans is to
iomething old— the older the
■- They live so much in the
hat they follow with, an eager
St the various steps taken to
iten them on the lives and
of the men of old, their an-
■s on the soil and in the faith
1 they profess.
emost in the pursuit and dis-
y of Christian antiquities
5 the Commendatore de Rossi.
i been said that poets are born,
lade : De Rossi's ability as a
tian archaeologist seems to be
the gift of nature than the
: of study. With unwearied
itry, with profound knowledge,
an almost unerring judgment,
ids out and illustrates the re-
s of Christian antiquity scat-
, around Rome — not on the
ce, but in the deeps of the
I. The latest and one of the
important discoveries he has
; forms the subject of the pre-
P-M'cr.
)r Marancia is a name not much
ill out of Roiuc, yet it desig-
s a place which was of some
irtancf in its day. The travel-
rlio conlcmplalea the works of
ent art collect.-d in the Vatii on
cum cannot fail to be iQlereil-
n ;\vo very beautiful black and
,c mosaics which form the floor
of the gallery known as the Bracci
Nuovo. Mythological fables
Homeric legends kre represeoli
in these pavements, and they
front Tor Marancia. In the Qi
lery of the Candelabra, and in thj
library of the same museum,
lection of frescos, busts, statues, anj
mosaics of excellent workraanshij
and of great interest, liiiewise
covered at Tor Marancia, are
hibited. All these objects t
found at that place in the cour:
of excavations made there
reign of Pope Pius VI. In anciei
times a villa stood at Tor M
of which these formed the decocaj
At this spot also is found the ei
trance to a very extensive
comb which contains three floors]
and diverges in long, winding wayM
under the soil of the Campagna. I
The catacomb has been called by T
the name of S. Domitilla, on evi-
dence found during the excavations
made there. This lady was a
member of the Flavian family, which
gave three occupants to the impe-
rial throne — Vespasian, Tilus, and
Domitian. It is a well-known fact
that those early Christians who
were blessed with wealth were in
the habit of interring the bodies of
their brethren, of sairtts, and of mar*
tyrs within the enclosure of their
villas. Such villas were situated
outside the limits of the city; and
hence we find the entrance to every
catacomb beyond the city walls,
with the solitary exception of the
catacomb or groUos of the Vati-
can, and the entrances to all of
them are found in sites ascertained
to have been the property of Chris-
Finding a Lost Church,
i^83
tians. It might be easy to multi-
ply instances of this, taking the
facts from the Acts of the Martyrs^
wherein the places of sepulture are
indicated, and the names of those
who bestowed the last rites upon
the dead recorded.
Doniitilla, or Flavia Domitilla,
as she is sometimes termed, was a
niece of the consul Flavius Cleftiens,
who was cousin of the Emperor
Domitian. She was a Christian,
having been baptized by S. Peter;
and, after a life spent in charitable
works, amongst which was the bu-
rial of the martyrs " in a catacomb
near the Ardeatine Way," the same
of which we write, she also suffered
martyrdom. Her two servants,
Nereus and Achilleus, were put to
death previously, and their bodies
were placed in this catacomb by
Domitilla.
In 1854, while De Rossi was pur-
suing his researches in the catacomb
9f S. Domitilla, he came upon the
foimdations of a building which
pierced the second floor of the sub-
terranean cemetery. This was a
most unusual occurrence, and* the
eminent archaeologist eagerly fol-
lowed up his discovery. He found
a marble slab which recorded the
giving up of a space for burial "Ex
indulgentia Flaviae Domitillae " — a
confimiation of the proprietorship
of the place.
De Rossi naturally concluded
that the building thus incorporated
in the Christian cemetery was of
great importance. The loculi^ or
resting-places of the dead, were
very large, which indicates great
antiquity ; the inscriptions likewise
were of a very early date ; and sar-
(ophagi adorned with lions' heads,
marble columns overturned, and
other signs, led the discoverer to
the conclusion that he had come
upon the foundations of a church
constructed within this cemetery.
In the course of his excavations he
had penetrated into the open air,
and found himself in a hollow de-
pression formed by the falling in
of the surface. Amongst other ob-
jects discovered were four marble
slabs containing epitaphs furnished
with consular dates of the years
ZZSi 380, 399, and 406 * and also a
form of contract by which the right
of burial in the edifice was sold.
The proprietor of the land above
the cemetery opposed the continu-
ance of the excavations, and the
discoverer, obliged to withdraw,
covered up the materials already
found with earth, and turned his
attention to otlier recently-discov-
ered objects in another place.
Twenty years after, in 1874, Mon-
signor de Merode purchased the
land overlying the catacomb and
church, and the excavations were
again undertaken under most favora-
ble circumstances. In vain did the
Commission of Sacred Archaeology,
under De Rossi's guidance, seek
for the four marble columns and
the two beautiful sarcophagi that
had been seen there twenty years
before. The proprietor is sup-
posed to have carried them away.
But they found instead the floor of
the church or basilica, with its
three naves, the bases of the four
columns, the apse, the place where
the altar stood, and the space occu-
pied by the episcopal chair behind
the altar. The basilica is as large
as that of San Lorenzo beyond the
walls. The left aisle is sixty feet
long by thirteen broad ; the central
nave is twenty-four feet broad ; and
the right aisle, which is not yet en-
tirely unearthed, is considered to
be of the same breadth as the first
mentioned; the greatest depth of
the apse is fifteen feet. " The
church," says De Rossi, " is of
284
Finding a Lost Church.
gigantic proportions for an edifice
constructed in the bowels of the
earth and at the deep level of the
second floor of a subterranean
cemetery/*
Here, then, was a basilica or
church discovered in the midst of
a catacomb. That the latter be-
longed to Flavia Domitilla was
well known 4 and yet another proof,
which illustrates archaeological dif-
ficulties and the method of over-
coming them, was found here. It
was a broken slab of marble 'con-
taining a portion of an inscription :
RVM
. . . .ORVM
(•)
and having the image of an anchor
at the point (*). It was concluded
that the anchor was placed at an
equal distance from both ends of
the inscription, and the discoverer,
with the knowledge he already has
of the place, supplied the letters
which he considered wanting to
the completion of the inscription,
and thus produced the words,
SEPVL'^RVM
FLAVIORVM
♦
(sepulchre of the Flavii). This
reading is very probably the right
one, and its probability is greatly
strengthened by the position of
the anchor, since the full inscrip-
tion, as here shown, leaves that
sign still in the centre.
But to find the name borne by
these ruins when the building of
which they are the sole remnants
was fresh and new presented a
task to their discoverer. It was ne-
cessary to seek in ancient works —
pontificial books and codices — for
some account of a basilica on the
Ardeatine Way. In the life of S.
Gregory the Great it is related that
this pontiff delivered one of his
homilies " in the cemetery of S.
Domitilla on the Ardeatine Way, at
the Church of S. Petronilla." The
pontifical books and codicesj al-
though they differ in details — some
saying in the cemetery of Domitilla,
and others in that of Nereus and
Archilleus, which is the same place
under another name — agree in the
principal fact. On the small rem-
nant of plaster remaining on the
wall •f the apse an unskilled hand
had traced a graffito^ or drawing
scratched on the plaster with a
pointed instrument, somewhat re-
sembling those found on the walls
of Pompeii. TWisgraffiio represents
a bishop, vested in episcopal robes,
seated in a chair, in the act of
delivering a discourse. This rude
sketch of a bishop so occupied, tak-
en in conjunction with the fact
that S. Gregory did here deliver
one of his homilies, is a link \n
the chain of evidence which iden-
tifies the ruin with the ancient ba-
silica of S. Petronilla.
But a still more convincing testi-
mony was forthcoming. A large
fragment of marble, containing a
portion of what appeared to have
been a long inscription, was found
in the apse. There were but few
complete words in this fragment,
and these were chiefly the termina-
tion of lines in what seemed to have
been a metrical composition. Odd
words, selected at random from a
poem, standing alone, devoid of
preceding or succeeding words,
might not seem to furnish very rich
materials even to an archaeologist.
These wandering words were, how-
ever, recognized to be the terminal
words of a poem or eulogium writ-
ten by Pope Damasus in honor of
the martyrs Nereus and Achilleus.
Now the connection between this
metrical eulogium and the basilica
was to be sought for. In the Ein-
siedeln Codex the place where this
poem was to be seen is stated to
Finding a Lost Church.
285
have been the sepulchre of SS.
Nereus and Achilleus, on the Ap-
pian Way, at S. Petronilla. The
poem, or rather this fragment of it,
being found at this sepulchre, it
was natural to conclude that the
cfaarch was that of S. Petronilla.
The Appian Way is the great high-
road from which the Ardeatine Way
branches off near this spot.
Again, the basilica of S. Petro-
nilla was frequented by pilgrims
from many nations in the Vllth
century. Among these were Gauls,
Germans, and Britons. In their
itineraries of the martyrs* sepulchres
in Rome, and in the collection of
the metrical epigraphs written at
these places, it is proved that the
original name of this church was
that of S. Petronilla. " Near the
Ardeatine Way is the Church of S.
Petronilla," say these old doc-
uments, and they likewise inform
us that S. Nereus and S. Achilleus
and S. Petronilla herself are buried
Aere : " Juxta viam Ardeatinam
ccclesia est S. Petronillse ; ibi
quoque S. Nereus et S. Achilleus
sunt et ipsa Petronilla sepulti."
A second fragment of the slab
containing the metrical composition
of Pope Damasus has since been
found, and this goes to confirm the
testimony furnished by the former
fragment. In the following copy
of the inscription the capital letters
on the right-hand side are those on
the fragment first discovered ; those
on the left belong t^ the recently-
discovered portion :
"Nbubus bt AcHitxEUs Martyrbs.
" Militia nomcn dedcrant saBvumQ gerebant
Oificium pariter fpectantes jussA TYRanni
Pnecepti^ pukante metu scrriRE PA Rati
Mm fides rerum tubito posueRE FVRORsm
COoTcni fugiuat ducia impta castrA RELIN-
QWNT
PROudunt clypeos fafcras lelAQ. CRVENTA
CONKEm gaudent Chmd portaRE TRIVIC
FOS
CRRDITe per Damasum point quid GLORIA
CHRISTI."
The date of the church was like-
wise ascertained. It is known that
Pope Damasus, the great preserver
of the martyrs* graves, would never
allow the Christian cemeteries to be
disturbed for the purpose of build-
ing a church therein ; and although
he himself strongly desired that his
remains should repose in one of
these sacred places by the side of
his predecessors, he abandoned
this desire rather than remove the
sacred ashes of the dead. It may
naturally be concluded, then, that
this church was built after his day
— he died in 384 — as were the
churches of S. Agnes, S. Lawrence,
and S. Alexander, all of which are
beyond the city >valls and built in
catacombs. The catacombs under
the Church of S. Petronilla showed
an inscription bearing the date of
390, and in the church itself a mon-
umental slab with the date of 395
has been found. It is thus almost
certain that between the highest
date found under, and the lowest
date found />, the church — that is,
between the years 390 and 395 — the
basilica of S. Petronilla was con-
structed.
For about three centuries and a
half this church was well frequent-
ed. We have records of gifts sent
to it, precious vestments, etc., by
Pope Gregory III., who reigned
from 715 to 741. But in 755 the
Longobards came down upon
Rome ; they desecrated the church-
es and cemeteries around the city,
and then began the siege of Rome.
After peace was made, the pontiff
of the period, Paul I., transferred
the relics and remains of the saints
to safer custody, and the Church
of S. Petronilla became deserted.
From unmistakable signs it seems
that this desertion was conducted in
a most regular manner, and that it
was closed and despoiled of its pre-
286
New Publications.
cioiis objects. The door which en-
tered the left aisle was found walled
up ; the altar, the seats of the choir,
the episcopal chair, and the am-
bons or marble pulpits were all
removed and transported else-
where. The floor of the church, so
far below the level of the surround-
ing soil, formed a resting-place for
the water which drained through
the neighboring lands after rains
had fallen, and this undoubtedly
formed the strongest reason for the
abandonment of S. Petronilla. No-
thing was left in it but sarcoph^
agi and sepulchres, the pavements
with their marble epitaphs — so val-
uable to-day in revealing history —
some columns with their beautiful-
ly-carved capitals, which time or
an earthquake has overturned and
hidden within the dark bosom of
the earth for more than a thousand
years.
The hundred pilgrims who came
from America, with a hundred new-
found friends, assembled on the
14th of June, 1874, to pray in that
disentombed old church. They
had come from a world unknown
and undreamt of by the pilgrims
v.*ho had formerly knelt within
these walls ; and as they looked
around on the wide and desolate
Campagna, and on the monument
of Cecilia Metella shining in the
distance white and perfect, in spite
of the nineteen centuries that have
passed away since it received its
inmate, and at the blue, changeles.s
sky overhead, and then turned
their eyes upon the church, decorat-
ed that morning with festoons of
green branches and gay flowers,
the same as it may have been on
other festive occasions a thousand
years ago, they may have felt that
time has efl*ected almost as little
change in the works of man as in
those of nature, and that all things
in Rome partake of Rome's eter-
nity.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Le Culte Catholique ou Exposition
DE LA FOI DE L'EgLISE RoMAINE SUR L£
Culte du aux Saints et a leurs
Reliques, a la bienheureuse Vierge
Marie, aux Intages, etc., en r6ponse
aux objections du Protcstantisrac, sui-
vie d'une dissertation historique et
critique sur le celibat du clerg6. Par
l'Abb6 Louis-Nazaire B6gin, Doctcur
en Th6ologie, Professor k la Facult6
dc Th6ologie de I'Universitfe Laval.
Quebec : Typographie d'Augustin Cote
et Cie. 1875.
I^ Culte Catholique is another valuable
addition to controversial literature, by
the author of The Bible and the Rule of
/until.
It is true that the days of controversy
seem to be drawing to a close. The
Greek schism still holds itself aloof in
sullen isolation ; but the controversy is
exhausted, and all that is left of a church
has become the mere unfruitful appanage
of a northern despotism.
As to Protestantism, it never had any
positive existence as a confession. Three
hundred ycirs have exhausted its theo-
logical pretensions. As a religion it has
ceased to exist, and it lies buried beneath
the weight of its own negations. The
only formidable enemies of the church
now are the disowners both of Christ and
God, and they seek her destruction be-
cause they know that she alone ofTers an
insuperable obstacle to the universal
atheism which they hope to bring abouL
Under such circumstances works like
Dr. B6gin*s are chiefly useful for the in-
formation of Catholics, and for the sup-
port the)' render to their faith.
Le Culte Catholique is, the writer tells us,
'* an exposition of the faith of the Roman
Church in the matters of the worship of
the saints and of their relics, of the bless*
Nnv Publications,
287
ed Virgin Mary, of images, etc., in reply
to the objections of Protestantism, fot-
lowed by a historical and critical disser-
tation on the celibacy of the clerg5'.*'
Od these trite subjects little that is new
cin be said. But the work before us is
^ terse and lucid summary of Catholic
teaching on the above points.
It is the object of the society of Freema-
sonsto effect the universal deification, the
rejection, that is, of the belief in any exist-
ence higher than the human being, and in
any superiority of one man over another.
For this the3' find it convenient to sup-
port the foolish Protestant objection to a
splendid ritual and costly churches, on
the ground that *' God is a spirit, and
they that worship him must worship him
in spirit and in truth." Dr. B6gin quotes
the following telling passage from a con-
temporary writer in answer to this frivo-
loas objection :
*' I know the old tirades about the tem-
ple of nature. No doubt the starry vault
of heaven is a sublime dome; but no
worship exists which is celebrated in the
open air. A special place of meeting is
required for collective adoi^tion, because
our religious sociability urges us to gath-
er together for prayer, as it were to make
A common stock of our joys and griefs.
Besides, should the time come when we
shall have nothing but the cupola of
heaven to shelter our religious assem-
blies, it would require a considerable
amount of courage to betake ourselves
thither, especially in winter. And the
philosophers who find cur cathedrals so
damp would not be the most intrepid
against the inclemency of the sanctuar)*
of nature. Tlius do great errors touch
on the ridiculous. Reasoning begins
their refutation ; a smile ends it."
The second chapter is an admirable ex-
I>05ifJon of the special worship (hyperdu-
//.J) paid to the Blessed Virgin Mary, in
the course of which he shows triumph-
antly that the definition of her Immacu-
Ijtc Conception was no new doctrine, but
a mere definite and dogmatic statement
«>f a doctrine which had been all along
held iraplicilly in the church. The fol-
lowing simile, illustrative of this argu-
nfnt, appears to us to be worth quoting:
" Modi'rn science, which is daily making
"^wU extraordinary progress, discovers,
cvt'f and anon, fresh stars, which seem to
Hut in the most distant depths of space,
which become more bright as they are
wore attentivelv obser\'ed,and which end
h) becoming stars of continually-increas-
ing splendor. These stars are not of re-
cent date; they are not new; they are
only perceived. Something analogous
takes place in the heavens of the church
on the subject of certain truths of our
faith. Their light reveals itself and de-
velops by degrees. Sometimes the shotk
of controversy illuminates them. Then
comes a definition to invest them with
fresh splendor. But in receiving this
supplement of light, destined to make
them better understood by the faithful,
they lose nothing of their proper nature ;
their essence is not in the slightest degree
changed ; only our minds appropriate
them with more facility."
Flowers from the Garden of the Vis-
itation ; or. Lives of Several Rttigious
of that Order. Translated from the
French. Baltimore : Kelly, Piel & Co.
1875.
To those who have attempted to form
an adequate conception of the charitable
and ascetic spirit, the simple record of
these saintly lives must have a wonderful
fascination. To those, even, who are
wholly absorbed in a life of pleasure it
will at least possess the merit of a new
sensation, if they can forget the silent re-
proof which such examples convey.
It affords matter of encouragement in
these days of combined luxury and desti-
tution to look over the history of those —
many of whom were delicately reared —
who left all for God, content to do what-
soever he appointed them to do, and to
submit to extraordinary mortifications
for his sake. The work embraces six
brief biographies of Visitation Nuns emi-
nent for their self-sacrificing labors for
the moral and intellectual education of
their charges, and in other good and
charitable oilices. Their names, even,
may be quite new to English-speaking
readers, but that fact is ail the more in
keeping with-thcir hidden lives. We have
said enough to indicate the general char-
acter of the volume.
John Dorrien : A novel. By Julia
Kavanagh. New York : D. Appleton
& Co. 1875.
The writer succeeds, in the verj* open-
ing chapter, in so portraying the charac-
ter of a child as to make it .1 living
breathing reality to the reader. The story
of his humble life in childhood and his
struggles and trials in later years is told
without any attempt at fine writing — in-
deed, all the characters are simply and
288
New Publications,
well drawn, and retain their individuality
to the end. The heroine, neglected in
childhood, and without any guide in mat-
ters of faith, is easily persuaded by a
suitor that religion is contrary to reason ;
and thus, left to her own unaided judg-
ment, and notwithstanding her innate love
of truth, soon finds herself entangled in a
web of deceit and hypocrisy. She only
escapes the unhappiness whicl^ such a
course entails by forsaking it.
The moral of the tale (if that is not an
obsolete term) is what the reader would
naturally infer— the necessity of early re-
ligious instruction, and the advantage,
even in this life, of a belief in revealed
truth. We are glad to note the absence
of thc^ults which disfigure much of the
imaginative literature of the day, not ex-
cepting', we are sorry to say. that which
emanates from the writer's own sex. We
see no attempt to give false views of life,
or to undermine the moral and religious
principles of the reader; on the contrary,
there is reason to infer much that is posi-
tively good, though not so definitely
stated as we should have liked.
The Bible and the Rule of Faith.
By the Abb6 Louis-Naznire B^gin,
Doctor of Theology, Theological Pro-
fessor in the University of Laval.
Transl.ited from the French by G. M.
Ward [Mrs. Penn6c].
Protestantism is wcll-nigh defunct. It
is in its List throes. It has not sufficient
vitality left to care for its own doctrines,
such as they are. As a religion it has
almost ceased to exist. Disobedience to
the faith has been succeeded by indifTer-
ence ; indifTcrence by the hatred of Christ.
Its rickety old doctrines, whose folly has
been exposed over and over again thou-
sands of times, have quietly tumbled out
of existence. Protestants themselves
have almost forgotten them, and certainly
do not care enough about th'em to defend
them. Paganism has returned — pagan-
ism in its last stage of sceptical develop-
ment. We havtf to contend now for the
divinity of Christ and the existence of a
God. The Bible and the rule of faith are
up amongst the lumber.
Yet it may be — as the writer of this
work asserts ; we much doubt it, however
— that there are still " many poor souls in
the bosom of Protestantism a prey to the
anguish of doubt." To such the Abb6 B6-
gin's treatise on the rule of faith may be
of the utmost service. The argument is
extremely terse and lucid. In short, were
the minds of Protestant fanatics open t<
reason, it could not fail to convince thei
of the unreasoning folly of their notion^
about the Bible being the one only rule of|
faith.
The first part of this work treats of*
rule of faith in general, and proi
aniongst other things, that such a rvl
must be sure, efficient, and perpetual t<
put an end to controversies.
The second part exhibits the logical
impossibility of the Protestant rule of|
faith, remote and proximate. That is t<
say, that it is impossible for the unex-
plained text of the Bible to be a 5ure,ei
cient, and perpetual rule of faith, and foi
an immediate inspiration of its meaning]
to individuals by the Holy Ghost to be in
means of explanation.
The third part proves very exhaustively
that the Catholic rule of faith is the odI]
possible sure, efficient, and perpeiuall
one ; namely. Holy Scripture, the remoie|
rule, and the teaching church, the proxi-
mate one.
To any souls ** in the bosom of Protest-
ism " who are "a prey to the anguish of|
doubt," if indeed there be such, we cor-
dially recommend this trcntise. Its lonci
is kind and gentle, its reasoning irresis-l
tible, and, with the blessing of God. is
able to put an end to .ill their doubts ht\
the fundamental question as to the ifue|
rule of faith.
Person.\l Reminiscences. By Cornelia I
Knight and Thomas Raikes. Ncwj
York : Scribner, Armstrong & Co.
1875.
This i3 another of the pleasant **Bric-i|
&-Brac series," edited by Richard Henry
Stoddard. Miss Knight was that non-.^
descript kind of being known as a 'Mady
companion " to the Princess Charlotte
of Wales. Her position gave her peculiar
facilities for enjoying the privilege, sc
dear to certain hearts, of a peep behind
the scenes of a royal household. Never
having been married, she had plenty of
time for jotting down her notes and ob-
servations on men, women, and things.
Many of the men and women she met
were famous in their way and in their
time. As might be expected, there is
much nonsense in her observation?,
mingled with pleasant glimpses of a kind
of life that has now passed away. Mr.
Raikes* journal is similar in character to
that of Miss Knight, with the advantage
or disadvantage, as may be considered,
of having been written by a man
fTERARY
ULLETIN.
•♦♦4-
SPECIAL NOTICE.
This department was specially opened to keep the readers of The Catholic
VbRLD acquainted from month to month with all the new Catholic books published
b this country and in England, a list of ^yhich is given at the end of this BtAetin.
By consulting: this list every month, much time and trouble will be saved by our
leaders and the publisher ; for it will save the former the trouble of writing about the
ice of certain bookstand the latter the time lost in answering such letters. It is
e pobUsher*$ intention to make the list as correct as possible.
E
•♦♦^
Tn LoalfvilU Adroeate tays of <«The
studimm' B«ader " :
Tbift book is Juet what Its title-page pro-
wlectioo of the most perfect papsagea
Ihna approred Boglish autbora of almoat every
varlHy of »tyle, and anitable for oar Catholic
Mbooif , for the parlor, and for the atndy.
" Tbr tntrt'dnctioii, wbll»t it givea the plan of
Ike book, prca«nia also some excellent rnlee for
nidittg. F«iw nccompl<8hincut« are capable of
affordbagmorv ploa*nre in a ioclal circle than
foA raailln^. whin performed with the elcK.<^nce
in4 ca<i« here indicated, and with the grace iohe-
n Dt to oar educated girlf .
" Tb* excellent taate of most of theee extracts
Ua<*t at to make an obacrvation on the tme
B^hiid of teaching language. There is nothirg
iiiirp important than tMmorMng. This was a
<UtiuguiAbitig feature In ihe method of the
Oroekt. They certainly have never been ex-
c«ilrd ia the use of words and the art of expres-
lioti. Od^ who ha« memorized the selections of
Ihit fMider will never be at a loss for words and
ptktues in which to clothe their ideas on any
ordinary topic, didactic, historical, or emo-
HOBSj."
As of the '«]Uaual of tha BleMed
8m] aant " the same paper sayii :
'*J a manual for those feeling devotion to
tis H»ad Sacrament it cannot be excelled.
^it Oatholle haa not this devotion 7 la It
not a special vocation of Catholics pf onr c«n-
tury to make reparation for the unbelief, the
neglect, and the many insults and defamations
perpetrated at the present day against our Lord
in this h'lly i^acramcnt of his love? Through it
only in the final verification and falfilment of
the prophecy of leaias : ^VnantM/— there is no
people like unto us (and never has been) who
have their God so nigh unto them."
The Right Rev. Bishop of Detroit has favored
The « athi lie Publication Society with the fol-
lowing letter in regard to ^< The young* Oa-
tholic's Series of Headers '' :
"Detroit, September 21, 1876.
*' L. KsiiOB, Esq., A^'ent of The Catholic PublL
ration 8«;lety:
" Dear Sir : We take ploanure In acknowledg-
ing the receiptor TAs Yoiin'j Catholic^ » lUmtratsd
School fkti^s^ IrAm tlit I rinitr to the Sxth
Reader, puhlislied by Ttii* Catholic Publication
Hdciety. As this series has the merit. of having
been * compiled by Cvinipetent hands,* and re-
ceived the favorable recommen'dattons of expe.
rienced schoolmen and of able judges, we doubt
not that It will be welcomed by and meet with
the approval of all who are interested in the
Catholic schools in our diocese.
"Yours in Christ,
">|>0. II. BORGESS,
''Bi*hopqf Detroit.'
Literary BuUeiin.
The Southei-n Cross, pabllshed in Savannah,
BEJB :
"TA* Young Catholic^ s lUvstrated School Seriss
hh* Jast been forwarded to av. Those nine hooka
are bo many gems for which ihe Catholic Church
of America will never be loo grali ful to The Ca-
tholic Publication Society. It ii» our opinion,
Mfter a careful review of them and comparison
with others that have been in the hrtnds* of our
children up to this year, ih«t iht'Sf aro by far the
befl» iiuited to Inflruit, oOily, and inU'resi those
for whom they are i leidtd. The unmberli sf
engravings with whch iliey are adofnrd an* of
a purity of design nnd a iucce»B of execntioo
suit the artistic taste of the mo^t tatsiidiovK
(< * The Catechifim of the Catholic
ffion,' translati'd Ir» m tht- (ieinian iJ FatI
Deharbe, b.J., published by the same fltm. tsi
that can be desired lor a b«ok of !cs charaeif
in America as well at* in Get many. It will
wants long ai d de. ply felt, not <ftly by
dreu, but also by adults, both among the 1^^
and clergy/'
John Murphy dt C».. Baltimore, aDooaiice|
n« w edition, In H vols, and in 5 vols., of it
bi-hop Spalaiiig's complete works.
Wayside f^neitlinffs,
Sacred Shrines. By
NKW A.MKRICAN BOOKS.
with Glimpses of A.M., Chatham Village. 18mo. Price, 75
Ucv. J. J. Moriarty, For Bale by The Catholic Publication S«.c.«tj|
FOREIGN* BOOKS.
the Set^rel Warfare of JTreemasonry
against Church and ^tate, 'Imr.slttted
from the German, i vol. i2inu ^'^60
The Troubles of Our Caihotir, Forefathers^
Related by Tliem>elves. Ediud by Rev. J.
Morriss. Second Series. ivol.Svu... 6'7 ijO
Ihe Irish Ecclesiastical Herord. A
Monthly Journal. 6 vols., tor '6«.), '70^ ' 71 ^'72^
'73/74 0VO (/C/
The JSucharist and the Christian Life,
Translated fruu the French ^/ 75
Catharine Grown Older. A Sequel to
'' Catharine Hamilton." S/ JH/)
Oratory J/ytnns Si ^5
Ihe fieftn Sacrament* Ex|)la»iied and De-
fended in ^)uesiion and Answer 6*<>
Home Sempet £tg€iem. Hy l>cn>s Patrick
Mioael (> Mah 'i'> 7«>
•ihe Spirit of Fa%th ; or, What Must I Do to
Believe? hive I ec-urcs dirlivcrcd in S. Peters,
(vurdifT, hy Bi>»hup llcdiey, O.S. B 7^
Lite of Father Uenry lonnff. By lady
Fulicrion '.Si 75
The 7*ublie Li/e of Ottr Lord Jesus Chtist.
By the Rev. li. J. Coleridj,'c, S.J. »*art 1
SS 25
Our Lady^Jf f>owry; or. How E ^gland Gained
and I..OSI ihis Title, a OonipiUtion by the
Rev. T. K. Hridjjet!, CS-.R. Crown 8vo,
486 pu^et. With four 1 luiitraiions. By H. W.
Brewer, Ksq 0^4 ^<>
7 he ,7*rtsoner of the Temple; or, Discrowned
and Crowned. By M. C. O'Connor Morris.
I • S2 25
fhtrffatoty Surveyed ; or, A Particular Ac-
count ot ihe Happv and yet Thrice Unhappy
Stateof the Souls There. Edited by Dr. Aii-
derdon... . * Sf 50
The l^erfeel Lay Urother, By Felix Cum-
picdo S2 25
r.ives ofth e Irish Saints . B y Re v . J . O ' H a n -
Ion. Nos. I, 2,3, 4,56, 7, 8, 9 now ready. Price
per No (SO
Directory for .ATorires of evety Helipious
Order, particular/y those Derated to the
Education of Youth Si 25
On Some T^pular Errors Concerning
iPolitics and Hriigion, My Lord l^filierl
Montagu. M. P. i vol. larao SS OO
fhe Letter-'Books of Sir Hmias I^mlet,
Keeper ol Mary, ijueen of Scots. Edited bv
John Morris, S.J. i vol. Bvo S5 25
JKety T^aprm ; or. Thoughts on the LitHnies
of Loretto. By Edward Ignatius Purbrick,
S.J.
I
'ihe Dialogues of S. Grepory ihe Of
Edited by lienry James Coleridge, S.J..^Jj
The Life of Luisa De Varpe^fai, By
Fullerton S^
MeditaiionM of Si. Jinselm . A aew Ti
lation. Bv M. R. With Prefitce by Hi» Gi
the Archbishop of Westminster $2*
Ihe Question of Anglican Ordinate
Discussed. By K. E. Estcourt, &t.
F.A.S., Canon of S. Chad's Cathedral,
mmgham. With an appendix of orii^Dal di
uments and photographic facsimiles. z ft
8vo S7
The Life of the Siessed John Iferehmm
By Krancis Golde. i vol. lamo $2
The If^pe and the Emperor , Nine
tures delivered in the Church of S. John
Evaneelist. Bath. By the Very Rev. J.
Sweeney, O.S.B. D.D $ii
Who is Jesus Chrtst ? Five Lectures deb
ered at the Catholic C'hurch, Swansea. Bv
Right Rev. Dr. Iledlev. O.S.B., Bishop Aux
itiry of Newport and Meneria tfj
Life of Anne Cathtrine Emssserieh,
Helen Kam. 1 vol. lamo $2 S
jMeacf through the Truth y or. Essays
Subjects connected with Dr. Pusey's Kin
con. By Rev. T. Rarper, S.J. second
—Part J.- Dr. Pusey*s First Supposed Pa^
Contradiction ; or, 1 he Levitical r'rohibitio!
ot Marriage in their Relation to the Dis[
ine Powerof the Pope. i. The Prologue.
Fundamental Principles. 3. The Issue, cq
taining a detailed examination of Dr. Pn
evidence respecting Marriage with a
ceased x^'ife's Sister. 4. Doctrinal Postil.
The Epilogue, t vol. 8vo ^/O
First Part S7 ^
Meditations on the Life and t>oeiriHe
Jesus Christ. By Nicholas A ▼ancinns.K
rr^nslated by George Porter, S.J. 3 vol:
lanio . ^5 ^i
The Formation of ChHtiendotn. i^
Third. By I. W. Allies fS Q^
Headings from the Old Teeiameni, f r i
use ot Students, i vol. T2mo 75 clA
ffistoty of the Irish Eamine of iSA7'
Rev. J. O'Kourke i vol. lamo JT^
Home and her Captors .* Letters. 1 1 01
lamo . .. ^^
Sossuei and his Contemporari€s. t
lamo $9 0'
Essays on Catholicisms, Liberaiiem.mm
Socialism, Bv John Donoso Cortes. Ti
lated by Rev. W. McDonald, x vol. tamo.
V
This miperaedes aU previous Catalogues.
BOOKS PUBLISHED
BY
The Catholic Publication Society,
9 WAREEN STREET, HEW TORK.
In consequence of the increase of postage on books, which took
effect m March this year, we must request ail persons ordering
books by mail to accompany the order by the retail price of the
book.
No books will be sent by mail to booksellers, or others entitled to
a discount, unless at least the money to cover postage aojom-
panies the order.
All the publications of the several Catholic Publishers, both in
this country and in England, kept in stock. ,
" A wonderful book."— ^<w/i?» Pilot.
9f Clnical Friendly and their Rela-
uoos to Modern ThoughL Contents : Chap.
LThe Vocation of the Clergy.— II. The
ClerfyatHomc— III. The Clergy Abroad.
-rv. The Clergy and Modern Thought.
I ToL ismo 1 dO
By the same author.
(Airch D«ftnce: Report of a Conference
on the i'rteent Dangers of the Church.
By the author of " My Clerical Friends."
Tl* Comedy of ConTocation in tho
Koglish Church. In Two Scenes. Edited
by Archdeacon Chasuble, D.D., and dedi-
ctted to the Pan-Anglican Synod. 8vo,
doth. 1 00
ttUitfrmpliia Catholica Amexicaaa.
A Lw .if American Catholic Books published
■p to the year iSas. By Rev. J. M. KinotlL
I Tol. tro 6 00
n^Xtim ItottMrvilla; or, Ona of tho
rrasaplanted. A Tale of the Times of Crom-
wtti In Ireland. By Miss Caddell. x vol.
ismo, cloth, eatra, .... 1 50
Cloth, gilu . *' ' -2
„ A Talc of the Days ot ^ueen
Wnahetn. By Cecilia Mary Caddell. First
American edition, i voL xamo, . 1 50
i:ioitt,gilt, . 2 00
Tht riofiOMioairti and Angola,
Kr«m the German of Bolanden. i volT 9vo-
J 60
Oeih. gilt. . 2 00
Nootoiti ) or, A Mother's Last Reouesi,
sad Other Tales, i vol. xamo, . . 1 25
■iCgio's Bosary^ and Otfaor Taloi.
iCoMTSKTs : By the author of '* Marion Hov -
«d." Maggie^ft Rosary— The White Angel
-Mabel-Old Morgan's Rose-Tree. From
ih« French of Sou vestre, translated by Emilv
Bowles : The Sawyer of the Vosge»-A Mecl-
iag on the Alps— The Godson.) i vol. xamo,
1 00
of
00
Tht Qovflo of Torkoi
American Ule. Cloth, extra, » ^^
Cleth,faUgilt 3 00
A Stoiy
Littlo Pierre, the Pedlar of Abnce,
Translated from ihe French, and illustraten
by 37 fir9t-claj.s woodcuts. (This makes one
of the handsomest premium books ever
issued in this country.) Cloth, extra, 1 50
Cloth, full gilt. . , 2 00
Peter's Jonmey, and Other Taleo,
and Wilfulness and its Consequences. » vgj^
tamo, frontispiece, . . . > 1 50
• Cloth, gilt, 2 00
JThe Threihold of . the Catholic
Church. A course of plain instructions tor
those entcrinc her communion. By Fr.
Bagshaw. With preface by Mgr. Capel.
I vol. larao 1 50
Sermons on ficdeoiastical Snigocta.
Vol. I. By Archbishop Manning. Cloth,
extra, 2 00
The same. Vol. II 2 00
The Internal Mission of .the Boly
Gbost. By ATchbisnoH Manning, i vol.
lamo 1 00
A Winfifod Word, and Other Stories.
By the author of "The House of Yorke,"
etc 1 50
• Cloth gilt. . . . . 2 00
The Li& of Saint John of the Cross, ot
the Order of our Lady of Mount Carntel. i
vol. i6m'), X 25
Life and Doctrine of Saint Catherine
of Genoa. »TrHii:%iaied irora the iUilian.
I vol. lamo 2 00
Catherine Hamilton, a Tale for Little
Girls. tSmo 00 cts.
The Farm of Miiiceron, and Madame
.Agnes. Translated from ihe h rench. i vol.
8vo, cloth, extra 1^9
Cloth, gilt 2 00
The French Prisoner^ in^Rnsua.
rranslaicd from the hr^nch by P. a. One
illustration, i vol. i6mo, cloth, extra, 1 00
Cloth, gill 1 50
The Spirit of Faith; or. What mnst I
do to Believe. By iiishop Headlcy. Cloth
60 cts
The Three Pearls; or, Virginity and
Mart3raom, 1 50
J
Olory and Sorrow, and Salim the
Pssha of Salonique. Translated from the
French by P. S. z vol. i6mo, cloth extra,
with two illustrations, .1 00
Cloth, gilt, 1 50
Only a Pin. Tranalated firom the
French bv a Graduate of St. Joseph's Aca-
demy, Kmrnittsburg. i vol. i6mo, cloth
extra, 1 00
P Cloth, griit, . . 1 50
The Gladstone Controversy. Man-
ning's und JNevinian b ktpiy. ian.c, tloib,
1 50
The Gladstone Controversy. Vangh-
an s and Lllaihi inc's i\tply,a)id hesMti on
Infallibility, with Syllabus. lanio, clotb,
1 50
Myrrha Lake j or, Into the Lig-ht of
Catholicity. By Minnie Mary Lee. i vol.
t6ino, 1 00
Constance Sherwood: Aa,
frap^of the Sixteenth Century. Ky Lady
reor^hna Fullerton. VI iih four
reoi _
lions." I vol. 8vo, extra cloth.
Cloth, «:ilt, ....
illustra-
2 00
3 00
The Betrothed.* From the lulmn o) Man-
zoni. z vol. xamo, .... 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
French Bggs in an fing-Ush Basket.
Translated by Emily Bowles, i vol. lamo,
1 50
Two Thousand nSiles on Horseback.
A SuDiiiier Tour to the Plains, the Rocky
Mountains, and New Mexico. Ky James h.
Meline. x vol. lamo. . • . 1 50
mary Qneen of Scots and Her Lat- •
esi cnglish Historian. A Narrative of tbe
i'rircipal Events in the Life »l Mary Stuart..
With some Remarlts on Mr. Froucte's His-
tory ol England. Hv James F. Meline. i
vol. i2mo, 1 75
The Lift and Times of Siztns the
Fifth. Translated trom the French by James
F. Meline. i vol. i6mo, ... 1 00
AU-Ballow Bve; or The Test of
Futurity, and Other Sloiies. 1 vol. 8vo,
2 00
Cloth, gilt, 8 00
Impressions of Spain. By Lady Herbert.
X vol. i2mo, fifteen Illustrations, cloth extra,
2 00
Cradle XoUlda. Egypt, Syria, Palestine,
Jerusalem, etc. By Lady Herbeit. Illus-
trated by eight full-page lllustnttions. i vol
lamo, vellum cloth 2 00
Cloih. full gilt, 2 50
Half-calf, 4 CO
Lift of J. Theophane Venard, MaKyrm
Tonquin. Translated from the French by
Lady Herbert, x vol. x6mo, X 00
Three Phases of Christian Love.
The Mother, the Maiden, and the Keli?ious. '
By Ladv Herbert. One vol. lamo, . 1 50 |
GilL extra, 2 00 '
A Sister's Story. By Madame Augustus
Craven. Translated from the French by
Emily Bowles. One vol. crown 9vo, pp.
^, cloth, extra, . ' . . 2 50
Cloth, tilt. . f • • • 3 00
The Lift of Benry Done^ Manyr. Ti
lated from the French by Lady Herberu
vol., i6mo, 75
Anne Severin. By the Author of "* A
ter's Story." i vol. lamo, cloth, . 1
Cloth, gilt, . . . .2
Plooranfl^ By Madame Augustas Crave
I vol. 8vo, 1 "
Cloth, gilt, 2
Visits to the Blessed Sacranient
to the Blessed Virfsin, for every day in
Month. By St Alphoasus Ligqori. oimOj
cloth, new edition 50
Way of Salvation, 'in Modi
for Every Day in the Year. Translated fr
the Italian of St. Alphonsus Liiruori by Rtt.
James Jones. 34mo, cloth, . 75
Bonrs of the Passion; or. Pa'
Reflections on the Sufferings and Death of
our Blessed Redeemer. By St. LiguorLi
New edition. Translated by Right Rev. W
Walsh, Bishop of Halifax, with a sketch
the Lite of St. Alphonsus LIguorl. r8mo,{
cloth, 50 cts..
Love of Onr Lord Jesns Christ B^l
duced to practice. By St. Alphonsus Li*
gnori. TransUted by the Right Rev. W.
Walsh, Bishop of Halifax. New edition.
i8mo. cloth 50 eta.
Short Treatise on Prayer. Adapted to
all Classes of Christians. By St. Alpnonsot
Liguori. The holy author of this treatise
says : ** Were it in my power, I' would pah-
lisn as many copies of this work as there art
Christians on earth, and would give each a
copy, that each might be convinced of the
absolute necessity of prayer." New edition
a4mo, cloth, ... 40 eta
Spirit of St. Alphonsus de Lignoii
A Selection from tiis Shorter Spiritual Trea-
tises. Translated from the Italian by the
Rev. J. Jones. With a M emoir of the authw.
a4mo, cloth, ... 50 cts
The Cflories of Mary. Translatei
from the Italian of St. Alphonsus Maria de
Liguori. Second edition. Revised by Rev.
Robert A. Coffin, C.SS.R. t vol. itmo.
125
Lift and Letters of Madame Swet-
chine. Translated from the French of the
Count Falloux. One vol. xamo, . 2 0§
The Writinirs of Mtalanie Swetchins.
Edited by Count de Falloux. i vol. itmo,
150
Oakeley on Catholic Worship : A Ma-
nual of Popular Instruction on the Ceremo-
nies and Devotions of the Church. By Fre-
derick Canon Oakeley. M.A.', Missionary
Rector of St. John's, Islington, i vol. x6ibo.
OOcts.
Oakeley on the mass. TheOrderaaii
Ceremonial of the most Holy and Adorable
Sacrifice of the Mass explained in a Dialogue
between a Priest and a Catechumen, ^ttb
an Appendix on Solemn Mass, Ve«>en,
Compline, and the Benediction or the Host
Holy Sacrament. By Canon Frederic*
Oakeley. i vol. x8mo, . 60 cts.
•
Manresa: or. The Sptritoal BaiKciiif
of St. Ignatius. For Ganaral «m^ N«^
Edition. I vol. tamo, . 1 §i
5
Or. IffcvnaaB's Aaawtat toDr.Pwwy'ft
Sirenicon. Pap«r, 75 cts.
As Bflsay in Aid of a Orammar of
Asent. By John Henry Newman, D.D., of
the Oratory, i vol. lamo, cloth, . 2 50
Apologia Fto Vita Sua : Boing a Bo-
ply to A Pamphlet entitled '' What, then.
Does Dr. Newman Mean ? " By John Henry
Newtum, D D. New edition, i vol. zsmo.
2 09
fi
of Coimcil of Trent.
PabU^ed by command of Pope Hius V.
Translated by Kev. J. Donovan, Professor
floyal CoUef^e, Maynooth. 8vo, • . 2 00
Lotion of Bnffooie do Gnorin.
Bdited by G. S. Ti^butien. i vol. lamo,
c!oth, .... . . 2 00
Szpoottioa of tho Doctrino of the
C'alholic Church in Matters ot Controver«v.
Bv the RiiBrht Rev. J. B. Bossuet. A new
edition, with copious notes, by Rev. J.
Fletcbcr, D.D. i8mo, 60 cts.
lovnal of Bvironio do Onorin.
Edited by G. S. Tr6butien. i vol. lamo.,
2 00
Lottav to a Protestant Friend on tho
Holy Scriptures. By Rev. D. A. Gallitzin.
t8mo. clotli, 60 cts.
Mritnal Director of Dovont and B^
Hgious Souls. By St. Francis de Sales,
50 cts.
latrodactlon to a Dovont Liib. Prom
the French of St. Francis of Sales, Bishop and
Prince of Geneva. To which is prefixed ar
Abstract of his Life. i8mo, cloth, 75 cts
Tkfnk Wen On^ ; or, Befloetiona on
the Great Truths ot the Christian Relifrion,
forevery day in the Month. By Right Rev.
R. Chalioner. 3amo. cloth, * 30 cts.
Catkolic Cluriatian Instnioted in the
Sacraments, Sacri6ces. Oreroonies. and Ob-
servances of the Church, by way ot question
aod answer. By the Right Rev. Dr. Chal-
ioner. s4mo, cloth, flexible, 25 cts.
Oatholio Christian Initmcted. samo
edition. Cloth 50 cts.
Ohlist and tho Ohvrch. Lectures deli-
vered in St Ann's Church, New York, dur-
ing Advent, i860. By Rev.'Thos. S. Pres-
ton. 1 vol. iam<^ .... 1 50
■eaeea and Bevelation. i.ectures De-
livered In St. Ann's Church, New York,dur-
hig Advent, 1867, by Rev. T S. Preston.
One vol. tamo, 1 50
Utile Troatiae on the Little Virtaes.
Written orifrinally in Italian by Father Ro-
hcrti, of the Society of Jesua. To which are
Added, A Letter on Fervor by Father Vallois,
S.J., and Maxims from an unpublished
oaauscnpt of Father Sefcneh, S.J. ; also. De-
votions to the Sacred Heart t>f Jesus, lamo,
doth 45 cts.
!■ V(MI 8onnen% From the Italian of
uher Seroerf . S.J. Vol. 1. lamo, 1 50
Vol. n 1 50
h ewand Enlarged Bdition. with Maps, etc,
i Qfaurtrated BistoiT of Ireland,
m the Barltc^i Period to the Present
«•: with several first-class full-page en-
ravings of Historical Scenes designed by
.lenry Doyle, and engraved by George Han-
Ion and George Pearson ; together with up-
ward of One Hundred Woodcuts, by eminent
Artists, illustrating Antiquities, Scenery, and
Sites of Remarkable Events ; and three large
Maps— one of Ireland, and the others ot
Family Homes, Statistics, etc. x vol. 8vo,
nearly 700 pages, extra cloth, . . 5 00
Half-mor 7 00
The Lift of St. Patrick^ Apoktieoflre.
land, hy M. F. Cusagk, author of " The Il-
lustrated History of Ireland," etc. Illus-
trated, one vol., . . .6 00
Tho Patriot^! History of Ireland. By
MTF. Cusack. xvcl.. 1 Sd
The Works of the Most Beverend
John Hughes, first Archbishop of New York,
containing Biographv. Sermons. Lectures,
•Speeches, etc. Carefully compiled from the
Best Sources, and edited by Lawrence
Kehoe. 2 vols. 8vo, cloth, 8 00
9 vols., half-calf, extra, . 12 00
Poor Man's Oatechism^ on Tho
Christian Doctrine Explained, with Short
Admonitions. By John Mannock, O.S.B.
a4mo, cloth, . . 50 cts.
Poor Man's Controrersy. By J. Man-
nock. author of " Poor Man's Catechism.*'
iSmo, cloth 50 cts.
Catholic Tracts. Fiav Catholic I'racts of
*'The Catholic Publication Societv," on
various subjects, i vol. xamo, cloth extra,
125
Irish Odes, and Other Poems. By Au-
brey de Vere. 1 vol. lamo, toned ^per,
2 00
* Cloth, gilt, . . ... 2 50
* May Carols, and Hymns and Poems.
Hv Aubrey de Vere. Blue and srold. 1 25
The Xaqnefiiction of the Blood of St.
Januarius. Cloth 1 00
History of the Old and New Testa^
ments. By J. Reeve. 8vo, half-bound, em-
bossed roan, 1 00
Oompendions Abstract of the History
of the Church of Christ. Bv Rev. Wm.
Gahan,().S.A. With continuation down to the
present time, by John G. Shea, LL.D. lamo ,
1 25
The Lift of Mother Jnlia, Ponndress
* of the Sisters of Noire Dame, t vol. lamo.
cloth, extra, with Portrait of Mother Julia.
^ 150
Cloth, gilt 2 00
History of Bnsrland, ftr the Use of
Schools. By W. F. Myllus. Continued
down to the present time by John G. Shea
LL.D. lamo, .... 1 25
Life of Mother Margaret Mary Hal-
laban, founder of the English Congregation
of St. Catherine of Siena, of the Third Crder
of St Dominick. By her Religious Children
With a Pre&ce by the Right Rev. Bishop
Ullathorne. i vol. 8vo. .4 00
Barly History of tho Catholic Chnrch
in the Island of New York. By the Rigtit
Rev. J. R. Bavlcy^ D.D. W^ith four Steel
Plates of the (our hrst Bishoos and a wnod-
cut of old St. Peter's. 1 vol. ismo, cloth.
1 50
fXistory of the Society of Jesns.
DauriKnac. 2 rols., .... 3 00
Tho Lift of Father Bmvignan, SJ.
My Faiht T Ponlevoy, S.J. Translated from
the French. » vol. crown 8vo, toned paper.
400
laift of St. Tincent do PaiiL 33^10.
cloth 45 cts.
Lift of BloM^ niargraret Mary
Alacoque. VVith some Account of the Devo-
tion to »hc Sacred Heart. By the Rev. Geors:*
Tirkell. S.J. Tvol.gvo. -2 50
Oar Lady of Litanios. By Rev. X. D
MrLcort. 10©
Tho Sacramontale of tho Holy Cath-
olic Church. By the Rev. W. J. Barrv,
1 00
LoBten Monitor, or Moral Reflec-
tions and Devout Aspirations on the Gospel
for each day, from Ash- Wednesdav till Easter
Sunday By Kev. P. Baker, O.S.F, a4mo.
clc'h. new edition 00 cts.
The Snd of Soliffiovt Controversy.
By Rt. Rev. John Milner, D.D. 1 vol. lamo.
75 ct8.
FATBBR FORMBTS WORKS.
Pictorial Bihlo and Gharch Hiitory
Stories. An easy, continuous narrative Jot
the Younjf, from Adam «nd Eve in Parar'ise
down to 'he Middle of the Reif^n of Pope
Pius IX. Profusely illustrated by over 500
. Woodruts from orif^inal designs by the rroai
eminent artists. Crown 8vo.
I. The Old Testament Stories. Containing
aoo illustrations and 6 maps, 520
pn 3 00
. II. The Life of Christ. Containing xoo
illustrations, t86 pp.. 1 00
in. The Historv of the Church Con-
taining aoo illustrations, 540 pp., 3 00
The above beautiful books can be had in
tecs, put up in boxes, suitable tor presents, a*'
follows:
In three vols..' cloth extra, . 7 00
In five vols., cloth extra, . 9 00
In five vols., cloth gilt. 12 00
In five vols, half calf. * 20 00
In flve vols full calf antique, 30 00 »
The Pictorial Bible and , Church
Historv Stories, Abridp<"d and Complete, i
vol. With a view of Solomon's Temple, a
bird's-eye view of Jerusalem, and upwards
of one hundred beautiful Engravings. Crown
8vo, 3ao pp. By Rev. Heniy Formby. Cloth,
extra. 1 50
Cl«»th. eilt 2 00
HalfHmlf. 3 50
, Full-calf, 00
This is an abridgment of the larger work
described above.
The Book of the Holy Rooary. A Full,
Popular. Doctrinal Exposition of its Fifteen
Mysteries, and of their Corresponding Types
m the Old Testament. Illustrated with thirty-
•tix full-page engravings, printed in the best
manner on toned paper, extra ornamental
binding, and gilt edsres. By Rev. H. Form-
by. 1 vol. quarto, fbll gilt, . 4 00
Lift. PanriiMiy Boa'A* aiiA
tio'* of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Bdiig 1
Abridged Harmony of the Four Gocpds
the Words of the Sacred Text. Edited byf
Rev. Henry Formby. With over oxty
gravings from original designs, i vol. ij
\
Cloth gilt 1
The Lift of S. CatbArine
Siena, i vol lamo, ... .1
An Epistle of Josos Christ to
Faithful Soul that is devoutly affected
ward Him. x vol. x6mo, . . .1
mstory of the Church firoom xta
tablishment to the Refonnattoa. Bv the 1
Rev. C. C:. Pise. D.D. 5 vols, 8vo, . 7
Another edition. 5 vols, xamo, doth. 5 00
The lUnttrated Catholic Snndayw
School Library. F"irst Series. The follow,
ing are the titles of the different volumcsa
Madeleine the Rosifere. CniS»de rf the
Children. Talcs of the Affections. Adveft-
tures of Travel. Truth and Trust. Selcci
Popular Tales. Handsomely bound aod p«l
up in a box. Cloth, extra. ■ 3 Oi
Cloth, gilt 4 oil
The niaatrated Catholic Snadafi
School Library. Second Series. The foRow^
ing are the titles of the different volumes tr
The Rivals. The Rattle of Lepanto, elc
Scenes and Incidents at Sea. Tne Schnok
bovs, and the Roy and the Man. Beautfful
Little Kose. Florestine. Handsomely bounds
and put up in a box, cloth, extra, '. 3 00;
Cloth, gilt, 4 00:
The ninstrated Catholic Snndayw
School Library. Third Series. The follow-
ing are the titles of the different volumes:
Nettlethorpe the Miser. Tales of Naval ao4
Military Life. Harry O'Brien, and Other
Tales. The Hermit of Mount Atlas. L«o:
or. The Choice of a Friend. Antonio; or.
The Or|)han of Florence. Handsomely
b*und, and put up in a boju Cloth, extta,
3 Of
Cloth, gilt, 4 Oi
The ninstrated Catholic Svnday*
School Librarv. Fourth Series. The follow-
ing are the titles of the diffierent volumes:
Tales of Ihe South of France. Stories ol
Other Lands. EmsML's Cross, snd Other
Tales. Uncle Ed waqpft Stories. Joe Rsker
The Two Painters. Handsomely bounrf-
and put up in a box. Cloth, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt 4 00
The ninetrated Catholic Sunday-
School Library. Fifth Series. The follow
ing are the titles of the different volnmet:
Bad Example. Mav-Dav, and Other Ta)e».
James Chapman. The Voung Astronomer,
and Other Tales. Angel Dreams. Ellertos
Priory. Handsomely bound, and put up in
box. Cloth; extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt 4 00
The nimrtrated Catholic Snaday-
School Librarv. Sixth Senes. The foJJaw-
ing are the titles of the different volumes:
Idleness and Industry. The Hope of tke
Kaixekopfs. St. Maurice. The Youne Bmt-
grants. Angels' Vi.sita. Scrivener's Dtsg^
ter. and Orange Girl. Handsomely bouod.
and put up in a box. Cloth, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt 4
mnslvmted Cmtholic Snnday-
Sctool I«ibrar\\ Seventh Series. The roUow-
tas mrm the titles of the diflferenl volumes :
Talcs of Catholic Artists. Honor O'M ore's
Three Homes. Sir ^Ifric, and Other Tales.
Select Tales for the Young. Tales for the
Many. Frederick Wiloiot. In a box. illus
trated. Cloth extra, . . 3 00
Clou, Kilt, 4 00
ninstarmted CatlMlic Sunday-
School Library. Ershth Series. The follow-
mr are the titles oT the different volumes:
The Apprentice, and other Sketches. Mary
Bencdicta, and Other Stories. Faith and
Loyalty, and The Chip Gatherers. Agnes,
and Other Sketches. Lame Millie. The
Chapel of the Angels. Handsomely boimd.
and put up in box. Cloth extra, . 3 00
Cloch Kilt, ... 4 00
aad tha Sihyli] A Clanic, Chris-
tian NoveL By Miles Gerald Keon. One
vol. 8vo, cloth, extra, .... 1 50
ted Gathplic Family Almanac
for 1869, 1S70, 1871, 1879, and 1873, each,
25 cts.
po ScImoIsi ▲ Moral Tale.
By Mrs. Hugbes. lamo^ cloth, . 1 00
\Uwm Qi the Fatfaere ef the 0eMrt,
and of many Holy Men snd Women who
dwelt in Solitude. Translated from the
French. Embellished with eighteen engrav-
ings. x8mo, cloth, 00 cts.
e«lHil «r« The Virtoeiui ViUager.
A Catholic xale. New edition. i8mo, cloth,
OO cts.
of the Loet #hild. This story
is founded on fact, and records in a most ip-
toreating manner a singular instance of God's
mercy. x8mo, cloth, . 60 cts.
: A Tale of Anti^nity,
•howinr the Wonderful Ways of Providence
in tfie Protection of Innocence. From the
German of Schmid. i8mo, cloth, 60 cts.
and Other Poems. By
Geoige H. Miles. Cloth, . . 2 00
Gilt extra 2 50
Tke ''Old-Catiiolics'' at Cologne. A
Sketch in Three Scenes. Rv the author of
*^ Comedy of Convocation.' i vol. T8mn
76 cts]
Father HoW JMl d. A North American
Tale. fSmo, ^K, 60 cts.
The
Ibr Girla,
of the MedaL
A Drama
20 cts.
A Drama for Girls, 20 cts.
The Peaf White, a Drama for Boys,
50 cts.
Wai or, Spain Fifty Years Ago. From
the Spanish of Feman Caballero. i vol.
tamo. 1 50
Slisa Deefteej or, The Eflfhcte of
leading Bad Rooks, .... 60 cts.
impeie ef Pleaaant Bomee. By the
uithor of "The Lite oi Mother McCaulcy."
tnoatrated with four full-page lUuttrstionfi.
I vol. ismo, cloth extra. . 150
Qoch, gOt. . ... 2 00
~irit ef Faith; or, Why Do I BeUeve.
17 Bishtip Ue&rtlf J , .... 60
Booki of Irish BlartynL Memerials
of those who Suffered for the Catholic Faith
in Ireland during the Sixteenth. Seventeenth,
and Eighiecnih Centuries. Collected and
edited by Myles O'Reilly. B.A., LL.D. i
■ vol. crown 8vo. vellum cloth, . . 2 50
Diary of a Sister of Mercy. Tales
from the Diary of a Sister of Mercy. By C.
M. Brame. i vol. lamo, extra cloth. 1 50
Extra gilt, 2 00
(Htipinffs After Truth, a Life- journey
from New England ('ongregationalism to
the One Catholic Apostolic Church. By
Joshua Huntington. One volume vellum
cloth 75 cts.
The Glerffy and the Pnlpit and
their Relations to the People. By M. TAbbtf
Isidore MuUois, Chaplain to Napoleon III.
'One vol. lamo, extra cloth, 1 50
Hatf-calf, extra, .3 50
Sjinbolism; or, Bzpositlon of the
Doctrinal Differences between Catholics and
Protestants, as evidenced by their Symbolic
Writings. By John A. Moehler, D.D. Trans-
lated from the German, with a Memoir of the
Author, preceded by an Historical Sketch of
the State of Protestantism and Catholidmo
in Germany for the lasc Hundred Years, a^
J. B. Robertson, Esq.. 4 00
An Amicahle Discussion on tiie
Church of England, and on the Reformation
in genjjral, dedicated to the Clergv of every
Protesiaot Communion, and recfuced Into
the form of letters, bv the Right Rev. J. F.
M. Trevern, D.O., Bishop of Strasbourg.
Translated by the Rev. William Richmond.
I voi. tamo, 580 pages. . . 2 00
Ariimi^ Divotai or, Devent SeoL
Translated from the Italian of Very Rev. J.
B. Pagani, Provincial of the Order of Char-
ity in England. This is one of the most
instructive and useful books that enrich our
spiritual literature. It is a series of excellent
considerations relative to the Eucharist as a
sacrifice and sacrament, and will be found by
the pious Catholic to be a valuable manual
in the preparation for Holy Communion.
a4mo, cloth, 60 cts.
Bona Mors : A Pions Association ef
the Devout Servants ot our Lord Jesus
Christ, dying on the Cross, in order to obtain
a good death. 34mo, clnth, 25 cts.
Why Men do not BeUere; or Thp
Principal Causes of Infidelity. Translated
from the French of Mgr. Laforet. Cloth,
1 00
In Beaven we Know Onr UW9.
Translated from the Krench of P^re Blot, t
vol i8mo 60 cts.
The See ef Peter, the Bock el the
Church, the Source of Jurisdiction, and the
Centre of Unity. By Thomas William Allies
I vol., cloth, 75 cts.
Grounds of the Catholic Doctrine,
contained in the Profession t>f Faith publish-
ed by Pope Pius IV.; to which are added.
Reasons why a Catholic cannot Conform
to th« Protestant Religion. 3amo^ cloth,
cts.
The Gentle Skeptic or Bssajs and
Conversations of a Country Justice on the
Authenticity and Truthfulness of the Old
Testament Records. Sdlted hy the Rev. C.
A. Walworth, x vol. zame, . f 50
8
The ]>octriiie of Bell; Tentilated in a
Discussion between Kev. C: A. Walworth
and Wm. Henryr Burr, i vol. iSino, 60 cts.
The Devont Commniiicant. By Rev.
P. Haker 24mo, . 50 cts.
The Visible Unity of the Catholic
Church mxi.itained against Opposite Theo-
ries ; with an Explanation of Certain Pas-
sages in Ecclesiastical History «rroneouslv
appeateii to in their support. By M. J.
Rhodes, M.A. a vols, in x, 8vo. cloth extra,
5 00
Itetten to a Prebendary. Being an An-
swer to Keflections on Popery by Rev. J
Sturg.s, LL.D. By Right Kev. J. Milner.
D D. 24010, cloth 75 cts.
A Vindication of Italy and the Papa)
States 4D ct&.
The Government of the Papal
Suies 50 cts.
Fifty Beaaona why the Catholic Be>
Uefon ought to be Preferred . 4O ctft.
Liib of St. John the Bvanffolist 2 00
Life of Father Bernard* . . 1 50
The Mistreis of Novicea Bnligrhtened
upnn her Duties. Trinslated by a Sister
of Mercy. Net, . 1 50
Catechiam of Chriitian Beligion.
Tnin»Uicd from the German of Del arbe,
by Fander. S.J 75 cts.
The Toil Withdrawn. From the French
of Mme. Craven. . • • . 1 50
The Holy Communion, Ita Philoso-
phy, Theology, and Practice. By John Ber-
nard Dalgairns. Priest of the Oratx>ry of St.
Philip Neri. i vol. lamo, . . .2 00
Familiar Diaconraea to the Tonng-,
Preceded by an Address to Parents. Bv A
Catholic Priest, x vol. xamo, cloth, 75 cts.
Bomihold on the c «iwif^ffn^i|r^^n fff
etc. The Commandments and Sacmments
explained in Kifiy-two Discourses. By the
Right Rev. Dr. Hornihold, author of " Ke»l
•Principles of Catholics." lamo, cloth. 2 00
Spiritnal Combat To which is added.
The Peace of the Soul and the Happiness ol
the Heart which Dies to itself in order to Live
to God. 3amo ^Q cts.
Practical Diaconraea on the Perfec-
tions and Works of God, and the Divinity
and Works of Jesus Chriht. By Rev. J.
Reeve 8vo, cloth, -2 50
Triumph of Beligion; or, A Choice
Selection of Edifying Narratives. Compiled
from various authors. x8mo, clolh. 5lt cts
Spiritual Conaoler; or, Inatmctiona
to Enlighten Pious Souls in their Doubts and
allay ther 1 ears. Written originally in Latin
by Father Quadrupani. i8mo, . 50 cts.
Storiea on the Seven Tirtnea. ByAgne.
M. Stewart, authoress of " Festival ot the
Rosary.'* (This is a series of moral aud in-
teresting tales told with an elegant sim-
plicity, each illustrating the triumph of one
of f he seven virtues.) tSmo, cloth, 50 cts.
Oratory of the FaithfU Sonl) or, De-
votions to the Most Holy Sacrament and to
pur Blessed Lad v. Traoalated from the ifoffci
of Venerable Abbot Blosius. By Robot
Aston Coffin, Priest of the Oratorr. itaw^
cloth 5pctL
fVonet^a Meditationa on tiie UA aiA
Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, lor Everr
Day in the Year. By Rev. J. Nouet, S.J.
To which are added. Meditations on the S«>
cred Heart of Jesus Christ, being those takes
from a Novena in preparatioa for « Feast ol
the same. By Father C. Borgo, S.J. One
vol. lamo, 880 pages, 2 50
Familiar Inatmctioaa on MoBtal
Prayer. By the Abbd Courboa. Translated
from the French, and edited by Rev. W. T.
Gordon, of the Oratory, London, xvol. i6mo«
cloth. 75 cts.
dhridffment of the Chriatian Doctrine.
By the Right Rev. Bishop Hay. jamo.
cloth 30 cts-
Confidence in -the Bieicy of Ood.
Reflections on the Confidence in the Mercy
of God. By the Right Rev. Joseph Laoguct.
i8mo. cloth, .... 50 cts.
Memorial of a Chriatiaa JUft.
Containing all thata soul newly converted to
God ought to do that it may attain the ner.
fertiun to which it ought to aspire. By Rev.
Lewis de Granada. O.S.D. Revised and cor-
rected by Rev. F. J. L'Estrange, 0,S.D.
tSmo, cloth 75 cw.
Ajaiemar do Belcaatel; or, Bo not
Haaty in JndgiDg, . 1 50
Mary, Star of the Sea: a Storv of cath-
olic Devotion, • ' • 1 50
Life of Chriat. Translated from the French
of Louis V'euillot by Rev. A. Farley, i voL
lamo, . "X. ..2 00
A Memoir of Tfaomaa B win^ of Ohio.
I vol quarto, net, • • 3 00
Sacred Heart of Joana and the Sa^
cred Heart of Mary. Translated from the
iuiian ot Father Lanzi, author of ^* History
of Painting," etc. With an introduction by
Rev. C. P. Meehan. a4mo, cloth, CO cts.
Month of Mary. Containing a Series ot
Meditations, etc., in Honor ot the R. V. M.
Arranged for each day of the Month, nmo,
cloth 40 cts.
Peter Claver: A Sketch of Bia Lift
and Labors in behalf of the' African Slave.
I vol. i6mo 75 cts.
Honulieft on the Book of Tohiaa 1 err
A Familiar RxplanalioB of the Practical
Duties of Domestic LmP By Rev. T. Mar-
tyn. (Oolv a few copies of this book left.)
tamo, cloth j 00
Connaela of a Chriatian Mother. 50 cts,
Shadowa of the Rood. Bight i^ntet.
Liectures 1 00
The Divinity of Chriat. By Ri^bt Rev.
S. H. Rosecrans. D.D., . . ^>cCSw
LoflTonda of Boly Bbry . 60 cts.
Itonten Lectnrea. By the Rct. t. Mc-
Guire 75 cts.
Price of a Sonl, . 50 eta.
The ProgreaaofttoAdro,. - 60 ^
A Treatiae on the Cateddam, 50 i
Marriare and Family Dntiea. BvAi i-
bishop Purcell, ... . 25 < "^
The Iiand of the Cid. By Osaaa i«
IliQStrutttd, . ' . I . \
•^
Xiittit llffunnil of Devotioii to tlio
Sacred Hcut of Jens, and Spiritual Bou-
quet, 50 cU.
Imitaiion of Sacred Beart of Jooni.
Krom tJi« Latin of Arnoudt. . 2 OO
Tho Hidden Treasnre j or, The Valve
of Holy Mass, 50 cts.
IfliUatioii of the Blasied
Four Hooks. x8mo, cloih.
in
50 cts*
laterier Chxietiaii, in Bi^rl^t Books.
vith a Supplemeot. Extracted from the
WritingH of M. Bemicr dc Lourigny. tSmo,
^lotii, 50 cts.
BOOKS BT TBB PACX.XST
The Siag^a Bighwayj or, Tlw Catii-
o4ict tiurcbtbe Only Way ot batvattou as
Kerealed in the Holy Scriptures. By Kcv.
A. F. Hewiu x vol. tamo, . 1 50
QMotioiti of tlio SooL
Hccker. New edition,
Cloth. gUi, .
By Rev.
I. T.
1 50
2 00
Aolratioiia of Natare. By Rev. I. T.
Hccker. Fourth Edition, revised, cloth,
•xtra 1 50
SeaMBs of tlio Paofiot Fatlior% for
1864. New Edition. Cloth, extra, . 1 50
of tlie Panlist Patlier% fbx
iS6s and 1866. Cloth, extra, 1 50
CHiide to Catholic Too&ff Women.
S»pectAUy for those who earn their own liv-
iog. By Rev. George Deshon, Missionarv
Pne«t. I vol. lamo, . • 1 00
•
Uft of Father Baker. The Lilh and
Scnnona of ihe Rev. Francis A. Baker,
Priest of the Congregation of St. Paul.
Edited by Rev. A. F. Hewit. One vol.
CMwn 8vo, pp. S04, • 2 50
Htlf'Gslfor morocco extra, . 4 00
■ffnens of the Paolist Fathen. .Vol.
VI. lamo, 336 pa^es, cloih, . X 50
ANtwaad Enlarged Edition of Father Young's
Otthette Bymns and Canticlefl. This
cdiUofl coDiains twenty-ooe new Hymns ;
among which are five Chiistmas Carols, a
ehamii&g carol lor Easter, entitled " Tlie
Alleluia Bella'*; several new and onginal
Songs tor Catechism ; the popular Congrega-
doiul Hymns sung in the Paulisi Church oy
the Rosary and Christian Doctnne Societies,
i tt the Way oi the Cross, etc., the whole
^ ng the most coniplete Catholic Hvron^
B ever puUlshed. OaevoLiamo, 1 00
Pi liM «rtho Age. With Stadioe
ii Augustine on Kindrtd Subjects. By
A. I* . lie wit. I vol. umOf^xtra cloth,
200
I
N«w and Enlarged Bdlttoa of
The Ofilce of Veepen. Containing the
order of the Vesper Service ; the Gregorian
Psalm Tones, harmonized, with the Psalms
for all the Vespers during the year pointed
for chanting. Common melodies tor the
Antiphons, and the Four Anthems of the
B. v. Mary. By Rev. Alfred Young. With
the Imprimatur of the Most Rev. Archbishop
of New York. (The Gregorian Tones, and
the words of the Psalms, by a new and
original division, are so arranged that but
one pointing of the Psalms, as given, is
needed for ail the Tones, with their various
endings.) Single copies, . . 75 cts.
Per dozen, 5 00
Hymni and Songv for Catholic Chil-
aren. Containing the most popular Cati olic
Hymns for everv season of the Christian
Year, together with May Songs, Christmas
and Easter Carols, for tne use of Sunday-
Schools, Sodalities, and Confraternities.
Paper covers, 15 cts.
Cloth, flexible, 2o cts.
LifTht in Oarknon 1 A Troatiie on the
Obscure Night of the Soul. By Rev. A F.
Hewit. x6mo, cloth, extra, . . 75 cts.
The Invitation Seeded : Reasons for a
Return to Catholic Unity. By James Kent
Stone, late President of Kenyon and Hobart
Colleges. X vol. xamo, • . 1 50
The Zaft of the Most Bev. M. J. Spal^
ding, D.D., Archbishop of Baltimore. By
Rev. J. L. Spalding. S.T.L. t vol. 8vo, 480
pp., with portrait on steel, bevelled
cloth, 4 00
Half-mor., 5 00
Good Thinn Ar Catholic Beaden
A Misceliaiiy of Catholic Biography, His
tory, Travrls, etc. Containing Pictures and
Sketches of Eminent Persons, representing
the Church and Cloister, the State and Hume,
Remarkable Places connected with Religion,
Famous Evenis in all Lands And Times.
With 108 illustrations. Being a compiUtion
from the first five years of '*Ttie Illustrated
Catholic Family Almanac.*' t vol. tamo,
2 00
Pleadinge of the Sacred Beart of
Jesus. Krom ibe French. By Rev. M.
Comerford. Cloth, 50 eta.
Orapos and Therm. By the author of
** The House of Yorke." z vol. 8vo, 2 00
Irieh Bmiffration to the United States
What 11 na:i Been, and Whai it is. Kacts
and Reflections especially Addressed to the
Irish People intending to Emigrate from
their Native land, and to those living in the
Large Cities ot Great Britain and of the
United States. ' By Rev. Stephen Byrne,
O.S.D. I vol. I imo, cloth, . 125
Paper,
cts.
Sacnim Soptonarivmi or. The Seroa
Gifts of the Holy Ghost, a« EAcmolified in the
Liie and Person of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
fortbeGuidknceand Instruction of Children.
By K»v. Henry Fonnby. 1 toI. timo, 1 05
lO
BOOKS IN PAPBB COVBB8.
Dr. Newman's Beply to Gladstone.
50cts.
Archbishop Manning's Beply to Glad-
stone, 50ct8.
The Tme and the False InfiOlibiUty.
By Bishop Fessler. .... 50 cis.
The Syllabus ibr the People. By a
Monk of St. Augustine's, . 25 ctB.
Bt. Bev. Bishop Vansrhan's Beply to
Mr. Gladstone, 2o cts.
Bishop UUathome's Beply to Mr.
GladstODe, 25 cis.
The Catholic Christian Instmcted*
By Bishop Challoner. . 20 cts.
Bossnefs Bzposition of the Doctrines
of the Catholic Church on Matters of Con-
troversy. With Notes. Large edition.
25 cU.
Bossnefs Exposition of the Doctrines
of the Catholic Church on Matters of Con-
troversy. Without Notes. Small edition,
20 cts.
The Poor Man's Catechism i or, The
Christian Doctrine Explaii.ed. . 25 cts.
The Poor Man's ControTorsy, 25 cu.
Bnd of BeUgions Contreyersy, 50 cts.
Gallitsin on the Holy Scriptures^
25 cts.
Catholic Tracts. Voi. i., . 59 cts.
Oakeley on the Mass, 25 cte.
Oakeley on Catholic Worship, 25 cts.
The Comedy of Convocation in the
English Church, .... 25 cts.
Net ftr the Pishers of Men, . 6 cts
PATBBB POBMBT'S BOOKS.
The Parables of Onr Lord Jesus Christ
With twenty-one illustrations, . 25 cis.
Formby's School Songs. The Junior and
Senior School Song^-Book, complete in one.
20 cts.
The Seven Sacraments. With Sixteen
Illustrations 25 cts.
The Seven Dolors of the Blessed Vir-
gin Mary. With Seven IllustrMtions, 15 cts.
The School Keepsake, with Kour liius.
trations 12 cu.
Iiilb of Christ Abridged. With several
Ultiitraiiottt 26 eta.
Twc^tre Mysteries of the Bolyg^dr
B^storical Catechism. By M. VAbbi
Kleury. Continued down to the Present
Day, by Father Pormby. iSmo, paper cover.
10 eta.
THB BOLT BIBLB.
Pocket edition, embossed, plain, . $1 M
Embossed, giU, 1 75
Calf, red or gilt edge, . . 6 00
Morocco, extra, red edges or gilt, . . 4 60
Morocco or calf, extra, full gift, . . 5 60
Tooled edge 6 60
Morocco Turkey, bevelled, . 6 00
12mo editioni embos<ied. plain. . 1 60
Embossed, gilt 8 00
Morocco, 4 00
Morocco, extra, 6 00
Full calf, 5 60
** or morocco, tooled edge, . 7 60
Bvo edition printed on the finest quality d.
paper, with Illustrated Family Record, etc.
Arabesque, gilt, $4 00
Roan, gilt, 6 00
Morocco, extra, bevelled. . . 7 60
Full calf, bevelled 8 60
or morocco, tooled edge, . 9 60
NBW TBSTAMBNT.
ir
12mo cloth $0 76
Embossed, gilt, .
Roan, gilt, .
Morocco, extra, bevelled,
32mo cloth, embossed,
Arab, gilt, .
Roan, lull gilt.
Turkey morocco, .
Full calf.
1 26
260
460
1 00
860
800
FOLLOWING OP CBBIST.
(n Four Books. By Thomas k Kempis, iritJk
Reflections at the conclusion of each chapter.
Translated from the French for ibis editioa.
i8mo, cloth, 80 60
Arabesque, gilt, 100
lUnstrmted 12nio edition.
Koan,
Turkey morocco, super extra.
Full calf, . .
1 60
400
600
Withont the Beflections. janio.
Cloth, extra. 40
Roan, gilt edge, 1 00
Turkey morocco, super extra, . . 2 60
Full calf, 8 00
OPFXOB OP BOLT WBB)
According to the Roman Missal and Bret ry,
in Latin and English. New and reviatb ai-
tion. i8mo, cloth, ... 80 ^6
SArabeaoue, gilt, 1 |0
o»n- rilt,
orooeo, gilt,
8 H)
f 10
II
PRAYER-BOOKS.
A BIW, UTISSD, AMD BMLAKOD EDITIOII OT
TBB BIIS8ION BOOE.
4 Manoal of InstrucUoDS and Prayers, adapted
to preserTc the Fruits op thk Mission.
Drawn chieflv from the Works of St. Al-
phoosus Lt{;uori New. Improvbd, and i£N-
LAK'^BD Ed«tiom. Tkt kandsomest Frayer-
B—k ^uUuked. Bdited by the Paulist
Fathers. 630 pages, illustrated with new
Steel BniTFaviags, ^o*. up exoressly for this
editioo. It contains a complete Vesperal,
with notes and other additions, making it iso
pages larger than former editions.
$1 00
1 60
BdttftOD. -Arabesque plain,
^esque, xilt, ....
Roan, tu II gilt, ....
Roan« tull gilt, clasps, .
Morot CO, extra, bevelled, .
Morocco, extra, bevelled, clasps.
Mor., extra, bev. tooled edges, etc.
Morocco, rims and tooled edges.
Fall call,
Fan calf, flexible
Foil calf, beyelled, .
Fsll calf, tooled edges, etc..
Kali calf, rims and tooled edges.
1 76
2 00
4 00
460
6 60
700
4 60
600
600
660
7 60
OImu BditioiL-Arabesque. plain, . $0 76
Arabesque, embossed- gilt edges, 1 26
' eoMs and dps.
•■^^ ...
1
X
60
60
Arab., embossed, gilt
Roan, gilt, .
Roan, gilt and clasps,
Morocco.
Morocco, lull gilt,
Morocco, extra, 8 60
Mofsooo, extim« bevelled clasps, . 4 60
1 76
2 26
2 60
This edition is printed on clear white paper
tmn the same type, and contains the same
natter ss the fine edition, making it thtf cheap-
en Frayer-Book ever published.
DAILY COMPA2VION.
Contsininar a Selection of Prayers and Devo-
tk>nsl Exercises for the use of Children.
Embeilisbed with thirty-six very neat illus-
trative Engravings, samo, cloth, . $0 26
Arabesque, plain, 60
Arabewue, gilt, 60
Roan, gilt, 76
Roan, full gilt 1 00
Morocco, gilt, 2 00
Full calf, antique 2 60
Pun calf, rimmed and clasp. . 4 00
This book is printed on the finest quality of
paper, and is a most appropriate present for
children.
GUIDE TO
r.
arabesque $0 60
^"fgfit!'' '. ". 1 26
)ooo, extra, 2 60
calfL antique, . 8 00
taU, rimmed and clasp, . 4 00
OATBOLIO lOAmTAL.
Containing a Selection of 'Prsyers and Devo-
tional Exercises. i8mo, cloth, . . $0 76
\ 1 26
. 2 60
. 8 60
. 4 60
. 6 00
Arabesque, plain, .
Arabesque, gilt.
Am. mor. gilt,
Morocco, extra.
Full calf antique.
Full calf, rimmed and clasp,
GABDBN OF TBB SOCX.;
Or, A Manual of Spiritual Exercises and In-
structions for Christians who, living in the
world, aspire to devotion. By Right Rev.
Dr. Challoner. 94mo, cloth, . . $0 60
Arabesque, gilt, . . ^ . . 1 00
Roan, full gilt, 1 60
Morocco, gilt, 2 60
Full calf, antique, . 8 00
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
THB KEY OP BfiAVBN;
Or, Devout Christian's Daily Companion. To
which is added. Daily Devotion ; or. Profit-
able Manner ot Hearing Mass. .Illustrated.
94mo, cloth, $0 60
Arabesque, gilt, 1 00
Roan, full gilt, 1 60
Morocco, gilt, 2 60
Full cair. antique 8 00
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
TRUB PDSTT
I
Or. The Day Well Spent. A Manual of Fer-
vent Prayers, Pious Reflections, and Solid
Instructions for Catholics. i8mo
Arabesque and cloth, .
Arabesque gilt.
Roan, red edge, .
American morocco, gilt,
American morocco, full gil
Morocco, gilt.
Full calf, antique.
Full calt, rimmed and clasp,
$0 76
1 26
2 00
2 26
2 60
8 60
4 60
6 00
pioms Gums to prater and
DEVOTION.
Containing various Practices of Piety calcu-
lated to answer the demands of the devout
members of the Catholic Church. i8mo
Arobesque. .
.Arabesque, ^ilt, .
Am. mor., gilt edge,
Am. mor., full gilt,
Turkey mor.. super ex
Full calf, antique,
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
This Prayer- Rook contains the Profession ot
Faith, Bona Mors Festivals explained, as well
as other important things not generally found
in prayer-books.
$0 7(i
1 26
2 26
ra, 8 plates, . $8 60
. 4 60
PIOUS
a4mo, cloth, . , $0 60
Arabe^ue, gilt 1 00
Roan, full gilt 1 60
Morocco, giVt 2 60
Full calf, antique, . . . 8 00
Ftit calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
lO
BOOS8 IN PAPBR 00VBB8.
Dr. Newman's Reply to Gladstone.
50ct8.
ArchMshop Bbnnin^s Reply to Olad-
«'o°e 50ct8.
The Tme and the False In&lUliility.
By Bishop Fessler, .... 50 cis.
The Syllabus Ibr the People. By a
Monk of St. Augustine's, . 25ct8.
Rt. Rev. Bishop Van^han's Reply to
Mr. Gladstone 25 cts.
»
Bishop Ullathorne's Reply to Mr.
Gladstone, 25 cts.
«
The Catholic Christian Instructed.
By Bishop Challoner. ... 20 cts.
Bossnefs Bxposition of the Doctrines
ofthe Catholic Church oi. Matters of Con-
troversy. With Notes. Large edition.
25 cts.
Bossnefs Bzpositton of the Doctrines
of the Catholic Church on Matters of Con-
troversy. Without Notes. Small edition,
20 cts.
The Poor Man's Catechism ; or. The
Christian Doctrine Explained. . 25 cts.
The Poor Man's Controversy, 25 cu.
Bnd of ReUgious Controversy, 50 cts.
Oallitsin on the Holy Scriptures,
25 cts.
Catholic Tracts, v oi. i., . 50 cts.
Oakeley on the Mass, 25 cts.
Oakeley on Catholic Worship, 25 cts.
The Comedy of Convocation in the
English Church 25 cts.
Net Ibr the Pishers of Men, . 5 cts
PATBBR FORMBT'S BOOKS.
The Parables of Our Lord Jesus Christ
With twenty-one illustrations, . 25 cis.
Formb^S School Son^ The junior and
Pernor School Song-Book, complete in one.
20 cts.
The Seven Sacraments, with sixteen
Illustrations, 25 cts.
The Seven Dolors of the Blessed Vir*
gin Mary. With Seven Illustn.tions, 15 cts.
The School Keepsake, with Four lUua.
trations, 12 cu.
Lift of Christ Abridged, with several
ilIustraiioAt ^ da.
Tw^ve Mysteries of the B^CUU-
Kstorical^ Catechism. By m. rAbW
Kleury. Contioued down to the Preseot
Day, by Father Formby. iSmo, paper cover.
10 cts.
BOLT BIBLB.
Pocket edition, embossed, plain, .$1 85
Embossed, rIu/ . . . . 1 75
Calf, red or g^ilt edge 5 00
Morocco, ejitra, red edges or gilt, . . 4 50
Morocco or calf, extra, full gift, . . 5 50
Tooled edee, 6 50
Morocco Turkey, bevelled, . 6 00
12niO editioni embossed, plain, . 1 50
Embossed, gilt, 8 00
Morocco, 4 do
Morocco, extra, . . 6 00
Full calf, 5 00
** or morocco, tooled edge, - 7 50
8vo edition printed on the finest quality of
paper, with Illustrated Family Record, etc
Arabesc^ue, gilt MOO
Roan, gilt, ^5 00
Morocro, extra, bevelled, . . 7 60
Full calf, bevelled 8 50
or morocco, tooled edge, . 9 60
NEW TBSTAMBNT.
12ino cloth $0 75
Embossed, gilt 1 86
Roan, gilt, 2 50
Morocco, extra, bevelled, . . 4 60
32mo cloth, embossed, SO 40
Arab, gilt '^fe
Roan, full gilt i OO
Turkey morocco, ... 8 60
Full calf, .' 8 00
FOLLownvo OP cHBisnr.
In Four Books. By Thomas k Kempis, with
Reflections at the conclusion of each chapter.
Translated from the French for this edition.
i8rao, cloth, 80 60
Arabesque, gilt, . ! lOO
ninstrated 12nio edition.
Roan, 1 50
Turkey morocco, super extra, . *. 4 00
Full calf, e 00
UHrthont the Beflections. jamo.
Cloth, extra, .... 40
Roan, gilt edge, . . .' 1 00
X » ®X J"®*^^^*^®' super extra, . . 8 50
Full calf. 3 00
OPFICB OP BOLT WBBI
According to the Roman Missal and Brevi rj.
in Latin and English. New and revised <u-
tion. i8mo, cloth, go r5
5Arabetaue,gilt, ^ H)
<>«• «"ti „ 8 H)
oroeeo, gilt, . f 10
II
PRAYER-BOOKS.
4 inw, KSTISBD, AMD KNLAKCKD BDtTIOM OP
TBB BOSBIOIIf BOOE.
A Naaoiil of lostructions and Prayers, adapted
10 preserve the Fsuxts op thb Mission.
Drawn chiefly from the Works of St. Al-
phoBsis Lig^uori New. Improvbo, and i£N-
LARRCD RDtnoN. Tkt katidsomest Prayer-
SmU ^ublUked. Edited by the Paulist
Fathers. 6ao pasres. illustrated with new
Steet Kn^raTings, fcot up exoressly for this
edition. It contains a complete Vesperal,
with notes and other additions, malcing^ ii lao
pafcs larger than former editions.
FIm BditloiL -Arabesque plain,
Arabesque, RUt, ....
Roan, tu 11 gilt, ....
Roan^ full ^It, clasps, .
Morocco, extra, bevelled, .
Morocco, extra, bevelled, clasps.
Mot., extra, be v. tooled edges, etc.
Morocco, rims and tooled edges.
Fall calf,
Full calf, fisxible, .
Fall calf, bevelled,
FnQ call, tooled edges, etc.,
Fall calf, rims and tooled edges,
$1 00
1 60
176
2 00
4 00
4 60
6 60
700
4 60
6 00
6 00
6 60
7 60
CbM» Bditloik-Arabesque. plain, . $0 76
Arabesque, embossed, gilt edges, . 1 26
Arab., embossed, gilt edBM and dps. 1 60
Roan, gilt, . . JP. . . 1 60
Roao, gilt and clasps, . . 1 76
Morocco 2 26
Morocco, full gilt, . 2 60
Morocco, extra, 8 60
Morscco, extm, bevelled clasps, . 4 60
This edition is printed on clear white paper
fron the same type, and contains the same
oatier as the fine edition, making it thtf cheap-
en Praytr-Book ever publishad.
OAILT COMPA2VION.
Cofttaining a Selection of Prayers and Devo-
tiooal Exercises for the use of Children.
Embellished with thirty-six very neat illus-
tntiye Engravioga. 39mo, cloth, . $0 26
Arabesque, plain, 60
Arabesque, gilt, 60
Rotn,gUt, 76
Roan, full griit, 1 00
Morocco, gilt, 2 00
Full calf, antique 2 60
Full calf, rimmed and clasp. . 4 00
This book is prfnted on the finest quality of
paper, snd is a most appropriate present for
children.
--IBISTUirB OUIDB TO
/
1
I
1
irabcsque $0 60
csque, eilt, 76
\M\ gilt, 1 26
X9CO, extra, 2 60
cal^ antique, . 8 00
calf, rimmed and clasp, . 4 00
OATBOUC MANVAXi.
ConUining a Selection of 'Prayers and Devo-
tional Exercises. zSmo, cloth, . • $0 7$
Arabesque, plain, 1 00
Arabesque, gilt, 1 26
Am. mor. gilt, 2 60
Morocco, extra, 8 60
Full calf, antique, .... 4 60
Pull calf, rimmed and clasp, . . 6 00
GARDEN OF THE SODLp
Or, A Manual of Spiritual Exercises and In-
structions for Christians who, living in the
world, aspire to devotion. By Right Rev.
Dr. Challonbr. 94mo, cloth, . . $0 60
Arabesque, gilt, . . ^ .1 00
Roan, full gilt 1 60
Morocco, gilt, 2 60
Full calf, antique, . . . . 8 00
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . . 6 00
THE KBT OF BEAVBN;
Or, Devout Christian's Daily Companion. To
which is added, Daily Devotion ; or. Profit-
able Manner of Hearing Mass. , Illustrated.
»4mo, cloth, $0 60
Arabesque, gilt, 1 00
Roan, full gilt, 1 60
Morocco, gilt, 2 60
Full calt. antique 8 00
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
TRUB PIBTT;
Or. The Day Well Spent. A Manual of Fer-
vent Prayers, Pious Reflections, and Solid
Instructions for Catholics. i8mo.
Arabesque and cloth, .... $0 76
Arabesque gilt 1 26
Roan, red edge, 2 00
American morocco, gilt, . . 2 26
American morocco, full gilt, . 2 60
Morocco, gilt, 8 60
Full calf, antique, . 4 60
Full calt, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
PIOUS GUIDE TO PRATER AND
DEVOTION.
Containing various Practices of Piety calcu-
lated to answer the demands of the devout
members of the i-atholic Church. iSmo,
Arabesque $0 76
Arabesque, gilt, 1 26
Am. mor., fsiltedge, .... 226
Am. mor., full gilt, .... 2 60
Turkey mor.. super extra, 8 plates, . $8 60
Full calf, antique, .... 4 60
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
This Prayer-Book contains the Profession ot
Faith, Bona Mors Festivals explained, as well
as other important things not -generally found
in prayer-books.
PIOUS
a4mo, cloth, . . $0 60
Arabesque, gilt, 1 00
Roan, full gilt 1 60
Morocco, giH, 2 50
Full calf, antique 8 00
F#l calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
It
PATB TO PARADI8B.
A SeUction of Pravcrs and Devotions for Ca-
tholics. 48mo, cloth, . . $0 2C
Arabesfjue, gilt, 40
Roan lull irilt 7^
Morocco. ;2ilt, 1 2b
Full calf, antique 1 76
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 8 00
The most compi.ktk Prayek-Book
Pt'BLISIiED.
THE CATBOLIG'S VADB MECUM.
A Select Manual of Prayers for Daily Use.
Compiled from approved sources New and
improved edition, leprinicd from the lant
London edition, coiuaininf; Epibtles and
oospels. 500 p}*(r<*s, 24m<t.
Arabesque, plain, $0 76
Arabesque, (rilt 1 00
Roan, full gilt 1 60
Full morocco, 8 00
Full calf, 4 00
SET OP PARADISE I
OpenlnR: the Gate 10 Eternal Salvation. lamo
arabescpie $0 76
Arabes<|ue, nilt 1 26
Am. mor . tail i>ilt 2» 60
Mordcco. g^ilt, 3 60
Full call, antique, .... 4 60
Full calf, rimmed and cluAp. . 6 00
THE POCKET PRATEB-BOOK.
A Prayer-Book for Men. This book is printed
from beautiful !arge type, on extia tine
French paper, and, although coniainin^ 650
pages, is onlv Vj inch thick. ^?^ inches long,
and 2W inches n\;iij. It contains, besides
Festival Day., e'c, A .Summary of ("hiistian
Doctrine— Morning and F.veniug Prayers' -
The Three Litanies- - flic f M.'mi>lele Mass, in
Latin and English- Vespers — unci the Epis
ties and Gospels-
Arabes<pie $6 60
Arabesque, gilt edire 76
Roan, gilt, . . 1 25
Morocco, extra, 2 60
Full calf, 3 00
Morocco, tuck 3 00
The Pocket Pravcr-Book, tvithout Epistles
and Gospels. Suitable for the Vrst I'ocKKr.
Ambefciue, $0 40
Embossed, gilt, 60
Roan, gilt, 1 00
Morocco, 1 60
Full caK, limp, 2 00
Morocco, tuck 2 00
Tkt ^^^ Nonpar Hr'* ^f Prmyer^Bmhi,
*^ RED LIXfE "
PRATER-BOOK POB MBN.
CONT.VINING EriSTLKS .\NO GoSHRL5.
Arabesque, gilt edge, . $1 00
Koan, full gilt 2 00
Morocco, extra 8 00
Full calf, 4 00
Large Tyf>€ Prayer-Book.
MANUAL OF CATHOUO DHI-
NITT.
NVmi Eiis'iLiis Asi) Go>i'ELs. i8m'«.
Arat)esque. plain, ^7$
Arii}ie'.<iuc, i::lt. 1 8S
Kosin. full -.'ilt. . 1 N
Moi •ceo, extra 8 60
Full c.ilf, extrj 400
Manual of the Blessed SaonuBML
Puolishet! v\iin the Appiuoation ut hikhnl-
nenre Cardinal Mel loskey.
.Arabestpie, . ...
Ri-an. j^iU.
Mnrotc". exrra
("ulf, i.\l7:»,
The People's Pictorial Lives of ill
Saints Sen plural and Historical. Abndsed,
for the most part, Onp those of the late Rev.
Alban Hutler. InHBkages of la each Om
packet now readyF; coniaming the liret ol
twelve different s.«ints. Per packet, 26ctt^
These are got ui) expressly for Sunday .iWhool
presents.
Cards.
Packets of Scnptnre IllnsUailsM.
Containing b ifiy F.ngravings 01 bubiecti
from the Old and New Testamouts, afiei
original* (iesigns by Elster. Price, loow
packages of h fly, . 75ct»
Twenty Illnstrations of the Holy
(rospels. Done in colors alter ori|i;inal do-
signs. With approprijite texts, . 25 ct-
lUaminated SuncUur-School
Ten Cards in euef. Puckcl.
Kirst series, net.
Second series, net, .
Third series, net, ....
Fourth series, net
SUNDAT-SCHOOL CLASS-BOOKS.
The Catholic Teacher's Sunday-school Clas»
Hook. No. 1, j)aper, per Jozen, . 1 00
The Sunday-school (^lass-books. Clotli, No. s.
per doz. ... 2 00
The Catholic Publication Society,
LAWRKNrE KEHOE, Geii. .igout,
9 Warren Street, * New York.
Foreign Books.
Boohs ordered frmn this list will not be taken hack or exchanged.
A discmint from prices not marked net is allowed to clergyme?i,
libraries, and religious institutions.
Any of the following books not on handy will be ordered if so desired.
-♦♦♦-
00
50
50
00
00
00
1 20
3 00
2 50
A ComparisoD between the His-
tor; of the Cbarch and the
PnipUecien of the Apocnlyp-e, $1
A DvTuai Paraph rase on the Seven
Penitential PbhIuib ; or, Practi-
cal Guide to Repentance. Rev.
F. BIjth, ....
k Dialo(fue of Comfort affainst
Tribulation. Sir Thomas More, 1
A Directory for Novices of every
Religious Order, . .1
Ad vent urea of a Watch, . 1
A Few Flowers from the Garden, 1
Afu^moons with the Saints. W.
H. Anderdon, D.D. First and
Second Series,
A Uuudred Meditations on the
Luve of God. Robert Southwell,
of the Society of ^sus, Priest
and Martyr. Wm Portrait.
I vol. 12mo
Allies' St. Peter, his Name and his
Office, as set forth in Holy Scrip-
ture, ......
Allies. T. W. The Formation of
Cbriatendom. 2 vols., . . 18
Ao Essay on the Druids, Ancient
Cli arches, and Round Towers
of Ireland. Rev. R. Smlddy.
18mo
An Introduction to History of
Frauce
Aate-Xicene Christian Library.
Translations of the Writintrs of
the Fathers down to A.D. 325. 24
vols. out. Per vol., .
Apostolic FatherB 1 vol.
Justin Martyr and Athenagoras. 1
vol.
Tatlan, Theophilus, and the Cle-
mentineB. 1 vol.
Clement of Alexandria. Vol. 1.
Irenaufl. Vol, 1.
Hippolytus. Vol. 1.
TenuUian at^inst Mardon. 1 vol.
prian. Vol. 1.
le Completion of Ire'nsus and
Hippolytas. 1 vol.
IS Writlnini of Orijfen. Vol. 1.
ement of Alexandria. Vol. 2.
innlUaa. Vol. 1.
00
2 00
1 50
3 00
1 00
1 00
The Writings of Methodius. 1 vol.
Cyprian. Vol. 2.
Apocryphal Writings. 1 vol.
Tertullian. Vol. 2.
The Clementines and Apostolie
Constitutions. 1 vol.
Tertullian. Vol. 3.
Arnobius. 1 vol.
Dionysius, Gregory Thaumaturgus,
etc.
Lactantius. 2 vols.
Orijfen. Vol. 2 (completion).
Early Liturgies and Remaining
Fragments.
Anti-Jaous. Dr. Hergenr5ther, $2 50
Arbitration Instead of War. Rt.
Hen. Lord Montagu, M.P.
Paper, ....•,
A Remembrance for the Living to
Pray for the Dead. Rev. JamelB
Mumford, 8.J., ....
A Reply to Faber's "Difficulties
of Romanism." Rev. F. C. Hu-
senbeth, 2 00
A Series of Papers in Vindication
of Catholicism. E. W. Atwood,
BA
• £m* f % • ■ • • •
A Spiritual Compendium, in
which the Principal Difficulties
in the Way of Perfection are ex-
plained. Father Gaspar de la
r iguera, of the Society of Je-
sus,
A Theory of the Fine Arts, .
Atwood's Stromata Procatholica.
A Series of Papers principally
Procatholic or Antidotal to Anti-
christianism,
Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury,
Life of. Mrs. Hope, .
Bellarmine, Cardinal. Commen-
tary on the Psalms. Cloth,
Book of Moses ; or. The Penta-
teuch, in its Authorship, Credi-
bility, and Civilization. Rev.
W. Smith, Ph.D. Vol. 1, .
British and Irish History, a Manu-
al of. Rev. Thos. Flanagan,
Butler's (Rev. Alban) Meditations
and Discourses on the Sublime
Truths and Important Datiei of
»•)
2 m
2
2
00
00
1 50
200
2 50
7 50
5 00
ClinMimAuy. « ▼»'•»- pwt 8to,
cV>*h. . - . . f 4 00
U:*c |--<E tI^^ > •i>*£ bj D. F.
vcJArr "> i: ^*^*o - . . 5 25
v4--' I**- X— -:r e*.Tr, li* Life of.
V * i .--^ - I !• . - . 4 00
.^ _ *i - *'— j.rr*. Faxher Ro-
». T V ta-i" >~ Brnxani'a Ab-
}*.-* i --.I*. . 2 50
* > - ^ T* MC P*>nn8, . 2 50
? *: ix-Bcok— His-
vr^ fcX»l -.•■**■ "l^- '5 I
-^. . ^- ~t-* ^j* vv* tb* Atone.
:mii. V A. ' . . 5 00 ^
ua-tt^ arvvr^'-TSir tt» Um^ Ro-
^'»^ 7T«.r*'jLii»d from the
' BAiJewhi. Rev.
,'* ^<Vl«^lWTfc»
; *■ i»~ *i$ •>*'ip, >ew trd., . 3 25
-..», . u»^- > V.'-;'. vrs oi^ Mieeiooaiy *
:»^,^ai *»vr >*■«' Cathulica of
*^'*-» <ifv^ *^** *>*^«^ iuflvred
•%*..> .1 y:.-j: *rvl on Relijjfious
»^ Vt^^vwsNMkl >Vork8 of F^n-
^»if, • . , 2 50
,'. - iT-v V**r>* VrmorUli^of Oreat
v> ,.^ »yNt bviaiut Uunnjr the
> , K^^ Ufurv Thomas
I. .. , V ^ ^ v^*J* . . 12 00
^^ .. vv.'N^ x^- <>»«* ^^^^'^^ A. F.
^\s** .\^v A^« >^t 'h** Art of Always
^'v'vso^.j: ^' Al|>hou»us de
V* H*«!k . 1 00
^^^, .,•• sv'*i»\ Amial^of Home, . 2 50
^\wx> «»>^* N»* »^»» Teuumlc Kacv,
V « U IV X'' voU. l\Jiuo, . 6 00
^Vr«*« x»v VvnUnlvinlMTiV Letters
^v « K^U^HvUellow lHa7-;J0.
^«.«v««Uv«<U ti^»m liie French hy
y >^ \uvlU'\, . . . a 50
^» i \ \w>ks\\^\ . or. Kifi,^ IMeuHaot
V U4X', vi( I'mU\^)Io. l>on Juan
v*v.v^i4l . . 2 00
V »s 4M,vk» r^ie HUupMoltv of; or,
t ..^ Vwiioiuuiitciil Monument
s,. vUo M)o«mHt Virgin. W.
V^'»»'^ . . 2 50
Ak''\ \U»M»Hi i>l ihe 'Ihlrtl t)nler
o ■41' mMoi»«U\ III LaUn ami
>"»%»i>»h. . I 00
A *\' *M *«l \U*U\ (Unuirik Con*
• '»»*♦ , . 1 50
u r.imlH«'« \Mp of Ht, l<iOuls,
VyUut ol t UMM'e , . 1 25
IV. > M « lhiHMHt)UU),aud other
\ o tun . JJ (X)
^1 S \.\u a Nu^iMii luiHraU, and othur
^' '»'♦»*•* . 2 50
Sf ^•'•'•, W^nd* of St. Patrick, |9 00
Diana: The Sonnets and other
Poems of Henry Consuble, with
Notes. Thomas Park, 2 jSQ
Diflrby's Children's Bower; or'
Difirby B Compitnm ; or. The Meet-
rog of the Ways of the Catholic
Church. 4 vols., . 13 qq
Di^by's Evenings on the Thames
2 vols., . . * 7 SO
Directory for Novices of every
Religious Order, particularly
those Devoted .to the Education
of Youth, ... 1 25
Divinity of Jesus Christ. Augur
te Nicolas, ... 2 00
Dublin, Gilbert's History of,"from'
the earliest period to the present
time. 8 vols., . . goo
Bcclesisstical Antiquities of Ix)n.
don and Suburbs. Alexander
Wood, M.A., 2 50
Echoes of the Vatican, , ' 1 75
England, Dodd's Church History
of. 6vols.8vo 30 00
^fi««ay on Beatification, Canoniza^
tion, and the Processes of ihe
Congregation of Rites. Faber, . 1 00
liiXtracts from the Fathers, Histo-
rians, and otbe^fVriters of the
Church. Literal! Translated, . 1 50
Faber's Hymns, 3 35
Faber's Poems. . . i 00
Faber's Notes on Doctrinal and
Spiritual Subjects. 2 vols., . 5 00
habei's Spirit and Genius of St
Philip Neri, j qq
Faith and Reason. Abb€ Martinet,* 2 75
Father Ignatius, Life of, . 2 50
bathers of the Desert, Lives of
the g •g
Florine. Princess of Burgundv
wnf^® ^ ^^^ ^^^^ Crusad'e.'
William Bernard McCabe. New
edition, ... 2 00
Flowers of Mary ; or, Demotions for
each Month in the Year l 50
Fullertnn (Udy Georgiana), Seven
Stories, ... I t^
God in his Works. Father Bawes', 1 25
G«»ld Digger, and other Poems.
Lady Fullerton, . . 3 oq
Good Deeds. Sketches of Holy and
Devoted Lives, . . 50
Gospel Harmony of the Life of
Our Lord, ... | qq
Gosselin. The Power of the Pope"
during the Middle Aares. 2 vols^ 5
Great Truths in Little Words. Rev
Father Rawes, O.S.C, . 1
Heart to Heart with Jesua
Heni7 Suso, The Life of. By him*
self
Henry' Vlh., The Life of] .* |
15
Hiilory of the Charch in England.
Very Rev. Canon Flanigan. 2
Tola., $0 00
Higher Paths In Spiritual Life, . 50
Hiatoiyof the Viceroys of Ireland.
J. T. Gilheri, . . 8 50
Holy Confidence. Father Rogaoci, 1 00
Holy Isle, The, ... 50
Homeward: A Tale of Redemp-
tion. ReT. Father Rawe»,O.S.C., 1 50
Howard. The Life of Philip The
mas Howard, O.P., Cardinal of
Norfolk 8 75
Hymns of the Charch, . . 2 25
Intentions for Mass and Holy Com-
munion, for every Day in the
Year, 75
In the Snow. Rev. W. H. Ander-
don 1 00
Ireland, A History of. Martin
Haverty 4 00
Ireland and her Ch arches. James
Godkln, 8 00
Ireland. A Selection from the
Family Archives of The Mc-
Qiilienddy of the Reeks, with
sn Introductory Memoir. W.
Maziere Brady, D.0. 4to, cloth, 10 50
Ireland. Ecclesiastical History of
Ireland, from the Introduction of
Christianity into that Country to
the Year 1829. K M. J. Bren-
nan. 0.8.F 5 00
Ireland. Prof. O^Curry's Lectures
on the MS. Materials for Irish
History, 5 00
Irftland. Rise and Fall of the Irish
Franciscan Monasteries in the
17th Century. Father Meehan, 75
Ireland. The Life and Letters of
Florence McCarthy Reagh, Ta-
nift of Carhery, McCarthy Mor.
Daniel McCarthy, of Gleana-
Chroim. 1 vol. 8vo, . . . 8 50
Ireland. The Towers and Tem-
ples of Ancient Ireland. Marcus
Keane« M.R.I.A., . 8 00
Ireland. The Irish Reformation ;
or, The Alleged Conversion of
the Irish Bishops at the Acces-
sion of Queen Elisabeth, and the
Assumed Descent of the Pr<$sent
Estoblished Hierarchy in Ireland
from the Andent Irish Church,
ExiKised. W. Maziere Brady,
D.D, 1 00
Irelaod under English Rule. Rev.
" her Perraud, ... 4 00
J D Christ: A Reply to M.
»naa. P^re Gratry, 75
J liti in Conflict; or, Historic
sets Illustrative of the Times
Qoetn Elisabeth. 1 vol.
DM 9 50
J K the So* of U$aj ; or, Tks
Doctrine of the Catholic Church
upon the Incarnation of God the
Son. Rev. Joh^ Brande Morris,
A.M. 2 vols. 8vo, . |6. 00
Julian Watts Russell, Pontifical
Zouave. A Memoir, . . 1 00
Lady May: A Pastoral. Lady
Chatterton, 1 50
Lectures on Certain Portions of
thjB Earlier Old Testament His.
tory. Rev. Philip G. Munro.
1 vol. 12mo, . 1 75
Lectures on Catholic Faith and
Practice. Sweeney, . . 4 50
Lectures on the Lite, Writings,
and Times of Edmund Burke.
. J. B. Robertson, Esq., . 3 00
Lectures on the CBcumenical Coun-
cil. Rev. J. N. Sweeney, O.8.B. 2 50
Legends of Our Lady and the
Saints ; or. Our Children's Book
of Stories in Verse, . . 1 25
Letters of the Most Rev. John
MacHale, D.D., Archbishop of
Tuam, 5 25
Life and Death of the Most Rev.
Francis Kirwan, Bishop of KU-
lala 2 50
Life and Spirit of Father Augus-
tine Baker 1 25
Life of Beato Angelico da Fiesole,
of the Order of Friars-Preach-
ers, 4 00
Life of Blessed Alphonsus Rodri-
guez, Lay-Brother of the Society
of Jesus. With engraved por-
trait. 1 vol. crown 8vo, . . 2 50
Life of Blessed Margaret Mary.
Rev. George Tickell. 1 vol.
8vo, .... . 2 50
Life of Blessed Peter Favre, of the
Society of Jesus, first companion
of St. Ignatius Loyola. From
the Italian of Father Guiseppe
Boero, . . 8 25
Life of Louis Marie Grignon de
Montfort, 2 50
Life of St. Bernardine of Siena. 1
vol. 12mo, . .• . . 2 50
Life of St. Dominick and other
Saints. Illustrated, . . . 5 50
Life of St. Francis of Assisium.
Rev. Father Murphy, O.S.F.. . 1 00
Life of St. Francois de Sales.
1 vol., 2 00
Life of St. German, Bishop of Aux-
erre, 1 75
Life of St. Philip Neri, Apostle of
Rome. Mrs. Hope, . . 1 50
Life of St. Walburge. Rev.
Thomas Meyrick, . 1 00
Life of Vincent Palloti, Founder
of the Pious Society of Missions.
Melia 2 00
laie sf FathsT Hsary TooBg, . 1 T6
i6
Lif« of Stephen LaD;2rt.nn. Arch
bishop of ranierbury, $J 3A
Fiife ot Anne CathiTinp EirmiP-
rii'h
■» f^i
Li^iiori on the R<*li>fioiiK SiRt*\ 50
Liu^ard. Tlie lligtory aud An
liquity of the Anjjlo-Saxon
i.-hurch. 2 V(»l8., . . r> 00
Linffard's True Accfunit ol th#*
(iuupowder Plot. .1 ;V)
Little Book of the Lfjve of Goii, . 1 iM)
Li res of the most Eminent Paint
ere, Sculptors, and Archil •*(!!»»
of the Ord«T of !St.. l^onmiii
TranKlateii by Rev. »'. P. Mj-e-
han. 2 voIh., . 5 00
Lord Dacre of dilfaland : or. The
RisinjT in the Nr»n)i. Au His-
torical Kimancy. E. >r Stewart, 2 /iO
Lorotio and Nazartth. William
Antony HutcUisfm, .2 50
I-*ove of IIolv Church. From the
French of M. I'Abhe. Petit. Ed
ward Cap wall, . .1 0(»
l-iove for the Holy EuchariRt. . 1 (Ml
Luther, History of the Lite, Writ-
infrs, and l)octrine8 ot. M. Au
din. 2vol(«., . o 00
Mahometanittm in iLs Relation to
Prtiphecy. Antlrew Linle Phi!
lips, . ' 2 'Si
Manninfi^'B Celebrated Answer to
the Rev. C. L«'R lie's Cra** Statt'd.
between the (.''hurch of Rome and
the Cuurcij of Ell inland, . . 1 75
Manning's England and Chriaten-
dom 6 (X)
Mauning's E^pays on Religion and
Literature. Varioua Writers.
Edifeci by Archbp. Mauuinijf.
VOi. I.,. • • • • ••I fcO
Manniuff. The same. Vol. II., .7 00
Manning. The r>ame. Vol. 111.. 5 '.V)
Manning's Ix>ve of Jenup to Peni-
tents, 1 0<>
Manning's Moral Enteitainmentp. 2 00
Manning's St. Francis AHsisi. the
Little Flowers of, . .1 50
Manning's Temporal Power of the
Pope, 2 50
Manual of Devotion** to Our Holy
Father Sainn Benedict, . 1 50
Manual ot Devotion to the Sacred
Ueartot JefiiR. I'atherCfautrelet, 1 25
Manual of Instruciion in theCMiris-
tian Doctrine 1 50
Manual of the Third OrJer of St.
Francis of AssIhI. 2 v«»l8., . 8 00
Marguerite Hibbert. A Memoir. 50
Margaret VertlaHsen : A picture
from the Catholic Church. . 1 50
Biartjn Omitted by Foxe. Being
Beeordt of Religions Per:«eca<
tioni in th« 16tli and 17th Cen-
PuAm I to
Marv' Magnifving God. R^v. F.
Humphrey, 'O.S.<".. . |2 S!
May Papers ; or, Thouglitn on the
LitiUiies of Loietlo, -
MrtyneU'H Sh'»rt Sermons, chiefly
on Doctrinal Suljects, . 3 09
Meditatioif^ tor Every Day in the
Y» ar. 2 vol.s., . . * . . 4 50
Meinia'ioni* for the Use of the
Clergy. From the ItaliaD of
SeoM. 4 vols.. . . 1$ 00
MeditatioiiH <^>t St. Auselm, . .2W
Meditari</nH ot St. Tljomas on the
Pur;raiivr- !lluminative,and Uiii-
live Wa}H. for a ReTretit of Ten
Days. . * 2 M
Meiliiation.-i on Divine Lofe.
Father Vincent Huby. S.J., .IN,
MHcii'ations on the Veni Sancti 8pi-
rituH, 9B
MedniifoiiM inr Evnry Day in the
Y»Hr and t.iie Principal Feasts.
F. «>Hnficiut*, S..I., . . .SSS
Meditniions on the Life and Doc-
irine of Jesus Christ, . .59
Memoir and Cf»rreB|>ondenr« of
Viscount Cast lereagh. 4 vols., 3 01
Milner. Life of the Right Rev.
John, DD. F. C. Huseubeth,
D.IX.V.H 4N
Month of MarchjSt. Joseph, Pro-
tector (}{ the Ciftrch and Model
of Christians. Madame de Gen-
telles Pa])er, . . 80
Mont.il of Mary of Our Lady of
Lourdes. Henry Lanserre, . 1 80
Morau's EssavK on the Origin,
Doctrines, and Discipline of the
Early Irish Church, . . . 8 SO
Moran's Life of Oliver Plunket,
Archbi8l.»)p of ArniH^'h, . .315
Moran's History of the Catholic
ArehbiKhops of Dublin since the
Reformation 8 00
Nature and (trace. William Geo.
Ward 6 00
Nazareth.. Mr'i. Cashel Hoey, . 1 50
Newman, V. Rhv. ,]ohn Ilenrv,
D.D., Woiks of. New
E'litions -
Theolov'ical TrHcts. .400"
Lectures on the Present Posi-
tion of Catholics in Entr-
land 3 50
S«irm(ms on Various Occa-
.-lot.s 3 00
Difliculiii s of AuglicAnism, . 3 50
.An E.Hsav on the .Miracles. . 8 00
The OtBre and Work of Uni.
verMiies, . . .8 00
The Scope and Nature of
Uni vertiity Education, .8 00
Parochial and Plain Sermons.
Complete in 8 vol a. Pep
▼«!.. . . f II
17
Sermons od Sabjects of the
Day 92 35
SenuoDS before the Univer-
Bitj of Oxford, . . 2 25
EsMyft, Critical and Historical.
2 vols., . . . . 6 00
The History of the Arians, . 4 00
Historical Sketches. 3 vols., 00
Lectures on Justification, . 2 25
Callista, 2 25
Church of the Fathers, . . 2 50
Discuraions and Ar^amf nts, . 3 00
Never Forfi^tten ; or. The Home
of the Lost Child, . . 1 75
Nine Considerations on Eternity, 1 25
Of Adoration in Spirit and Truth.
Written in Four Books. John
Easebias Nieremberir, S.J., . 3 00
Oliver's Collections Illustrating
the Qistory of the Catholic Re-
tiirion in the Counties of Corn-
wall, Devon. Dorset, Somerset,
Wilts, and Qloncester, .4*00
Oliver's Collections toward lllns-
tntinjf the Biofirrapliy of the
Seotcb. Eofirlish, and Irish Mem-
bers of tlie Society of Jesus, . 6 00
On JufitificaTion: What Saith the
Scripture ? Canon S. Eccles, . 1 50
On some Popular Errors Concern -
iue Politics find Kelitrlnu. . 8 00
Oriinn and Protrresa^ Relifnous
Oriera,. and Happiness of a Re-
liirioos State. Patrick Man-
nock 1 50
Our Lady's Month, . 1 00
Our Lady's Dowry, .4 50
Ptguism in Education. Abb4
Qsame, 1 00
Papal Sovereignty, The. Viewed in
its Relations to the Catholic Re-
iiirioD. Merr. Dnpanloup, . . 8 00
Partiealar Examen of Conscience
aeeordinfir to the Method of St.
Iffoatiua. Father Luis de la
Palma 1 25
Peace throuirh the Truth. Father
Harper, S. J. Part I., . 7 00
Petee through the Truth. Part
n 10 50
Perry's Practical Sermons for all
the Sundays of tbe Tear. First
Series 2 00
The Same. Second series, . . 2 00
Pictures of Youthful Holiness.
Bev. B, Cook, O.M.I. 1 voL
ISmo, 1 25
Pistrro, Life of. Arthur Helps, . 3 00
PI ket, Life. Letters, and
lecbeaof. His (rrandson, Hon.
ridPInnket. 2 vols., . .14 00
Pi «tant Journalism, . . 5 00
Pt Atory Surveyed, . . 1 50
R< les of Irish Life. W. Stenart
' ich 5 00
Reflections and Prayers for Holy
Communion. . . $2 25
Remarkable Conversions. . 1 25
Revelations of Rome. Rev. J. H.
Turner, M.A., . . . . 2 00
Rise and Fall of ihe Franciscan
Monasteries in Ireland, . . 75
Robertson's Lectures on Ancient
Flistnry, . . . . 2 00
Ritual of the New Testament.
An Essay on. the Character and
Orifrin of the Catholic Ritual.
BeinfiT the second edition of "In
Spirit and in Truth." Rev. T.
E. Bridffett. 1 vol. 12mo, . 2 50
Uobt-rtbon's Lectures on Modem
History, Biography, and Mason-
ry, 8 00
Rock's Church of our Fathers,
lliustratt-d with msny Engrav-
ings on Wood and Copper. 4
vols. 8v«., 24 00"
Rock's Letter to Lord Manners, . 1 50
Saint Mary and her Times. The
author of Geraldine, . . 1 00
Selections from the Poets. De
Vere . 2 00
Septem ; or. Seven Ways of Hear-
ing Mass, . 1 OT)
Sermons — Liguori's, . 8 00
McCartby'H, . . . 8 00
MawU Inn's, . 8 00
Bourdaloue's, . . 8 00
Murray's (Archbishop), . 10 50
Meynell's, . 2 00
Moroney's, . 8 00
Murphy's. . . 8 00
By the Fathers of the Society
of Jesus, . 8 00
By Father Harper, S.J., . 8 00
Rossi's, . . . . . 1 75
Newman's Parochial. 8
vols. 18 00
Newman's Subjects of the
Day, . 2 25
Newman's Various Subjects, . 8 00
Newman's Unwersity Ser-
mons, . . 2 25
Sketches of Religious Life on the
Continent, 1 75
Spirit of St. Gertrude, ... 75
Spirit of St, Teresa, . 1 00
Spirit of the Cur£ of Ars, . . 1 50
Spiritual Retreat of the Rev.
Father Colombia re, of the So-
ciety of Jesus, . . 1 00
Spiritual Works of Louis of
Blois, 1 75
St. Augustine on Christian Doc-
trine, etc 8 00
St. John of the Cross, The Com-
plete Works of. 2 vols., 14 00
St. Peter's Day in the Vatican.
Canon Pope, . . 2 50
St. Teresa, Life of. David Lewis, 5 25
i8
St. Teresa'^ Interior Castle. $1 75
St. Tereta^B Book of FoundatioDS, 5 00
St. Teresa's Letters, . 1 75
St. Teresa's Way of Perfection, . 1 75
Saema, the Little African Slave, . 1 00
Summer Talks about Lourdes, . 1 00
Sarsam ; or, Sparks Flying Up-
wards. Rev. H. A. Rawes, . 1 50
Saso, Blessed Henry. Little Book
of Eternal Wisdom, ^ . 1 75
Sweeney's Lecture on the Nature,
the Grounds, and the Home of
Faith, 1 75
Tales and Sketches for Fireside
Readings, . . « . . 1 50
Testimonies to the Most High,
drawn from the Books of Na-
ture and Revelation, . . 1 00
The Abb^ Zouave ; or, The Life of
Joseph Louis Ghaerin, . 1 50
The Abbots of St. Albans. A
Chronicle, .... 25
The Art of Dying well, . 1 00
The Blessed Cornelius, Archbishop
of Armagh. Dr. Dixon. . . 1 00
The Blessed Virgin's Root traced
in the Tribe of Ephraim, . 5 00
The Catholic Church in Scotland.
Rev. J. F. S. Gordon. 1 vol.
quarto, ... 12 50
The Choice nf a State of Lif^, . 1 50
The Christian ^sop. Edited by
Dr. Anderdon, . . 2 00
The Condition of Catholics under
James I. Father Gerani'*' Nar-
rative of the Gunpowder Plot.
Edited, with his Life, by John
Morris. S.J.. . 6 00
The Corean Martyrs. Canon
Shortland, . 1 00
The Crown Hymn-Book, . 8 00
The Day Sanctified , being Medi-
tations and Spiritual Readings
for Daily Use, . 1 75
The Devout Client of Mary In-
structed in the Motives and
Means of Serving her Well.
Father Segneri. S.J., . 1 00
The Dialogues of S. Gregory the
Great 8 00
The Directorium Aeceticum; or.
Guide to the Spiritual Life.
John Baptist Scaramelli, S.J.
4 vols., .... 12 00
The Divine Cloud. Father Au-
gustiu Baker, O.S.B., . 2 00
The Eternal Happiness of the
Saints, 1 50
The Dolorous Passion of our Lord
Jesns Christ. From the Medi-
tations of Catharine Emme-
rich 1 75
The Ecclesiastical Choir-Book. A
Selection of Motets. Hymns, and
Masses, frem the Great Masters
of the Sixteenth Century. 1
vol. quarto, $6 00
The Evidence for the PapAcj.
Hon. Colin Lindsay, . . 6 00
The Hidden Lite of Jesus, .150
The History of the Christian Coun-
cils, from Original Documents to
the close of the Council of Nice,
A.D. 325. Bishop Hefele, . 6 00
The History of Irish Periodical
Literature. Richard Robert
Madden, M.R.I.A. 2 vols., 10 00
The History of the Sacred PassLon.
Palma, 3 00
The King and the Cloister: or.
Legends of the Dissolution.* 1
vol. 12mo, . . . . 1 25
The Legends of Mount Leinster, 1 25
The Letters of Placidas on Educa-
tion, 1 50
The Life and Labors in Art and
*Archa9ology of George Petrie.
William Stokes, M.D., . . 6 25
The Life of Father BaUhasar Al-
varez, Religious of the Society of
Jesus. F. Louis Du Pont. 2
vols., 3 50
The Life of John Banim. the Irish
Novelist. Patrick J. Murray, . 1 00
TheLifeofM. Olier, . . .2 00
The Life of L^|sa De Carvajal.
Lady Fullerion, ' . . 2 50
The Life of Monweigneur Verneux,
Vit. Apostolic of Core*. With
a Preface by Lady Herbert. 1
vol. 16mo 1 25
The Life of Paul Seigneret of Saint
Sulpicie. 1 vol. 18mo. . . 75
The Life of St. Ignatius of Loy-
ola. Father Gennelli. 1 vol.
12mo, . .3 00
The Life of St. Jane Frances de
Chantal. Emily Bowles. 1 vol.
12mo, 2 75
The Life of St. Philip Neri, . 3 50
The Life of the Baron de Renty.
Edited by Edward Healy Thomp-
son, M.A., . . . 3,00
The Life of Luisa De Carvajal, . 2 50
The Life of the Bleef»ed John
Berchmans. Francis Goldie. 1
vol. 12mo, 3 50
The Literary Workman ; or, Lile
and Leisure. A Magasine of
Amusing Literature and Gener-
al Information, . . 3 00
The Liturgical Year. Very Rev.
Dom Prosper Gueranger, Ab-
bot of Solesmes. Translanter'
from the French by the Rei
Dom Laurence Shepherd, Mon.
of the English Benedictine Con
gregation. The volumes no^
out are :
Advent, , 0^
19
Chrtaimas. Vol. I., $8 00
ChrirtmaB. Vol. II., . 3 00
Septa&^eBima, . 2 50
Lent 8 00
Pansiontide and Holy Week. 3 00
Paschal Time. Vol. I., . 3 00
Paechal Time. Vol. II., . 3 00
Paschal Time. Vol. III., . 8 00
The Mjstic Vine. From St. Ber-
nard, 75
The Ordinal of Kinjr Edward VI. :
Its History. Theology, Liturgy.
Dom Wilfrid Raynai,O.S.B., . 2 00
The Ori{?in, Persecutioo, and Doc-
trines of the Waldenees. Piuf*
Melia. D.D. 1 vol. 4to. . . 5 00
The Passion Flower : A Novel. 1
▼ol. 12mo 2 00
The People's Martyr : A Legend
of Oantprbory. . 2 00
The Perfect Lay Brother, . . 2 25
The Philneopher'e Stone. F. CroB-
liie. M.A., . . 1 00
The Pnpe snd the Emperor, . 1 00
The Pope and the Church. Rev.
Paul Battalia, . . 6 25
The Priest on the Mission. Canon
Oskeley. 1 vol. 12mo. . 2 00
Thf PrisoBfir of the Temple, . 2 25
The Prophet of Carmel. A Series
of Practical CousMerations upon
the History of Elias in the Old
Testament. Rev. C. B. (iarsid**.
I vol. 12ino. . . • . 2 50
The Public Lite of Our Lord Jesus
Christ. Rev. H.J.Coleridge,S.J.
Part I 3 25
The Ri^ign of Law. The Duke
of Arjryll, . 2 50
The Rosary: A Lejrend of Wilton
A».be7, 1 50
The Question of Anglican Ordina-
tions Discussed. E. E. Estcourt,
MA. 1 vol. 8vo. . 7 00
The Reliffious and Social Position
of Catholics in England. Wise-
man. 50
•The Russian Clergy. Translated
from the French of Father Gaga-
rin. S.J., . 2 50
The Scale of Perfection, by Wal-
ter Hilton, 2 50
The Sonnets and other Poems of
Henry ConsUble, . . 8 00
The Spirit of St. Gertrude, . 60
The Spiritual Doctrine of Father
Louis Lallemant, of the Society
of Jesus 2 00
"he Spiritual Retreat of Father
Bourdaloue, S.J., . • . 75
»• Treasure of Superiors ; or, Let-
Address,
tera upon the Manner of Govem-
infir Religious Houses. From the
French of P^re Beaufils,
S.J . $1 25
The Troubles of our Catholic
Forefathers Related by Them-
selves. Edited from hitherto
unpublished manuscripts by
Rev. John Morris, S.J. 1 vol. 8vo,5 00
The Un forgiven Sister, . 50
The Truth. By the Duke of Sal-
dana, . . . 1 25
The Vatican Council, . . . 1 25
The Virtues of Mary, Mother of
God. Father Francis Arias, S.J.
1 vol. 16mo 1 25
Thoughts on Some Passages of
Holy Scripture. By a Layman, 1 25
The Year of Preparation for the
Vatican Council, . . . 1 25
Tradition, Principally with Refe-
rence to Mythology and the .
Law of Nations. Lord Arundell
of Wardour. 1 vol. 8vo, . 5 00
True to Trust ; or. The Story of a
Portrait, 2 00
Union with Rome, ... 50
Versicles and Tales. . . 1 75
Vesper-Book, . 2 00
Visions and Instructions of Blessed
Angela of Foligno, . . . 2 00
Visits to the Altar of Mary, 50
Walsingham's Search Made in
Matters of Religion, . . 8 00
Waterworth's Origin and Develop-
ments of Anglicanism, . 2 50
•Water worth's England snd Rome, 2 50
Water worth's The Fathers on St.
Peter 5 00
Wlien Does the Church speak In-
fallibly? Knox, . 1 25
Who isjesus Christ? ... 65
Why do we believe ? Henry John
Pye, M.A., . . 1 75
Works of St. Augustine :
Writings m Connection with
tlie Donatist Controversy, . 8 00
St. John. Vol. 1, . . . 8 00
Do. Vol. 2. . . . 8 00
Christian Doctrine, . . 3 00
City of God 2 -els., . 6 00
The An ti -Pelagian Writings.
Vol. 1, . . 8 00
The same. Vol. 2. . 8 00
The Manichean Heresy, . 8 00
Letters, . . ... . 8 00
On the Trinity, . . . 8 00
On Harmony of the Gospels, . 8 00
Ximenes, Cardinal, The Life of, . 5 00
; Zesi in the Ministry. Dubois. 1
vol. 8vo, . 5 00
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY,
iWRENCE KEHOE, General Agent, No. 9 Warren Street, N. Y.
Do You want an Able Newspaper?
THE PILOT.
Opinions of the Press,
** We have the greatest respect for it^^-^prinqfleld Republican.
** It iB the best arranged and newsiest religious paper that comes to us.*' — iV. V. Heraid.
*' There is no better influence with the Irish in America."— jBo«ton Advertiser.
"The Pilot always takes a manly course." — Chicago Tribune.
"The Pnx>T is a power in the land." — Hearth and Home.
"The Pilot is the ablest, most influential, and respectable organ of the Catholics in
this country." — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser.
"The Pilot is the ablest and best conducted Catholic paper in America. — New Zea-
land Tablet.
Why do You Bead a Newspaper ?
For reliable news from all parts of the world, Take Thb Pilot.
For information on bufidneas, markets, and labor, ... - Take The Pilot.
For able editorials on practical subjects, Take The Pilot.
For the Catholic news of the world, Take The Pilot.
For excellent stories and the best poetry, Take The Pilot.
Foi* all the temperance and society news, Take The Pilot.
For good printing, good arrangement, and excellence in every department.
Take The Pilot
The Pilot during the year 1876 will number among its contributors the most distin-
guished Irish and Catholic writers in the United States. Great Britain, and IrelaiuL So
effort will be spared to give our readers a tii*st-rate Catnolic News|>aper. All subjects of
interest to the Irish people at home and abroad will be considered in an intelligent, prac-
tical wav by gentlemen of the highest attainment.
All dieusses agree that The Pii/)t is the best Catholic newspaper on the American con-
tinent.
In addition to the inducements The Pilot as a newspaper atfords. Mr. Donahoe, alive
to the requirements of the pablic, now offers tlie finest gallery of iUuHtrious Irish charac-
ters ever presented to the public, viz. : * ' ' "
CARDINAL MoOLOSHBY, DANIEL O'CONNELL, FATHER BURKE,
FATHER MATHEW, AND MARSHAL MACMAHON.
Daniel O'Connell is the latest chromo' issued. His centennial, so recently celebrated,
has created a strong denire in the communitv to possess a trme and accurate likeness o(
the g^eat Liberator. Mr. Donahoe, to meet tliis want, has issued a chromo which differs
from anything of its kind ever published in America. It represents O'Connell in the act
of refusing the oath^ and is composed of neutral tints, not only giving to the picture
great depth of tone and finish, but also a lifelike expressioji which it is impossible to ob-
tain in any other manner.
A STILI. GREATER INDUCEMENT.
Any one sending three new subscribers ^1, on paying 20 cents postage; receive the
beautiful chromo of the Cardinal This superb work of art is composed of fourteen
colors, representing the Cardinal'in his gorgeous robes, is a perfect likeness, and the only
one endorsed by his Eminence. ^___
Terms of SubscHpHon, in Advance,
Single Subscription, one year, •- - $2 SO
" *' " with either of the chromos (except Cardinal Mc-
Closkey), 2 70
Clubs of three or more persons, each, - - - - - .200
" with chromo, 2 30
Terms for less than a year, without chromo, $1 25 for six months ; 65 cents for three
months. .
(15 cents per vear. extra, will be required for newspaper postage, in addition to above
terms ; for less than a year, 5 cents for every three months.)
To IreUmd, U. 8. Postage paid, $3
Pilot and chromo to Ireland. 30
All the chromos, except toe Cardinal, are the same size, and Bubscribers can begio ^
once. The chromos are readyfor delivery.
Specimen copies of Thx Pilot sent grxUis, The Pilot is for sale by all newspa ^
dealers. Address
l^ATBICK nONAHOE,
The Pilot Offioe, Borton, Masf
NOW READY:
A. ]SrE"W" SERIES
OF
CATHOLIC SCHOOL-BOOKS
" ^g Imi
!A ni...i-.ij IIA..1 «- '.- n
I mxm ml
The Catholic Pnblication Society has now in press, and in preparation, a new series
of sclioo]>book&» to be known by the above title, which is copyrighted.
The following books are now ready for delivery :
The Young Catholic^s Illustrated JPrUner, • . . $0 20
" *' " '* Speller, ... 25
•* " " *' First Header, . 25
" ** ** ** Second Header, . -*5
*• ** '' '* IVAird Beorder, . 6a
•* " « " Fourth Reader, . 75
** " ** " Fifth Reader, . J ;^5
" « " *' iSixIC/^ Readier, . I 50
T/ie lllustrateil Young Ladies^ Reader, , , . 1 25»
These Readers are compiled by competent hands, and the proof-sheets have been
4!areftilly read and revised by Rev. J. L. Spalding, S.T.L. It is also the intention of The
Catholic Publication Society to issue from time to time all the books needed in a well-
regulated Catholic School.
• ♦ •
Other School-Book« Ready.
\ Fall Catechism of the Catholic Religion, preceded by a Short History
of Relig^n from tke Creation of the World to the Present Time. With Ques-
tions for Examination. Translated from the German of Rev. J. Deharbe, S.J. ,
by Rev. John Fander, S.J. First American edition. 1 vol. 16mo, . . . |0 75
If yliosVi History of £nglaiid> continued down to the Present Time, . 1 25
Gaban*s Charch History, continued down to the Present Time, .135
Form by '9 Bible and Church History. Illustrated. School edition. With
Questions at end of book, 1 50
Fleury's Catechism, from the Creation of Adam and Eve to the Present Time.
In Questions and Answers. By Rev. H. Formby, 10
The Yoang Catholic^s IllnMtrated Table-Book and First Lessons in
Numbers, . . . .• 30
h {aMc PiiblicalioD Sncieljv Lawrence Kehop, Gen. Agent, 9 Warren SI, New York.
1
/A
Automatic Tension
SILENT SEWING MACHINE.
Hew Patent Automatic Tension — New Patent Feed — and other Entirely
New Features.
Persons ivho l&ave neT«r before used any Sesrlnff-Maehlne irlll be able
t ime4lately to do as sood and even better ^rork upon the <*Nevr 1¥111-
c z 4c Glbbs^' than the most sfcUAil and experienced operators upon any
c her SeirrlnK-niachlne.
Main Office, 658 Broadway, cor. Bond St.. New York.
I Atlfcsi la lesdlxxff •itlss and towns. CsU and szamins or asad for prospaotua.
THE (LONDON) TABLET.
A WEEKLY NEWSPAPER AND REVIEW.
m
(V8TABLIKHED 1840.)
An effort has been made during the last three rears— and it has proved in ©tctj re-
spect aucceasful— to raise the character of the Tablet to a level with the tastes and coi-
tivati<»n of the most highly educated classes among English-speaking Catholics. It has
attained a wide circulation not only among the clergy and the educated Catholics in the
British Empire, but is also extensively read in the London clubs, and by Statesmen and
Ajiglicans, and such as, from either relijrious, social, or political motives, desire to keep
themseWes informed on important Catholic events, or ti» test from week to week tbe state
of the Cathnlic mind and feeling. It is now obtaining an extended circulation among
the clergy and laity of the United States.
In politics, the Tablet belongs to no party. It professes to be simply Catholk-. and
to sustain the principles of truth, justice, morality, and honor in whatsoever party these
may be found. In the words of Magna Charta : *' Imprimis volumus ut Bc<ilesiA Dei
libera sit."
An important feature in the Tablet, and one which will commend it to the CatlioIJca
of America, is its carefully prepared editorial chronicle of the week's news, which is not
confined to purely English or political topics, but gathers up each week the chiel events
of Catholic interest in Christendom.
Those interested in Catholic and general literature will find reviews and noticed of
some ten or twelve publicati<ms in every number of the Tablet.
With regard to Koman news, the Tablet has peculiar advantages on account of tti
exceptional and reliable sources of inf^rmaticm.
AlV official documents published by the Holy See, having any kind of public or gen-
eral interest, are carefully translated and printed in the Tablet. And in order to render
this journal a complete and. for many, an indispensable work of reference, a carefully
digested index is printed at the end of each half-yearly volume, together with an appro-
priate title-page, and forwarded to all subscribers.
The Tablet consists of from thirty-two to forty pages each number.
A reduction in price has been made in favor of American annual subscribers who
prepay. Henceforth the paper can be had, if prepaid, for |7 50, currency. Draw a
money-order to that amount at your nearest post-omce infavorof Mr. H. E. HEATHER.
Manager, and forward it, with name and address, to the Tablet Office, 27 Wellington
Street, Strand, London, W. C.
Subscriptions also received by " The Catholic Publication Society," 9 Warren
Street, New Yoric, who will forward the money for you to London. No name sent until
the |7 50 is received.
Buery Wedtiesday, at THE TA BLET OOice, 27 WeUinffton Sireei,
Strand,
Catholic Opinion.
HOME AND FOREIGN AND EDUCATIONAL RECOED.
A New Series, price One Penny, illustrated.
■
Containing the beet sclecticna from the Catholic Continental, American, and Colonial Papen, with a
digest of the English Press on Catholic Topics. , .^ a ^
The Summary of News will principally chronicle the events occurring stace the issue of the Satur-
day's Tablet, though It will also touch upon the general topics of the week.
Space will be given to everything concerning the Propagation of the Faith throughout theee kinf -
doms. A continuous tale of interest, by a noted author, will form one of Its features.
On the first Wednesday of each month, one-half of the paper will be devoted to an Wucatlonal T
cord under the Editorship of a Diocesan Religious Inspector, for the special benefit of Catholic T«m«
era Md their Scholars throughout the country, and will be full of matters cither Important, Inrtnicti'
Or amusing. . ^ . .
Literary communications to be addressed to the Editor. Business communlcatlona to be m
to the Manager, H. E. Heather, at the Oftce, S7 Wellington Street, strand. Subscriptlona only in i
▼inoe-it BO gd4-wMtth can b« itBt dliwst to tlw offloa, or to Mr. I^ ILdom, CWA4«el^^
ELDER'S CATHOLIC AGENCY,
NEW^ ORLEANS, LA.,
...^ w3« promptly all kinds of oommisBions for the CATHOLIC CLBRGT. RELIGIOUS INSTITU-
TIONS, BD UCATIONAL ES I'ABLLSHMENTS, and (1 1 IZENS GENERALLY.
1 he undersigned is alao prepared to fill with despatch all orders for BOOKS, STATIONERT.
i PRINTING, and ffives, as heretofore, bpbcial attention to the collection and remittance of
lT»OK BILLS AND OTHER ACCOUNTS due in this section.
CHAS. B. ELDER,
124 Camp Street— Lafayette Square,
p. O. Box 2,094. NEW ORLEANS, LA.
Have been familiarly and favorably known
to the American public for upward of three-
quartern of a century^ with yearly increas-
ingpopularity.
They speak their own praise wherever planted.
Landreth'8 Rural Kcgister and Almanac
1875 will be mailed without charge to all
who apply, enclosing a stamp to prepa}
postage.
DAVID UNDRETH & SON,
Nos. 21 and 28 South Sixth St., I hiladelphia.
Undertaker^
CHURCH OF ST. PAUL THE APOSTLE,
59th Street and 9th Ave., New York.
Residence, 921 Eiglith Avenue,
Between 54th and 55th Streets.
METALLIC AND OTHER CASKETS.
Funerals furnished with everything requisite.
STAHOAIII AMBIICAR BIllIAlD TABLES.
TRADE
MARK.
H. W. OOLLENDER,
SuecesMor to PHELAN Jb COLLt:NI)ER,
738 Broadway,
p. O. BOX 1,847. -^ ^ NEW TORS.
Cloth. BaUs, Cues, and eyerything appertaining to Billiards at lowest prices. Illustrated Cata-
logues sent by mail.
DBADDY BROTHERS,
Monumental Sculptors,
' 1446 AND 1448 BROADWAY,
.'•ar Portj-Seeond Street, NVW TORK.
MomuBcaU. Tpmba, iJtani, Boats, •U., treotad la Freestone, Granite, and Brousa.
The Ave nffaria.
A CATHOLIC JOURNAL
Devoted to the Honor of the Blessed Virgi]
"Publis/ied every Saturday at
NOTRE DAME, INDIANA.
APPROVED BY
HIS HOLINESS POPE PIUS IX.
AND MANY DISTINGUISHED PRELATES.
This Periodical, the first established in the New World in the intereste of the Bl<
Virgin, commends itself to all who love the Mother of Jesus and wish to see her bonoi
throughout the land.
The aim of the Ave Maria is to give the true doctrine of the Catholic Church on d(
votion to the Blessed Virgin ; to answer the objections made by unbelievers ; end in{
crease to the utmost the filial devotion which every Christian should entertain for
Mother of the Redeemer of the world.
It contains, also, a summary of events relating to religion, edifying Tales, accredit
liegends, ESssays on subjects referring directly or indirectly to the Blessed Virgin, II
of Catholic News, choice Poetry, a weekly letter from Rome, etc. ; also, a regular bnU<
tin of the Association of our Lady of the Sacred Heart, and a record of some of the m(
remarkable cures effected by the miraculous water of Lourdes.
Among the contributors to the Avs Maria are some of the best Catholic writers
home and abroad : Lady Fullerton, Aubrey De Vere, Grace Ramsay, Mrs. Anna H.|
Dorsey, Eleanor C. Donnelly, Eliza Allen Starr, Miss Howe, the authoress of **Ty-
borne," Dame Dolores, etc., Marie, and others who desire to remain incagtiHo.
$3 00
5 00
10
One Year, ------*•
Two Years, .--_---.
Single Copies, -----...
A specimen copy sent free to any address on application.
Payments invariably in advance.
All subscriptions,- communications, books or periodicals for notice, etc, should be
addressed to the
Editor of the ''Ave Maria,''
!N"otre XDame, Ix.'
New Books for 1875.
The Catholic Pnhliciition Society has just puhlislied tlie followino:
works :
Life of St. John the Evailgelliit. Translated from the French.
1 vol. 12mo, cloth |»2 00
Manual of the BleH§ed Sacrament, 1 00
The Land of the CId, from the French of Frederick Ozanam. 1 vol,
l6mo, illustrated, : 1 IM»
The Spirit of Faith : or, What must 1 do to Believe? By Bishop
Headley, O.S.B 60
The Life of Our Lord Jenuii Chrint. By Louis Veuillot. Trans-
lated from the French by Rev. A. Farley. 1 vol. 12mo, . . . 2 00
Adhemar de Beleantei ; or, lie Not HaHly in Judg^in^.
Translated from the Freuch by P. S. r2mo, illustrated, ... 1 50
The Internal IMiiitilon of the Holy Ghost. By Archbishop Man-
nlnjr. 1 vol. 12uio. Authorized edition, 1 00
The Life of Father Bernard, C.SS.R. Translated from the
French. With Portrait. 1 vol., 1 .'VO
The IWiHtreMS of IVoviees enli^hteued upon her Duiiee. Cloth, 1 50
The King's Highway; or, The Catholic Church the Way of Salvation.
proved from the Scriptures. By Rev. A. F. Hewit. 1 vol. 16mo, . . 1 50
A Letter to the Duke of IVorfolk on the Occasion of Mr,
Gladstone's Recent Expostulation. By John Henry Newman, D.D.
Paper, 50
Postscript to the above, in answer to " Vaticanism/' ... 20
The Vatican Decrees and Civil Allegiance. In Answer to
Mr. Gladstone. By His Grace Archbisimp Manning. 1 vol. 12mo, paper, 50
The above three pamphlets, bound in cloth, 1 50
Rt. Rev. Bishop Vaughan's Reply to Mr. Gladstone. 1
vol. I2mo. paper 25
Bishop Ullathorne's Reply to Mr. Gladstone. 1 vol. 12mo,
papr^r, 2d
The True and the False Infallibility of the Popes. A
ConiroverHJMl Reply to Dr. Schulte. By Dr. Joseph Fessler, late Bishop
of St. Polten in Auntria, and J^ecretarv-General of the Vatican Council.
Translrttfd bv Ambrose St. John, M.A., of the Oratory of St, Philip
Neri, E(ighastr)n, Birmingham. 12mo, paper, ...... 50
The Syllabus for the People, ivith Comments. By a Monk
of Si. AuiTustine, 12mo. paper, • 25
The above four pamphlets, bound in cloth, 1 50
Deharbe's Full Catechism of the Catholic Religion. Trans-
lated by Fander, . . . 75
The Toung Catholic's Illustrated Fifth Reader. 12mo, cloth, 1 25
« « " " Sixth Reader. 12mo, cloth. 1 50
Toung Ladies' Illustrated Reader. 12mo, cloth, 1 !S5
The Veil Withdrawn. By Mrs. Craven. 1 vol. 8vo, .... 1 50
A Tract on Baptism, 20 cents ; per 100 copies, 10 00
JUST PUBLISHED.
Bulla Jubllaei IST*5. Sou sanctissimi domini nostri pii divina providentia
Papae IX. EpLstola Encyclica : GravibusEc^clesiae, cum notis practicis ad ui^um
cleri Americani, Curante A. Konings, C.SS.R. Price, .... 25
The Catholic Publication Society,
LAWRENCE KEHOE, Qen. Agent, 9 WARREN ST., N. Y.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD
VOL. XXII., No. 129.— DECEMBER, 1875.
MR. GLADSTONE AND MARYLAND TOLERATION.
It was supposed that Mr. Glad-
stone had been so triumphantly re-
futed, as a polemic, that he would
take a prudent refuge in silence.
At a moment when neighboring na-
tions were rent with religious dis-
sensions, and when England need-
ed repose from, rather than fuel
added to, her internal agitations, a
statesman and ex-premier of the
British Empire assumes the rdle
of a religious agitator and accuser,
and startles, as well as offends, the
public sense of appropriateness by
his useless and baseless indictment
against the Catholic Church, to
which England owes all that is glo-
rious in her constitution and in her
history ; against English Catholics
in particular, his fellow-subjects,
who of all others, by their loyalty
And Christian faith and virtues, cnn
preserve the liberties and the insti-
tutions of their country, now threat-
ened alike by infidel corruption,
I ant indifference, and com-
itic malice ; and against that
and illustrious pontiff whose
s only raised to bless, whose
•^athe unfaltering prayer, and
t)
s
V
1
whose voice and pen have never
ceased to announce and defend the
eternal truths of religion, to upriold
morality, and to refute the crying
errors and evils of our times. The
unanswerable refutations which Mr..
Gladstone's attacks elicited from
Cardinal Manning, Bishops Ulla-
thorne and Vaughan, Drs. Newman
and Capel, and Canon Neville, not
to speak • of the Italian work of
Mgr. Nardi and the rebukes ad-
ministered by the periodical press,,
had, it was believed, even by im-
partial Protestants, effectually dri-
ven this new champion of the old
No- popery party in England from*
the field of polemics. But, like all
new recruits, the ex-premier seems
incapable of realizing defeat, or
perhaps is anxious, at least, to retire
with the honors of war.
Not content with the serial pub-
lication of his three tracts, he has
just now republished them in one
volume, with a Preface^ under the
title of Rome and the Ncivest Fash^
tons in Religion — a title as unbecom-
ing the gravity of his subjects as it
is unsupported by the contents of
jordiflg to Act of CoogreM, in the year 1875. by Rev. I. T. Hbckbb, in the Office of tho-
Ubnuriui of Congress, at Washiqgton, D. C.
I
290
Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration,
the work. The preface to the re-
publication not only reiterates his
accusations on all points, but the
author, not satisfied with his new
part as theologian, essays the rdlt
of historical critic, and thus gives
prominence to a historical question
of deep interest and of especial
importance to the Catholics of this
country.
The same animus which inspired
Mr. Gladstone's attacks against the
church, against his Catholic fellow-
countrymen, and against the most
august and venerable personage in
•Christendom, has also induced him
'to deny to the Catholic founders of
Maryland the honorable renown,
-accorded to them heretofore by
•historians with singular unanimity,
of having, when in power, prac-
tised religious toleration towards
^11 Christian sects, and secured
'freedom of conscience, not only by
their unwavering action and prac-
tice, but also by giving it the sta-
bility and sanctions of statute law.
This is certainly the only phase in
•this celebrated controversy upon
•Avhich it remains for Mr. Gladstone
-to be answered.
His Eminence Cardinal Man-
ning, in The Vatican Decrees in their
bearing on Civil Allegiance^ at page
88 (New York edition), writes :
** For the same reasons I deplore the
•haste, I must say the passion, which car-
ried away so large a mind to affirm or to
'imply that the church of this day would,
if she could, use torture, and force, and
coercion in matters of religious belief.
... In the year 1830 the Catholics
of Belgium were in a vast majority, but
they did not use their political power to
^constrain tho faith or conscience of any
•man. The * Four Liberties' of Belgium
were the work of Catholics. This is the
most recent example of "what Catholics
would do if they were in possession of
power. But there is one more ancient
and more homely for us Englishmen. It
Is found at a date when the old traditions
of the Catholic Church were still vigot
ous in the minds of men. ... If the
modern spirit had any share in producing
the constitution of Belgium, it cerLiinlj
had no share in producing the constitu-
tion of Maryland. Lord Baltimore, who
had been Secretary of State under James
I., in 1633 emigrated to the American
plantations, where, throufj^h Lord Staf-
ford's influence, he had obtained a graol
of land. . . . They named their new
country Maryland, and there they settled.
The oath of the governor was in these
terms: ' I will not, by myself or anj
other, directly or indirectly, molest any
person professing to believe in Jesus
Christ, for or in respect of religion.'
Lord Baltimore invited the Puritans of
Massachusetts — who, like himself, had
renounced their country for conscience'
sake — to come into Maryland. In 1649,
when active persecution had sprung up
again in England, the Council of Mary-
land, on the 2xst of April, passed this
statute : * And whereas the forcing of the
conscience in matters of religion halb
frequently fallen out to be of d.ingerous
consequence in the commonwealth where
it has been practised, and for the more
quiet and peaceable government of the
province, and the better to preserve raa-
tual love and amity among the inhabi-
tants, no person within the province
professing to believe in Jesus Christ
shall be anyways troubled, molested, or
discountenanced for his or her religion,
or in 'the free exercise thereof.' The
Episcopalians and Protestants fled from
Virginia into Maryland. Such was the
commonwealth founded by a Catholic
upon the broad moral law I have here
laid down — that faith is an act of the
will, and that to force men to profess
what they do not believe is contrary to
the law of God, and that to generate faith
by force is morally impossible."
Mr. Gladstone, in his Vaticanism^
page 96, replies to the above as fol-
lows :
'* It appears to me that Archbishop
Manning has completely misapprehended
the history of the settlement of Mary-
land and the establishment of toleration
there for all believers in the Holv Trini-
ty. It was a wise measure, for which the
two Lords Baltimore, father and son, dc^
serve the highest honor. But the mea-
sure was really defensive ; and its maia
Mr, Gladstone and Maryland Toleration^
291
aod very legitimate purpose plainly was
to secure the free exercise of the Roman
Catholic religion. Immigration into the
colony was by the charter free ; and only
by this and other popular provisions
could the territory have been extricated
from the grasp of its neighbors in Vir*
gicia, who claimed it as their own. It
was apprehended that the Puritans would
flood it, as they did ; and it seemed cer-
tain that but for this excellent provision
the handful of Roman Catholic founders
would have been unable to hold their
ground. The facts are given in Ban-
croft's History of the UniUd States, vol. i.,
chap, vii.**
Again, iti his Preface \oRome and
the Neipest Fashions in Religion^ page
viii., Mr. Gladstone writes :
** It has lon^ been customary to quote
the case cf Maryland in proof that, more
than two centuries ago, the Roman Cath-
olic Church, where power «vas in its
bandr, could use it for the purposes of
toleration. Archbishop Manning has re-
peated the boast, and with very large ex-
aggeration.
'* I have already shown from Bancroft's
Hittory that in the case of Mar}'land
there was no question of a merciful use
of power towards others, but simply of a
iriseand defensive prudence with respect
to themselves — that is to say, so far as
the tolerant legislation of the colony was
the work of Roman Catholics. But it
does not appear to have been their work.
By the fourth article of the charter we
63d that no church could be consecrated
there except according to the laws of the
church at home. The tenth article guaran-
teed to the colonists generally 'all privi-
leges, franchises, and liberties of this our
kingdom of England.' It was in 1649 that
the Maryland Act of Toleration was pass-
ed, which, however, prescribed the punish-
ment of death for anyone who denied the
Trinity. Of the small legislative body
which passed it, two>thirds appear to have
been Protestant, the recorded numbers
being sixteen and eight respectively. The
colony was open to the immigration of
Puritans and all Protestants, and any
permanent and successful oppression by
a handful of Roman Catholics was alto-
gether impossible. But the colonial act
seems to have been an echo of the order
of the House of Commons at home, on
the 37th of October, 1645, that the inhab-
tants of the Summer Islands, and such
others as shall join themselves to tlicm,
' shall without any molestation or trouble
have and enjoy the liberty of their con-
sciences in matters of God's worship*;
and of a British ordinance of 1647.
** Upon the whole, then, the picture of
Maryland legislation is a gratifying one ;
but the historic theory which assigns the
credit of it to the Roman Church has lit>
tie foundation in fact.
Let us first test Mr. Gladstone's
accuracy and consistency as a his-
torical critic. He begins by alleg-
ing that the Maryland Toleration
Act was a measure of defensive pru-
dence in the interests of the Catho-
lics themselves, and that " it smain
and very legitimate purpose plainly
was to secure the free exercise of
the Roman Catholic religion." He
then asserts that this act of tolera-
tion was not the work of the Catho-
lics at all, but of a Protestant ma-
jority in the legislature which passed
it. We have, then, here presented
the extraordinary picture of an al-
leged Protestant legislature passing
a law which was really intended to
protect Catholics against Protest-
ant ascendency and apprehended
Protestant persecution, and whose
** main and very legitimate pur-
pose was to secure the free exercise
of the Roman Catholic religion."
Surely, the Protestants of that day
were liberal and generous, especi-
ally as it was an age of persecution,
when not only were Catholics hunt-
ed down both in England and her
Virginia and Ne\v England colonies,
but even Protestants of different
sects were relentlessly persecuting
each other. And in what proper
sense can they be said to have been
Protestants with whom it was "d
very legitimate Purpose " to legislate
in the express interests of Roman
Catholics ?
Mr. Gladstone also states that
the Toleration Act was passed in
Mr. Gladstont and Maryland Toleration.
the apprehension of an influx of
Puritans, and to protect tlie colony
"from the grasp of its neighbors
in Virginia"; whereas his favorite
author, Mr. Bancroft, informs Mr.
Gladstone that Lord Baltimore in-
vited boih the Episcopalians of
Virginia and the Puritans of New
England into his domains, offering
a gift of lands as an inducement;
and it is a historical fact (hat num-
bers of them accepted the invita-
tion.
Again, Mr. Gladstone, while ap-
parently treating the Toleration
Act as a Catholic measure, anim-
adverts with evident disapproval
on that feature in it which " pre-
scribed tlie punishment of death
for any one who denied the Trinity,"
and then immediately he claims
that the legislature which passed
the act was a Protestant body —
" two-thirds," he writes, " appear
to have been Protestants " — thus
imposing upon his Protestant friends
the odium of inflicting death for
the exercise of conscience and re-
ligions belief; and that, too, not
upon Papists, as they were not in-
cluded in the punishment.
Mr. Gladstone, in The Vatican
Decrees in their bearing on Civil Al-
legiance (page 83), expressing no
doubt the common sentimenis of
Protestants since the time of Luther
and Henry VIIL, uses these irrev-
erent words in regard to the Blessed
Virgin Mary, that peerless and im-
maculate Lady whom four-fifths of
the Christian world venerate as the
Mother of God :
"The sinlessness of the Virgin Mary
■nd the personal infallibility of ihe Pope
are ihe characierisiic dogmas of modem
Romanism. . . . Bolh rest on pious fic-
tion and fraud ; bolh present a lefincd
idolalnr by clothing a pure humble n-o-
man and a mortal sinful mau nilli divine
■■tributes. The dogma ot ihe Immacu.
late Conception, which exempts the Vir<
gio Maiy from sin and guilt, pervert!
Clitisiianisro into Maiiaoism. . . . The
worship ofa woman is virtually substiiul-
ed for Ihe warship o( Christ."
And yet with such sentimenis,
in which doubtless the Protestants
of Maryland in 1649 concurred, he
attributes to, and claims for, those
Protestants who, he says, constitut-
ed two-thirds of the Maryland
Colonial Legislature in 1649, the
passage of a law which enacted
"that whosoever shall use or uttet
any reproachful words or speeches
concerning the Blessed Virgin Mary,
the Mother of our Saviour, . . .
shall for the first offence forfeit five
pounds sterling, or, if not able lo
pay, be publicly whipped and im-
prisoned during pleasure, etc- ; for
the second offence, len pounds, etc. ;
and for the third shall forfeit all his
lands and goods, and be banished
from the province."
The following anecdote, related
by the Protestant Bozman,* is quite
pertinent to our subject and to our
cause :
"And in the timeofthe Long Parliament
when Ihe difTerences between the Lonl
B.illimoreandColonell Samuel Maltbevf,
as aj(enl for ihe colony of Virginia, were
depending before a commiltee of that
parliament for the navy, thai clause in Ihc
s,iyd law, concerning the Virgin Mirj,
was al thai committee objected as an ex-
ception against his lordship : whereupon
a wotlhy membei of the saj-d committee
stood up and sajd, that he wondetod
that any such exception sUoulJ be taken
against his locdship ; for (sai-s hi-e) ctolh
not the Scripture sar.thal all genentioo!
shall call her blessed ? (The nuihoi here
cites in the margin. ' Lu. 1.48.') And ibe
n that e:
The authorities relied upon by
Mr. Gladstone, besides Bancroft,
whom we sh.iU prt-senlly refer to,
are Maryland Toleration, by the
»HM. Mar^UHd, nL ii. p. 3]&
Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration.
293
Rev. Ethan Allen, and Maryland
not a Catholic Colony^ by E. D. N.
The former is a pamphlet of sixty-
four pages addressed by the author,
a Protestant minister, to his bre**
thren in the ministry in 1855, is
purely a sectarian tract, hostile to
every Catholic view and inter-
est, and partisan in spirit and in
matter. The latter is a few pages
of printed matter, consisting of
three newspaper articles published
last year in the Daily Pioneer of St.
Paul, Minnesota, and recently re-
printed in the North* Western Chrotir
icle of the same place, the editor of
which states that the author of the
letters is the Rev. Edward D.
Neill, also a Protestant minister,
and president of Macalester Col-
lege. The letters of " E. D. N."
were sharply and ably replied to by
Mr. William Markoe, formerly an
Episcopal minister, now a member
of the Catholic Church. The let-
ters of " E. D. N." are more secta-
rian than historical, and cannot be
quoted in a controversy in which
such names as Chalmers, Bancroft,
McSherry, Bozman, etc., figure.
The attack of " E. D. N." on the
personal character of Lord Balti-
more is enough to condemn his ef-
fort.
But Mr. Gladstone's principal
author is Bancroft, from whose
pages he claims to have shown that
**in the case of Maryland there was
tu> question of a merciful use of
power towards others, but sitnply of
a wise and defensive prudence with
respect to themselves." Motives
of self-interest are thus substituted
for those of benevolence and mercy.
If this were correctly stated, why
does Mr. Gladstone state that the
Act of Toleration was a measure
"for which the two Lords Balti-
more, father and son, deserve the
highest honor "? But our task is
now to inquire how far his author
sustains Mr. Gladstone in denying
to the Catholics of Maryland, who
enacted religious toleration, all mo-
tives of benevolence and mercy.
Mr. Bancroft, on the contrary,
asserts that the ** new government
Lo*" Maryland] was erected on a
foundation as extraordinary as its
results we re benevolent. " * In speak-
ing of Lord Baltimore, the founder
of Maryland, its chief statesman
and law-giver, he extols his modera^
tiony sincerity of charcuter^ and dis-
interestednessy \ and proceeds to
say :
" Calvert deserves 10 be ranked among
the most wise and benevolent law-givers
of all ages. He was the first in the his-
tory of the Christian world to seek for re-
ligious security and peace by the practice
of justice, and not by the exercise of pow.
er; to plan the esiablishment of popular
institutions with the enjoj'ment of liberty
of conscience ; to advance the career of civ-
ilization by recognizing the rightful equal-
ity of all Christian sects. The asylum of
Papists was the spot where, in a remote
corner of the world, on the banks of riv-
ers which, as yet, had hardly been explor-
ed, the mild forbearance of a proprietary
adopted religious freedom as the basis of
the state." %
Referring to the act of taking
possession of their new homes in
Maryland by the Catholic pilgrims,
the same author says, thereby "re-
ligious liberty obtained a home, its
only home in the wide world, at the
humble village which bore the name
of St. Mary's." § And speaking of
the progress of the colony, he fur-
ther says : ** Under the mild institu-
tions and munificence of Baltimore
the dreary wilderness soon bloom-
ed with swarming life and activity
of prosperous settlements ; the Ro-
man Catholics who were oppressed
by the laws of England were sure
• Hisi»ry UnittdSt •/«, voL i. p. 938.
t Id. p. 241. X Id. p. 944. S Id. p. S47.
I •
294
Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration,
to find a peaceful asylum in the
quiet harbors of the Chesapeake ;
and there, too, Protestants were
sheltered against Protestant intole-
rance." * Such, in fine, is the re-
peated language of an author
whom Mr. Gladstone refers to in
proof of his assertion that toleration
in Maryland was simply a measure
of self-defence.
Chalmers bears the following tes-
timony to the same point : *' He "
(Lord Baltimore) ''^ laid the founda^
tion of his province upon the broad
basis of security to property and of
freedom of religion, granting, in ab-
solute fee, fifty acres of land to
every emigrant ; establishing Chris-
tianity according to the old com-
mon law, of which it is a part, with-
out allowing pre-eminence to any
particular sect. The wisdom of his
choice soon converted a dreary
wilderness into a prosperous col-
ony."t
And Judge Story, with the history
of the colony from its beginning
and the charter before him, adds
the weight of judicial approval in
the following words : ** It is certain-
ly very honorable to the liberality
and public spirit of the proprietary
that he should have introduced into
his /////r/<fi/;/r//A7/ policy the doctrine
of general toleration and equality
among Christian sects (for he does
not appear to have gone further),
and have thus given the earliest ex-
ample of a legislator inviting his
subjects to the free indulgence of
religious opinion. This was ante-
rior to the settlement of Rhode
Island, and therefore merits the
enviable rank of being the first
recoinnition among the colonists of
the glorious and indefeasible rights
of conscience.**' J
• Hisi(*ry Umittd States^ vol. i. p. 948.
t Chalmers' A mmalt. vol. i. pp. 907, ao8.
X Stfwy, CVm. am tkt CamUitmtitm^wx. lO}.
But there is another view, clearly
sustained by an important and cer-
tain chain of facts, which has never
occurred to the historical writers
on Maryland toleration, at least in
this connection, though tbey give
the facts upon which the view is
based, and which wholly destroys
the theory of Mr. Gladstone and
his authorities. The latter may
dispute in regard to the merits and
motives of the statute of 1649, but
they do not touch the real question.
It is an incontestable fact that the
religious toleration which histo-
rians have so much extolled in the
Catholic colonists and founders of
Maryland did not originate with,
or derive its existence from, that
law of 1649, but, on the contrary, it
existed long anterior to, and inde-
pendent of, it. This great feature
in the Catholic government of
Maryland had been established by
the Catholic lord-proprietary, his
lieutenant-governor, agents, and
colonists, and faithfully practised
for fifteen years prior to the Tolera-
tion Act of 1649. From 1634 to
1649 it had been enforced with un-
wavering firmness and protected
with exalted benevolence. This
im|X)rtant fact is utterly ignored by
Mr. Gladstone and his authors, the
Rev. Ethan Allen and the Rev. Ed-
ward D. Neill, but the facts related
by Bancroft, and indeed by all his-
torians, prove it beyond a question.
Bancroft records that the very
*^^ foundations " of the colony were
laid upon the " basis " of religious
toleration, and throughout the eu-
logiums pronounced by him on the
religious toleration of Maryland,
which we have quoted above, re-
fers entirely to the period of the
fifteen years preceding the passage
of the act of 1649. The Toleration
Act was nothing else than the de-
claration of the existing state of
Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration.
295
things and of the long and cherish-
ed policy and practice of the colo-
ny — a formal sanction and statu-
tory enactment oi the existing com-
mon law of the province.
Before proceeding to demonstrate
this fact, we will briefly examine
how far Mr. Bancroft sustains the
theory or views of Mr. Gladstone
in regard to the act itself. After
extolling the motives and conduct
of the Catholics of Maryland in es-
tablishing religious toleration, as
we have remarked above, during
the fifteen years preceding the pas-
sage of the act, Mr. Bancroft refers
to that statute in terms of highest
t)raise. He barely hints at the pos-
sibility that a foresight, on the part
of the colonists, of impending dan-
gers to themselves from threatened
or apprehended Protestant ascend-
ency and persecution, might have
entered among the motives which
induced them to pass that act ; but
he iK>where asserts the fact, nor
does he allege anything beyond
conjecture for the possibility of the
motive. Indeed, his mode of ex-
pressing himself indicates that,
though he thought it possible, his
own impression was that such mo-
tive did not suggest in part even
the passage of the act; for he
writes : ** As 1/, with a foresight of
impending danger and an earnest
desire to stay its approach, the Ro-
man Catholics of Maryland, with
the earnest concurrence of their gov-
ernor and of the proprietary, deter-
mined to place upon thefr statute-
book an act for t/ie religious frec"
dom whick bad ever been sacred on
their soil** Compare this with the
language of Mr. Gladstone, who ex-
rludes every motive but that of
wlf-interest, and refers to Ban-
croft in support of his view, but
does not quote his language. Mr.
Bancroftt on the other hand« after
quoting from the statute, exclaims,
such was *' its sublime tenor."
Mr. Griffith does not agree with
the suggestion that a sense of fear
or apprehension entered into the
motives of the Maryland lawgivers,
and says : ** That this liberty did
not proceed from fear of others, on
the one hand, or licentious disposi-
tions in the government, on the
other, is sufficiently evident from
the penalties prescribed against
blasphemy, swearing, drunkenness,
and Sabbath-breaking, by the pre-
ceding sections of the act, and pro-
viso, at the end, that such exercise
of religion did not molest or con-
spire against the proprietary or his
government." *
Let us now proceed to examine
still further whether Maryland was
a Catholic colony, whether it was
by Catholics that religious tol-
eration was established there, and
whether it had its origin in the act
of 1649 or in the long previous
practice and persistent generosity
and mercy of the Catholic rulers
of the province. It is true that
while the territory afterwards grant-
ed to Lord Baltimore was subject
to the Virginia charter, a settlement
of Episcopalians was made on
Kent Island ; but they were very
few in numbers, always adhered to
Virginia rather than to Maryland
in their sympathies, were so turbu-
lent and disloyal that Governor
Calvert had to reduce them by
force of arms, and no one has
ever pretended that they founded a
State. We will show what relation
they had in point of numbers and
political influence to the colony,
and that they did not form even
the slightest element of power in
the founding of the province.
Maryland was founded alone by
* Sketches 0/ the Early History of Marytmud
by Thomas W. GriSih« pp. 3, 4.
\
296
Mr. Glculstone and Maryland Toleration.
Vv
i
»',(
■•M
?»
0.
the Catholic Lord Baltimore and
liis colonists. Such is the voice of
history. It is rather disingenuous
in the reverend authors of the
pamphlets mentioned by Mr. Glad-
scone that upon so flimsy -a circum-
stance they assert that Maryland
was not settled first by Catholics.
Their voices are drowned by the
concurrent voice of tradition and
of history. It is only the reasser-
tion of the pretensions of these
zealous sectarians by so respect-
able a person as Mr. Gladstone,
and that, too, in one of the most
remarkable controversies of the
age, that renders a recurrence to
the historical authorities and their
results at all desirable or neces*
sary.
The colony of Maryland was
conceived in the spirit of liberty.
It was the flight of English Catho-
lics from Protestant persecution in
their native country. The state of
the peual laws in England against
Catholics at this period is too well
known. The zealous Protestant
Bozman writes that they " con-
tamed seventies enough to keep
them [the Catholics] in all due
subjection."
It was at this hour of their ex-
tremest suffering that the Catholics
of England found a friend and
leader in Sir George Calvert, who
held important trusts under the gov-
ernments of James and Charles,
and enjoyed the confidence of
his sovereigns and of his country.
*'In an age when religious contro-
versy still continued to be active,
when increasing divisions among
Protestants were spreading a gene-
rnl alaim, his mind sought relief
from controversy in the bosom of
the Roman Catholic Church, and,
preferring the avowal of his opin-
ions to the emoluments of office,
he resigned his place and openly
professed his conversion."* Even
after this he was advanced to the
peerage under the title of Lord
Baltimore — an Irish title — and was
appointed one of the principal sec-
retaries under James I. His posi-
tions in thegoveinmentgavehimnot
only an acquaintance with American
colonization, but an official con-
nection with it. Of these he now
availed himself to provide an asy-
lum abroad for his fellow-Catho-
lics from the relentless persecution
they were suffering at home- His
first effort was to found a Catholic
colony on the shores of New-
foundland. A settlement was be-
gun. Avalon was the name it re-
ceived, and twice did Lord Balti-
more cross the ocean to visit his
cherished cradle of liberty. Baf-
fled by political difficulties, the
severity of tlie climate, and an un-
generous soil, he abandoned the
endeavor. That his motive all
along was to found a place of re-
fuge for Catholics from persecution
is certain from the time and cir-
cumstances under which the enter-
prise was undertaken, as well as
from the testimony of historians.
Oldmixon says : " This gentleman
[Lord Baltimore], being of the
Romish religion, was uneasy at
home, and had the same reason to
leave the kingdom as those gentle-
men had who went to New Eng-
land, to enjoy the liberty of his
conscience." f Bozman writes that
"by their [the Puritans'] clamors
for a vigorous execution of the
laws against Papists, it became now
necessary for them [the Catholics]
also to look about for a place of
refuge." J The same writer also
refers to a MS. in the British Mu-
seum, written by Lord Baltimore
• Ranooft, Hist. £/. 5., vol. L p. 93!.
t Tht Brit. Em A. in A mtritm.^ toI i. pp. 4, 5,
XHisU Md^^ pk 339.
Mr* Gladstone and Maryland Toleration.
297
himselfy in which this motive is
mentioned. Driven from Avalon
by the hardness of the climate, he
visited Virginia with the same view ;
but hence again he was driven
by religious bigotry and the pre-
sentation of an anti-popery oath
from a colony '* from which the
careful exclusion of Roman Catho-
lics had been originally avowed as
a special object-*' His mind, filled
with the thought of founding a
place of refuge for Catholics, next
tamed to the country beyond the
Potomac, which had been embraced
originally in the Virginia charter,
but which, upon the cancellation
of that cluirter, had reverted to the
crown. He obtained a grant and
charter from the king, so liberal in
its terms that, Griffith says, it be-
came the model for future grants.
The name was changed from Cres-
centia to that of Maryland, in
honor of the Catholic queen of
Charles; but the devout Catholics
of the expedition, in their piety, ex-
tended the term Terra Maria^ the
Land of Mary, into an act of de-
votion and honor to Mary, the
Queen of Heaven.
The first Lord Baltimore did not
live to see his project carried into
cfTect; he died on the 25th of
April, 1632, was succeeded by his
son Cecilius, second Lord fialti-
more, who, as Bancroft says, was
the heir of his intentions no less
than of his fortunes ; to him was
issued the charter negotiated by
his father, bearing date the 15th of
June, 10^2.
Founded by a Catholic, designed
as an asylum for persecuted Catho-
lics, is it to be supposed that Lord
Baltimore and his brother. Gov-
ernor Leonard Calvert, who organ-
ized and led forth the pilgrims,
would be so inconsistent at this
moment of their success as to lose
sight of the main object of the
movement, and carry Protestant
colonists with whom to found a
Catholic colony ? If, as Rev. Ed-
ward D. Neill, author of Maryland
not a Catholic Colony^ says, there
were only twenty Catholic gentle-
men in the ship, and three hundred
servants, mostly Protestants, would
it have been deemed necessary to
carry two Catholic priests and their
assistants along to administer to
the souls of so small a number ?
In point of fact, the Protestants
were so few that they brought no
minister with them, and it was sev-
eral years before their entire num-
bers justified their having either a
minister or a place of worship.
The voyage on the Ark and Dove
was more like a Catholic pilgrim-
age than a secular expedition.
The principal parts of the ship
(the Arli)y says Father White in his
NarraiivCy were committed to the
protection of God especially, and
to his Most Holy Mother, and S.
Ignatius, and all the guardian angels
of Maryland. The vessel was a
floating chapel, an ocean shrine of
Catholic faith and devotion, conse-
crated by the unbloody sacrifice,
and resounding with Latin litanies ;
its safety from many a threatened
disaster was attributed to the inter-
cession of the Blessed Virgin and
the saints, whose mediation was
propitiated by votive offerings pro-
mised and promptly rendered af-
ter their safe arrival at St. Mary's.
The festivals of the saints were
faithfully observed throughout the
voyage, the feast of the Annuncia-
tion of the Blessed Virgin was select-
ed for landing, and the solemn act
of taking possession was according
to the Catholic form. Father White
thus describes the scene :
** On the day of the Annunciation of the
Most Holy Virgin Mary (March 25), ic
298
Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration.
I
the year 1634, we celebrated the Mass for
the first time on this island [St. Cle-
ment's]. This had never been done be-
fore in this part of the world. After we
had completed the sacrifice, we took upon
our shoulders a great cross which we
had hewn out of a tree, and advancing in
order to the appointed place, with the as-
sistance of the governor and his asso-
ciates, and the other Catholics, we erect-
ed a trophy to Christ the Saviour, humbly
reciting on our bended knees the Lita-
nies of the Sacred Cross with great emo-
tion."*
They founded a city, the capital
of the colony, and called it St.
Mary's. A Catholic chapel was
«'ibsequently erected there ; and this
too was dedicated to S. Mary.
The city has passed away, but the
little chapel still stands, preserved
alike by Catholic and Protestant
hands, as a monument of the faith
and zeal of the Catholic pilgrims
of Maryland. Mr. Griffith, the his-
torian, uniting his voice to that of
Bancroft and other writers, speak-
ing of the object which inspired
the settlement from its inception by
Lord Baltimore in England, says :
" Out of respect for their religion
th3y planted the cross, and, after
fortifying themselves, plainly and
openly set about to obtain, by the
fairest means in their power, other
property and homes, where they
should escape the persecutions of
the religious and political reformers
of their native country at that
time."t
The church and parish of S.
Mary were for many years the head-
quarters of the Jesuit missions of
Maryland. During the succeeding
years prior to 1649 there was a
steady influx of Catholics into the
colony from England, as is evident
by the land records and other offi-
cial documents, and by the fact
• Father Andrew White's ^Varr«//vr, Md. HiH.
80c., 1874, P- 3»«
that the number of Catholic priests
required for the settlement increas-
ed from two in 1634 to four priests
and one icoadjutor prior to 1644.
The Catholic strength was also in-
creased by numerous conversions,
as is shown by Father White's
Narrative^ in which, at page 56,
he relates that, " among the
Protestants, nearly all who came
over from England, in this year
1638, and many others, have been
converted to the faith, together
with four servants . . . and five
mechanics whom we . . . have in
the meantime won to God.*' So
numerous were these conversions,
and they created so great a sensa-
tion in England, that measures were
taken there to check them
That the colony was Catholic in
its origin, and so continued until
after the year 1649, when the Tol-
eration Act was passed, has never
been denied, according to our re-
searches, except by Mr. Gladstone
and the two Piotestant ministers
whom he quotes. Bancroft, writing
of the religious toleration which
prevailed in Maryland during this
period, always speaks of it as the
work of Catholics. In referring to
the original colonists he adds,
"most of them Roman Catholic
gentlemen and their servant^**
Even so unfriendly a writer as B02-
man says : " The most, if not all, of
them were Catholics." Chancel-
lor Kent speaks of the colony as
•* the Catholic planters of Mary-
land," and Judge Story says th^
were "chiefly Roman Catholics."
Father White, in his Narratm,
speaks of the few Protestants on
board the Ark as individuals, and
not as a class. Bozman, alluding
to the year 1639, and to " those in
v;hosc hands the government of
the province was," says: " A major-
ity of whom were, without doubt,
Mr. Giadstone and Maryland Toleration.
299
CalhoHcs, as well as much the
greater number of the colonists."
Mr. Davis, a Protestant, who drew
his information from the official
documents of the colony and State,
gives unanswerable proofs of the
fact for which we are contending.
We give a single passage from his
work on this point :
" St. Mary's was the home — the chosen
home— of the disciples of the Roman
Cfaurch. The fact has been generally re«
ceived. Ii is sustained by the tradition
of tiro hundred years and by volumes of*
unwritten testimony ; by the records of the
courts ; by the proceedings of the privy
council ; by the trial of law-cases ; by the
wills and inventories ; by the land-re*
cords and rent-roils ; and by the very
nanoes originally given to the towns and
kundrtds^ to the creeks and rivulets, to
the tracts and manors of the county. The
state itself bears the name of a Roman
Catholic queen. Of the six hundreds of
ibis small county, in 1650, five had the
prriix of SL Sixty tracts and manors, most
of them taken up at a very early period,
bear the same Roman Catholic mark.
The creeks and villages, to this day, at-
test the widespread prevalence of the
same tastes, sentiments, and sympathies.
Not long after the passage of the act re-
Kiting to * religion,* the Protestants, it is
admitted, outgrew their Roman Catholic
brethren, and in 1689 succeeded very
easily in their attempt to overthrow the
proprietary. But judging from the com-
position of the juries in 1655, we see no
reason to believe that they then had a ma-
jority."*
Mr. Gladstone seems to favor the
view that religious toleration in
Maryland was derived from the
charter. We are surprised at this,
since ** E. D. N. " (Rev. Edward
D. Neili), whose pamphlet has fur-
nished the substance of the entire
passage we have quoted from Mr.
Gladstone's Frefacty says in his
Maryiatui not a Roman Catholic Coh
(^ny, "The charter of Maryland
granted to Lord Baltimore was not
•
•Bt?V Dar^Ur 0/ Am. Frttd^m^ p. 149.
a charter of religious liberty, but
the very opposite." McSherry, a
Catholic historian, says that *' the
ecclesiastical laws of England, so
far as related to the consecration
and presentation of churches and
chapels, were extended to the colo-
ny, but the question of state reli-
gion was left untouched, and there-
fore within the legislative power of
the colonists themselves."* And
Bozman, a Protestant historian,
adopts the same view of the char-
ter, for he regards the " Act for
Church Liberties " passed in 1639,
enacting that" Holy Church within
this province shall have all her
rights and privileges," as an attempt
to exercise a control of religion, and
says : " We cannot but suppose that
it was the intention of the Catholic
government to erect a hierarchy,
with an ecclesiastical jurisdiction,
similar to the ancient Church of
England before the Reformation,
and to invest it with all its rights,
liberties, and immunities."! A'he
same views are expressed by the
same author at pages 68 and 350 of
his history. While civil liberty
was guaranteed by the charter to
all within the province, we find no
mention of religious toleration in its
provisions. Nor do we find that
immigration was made free by the
charter, as alleged by Mr. Glad-
stone; the provision to which he
refers simply assures to the sub-
jects of England, ** transported or
to be transported into the province,
all privileges, franchises, and liber-
ties of this our kingdom of Eng-
land," but the decision of the point
as to who should be transplanted
or admitted to settle there was
left to the lord proprietary and
the provincial legislature. The
grant by the king to Lord Balti-
• History 0/ Maryland^ p. 84.
t Bocoun^s Hittcry (tf Maryland^ p.
i
300
Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleratien.
more of all the lands of the pro-
vince in itself gave him the full
control over immigration, by en-
abling him to fix the conditions to
the grants of land to colonists,
which would have kept out all ex-
cept such as the lord proprietary
wished to enter.
We think we have shown that the
Catholics were in the majority dur-
ing the whole period covered by
our discussion, and that the charter
left them free to protect themselves
from intrusion ; that they were, con-
sequently, all-powerful to perpetu-
ate their numerical preponderance
and control of the government.
Why had they not the same motives
for practising intolerance as the
Puritans? Their positions, re-
spectively and relatively, were the
S(ime in this particular, and the
same reasons apply to both. No,
they were actuated by a different
spirit, and guided by different tra-
ditions. They possessed the pow-
er, and used it with mercy and be-
nevolence ; not only permitting
but inviting Christians of every
shade of opinion to settle in the
province, but also offering grants
of land on easy terms, and protect-
ing the settlers from molestation on
account of their religion. If they
had not the power to proscribe,
why should Bancroft, Griffith,
Chambers, Kent, Story, and nearly
all writers on the subject, have be-
stowed such encomiums on them for
doing what they could not have re-
frained from doing .> Why extol
the toleration enjoined by Lord
Baltimore and proclaimed by Gov-
ernor Leonard Calvert, and the sub-
sequently enacted Toleration Act
of 1649, if the liberty it enacts was
already secured by the charter of
1632?
It is not necessary for us to go
further into this question, since in
either event the honor and credit
of religious toleration in Maryland
is due to a Catholic source. If the
charter secured it, our answer is
that the charter itself was the work
of a Catholic,. for Lord Baltimore
is the acknowledged author of that
document. The nature of the
document itself," says Bancroft,
** and concurrent opinion, leave no
doubt that it was penned by the
first Lord Baltimore himself, al-
though it was finally issued for the
benefit of his son.*'* ** It was pre-
pared by Lord Baltimore himself,"
Says McSherry, " but before it was
finally executed that truly great
and good man died, and the patent
was delivered to his son, Cecilius,
who succeeded as well to his noble
designs as to his titles and es-
tates."! It will be more than suf-
ficient to add here that both Mr.
Bozman and the Rev. Ethan Allen
concede that Lord Baltimore was
the author of the charter.
We propose now to show that the
religious toleration which prevail-
ed in Maryland had its origin in
the good-will, generosity, and mercy
of the Catholic lord proprietary
and his Catholic government and
colony of Maryland ; was practised
from the very beginning of the set-
tlement, and that we are not in-
debted for it to the Toleration Act
of 1649, except perhaps as a mea-
sure by which its provisions were
prolonged. Toleration was the
course adopted in organizing the
Maryland colony, even in England
and before the landing of the pi^
grims. Thus we find that some
Protestants were permitted to ac-
company the colonists and share
equal rights and protection with
their Catholic associates. Father
White speaks of them on board the
* Hisiffry of UniUd Staitt^ voLt. p. 841.
Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration.
301
Ark and Dove. The author of
Afaryiand not a Catholic Colony re-
fers to the fact that " Thomas
Cornwallis and Jeronle Hawley,
who went out as councillors of the
colony, were adherents of the
Church of England," as evidence
in part that Maryland was " not a
Catholic colony." We take the
same fact to show that not only
were Protestants tolerated in the
colony from its inception, but were
liberally and generously given a
share in its government. The Rev.
Ethan Allen relates a succession
of proofs of this fact, though not
for that purpose, in the following
passage: " Witness the fact of so
large a portion of the first colonists
being Protestants; his invitation to
Oipt. Fleet; his invitation to the
Puritan colonists of Massachusetts
to come and reside in the colony
in 1643; his constituting Col. Stone
Iiis governor in 1648, who was a
Protestant, and was to bring five
hundred colonists ; his admitting
the Puritans of Virginia in the same
year ; and in the year following
erecting a new county for Robert
Brooke, a Puritan, and his colo-
nists."* McSherry says, speaking
of the act of possession on landing
in 1634: "Around the rough-hewn
cross, on the island of St. Clement's,
gathered the Catholic and the Pro-
testant, hand in hand, friends and
brothers, equal in civil rights, and
secure alike in the free and full
enjoyment of either creed. It was
a day whose memory should make
the Maryland heart bound with'
pride and pleasure."! l^e same
author says that the Toleration Act
of 1649 was passed ** to give addi*
tional security to the safeguards
which Lord Baltimore /lad already
frooided'^ Bancroft makes religi-
^ mryUnd Tcteraiion^ p. 36.
t Histarj c/MnryUunly p. 33.
ous toleration commence from the
first landing ** when the Catholics
took possession," and extend
throughout the fourteen years up
to the passage of the act of 1649.
He says that "the apologist of
Lord Baltimore could assert that
his government, in conformity
with his strict and repeated injunc-
tions, had netfer given disturbance
to any person in Maryland format-
ter of religion." * The Rev. Ethan
Allen relates that the Protestants
in the colony were allowed to have
their own chapel and to conduct
therein the Protestant service. He
cites a case in which a Catholic
was severely punished for abusive
language towards some Protestant
servants in respect to their religion,
and remarks that "the settling of
the case was unquestionably cre-
ditable and honorable to the Cath-
olic governor and council." f Mr.
Davis, a Protestant, says : " A
freedom, however, of a wider sort
springs forth at the birth of the col-
ony — not demanded by that instru-
ment [the charter], but permitted
by it — not graven upon the tables
of stone, nor written upon the pa*
per of the statute-books, but con-
ceived in the very bosom of the
proprietary and of the original pil-
grims — not a formal or construc-
tive kirtd, but a living freedom, a
freedom of the most practical sort.
It is the freedom which it remained
for them, and for them alotie,
either to grant or deny — a freedom
embracing within its range, and
protecting under its banner, all
those who were believers in Jesus
Christ." J
Again, the same author writes:
"The records have been carefully
searched. No case of persecution
• Hittory o/Vnittd Siatex^ p. 957.
t Maryland ToUratton^ p. 40.
X Day^ai- 9/ AwurUAn Frted^m^ p. 36.
302
Mr. Gladstone and' Maryland Toleratum.
occurred, during the administration
of Gov. Leonard Calvert, from
the foundation of the settlement
at St. Mary's to the year 1647."*
LangfoTd, a writer contemporaneous
with the period of which we are
treating, in his Refutation of Ba^
bylon*s Fall^ '^SS* confirms the
result of Mr. DaWs' investigation
of the records. The Protestants
of the colony themselves, in a de-
claration^ of which we will speak
again, attribute the religious tole-
ration they enjoyed not solely to
the Toleration Act, but also to
** several other strict injunctions and
declarations of his said lordship for
that purpose made and provided^
Gov. Leonard Calvert also enjoin-
ed the sanie by a proclamation,
which is mentioned by numerous
historians. A case arising under
this proclamation is given by Boz-
man and others in 1638, eleven
years before the passage of the
Toleration Act. Capt. Cornwallis*
servants, who were Protestants, were
lodged under the same roof with
William Lewis, a zealous Catholic,
who was also placed in charge of
the servants. Entering one day
the room where the servants were
reading aloud from a Protestant
book — Mr. Smith's Sermons — at
the very moment the Protestants
were reading aloud a passage to
the effect " that the pope was An-
tichrist, and the Jesuits were an-
ti-Christian ministers," supposing
that the passage was read aloud es-
pecially for him to hear, he order-
ed them with great warmth not to
read that book, saying that " it was
a falsehood, and came from the de-
vil, as all lies did; and that he that
writ it was an instrument of the
devil, and he would prove it ; and
that all Protestant ministers were
ministers of the devil. All the
parties were tried before the gov-
ernor and his council ; the case
against the servants was postponed
for further testimony, but Mr. Lew-
is, the Catholic, was condemned
to pay a fine of five hundred pounds
of tobacco (then the currency of
the colony), and to remain in the
sheriff's custody until he found
sufficient sureties in the future.
Bozman thus remarks upon this de-
cision : '^ As these proceedings took
place before the highest tribunal
of the province, composed of the
three first officers in the gov-
ernment, they amply develop the
course of conduct with respect to
religion which those in whose
hands the government of the pro-
vince was placed, had resolved to
pursue." * Not only did the Cath-
olic lord proprietary, in 1648, ap-
point Mr. Stone, a Protestant, to
be the governor of the province,
but also he at the same time ap-
pointed a majority of the privy
councillors from the same faith.
We will close our testimony on
this point with the official oath
which Lord Baltimore required the
governor and the privy councillors
to take ; it was substantially as
follows :
** I will not by myself nor any person,
directly or indirectly, trouble, molest, or
discountenance any person whatsoever in
said province professing to believe in
Jesus Christ, for or in respect to his or
her religion, nor in his or her free exer-
cise thereof."
We cannot determine when this
oath began to be used. Bancroft
places it between 1636 and 1639.
Chalmers, Dr. Hawks, and others
give the time as between 1637 and
1657. It is certain that this oath
was prescribed prior to the passage
♦ D^y^Stur of American Freedom^ p. 38.
^ Ht9i9ry •/ Maryland^ vol. u. p. 8$
Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration.
303
of the Toleration Act ; for Gover-
nor Stone and the councillors look
the oath in 1648, and there is rea-
son to believe that it was in use at
a much earlier period.
Referring to the period anterior
to the passage of the Toleration
Act. Bancroft says : " Maryland at
that day was unsurpassed for happi-
ness and liberty. Conscience was
without restraint."* Mr. Davis, in
reference to this subject, writes :
^ The toleration which prevailed
from the first, and for fifteen years
later, was formally ratified by the
voice of the people " (in 1649).
Mr. Gladstone's view of the
subject is evidently superficial ;
it relates exclusively to the pas-
sage of the Toleration Act, and
was conceived and published with-
01* t the knowledge of the fact,
which we have demonstrated, that
the toleration for which the Cath-
olics of Marvland have been so
much praised had been practised
for fifteen years before the passage
of that act. Surely, there can be
no rival claim set forth in behalf
of Protestants for the period we
have mentioned. Mr. Gladstone
sets up his claim for the Protestants
under that act. We cannot admit
the justice or truth of the preten-
sion. Let us examine it. This
Uiv enacted that " no one profess-
ing to believe in Jesus Christ shall
be troubled, molested, or discounte-
nanced for his religion, or the free
exercise thereof, nor compelled to
ihe belief or exercise of any other
religion against hisconsent." Now
here, too, the claim set up by Mr.
Gladstone, and by the authors of
the pamphlets he quotes, is met by
stem facts.
In the first place, the Toleration
Act of 1649 was the work of a
Catholic. It was prepared in Eng-
land by Lord Baltimore himself,
and sent over to the Assembly with
other proposed laws for their ac-
tion. This fact is related by nearly
all writers on Maryland history, in-
cluding those consulted by Mr.
Gladstone, except the writer of
Maryland not a Roman Catholic
Colony^ who does not refer to the
subject, except to claim that it was
but the echo of a previous and
similar order of the English House
of Commons in 1645 and of a sta-
tute passed by it in 1647. The last-
named writer even intimates that
the Rev. Thomas Harrison, the
former pastor of the Puritans at
Providence, afterward Annapolis,
in Maryland, suggested the whole
matter to Lord Baltimore. We
might even admit this pretension
without impairing the Catholic
claim. It does not destroy the
credit due to the Catholics of
Maryland in passing the Toleration
Act to show that others, even Puri-
tans, entertained in one or two in-
stances similar views and enacted
similar measures. We know that
the Puritans in England were pro-
scriptive, and that in New England
they did not practise the tolera-
tion of Maryland. Even if Lord
Baltimore had the measure sug-
gested to him by the Puritan Har-
rison, the act itself, when adopted
by him and put in practice, is still
his act and that of the Assembly
which passed it. It remains their
free and voluntary performance.
The merit which attaches to the
good deeds of men is not destroy-
ed by having been suggested by
others. A Puritan might even
share in the act without appropri-
ating the whole credit to himself.
But whatever merit is claimed for
the Puritans in these measures—
which we cannot perceive — is lost
304
Mr. Gladstotie and Maryland Toleration.
by their subsequent conduct. They
overturned the government of Lord
Baltimore in Maryland, and under
their ascendency Catholics were
persecuted in the very home of
liberty to which Catholics had
invited the Puritans. But of the
existence of the English tolera-
tion acts mentioned by the writer
referred to and by Mr. Gladstone,
we have been supplied with no
proof. That the Puritan Harrison
suggested the measure to Lord Bal-
timore is hinted at, not roundly as-
serted, certainly not sustained by
prooC
But public facts give the nega-
tive to these pretensions. The
Toleration Act of 1649 was the
immediate echo of the actual tol-
eration which, under the injunc-
tions of Lord Baltimore, the pro-
clamation of Governor Calvert, and
the uniform practice of the colo-
nists, had long become the com-
mon law of the colony. Why seek,
in the turbulent and confused pio-
ceedings of the Long Parliament, a
model or example for the Mar}'-
land law, when such exemplar is
supplied nearer home by the col-
ony itself from its first inception ?
To the people of Maryland, in
1649, the Toleration Act was no-
thing new ; it was readily and unani-
mously received ; it produced no
change in the constitution of the
province. Toleration was not the
law or the practice of that day,
either in England or her colonies;
the echo was too remote and too
readily drowned by the din of per-
secution and of strife.
But the Maryland Toleration Act
contains intrinsic evidence of a
purely Catholic origin. The clause
enforcing the honor and respect
due to " the blessed Virgin Mary,
the Mother of our Saviour," which
we have already quoted, gives a
Catholic flavor to the whole sta-
tute, and excludes the theory of par-
liamentary or puritanical influence
in originating the measure. The
claim thus set up is also against the
concurrent voice of history, which,
with great accord, gives the author-
ship of the law to Lord Baltimore,
who, as he had enjoined and en-
forced its provisions on the colony
for fifteen years, needed no assist-
ance in reducing them to the form
of a statute, which we are informed
he did.
But who were the lawgivers of
1649, and what was their religion ?
By the charter the law-making
power was vested in Lord Balti-
more and the Assembly. It was foi
some years a matter of contest be-
tween them which possessed the
right to initiate laws. The lord
proprietary, however, finally con-
ceded this privilege to the Assem-
bly. It was not uncommon for the
Assembly to reject the laws first
sent over by the lord proprietary,
and afterwards to bring them for-
ward themselves and pass them.
But in 1648, when Governor Stone
was appointed, the Toleration Act
was among the measures sent by
Lord Baltimore, for the action of the
Assembly. The government, then,
consisted of Cecilius, Lord Balti-
more, a Catholic, without whose
sanction no law could be enacted,
and whose signature to the measure
in question was given the follovring
year. The journal of the Maryland
legislature was lost or destroyed,
but fortunately a fragment of it is
preserved, consisting of a report
from the financial committee of the
Assembly, and the action of that
body on the bill of charges. With
this document, and the aid of the
historical facts recorded by Boi-
man and other historian^, we are
enabled to ascertain the names of
Mr, GladsUne and Maryland Toleration.
305
the members of the Assembly in
1649.
Gov. Stone was lieutenant-gover-
nor and president of the council,
which was composed of Thomas
(ireen, John Price, John Pile, and
Robert Vaughan, commissioned by
the lord proprietary ; and the re-
maining councillors were Robert
Clarke, surveyor-general, and Tho-
mas Hatton, secretary of the colony,
(x-offich members of the council.
The other members of the Assem-
bly were the representatives of the
freemen, or burgesses, as follows :
Cuthbert Fenwick, Philip Conner,
William Breiton, Richard Browne,
George Manners, Richard Banks,
John Maunsell, Thomas Thornbo-
rough, and Walter Peake, nine in
number. The governor, council-
lors, and burgesses made sixteen in
ail; but as Messrs. Pile and Hatton,
one Catholic and one Protestant,
were absent, the votes actually cast
were fourteen. On the memorable
occasion in question the council-
lors and burgesses sat in one
" house,'* and as such passed the
Toleration Act. Of the fourteen
thus voting, Messrs. Green, Clarke,
Fenwick, Bretton, Manners, Maun-
sell, Peake, and Thornborough were
Catholics, and Messrs. Stone, Price,
Vaughan, Conner, Banks, and
Browne were Protestants. The
Catholics were eight to six Protes-
tants.
But the Assembly was not the
only law-making branch of the gov-
ernment. The executive, or lord
proprietary, was a co-ordinate
branch, and without his co-opera-
tion no law could pass. Now, the
executive was a Catholic, and a
majority of the Assembly were Ca-
tholics; so that we have it as a his-
torical fact that in a government
composed of two co-ordinate
branches, both branches of the law-
VOL. XXII. — 20
making power which enacted the
Toleration Act were Catholic, It
is an important fact that if all the
Protestant members of the Assembly
had voted against the law, the Ca-
tholic majority could and would
have passed it, and the Catholic
executive was only too ready to
sanction his own measure. It can-
not, therefore, be said that the Ca-
tholics could not have passed the
law without the Protestant votes;
for we have seen that both of the
co-ordinate branches of the govern-
ment were in the hands of the Ca-
lics.
Waiving, however, the division
of the government into two co-or-
dinate branches, by which method
we have the entire government
Catholic ; and regarding the lord
proprietary merely as individual^
computing the lawgivers of 1649
simply numerically, .we have the
following result :
LAWGIVERS OF Z649.
Catholics, Protestants.
Lord Baltimore. Lt.-Gov. Stone.
Mr. Qreen. Mr. Price.
Mr. Clarke. Mr. Vaugh.in.
Mr. Fenwick. ' Mr. Conner.
Mr. Bretton. Mr. Banks.
Mr. Manners. Mr. Browne — 6.'
Mr. Maunsell.
Mr. Peake.
Mr. Thornborough — 9,
As Catholics we would be quite
content with this showing; but Vire
are indebted to several Protestant
authors — more impartial than
Messrs. Gladstone, Allen, and Neill,.
who write solely in the interests of
sect — for a computation of the re-
spective Catholic and Protestant
votes in the Assembly in 1649, which^
leaving out Lord Baltimore, and
making the number of votes four-
teen, gives, according to their just
and strictly legal computation,
eleven Catholic votes and three Pro-
testant votes for the Act of Toleration^
\
\
306
ifr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration,
J
Mr. Davis, in his Day-Star of Ameri^
can Freedom^ and Mr. William Meade
Addison, in his Religious Toleration
in America^ both Protestant authors,
take this view, and enforce it with
strong facts and cogent reasonings.
We will quote a passage, however,
from only one of these works, the
former, showing their views and
the method by Which they arrive at
the respective numbers eleven\nd,
4hree. Mr. Davis writes: "The
privy councillors were all of them,
as well as the governor, the special
representatives of the Roman Cath-
olic proprietary — under an express
pledge, imposed by him shortly be-
fore the meeting of the Assembly
(as may be seen by the official oath),
to do nothing at variance with the
religious freedom of any believer in
'Christianity — and removable any
moment at his pleasure. It would
:be fairer, therefore, to place the
governor r.nd the four privy coun-
cillors on the same side as the six
Roman Catholic burgesses. Giving
Mr. Browne to the other side, we
have eleven Roman Catholic against
three Protestant ZH)tes,** *
We think, however, that if the
•computation is to be made by num-
bers. Lord Baltimore must be in-
•cluded, as the act received his ex-
•ecutive approval, and could never
have become a law without it.
Thus, according to the views of
Messrs. Davis and Addison, with
this amendment by us, the num-
bers would stand twelve Catholic
-against three Protestant votes. But
we prefer taking our own two sev-
eral methods of computation, viz.,
by co-ordinate branches of the gov-
•ernment, showing —
Catholic.
The executive. Lord
Baltimore,
The Assembly, 2.
Protestant.
None.
* Day-star «f Amtricmn Freedom ^ p. 138.
— and that estimated by numbers,
counting Lord Baltimore as odc,
showing —
Catholics, 9. Protesunts. 6.
This surely is a very different re-
sult from that announced by Mr.
Gladstone, following the author of
Maryland not a Roman Catholic Col-
ony — viz., sixteen Protestant against
eight Catholic votes. So far the
numbers given by Mr. Gladstone
and the writer he follows are mere
assertion, unsupported by author-
ity, either as to the composition
of the Assembly or the respective
religious beliefs of the members.
Mr. Davis, however, gives in detail
every member's name, and refereto
the proof by which he arrives at
their names and number; and the
same testimony is open, we pre-
sume, to the examination of all.
In order that there may be no
lack of proof as to the religious
faiths they professed, he gives a
personal sketch of each member
of the Assembly in 1649, ^^^
proves from their public acts, their
deeds of conveyance, their land
patents, their last wills and testa-
ments, the records of the courts,
etc., that those named by him as
Catholics were incontestably of
that faith. •
The population of the colony in
1649 was also largely Catholic be-
yond dispute. We have already
shown that it was Catholic by a
large majority during the fifteen
years preceding and up to that
time. The above computations,
showing a majority of the legisla-
ture to be Catholic, strongly indi-
cates the complexion of the reli-
gious faith of their constituents.
Up to 1649 St. Mary's, the Catho-
lic county, was the only county in
the State, and Kent, the seat of the
Protestant population, was only a
Mr, Gladstone and Maryland Toleration,
307
hundred of St. Mary's. Kent was
not erected into a county until the
year the Toleration Act was pass-
ed. While St. Mary's was popu-
lous and Catholic, Kent was Pro-
testant and thinly settled. There
were six hundreds in St. Mary's, all
Catholic except perhaps one, and
of that one it is uncertain whether
the majority was Catholic or Pro-
testant. •' But the population of
Kent/* says Davis, ** was small. In
i^39> if not many years later, she
was but a hundred of St. Mary's
county. * In 1648 she paid a fifth
part only of the tax, and did not
hold in the Assembly of that year
a larger ratio of political power.
That also was before the return, we
may suppose, of all the Roman
Catholics who had been expelled
or exported from St. Mary's by
Capt. Ingle and the other enemies
of the proprietary. In 1649 ^^^^
had but one delegate, while St.
Mary's was represented by eight.
And this year she paid but a sixth
pan of the tax, and for many years
after as well as before this Assem-
bW there is no evidence whatever
of a division of the island (of*
K.enr) or the county, even into
hundreds^ Its population did not,
in 1648, exceed the fifth, nor in
1649 the sixth, part of the whole
number of free white persons in
the province." t After a thorough
examination of the records, Mr.
Davis arrives at the conclusion that
the Protestants constituted only
one-fourth of the population of
Maryland at the lime of the pas-
sage of the Toleration Act, in
1649. His investigations must
have been careful and thorough,
for he gives the sources of his in-
formation, refers to liber ?iX\A folio ^
*Rev. Ethan AHen say* this continued until
!«♦», when Kent was erected into a county.—
MaryUmd Tol*ratiom^ p. 3^-
1 Dmf^tar of A mtrican Frtedanty p. 143.
and cites copiously from the public
records. He thinks that for twenty
years after the first settlement — to
wit, about the year 1654 — the Cath-
olics were in the majority. He con-
cludes his chapter on this subject
with the following passage : ** Look-
ing, then, at the question under
both its aspects — regarding the
faith either of the delegates or of
those whom they substantially rep-
resented — we cannot but award the
chief honor to the members of the
Roman Church. To the Roman
Catholic freemen of Maryland is
justly due the main credit arising
from the establishment, by a solemn
legislative act, of religious freedom
for all believers in Christianity."*
But, fortunately, we have another
document at hand, signed in the
most solemn manner bv those who
certainly must have known the
truth of the case, as they were the
contemporaries, witnesses of, and
participators in, the very events of
which we are treating. This is
what is usually known as the Pro-
testant Declaration^ made the year
after the passage of the Toleration
Act, and shortly after it was known
that Lord Baltimore had signed the
act and made it the law of the
land. This important document is
an outpouring of gratitude from
the Protestants of the colony to
the Catholic proprietary for the
religious toleration they enjoyed
under his government. It i.s sign-
ed by Gov. Stone, the privy coun-
cillors Price, Vanghan, and Hat-
ton — all of whom were members
of the Assembly that passed the
Toleration Act — by all the Pro-
testant burgesses in the Assembly
of 1650, and by a great number of
the leading Protestants of the col-
ony. They address Lord Baltimore
in these words :
* Id. p. x6o.
308
Afr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration.
^1
''We, the said lieutenant, council,
burgesses, and other Protestant inhabi-
tants above mentioned, whose names arc
hereunto subscribed, do declare and cer-
tify to all persons whom it may concern
tliat, according to an act of Assembly
here, atid several other strict injunctions
and d£clarations by his said lordship, we
do here enjoy all fitting and convenient
freedom and liberty in the exercise of our
religion, under his lordship's government
and interest ; and that none of us are
anyways troubled or molested, for or by
reason thereof, within his lordship's said
province.
»»»
This important document is dat-
ed the 17th of April, 1650. It
proves that the religious toleration
they enjoyed was not due alone to
the act of 1649, but to the uniform
policy of Lord Baltimore and his
government; and that even for the
Toleration Act itself, which had re-
cently become a law by his signa-
ture, they were indebted to a Catho-
lic Comment on such testimony
is unnecessary.
Chancellor Kent, with the char-
ter, the public policy of Lord Balti-
more, of his colonial officers and
colonists, and the Toleration Act of
1649, all submitted to his broad and
profound judicial inquiry and
judgment, has rendered the fol-
lowing opinion and tribute to the
Catholic lawgivers of Maryland, to
whom he attributes the merit of
the generous policy we are consid-
ering :
« The document at length, with the signatures,
is given in numerous histories of Maryland, and will
be found in Davis's Day^Star 0/ American Free^
d^m, p. 71.
" The legislature had already, in 1649^
declared by law that no persons profess
ing to believe in Jesus Christ should be
molested in respect to their religion, or
in the free exercise thereof, or compelled
to the belief or exercise of any other re-
ligion against their consent. Thus, in
the words of a learned and liberal histo-
rian (Grahame's History cf the Rise and
Progress of the United States\ the Catho-
lic planters of Mani'land won for their
adopted country the distinguished praise
of being the first of American States io
which toleration was established by laur.
and while the Puritans were pcrsccuring
their Protestant brethren in New Eng-
land, and Episcopalians retorting the
same severity on the Puritans in Virginia,
the Catholics, against whom the others
were combined, formed in Mar>-land a
sanctuary where all might worship and
none might oppress, and where even Pro-
testants sought refuge from Protestant
intolerance."*
Catholics have written compam-
tively little upon this subject. The
historians of Maryland have been
chiefly Protestants. As long as
Protestants so unanimously accord-
ed to the Catholic founders of
Maryland the chief credit of this
great event, it was unnecessary for
Catholics to speak in their own be-
half. It has remained for Mr. Glad-
stone and the two sectarian minis-
ters he follows to attempt to roar
the harmony of that grateful and
honorable accord of the Protestant
world, by which Catholic Mar>land
received from the united voice of
Protestant history the enviable title
of " The Land of the Sanctitary*'
* Kent*ft Commentarigs on Am,
pp. 36, 37.
; t«Lu.
Are You My Wife?
309
ARE YOU MY WIFE ?
Airni3R OF *^rAfUS BBPORB THB wax/' ** number TUIRTREN,'* *' PIUS vx.,**
CHAPTER XI.
A DINNER AT THE COURT, WITH AN EPISODE.
Crossing from the station to his
brougham, Sir Simon saw Mr. Lan-
grove issuing from a cottage on the
road. The vicar had been detain-
ed later than he foresaw on a sick-
call, and was hurrying home to
dress for dinner. It was raining
sharply. Sir Simon hailed him:
" Shall I give you a lift, Lan-
grovc ?"
** Thank you ; I shall be very
glad. I am rather late as it is."
.\nd they got iptothe brougham to-
gether.
" And how wags the world with
you, my reverend friend ? Souls
being saved in great numbers, eh .'"
inquired the baronet when they
had exchanged their friendly greet-
ings.
'* Humph ! I am thankful not to
have the counting of them," was
the reply, with a shake of the head
that boded ill for the sanctification
of Dullerton.
"That's it, is \i} Well, we are
all going down the hill together;
there is some comfort in that. But
how about Miss Bulpit? Don't
her port wine and tracts snatch a
few brands from the burning V*
** For the love of heaven don't
speak to me of her! Don't, I beg
of you !" entreated the vicar, tiirow-
ing up his hands deprccatingly, and
tnoved from the placid propriety
that seemed a law of nature to him.
''Suppose I had good news to
report of her ?"
"How so.?" cried Mr. Langrove
with sudden vivacity. " She's not
going to marry Sparks, is she ?"
" Not just yet ; but the next best
thing to that. She is going to leave
the neighborhood."
" You don't mean it!"
" I do indeed. How is it you've
not heard of it before ? She's been
pestering Anwyll these two years
about some repairs or improve-
ments she wants done in her house
— crotchets, I dare say, that would
have to be pulled to pieces for^the
next tenant. He has always po-
litely referred her to his agent,
which means showing her to the
door ; but at last she threatened to
leave if he did not give in and do
what she wants."
"Oh! is that all.?" exclaimed the
vicar, crestfallen. " I might have
waited a little before I hallooed ;
we are not out of the woods yet.
Anwyll is sure to give in rather
than let her go."
" Nothing of the sort. He dis-
likes the old lady, and so does his
mother, and so particularly does
your venerable confrere of Rydal
Rectory. I met Anwyll this morn-
ing at the club, and he told me he
had made up his mind to let her
go. It happens — luckily for you,
I suspect — that he has a tenant in
view to take her place. Come,
now, cheer up ! Is not that good
news ?"
" Most excellent!" said the vicar
emphatically. " I wonder where
she will move to ?"
'
i.
OT
*
Sio
Are You My Wife f
" Perhaps I could tell you that
too. She is in treaty with Charlton
for a dilapidated old hunting lodge
of his in the middle of a fir-wood
the other side of Axmut Common,
about twenty miles the other side
of Moorlands; it is as good as set-
tled, I believe, and if so we are
all safe from her."
" Well, you do surprise me !" ex-
claimed Mr. Langrove, his counte-
nance expanding into a breadth of
satisfaction that was absolutely ra-
diant. " Who is the incumbent of
Axmut, let me see.^" he said, musing.
" There is as good as none ; it is
a lonely spot, with no church within
ten miles, I believe. I shrewdly
suspect this was the main attrac-
tion ; for the life of him, Charlton
says, he can*t see any other. It is a
tumble-down, fag-end-of-the-world-
lodking place as you would find in
all England. It must be the clear
coast for * dealing with souls,' as she
calls it, that baited her. There is
a community of over a hundred
poor people, something of the gypsy
sort, scattered over the common
•and in a miserable little hamlet
they call the village; so she may
preach away to her heart's content,
and no one to compete or interfere
with her but the blacksmith, who
rants everv Sundav under a wooden
shed, or on a tub on the common,
according to the state of the
weather."
" Capital ! That's just the place
for her !" was the vicar's jubilant
remark.
In spite of the pleasure that lit
up his features, usually so mild and
inexpressive, Sir Simon, looking
closely at the vicar, thought him
worn and aged. " You look tired,
Langrove. You are overworked, or
else Miss Bui pit has been too much
for you ; which is it V* he said
kindly.
** A little of both, perhaps/' the
vicar laughed. "I have felt the
recent cold a good deal ; the cold
always pulls me down. I'll be all
right when th<^ spring comes round
and hunts the rheumatism out of mj
bones," he added, moving his arm
uncomfortably.
" You ought to do like the swal-
low — migrate to a warm climate be-
fore the cold sets in," observed Sir
Simon ; *' nothing else dislodges
rheumatism."
'* That's just what Blink was say-
ing to me this morning. He urged
me very strongly to go away for a
couple of months now to get out of
the way of tbeeast winds. He wants
me to take a trip to the South o\
France." Mr. Langrove laughed
gently as he said this.
** And why don't you .?"
'* Because I can't afford it."
" Nonsense, nonsense ! Take it
first, and afford it afterwards.
That's my maxim."
" A very convenient maxim for
you, but not so practicable for an
incumbent with a large family and
a short income as for the landlord
of Dullerton," said Mr. Langrove
good-humoredly.
The baronet winced.
" Prudence and economy are all
very well," he replied, " but they
may be carried too far ; your health
is worth more to you than any
amount of money. If you want the
change, you should take it and pay
the price."
** I suppose we might have most
things, if v/e choose to take them on
those terms," remarked the vicar.
** * Take it and pay the price !* says
the poet ; but some prices are too
high for any value. Who would do
my work while I was off looking after
my health > Is that Bourbonais
hurrying up the hill .> He will get
drenched ; he has no umbrella."
Are You My Wife?
3n
" Like him to go out a day like
this without one,'* said Sir Simon
in an accent of fond petulance.
*' How is he? How is Franceline ?
How does she look ?'*
'* Poorly enough. If she were
my child, I should be very uneasy
about her."
** Ha ! does Bourbonais seem un-
easy ? Do you see much of him.?*'
'* No ; not through my fault, nor
indeed through his. We have each
our separate work, and these winter
days are short. I met him this
morning coming out of Blink's as I
went in. I did not like his look;
he had his hat pulled over his eyes,
and when I spoke to him he an-
swered me as if he hardly knew
who I was or what he was say-
ing.
** And you did not ask if there
was anything amiss .^" said Sir Si-
mon in a tone of reproach,
'^I did, but not him. I asked
Blink."
**Ha! what did he say?" And
the baronet bent forward for the
answer with an eager look.
" Nothing very definite — you
know his grandiloquent, vague talk
—but he said something about he-
reditary taint on the lungs ; and I
gathered that he thought it was a
mistake not having taken her to a
warm climate immediately after
that accident to her chest ; but
whether the mistake was his or the
count's I could not quite see. I
imagine from what he said that
there was a money difficulty in
the way, or he thought there
was, and did not, perhaps, urge the
l)oint as strongly as he otherwise
would."
Sir Simon fell back on the cush-
ions, muttering some impatient ex-
clamation.
** That was perhaps a case where
the maxim of * take it first and af-
ford it afterwards' would seem jus-
tifiable," observed Mr. Langrove.
** Of course it was! But Bour-
bonais is such an unmanageable
fellow in those things. The strong-
est necessity will never extract
one iota of a sacrifice of principle
from him ; you might as well try to
bend steel."
" He has always given me the
idea of a man of a very high sense
of honor, very scrupulous in doing
what he considers his duty," said
Mr. Langrove.
" He is, he is," assented the bar-
onet warmly ; " he is the very ideal
and epitome of honor and high
principle. Not to save his life
would he swerve one inch from the
straight road ; but to save France-
line I fancied he might have been
less rigid." He heaved a sigh, and
they said no more until the brough-
am let Sir Simon down at his own
door, and then drove on to take Mr.
Langrove to the vicarage.
A well-known place never appears
so attractive as when we look at it
for the last time. An indifferent
acquaintance, becomes pathetic
when seen through the softening
medium of a last look. It is like
breaking off" a fraction of our lives,
snapping a link that can never be
joined again. A sea-side lodging,
if it can claim one sweet or sad
memory with our passing sojourn
there, wears a touching aspect when
we come to say "good-by," with
the certainty that we sliall never
see the place again. But how if the
spot has been the cradle of our
childhood, the home of our fathers
for generations, where every stone
is like a monument inscribed with
sacred and dear memories ? Sir
Simon was not a sentimental man ;
but all the tenderness common to
good, affectionate, cultivated na-
tures had its place in his heart.
Are You My Wife f
\
Hf iii ilxjirs loved the old home.
Ht ▼!« proud of it as one of the
f.'rfC i.r.i most ancient houses of
: > c'jtss :a England ; he admired
.^5 CTi-i ,ind noble proportions, its
iT,- *iv-:^r,u strength and beauty;
I'.L '"t >,*,d the reverence for it
::.:.: t^^'T well-born man feels for
z,^< '. 'x^? where his fathers were
:c*'*^». j: ^vl »>.ere they have lived and
/ ,•/> l^ut never had the lordly
^^.•v o xi*.An$ioa looked to him so
) .'»*v Xc as on this cold January
.-V '^ when he entered it, in all
J \ * */:v^K\bility, forthe last time.
; « :x .' '/vluntly lighted up to wel-
^, -c ^ n. T)ie servants, men and
^c ^^^^^ ^ ^^*^ assembled in the hall
»Nv; hi UK It was one of those
iv-'v*ncd patriarchal customs
,; ^xic kept up at the Court,
. -c v^ nu\ny other old customs
^ N \.vU unhappily less harmless
^.,* t'r,<. As Sir Simon passed
. o'<'> the two rows of glad, re-
^..•v,.il Lu'os, he had a pleasant
v^o v^ w\ x\\y as if his heart were
^v lUMu c.\ie.
V:s' hall was a sombre, cathedral-
»|v\\tuuMU that needed floods
;!u U> dispel its oppressive so-
K »viv;iY. To-night it was filled with
^ u a A bii^adlh of light ; the great
^ V o»vU hoi that hung from the groin-
^,1 u'v'l WiiH in a blaze, while the
^, o^k'v' IIk^^vos all around support-
^,1 JyuUMi (if lamps that gleamed
\ti., ^kUvM ImIIh against the dark
XV ^HMi oUi^K- The dining-room and
l.'M \\\s whirh opened to the
^..M, .loiul open, and displayed a
l.utiMMt ilhnuination of lamps and
vv ^x l>ij»li. Hugo fires burned hos-
i.ii M\ i'H all the hearths. The
^,1.1^. wai roudy spread; silver
.^u^l , n 'I'tl »»^^'^'^^* ""^ sparkled on
\\,, oh.Msy ilinuask; flowers scented
\Vy Mil .»«» in u garden. Sir Simon
j,lMn..l ^\\ W rtU as >^e P^?^^^^-
( ..uhl U W U^ttl he was gomg to
\V
leave all this, never to behold it
again ? It seemed impossible that
it could be true.
As he stood once more in thcl
midst of his household gods, those|
familiar divinities whose gentle pow*
er he had never fully recognized un-
til now, it seemed to him that he|
was safe. There was an unaccount-
able sense of security in their meicl
presence ; they smiled on him, and
seemed to promise protection for
their shrine and their votary.
The baronet went straight to his
room, made a hasty toilet, and came
down to the library to await his
guests.
He was in hopes that Raymond
would have come before the others,
and that they might have a little
talk together. But Raymond was
behind them all. Everybody was
assembled, the dinner was wailing,
and he had not yet arrived.
It was a mere chance that he
came at all. Nothing, in fact, but
the dread of awakening Franceline's
suspicions had withheld him from
sending an excuse at the last mo-
ment ; but that dread, which so
controlled his life in every act, al-
most in every thought, compelling
him to hide his feelings under a
mask of cheerfulness when his heart
was breaking, drove him out to
join the merry-makers. It was all
true what Mr. Langrove had said.
There had been a return of the
spitting of blood tliat morning, very
slight, but enough to frighten An-
gdique and hurry her off" with her
charge to the doctor. He had talk-
ed vaguely about debility — nervous
system unstrang — no vital mischief
so far ; the lungs were safe. The
old woman was soothed, and went
home resolved to do what was to
be done without alarming her mas-
ter or telling him what had occur-
red. She counted, however, with-
^^^^ji
Are You My Wife f
313
oat Miss Merry wig. That pleasant
old lady happened from the dis-
tance to see them coming from the
doctor's house, and, on meeting the
count next morning, asked what
report there was of Franceline.
Raymond went straight to Blink's.
*^ I ask you as a man of honor to
lell me the truth," he said ; ** it is
a matter of life and death to me to
koow it."
The medical man answered his
question by another : " Tell me
frankly, are you in a position to
take her immediately to a warm
climate ? I should prefer Cairo ;
but if that is impossible, can you
lake her to the South of France V*
Raymond's heart stood still.
Cairo! It had come to this, then.
** I can take her to Cairo," he
said, speaking deliberately after a
moment's silence. " I will take her
at once."
He thought of Sir Simon's blank
check. He would make use of it.
He would save his child ; at least
lie would keep her with him a few
years longer. " Why did you not
tell rae this sooner }" he asked in
a lone of quick resentment.
** I did not believe it to be essen-
tial. I thought from the first it
would have been desirable ; but
you may recollect, when I suggested
taking her even to the South of
France, your daughter opposed the
idea with great warmth, and you
were silent, I inferred that there
was some insuperable obstacle in
the way, and that it would have
been cruel as well as useless to
press the matter."
** And you say it is not too late V*
" No. I give you my word, as
far as I can see, it is not. The re-
turn of the spitting of blood is a
serious symptom, but the lungs as
yet are perfectly sound."* M. de la
Bourbonais went home, and open-
ed the drawer where he kept the
blank check ; not with the idea of
filling it up there and then — he
must consider many things first —
but he wanted to see it, to make
sure it was not a dream. He ex-
amined it attentively, and replaced
it in the drawer. A gleam of sat-
isfaction broke out on the worn,
anxious face. But it vanished
quickly. His eye fell on Sir Si-
mon's letter of the day before.
He snatched it up and read it
through again. A new and horrible
light was breaking on him. Sir Si-
mon was a ruined man ; he was go-
ing to be turned out of house and
home ; he was a bankrupt. What
was his signature worth } So much
waste paper. He could not have a
sixpence at his bankers* or anywhere
else ; if he had, it was in the hands
of the creditors who were to seize
his house and lands. ** Why did he
give it to me } He must have known
it was worth nothing !" thought
Raymond, his eyes wandering over
the letter with a gaze of bewildered
misery.
But Sir Simon had not known it.
It was not the first time he had
overdrawn his account with his
bankers ; but they were an old-
fashioned firm, >(ood Tories like
himself. The Harnesses had bank-
ed with them from time immemori-
al, and there existed between them
and their clients of this type a sort
of adoption. If Sir Simon was in
temporary want of ready money, it
was their pleasure as much as their
business to accommodate him ; the
family acres were broad and fat.
Sir Simon was on friendly but not
on confidential terms with his
bankers ; they knew nothing of
the swarm of leeches that were fat-
tening on those family acres, so
there was no fear in their minds as
to the security of whatever accom-
■I
3M
Are You My Wife t
k'<
V
«>
(
niodation he might ask at their
h A lids. When Sir Simon signed
the check he felt certain it would
be honored for any amount that
R.«ymond was likely to fill it up
for. But since then things had
Ci>nie to JL crisis ; his signature was
UMvr worth nothing. Lady Rebec-
CA» on whose timely departure from
this «v>ild of care he had count-
<vl sv» "^tvHirely as the means of
st.uttK otT A c.UA>trophe« had again
Jivippoiutcvl him* and the evil hour
^v^ U»"^ virvwvlcd and so often post-
isMKvl luul come. Little as Ray-
iiK»»*vl Icncw of financial mysteries,
No vk tx ;vN» intelligent not to guess
VM^ vK msU\ on the eve of being
lu i^lo si Ivankrupt could have no
V uMvnt .\vvount at his bankers*.
t^i t»Unk*s decree was, then, the
vlo\ii» vv.uuuUof his child! Ray-
lUvMvvl buued his face in his hands
o^ .^u a^ony too deep for tears.
\\\\\ the sound of Franceline's step
vvu I ho stairs roused him. For her
v^kc he must even now look cheer-
\\\\\ love is a tyrant that allows no
v^iuiUcr to self. She came in and
Ivvund her father busy, writing away
a^ if absorbed in his work. She
know l\is moods. Evidently he did
\\\\\ want her just now ; she would
\\K\\ disturb him, but drew her little
siool to the chimney corner and
began to read. An hour passed.
It was time for her father to dress
for dinner; but still the sound of
the pen scratching the paper went
\.\\\ diligently.
*' Petit p^re, it is half-past six,
do you know V* said the bright, sil-
very voice, and Raymond started
as it he had been stung.
** So late, is it } Then I must be
(iff at once." And he hurried
away to dress, and only looked in
to kiss her as he ran down-stairs,
and was off.
** Loiterer !" exclaimed Sir Simon,
stretching out both hands and clasp-
ing his friend's cordially.
" I have kept you waiting, I fear.
The fact is, I got writing and forgot
the hour/' said the count apologeti-
cally.
Dinner was announced immedi-
ately, and the company went into
the dining-room.
They were a snug number, seven
in all ; the only stranger amon^^t
them being a Mr. Plover, who hap-
pened to be staying at Moorlands.
He was an unprepossessing-looking
man, sallow, keen-eyed, and with a
mouth that superficial observers
would have called firm, but which
a physiognomist might have de-
scribed as cruel. His hair was
dyed, his teeth were false — a
shrunken, shri veiled-looking crea-
ture, whose original sap and ver-
dure, if he ever had any, had been
parched up by the fire of tropical
suns. He had spent many years in
India, and was now only just re-
turned from Palestine. What he
had been doing there nobody par-
ticularly understood. He talked
of his studies in geology, but they
seemed to have been chiefly con-
fined to the study of such stones
as had a value in the general mar-
ket ; he had a large collection of
rubies, sapphires, and diamonds,
some of which he had shown to
Mr. Charlton, and excited his won-
der as to the length of the purse
that could afford to collect such
costly souvenirs of foreign lands
simply as souvenirs. Mr. Plover
had met his host accidentally a week
ago, and discovered that he and the
father of the latter had been school-
fellows. The son was not in a no-
sition either to verify or disprove
the assertion, but Mr. Plover was
so fresh in his affectionate recollec-
tion of his old form- fellow that
young Charlton*s heart warmed to
Are You My Wife f
31S
him, and he then and there invited
him down to Moorlands. He could
not do otherwise than ask Sir Simon
to include him in his invitation to
the Court this evening; but he
did it reluctantly. He was rather
ashamed of his pompous, self-suffi-
cient friend, whose transparent faith
in the power and value of money
gave a dash of vulgarity to his
manners, which was heightened by
contrast with the well-bred sim-
plicity of the rest of the company.
He had not been ten minutes in
the room when he informed them
that he meant to buy an estate if
he could find an eligible one in this
neighborhood ; if not, he would
rent the first that was to be^had on
a long lease. He wanted to be
near his young friend Charlton.
Sir Simon was extremely civil to
him — surprisingly so.
The other faces we know : Mr.
I^ngrove, bland, serious, mildly
exhilarated just now, like a man
suddenly relieved of a toothache —
Miss Bulpit was going from the
parish; Mr. Charlton running his
turquois ring through his curly
light hair, and agreeing with every-
body all round ; Lord Roxham,
well-bred and lively ; Sir Ponsonby
Anwyll, a pleasant sample of the
English squire, blond-visaged, good-
tempered, burly-limbed, and dis-
playing a vast amount of shirt-
front ; M. de la Bourbonais, a dis-
tinct foreign type amidst these fa-
miliar English ones, the face fur-
rowed with deep lines of study, of
care too, unmistakably, the fore-
head moulded to noble thought,
the eyes deep-set under strong pro-
jecting black brows, their latent
fire flashing out through the habit-
ually gentle expression when he
grew animated. He was never a
talkative man in society, and to-
night he was more silent than
usual ; but no one noticed this, not
even Sir Simon. He was too much
absorbed in his own pre-occupation.
Raymond sat opposite him as his
cUier ego, doing the honors of one
side of the hospitable round table.
The conversation turned at first
on generalities and current events ;
the presence of Mr. Plover, instead
of feeding it with a fresh stream,
seemed to check the flow and pre-
vent its becoming intimate and per-
sonal. Sir Simon felt this, and
took it in his own hands and kept
it going, so that, if not as lively as
usual, it did not flag. Raymond
looked on and listened in amaze-
ment. Was yesterday's letter a
dream, and would this supreme
crisis vanish as lesser ones had so
often done } Was it possible that a
man could be so gay — so, to all ap-
pearance, contented and unconcern-
ed, on the very brink of ruin, dis-
grace, beggary, banishment — all, in
a word, that to a man of the bar-
onet's character and position con-
stitute existence.^ He was not in
high spirits. Raymond would not
so much have wondered at that.
High spirits are sometimes artificial ;
people get them up by stimulants
as a cloak for intense depression.
No, it was real cheerfulness and
gayety. Was there any secret hope
bearing him up to account for the
strange anomaly } Raymond could
speculate on this in the midst of
his own burning anxiety ; but for
the flrst time in his life bitterness
mingled with his sympathy for the
baronet. Was it not all his own
doing, this disgrace that had over-
taken him ? He had been an un-
principled spendthrift all his life»
and now the punishment had come,
and was swallowing up others in its
ruin. If he had not been the reck-
less, extravagant man that he was^
he might at this moment be a harr
J
3i<5
Art You My Wifet
t
fi
4
bor of refuge to Raymond, and save
his child from a premature death.
But he was powerless to help any
one. This is what his slavish
human respect had brought himself
and others to. A few hundred
pounds might save, or at any rate
prolong for perhaps many years,
the life of the child he professed to
love as his own, and he had not
them to give; he had squandered
his splendid patrimony in the most
rontcniptible vanity, in selfish in-
dulgence and unprofitable show.
And there he sat, a piece of tinsel
glillering like true gold, affable,
Jovial, as if care were a hundred
miles away from him. M. de la
Hourbonais felt as if he were in a
dream, as if everythingwere unreal —
everything except the vulture that
was gnawing silently at his own
heart.
The conversation grew livelier as
the wine went round. Mr. Plover
was attending carefully to his din-
ner, and was content to let others
do the most of the talking. A dis-
cussion arose as to a case of some-
thing very like perjury that a ma-
gistrate of the next county had been
involved in. Some were warmly
defending, while others as warmly
condemned, him. Mr. Plover sus-
pended the diligence of his knife
and fork to join with the latter;
he was almost aggressive in his
manner of contradicting the other
side. The story was this : A magis-
trate had to judge a case of libel
where the accused was a friend of
his own, who had saved him from
being made a bankrupt some years
before by lending him a large sum
of money without interest or secur-
ity. The evidence broke down, and
(he man was acquitted. It trans-
pired, however, a few days later,
(hnt the magistrate had in his pos-
iK*t»iii(in at (he time of the trial proof
positive of his friend's guilt. In
answer to this charge he replied
that the evidence in question had
come to his knowledge under the
seal of confidence; that he was
therefore bound in honor not only
not to divulge it, but to ignore its
existence in forming his judgment
on the case. The statement was
denied, and it was affirmed that the
only seal which bound him was one
of gratitude, and that he was other^
wise perfectly free to make use of
his information to condemn the
accused.
The dispute as to the right and
the wrong of the question was grow-
ing hot, when Sir Ponsonby Anywll,
who noticed how silent Raymond
was, called out to him across the
table :
" And what do you say, count .'"
" I should say that gratitude in
such a case might stand in the
place of a verbal promise and
compel the judge to be silent," re-
plied Raymond.
" The temptation to silence was
very strong, no doubt, but would it
justify him in pronouncing an ac-
quittal against his conscience .'**
asked Mr. Langrove.
'^ It was not against his con-
science," replied the count ; ** on
the contrary, it was in *accordance
with it, since it was on the side of
mercy."
"Quite a French view of the
subject !" said Mr. Plover super-
ciliously, showing his shining teeth
through his coal-black moustache.
** If I were a criminal, commend me
to a French jury ; but if innocent,
give me an English one !"
" Mercy has perhaps too much
the upper hand with our tender-
hearted neighbors," observed Sir
Simon ; ** but justice is none the
worse for being tempered with it,"
" That is neither here nor there,"
Are You My Wifet
317
said Mr. Plover. "Justice is jus-
tice, and law is law ; and it strikes
me this Mr. X has tampered
with both, and it's a very strange
thing if he is not tabooed as a per-
jurer who has dodged the letter of
the law and escaped the hulks, but
whom no gentleman ought from this
out to associate with."
"Come, come, that is rather
strong language," said Mr. Lan-
grove. " We must not outlaw on
mere inferential evidence a man
who has borne all his life a most
honorable name ; and if worse
comes to worst, we must remember
it would go hard with the best of us-
to put a social brand oji a friend that
we were deeply indebted to, if we
could by any possibility find a loop-
hole of escape for him. A man
may remain strictly honest in the
main, and yet not be heroic enough
not to save a friend on a quibble."
** Why, to be sure ; there are hon-
est men and honest men," assented
Plover. " I've known some whose
moral capacity expanded to camels
when expediency demanded the
feat and it could be' done discreet-
ly. It's astounding what some of
these honest men can swallow."
Sir Simon felt what this speech
implied of impertinence to Mr.
Langrove, and, indeed, to everybody
present. " Roxham," he said ir-
relevantly, " why is your glass
empty? Bourbonais, are you pass-
ing those delectable little path de
fdegrasf
Raymond helped himself me-
chanically, as the servant present-
ed again the rejected dish.
'* It would be a nice thing to de-
fine exactly the theory of truth
and its precise limits," observed
Mr. Langrove in his serious, sen-
tentious way, addressing himself to
no one in particular.
'^One should begin by defining
the nature of truth, I suppose,"
said Mr. Plover. " Let us have a
definition from our host !"
" Oh ! if you are going in for
metaphysics, I hand you over to
Bourbonais !" said Sir Simon good-
humoredly. "Take the pair of
them in hand, Raymond, and run
them through the body for our edi-
fication."
Raymond smiled.
" I should very much like to
have the count's opinion on this
particular point of metaphysics or
morals, whichever it may be," said
Mr. Plover. " Do you believe it
possible for a man to effect such a
compromise with his conscience,
and yet be, as our reverend friend
describes him, a blameless and up-
right man }"
" I do," answered M. de la Bour
bonais with quiet emphasis. " I
doubt if any simple incident can
with safety be taken as the key of
a man's character. One fault, for
instance, may stand out in his life
and color it with dishonor, and yet
be a far less trustworthy index to his
real nature thaa a very slight fault
committed deliberately and involv-
ing no consequences. We are more
deliberate in little misdeeds than in
great ones. When a man commits
a crime, he is not always a free
agent as regards the command of
his moral forces ; there are gener-
al^ly a horde of external influences
at work overpowering his choice,
which is in reality his individual
self. When he succumbs to this
pressure from without, we cannot
therefore logically consider him as
the sole and deliberate architect of
his sin ; hard necessity, fear of dis«
grace, love of life, nay, some gener-
ous feeling, such as gratitude or
pity, may hurry a man into a crim-
inal action as completely at vari-
ance with the whole of his previ-
S Are VeuAfy Wiftt
If and subsequent life as would deeply possessed by other thoughts
the act of a Christian flinging to resent it or to care a straw foi
mself out of the window in a fit what this stranger or any human
temporary insanity." being thought of him or said to
"Subtly put," sneered Mr. Plo- him. But the persistency of the at-
r. " If we were to follow up that tacit forced him to notice it at last,
eory, we might find it necessary if not to repel it; he was not suffi-
investigation to raise statues to ciently interested in the thing for
r forgers and murderers, instead that. But he was roused froin the
sending them to the hulks and kindofstinginglethargy in which he
E gallows." had hitherto sat there, nibbling at
"It opens a curious train of onethingorano[her,ofienerplayii)g
Diight, nevertheless," remarked with his knife and fork, and touch-
>rd Roxham. ing nothing. He laid them down
"I don't fiRcy it would be a now, and pushed aside his glass,
ry profitable one to pursue," said which had been emptied to-night
over. oftener than was his wont.
" I have sometimes considered " You mean to ask," he said, " if,
lether it may not on given occa- according to our low French code
ms b? justifiable to do evil; I of morals, we consider it justiflable
:an technically evil, as we class to commit a crime for the sake of
Ings," said Lord Roxham. some good to ourselves or others ?"
"For instance ?" said Mr. Lan- "i don't go quite that length,"
3ve. replied Mr. Plover ; " but I assume
"Well, for iostance — I'll put it from what you have already said
Idly — to convey a false idea of that you look on it as permiAible
:ts, as your friend X-^— seems to to— tell a lie, for example, under
ve done in this libel business. I given circumstances."
ppose there are cases where it " I do," said Raymond. .
luld be morally justiflable ?" There was a murmur of surprise
" To tell a lie, you mean ? That and dissent.
a startling proposition," said the "My dear Bourbonais! you are
:/.», smiling. joking, or talking for the mere sake
•■It has the merit of originality, of argument," cried Sir Simon,
least," observed Mr. Plover, forcing a laugh; but he looked
[ping himself to a tumblerful of vexed and astonished,
i.rct, " I am not joking, nor am I ai-
" I'm afraid it can't boast even guing for argument's sake," protest*
\\" said Lord Roxham; "it is ed Raymond with rising warmth,
ly an old sophism rather bluntly " I say, and I am prepared to prove
t." it, that under given circumstances
" I should like to hear the Count we are justified in withholding the
la Bourbonais' opinion on it," truth — in telling a lie, if you like
d Mr, Plover, rolling the decan- that way of putting it better,'
■ across to his self-elected anta- "What are they?"
nist. " Prove it !"
Rnymond had feigned uncon- "Let us hear!"
ousness iif (he stranger's insolent Several spoke together, excited
le thus far, though he had detect- and surprised, and every head w»
It from the first, and was only too bent towards M. de la Bourbonais.
Are You My Wife t
319
Raymond moved his spectacles, and,
fixing his dark gray eyes on Mr.
Plover as the one who had directly
challenged him, he said :
"Let us take an illustration.
Suppose you entrust me -with that
costly diamond ring upon your
finger, I having promised on my
oath to carry it to a certain per-
son and to keep its possession a
secret. We will suppose that your
life and your honor depend on its
being delivered at its destination by
me and at a given time. On my
way thither I meet an assassin, who
puts his pistol to my breast and
says, * Deliver up your purse and a
diamond which I understand you
have on your person, or I shoot
you and take them ; but if you give
me your word that you have not
got it, I will believe you and let
you go.' Am I not justified, in or-
der to save your honor and life and
ray own in answering, * No, I have
not got the diamond*?"
** Certainly not !" cried Plover
emphatically, bringing his jewelled
hand down on the table with a
crash.
"My dear sir! . . ." began
some one; but Raymond echoed
sharply :
" * Certainly not ! ' Just so. But
suppose I draw my pistol and shoot
the robber dead on the spot ? God
and the law absolve me ; I have a
right to kill any man who threatens
my life or my property, or that of
my neighbor."
" You have ! Undoubtedly you
have!" said two or three, speaking
together.
*• And yet homicide is a greater
sin than a lie !" cried Raymond.
He was flushed and excited ; his
eye sparkled and his hand trembled
as he pushed the glasses farther
away, and leaned on the table, sur-
veying the company with a glance
that had something of triumph and
something of defiance in it.
"Well done, Bourbonais!" cried
Sir Simon. ** YouVe not left Plover
an inch of ground to stand on !"
" Closely reasoned," said Mr.
Langrove, with a dubious move-
ment of the head ; " but . . .'
** Sophistry !' a very specious bit
of sophistry !" said Mr. Plover in a
loud voice, drowning everybody
else's. " Comte and Rousseau and
the rest of them in a nutshell."
" Crack it, then, and let's have the
kernel!" said Lord Roxham. He
was growing out of patience with
the dictatorial tone of this vulgar
man.
" Just so !" chimed in Mr. Charl-
ton, airing a snowy hand and sig-
net gem, and falling back in his
chair with the air of a man wearied
with hard thinking.
" It's too preposterous to answer,"
was Plover's evasive taunt ; " it's
mere casuistry."
" A very compact bit of casuistry,
at any rate," said Sir Simon, with
friendly pride in Raymond's mani-
fest superiority over his assembled
guests ; " it strikes me it would take
more than our combined wits to an-
swer it."
" Egad ! I'd eat my head before
y/Zanswer it !" confessed Ponsonby,
Anwyll, who shared the baronet's
personal complacency in the count's
superior brain. But Raymond had
lapsed into his previous silent mood,
and sat absently toying with a plate
of bonbons before him, and appar-
ently deaf to the clashing of tongues
that he had provoked. There was
something very touching in his look,
in the air of gentle dejection that
pervaded him, and which contrast-
ed strikingly with the transient
warmth he had displayed while
speaking. Sir Simon noticed it,
and it smote him to the heart. For
Are You My Wifet
320
the first time this evening he be-
ihoiiglit him how his own cheerful-
ness must strike Raymond, and
liow he must be puzzled to account
for it. He promised himself the
pleasure of explaining it to his sat-
isfaction before they parted to-
night; but nieanwliile it gave him
a pang to tliink of tlie iron that
was in his friend's soul, though it
was part of his pleasant expecta-
tion that he would be able to draw
it nut and pour some healing balm
on the wound to-morrow. He would
show him why he had borne so pa-
tiently with the vulgar pedagogue
who had permitted himself to fail,
at least by insinuation, in respect
to M. de la Boiirbonaii. Tlie peda-
gogue meanwhile seemed bent on
making himself disagreeable to the
inoffensive foreigner.
" It is a pity X was not
able to secure Count dc la Bour-
bonais as counsel," he began again.
" In the bands of so skilful a ca-
suist his backsliding might have
come out quite in a heroic light.
It would have been traced to his
poverty, wliich engendered his grati-
tude, and so on until we had a ver-
dict that would have been virtually
a glorification of impecuniosily. It
is a pity we have missed the treat."
" Poverty is no doubt responsible
for many backslidings," said Ray-
mond, bridling imperceptibly. He
felt the sting of the remark as ad-
dressed to him by the rich man, or
he fancied he did. " The world
would no doubt be better as well as
happier if riches were more equal-
ly divided ; but there are worse
things in the world than poverty, for
all that."
"There is the excess of riches,
which is infinitely worse — a more
unmitigated source of evil, taking it
all in all," said Mr. Langrove.
" Weil said for a professional, my
dear sir," laughed Mr, Plover ; " but
you won't find many outsiders to
agree with you, I suspect."
" If by outsiders you mean Turks,
Jews, and Hottentots, I daresay you
are right," said the vicar good-lem-
peredly.
" I mean every sensible man who
is not bound by his>cloth to talk
cant — no offence; I use the' word
technically — you won't find one
such out of a thousand to deny that
riches are the best gift of heaven,
the one that can buy every other
worth having — love and devotion
into the bargain."
" What rank heresy you are pro-
pounding, my dear sir !" exclaimed
Sir Simon, taking a pinch from his
enamelled snuff-box, and passing it
on. "You will not find one sane
lousand to agree with
you
say, I
1 1 though .' What do you
" I agree with yon, nionsiuur,"
said Raymond willi a certain as-
perity ; " money can purchase most
things worth having, but I deny
that it can always pay for them."
"Ha! there we have the sophist
again. It can buy, and yet it can't '
pay. Pray explain !"
" What do you mean, Raymond ?"
said Sir Simon, darting a curious,
puzzled look at his friend.
" It is very simple. I mean that
monty may sometimes enable us
to confer an obligation which no
money can repay. We may, for in-
stance, do a service or avert a so^
row by means of a sum of money,
and thus purchase love and grati-
tude — things which Mr, Plover has
included in those worth having,
and which money cannot pay for,
though it may be the means of buy-
ing them." The look that accom-
panied the answer said more to Sir
Simon than the words conveyed to
Are You My Wife f
3^1
Any one else. He, averted his eyes
quickly^ and was all at once hor-
rified to discover several empty
glasses round the table. They were
at dessert now.
" Charlton, have yon tried that
Madeira? Help yourself again, and
pass U on here, will you ? I shall
have to play Ganymede, and go
round pouring out the nectar to
you like so many gods, if you don^t
bestir yourselves."
And then there was a clinking
<^ glasses, as the amber and ruby
liquid was poured from many a cu-
rious flagon into tli« glistening crys-
tal cups.
^' Talking of gods, that's a god's
eye that you see there on Plover's
finger," observed Mr. Charlton,
whose azure gem was quite eclipsed
by the flashing jewel that had sug-
gested M. de la Bourbonais' illus-
tration. ** It was set in the forehead
of an Indian idol. Just let Sir Si-
mon look at it ; he's a judge of
precious stones," said the young
man, who felt that his feeble per-
sonality gained something from the
proximity of so big a personage,
and was anxious to show him off.
'The latter complacently drew the
ring from his finger and tossed it
over to his host. It was a large
white diamond of the purest water,
without the shadow of a flaw.
"ItiVa beauty!" exclaimed Sir
Simon with the enthusiasm of a con-
noisseur ; ^* only it's too good to be
worn by a man. It ought to have
gone to a beautiful woman when it
left the god. I suppose it will soon,
ch. Plover ?"
Mr. Plover laughed. He was
not a marrying man, he said, but he
would make no rash vows. Then
he went on to tell about other pre-
cious stones in his possession. He
had some amazingly sensational
ttories to relate concerning theai
VOL, XXII. — 31
and how he became possessed of
them. We generally interest others
when we get on a subject that thor-
oughly interests ourselves and that
we thoroughly understand. Mr.
Plover understood a great deal
about these legendary gems, and
the celebrated idols in which they
had figured ; he had, moreover, im-
bibed a certain tinge of Oriental
superstition concerning the talis-
man ic properties of precious gems,
and invested them, perhaps half un-
consciously, with that kind of pres-
tige that is not very far ofT from
worship. This flavor of supersti-
tion pierced unawares through his
discourse on the qualities and ad-
ventures of various rubies and sap-
phires that had played stirring parts
in the destinies of particular gods,
and were universally believed to
influence for good or evil the
lives of mortals who became pos-
sessed of them.
The company began to find him
less disagreeable as he went on-
They did not quite believe in him ;
but when a story-teller amuses us,.
we are not apt to quarrel with him.
for using a traveller's privilege and
drawing the long bow.
By the time this vein was ex-
hausted the party had quite forgiv-
en the obnoxious guest, and admit-
ted him within the sympathetic ring.
of good-fellowship and conviviality.
M. de la Bourbonais \\iid become
unusually talkative, and contribut-
ed his full share to tlie ebb and
flow of lively repartee. He was
generally as abstemious as an an-*
chorite; but to-night he broke
through his ascetic habits, and filled
and refilled his glass many times.
It was deep drinking for him,,
though for any one else it would
have been reckoned moderate.
Before the dessert was long on the-
table the effect of the wine wasvisi-^
32*
Art YeuMy Wifef
ble in his excited manner and the
shrill tone of his voice, that rose
higli and sharp above the others in
a w.iy that was quite foreign to his
gentleness. Sir Simon saw this,
nnd at once divined the cause. It
gave him a new pang. Poor Ray-
mond ! Driven lo this to keep his
misery from bursting out and over-
whehning him !
" Shail we finish our cigars here
•or in ihe library.'" asked the bar-
•onet when his own tired limbs sug-
{tested that a change of posture
)ni{iht be generally agreeable.
As by Wcil consent, the chairs
w«(* all pushed back and every-
^kkIv t\>se. The clock in the hall
wt)« striking ten.
" l\i yoii know I think I must be
Hiiiiig.'" said Mr. Langrove. "Time
>li|4 iiMi>;kly by in pleasant compa-
iiv i 1 had no idea it was so late !"
" Nonsense ! you are not going
U> luiive us yet!" protested Sir Si-
mun. " Don't mind the clocks
hctc; they're on wheels." .
"Are ihey?" said the vicar, and
innocenlly pulled out his watch to
i^umpare it with the loud chime that
was still trembling in the air.
" Humph ! I see your wheels are
Ave minutes slower than mine !" he
Kaid, with a nod and a laugh at his
prevaricating host.
"Come, now, Langrove, never
mind the time. ' Hours were made
for slaves,' you know. Come in and
have another cigar," urged Sir Si-
mon,
ilut the vicar was firm-
"Then 1 may as well go with
you," said M. de la Boiirbonais ;
■' it's laic already for me to be
out."
Sir Simon was beginning to pro-
test, when his attention was called
away by Lord Roxham.
" Have you that diamond ring,
♦larncss?"
" What ring.' Hover's? No; I
passed it to you to look at, and it
didn't come round to me again.
Can it not be found ?"
"Oh! it's sure to turn up id a
minute!" said Mr. Plover. "It has
slipped under the edge of a plate,
very likely !" And he went to the
table and began to look for it.
" Come, let us be going, as we are
going," said M. de la Bourbonais
to the vicar, and he went towards
the door.
"Wait a bit," replied Mr. Lan-
grove — "wail a moment, Bourbo-
nais ; we must see the end of this.
" What have we to see in it ? 1
is no concern of ours," was the
slightly impatient rejoinder. Ray-
mond was in that slate of uncatural
excitement when the least triSe
that crosses tis chafes and irritates.
He had nothing for it, however, but
to comply with the vicar's fancy
"Most extraordinary!" Sir Si-
mon exclaimed, as crystal dishes
and porcelain plates were lifted and
moved, and silver filigree baskets
overturned and their delicate fruits
sent rolling in every direction. " It
must have dropped ; stand aside,'
everybody, while I look under the
table." Every one drew off. Sir
Simon flung op the ends of the
snowy cloth, and, taking a chande-
lier with several lights, set it on the
floor and began carefully to ex-
amine the carpet ; but the ring was
nowhere to be seen.
" If it is here, it is certain ti be
seen," he said, still bent down.
" Look out, all of you. as you stand ;
you may see it flash better in the
distance."
But no flash was anywhere visi-
ble. The wax-lights discovered
nothing brighter than the subdued
colors of the rich Persian carpet.
Sir Simon went round to the other
Are You My Wife f
3^3
side of the table, and searched with
the same care and the same result.
** You are not an absent man, are
you?" he said, lifting the chande-
lier from the ground, and address-
ing the owner of the missing ring.
*' You are not capable of slipping it
into your pocket unawares?"
** I never did such a thing in my
life; but that is no reason why I
may not have done it now. Old
wine sometimes plays the deuce
with one," said Mr. Plover, and he
began to rummage his pockets and
tara their contents on to the table-
cloth. Its whiteness threw every
article into vivid relief; but there
was no ring.
"This is very singular, very ex-
traordinary indeed !" said Sir Si-
mon in a sharp tone of annoyance.
*^ Is any one hoaxing ? Charlton,
you're not playing a trick on us, are
you ?"
** What should I play such a stu-
pid trick as that for ?" demanded
the young man. '* I*m not such an
idiot ; but here goes ! Let us have
my pockets on the table too !"
And following his friend's exam-
ple, he turned them inside out, coat,
waistcoat, and trousers pockets in
succession ; but no ring appeared.
"It is time we all followed suit,"
said Sir Simon, and he cleared a
larger space by sweeping away
plates and glasses. ** I am given to
absence of mind myself, and, as you
say, I may have taken a glass more
than was good for me."
As he spoke he turned out one
pocket after another, with no other
result than to show the solidity and
unblemished freshness of the lin-
ings; there was not a slit or the
sign of one anywhere where a dia-
mond ring, or a diamond without a
ring, could have slipped through.
" Well, gentlemen, I invite you
^1 to follow my example !" said the
host, stepping back from the table,
and motioning for any one that liked
to advance. His voice had a ring
of command in it that would have
compelled obedience if that had
been necessary ; but it did not
seem to be so. One after another
the guests came up and repeated
the operation, while the owner of
the ring watched them with a face
that grew darker with every disap-
pointment. Mr. Langrove and M.
de la Bourbonais were standing
somewhat apart from the rest near
the door, and were now the only
two that remained* The vicar
came first. He submitted his pock-
ets to the same rigorous scrutiny,
and with the same result. A
strange gleam passed over Mr. Plo-
ver's features, as he turned his sal-
low face in the direction of M. de
la Bourbonais. Suspicion and hope
had now narrowed to this last trial.
Raymond did not move. " Come
on, Bourbonais ; I have done !" said
Mr. Lamgrove, consigning his spec-
tacles and his handkerchief to his
last pocket.
But Raymond remained immova-
ble, as if he were glued to the carpet.
**Come, my dear friend, come !"
Sir Simon called out, in a voice
that was meant only to be kind and
encouraging, but in which those
who knew its tones detected a ner-
vous note.
" I will not !" said the count in
a sharp, high key. ** I will not
submit to such an indignity ; it has
been got up for the purpose of in-
sulting me. I refuse to submit to
it!"
He turned to leave the room.
** Raymond, you are mad ! You
must do it !" cried Sir Simon im-
peratively.
"I am not mad! I am poor!"
retorted the count, facing round
and darting eyes of defiance at Sir
Are YotiMy Wifef
on. "This person, who calls
selfa gentleman, has insulted me
) the moment I sat down to (a-
with him, and yuu alloived him
lo it.' He taunted me witli my
erty ; he would make out now
because I am poor I am a
f! I have borne with him so
because I was at your table;
there is a limit to what 1 will
r. I will not submit to the out-
: he wants to put upon me."
gain he turned towards the
r.
You shall hand out my ring be-
you stir from here, my fine sir !"
d Mr. Plover, taking a stride af-
him, and stretching out an arm
r to clutch him ; but Sir Simon
:k as thought intercepted him
aying a hand on the oulstretch-
arni, while Ponsonby Anwyll
iped forward and placed his tall,
id figure like a bulwark between
mond and his assailant.
Let me go !" said the latter,
iing himself to get free from the
jnet's clasp; but the long, firm
ers closed on him like grim
ih.
Vou shall not touch M. dc la
irbonais in my presence," he
I ; " you have insulted him, as he
i, already. If 1 had seen that he
;cted what was offensive in your
;and manner, I would not have
ercd it to pass. Stand back, and
e me to deal with him V
Confound the beggar ! Let
I give me my ring ! I don't
It to touch him ; bu£ as I live
ioesn't stir from this room till
) seen his breeches pocket tum-
nrong-side out!"
"he man had been drinking
vily, and, thoui;h he was still to
intents and purposes sober, this
ilement, added to that caused
the wine, heated his blood to
ing-point. He looked as if he
would liave fiown at Raymond ;
but cowed by Sir Simon's cool self-
command and determined will, he
fell back a step, fastening his eyes
on Raymond with a savage glare.
Raymond meantime continued
obstinate and impracticable. Mr.
Langrove took his hand in both
his, and in the gentlest way entreat-
ed him to desist from his suicidal
folly ; assuring him that he was the
last man present whom any one in
his senses would dream of suspect-
ing of a theft, of the faintest ap-
proach to anything dishonorable,
but that it was sheer madness to
refuse to clear himself in the eyes
of this stranger. It was a mere
form, and meant no more for him
than fur the rest of them. But
Raymond turned a deaf ear to his
pleading.
" Let me go! I will not do it!
He has been insulting me from the
beginning. I will not submit to
this," he repealed, and shook him-
self free from Mr. Langrove's friend-
ly grasp.
Sir Simon came close up to him.
He was pale and agitated in spile
of his affected coolness, and his
hand shook as he laid it on Ray-
mond's shoulder.
" Raymond, for my sake, for
God's sake !" he muttered.
But Raymond thrust away hi;
hand, and said with bitter scorn:
" Ha ! I am a beggar, and so I
must be a thief! 'No, I will not
clear myself! Let this rich man
go and proclaim me a thiei!" And
breaking away from them all, ht
dashed out of the room.
"Hold! Stop him, or by — •
111 make hot work of it for you I"
shouted Mr. Plover, makins for the
door; but Ponsonby Anwyll set his
back to it, and defied him to pass
If the other had been brave enough
to try, it would have been a hop*-
Are You My Wife f
325
attempt; his attenuated body
no match for the stalwart limbs
of the young squire. He invol-
untarily recoiled as if Ponsonby's
anus, stoutly crossed on his breast,
had dealt him a blow. Lord Rox-
hani and Mr. Charlton pressed
round him, expostulating and try-
ing* to calm him. This was no easy
task, and they knew it. They
were terribly shaken themselves,
and they felt that it was absurd to
expect this stranger, fuming for his
diamond, to believe that M. de la
Bourbonais had not taken it.
"No one but a madman would
have done such a thing, when it*s as
certain as death to be found out,"
said Sir Ponsonby, whose faith in
Raymond was sustained by another
faith. ** Besides, we all know he's
no more capable of it than we are
ourselves !*'
** Very fine talk . but where is the
ring ^ Who has taken it, if not this
Frenchman } I tell you what, he
will be making out that it was his
rigiit and his duty to steal from a
rich man to help a poor one. Per-
haps he's hard up just now, and he
blesses Providence for the oppor-
tunity."
"Remember, sir, that you are
speaking of a gentleman who is my
friend, and whom I know to be in-
capable of an unworthy action,"
said Sir Simon in a stern and
haughty tone.
** I compliment you on your
friends; it sha'n't be my fault if
you don't see this one at the hulks
before long. But curse me ! now I
think of it, I'm at your mercy, all
of you. I have to depend on you
as witnesses, and it seems the fash-
ion in these parts for gentlemen
to perjure themselves to screen a
friend ; you will most likely refuse
to swear to facts — if you don't
ivear against them, eh ?"
** You must be drunk ; you don't
know what you're talking about,"
said Mr. Charlton, forgetting to
draw], and speaking quickly like a
sensible man. ** It is as premature
as it is absurd to imagine the ring
is stolen-; it must be in the room,
and it must be found."
" In the room or out of it, it
must and it shall be found !" echoed
Mr. Plover, "or if not ..."
"If not, it shall be paid for,"
added Mr. Charlton ; " it shall be
replaced."
" Replaced ! All you're worth
could not buy a stone like that
one!"
" Not its duplicate as a god's
eye invested with magical virtue,"
said Mr. Charlton ironically ; " but
its value in the market can be paid,
I suppose. Wliat i>rice do you
put on it ?"
"As a mere stone it is worth
five hundred pounds to any jewel-
ler in London."
" Five hundred pounds !" repeat-
ed several in chorus with Mr.
Charlton.
Sir Simon said nothing. A mist
came before his eyes. He saw
Raymond in the grip of this cruel
man, and he was powerless to re-
lease him. If the dread was an
act of disloyalty to Raymond, Sir
Simon was scarcely to blame. He
would have signed away five years
of his life that moment to see M.
de la Bourbonais cleared of the
suspicion that he had so insanely
fastened on himself; but how could
he help doubting.' He knew as no
one else knew what the power of
the temptation was which had — had
it } — goaded him to the mad act.
Its madness was the strongest argu-
ment against its possibility. To
pocket a ring worth five hundred
pounds — worth five pounds — in
the very teeth of the person
^1
1
\
326
i4r^ Fw Afy Wife?
it belonged to, and with the
clear certainty of being immedi-
ately detected — no one in his right
mind would have done sach a
tiling. But was Raymond in his
right mind when he did it ? Had
he been in his right mind since he
entered the house to-night ? There
is such a thing as delirium of
the heart from sorrow or despair.
Then he had been drinking a great
deal more than usual, and wine be-
guiles men to acts of frenzy un-
awares. If Sir Simon could even
say to this man, "I will pay you the
five hundred pounds" ; but he had
not as many pence to call his own.
There had been a momentary si-
lence after the exclamation of sur-
prise that followed the announce-
ment of the value of the diamond.
Would Mr. Charlton not ratify his
offer to pay for it } And if he did
not, what could save Raymond t
" Five hundred pounds ! You
are joking !" said the young man.
" We'll see whether I am or not !
I had the diamond valued with sev-
eral others at Vienna, where it was
set," said Mr. Plover.
** Consider me your debtor for
the amount," said Sir Ponsonby
Anwyll, stepping forward ; " if the
^ring is not found to-night, I will
sign you a check for five hundred
pounds."
'* Let us begin and look for it in
good earnest," said Lord Roxham.
" We will divide ; two will go at
each side of the table and hunt for
it thoroughly. It must have rolled
somewhere into a crevice or a cor-
ner."
" I don't see how a ring was like-
ly to roll on this," said Mr. Plover,
scratching the thick pile of the car-
pet with the tip of his patent-leath-
er boot.
" Some of us may have kicked it
to a distance in pushing back our
chairs," suggested Mr. Langrore;
** let us set the lights on the floor,
and divide as Lord Roxham pro-
poses."
Every one seized a chandelier
or a lamp and set it on the floor,
and began to prosecute the search.
They had hardly been two minutes
thus engaged when a loud ring was
heard, and after a momentary de-
lay the door opened and M. de la
Bourbonais walked in.
** Good heavens, Bourbonais ! is
it you .'" cried Sir Simon, rising
from his knees and hastening to
meet him.
But Raymond, with a h<nughty
gesture, waved him off.
They were all on their feel in a
moment, full of wonder and expec-
tation.
*' I made a mistake in refusing to
submit to the examination you
asked of me," said the count, ad-
dressing himself to all collectively.
" I was wrong to listen only to per-
sonal indignation in the matter; I
saw only a poor man insulted by a
rich one. I have come back to re-
pair my mistake. See now for your-
selves, and, if you like, examineevery
corner of my clothes."
He advanced to the table, intend-
ing to suit the action to the words,
when a burst of derisive laughter
was heard at the other end of the
room. It was from Mr. Plover.
The others were looking on silent
and confounded.
** Do you take us all for so many
born fools V* cried Mr. Plover, and
he laughed again a short, con-
temptuous laugh that went through
Raymond's veins.
He stood there, his right hand
plunged into his pocket in the act
of drawing out its contents, but a^
rested by the sound of that mocking
laugh, and by the chill silence that
followed. He cast a quick, ques-
Ar0^ You My Wife?
327
tioning glance at the surrounding
faces; pity, surprise, regret, were
variously depicted there, but neither
confidence nor congratulation were
visible anywhere* A gleam of light
shot suddenly through his mind.
He drew out his hand and passed
it slowly over his forehead.
"My God, have pity on me!"
ke murmured almost inaudibly, and
turned away.
"Raymond! listen to me." Sir
Simon hurried after him.
But the door was closed. Ray-
uoodwas gone. Sir Simon follow-
ed into the hall, but he did not
overtake him ; the great door clos-
ed with a bang, and the friend he
loved best on earth was beyond his
hearing, rushing wildly on in the
darkness and under the rain, that
was falling in torrents.
The apparition had come and
gone so quickly that the spectators
might have doubted whether they
bad not dreamt it or seen a ghost.
No one spoke» until Mr. Plover
broke out with a hoarse laugh and
an oath :
" If the fellow has not half con-
vinced me of his innocence ! He's
too great a fool to be a thief I"
** Until he has been proved a
thief, you will be good enough not
to apply the term to Monsieur de
la Bourbonais under my roof," said
Sir Simon. " Now, gentlemen, we
• ill resume our search."
They did, and prosecuted it with
the utmost care and patience for
more than an hour; but the only
effect was to fasten suspicion more
closely on the absent.
Mr. Plover was so triumphant
one would have fancied the justifi-
cation of his vindictive suspicion
u'as a compensation for the loss of
his gem.
*■ Have you a pen and ink here,
or shall I go into the library? I
want to write the check," said
Ponsonby.
" You will find everything you
want in the library," said Sir Simon,
and Ponsonby went in. Some one
rang, and the carnages and horses
were ordered. .In a few minutes
Ponsonby returned with the check,
which he handed to Mr. Plover.
" If you require any one to at-
test my solvency, I dare say Charl
ton, whom you can trust, will have
no objection to do it," he remarked.
" Certainly not !" said Mr. Charl-
ton promptly.
" Oh ! it's not necessary ; I'm
quite satisfied with Sir Ponsonby
Anwyll's signature," Mr. Plover re-
plied. And as he pocketed the
check he went to the window and
raised the curtain to see if Mr.
Charlton's brougham had come
round. The rest pf the company
were saying good-by, cordial but
sad. Sir Simon and the young
squire of Rydal stood apart, con-
versing in an earnest, subdued
voice.
" Have you a trap waiting, or
shall I drop you at the vicarage .^"
inquired Lord Roxham of Mr.
Langrove.
" Thank you ! I shall be very
glad," said the vicar. "Thewiight
promised to be so fine I said I would
walk home."
" You will have a wet ride of it,
Anwyll ; is not that your horse I
see ?" cried Mr. Charlton from the
window, where he had followed his
ill-omened friend. ** Had you not
better leave him here for the night,
and let me give you a lift home ?"
" Oh ! thank you, no ; I don't
mind a drenching, and it would
take you too far out of your way."
Mr. Plover and Mr. Charlton
were leaving the room when Sir
Simon's voice arrested them.
" One moment, Cliarlton ! Mr.
♦^
328
Are Yottify Wife?
Plover, pray wait a second. I need
not assure any one present how
deeply distressed I am by what has
occurred to-night — distressed on be-
half of every one concerned. I
know you all share this feeling with
me, and I trust you will not refuse
me the only alleviation in your
power."
He stopped for a moment, while
his hearers turned eager, responsive
faces towards him.
" I ask you as a proof of friend-
ship, of personal regard and kind-
ness to giyself, to be silent con-
cerning what has happened under
my roof to-night ; to let it remain
buried here amongst ourselves.
Will you grant me this, probably
the last favor I shall ever ask of
you ?"
His voice trembled a little ; and
lus friends were touched, though
ihey did not see where the last
words pointed.
There was a murmur of assent
from all, with one exception.
** Plover, I hope I may include
your promise with that of my older
friends.^" continued the baronet,
his voice still betraying emotion.
** I have no right, it is true, to claim
such an act of self-denial at your
hands; I know," he added with
a faint laugh that was not ironical,
only sad — " I know that it is a com-
fort to us all to talk of our misfor-
tunes and complain of them to
sympathizing acquaintances ; but I
appeal to you as a gentleman to
forego that satisfaction, in order to
save me from a bitter mortifica-
tion."
As he spoke, he held out his fine,
high-bred hand to his guest.
Sir Simon did not profess to be a
very deep reader of human nature,
but the most accomplished Mac*
chiavellist could not have divined
and touched the right chords in his
listener's spirit with a surer hand
than he had just done. Mr. Plover
laid his shrivelled fingers in the
baronet's extended hand, and said
with awkward bluntness :
" As a proof of personal regard
for you, I promise to hold ray
tongue in private life \ but you
can't expect me not to take steps
for the recovery of the stone."
" How so ?" Sir Simon started.
" It is pretty certain to get into
the diamond market before long,
and, unless the police are put on the
watch, it will slip out of the country
most likely, and for ever beyond my
reach, and I would give double the
money to get it back again. But I
pledge myself not to mention the
affair except to the officers."
He bowed another good-night to
the company, and was gone. The
rest quickly followed, and soon the
noise of wheels crushing the wet
gravel died away, and Sir Simon
Harness was left alone to meditate
on the events of the evening and
many other unpleasant thiags.
TO Bft CONTIICUID.
' Recotteciions of Wardswarth.
339
RECOLLECTIONS OF WORDSWORTH.*
BY AVSBBY DB VXSX, SSQ.
PART I.
It was about eight years before
his death that I had the happiness
of making acquaintance with Words-
worth. During the next four years
I saw a good deal of him, chiefly
among his own mountains, and, be-
sides many delightful walks with
him, I had the great honor of pass-
ing some days under his roof. Tiie
strongest of my impressions respect-
ing him was that made by the manly
simplicity and lofty rectitude which
characterized him. In one of his later
sonnets he writes of himself thus :
" As a true man who long had serv-
ed the lyre "; it was because he
was a true man that he was a true
]>oet ; and it was impossible to
know him without being reminded
of this. In any case he must have
been recognized as a man of ori-
ginal and energetic genius; but it
was his strong and truthful moral
nature, his intellectual sincerity,
the abiding conscientiousness of his
imagination, so to speak, wliich en-
abled that genius to do its great
work, and bequeath to the England
of the future the most solid mass of
deep-hearted and authentic poetry
which has been the gift to her of
any poet since the Elizabethan age.
There was in his nature a veracity
« Reprinted frocn advance sheets of Tht Prpti
W»rk» 0/ Wiilinm n'ordrwrtk Edited, with
ptn&ee, noces, and illustntioni, by the Rev. Alex.
H. Graiart ; now for the first time published, by
MosoQ, Son ft i'o , London. Theee works will
in three volumes, embracing respectively the polit-
icsi and ethical, aesthetical and literary, critical
»d ethical, writings of the author, and, what will
nteccst American readers especially, his Republi-
•n Defence.
which, had it not been combined
with an idealizing imagination not
less remarkable, would to many
have appeared prosaic ; yet, had
he not possessed that characteris-
tic, the products of his imagination
would have lacked reality-. They
might still have enunciated a deep
and sound philosophy ; but they
would have been divested of that
human interest which belongs to
them in a yet higher degree. All
the little incidents of the neighbor-
hood were to him important.
The veracity and the ideality
which are so signally combined in
Wordsworth's poetic descriptions of
nature made themselves, at least, as
much felt whenever nature was the
theme of his discourse. In his in-
tense reverence for nature he re-
garded all poetical delineations of
her with an exacting severity ; and
if the descriptions were not true,
and true in a twofold sense, the more
skilfully executed they were the more
was his indignation roused by what
he deemed a pretence and a deceit.
An untrue description of nature
was to him a profaneness, a heaven-
ly message sophisticated and falsely
delivered. He expatiated much to
me one day, as we walked among
the hills above Grasmere, on the
mode in which nature had been de-
scribed by one of the most justly
popular of England's modern poets
— one for whom he preserved a
high and affectionate respect. " He
took pains," Wordsworth said; "he
went out with his pencil and note-
book, and jotted down whatever
330
RfcoUectwiu of Wordsworth,
struck Uira most — a river rippltng
over llie sands, a ruined tower on a
rock above it, a promontory, and a
mountain ash waving its red ber-
ries. He went home, and wove
the whole togetlier into a poeti-
cal description." After a pause
Wordsworth resumed with a flash-
ing eye and impassioned voice :
"But nature does not permit an in-
ventory to be made of her charms !
He should have left his pencil and
note-book at home; fixed his eye,
as he walked, with a reverent atten-
tion on all that surrounded him,
and taken all into a heart that could
understand and enjoy. Then, after
several days had passed by, be
slionid have interrogated his memo-
ry as to the scene. He would have
discovered that while much of what
he had admired was preserved to
him, much was also most wisely ob-
literated. 'l"hai which remained —
the picture surviving in hisjnind —
would have presented the ideal and
essential truth of the scene, and
done so, in a large part, by discard-
ing much which, though in itself
striking, was not characteristic. In
every scene many of the most bril-
liant details are but accidental. A
true -eye for nature does not note
them, or at least does not dwell on
them." On the same occasion he
remarked : " Scott misquoted in one
of his novels my lines on Yarrow,
He makes me write,
"■ The i™
Fkudout
but I wrote.
tl St. Uuy'iUIn
" ' Tin iMta attHII $t. M«t'i >>kE."
Never could I lir^ve written
'swans 'in the plural. The scene
when I s.iiv it. with its still and
dim lake, under the dusky hills, was
one of ult<.'r loneliness; there w.-ts
o« swan, and one only, stemming
the water, and the pathetic loneli-
ness of the region gave importance
to the one companion of that swan-
its own white image in the water.
It was for that reason that I record-
ed the swan and the shadow. Had
there been many swans and many
shadows, tJiey would have implied
nothing as regards the character of
the scene, and I should have said
nothing about them." He proceed-
ed to remark that many who could
descant with eloquence on nal
cared little for her, and that many
more who truly loved her had vet
no eye to discern her — which he re-
garded as a sort of " spiritual dis-
cernment." He continued: " In-
deed, 1 have hardly ever known any
•ne but myself who had a true eye
for nature — one that thoroughly un-
derstood her meanings and her
teachings — except " (here he in-
terrupted himself) "one person.
There was a young clergyman
called Frederick Faber,' who re-
sided at Ambleside. He had not
only as good an eye for nature as I
have, but even a better one, and
sometimes pointed out to me on
the mountains effects which, with
all my great experience, I had never
detected."
Truth, he used to say^lhat is,
truth in its largest sense, as a thini;
at once real and ideal, a tmth
including exact and accurate detail,
and yet everywhere subordinating
mere Retail to the spirit of the
whole, — ihis, he affirmed, was the
soul and essence not only of de-
scriptive poetry, but of all poetry.
He had often, he told nie. Intended
to write an essay on poetry, setting
forth this principle, and illustrating
it by references to the chief re-
presentatives of poetry in its vari-
ous departments. It was this two-
■ A ftn w mk Fuba- Fiber of ilie Onnrr. Hi>
Recollections of Wordsworth.
33 i
fold truth which made Shakspere
the greatest of all poets. " It was
well for Shakspere," he remarked, .
**that he gave himself to the
drama. It w^as that which forced
him to be sufficiently human. His
poems would otherwise, from the
extraordinarily metaphysical char-
acter of his genius, have been too
recondite to be understood. His
youthful poems, in spite of their un-
fortunate and unworthy subjects,
and his sonnets also, reveal this ten-
dency. Nothing can surpass the
greatness of Shakspere where he is
at his greatest ; but it is wrong to
speak of him as if even he were per-
fect. He had serious defects, and
not those only proceeding from
carelessness. For instance, in his
delineations of character he does
! not assign as large a place to reli-
gious sentiment as enters into the
constitution of human nature un-
! der normal circumstances. If his
dramas had more religion in them,
ihcy would be truer representations
of man, as well as more elevated
and of a more searching interest."
Wordsworth used to warn young
poets against writing poetry remote
from human interest. Dante he
admitted to be an exception ; but
he considered that Shelley, and al-
most all others who had endeavor-
ed to outsoar the humanities, had
suffered deplorably from the at-
tenipt. I once heard him say : ** I
have often been asked for advice
by young poets. All the advice I
can give may be expressed in two
counsels. First, let nature be your
habitual and pleasurable study— hu-
man nature and material nature;
secondly, study carefully those first-
class poets whose fame is universal,
not local, and learn from them;
learn from them especially how to
observe an-i how to ir.tcrpret na-
ture/'
Those who knew Wordsworth
only from his poetry might have
supposed that he dwelt ever in a
region too serene to admit of hu-
man agitations. This was not the
fact. There was in his being a re-
gion of tumult as well a higher re-
gion of calm, though it was almost
wholly in the latter that his poetry
lived. It turned aside from mere
personal excitements ; and for that
reason, doubtless, it developed more
deeply those special ardors which
belong at once to the higher ima-
gination and to the moral being.
*? he passion which was suppressed
elsewhere burned in his ** Sonnets
to Liberty," and added a deeper
sadness to the " Yew-trees of Bor-
rowdale." But his heart, as well
as his imagination, was ardent.
When it spoke most powerfully in
his poetry, it spoke with a stern
brevity unusual in that poetry, as
in the poem, " There is a change,
and I am poor," and the still more
remarkable one, **A slumber did
my spirit seal " — a poem impassion-
ed beyond the comprehension of
those who fancy that Wordsworth
lacks passion, merely because in
him passion is neither declamatory
nor, latently, sensual. He was a
man of strong affections — strong
enough on one sorrowful occasion
to withdraw him for a time from
poetry. * Referring once to two
young children of his who had died
about forty years previously, he
described the details of their ill-
nesses with an exactness and an
impetuosity of troubled excitement
such as might have been expected
if the bereavement had taken place
but a few weeks before. The lapse
of time appeared to have left the
sorrow submerged indeed, but still
* ^* For US the atreain of fiction ceased to flLow."
(dedicatory ttanxas to '* The White Doc of Ryi-
itose '*).
332
Recollections of Wordsworth.
in all its first freshness. Yet I after-
wards heard that at the time of the
illness, at least in the case of one
of the two children, it was impossi-
ble to rouse his attention to the
danger. He chanced to be then
under the immediate spell of one
of those fits of poetic inspiration
which descended on him like a
cloud. Till the cloud had drifted
he could see nothing beyond. Un-
der the level of the calm there was,
however, the precinct of the storm.
It expressed itself rarely but vehe-
mently, partaking sometimes of the
character both of indignation and
sorrow. All at once the trouble
would pass away and his counte-
nance bask in its habitual calm,
like a cloudless summer sky. His
indignation flamed out vehemently
when he heard of a base fiction.
" I could kick such a man across
England with my naked foot," I
heard him exclaim on such an oc-
casion. The more impassioned
part of his nature connected itself
especially with his political feelings.
He regarded his own intellect as
one which united some of the fac-
ulties which belong to the states-
man with those which belong to
the poet ; and public aflairs inte-
rested him not less deeply than po-
etry. It was as patriot, not poet,
that he ventured to claim fellow-
ship with Dante.* He did not ac-
cept the term " reformer," because
it implied an organic change in our
institutions, and this he deemed
both needless and dangerous ; but
he used to say that, while he was a
decided conservative, he remem-
bered that to preserve our institu-
tions we must be ever improving
them. He was, indeed, from first
to hist, pre-eminently a patriot — an
* See his sonnet on the wttLt of Dante, close to the
Duomo at Morcncc {i*aemj ef Ear'y and Late
Veart).
impassioned as well as a thoughtful
one. Yet his political sympathies
. were not with his own country only,
but with the progress of humanity.
Till disenchanted by the excesses
and follies of the first French Rev-
olution, his hopes and sympathies
associated themselves ardently with
the new order of things created by
it ; and I have heard him say that
he did not know how any generous-
minded j^^////^ man, entering on life
at the time of that great uprising,
could have escaped the illusion.
To the end his sympathies were
ever with the cottage hearth far
more than with the palace. If he
became a strong supporter of what
has been called " the hierarchy of
society," it was chiefly because he
believed the principle of " equality"
to be fatal to the well-being and
the true dignity of the poor. More-
over, in siding politically with the
crown and the coronets, he con-
sidered himself to be siding with
the weaker party in our democratic
days.
The absence of love-poetry in
Wordsworth's works has often been
remarked upon, and indeed brought
as a charge against them. He once
told me that if he had avoided that
form of composition, it was by no
means because the theme did not
interest him, but -because, treated
as it commonly has been, it tends
rather to disturb and lower the
reader's moral and imaginative
being than to elevate it. He
feared to handle it amiss. He
seemed to think* that the subject
had been so long vulgarized that
few poets had a right to assume
that they could treat it worthily,
especially as the theme, when treat-
ed unworthily, was such an easy
and cheap way of wintiing ap-
plause. It has been observed also
that the religion of Wordsworth's
Recollections of Wordsworth.
333
jK>etry, at least of his earlier poet-
ry, is not as distinctly " revealed
rcligiv>n*' as might have been ex-
pected from this poet's well-known
adherence to what he has called
emphatically ** The lord, and mighty
paramount of truths." He once re-
marked to me himself on this cir-
cumstance, and explained it by
stating that when in youth his im-
agination was shaping for itself the
channel in which it was to dow, his
religious convictions were less defi-
nite and less strong than they had
become on more mature thought;
and that, when his poetic mind and
manner had once been formed, he
feared that he might, in attempting
to modify them, have become con-
strained. He added that on such
matters he ever wrote with great
diffidence, remembering that if
there were man)^ subjects too low
for song, there were some too high.
Wordsworth's general confidence in
his own powers, which was litrong,
though far from exaggerated, ren-
dered more striking and more
touching his humility in all that
concerned religion. It used to re-
mind me of what I once heard Mr.
Rogers say, viz. : " There is a special
character of greatness about humil-
ity ; for it implies that a man can, in
an unusual degree, estimate the
greatness of what is above us.*'
Fortunately, his diffidence did not
keep Wordsworth silent on sacred
themes. His later poems include
an unequivocal as %vell as beautiful
confes-sion of Christian faith ; and
one of them, " The Primrose of the
Rock," is as distinctly Wordsworth-
ian in its inspiration as it is Chris-
tian in its doctrine. Wordsworth
was a " High-Churchman," and also,
in his prose mind, strongly anti-
Roman Catholic, partly on political
grounds ; but that it was otherwise
as regards his mind poetic is obvi-
ous from many passages in his Chris-
tian poetry, especially those which
refer to the monastic system and
the Schoolmen, and his sonnet on
the Blessed Virgin, whom he ad'
dresses as
'* Our tainted nature's solitary boast."
He used to say that the idea of
one who was both Virgin and
Mother had sunk so deep into the
heart of humanity that there it
must ever remain.
Wordsworth's estiunatc of his
contemporaries was not generally
high. I remember his once saying
to me : " I have known many that
might be called very clei^er men,
and a good many of real and vigor-
ous abilities^ but few of genius ;
and only one whom I should call
* wonderful.' That one was Cole-
ridge. At any hour of the day or
night he would talk by the hour, if
there chanced to be any sympathet-
ic listener, and talk better than tlie
best page of his writings ; for a
pen half paralyzed his genius. A
child would sit quietly at his feet
and wonder, till the torrent had
passed by. The only man like
Coleridge whom I have known is
Sir William Hamilton, Astronomer
Royal of Dublin." I remember,
however, that when I recited by
his fireside Alfred Tennyson's two
political poems, " You ask me why,
though ill at ease," and " Of old sat
Freedom on the heights," the old
bard listened with a deepening at-
tention, and, when I had ended,
said after a pause, " I must acknow-
ledge that those two poems are
very solid and noble in thought.
Their diction also seems singularly
stately." He was a great admirer
of Philip van Artevelde. In the
case of a certain poet since dead,
and little popular, he said to me :
*' I consider his sonnets to be cer-
334
Recollections of Wordsworth.
\\
tainly the best of modern times" ;
adding, " Of course I am not in-
cluding my own in any comparison
with those of others." He was not
sanguine as to the future of Eng-
lish poetry. He thought that there
was much to be supplied in other
departments of our literature, and
especially he desired a really great
history of England ; but he was
disposed to regard the roll of Eng-
lish poetry as made up, and as
leaving place for little more except
what was likely to be eccentric or
imitational.
In his younger days Wordsworth
had had to fight a great battle in
poetry; for both his subjects and
his mode of treating them were
antagonistic to the maxims then
current. It was fortunate for pos-
terity, no doubt, that his long " mili-
tant estate" was animated by some
mingling of personal ambition with
his love of poetry. Speaking in an
early sonnet of
** The poets, who on earth have made us heirs
or truth, and pure delight, hy heavenly lays,"
he concludes :
•t
Oh ! might my name be nambered among theirs.
Then gladly would I end my mortal days."
He died at eighty, and general
fame did not come to him till about
fifteen years before his death. This
might perhaps have been fifteen
years too soon, if he had set any
inordinate value on it. But it was
not so. Shelley tells us that " Fame
is love disguised" ; and it was intel-
lectual sympathy that Wordsworth
had always vahied far more than
reputation. " Give me thy love ; I
claim no other fee," had been his
demand on his reader. When fame
had laid her tardy garland at his
feet, he found on it na fresher green
than his " Rydalian laurels " had
always worn. Once he said to me :
^* It is indeed a deep satisfaction to
hope and believe that my poetiy;
will be, while it lasts, a help to tbc|
cause of virtue and truth, especiaU
ly among the young. As for my-
self, it seems now of little moment-
how long I may be remembered.
When a man pushes off in his little'l
boat into the great seas of Infinity [
and Eternity, it surely signifies
little how long he is kept in sight]
by watchers from the shore,"
Such are my chief recollections |
of the great poet, whom I knew bat.|
in his old age, but whose heart re->
tained its youth till his daughter|
Dora's death. He seemed to me
one who from boyhood had been,
faithful to a high vocation ; one
who had esteemed it his office to<|
minister, in an age of conventional
civilization, at nature's altar, and
who had in his later life explained
and vindicated such lifelon? min-
istration, even while he seemed to
apologize for it, in the memorable
confession,
** But who b innocent ? By grace divine,
Nototherwisa. O Nature 1 are we thine."*
It was to nature as first created,
not to nature as corrupted by " dis-
natured " passions, that his song
had attributed such high and heal-
ing powers. In singing her praise
he had chosen a theme loftier than
most of his readers knew — loftier,
as he perhaps eventually discover
ed, than he had at first supposed it
to be. Utterly without Shakspere's
dramatic faculty, he was richer and
wider in the humanities than any
poet since Shakspere. Wholly un-
like Milton in character and in
opinions, ]je abounds in prssages lo
be paralleled only by Milton in
solemn and spiritual sublimity, and
not even by Milton in pathos. It
was plain to those who knew
Wordsworth that he had kept his
• " Erening Vbtuntaiy.**
Recollictiofis of Wordsxvorth.
335
great gift pure^ and used it honest-
ly and thoroughly for that purpose
for which it had been bestowed.
He had ever written with a con-
scientious reverence for that gift ;
but he had also written spontane*
OQsly. He had composed with
care— not the exaggerated solici-
tude which is prompted by vanity,
and which frets itself to unite in-
compatible excellences, but the
diligence which' shrinks from no
toil while eradicating blemishes
that confuse a poem's meaning and
frustrate its purpose. He regarded
poetry as an art ; but he also re-
garded art, not as the compeer of
nature, much less her superior, but
as her servant and interpreter. He
wrote poetry like%vise, no doubt, in
a large measure, because self utter-
ance was an essential law of his
nature. If he had a companion,
he discoursed like one whose
thoughts must needs run on in au-
dible current; if he walked. alone
among his mountains, he murmured
old songs. He was like a pine-
tsrove, vocal as well as visible. But
to poetry he had dedicated himself
as to the utterance of the highest
truths brought within the range of
his life's experience ; and if his
poetry has been accused of egotism,
the charge has come from those
who did not perceive that it was
with a human, not a mere personal,
interest that he habitually watched
the processes of his own mind. He
drew from the fountain that was
nearest at hand what he hoped
might be a refreshment to those
far off. He once said, speaking of.
a departed man of genius, who had
lived an unhappy life and deplora-
bly abused his powers, to the last-
ing calamity of his country : " A
great poet must be a great man ;
and a great man must be a good
man ; and a good man ought to be
a happy man." To know Words-
worth was to feel sure that if he had
been a great poet, it was not merely
because he had been endowed with
a great imagination, but because he
had been a good man, a great man,
and a man whose poetry had, in an
especial sense, been the expression
of a healthily happy moral being.
/'..S'.— Wordsworth was by no
means without humor. When the
Queen, on one occasion, gave a
masked ball, some one said that a
certain youthful poet, who has since
reached a deservedly high place
both in the literary and political
world, but who was then known
chiefly as an accomplished and
amusing young man of society, was
to attend it dressed in the charac-
ter of the father of English poetry —
grave old Chaucer. ** What !" said
Wordsworth, ** M go as Chau-
cer! Then it only remains for me*
to go as M !"
PART II.
SONNET — RVDAL WITH WORDSWORTH.
BY TUB LATB SIR AUBRBY DB TBRB.
^* What we beheld scarce can I now recall
In one connected picture ; images
Hurrying so swiftly their fresh witcheries
GTer the mind*8 mirror, that the several
Seems lost, or blended in the mighty all.
Lono lakes; rills gushing through rock-rooted
trees;
Peaked mountains shadowing vales of peaccful-
ness;
Glens echoing to the flashing waterfall.
Then that sweet twilight isle ! with friends de-
layed
Beside a ferny bank *neath oaks and yews ;
The moon between two mountain peaks embajred ;
Heaven and the waters dyed with sunset hues :
And he, the poet of the age and land,
Discoursing as we wandered hand in hand.'*
The above-written sonnet is the
record of a delightful day spent by
my father in 1833 with Wordsworth
at Rydal, to which he went from
the still more beautiful shores of
Uiswater, where he had been so-
journing at Halsteads. He had
been one of Wordsworth's warmest
"
33^
RecclUetians of Wordsworth.
\
» y
i\
• r
admirers when thejr number was
small, and in 1843 he dedicated a
volume of poems to him.* He
taught me when a boy of eighteen
years old to admire the great bard.
I had been very enthusiastically
praising Lord Byron's poetry. My
father calmly replied: " Wordsworth
is the great poet of modern times."
Much surprised, I asked: "And
what may his special merits be .^"
The answer was, " They are very va-
rious ; as, for instance, depth, large-
ness, elevation, and, what is rare in
modern poetry, an en/ire purity.
In liis noble * Laodamia * they are
chiefly majesty and pathos." A few
weeks afterwards I chanced to take
from the library shelves a volume
of Wordsworth, and it opened on
" Laodamia." Some strong, calm
hand seemed to have been laid on
my head, and bound me to the spot
.till I had come to the end. As I
read, a new world, hitherto un-
imagined, opened itself out, stretch-
ing far away into serene infinitudes.
The region was one to me unknown,
but the harmony of the picture
attested its reality. Above and
around were indeed
** An ampler ether, a diviner air.
And fields invested with purpurea! gleams '* ;
and when I reached the line,
'^ Calm pleasures there abide — majestic pains/'
I felt that no tenants less stately
could walk in so lordly a precinct.
I had been translated into another
planet of song — one with larger
movements and a longer year. A
wider conception of poetry had be-
come mine, and the Byronian en-
thusiasm fell from me like a bond
that is broken by being outgroTvn.
The incident illustrates poetry in
one of its many characters — that of
* A Song 0/ Fait k^ Devout Extreitts^ and Son^
ntis (Pickering). The dedication closed thus : *' I
may at least hope to be named bercater among the
friends of Wordsworth."
the "deliverer." The ready sym-
pathies and inexperienced imagi-
nation of youth make it surrender
itself easily despite its better aspi-
rations, or in consequence of theiu^
to a false greatness ; and the true
greatness, once revealed, sets it
free. As early as 1824 Walcer Sav-
age Landor, in his " Imaginary Con-
versation *' between Southey and
Porson, had pronounced Words-
worth's " Laodamia " to be " a com-
position such as Sophocles might
have exulted to own, and a part of
which might have been heard wilb
shouts of rapture in the regions he
describes " — the Elysian Fields.
Wordsworth frequently spoke tii
death, as if it were the taking of a
new degree in the University of
Life. " I should like," he remark-
ed to a young lady, " to visit Italy
again before I move to another
planet." He sometimes made a
mistake in assuming that others
were equally philosophical. We
were once breakfasting at the house
of Mr. Rogers, when Wordsworth,
after gazing attentively round the
room with a benignant and com-
placent expression, turned to our
host, and, wishing to compliment
him, said : " Mr. Rogers, I never sec
this house, so perfect in its taste,
so exquisite in all its arrangements,
and decorated with such welUcho-
sen pictures, without fancying it
the ver" house imaged to himself
by the Roman poet when, in illus-
tration of man's mortality, Jie says :
* Linquenda est domus.' " *'VVhat
is thru you're saying.*'* replied Mr.
Rogers, whose years between eighty
and ninety, had not improved his
hearing. " I was remarking that
ydur house," replied Wordsworth,
** always reminds me of the ode
(more properly called an elegy,
though doubtless the lyrical mea-
sure not unnaturally causes it to be
Recollections of Wordswotth.
337
incladed am^ng H6race*s odes)
in which the Roman poet writes :
*Ltnquenda est domus';,that is,
since, ladies being present, a trans-
lation may b^ deemed desirable,
The house t\ or has to be^ left ; and
again, * et placens uxor * — and the
pleasing wife; though, as we must
all regret, that part of tiie quotation
is not applicable on the present
occasion." The Town Bard, on
whom ** no angle smiled" more than
the end of St. James' Place, did
not enter into the views of the Bard
of the Mountains. His <inswer was
what children call " making a great
face," and the ejaculation, " Don't
talk Latin in the society of ladies."
When I was going away« he remark-
ed, ** What a stimulus the mountain
air has on the appetite ! I made a
sign to Edmund to hand him the
cutlets a second time. I was afraid
he would stick his fork into that
beautiful woman who sat next
him." Wordsworth never resented
a jfst at his own expense. Once
when we had • knocked three times
in vain at the door of a London
liouse, I exclaimed, quoting his son-
net written on Westminster Bridge,
It
Dear God. the very houses seem asleep.
t«
He laughed heartily, then smil-
ed gravely, and lastly recounted
the occasion and described the
early morning on which that son-
net was written. He did not recite
more than a part of it, to the ac-
companiment of distant cab and
carriage ; and I thought that the
door was opened too soon.
Wordsworth, despite his dislike
to great cities, was attracted occa-
sionally in his later years
*' To the prottd maigio of the Thames
And Lambcth*s vejierable towers,**
where his society was courted by
persons of the most different char*
acter. But he complained bitterly
VOL. XXII. — 22
of the great city. It was next to
impossible, he remarked, to tell the
truth in it. " Yesterday I was at
S House; the Duchess of S ^
showing me the pictures, observed :
' This is the portrait of my brother '
'(naming him), *and it is consid-
ered very like.' * To this I assent-
ed, partly perhaps in absence of
mind, but partly, I think, with an
impression that her grace's brother
was probably a person whose face
every one knew or was expected
to know ; so that, as I had never
met him, my answer was in fact a
lie ! It is too bad that, when more
than seventy years old, I should be
drawn from the mountains to Lon*
don in order to tell a lie!" He
made his complaint wherever he
went, laying the 'blame, however, not
so much on himself or on the
duchess as on the corrupt city ;
and some of those who learned how
the most truthful man in England
had thus quickly^ been subverted
by metropolitan snares came to the
conclusion* that within a few years
more no virtue would be left extant
in the land. He was likewise mal-
treated in lesser wavs. " This,
morning I was cbmpelled by my
engagements to eat three breakfasts
— one with an aged and excellent
gentleman, who may justly be es-
teemed an accomplished man of
letters, although I cannot honestly
concede to him the title of a poet ;
one at a fashionable party ; and
one with an old friend whom no
pressure would induce me to-
neglect, although for this, my first
breakfast to-day, I was obliged
to name the early hour of seven
o'clock, as he lives in a remote part
of London."
But it was only among his own
mountains that Wordsworth could
be understood. He walked among
them not so much to admire them.
M»
RecoUectioiu of Werdimorth.
as to converse with tliem. They
exchanged thoughts with him, in
Eunbhine or flying shadow, giving
him their own and accepting his.
Day and night, at all hours, and
in all weathers, he would face them.
If it rained, he might flipg his'
plaid over him, but would take no
admonition. He must have his
way. On such occasions, dutiful
as he was in higher matters, he
remained incurably wayward. In
vain one reminded him that a let-
ter needed an answer or that the
storm would soon be over. It was
-very necessary for him to do what
he liked; and one of his dearest
friends said to me, with a smile of
the most affectionate humor : " He
wrote his ' Ode to Duty,' and then
he had done with that matter."
This very innocent form of lawless-
ness, corresponding with the clas-
sic expression, " Indulge genio,"
seemed to belong to his genius, not
less than the sympathetic reverence
with which he looked up to the high-
er and universal laws. Sometimes
there was a battle between his rev-
erence for nature and his reverence
ifor other things. The friend al-
ready alluded to was once renuric-
ing on his varying expressions of
countenance : " That rough old
face is capable of high antf tnl
beauty ; I have seen in it an «-
pression quite of heavenly peace
and contemplative delight, as
Hay breeze came over him from
the woods while he was slowl*
walking out of church on a Sundaf
morning, and when he had half
emerged from the shadow." K
flippant person present inquired:
"Did you ever chance, Mtss-F .
to observe that heavenly expresam
on his countenance as he was walk-
ing into church on a fine Ha^
morning ?" A laugh was the reply.
The ways of nature harmonizn]
with his feelings in age as well as
in youth. He could understand nc
estrangement. Gathering a wreath
of white tliorn on one occasion,
he murmured, as he slipped it
into the ribbon which bound tbt
golden tresses of his youthful ci
pan ion,
"Aad vIiMirlfanauliedmjavi?
Tbc ubvT bilb thm derk th«r T»ovi
Sir TTkamas Minre.),
339
SIR THOMAS MORE.
*A HISTORICAL fiOMANCS,
PSBNCX or THK nUNCUSX DK CKAON.
III.
^ Ah ! welUand so you are going
to carry the French birds back !"
exclaimed the old keeper Jack, with
a loud, coarse laugh, as he leaned
against one of the century-old trees
in Windsor forest. ''Well, well,
so be it, my friends ; but give us a
little drop to drink," he added in
a jocular but self-important tone.
As be said these words, he familiar-
ly slapped the shoulder of one of
the falconers, who was engaged in
fastening the chains again to the
feet of the tiercelets, whilst his com-
rades cut off the lieads of the game
taken, and threw them as a reward
to the cruel birds, who devoured
them with avidity.
" After a while," replied the faU
coner a little impatiently. " Wait
till our work is done, father Jack ;
you are always in a hurry — to drink.
We will take our glass together
noir directly. See that troop of
birds ! They must first be chained
and put with the others."
" Well, well !" replied Jack, " pro-
vided we lose nothing by wait-
ing. These are beautiful birds, if
they do come from France."
" No, no, you shall lose nothing
by waiting," cried the second fal-
coner. ** Come here ; I will let you
taste a liquid that these birds have
brought over under their wings, and
we will see then if you have ever
drunk anything equal to it since
yott drew on your boots in the ser-
vice of his majesty."'
And he poured out of a canteen
that hung from his shoulder-belt a
very acid gin, filling, until it foam-
ed over, a large pewter cup, which
he handed to father Jack.
It was swallowed at one draught.
" Oh ! superb, superb !" cried the
old keeper, returning the cup and
smacking his lips. '* During the five-
and-forty years past that I have had
the honor of keeping Windsor, I
have drunk nothing better. Let's
go ! That strengthens a man's cour-
age and warms up his old blood ! I
believe the deer will give us a hard
drive to-day ; I have seen the tracks
of fourteen or fifteen at least." And
saying this, he remounted his old
wind-broken mare.
" Wait, father Jack, wait for us !
We will all go together," exclaimed
the gens de t equipage; for Jack con-
tributed much to their amusement.
When they had mounted their
horses, they followed the keeper,
getting off a hundred jokes on the
old mare, to which he was much at-
tached.
They very soon passed by two
young lords who had halted near
the verge of the forest, and were
engaged in conversation.
One of them held in leash four
beautiful greyhounds, especial fa-
vorites of the king because of their
great sagacity and swiftness in the
chase. Their keeper, however, was
obliged to use the lash, in order to
stop their clamorous baying.
"You have seen her, then.>" he
remarked to his companion.
340
Sir Tlkvnas M -re.
" Yes, 1 have seen lier down yon-
der. She crossed the road with ail
of lier ladies," replied the latter, who
belonged to Wolsey's household
and wore his livery. "She was
dressed in a black velvet cap and
green riding-habit ' and she is really
charming !"
" Well, my poor friend," replied
the other, " but do you know I have
serious fears that your cardinal trill
soon fall into disfavor ? But a mo-
ment ago, as they passed by here, I
heard the Duke of Norfolk remark
to a lady that the red cloak was
decidedly out of style, and altogeth-
er it was at this time so completely
used up that he did not tliink it
could ever again be mended. The
lady smiled maliciously, and said
lie was right — she believed the
green mantle would eventually end
by teariiig the red to pieces! And
pointing to the young Anne Boleyn,
who was not far off, she made a
sign that left no doubt on my mind
it was that lady she meant to de-
signate as the destroyer."
'"i'ruly," replied the young do-
mestic,* " what you tell me is any-
thing but encouraging. And so our
dear duke must have /lis finger in
the pie ! I shall be very sorry for
all this if it happens, because my
own clothes are made of scarlet,
you see ; and when one has succeed-
ed, in the course of time, in getting
a suit well made up, he doesn't like
the trouble of having to commence
again and make it over."
As he said this a cloud of dust
arose, and a troop of horsemen
passed at full gallop and with a ter-
rible hue and cry.
"My dogs! my dogs!" cried
the king in the midst of the crowd.
" J.ct louse my dogs! The deer
makes fur tin.- ]>vnJs. Let them has-
ten to lellihc ladies, that they may
be in at the death."
He disappeared like a flash of
lightning, of which we obtain but a
glimpse ere it is gone. The shrill
notes of the hunter's horn resound-
ed frotn afar, awaking countless
echoes through the forest.
" Let us go," exclaimed the two
young men simultaneously. "We
will then get rid of these accursed
hounds."
" To the ponds ! To the ponds !"
they cried. " The ladies, to the
ponds ! The ladies, to the ponds !''
And they started on, laughing and
shouting.
'' What is that you are shouting
down there?" cried a huntsman
from a distance, whose horse had
just made him roll in the dust.
"To the ponds! My lord, to
the ponds!" they cried.
The retinue surrounding the Duke
of Suffolk put whip to their horses
and followed in a sweeping gallop.
From every side of the hills sur-
rounding these ponds there ap-
peared, at the same moment, troops
of eager hunters, panting and cover-
ed with dust. The different roads
traversing the forest in every direc-
tion converged and met on the
banks of the ponds that slept in
the basin thus formed.
The ladies had already assem-
bled, and nothing could have been
more entertaining than the rapid
and eager movements of the re-
mainder of the hunters as they
came galloping up. The king ar-
rived before any of the others.
He excelled in exercises of this
kind, and took great delight in
ending the chase in a briiliaol
manner by shooting the deer him-
self. On this occasion he had de-
cided that, contrary to the ustial
Sir T^mas Afore.
341
cnstom, it should be taken alive ;
consequently, they hastened to
spread in every direction the nets
and fillets.
In this case the skill of the hun-
ters consisted in driving the game
into the snare.
Very soon the deer made his ap-
pearance, followed by a multitude
of hounds, who pursued him so fu-
riously, and crowded so closely one
against the other, that, to use a
familiar expression of the hunters,
ihcy coukl have been covered with
a table-cloth.
At sight of the nets the beautiful
animal paused for an instant. He
shook his horns menacingly, and
stamped the ground with his feet;
then suddenly, feeling already the
scorching breath of the infuriated
pack of hounds about to seize him,
lie made a desperate effort, and,
leaping at a single bound the entire
height of the fillets, threw himself
into the lake. Instantly a loud and
deafening shout arose, while the
fttrious hounds, arrested in their
course by the nets, uttered the most
frightful bowlings on seeing their
prey escape.
" My cross-bow !" cried the king.
** Quick! my cross-bow!" and he
drew it so skilfully that at the first
shot he pierced the flank of the
poor animal, who immediately ceas-
ed to swim.
Satisfied with his brilliant suc-
cess, the king, after having heard
the plaudits of the ladies and re-
ceived tl)e congratulations of the
hunters, proceeded to the pavilion,
constructed of evergreens and foli-
age, as elegant as it was spacious,
which he had had erected in the
midst of the forest, in order to dine
under cover.
The Duchess of Suffolk did the
honors of the festival, taking the
place of Queen Catherine, who,
under the pretext of bad health, de-
clined appearing at these hunting
parties, the noisy sports having be-
come insupportable to her.
Meanwhile the courtiers were
greatly excited by observing a roll
of paper the extremity of which
projected from the right pocket of
the king's hunting-jacket; on one
of the leaves, a corner of which was
turned down, two words were visi-
ble — the name of " Wolsey " and
that of " traitor." Each one sought
to approach the king or pass be-
hind him in order to assure himself
of the astonishing fact, ot which
they had the temerity to whisper
mysteriously together.
But in spite of all their efforts,
they were unable to discover any-
thing more ; the day and the festi-
val ended with numerous conjec-
tures — the fears and hopes excited
in the minds of that court where
for so long the learned favorite had
ruled with as much authority as
the king himself.
At daybreak on the morning suc-
ceeding the festival the gates were
thrown open, and acarriage, bearing
the royal arms and colors, drove
from the great courtyard of Windsor
Palace.
While the postilion trotted leis-
urely along, looking around from
time to time as he wonderingly re-
flected why the horse on his right
grew constantly lean in spite of the
generous addition he had made to
his rations, the two occupants of
the carriage engaged in the follow-
ing conversation :
" It is cold this morning," said
one of them, wrapping his cloak
more closely about him.
" Yes ; and how this fog and the
heavy dew covering the earth re-
mind one of the bivouac !"
" It does indeed," responded
;■■-■!■-■;-? I'-'C-.r^
3^>! lite camp.
■rj .-sotiib; when
:.r- .;t-rri ;■<■ TMi-arw i5«.:w of
^w- Thomas Mott,
r^ 4-k -I'CT' ■ ?';!'""« '° "8«t," continued Sp"
.^4 *^ "* ''^ff""' '*•"'' *ith an «,U.ing laugh "l .
..^-^-^ ,:... aa,.d ,he only ho„e he n.ay not be Jqu J
(and thus be able to settle tlie j
scores will) us afterwards); thai 1
Pa.hament will show him no mercy. I
Death alone can effect aally remove '
him. 1 he little memorandum yon i
have there contains enough (o I
hang all the chancellors in the 1
world."
" It is veiy certain," replied the :
puke of Norfolk, abstractedly tom- '
ing ihe leaves of the book he held
in his hand (the same that had «-
cited such eager curiosity araoD;
ine courtiers)—" it is certain this
book contains grave accusations.
Nevertheless, 1 do not think it lias
entirely accomplished the end pro-
F^ised by the author."
^i :'« -In truth, no," answered Suf.
• ■ r; t.-.k; -for Wiltshire counted very
■;- I s eer^inly on replacing Woiscy. He
* i.'^-^ ■;.! be astounded when lie learns
« the choice of the king "
--; r-* -Although Wiltshire is'a relative
^■■- -■' o< mine," reiiied the duke, "lam
■'■' '.■■< c^mwlled to acknowledge that it
II :Te WL^uid have been impossible for
iJ.M- tfic king to have made a better se-
't ot levEion or avoided a worse one.
t 9-i» Wihilnre is both ignorant and
■* -•.- aiuwtioMs. while Thomas More has
'f.e«i nj stipenor in learning and merit.
■a J( I knew hira when quite a child, ijv-
ms with the distinguished Cardinal
i t w .MoHiw, who was particularly at-
tiv*. u.i.ed to him. I remember very
:i!s oi!?n at table Morton speaking
■> IS ^x him 10 us, and always saying:
i!<iu« ■ r>iii young boy will make an ex-
: -iiv ttaordinary man. You will see it.
~v:.vi, 1 sh.ill not be living, but you will
• -uy tneu rw^ll tlie prediction of «n old
"Extraordmary!" replied Suf-
v,Ht tolfc m his habitual lone of rail-
•a^". tery; "most extraordinary! We
Sir TbofKas More.
343
arc promised, then, a chancellor of
a peculiar species I I suppose he
will not be the least astonished at
receiving so high and singular a
favor. But, the devil! he will
need to be a wonderful man. If
he sustains himself on the throne
ministerial, he will find a superior
degree of wisdom necessary. Be-
tween the king, the queen, the
council, Wiltshire, the Parliament,
the clergy, and the people, I would
not risk my little finger, brother-
in-law of his majesty although I
have the honor to be."
And he began laughing as he
looked at Norfolk, although, out of
deference to him, he had not in-
cluded in the list of difficulties the
most formidable of all, and the one
that carried all others in its train —
his niece, Mile. Anne.
** In the sense you use the word,"
the duke answered coldly, ** I be-
lieve, on the contrary, he is by no
means an astute man. The intrigues
of court will be altogether foreign
to his character ; but otherwise, in
science and learning, he has no
equal. He is in possession of all
that a man is capable of acquiring
in that direction, and no man has
made a more profound study of the
common law and the statutes of
the kingdom. Morton placed him
at Oxford, then at the Chancellors*
College at Lincoln, and he achieved
the most brilliant success."
** Admirable !" exclaimed Suffolk,
laughing.
*• Since that time," pursued the
Duke of Norfolk, ** his reputation
has continued to increase. When
he lectured in S. Lawrence's Church,
the celebrated Dr. Grocyn and all
of our London savants crowded
eagerly to hear him."
** Well ! well ! I knew nothing
of these most agreeable particu-
lars," said Suffolk ; " 1 only knew
that it was he. who induced Parlia-
ment to refuse the subsidy demand-
ed for the Queen of Scots. If he
continues to repeat such exploits
as that, I venture to predict he will
not be chancellor very long."
"Oh! as to that," replied the
duke, " he is a man who will never
compromise his conscience. Yes,
yes, I recall distinctly the enraged
expression of the present king's
father when Mr. Tyler came to
inform him that the House of
Commons had rejected his de-
mand, and a beardless youth had
been the cause of it. I have not
forgotten, either, that Henry VII.,
of happy memory, well knew how
to avenge himself by having an
enormous fine imposed on Sir
Thomas' father."
" Well," replied Suffolk, " but it
was not always expedient for the
House of Commons to raise money
in that way."
The conversation was continued
in this manner, as the hours glided
by, until at length the glittering
spires of the London churches ap-
peared in the distance, and very
soon the carriage had entered the
narrow, gloomy streets of that great
city.
Just at this time the soulof Wol-
scy was replenished with an inex-
pressible quietude and contentment.
** At last," he said to himself, ** my
enemies have all been confounded.
I can no longer entertain a doubt
respecting my power, after the most
gracious manner in which the king
has treated me at Grafton. I trust
the influence of Anne Boleyn has
diminished in the same proportion
that mine has increased. Now she
wants Sir Thomas Cheney recalled;
but I shall not consent to that.
Campeggio goes loaded with honor-
able presents. The influence of
Sir TbaiMs More.
■«j will soon cease, and
itious fool Wiltshire will
niitof his intrigues. , . ."
lardinal of York consoled
iih these agreeable reflec-
; arrival of the Venetian
or was announced.
so he presents himself at
Isey exclaimed. " He has
ong time demanding an
!" And he ordered him
oduced.
received him in the most
manner. After the usual
ints were exchanged, he
showing him the honors
ilace. He had spent his
[ihellishing and adorning
onderfi/I treasures of in-
id art, of which he was
itened and generous pro-
eslowing on them from
purse the most liberal en-
lent.
ous galleries, in which an
taste had evidently di-
en the most trivial orna-
1, were tilled with paint-
les, and precious antique
uperb Flanders tapestries
on all sides, covered the
ere disposed around the
and fell in heavy drapery
; openings of the doors to
he entrance. These pre-
iths, then of inestimable
re only found in the pala-
ngs. They usually repre-
ime historical or poetical
ind sometimes landscapes
west flowers were wrought
i with reflections of gold.
iVolsey took occasion to
among all these treasures,
nts he had received at
limes from the various
f Kuropc who had sought
hiii inllucnce.
ril with the order, taste,
y that reigned throughout
the palace, the Italian admired
everything, surprised to find in this
foreign clime a condition of luxurj
that recalled the memory, always
pleasing, yet sometimes sad, of hi?
own country.
" Alas!" he exclaimed at length,
" we also were rich and happy, and
reposed in p^ace and security in
ourpalaces, liefore this war in which
we have been so unfortunate as to
rely on the King of France for as-
sistance. He has abandoned lis;
and now, compelled to p.iy an enor-
mous tribute, the republic finds it-
self humiliated in the dust beneath
the sceptre of the haughty empc-
" Such is the right of the con-
queror," replied Wolsey. "You
are fortunate, inasmuch as he is
forced to use that right with i
;od-
"It seems a heavy burden to
us, this moderation \ " replied the
ambassador. " He not only exacts
immense sums of money, but com-
pels us to surrender territory we
have conquered with ou- '•'---■
Florence is placed undei
minion of the Medici, and ;
Italian princes are redui
condition of entire depend
"Which, of course, t;
shake off at the first oppo
interrupted Wolsey. " Cha
too shrewd not to foresee t
assured he will endeavor i
your good-will, because y
port is indispensable to en
to resist the formidable j
the Sultan Soiiman, and t
sions of the barbarians si
his authority."
" In that we have placed
hope. If our services can
available, then from var
enemies we may becomt
allies. Already the empe
sees it ; for he overwhelms
Sir T/iomas Mor€.
345
Doria and the republic of Genoa
with favors. He seems to have for-
gotten the injuries he suffered from
Sforza ; he received him most affa-
bly at court, and promised him the
Princess of Denmark, his niece, in
marriage."
" I am informed,*' said Wolsey,
** that he is deeply afflicted by the
death of the Prince of£)range/*
•• Very much," rephed the am-
bassador. ** The prince was a va-
liant captain. He leaves no chil-
dren ; his titles and landed property
will descend to the children of his
sister Ren^e, the Countess of Nas-
sau."
" And they are all German
princes who have thrown them-
selves headlong into the Lutheran
heresy. They will endeavor to cast
off the yoke of the emperor, and be-
come altogether independent."
'* They have no other intention,"
replied the ambassador; '^and by
separating from the Church of
Rome they hope more surely to
effect their purpose. However, the
decree laid before the diet against
the religious innovations has pass-
ed by a large majority."
•* Yes," replied Wolsey ; " but you
see the Elector of Saxony, the Mar-
quis of Brandenburg, the Land-
grave of Hesse, the Dukes of
Luneburg, and the Prince d'An-
halt are all leagued against the
church, with the deputies of four-
teen imperial cities, and are desig-
nated by no other name than that
of Protestant."
" I am aware of that," replied
the ambassador. *' It will greatly
increase the difficulties in carrying
out the emperor's secret project,"
he continued after a moment's si-
lence. ** Perhaps, however, he may
succeed in making the crown he-
reditary in his family."
*' That is what we shall have to
prevent!" cried Wolsey vehement-
ly, who, at the words of the ambas-
sador, felt all his old hatred toward
Charles V. revive. " We will nevei
suffer it, neither will France. No,
no ; I am very certain France will
never permit it."
"Ah!" replied the ambassador,
shaking his head with a doubtful
air, either because he was not con-
vinced, but more probably because
he was well pleased to arouse
agaihst the conqueror of Venice the
animosity of England (still, as he
considered, entirely governed by
the will of the minister who stood
before him).
** I assure you of it most positive-
ly," answered Wolsey ; " and I wish
you to bear it in mind." And he re-
garded litin with an expression of
perfect confidence and authority.
" I hope it may be so," said the
ambassador in an abstracted man-
ner. " We certainly desire nothing
more."
" Ah ! if he had only you to op-
pose him," answered Wolsey, resum-
ing his usual haughtiness, '' I should
doubt of success. See where you
stand," he continued, with the se-
cret satisfaction of national pride.
" Invaded on all sides, Italy can
oppose but a feeble barrier to the
power of two such bold and daring
pirates. Is it not a shame, then, to
see these obscure and cruel robbers,
sons of a Lesbian potter — two bar-
barians, in fact — reigning sovereigns
of the kingdom of Algiers, which
they have seized, and from whence
they fearlessly go forth to destroy
the Christian fleets on every sea ?
When would you be able to con-
quer these ocean pirates — you, who
have but a gibbet for your couch
and a halter for your vestment?
Justice would be kept a long time
waiting !"
The Italian reddened and bit his
J46
lip. He vainly sought nrords in
wliicli to reply, and was relieved
of liis embarrassment when the door
opened and admitted the Dukes of
Norfolk and Suffolk.
They entered without the usual
ceremonies or salutations, and
Wolsey, surprised at seeing Saffolk, .
whom he had not met since the
altercation at Blackfriars, regarded
them with astonishment. He arose,
however, and advanced toward
them, Suffolk, with a disdainful
gesture, referred him to the Duke
of Norfolk.
Astonished at the coldness of the
one, the brusque impoliteness of
the other, and embarrassed by the
presence of (he ambassador, the
cardinal stood notionless, undecid-
ed what to think or say.
" My lords," he at length ei-
claimed, " what do you desire of
" We want you to deliver up the
seal of state," replied Norfolk, witli-
out changing countenance.
"What do you say, my lord.'"
cried Wolsey, stupefied with aston-
ishment.
"The king has ordered it," con-
tinued the duke with the same im-
|>erturbable manner.
"The king! Can it be possi-
ble?" said Wolsey, dismayed, and
in a voice almost inaudible. "The
seal of state! And what have I
done ? Wlial .' Can this be true ?
No, my lord, no," he suddenly ex-
claimed with an expression of in-
describable (error; "it cannot be
true ! Vou have mistaken the
king; 1 do not deserve any suck
treatment. I pray you let me see
him; let me speak to him for a
moment — onesinglemomeni. .AUs!
alas !"
And he glanced at the ambassa-
dor, who, astounded himself at first,
and feeling himself out of place in
Sir TAimas Mare.
the presence of this m^hty downfall,
had involuntarily withdrawn
wards the door.
" It is no longer a question tc
submitted to the king," cried Suf-
folk in a threatening and defiant
manner ; " it is only necessary no»
to obey him, and he orders you in-
stantly to deliver up the seal."
" The order is imperative," add-
ed Norfolk in a cold and serious
manner. "I regret being charged
with a commission which to yoa,
roy lord, must be so painful."
He said no more. But Suffolk,
base and jealous in his nature, wu
not ashamed to add to the humilia-
tion of the unfortunate cardinal.
" Come, my good friend," he said
in an ironical voice, " why do you
.begso imploringly? One would sup-
pose we had demanded the apple
of your eye. You have been put-
ting the seal so long now on our
purses and tongues, you ought not
to be surprised nor annoyed tliil
we feel like using i( awhile our-
selves."
This cowardly insult exasperated
Wolsey, but his courage was roused
with his indignation.
" My Lord Suffolk," he answer-
ed with dignity, " I am sorry for
you and for the prompt manner in
which yon seem to forget in their
misfortune those who in days of
prosperity were always found ready
to come to your assistance. I hope
you may never experience bov
painful it is to endure a similar
cruel ingratitude."
He immediately withdrew, and
returned with the richly-adoroed
casket containing the great seal of
state.
Holding it in bis trembling hand,
he avoided Suffolk, and, advancing
rapidly toward the Duke of Nor-
folk, handed it to him.
** My lord." he said, " here arc
Sir Thomas Mare.
347
tHc seals of the kingdom of Eng-
land. Let the king's will be done.
Since I received them from bis
hand, fifteen years ago, I am con-
scious of having done nothing to
merit his displeasure. I trust he
will one day deign to render me
full justice, for I have never proved
myself unworthy of his favor."
As he uttered the last words, he
was unable to restrain the tears
which involuntarily arose to his
eyes.
Although the cardinal was by no
means a favorite with the Duke of
Norfolk, he was moved with com-
passion, and sadly reflected that he
had still more painful intelligence
to communicate-
He glanced at his companion,
but, fearing the bitter and poignant
irony in which Suffolk never failed
to indulge, he hastened to prevent
it in order to spare Wolsey.
" My lord cardinal," he said,
" you ought to reflect that the king
IS too just and impartial to with-
draw the favor he has so long be-
stowed on you without having
weighed well the reasons and ne-
cessities requiring such a course.
Nevertheless, his goodness has not
abandoned you ; he permits you to
select such counsel as you may de-
sire to defend you against the ac-
cusations presented against you to
Parliament."
'* To Parliament !" murmured
Wolsey, terror-stricken ; for the
duke's last words suddenly disclos-
ed the depth of the abyss into which
he had fallen. " To Parliament !"
he repeated. The shock he had
experienced was so violent that his
pride of character, the sense of per^
tonal dignity, the presence of his
enemies, were all forgotten in a
moment, and he abandoned himself
to despair. Unable longer to sus*
tain himself, he sank on his knees.
^ I am lost !" he cried, weeping and
extending his hands toward his per-
secutors. *'Have pity on me, my
Lord Norfolk I I give up all to the
king ! Let him do with me what he
will ! Since he says I am culpable,
although I have never had the inten-
tion, yet I will acknowledge that I
am. But, alas ! of what do they
accuse me .^"
'* Of having violated the statutes
of praemunire," replied Norfolk.
" And betraying your country,"
continued Suffolk, '^ by carrying on
a secret correspondence with the
King of France. You well remem-
ber that it was you who had me
recalled at the moment when, hav-
ing beconoe master of Artois and
Picardy, I had the Parisians trem-
bling within their walls } Will you
dare deny that you were the cause
of it, and that it was i\\Q pri^re cTar^
gent of Mme. Louise * induced you
to give the order for me to retire ?
The king has been already long
enough your dupe, and our duty
was to enlighten him. As to the
rest, my lord cardinal, you under-
stand the proceedings ; your advo-
cate ought to be here, and yon
should immediately confer with him
with regard to the other charges
herein contained."
As he said this, he threw on the
cardinal's table the bill of present-
ment, which contained no less than
forty-four chief acjcusations. •
They then took possession of all
the papers they could find, carrying
away the seal of state, and left
Wolsey in a condition deserving
pity.
As they retired, they proposed
sending in the advocate, who was
waiting in an adjoining apartment
conversing with Cromwell.
*' Ha ! ha ! you are here, then. Sir
* Mmc. Louiie, Duchess of /iigpal£ine« and
aoUier of Frands I.
he cried, " can tin
I to sanction such
ustice ? It is true I
rom the pope the ti
1 exercising throw
im the authorit)r c<
at title, I have
I opposition (o tlie
statutes of King
.till I have not v:<
e the king himsel
that power and r
y appearing in liia
ore the court. Is h
me, then,\¥hodesire<
than I, who have si
; a party to it ? I
," he cried — "yes, 1
or I have still the lel
led by his own hand
riirnished me to ttia
[Tiweil, look in my 5<
will find ttiem there,
U opened the secre
nothing.
is not a single p
said. "Where Ci
)laccd them ?"
I !" exclaimed the c;
en they have all L^^.,
ay ! All I" he repeated.
10 longer any means of
! am lost ! They are all
lainst me ; they have te-
rn my dealh. O Hen-
! king! is it thus yon
ne moment the services
dered you > Cromwell,"
led in a low voice and
a
I,
Sir Tlu>mas More,
349
and pride), and that in leaving it hc^
could retire to, and have at his dis-
posal, a house about eight leagues
from London, entirely abandoned,
and belonging to the bishopric of
Winchester.
The night, already far advanced,
found Sir Thomas More still seated
in his cabinet, conversing with the
Bishop of Rochester, who had ar-
rived at Chelsea very late that
morning.
A light was burning on a long
table encumbered with books and
papers ; several high-backed chairs,
covered with black morocco, cast
their shadows on the walls; a ca-
pacious rug of white sheep-skin
vas spread before the hearth, where
the remains of a fire still burned
in the grate.
Such was the simplicity of the
home of Sir Thomas More.
" And why, my dear friend,'* ask-
ed the Bishop of Rochester, ** will
you consent to take upon your
shoulders so terrible a responsi-
bility ? Once become chancellor,
have you fully considered that you
will be surrounded by enemies, who
will watch your every movement
and pursue you even to your death ?
Have you reflected well that you
acknowledge no other laws than,
those of your own conscience, and
feel no remorse unless for not hav-
ing spoken your views with suffi-
cient candor ? Is it thus you hope
to resist — thus you hope to escape
the snares that will continually sur-
round you ?"
*" I fear nothing,'' replied More ;
"for I belreve in God! And you
yourself — would you not blame such
weakness ? In refusing the king I
refuse the queen. Would not Cath«
erine then declare that the trusted
servant, even he who had been
called her friend, had sacrificed
her interests to his love of ease ?
He had declared his life should be
devoted to her cause, and now had
abandoned and deprived her of
the only hope of relief Providence
seemed to have left her ! No,
Fisher, friendship • has rights too
sacred for me not to respect them."
"Then," cried the bishop, "if
you respect the rights of friend-
ship, listen to my appeal ! I ask
you to decline a dignity that will
prove destructive to you. In the
name of all that you hold most
dear, in the name of all that is
good and beautiful in nature, in
the entire universe, I conjure you
to refuse this fatal honor! It is
more than probable the very seal
they wish now to place in your
hands will be very soon affixed to
your death-warrant ! Believe me,
my friend, all will unite against
you. A deep conviction has taken
possession of my soul, and I see, I
feel, the wrath of this prince, as vio-
lent as he is cruel, ready to fall up-
on your devoted head. You will
be crushed in this struggle, too un-
equal to admit for an instant the
hope of escape."
" Ah ! well," replied More laugh-
ingly, " instead, then, of simply in-
scribing on my tombstone ^ Here
lies Thomas More,' there will ap-
pear in pompous style the inscrip-
tion, ' Here lies the Lord High
Chancellor of England.' Assured-
ly, I think that would sound much
better, and I shall take care to be-
queath my first quarter's safory to
defray the expense of so elegant
an inscription."
" More !" cried the Bishop of
Rochester with impatience, " I can-
. not suffer you to jest on a subject
of such grave importance. Do
you, then, desire to die? Would
you ruin yourself.' Trust to my
experience* I know the heart of
Sir TImmas Mart.
irr tbonovghlT : tow attempt »cora of a popalace always eagCT
a*v i^ qnecn will be isio, aad to feast their eyes on the ruins
■tI acvicibiT be ivroiTed u fallen greatness. The air aroand
riai. t oxtmcc no. then, ac- him resounded with their maledic-
: owe Siys ^Ilfice. I wdl ^fstX tions. ' Here is the roan who &t-
t v'lvr wniaaL » tn« ktnS-' lened on the blood of the poor,'
N^. -w " «!»nain»oi Moft " I they cried. ' The taxes will be re-
s' jectaa i - - Ai i3fc< iReroca- duced now,' exclaimed others,
' since he will have no farther use
j ^g "tKji ?»'» '^ igyeated Roches- for palaces and gardens'; and all,
vtipMi -iM stow^t reduced at* in their ignorance, (.bused him as
e u ^icsmr. * More. I see it. the cause of the wrongs and op-
I r.^<i; ^ct.~9tte ambitious; the pressions which it was probably
TL-,>T» jt 3ie world, the fatal not in his power to have averted.
^•..j.i'.vm ■n Its bonon, have ta- At length, OTerwhelmed with in-
^.»4c-«^u« «««« of the soul of suits and outrages, he was landed
"iijj:^ Vurtr' Your heart no at Pultney, andi in order to escape
,r- -t^-iMKis tw toin* ; your ear the mob, was hurriedly conducted
^ >^ jv't M jll luy solicita- to his house at Asher, where he haj
^ M' !«.', siin.-* the desire been banished. Such is the reward
s., 1^ iv«w.-rvi among men. and you will receive in the service of
I. -i: .<K^n $n>vW at your feet, an avaricious prince and a blind
«-n^' tf^cu yyw despise ray infatuated multitude I"
,.-*■ t«.i jjMivt. then listen, Ms- He paused, overcome by anxiety
«,.:. .tihj v><>h1 ^rant that I may and excitement.
.'.•, ;v i.k-»tryy in your heart "My dear Fisher," responded
-^s-A-it that pride has poured More, deeply moved, "our hearts
; Xv-u »r* willing to sacri- and thoughts are always in unison;
.^l wui vanity all the happi- you have only represented to me a
, .1 Uk' muvt and peace, of second time the picture I had al-
. 11. ...ly-: know, then, what re- ready painted myself."
,s.-tiAv' *i'l b* towted out to you. "lndeed!'"criedRochester;"and
,, J ,(.<!, tt v'Ury was in a manner do you still hesitate ,'"
,1. ^lv4nh^^^vaUl■e,anddescend- " What !" replied More, resolute-
>,- lh.uu(-s in a common boat, ly, "and does it require so mucb
iwwvtttti'»<?ik('<i>ntpanyinghim; hesitation to sacriBce one's self.'
tit t>A\v il«4K'rt<r<l him except I would not wish to live dishonor-
...,iimv whdi in order to enjoy ed; and I should consider myself
i..!,nimw!i, iiMwded the river guilty if I forgot my duty toiranl
'.'.lO ,4iiU tolKiweil after him. my sovereign and the honor of
V )l^•)^^l to s<^e hint arrested England!"
^..iii,\l to the Tower, the re- *' So you are resolved ! Ahlwelf,
i> i\ ii.it l.ivii vmuLued that he let your sacrifice be accomplished,"
M l^v nVvn llu-i*> Wolsey — he said the saintly bishop; " but then
>i>k \v>\t Uaw ]>o t>tl<:n seen make may God, whose goodness is infi-
ll')., .tiitus^ )H t'.irliament, snr- nite, hear my vows and grant mr
.,l.\( l'\ aw A)u)0«t royal pomp prayer: may the same dangers unite
,|ilvi>,lv>t II now « fugitive, us; side by side with you may my
L,, .tvtii.t.'it.'tl, vttihout defence, last sigh be breathed out with yoon;
i<v \ l't>tk<,iH<»a iMauUs and* bitter and if (he life of the aged man ii
Sir Thomas More^
351
not extinguished before that of the
man in his prime, then may the
ttfoke of death cut us down at the
same monoent !"
** My dear friend," cried More,
^ the many years that have passed
over your head and blanched your
locks have not yet ripened your
judgment, since you can believe it
possible that the king's anger, al-
though it may one day fall on me,
could ever be permitted to over*
take you, the counsellor of his
youth, whom he has so often ^called
his father ! No, I can conceive of
no such fearful possibility ; the wise,
the virtuous Bishop of Rochester
can never be involved in the mis-
fortune that would crush Thomas
More."
"Ah!" replied Fisher, **but I
shall understand how to call down
on my. head the vengeance with
which he may hesitate to strike me.
Believe me, More, a man scarcely
reaches the prime of life before he
feels himself, as it were, daily be-
ginning to fail. Just as in the au-
tumn days the sun's light rapidly
diminishes, so the passing years
despoil his body of physical strength
and beauty; but it has no effect
upon his soul. The heart— »no, the
heart never grows old! It loves,
it suffers, as in the early morning of
life ; and when at last it has reached
the age when wisdom and experi-
ence have destroyed the illusions
of the passions, friendship, strength-
ened by so many blessed memories,
reigns there alone and entire, like a
mngnificent flower that has been
sheltered and preserved from the
destroying worm.
^Having almost arrived at the
end of his career, he often takes a
survey of the road he has passed
over. He loves to recall his joys
and his sorrows, and to weep again
for the friends he has lost* I know
that presumptuous youth imagines
that the prudence he refuses to
obey is the only good that remains
after the labors of life have been
erminated by time.
" Your feelings are not in unison
with those of an old man. It is be-
cause you do not understand them.
He lives in memory, and you in
hope. You pursue a phantom, a
chimera, the nothingness of which
he has already experienced ; you
accuse him, he complains of you,
and often you do not deign to re-
gard the last bitter tear that is
drawn from him at the sight of the
tomb into which he must soon de-
scend-"
** Oh !" exclaimed More, " you
whom I venerate as a father and
love as a friend — can you doubt for
one moment the truth of a heart
entirely devoted to you ? Confirm-
ed by your example, guided and
sustained by your counsels, what
have I to fear ? Banish from your
mind these sadpresentiments. Why
should this dread of the future, that
perhaps after all is only chimerical,
destroy the extreme happiness I
enjoy in seeing you ?"
For a long time they continued
to converse, until the light of early
morning at length succeeded the
uncertain glimmer of the candle,
now flickering in its socket.
" My friend, 1 must leave you,"
said Rochester. ^ The day already
dawns. God grant the sun may
not this morning arise on the be-
ginning of your misfortunes !"
"Oh! no," replied More, "this
IS my ftu to-day. S. Thomas will
pray tor rnd protect us."
The good bishop then descended
to the courtyard and mounted his
•mule ; but More, unwilling to give
him up, walked on by his side as
£ar as the road followeld the course
of the river. When they reached
Sir Thomai Mort,
cro5s-road nbcre the bishop
Dcd off. More shook his hand
1 bade liim farewell.
\ great wooden cross stood near
roadside, on which was sus-
idcd a wreath of withered
ves ; and More, seating hinrself
one of the stone steps upon
ich the cross was elevated, fol-
red the good bishop with his
s until he had disappeared in
distance.
rie then rested his head sadly on
hands, and recalled to mind all
i venerable friend had said to
' He is right !" he mentally ex-
imed, " How clear-sighted his
^ndship renders him ! Into what
ica of agitation, malignity, and
red 1 shall be plunged ! And
tor what ,' In order that I may
lord chancellor of the kingdom
oti,;;h which this road passes.
Iiolil, then, beside the highway,"
added, looking ^iroiind him, " my
il the great high chancellor,
vering in the cold morning air
si as any other man would do
had gone out at this hour with-
; pulling on his cloak! . . . Yes,
Ml) understand how social dis-
I'titins ini({hl cause us to scorn
ii-i men, if they exempted us
m Ihc inconveniences of life.
> mi^lit then perhaps believe that
had different natures. But let
(■li.»ii({c our garments, and we
1 at uiue, and are immediately
iliiumlcd with the common
.1,"
iVhili- ni;»kins these sad reflec-
lu iipun llic follies of human na-
!■, Mi.ie anxe and returned to
I \\\\\\\\\ wlirre liis wife and chil-
>ii ,\\\i\ liix aped father— simple
I |.i-,i. 1 mIiIi- old man. happy in
, (rtu't I'l Iho king and the vir-
„ III hill ■im—werc all wrapped
pit.h.iind iiliiinber.
In aspaciousapartment, of which
the dark and worm-eaten ceiling,
ragged tapestry, and dilapidated
windows presented the appearance
of a desolate and abandoned edifice,
a fragment of broken furniture siill
remained, upon which was placed
a small piece of bread. Number-
less crumbs strewed the dusty floor
and were eagerly devoured by a lit-
tle mouse, but recently the only
inhabitant of the place. To-day,
however, he had the company of a
man whose extraordinary mind had
conceived vast projects and execut-
ed great and useful enterprises—
the Archbishop of York, Cardinal
Wolsey. Seated upon the edge of
a wooden stool which he had placed
in the embrasure of a window, he
held his hands crossed one upon
the other, and bitterly reflected up-
on his unhappy destiny. Regrets,
of which he felt all the impotencr,
pressed upon his agitated soul. It
seemed to him that he still heard
the cries and menaces of the furious
populace that exulted in his distress,
and to which perhaps, alas ! he
would again be subjected- At one
time filled with courage and resolu-
tion, at another humble and cast
down, the anxieties of his mind
seemed wholly without measure.
His eyes, wearied with straying
listlessly over the plain which ex-
tended before him, beheld only a
single laborer ploughing the field.
" Man is small," said he, " in pre-
sence of immensity; the point which
he forms in space is imperceptible.
Entire generations have passed
away, have gathered the fruits of
the earth, and now sleep in their
native dust. My name has been un-
known tothem. Millions of creature*
suHer, where I exist free from pain.
Coming up from the lowest ranks
of society, I have endeavored to
elevate myself above them. And
Sir Tltomas More.
353
what has my existence signified to
Ihcni ? Has not each one consider-
ed himself the common centre
nround which all the others must
revolve ?"
Here Wolsey, impelled by extreme
hunger, approached the little worm-
eaten table, and look up the morsel
of dry bread left from his repast
the evening before.
Just as he was raising it to his
mouth a man entered, dressed in
the most scrupulous manner, and
enveloped in an ample cloak of the
finest material.
Wolsey was startled, and gazed
at him in astonishment.
" What ! Arundel," he exclaimed
at last, ** what could have brought
you to this place .^"
'* Yourself," replied Arundel, in
a frank, abrupt manner. ** You
have lost everything, and have never
informed nie by a word ! Do you
think, then, I have forgotten all you
have done for me V^
" The favors I have conferred on
you were so slight," replied W^olsey,
** that it would have been natural
you should have no longer remem-
bered them, especially since many
who owe their wealth, and perhaps
their lives, to me have so complete-
ly forgotten it."
" I have never learned how to
flatter nor to wear velvet gloves,"
replied Arundel ; " but I am still
more ignorant of the art of forget-
ting past favors. No, it has never
been my custom to act thus; and
you have offended me more than
you imagine by proving you believ-
ed me capable of such baseness."
As he said this, Arundel took
from his bosom an immense purse
of red satin, filled with gold, and
laid it on the dilapidated table be-
side a package of clothing which he
had thoughtfully added to his gift.
" There are no acknowledgments
VOL. XXII. — 23
to be made," he remarked ; " it is
essential first of all that you be
made comfortable. You can return
this when it suits your convenience.
Now let us say no more about it."
".Alas !" cried Wolsey, " are you
not aware, then, that I may never
be able to return it? They will
divide my ecclesiastical benefices
among them. The Duke of Nor-
folk and the Earl of Wiltshire have
already been put in possession of
the revenue from my bishopric gf
Winchester. This is the only food
I have had since I came here," he
added, showing him the bread he
still held in his hand.
" Indeed ! It is not very delicate,"
replied Arundel; "but it is your
own fault. When one has friends,
he should not neglect them, and
that is just what you have done."
" Misfortune often renders us
unjust," answered the cardinal,
deeply moved by the generous
frankness and brusque proceedings
of Arundel, whom he had always,
until now, regarded as being haughty
and ungrateful, because he had
never observed him among his
crowd of fawning courtiers. " I
must confess that I could not en-
dure the thought of being repulsed
by those for whom I have done
everything. I do not believe that
among the immense number of those
who daily wearied me with protes-
tations of their ostentatious regard
there is to-day one who has conde-
scended to think of me in my mis-
fortunes. You only have thought
to succor me in my distress — you,
who, without my being aware of it,
have doubtless been all the while
the most sincere among them all."
*{ I cannot believe," replied Arun-
del, without appearing to notice
the acknowledgments with which
Wolsey continued to overwhelm
him, " that they would all thus
354
Sir Thomas More.
have abandoned you Iiad tbey
known the extreme severity with
which you have been treated; it
would be too foul a blot upon the
name of liiim:\ijiiy. Notwithstand-
ing they laugh at our misfortunes, I
think it appears worse to us than it
really is. No, be assured yoit will
find some faithful friends who will
■defend you. For instance. Sir Tho-
mas More, your successor, whose
fortune you have made, cannot fail
to use his influence in your favor,"
" More owes me nothing,' replied
tlie cardinal. " I have not made
'liis fortune ; when 1 proposed him
to the king as Treasurer of the Ex-
-ciiequer, he had for a long lime
/ been acquainted with his rare
merits. Knowing that the appoint-
ment would prove both useful and
agreeable to the king, I recommend-
ed him to make it ; but really it was
more for the king's benefit than
More's. Besides, I am aware that
More is one of the most zealous
partisans of Catherine. Thus, you
see, there exists no reason why he
should feel inclined to assist me. I
-am only surprised that a man of
his exalted integrity should accept
a position where he will necessarily
be compelled lo act in opposition
to his convictions."
"It is with the eager desire of
■ultimately being able to convert all
(lie world and to correct all con-
sciences," replied Arundel with a
■smile of derision ; for be never lost
an occasion of ridiculing the impor-
tance which many attach to politi-
-cal intrigues, and, as they say, to
the public good, in whose manage-
ment they pretend to take a hand,
iii order to win admiration at any
cost for their talents. "And vq^ily,
he will find it difficult to sustain
his position, unless he becomes the
very liumble servant of my Lady
Anne, regent of the kingdom; for
nothing is done but wbat she or-
dains, and her uncle, whom she has
appointed chief of the council, e
cutes the orders which the king
claims the honor of communicati:
to hiin. Oh !" continued Aru
del in the same ironical tone, ai
without perceivingthe painful effect
his words produced on the unhappy
cardinal, "truly it is a very great
advantage, and above all highly
honorable for England, to see ;
king put in tutelage to the caprices
of a woman as weak and vain as
she is arrogant. If he was abso-
lutely determined to go into leading-
strings, why did he not beseech
the good Queen Catherine to take
charge of him .' She, at least, would
have been careful to hold the reins
equally on both sides, so that the
swaddling could have been made to
walk straight."
" \ swaddling," repeated Wolsey,
■'. . . who devoured his nurse!"
" Hold, my dear lord, "continued
.\rundel ; " it cannot be denied that
you have made a great mistake ii
encouraging the king in his divorce
project — ^yes, a great mistake, which
they now begin to discover. But I
do wrong, perhaps, to reproach yon,
since you are the first to be punish-
ed for your manner of seeing ihings-
But listen tome; as for myself, if,
in order to avoid dying of starva-
tion, ot being compelled lo subsist
on just such bread as you have
there, I had been obliged to accept
the place of lord chancellor, on
the day when I found myself reliev-
ed of so burdensome and exacting
an office I should have cried aloud:
'Thank heaven that I am again
seated by my own fireside, where in
peace and quiet I can get up at
my leisure and contemplate passing
events.' For myself, these are my
principles: to have nothing lo do
is the first essential to happiness;
Sir Thomas More.
355
nothing to lose^ thesecond ; nothing
to disturb or annoy, the third ; and
upon these rest all the others.
Such is my system — the best of all
systems, the only ..."
Arundel woiijd have still contin-
ued explaining the numerous the6-
ries he had originated for securing
happiness for an indefinite length
of time, perhaps, but he suddenly
perceived that Wolsey no longer
heard him, but, with his head sunk
on his breast, seemed absorbed in
thought.
" Well, my lord," said Arundel,
"you are not listening to me, it
seems ? Really, it is not worth
while to explain to you the true
method of being happy."
" Ah ! my dear Arundel," re-
plied Wolsey, aroused by the excla-
mation of his visitor, ** how could
you expect me to think of profiting
by your lessons, or to make an ap-
plication of your theories of happi-
ness, when at this very moment,
perhaps, I have been condemned to
death by Parliament V*
" There is no proof of that,"
replied Arundel. " Sufficient unto
the day is the evil — gloomy appre-
hensions profit us nothing; they
do not delay the progress of
events ; on the contrary, they send
them on us in advance, and only
serve to aggravate the consequen-
ces. Moreover, I must not forget
to suggest that if it would be more
agreeable for you to be with your
friends, there are many who will
be happy to receive you, and offer
you a mansion as commodious, al-
though less sumptuously furnished,
than your palace of York or that
of Hampton Court, the latter of
which I have never liked since you
added the gallery."
" What is that gallery to me
now ? I surrender it up to you,"
said the cardinal.
The endless arguments of Arun-
del began to weary him exceeding-
ly. In spite of the extreme grati-
tude he felt for his sincere and gen-
erous offers, Wolsey could- not di-
vest himself of the conviction that
Arundel belonged to that class
who, while in other respects full
of good impulses and laudable in-
tentions, are so entirely wanting in
tact and delicacy, and contend so
urgently for their own opinions,
that the consolations- they would
force you to adopt, far from allevi-
ating your sufferings, only augment
them and render their sympathy
irksome and oppressive. This feel-
ing was experienced by Wolsey,
uncertain as he was what fate was
reserved for him, trembling even
for his life, while Arundel endeav-
ored to paint for him a minute pic-
ture of the happiness and tranquil-
lity enjoyed by a man living in
peace and quiet, with nothing to
disturb him in the enjoyment of
his possessions.
"Alas!" he exclaimed at length
impatiently, "why has not kind
Providence blessed me with a na-
ture like yours ? I should be less
unhappy, nor every instant see
yawning before me the terrible
depths of the precipice on which
I now stand. I could catch, at
least, at the branches of absurdity,
until the moment when I should be
dashed to pieces ! But no, I can-
not ; I am too well acquainted with
men an(> things to expect the
slightest assistance. They are al-
ways ready to strike those who are
falling, but never attempt to raise
them up. Yesterday, only yesterday,
the commissioners of Parliament
d*nanded of me the letters-patent
I had received from the king in or-
der to exercise my authority as le-
gate, although every one knew that,
as he had given them to me, it was
' /
Sir Thomas More.
3S6
Ills riglit alone to lake Ihem away
again. Ah ! well, they have per-
Misted in their demand, and have
refused to believe nie on oatli !
No, I will indulge in no more ilKi-
sions; my enemies have sworn
my death, and they will obtain it !
And the king, the king my master,
after fifteen years of the most fciith-
ful service, he delivers me up, help-
lefts and defenceless, to all the cruel-
ties their hatred may inspire; and
yci you, Arundel, think that I
sliould still indulge In hope ?"
" Dut all this will be arranged, I
tellyou," replied Arundel with an im-
perturbable coolness. " You should
not trouble yourself in advance,
because, if the worst ihould hap-
pen, it will change nothing; and if
it does not, your present suffering
will have been needless."
As Arundel finished thiswise rea-
soning, Cromwell appeared.
He came from London, where he
had been, he said, to defend Wolsey
before the Parliament,
On seeing him enter the cardinal
was seized with an uncontrollable
alarm, thinking his fate had been
decided.
" Cromwell !" he cried, and could
say no more.
"Ah!" replied' Cromwell, "you
should not thus give way to your
apprehensions, although . . ." He
paused on seeing the cardinal grow
deadly pale. " Vou need have no
uneasiness, because the king has
sent Norris tobid ine assure you
he would take you under his pro-
tection."
" I have been condemned, then !"
cried the unhappy Wolsey. " Speak,
Cromwell, speak ; conceal nothing
from me, 1 am not a child, "riie
added with firmness.
" YoH have been condemned by
Iho Stan Chamber, but the king
fiayi he will have the bill rejected
in the House of Commons," replied
Cromwell.
" He will not do it !" cried Wo!-
sey, the tears coursing rapidlv
down his cheeks. " He will sacn-
fice me, Cromwell, I know it; lie
has no longer any use for me, and
my past services have left no im-
pression on his mind. But how
far has their rage carried them?
To what have they condemned
"You have been placed beyond
the protection of the king, and all
your property confiscated."
"The king's protection is already
recovered,"gentlyinterrupted Arun-
del, who had listened until this time
in silence. " As for the confiscation,
that will be more difficult, inasmuch ■
as they are generally more ready to
take than to give. However, my
dear cardinal, you should despair
of nothing; then let us try and
console you. They cannot confis-
cate me, who have never had any-
thing to do with the gentlemen of
the council- I have a good house,
an excellent cook ; you will come
home with me, and, my word for ii,
you shall want for nothing."
"Arundel," interrupted the car-
dinal, " I am deeply grateful for
your kind offer ; but believe me,
they will not leave me the choice
of profiting by it."
"Why not? why not.'" exclaim-
ed Arundel. "The devil! Why.
these gentlemen of the council are
not wild beasts ! A little avari-
cious, a little ambitious, a little en-
vious, and slightly selfish, but they
are at least as accommodating as
the devil!"
" No !" replied Wolsey.
" I assure you, before receiving
the king's message," said Cromwell,
"I was in despair, for they spoke
of having you arrested and immedi-
ately urging the accusation of higii
Sine Labe Concepta.
357
treason ; but since the king has de-
clared you under his protection, I
do not believe that all is entirely
lost. Norris has repeated to me
twenty times : * Say positively to
the cardinal that the king advises
him not to be troubled, and to re-
member that he can give him,
any moment he pleases, far more
than they can take away/ "
^' I hope I may be mistaken, dear
Cromwell," replied the cardinal
with a sombre air ; ** but I fear a
momentary compassion only has
excited the king to say what you
tell me, and it will not be long
before that wicked night-bird*
will again have possession of his ear.
She will not fail to use her influence
* Wobey's cuitomary dedgnatioo of Anne ^B<^
KJB*
in defaming me and blackening anew
all my actions, until the king' will
cease to oppose the wicked designs
they have conceived against me."
Saying this, he buried his face in
his hands and sank into a state of
despondency impossible to de-
scribe.
Cromwell made no reply, and
Arundel silently took his leave, in-
wardly congratulating himself, as he
returned home,upon the tranquil and
happy life he knew so well how to
lead, and censuring those who
would not imitate his example ;
without once reflecting that few
were in a position so agreeable or
independent as his, and consequent-
ly were not able to enjoy themselves
equally nor after his own deliber-
ate fashion.
TO BC CONTIKCtfD-
SINE LABE CONCEPPA
Predestined second Eve. For this conceiv'd
Immaculate — ^not lower than the first
Chosen beginner in the loss reversedf
And roediatress in the gain achieved,
When, the new angel, as the old, believed.
Thy hearkening should bless whom Eve's had curst.
And therefore we, whose bondage thou hast burst,
Grateful for our inheritance retrieved.
Must deem this jewel in thy diadem
The brightest — hailing thee alone " all fair,"
Nor ever soil'd with the original stain ;
Alone, save Him whose heart-blood bought the gem
With peerless grace preventive none might share-^
Redemption's perfect end, all else tho* vain.
Village Life in New Hampshire.
VILLAGE LIFE IN NEW HAMPSHIRE.
NK I shall start for New
e to-morrow," I said.
know anything about
Cheshire County ?"
ivlio had been meditative-
uing the coloring of a
:ed meerschaum, sat up
his question, with a sud-
s of vigor.
■?" he said. " By George !
lere Agnes Cortland lives
e summer."
:he middle week of July,
is for one whiff of the
long the hills had become
e. We were silting to-
jncs and I, in my room
fter luncheon. Jones was
•lew York artist in his first
ter his return from Jtaly
ious autumn. He, too,
t to start on a sketching
lUgh Vermont, in which
people lived. He was
ng town, but money was
with him — a handsome
How of that golden age
twenty-three and twenty-
n one is apt to think he
ly a very short-handled
nove the world. He was
im height, but squarely
;rfally built ; with a face
ired, but very resolute, in
1. A stranger would not
to take a liberty with him.
strong notion that Jones
ike a better soldier than
here were any question yf
ng struck for the country,
ppily there is not. But
[ liad shrewdly kept that
o myself. Considerably
older than he was, and engaged in
another occupation, circumstances
had thrown us a good deal together-
Intimacy had brought confidence,
and confidence, at his age, meant —
nothing more nor less than it al-
ways does under such circumslan-
ces-T-the unbosoming of his love
affairs. How few there are who
have not found themselves In the
same position, either as actors or
sympathetic chorus, or in time as
both ! What countless dramas of
passion are continually being put
upon the piivate stage before this
limited audience !
Now, it is not the purpose of
this paper to pursue the history of
Jones' captivity at the hands of
the lender goddess through all Ihe
infinitesimal and transcendental
chapters a first romance runs into.
More placid emotions and observa-
tions, befitting the serenity of ap-
proaching middle age, are in store
for the reader. And in f.ict theliis-
tory of Jones' passion is still in-
complete. But so much of it may
be given as fell within the purview
of our New Hampshire observa-
Jones was poor — prosaic fact,
which robs life of so many com-
pensations as we grow old. Bui at
twenty-three we spurn the mastery
of Ihe glittering dross — that is, if
Congress gives us any to spurn!
Let us say rather of the flimsy pa-
per. At that age of our flowing
life we coin money at our o""
mint; or, more truly, draw limit-
less drafts on the Bank of the
Future. Happy the man who
Village Life in New Hampshire.
359
meets tliem when they fall due!
Jones, at least, had no doubts as to
ills future solvency. But his plans
were vague — very !
Agnes Cortland was the daughter
of a railroad director — or two or
ihree directors rolled into one —
and had the world, or at least the
New York world, to choose from.
Poor Jones! his story might almost
be predicted from the start. Yet
this inheritor of the (latent) genius
of any half-dozen masters, ancient
or modem, you choose to name, be-
lieved, perhaps with some reason,
that this daughter of Dives liked
him; and as for himself, he vowed
with hyperbole that he adored her.
They had frequently met — their
families then being neighbors in
llie country — before he went to
Italy, where he had spent two years
studying and wandering about.
No avowal of affection had been
made between them, but he had
gone away with the consciousness
many little signs and tokens give
that he was not disliked. Since
liis return a year ago some meet-
ings had taken place— at rarer in-
tervals — in society. At an evening
party some months before she had
given him, he said, a slight but un-
mistakable opportunity of declaring
himself, if he had wished to do so.
**But I did not take it,*' said
Jones, who, spite of his being in
love, was as manly a young fellow
as one could meet. " She knows I
am poor; and I don't want to be
thought a fortune-hunter."
I laughed at this quixotic decla-
ration.
" My dear fellow," I said, " you
fly at high game. But I should
not let the auri saera fames inter-
fere, one way or the other, with my
tender emotions. If I did so at
all, Plutus would have his due
weight in the scale, believe me!"
" What would you do ?" said
Jones. This was in one of those
** tobacco parliaments" in early
spring — if so they might be called,
where one, only, smoked, and the
other looked on with sympathy ; for
I had abandoned the " weed" some
years before — hardly of such pro-
fundity, nor yet so silent, as those
Mr. Carlyle speaks of. Jones had
recurred to his usual topic of hopes
and perplexities.
" Do V* I answered, looking at
him retrospectively, as it were, as
if contemplating my own departed
youth, as he sat there in his favor-
ite attitude after dinner, gracefully
balancing one leg over the arm of
my chintz-covered easy-chair, while
I was stretched out on the sofa.
*' Ah ! that is an easy question to
propound, but not so easy to an-
swer. At your age I should not
think you would need much prompt-
ing. But if you ask me, I would
say, leave it alone ! Love is a
luxury for the rich or the evenly-
mated poor. But you are not like-
ly to take that advice. A good
deal would depend on the rein-
forcements she might bring to the
struggle. A woman is not always
a passive instrument in those af-
fairs, but sometimes has a will of
her own. I have never seen your
fair one, and know nothing about
her. But if she be a girl of some
strength of character, and her love
do not prove a mere school-girl's
fancy, she might possibly gain her
father's consent. But it is -not a
promising adventure, at the best ;
and I would not recommend you
to embark your hopes in it. Keep
clear of serious entanglements un-
til you see your way before you.
Above all, avoid anything like a
clandestine engagement. It will
not add to your happiness or hers.
I don't suppose you will think this
36o
Village Life in New Hampshire.
a very encouraging opinio
there may be c'
spring exhtUiliom, and had one o
. irciimstances in your two on view in o'ne of the ui>-tfnni
tavor I know nothing of. Marry windows. But at Dq Vernet'sbig
her, if you can, and can get tlie sale I know that a clever little bit
father's consent ; and go into
reading" with liim in his office.
You will make more money at that
than you are ever likely to do stick-
ing little dabs of color on a piece
of canvas."
I saw Jones wince at this mer-
cenary view of his art. But he
bore it like a man, and continued
silent. The suggestion of such a
change of vocation did not appear
to surprise him, though it was plain
no active intention of ih)
his art had yet entered
The fact is, Jones is one of those
young men— not inconsiderable in
numbers in the profession— who
" have a studio," but are not likely
ever to send many master-pieces out
of it. Developing some precocious
talent for draiving when they are
boys, and seizing with boyish eager-
ness upon the suggestion of being to nothing about it; nor had
they are offered by much of that sympathy wiiii thi
ndtscerning parents ""'^- ' ■'
they
of coloring on which he had spent
some time was knocked down lo i
chromo-dealer for sixteen dollars!
How was he going to live on such
prices ? And as for marrying Agne
Cortland— it was simply preposter-
ous to think of it. Nor is this re
dundancy of young native artisi
on whom neither genius nor fashio
smiles confined to New York alone.
In Boston, which is the only other
city boasting of a native school of
:ng up art, the same low prices prevail. 1
mind, 's disheartening; but a more di'
heartening thing still is that thos
prices often represented the actual
value of the picture.
Jones was imperfectly educated.
though his continental travel h.id
made him a fair linguist. He
tainly drew very little inspir;
from the antique, for he kne»
fond but 1
upon the altar of art.
never advance beyond
cal dexterity in putting convention-
al scenes upon canvas. They
haven't a spark of that genius that
is often observed where other pur-
suits have prevented a devotion to
the profession. Eventually they
abandon altogether the study or
practice of their art, or sink into
drudges for the picture or chromo
dealers, or grind out a living as
<lrawing-niasiers,or — Heaven knows
liow. I will not say that Jones was
altogether deficient in talent, but
-the talent that makes nn agreeable
accomplishment for the rich ama-
1eur is a different thing from that
which will pay the piperor win emi-
nence in the art. Jones painted
Siis pictures for the
dercurrent of life, a
tions with nature, which gives sig-
nificance to common things. He
had a fondness for pleasure which,
of course, did not contribute to his
success. Yet he was one of those
young fellows whom it is impossi.
ble to meet without liking. He
was frank, honorable, and spirited,
and had a robust shrewdness about
him in dealing with men and thing;
that made him a pleasant compan-
ion. That he would eventuallj-
choose a more active kind of life
—and probably succeed in it— I
was half-convinced, and my advice
about " railroading," though snoken
partly m jest, was inwardly ^eant
in good faith.
On this particular July evening
,n ,nH r'l, '"^'^ •""" ^''P" ^P^IS Jones
" and followed up the announcement of
Village Life in New Hampshire.
361
*y proposed trip to L by ex-
M'essing a wish that he were going
here too, so that he might come to
I definite understanding with Ag-
les Cortland ; and the wish was
joon followed by the determination
lo act on it.
" How long do you intend to
stay there?" he asked.
" Till the first week in Septem-
ber," I said.
** Then I will come back that
way, and join you for a few days
about the first of September. The
CoTilands don't leave there till Oc-
tober. We can come back to New
York together."
It would have been ungracious
on my part to have objected to
this proposal, though I had a good
many doubts about its wisdom.* So
it happened that my little excursion
lo \j ^ which I had innocently
designed to be a season of simple
loius-eating such as Mr. Tennyson
ascribes to his Olympian deities,
" reclined upon the hills together,
careless of mankind," was compli-
cated by a subordinate interest in a
comedy from real life which had
that quiet village fbr a stage.
The next day I started, taking
Boston en route. That staid, quiet,
cleanly city seems always to be,
compared with New York, like a
Sood school-boy by the side of a
big, blustering brother fonder of a
street row than his books. Then
to Fitchburg. where I stopped over
niglit, as some stage travelling was
to be done from our " jumping-off "
pbce, and riding over the country
roads in the morning was more
\)romising than on a dark and
cloudy night. In the morning the
Fitchburg Railroad again, and one
of its branches to L . The un-
wonted coolness of the morning
breeze, as the train entered the
Nev Hampshire hills, already be-
gan to refresh mind and body alike.
The pines and hemlocks extending
back into deep, dim recesses carpet-
ed with moss and ferns ; the cattle
moving slowly over the pastures in
the distance ; the pastures them-
selves stretching up the sides of
the highest hills, still of the freshest
green, without a hint of the yellow
undertone that I watched gradually
overspread them as the summer ri-
pened into autumn ; a lake in the fore-
ground,silent,unvisited,itsclear wa-
ters unpolluted by the dregs of com-
merce or the drainage of a vast me-
tropolis ; even the caw ! caw ! of the
ravens flying off from the tops of
the pine stumps, send a novel and
delicious feeling of freedom through
the breast of the city traveller who
has put care and work behind him
for a season. Nor is this feel-
ing altogether evanescent. Even
now, as winter approaches and the
north winds from the same hills
come sweeping down over the great
city, sending us chattering and
freezing to our cosey firesides, the
glory of the July foliage moves our
memory like a far-off dream of
youth. Yet, after all, it may be
doubted whether the charm of
country scenes is not due in great
part to their novelty and the feeling
that we are not bound to them lon-
ger than we please. Of all that has
been written in praise of country
life, how much is the work of the
city resident ; how little, compara-
tively speaking, springs from the
country itself! There drudgery
too often takes the place of senti-
ment. It is the Epicurean poet,
Horace, satiated with the noise of
the Forum and the gossip of the
baths, who sings sweetest of rural
contentment, of the 'Mowing herds,"
the " mellow fruits of autumn," and
the ** brooks murmuring over stony
beds." But when he gives play to
362
Village Life in New Hampshire.
his satiric vein, none pictures more
truthfully than the Venusian the
grumbling of the husbandman, who
"turns the heavy clay with the
hard plough.*' Embowered in
some shady arbor on the windings
of the Digentia through his Sabine
farm, or doing a little amateur
farming, to the amusement, as he
confesses, of his bluntcountry neigh-
bors, who laughed at the dandy
poet with a hoe in his hand, it was
easy for Horace to chant the
smooth and sunny side of country
life. But the eight laborers on his
estate, chained literally to the soil,
as many a New England farmer
morally is by the burden of debt
or family, no doubt saw things dif-
ferently. And the bailiff of his
woodlands we know to have de-
spised those " desert and inhospit-
able wilds," and to have longed for
the streets and shows of Rome. It
is amazing upon what inattentive
ears the music of our wild birds falls
in a secluded farm-house. Often it
seems absolutely unheard; while
the; clatter of the long street of the
country town that the farmer visits
once a month is for ever in his
mind.
But we delay too long at the way
station at L . Let us onwards.
The carrier of the United States
mail, who is at the same time the
Jehu of the passenger stage, slings
our impedimettia up behind with an
energy to be envied by a veteran
" baggage-smasher " at some of our
big depots, straps it down, and
jumps upon the box. We mount
more slowly beside him, disdaining
to be shut up in the close interior,
and intent upon looking at the
country we pass through this lovely
morning. The two stout grays
breast the hill leading to L
Centre, eight miles distant.
The surface of the country is
hilly and broken ; as we approadi
L , mountainous. Mounting
the crest of the iirst steep hill, a
beautiful natural panorai^a spreads
out before us: long, narrow, in-
tersecting lines of timber, like gianl
hedges, dividing the hill farms from
each other. A rolling countiy
spreads toward the east, bounded
on the horizon by a low range of
mountains wooded to the summit,
and with a while steeple flashing
out here and there among the trees
at their base. The effects of light
and shade, caused by the clouds on
a brilliant day, on one of those
white steeples, standing out solitari-
ly against the side of a mountain
eight or ten miles distant, are pecu-
liar. Sometimes it becomes invisi-
ble, as the circle of the sliadow is
projected upon that area of the
mountain which includes it. Then,
as the dark veil moves slowly, with
a sliding motion, up the side and
over the crest of the mountain, the
white spire flashes out from the ob-
scure background of the forest with
a sudden brilliancy. On this side
patches of blue water among the
trees in the hollows revealed the
presence of numerous ponds, as the
small lakes, and some of the large
ones, are universally called in New
England.
To the northwest what seemed
to be a level plain from the height
over which we rode, but which was
in reality broken and undulating
ground, stretched beneath us for
ten or twelve miles to the base of
Mt. Monadnock. The mountain,
grand, massive, and still veiled by
a thin mist, rose boldly from the
low country at its foot to a height
of nearly four thousand feet.
A ride of an hour and a half
brought us to the top of the hill
on the side of which stands L ,
A dozen scattered houses flank the
Village Life in New Hampshire,
3«3
broad village green, and a Congre-
gational meeting-house, with white
belfry tower and green blinds,
stands half-way down the incline.
The post-office and country store
combined is at the cross-roads as
you drive down the hill, and some
ancient elms on the green seem to
nod at the stranger with a friend-
ly air as he enters the village.
** Here," said I to myself, ** is rural
quiet and simplicity. Farewell for
many slumberous weeks the busy
haunts of men." L is quite
out of the beaten track of summer
travel, and had been recommended
me 1^ a friend who had spent some
seasons there, on the ground of
economy, charming scenery, good
fishing, and repose. Nor did I find
any reason to regret having listened
to him. A country tavern offers
entertainment to man and beast,
and is resorted to by the drummers
and sample men who invade L ,
as elsewhere, with their goods. But
I was not forced to be dependent
on it, as a letter from my friend
opened to me the hospitable doors
of the comfortable farm-house
where he had boarded two years
before.
Here let it be said at the outset
that whatever the other drawbacks
of village life in New Hampshire,
there is among the farming class a
natural courtesy, and, among the
women, even an inherited refine-
ment of manner, especially in their
treatment of strangers, which speaks
well for the native stock. Prejudi-
ces there are among both men and
women — deep-rooted, as we shall
see— and narrow-minded opinions
in plenty ; but even these are con-
cealed where to manifest them might
give offence. The family in which
I was domiciled consisted of Mr.
Allen and his wife, their married
daughter — who, together with her
husband, resided with them — an un-
married daughter, and a pretty lit-
tle girl, the grandchild. Mr. Allen
kept a country store — for L
boasted of two — and traded also in
cattle with Canada, making a jour-
ney sometimes as far as Montreal in
the spring to buy stock, which he
fattened on his pastures through the
summer and autumn, and sold in
the early part of the winter. These
various ventures, which were on
the whole successful — as the com-
mand of a little ready money en-
abled him to take his time and
buy and sell to advantage — had
made him more " forehanded ** than
most of his neighbors. He was one
of the selectmen of L . His
dwelling-house, a large, white, well-
kept two-story edifice, with a gar-
den-plot facing the village street, a
piazza on the sunny side, and two
beautiful maples dividing the car-
riage yard from the road, was one
of the handsomest in L . Mrs.
Allen was one of those energetic
housewives whose sound sense and
domestic capacity had evidently
contributed not a little to her hus-
band's present prosperity.
They were a sturdy couple, intel-
ligent, honest, and knowing what
was due to themselves and others ;
now going down the hill together
with mutual dependence and confi-
dence in each other. I consider
them a good example of the best
type of the New Hampshire farm-
ing class.
The married daughter did not
compare favorably with the mother.
One could not say of her in any
sense :
*^ O matrc pulchra filla imlchrior !**
for, as to the question of female
beauty, I will not say, as far as my
observations extend, that the New
Hampshire, or indeed the New Eu-
!«♦
Viilage Life in New Hampshire.
;1nn<] women generall)', outside the
ndlkia of Boston and some of the
urse luivns, nrc very generously
mioned by nalure with that gra-
ious but dangerous gift. The
mcs lit" the face are loo strongly
tarked ; they are sallov. the form
ujiular: or, where the figure is ful-
:r, it i$ apt to be is ledundanl as
he old FliMuiili {viiaters make the
L-omcn St a i-.llije £ur.
Bat this absKt'.t of fcminiDe
•fjn;:* is rvc cr.:versaL I have
«s a v.-^:Tf Etc;"ier wi;h her babe
\ '^.t'. "^ij^ — <! xKc?o* ii:ttcs in Mrs.
tlj;*'* 7^ri,-r — «^owudea picture
t ivij: ---". MM^trr-::* as di^ified
IV V " -,i *f Nurr'.^s" ever painted.
,- ■.-. .'^isiowliK-.riBft^rji beauty
>■,■■.• ^..-s ;: :^ S;a-,-;!ce. pals on
-. •iN.-s; ,■< ^■: ;;', ind eo^ging
1.1 -If. V^-4. Hjl:",«». lb< married
1 1 ,,.>-"•.•■-, '•i* ^.v iMiici engaged
. 1 Ki v'*'t ', ;;!< cares and 50s-
■ vv( »v.-t[[.;:- ■ — w :h:nk much
-.!-• ■ -.1 '^ >,tf a [H.>ssession,
.•.;^>; ii/, y:vL^I.':y, in habits of
.■:■,■ \^v,.!T? :(!-j {-l^asure-seeking
.1. >.,; tiK-;-;:, »i>osn:i took all
,• .»o,iM,-.i,'Ut »v.'rk Hix>n herself,
o i» ,» viviiiH in" tanmi and of
»• !^^ji^t i't ti'o tn.iny American
■"\» otiK oin.- ihild to care for.
.» ^•^^'!^^ \»as dvtic.ite and un-
•"»- .»iHt sl>e bade fair to sink
'M'l.itU ii>to that class of inva.
^vn.a whiih forms such an un-
T'U l.uiiir l'ruei,uge of Ameri-
vvi'iinn. How often have I
'" "' ' *;*'«"t'lAin of the drcadfid
,;";, \' 'W dav! "But," I
;\'; ^J^'*-'« will yon do in the
^ ' l.l-^>'" '*'*''' '''* summer so
,(,' * '^■^t answer was
, , ' **"J*'>"f«Uy enjoyed them-
;"''*'S» m O.e summer-time
, "''■ *;' «'^-l IhroHsh the win-
'*>'»» \ kiu.w whether this
■■'» »>>v«s( a, my lack of
; but 1 laughed
"""*'"a I'ower;
at the stroke of satire at my expense
innocent or intended. That long
dreary, snow-shrouded New Ham^^
shire winter — it demanded indeed ;
stout heart to face it in one of ihosi
isolated villages. Mrs. Harley tiac
given up her music when she mar
ried ; the pidno stood idle in lh(
best room. She read nothing — un
less looking at the fashion-plates ii
a ladies' magazine be coHsiderec
reading. A Sunday-school picnic
a day's shopping in the nearesi
country town, were white days ii
her calendar. Is such a picture of
life cheerless ,' Yet too many wc
men are forced to endure it- else-
where. Happy they if the abound-
ing resources of tlie faith and it)
literature come to their aid! Mrs.
Harley was a kind woman withal,
if her attention were drawn for a
moment from herself; and an af-
fectionate and anxious wife. Ihis
and her. love for her child — fretful
and over-indulgent as the latter
sentiment was apt to be — were
her redeeming qualities. Placed
in a large city, with means equal
in proportion to those within her
reach in L , she would have
made a more agreeable woman, and
would have been tenfold happier
herself The influence of semi-
solitary life — where a religious vo-
cation does not exalt and sanctify
it — is more unfavorable in its effects
upon women than upontnen. The
latter commonly have work to do
which keeps their faculties from
rusting. Woman's nature is essen-
tially social.
Mr. Harley assisted his father-
in-law in the store — a tall, hand-
some young man with a city air.
who, at that season, sal in the store
the whole afternoon with perhaps
one customer. Such a life fo'
)-r)Uth, with its superabundant ener-
gies ready to pour like a torrenl
Village Life in New Hampshire.
365
into any channel, is stagnation.
The highest of man's natural pow-
ers rust and decay. But natural
forces have their sway in the great
inajority of such cases, and force
:in outlet for themselves. The
youth of these villages leave their
homes for the great cities, or take
Horace Greeley's advice and ** go
West/' Life is hard, and it is mo-
notonous, which adds a new slavery
to har<lship. The exodus is con-
stant. L— — has less population
and fewer inhabited houses now
than it had forty years ago. The
same is true of other villages — a
striking fact in a comparatively
new country. One rambles along
some by-road overgrown with grass,
and presently comes upon a desert-
ed and ruined house and barn, the
rafters only standing, or perhaps
nothing more than a heap of bricks
in the cellar. He asks about the
I>eople, and is told that they have
*^ gone away." The answer is vague
and uncertain as their fate. I
spoke to an old man of eighty-
seven, seated in the shade on the
long bench before the country store,
where he could hear the news in
the morning. He remembered with
distinctness the events of the war
of 1812. He spoke with regret
of the flourishing times of his
youth in L and its dulness to-
day. This roving disposition of
the American youth is the result
of immense elbow-room, and has
been providential in building up
new States and subduing the vir-
gin wilderness. The manufacturing
cities of New Hampshire also gain
yearly at the expense of the small
villages. The township — or town,
as it is most commonly called — em-
braces three or four of such vil-
lages, and is subject to the same re-
ciprocal movement. Comparative-
ly few new farms have been broken
in during the last twenty or thirty
years ; and too rarely it happens
on the old farms that fresh ground
is taken in from the pasture for
cultivation. The son tills what his
father or grandfather cleared.
The first few days in L I
spent rambling about the pastures —
some of them literally red with the
raspberry, which, though it has not
the delicacy or fragrance of the
wild strawberry, is not to be dis-
dained by the city palate — or
climbing to the tops of the highest
neighboring hills. What a sense
of elastic joy and freedom to me,
who had not spent a summer in
the country for three years, to lie
stretched at full length on the top
of a new-mown hill, and let the eye
wander over the valley beneath,
with its intervening woods and
ponds, till it rested upon the dis-
tant mountains, the cloud-shadows
chasing each other over their sides
and summits ! If this were not in
truth an Arcadia to those who
lived and died there, and were
buried in the white-stoned church-
yard among the elms — if to them
life brought its cares, its jealousies,
and sorrows — to the stranger who
sought nothing more than to enjoy
its natural beauties it renewed all
the associations of rural happiness
and simplicity. Not that one might
hope to see a Corydon and Phillis
issue from the New Hampshire
woods — for there is a sternness
among those northern scenes, even
in the brightest bloom of summer,
foreign to the poetry of the South —
but that in its dark pine groves and
on its windy hills fancy might pic-
ture an eclogue or a romance not
less sweet and tender because more
real.
L is on the height of land
between the valleys of the Connec-
ticut and Merrimac, between twenty
366
Village Life in New Hampshire,
and thirty miles distant from each.
It is from one thousand to one
thousand three hundred feet above
the sea level. It is said of the rain
that falls on the roof of the village
church that part of it eventually
runs into the Connecticut, part into
the Merrimac, so evenly does its
roof-tree divide the water-shed of
those rivers. But as the same
story is told of other churches in
the central belt of Cheshire County,
it may be regarded rather in the
light of a rhetorical illustration
than as a fact of physical geogra-
phy. The scenery is not of the
grand or sublime order to be seen
further north among the White
Mountains, except where Mt.
Monadnock raises its dark and
solemn front above the surround-
ing landscape ; but it is beauti-
ful and picturesque. Its greatest
charm is its variety. In the morn-
ing, when the sun was well towards
the zenith — for the fresh air of
those hills made the day at all
hours delightful — I would stroll
out over the pastures to a hill a
quarter of a mile distant from the
fiirm-house. There would I seat
myself, protected from the sun's
ardent rays, under a young maple
bush, the elastic branches of which,
with the sloping ground thick with
ferns, made a natural easy-chair.
The valley is below me, the farms
stretch along the nearer hills, and
in the further distance the blue-
veiled mountains define the sky-
line. I bend down a branch of
the maple, and before me Is the
upper half of Mt. Monadnock, a
thin gray mist still enveloping it.
The base of the mountain is hid-
den by an intervening hill. Leaving
this pasture, and walking a few hun-
dred rods further on, I enter a field
where the hay has just been cut, and
which is now as smooth as a cro-
quet lawn, but not so level ; for
it is the crest of one of the highest
hills. Here a new scene awaits me.
To the north and west the hill has
the shape almost of a perfect dome.
Stretched on the top, I cannot see
the declivities of the sides, bat
only the tops of the trees at some
distance. One has the sensation
of being on the roof of a hi^
building with a deep drop between
him and the surrounding country.
The view is superb. The whole
mass of Mt. Monadnock, from
its base to the highest elevation,
rises from the valley ten miles dis-
tant. At its foot is the village oi
West JafFrey, a fashionable water-
ing place. The white spire of the
church is conspicuous among the
trees. Further south is Gap Moun-
tain and Attleborough Mountain;
and sweeping round to the east,
the view stretches along the New
Ipswich Mountains to Watatick
Hill. The circuit extends about
twenty or thirty miles, making a
picture of great natural beauty.
The English hay, as the timothy
and red clover are generally called,
was still standing in many of the
fields, but here and there the whirr
of the mowing-machine could be
heard, and the eye, following the
direction of the sound, could dis-
cern the mower in his shirt-sleeves
driving his pair of horses in the
distant field. The meadow-grass
of the lowlands was still in most
places untouched. On the sides
of the hills the scattered fields of
wheat, barley, and oats, still green,
made darker patches of verdure on
the yellowish ground-color.
But the view I most preferred
was from a hill a little to the souih
of the village near some deserted
buildings. Here the scene was
wilder and more extensive. To
the west Mt. Monadnock could be
Village Life in New Hampshire.
367
seen through a gorge between two
hiils ; to the east was a wild and
broken country ; while to the south
the woods seemed to extend as far
as the eye could reach, and over
the furthest range of hills the great
dome of Mt. Wachusett in Massa-
chusetts, nearly thirty miles distant,
was plainly seen, gray and massive,
with the naked eye. It was only
when one turned to Mt. Monad-
nock, ten miles distant, and observ*
ed how plainly he could distinguish
the dilTerent colors of the mountain
— ^the dark woods, the brown, bare
surfaces, and the slate-colored
rocks — that, looking at Mt. Wachu-
sett, and noting its uniform pale
gray outline, he was able to esti-
mate the real distance of the latter,
so comparatively close at hand did
it appear.
Seated at ease on the smooth
turf on the summit of this " heaven-
kissing " hill, and looking at this
wide and beautiful prospect, one
might repeat to himself Mr. Long-
fellow's lines :
** Fleasaat it was, when woods were green
And winds were soft and low,
To lie amid some sylvan scene.
Where, the long, drooptng boughs between,
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen
Alternate come and go-;"
substituting only for "drooping
boughs" the irregular ranges of
hills.
But descriptions of natural scen-
ery, if long continued, are weari-
some. Even a RusKin is read best
in snatches. The mind otherwise
hccomcs clogged with images. Let
us return, therefore, to animated life.
As Sunday approached, I made
inquiries about the nearest Cath-
olic church. I found it was at
W , eight or nine miles distant,
I had no means of getting there
the first Sunday. I retired to my
room and read some chapters of
that sublime and affecting work,
the Imitation of Christy the gift of a
good and beloved mother.
A Catholic is still almost a being
from another moral world in some
of the isolated New Hampshire
villages. Nowhere are the tradi-
tions of Puritanism more zealously
or rigidly maintained. These good
folk seem hardly yet to have emerg-
ed from a fog of wild amazement
that " popish " priests and their fol-
lowers should be tolerated by the
selectmen. Not that any overt or
offensive change of manner follows
the announcement that one is a
Catholic — as I have elsewhere said,
there is a natural or inherited vein
of good manners among the people
that forbids it — ^but a momentary
silence reveals to the speaker that
he has stated something strange
and unlooked for. There is an
unmistakable tone of intolerance
manifest, however, in any allusion
to the poorer class of Irish and
French that congregate in the lar-
ger towns, and are sometimes found
in the villages in a wooden-ware
factory, or cutting wood or hem-
lock-bark, or doing an odd job of
haymaking. They are looked upon
with dislike and distrust, mixed
with a feeling of contempt. Curi-
ous it is that the native-bom New
Englander, with his mind saturated
with hereditary theories of person-
al liberty, equality, and fraternity,
should yet evince a more uncon-
querable aversion to the foreign
element, which has contributed so
largely to the greatness of the coun-
try, than is shown in European
countries to men of a different race,
unless war has temporarily embit-
tered national feeling. Yet the ex-
planation is not hard to find. This
descendant of the Puritan, chained
to the rocky and ungrateful soil his
forefathers won from the Indians
and the wilderness, sees with sullen
368
Village Life in New Hampshire,
indignation and jealousy the same
rights and privileges which he en-
joys under our free institutions ex-
tended so largely to those of a
different nationality and religion.
In revenge he draws himself more
jealously into his shell. Nor is
this feeling confined to the rich
and refined ; it penetrates the mass
of the native-born New England
population.
To speak of lighter things. So-
ciety in L is eminently aristo-
cratic. Better, perhaps, it would be
to say that the lines of society are
very strongly marked, and that the
aristocratic element is essentially
conservative.
Mrs. Cortland, the wife of the
New York capitalist, who resides
there three months in the summer,
a stout, refined, tight-gloved, gra-
ciously condescending lady, gives a
metropolitan tone to L society.
Mr. Cortland, an easy-going, easy-
tempered man in private life, but
reported to be hard as flint in bus-
iness matters, seldom finds time to
leave New York, and his visits to
L— are uncertain. His country
house, a large, handsome mansion
with well-kept grounds, croquet-
lawn, coach-house, and stables, is
on the highest ground in the vil-
lage ; and Mrs. Cortland occupies
without dispute the highest ground
socially. It is an imperial eleva-
tion, after the manner of the say-
ing attributed to Caesar. A call
on Mrs. Cortland is the event of
a week, and a return call from
her is a matter not to be lightly
treated. How have I seen this
good Mrs. Allen, my landlady, pre-
pare her best room for the grand
occasion, and Mrs. Harley specu-
late about it with well-assumed in-
difference a whole afternoon. One
or two other magnates from Boston,
scattered through L and adja-
cent townships, save Mrs. Cortland
from complete exhaustion by con-
tact with the village people during
the summer.
Then there is the local aristo-
racy, consisting of the wife of the
Congregational pastor ex-officia^ and
Mrs. Parsons, the wife of *' Squire"
Parsons, who owns a small bucket-
factory near L . These two
ladies maintain a strict alliance, of-
fensive and defensive, w^ith Mrs-
Cortland during the summer. Then
come the middle classes, comprising
Mrs. Allen and Mrs. Harley, the
young doctor's wife — a stranger
and somewhat snubbed by the au-
tochthonous iliie — and the well-
to-do farmers' wives. Finally, we
have the profanum vulgus, the tail
of L society, or, to speak
more correctly, those whom society
does not recognize — some fanners'
wives whose husbands were too
much in debt to allow them to
keep up appearances; one or two
hapless women who sold milk in a
wagon to the neighboring towns, and
drove the wagon themselves ; and
the village washerwoman, who went
around doing "chores." I think I
have exhausted the classification
of the social strata of L . I
observed that the men eschewed as
much as possible the aristocratic
distinctions made by their wives,
and were apt to resent by silence
or the assumption of an unwonted
bluntness the empty airs and loud
voice with which some vulgar rich
man from a neighboring large town
would sometimes stride through the
village.
Wanderers and waifs, destined ap-
parently to be at some time drawn
into the great caldron of city life
— perhaps to their own destruction
— were not wanting in L . I
have said that the women were not
remarkable for beauty. But there
Village Life in New Hampshire.
369
was one exception. A girl belong-
ing to one of the most destitute
families in the village, by one of
those whims of nature which are
not uncommon, was gifted with a
face and figure to attract even an
unobservant eye, and which seem-
ed out of place in that quiet and
homely neighborhood. The moth-
er, a poor, struggling woman with
a growing-up family of all ages,
managed to live somehow by the
days' work and occasional assist-
ance given her by the well-to-do
families. The father was living,
but spent most of his time in the
county jail for drunkenness. The
daughter of whom I speak was about
nineteen or twenty years of age ;
tall, of fair complexion, with a nat-
urally elegant carriage and a proud
and almost defiant air, as if she re-
sented the caprice of fortune which
li=d placed her in that lowly sla-
lion. She had the art of dressing
well with limited means, which
some women possess to the envy
«>f others. On Sundays and at
picnics she outshone the more ex-
pensively-dressed daughters of the
farmers. She had been, and per-
haps still is, the maid at the village
inn. It may be imagined that gos-
sip was not idle about this poor
girl, thus singularly placed and dan-
gerously gifted. Dreadful qwarrels
had taken place between the father
and mother about the girl's staying
at the hotel ; the drunken father,
with a true sense of what was be-
coming, insisting that she should
leave, the mother as strenuously
maintaining that she should remain.
The beauty of the girl herself was
not of that domestic type I have
elsewhere noticed in tlie mother
and her babe I saw in Mrs. Allen's
parlor, but of that showy, restless,
naturally haughty stamp which pre
saged storm, perhaps disaster. It
VOL. XXII. — 24
is this class misfortune follows and
the great cities sweep into their
net. Poverty often makes vice of
that which, under happier fortunes,
might have been attractive virtue.
A bsit omen. M ay t h i s r ust i c beau t y
find a happier, if more homely,
destiny as the wife of some honest
farmer in L !
Tiie summer passed, week after
week. I fished, I walked, I rode, I
read, I loitered. The barley ripen-
ed on the hill behind the farm-house,
and a golden tint began to spread
over the distant fields. The apples
grew large and ruddy on one side
where the sun struck the laden
branch in the orchard. The tassels
of the corn showed purple. August
blazed. The doves flew thirstily to
the large blue pump, and perched
on the edges of the horse-trough
after the farmer watered his horse
at mid-day. The bees hummed
three at a time in the big yellow
cups of the squash-vines. Have
you ever observed of that homely
vegetable how ingeniously and dex-
terously it fastens its daring and
aggressive vines to the ground as it
slioots out over the close-cut grass .^
Stoop down among the after-math,
or rowen, as it is called in New
Hampsliire, and you will see that
at the inosculation of each succes-
sive joint of the vine, where it
throws out its tendrils and blos-
soms, it also thrusts forth slender,
white, curling ligaments that twist,
each of them, tightly around a tiny
tuft of the short grass. Thus it
moors itself, as if by so many deli-
cate living cables, to the bosom of
the life-giving earth.
I might, if space allowed, tell'
of my fishing ventures, and how
one glorious morning we rode out
of L in a big yellow wagon^
with three horses — a party of seven
of us, ladies and gentlemen, from
370
Village Life in New Hampshire.
*he village — to make the ascent of
Mt. Monadnock. This is the lion
of all the country round. Parties
Are made up every week to climb
Its rugged summit. Over the hills
and rolling ground we gaily rattled.
Through the sandy country roads,
where the branches of the trees met
overhead and made dim aisles of
verdure, we smoothly sped. And
then what panting, laughing, climb-,
ing, shrill screaming, as we toiled
up the winding path from the half-
way house to the top of the moun-
tain ! What a magnificent, bound-
less view repaid us ! The day was
clear. To the north, Mt. Kear-
sarge and rolling ranges of moun-
tains ; to the southeast, a diversifi-
ed surface of country spreading on-
wards far as the eye could reach
towards the unseen ocean ; to the
south, Mt. Wachusett ; below us
woods, valleys, and lakes. A feel-
ing of awe creeps over one in these
mountain solitudes.
As to the fishing, I will confess
that to me, who had thrown a fly
over more than one Canadian river,
and had killed my twenty-pound
salmon on the Nipisiquit, loafing
with a pole in a boat over a lily-cov-
ered pond for a half-pound pick-
erel was not tremendously exciting
sport. But what mattered it 1 The
mornings were soft and wooing;
the woods were full of mysterious
shadows ; the water was limpid as
if Diana and her nymphs bathed
there in the spectral moortlight.
Life passed smoothly and agreeably.
I sought no more.
The blackberries began to ripen,
'first one by one and then in sable
clusters, in the pastures. The days
were growing shorter. The twi-
light sank more quickly into night.
September approached, and I be-
gan to look for the appearance of
my friend- Jones. I had seen Miss
Cortland two or three times comiDg
from or going to the meeting-house
on Sunday mornings, when ail the
beauty and fashion of L for
miles around rode up in buggies,
carryalls, or open wagons ; but I
had never met her to be introduc-
ed to her — a little imperial beauty,
with a fresh and rosy color, and a
mouth shaped like Cupid's bou',
that needed only to smile to con-
quer.
On a bright September morning,
when the surrounding atmosphere
was clear as a bell, but a thin
haze still clung about Mt. Monad-
nock and the far-off mountains,
Jones rode over on the stage-coach
from the railroad station and join-
ed me at L . He asked eager-
ly about Miss Cortland.
Was she in the village ?
Yes.
Had I met her }
No ; but I had seen her two or
three times.
What did I think of her.'
Well, I thought her pretty
enough to excuse a little wildness
of imagination on his part. He
would be a lucky fellow if he got
her and some of her father'b money
or a position in his business!
Did I think he would give up
his Art so easily }
" My dear Jones," I replied, "I
don't want to appear cold-blooded,
or to dash your enthusiasm for
your art in the least ; but, to speak
candidly, I should not be surprised
if you did some day under suffi-
cient temptation — the prospect of
marrying Miss Cortland, for e.v
ample."
Jones declared his intention oi
calling on Miss Cortland that very
day. He had a sketch-book full
of studies, spirited, but many of
them mere hints. He came back
before dinner, full of life, and pro-
VUlage Life in New Hampshire.
371
posing a score of schemes for to-
morravir. He made a sort of small
whirlwind in my quiet life. Mrs.
Cortland had received him civilly,
but be thought a little coolly. But
he had seen Agnes, and had spoken
a few words to her that might mean
much or little as they were taken,
and he was happy — rather bois-
terously happy, perhaps, as a young
fellow will be at such times — full
of jokes, and refusing to see a
cloud on his horizon.
Jones fell easily into our farm-
house ways, though he was apt to
steal ofif in the mornings to play
croquet on the Cortlands* lawn
with Miss Cortland and Miss Par-
, sons, and any other friend they
could get to join them.
One afternoon, when the sun was
getting low and a southerly wind
blowing, we started to try for some
fish at a pond about half an hour's
walk from the house. As we turn-
ed off the highway into a by-road
covered with grass that led to the
pond, I saw Miss Cortland stand-
ing on the rising ground some dis-
tance before us. She was looking
from us towards the sinking sun,
now veiled in quick-drifting clouds.
Her dog, a large, powerful animal,
a cross between a Newfound-
land and Mount St. Bernard, was
crouched at her feet. Some vague
thoughts about Una and her lion
flitted through my mind. But I
was more struck by the way the
light touched her figure, standing
out motionless against the gray sky.
It reminded me very much of the
general effect of a painting by a
foreign artist — Kammercr, I think
it was — that I saw at the exhibi-
tion of the Boston Art Club last
year. It was the picture of a girl
standing on a pier on the French
coast, looking out to sea. Her
golden hair was slightly stirred by
the breeze, her lips a little parted^
and there was a far-away look in
her eyes, as if she may have expect-
ed a lover to be coming over the
sea in one of the yachts that lined
the horizon. The dress of the girl
and the stone-work of the pier
were both white. It was a good
example of the striking effects pro-
duced by the free use of a great
deal of almost staring white, which
is a favorite device of the latest
school of French art.
As we advanced, the dog growled
and rose, but, recognizing Jones,
wagged his tail inoffensively as we
drew nearer. Miss Cortlarvd turn-
ed towards us.
"Shall I introduce you.>'* said
Jones.
" No," I said. " I'll go on to
the pond. I'll see you to-night."
Jones advanced, hat in hand.
** What happy fortune," he said,
addressing her, " has led me to
meet the goddess of these woods .^"
Then, altering his tone, he added
in a bantering way : " I see you
have been poaching on our pre-
serves. Miss Cortland. But I do
wonder at your taste, fishing for
eels !" pointing to a small basket
on her arm from which hung some
of the long stems of the pond-lily.
This he said to vex her, knowing
her horror of those creatures.
" Eels V she exclaimed indignant-
ly, with a tone and gesture of aver-
sion at the thought. "They are
pond-lilies."
" Oh I that is very well to say,"
replied Jones, " when you have the
lid of the basket down to hide
them ; but I insist upon their
being eels unless you show them
to me."
By this time I was out of hear-
ing. I left them together, and kept
on down the road to the pond.
That night Jones came into my
372
Village Life in Ni'zv Hampshire,
room with a quieter manner than
usual. He was evidently very
happy, but his happiness had a
sobering effect upon him. He told
me that he had made a plain avowal
of his feelings to Agnes Cortland as
they walked home together, and that
he had won from her the confession
that she loved him and had not
been indifferent to him before he
left for>Europe. I wished him joy
of his good-fortune, though I could
foresee plainly enough that his dif-
ficulties had only begun. For a
little time these two innocent young
souls — for Jones I knew to be sin-
gularly unsullied by the world for
a man of his age — would enjoy
their paradise undisturbed together.
Then would come maternal expla-
nations, and the father's authority
would be invoked. A solemn pro-
mise would be exacted from her to
see him no more. Miss Cortland
was much attached to her parents,
who would be sincerely anxious for
her welfare. She would not make
much resistance. Some day there
would come a storm of tears, and
poor Jones's letters and the ring
he gave her would be returned to
him by a faithful messenger, and a
little note, blotted with tears, ask-
ing him to forgive her and praying
for his happiness. This must be
the end. A year or two of separa-
tion and a summer and winter in
Europe with her parents would
leave nothing more than a little sad
memory of her brief New Hamp-
shire romance ; and in five years
she would be married to some
foreigner of distinction or success-
ful man of business, and would be
a happy wife and mother. As for
poor Jones, he would probably be
heard of at rare intervals for a year
or two as a trader on the Pacific
coast or prospecting a claim in
Nevada, but men like him, vigor-
ous, powerful, well equipped ir.
body and temper for the struggle
with the world, are not kept dutrn
long by such disappointments.
The storm is fierce, and leaves its
scars after it; but the man rises
above it, and is more closely knit
thereafter. Jones will make his
mark in the world of business, if
not of art.
No unwelcome prophecies of mine
however, disturbed his happiness for
those few days. I let events take
their course. Why should I interrupt
his dream by Cassandra-like antici-
pations of woe,' which would hare
l)een resented as a reflection upon
the constancy of his idol } I know
that they met frequently for the
following three or four days. Then
came the packing up for departure.
My long holiday was over.
On a foggy morning in Septem
ber we steamed up the Sound on a
Fall River boat. Through Hell
Gate the stately boat sped on her
way, past Blackwell's Island) and
across the bows of the Brooklyn
ferry-boats, crowded with passen-
gers for the city in the early niom-
ing. Around the Battery we swept,
into the North River, and slowly
swung alongside of Pier 28. Then
the hackmen yelled at us ; our
coach stuck at the corner of the
street ; a jam followed ; the drivers
swore ; the policemen shouted and
threatened ; the small boys grinned
and dodged between the horses;
and a ward politician, with a ruby
nose, looked on complacently from
the steps of a corner " sample "
room. In one word, we were in
New Tork, and our village lif«
in Hampshire was a thing of the
past.
T/u Palatine Prelates of Rome.
S73
THE PALATINE PRELATES OF ROME.
Whatever is connected with our
Holy Father must have an interest
for Catholics ; and at the present
time especially it would seem de-
sirable to know something about
the origin and functions of those
faithful prelates of whom this arti-
cle treats, and with some of whom
American visitors to Rome may be
likely to have relations. They are
called palatine prelates because
lodged in the same palace as the
sovereign, and in these days of
trouble are the nearest to his most
sacred Majesty in his solitude and
sufferings. They are four in num-
ber, and belong to the pope's in-
timate court and confidence, their
names being registered in the Ro-
man Notizie immediately after those
of the palatine cardinals among the
members of the pontifical family.
MAGGIORDOMO.
The majordomo, called m good
Latin, the official language of the
church, Magister Domus Papa^ is
the first of these prelates and one of
the highest dignitaries of the Holy
See. The chief of the royal palace
has had in all countries immense in-
fluence and power; and in France
and Scotland, at least, the M aires
du palais and stewards succeeded
in mounting the throne, 'i'his offi-
cer, who, like the other three, is
always a clergyman, is the higlf
steward of his Holiness and master
of his household, remaining day
^nd night conveniently near to the
Pope's person, of which he has the
special care, and for the safety of
which he is responsible to the
Sacred College. Until the present
reign he was supreme under the
sovereign, in the civil, military, and
ecclesiastical affairs of the court,
having his own tribunal of civil and
criminal jurisdiction.* Some years
ago, however, a part of the preroga-
tives of this office was transferred
to the Cardinal Secretary of State ;
but even now the majordomo is at
the head of the administration of
the palace in which the Pope may
reside for the time being, and on a
vacancy of the see is ex-officio^ by a
decree of Clement XIL in 1732,
governor of the conclave.f In this
latter capacity, by a natural order
of things which cannot be long de-
layed (yet God grant it may !), he
will have to act a part during one of
the most critical periods in the his-
tory of Christian Rome. He has the
privilegej for life of using the pope's
arms with his own, and consequent-
ly retains this heraldic distinction
even after he has been promoted to
the cardinalate to which his office
surely leads, sooner or later, accord-
ing to a court custom that began in
* This corresponded to the court of marshaJsea in
England.
t During the memorable conclave at which Pius
IX. was elected, this oflSce was held by Monsignor
Pallavicino, who caused to be struck, according to
his right, a number of bronze and silver medals with
his faunily arms quartering those of Gregory XVI.
Above his prelate's hat on the obverse were the
words Sed* Vacantty and on the reverse the in-
scription Alerames ex marchionibus Pallavicino
sncri /n tat it afiostolici prar/ectus et coKcittvis
£ubernnt0r z8|6.
X It dates from the year 1535, when Paul III. per-
mitted his majordomo Boccaferri to assume oi) his
coat-of-arms, as an additament of honor (in the lan-
guage of blazonry), one of the lilies or Jlturp-dt-lis.
of the Famese family. If the subject prefer to do
so, he may bear the Pope's arms on a canton, carry
them on an inescutcheon, or impale instead ol
quartering them.
374
Tlu Palatine Prelates of Rome.
the middle of the XVIIth century.*
The origin of this office is involved
in some doubt, owing to its antiqui-
ty. It must have been that, in the
palace given to Pope Melchiades
by the Emperor Constantine, some
person conspicuous for piety and
prudence was appointed to keep
the members of a large an^ con-
stantly-increasing court in mutual
harmony and subjection to authori-
ty, while relieving the pontiff of the
immediate superintendence of his
household, and leaving him free to
give his precious time to public
and more important matters. At
all events, at a very early period
after this there is mentioned among
the officers attached to the Patri-
archiutn Laieranense — as the old
yEdes Laterana were then called —
a Vke-dominus^ who was chosen from
the Roman clergy, and was often, as
the more modtrn prelates have
been, invested with the episcopal
dignity. He was answerable for
the good order and harmonious ad-
ministration of the palace ; and the
extent of that portion of it in which
he dwelt and had his offices, as well
as held his court of jurisdiction
over the papal domestics,f must
have been large, since it was call-
ed 1 1 1 e vicedominium ; a n d al t h o u gh
his successor fifteen hundred years
later has not the same ample pow-
ers that he enjoyed, he is still a
personage so considerable that the
part of the Vatican in which he re-
sides is known officially as the
Miiggiordotnato, The earliest name
* While writing thuk we hear of the elevation tc
the purple of the majordomo MooMgnor Pacca,
whom we have had the honor, when a private
chamberlain to the Tope, of knowing and of serving
under. He was one of the root popular prelates at
the Vatican for his urbanity and attention to busi-
ncM. He is a pntricbn of the bluest bltxid of Bene-
\cntum and nephew to the celebrated Cardinal
P.icca, so well known for his scr\-ices to Pope Pius
Vll, and for his interesting .yfemcirs.
t The grated prison f.ir such offenders was a
chamWr deep do«n among the vaults of ihe Cd-
lariuin Maja» of the Latena.
(not title) of such an officer which _
has come down to us is that of £•
certain priest Ampliatus, who is
mentioned in the year 544 as hav-
ing accompanied Pope Vigilius to
Constantinople for the afiiiir of
the Three Chapters, and being dc-'
tached from the pontiffs suite at
Sicily on their way back, with
orders to hurry on to Rome, where .
the concerns of the Lateran seem
to have suffered by his absence.
Anatolius, a deacon, held the office
under S. Gregory the Great, who
was very particular to have only
virtuous and learned men about
him ; and in 742 Benedict, a bishop,
held it under S. Zachary, who sent
him on a mission to Luitprand, King
of the Lombards. This officer is
mentioned for the last time in history
as Vice-dominus in the year 1044,
when an archdeacon Benedict serv-
ed under Benedict IX. After this
period, those who held the analogous
position were styled chamberlains
of the Holy Roman Church until
i3oS» when, the court being at Avig-
non, a large share of their duties
and privileges was given to a noble-
man of high standing, who was called
Maestro del sacro Ospizio*
Under Alexander V., in i409»
the Holy Father having returned to
Rome, mention is made for the
first time, in a paper drawn up for
the guidance of the court, of a pre-
fect of the apostolic palace — M agis-
ter dotnus pontifiaa — who was the
same as the later majorddmo, the
name only having been changed
by Urban VHI. in 1626. The se-
ries of these high prelates, to the
•number of 99 — belonging generally
to the very first nobility of Italr
• This office still exists, and is one of the tsipo^
tant charges at the papal court which is slwap
held by a byman. It was heraditary in ths ftaoat
Conti family until its eztinctioa in the last cestun-.
when it pa»ed. after a considerable interv^ <n^
same conditioa into that of Riupoli as the
fcpresentative of that ancieal nee.
The Palatine Prelates of Rome.
375
and sliomng such illustrous names
as Colonna, Gonzaga, Earnese,
Frangipani, Visconti, Acquaviva,
Cybo, Ccnci, Caraffa, Pico della
Mirandola, Piccolomini, Borghese,
Borromeo, etc. — begins with Alex-
ander Mirabelli, a Neapolitan, who
was named to the office by Pius II.
in the month of August, 1458.
MAESTRO DI CAMERA.
This officer, whose official title
in Latin is Pre/ectus cubiculi Sane-
titaiis $u(By is the second palatine
prelate. He is the grand chamber-
Iain of his Holiness, carries out the
entire court ceremonial, and has
the supervision of all audiences, as
well as admittances of whatever
kind to the presence of the Pope.
How important and confidential is
this post which he holds at the
door of the papal chambers may
best be judged from the single fact
that no one can approach the sov-
ereign without his knowledge in
all and his consent * in most cases-
He has sometimes the episcopal
character, — in truth, was usually in
times past an archbishop in parti"
i*us ; but it is now more customary
for him to be simply in priest's or-
ders. If, however, he be not already
a prelate of high rank, he is always,
immediately after his nomination
to the office, made an apostolic
prothonotary, with precedence ovftr
all his brethren in that ancient and
honorable college. Like his imme-
diate superior, he has the privilege
of quartering the Pope's arms with
his own. He is the keeper of the
Fisherman's ring, and at the Pope's
death delivers it up to the cardinal
chamberlain of the Holy Roman
College, who gives him a notarial
receipt for . it. This celebrated
* Ambaiiidnm aad foreign minuteiv accredited
tp the Holjr Sec d lim the right of presentation or of
through the Cftrdinal Secretary of State.
ring is the official one of the popes,
and gets its name from having the
figure of S. Peter in a bark and
casting his net intr^the sea engrav-
ed upon it. Above this figure is
cut the name of the reigning pon-
tiff. It is the first among the rings,
but the second in the class of seals,
since it only serves as the privy
seal or signet used on apostolic
briefs and matters of subordinate
consequence, * whereas the Great
Seal is used to impress the heads
of SS. Peter and Paul in lead (some-
times, but rarely, in gold) on papal
bulls. At first this ring was a pri-
vate and not an official one of the
poj^e ; for in a letter from Perugia
of March 7, 1265, addressed by
Clement IV. to his nephew Peter Le
Gros, he says that he writes to liim
and to his other relatives, not sub
bulla^ sed sub piscatoris sigillo^ quo
Romani Pontifices in suis secreiis ut-
untur ; from which we gather that
the ring was in use some time be-
fore, but by whom introduced is
unknown, as is also the precise
period when it became official,
although this happened during one
or other of the XVth century pon-
tificates. Perl;japs the first time
that the now familiar expression,
** Given under the Fisherman's
ring," is met with in the manner
of a formal statement or curial for-
mula, such as it has been ever since
retained, is in a document of Nicho-
las V. dated from Rome — Datum
Roma — on the iSth of April, 1448.
The institution of this office is
extremely ancient, but, like most
others of the court, it has had dif-
* It is well to observe that briefs are not sealed
with the <?r/y/«rt/ ring, which docs not go out of the
keeper's custody except the Pope demand it, but
with a fac-ftimile preserved m the Secreteria dr*
Brevi. Since June, 1843, red sealing-wax, bccaH»?
too brittle and efiaceable, is no longer used ; but 'm
its stead a thick red ink, or rather pigment, is ecB'^
ployed.
376
The Palatine Prelates of Ronu.
ferent n<anies and increased or dimin-
ished attributions at various periods.
The modern Romans take a legiti-
mate pride in being able to deduce
many of their great court offices from
the corresponding ones of the Cae-
sars, to whom their sovereign has
succeeded. Thus this officer is
sometimes called in classical Latin
Mdgister adpnissionum^ such an one
being mentioned by the historian
Ammianus Marcellinus (xv. 5) ;
and his office Officium admissionis^
which is found in Suetonius' Life of
Vespasian (xiv.) Among the mem-
bers of the household of S. Gre-
gory the Great in the year 601 there
was a certain (S.) Paterius, Secundi-
cerius of the Holy See (correspond-
ing to the modern sub-dean of the
apostolic prothonotaries, the dean
being Primieerius). He had to
make known to the pope the names
of those who solicited the favor of
an interview; and it is probable
that he also gave (as is now given)
along with the name some account
of the quality and business of the
visitor, for fear that the pontiff
should be unnecessarily intruded
upon or brought in contact with
unworthy and perhaps dangerous
characters. Investigators into the
origin of the offices of the Holy See
have fixed upon this person as the
remote predecessor of the present
Maestro di Camera; but all the
charges of the palace having been
remodelled and placed nearly on
their present footing about four
hundred and fifty years ago, and
many of the court records having
been lost or stolen during the dis-
turbed era between the pontificates
of Clement V. (1305) and Martin
V. (141 7) — which includes the pe-
riods of Avignon and the schism —
the authentic roll of the holders of
these high offices of state rarely
begins earlier than the XVth cen-
tury. Thus the first grand cham-
berlain of the modern series i^
Bindaccio Ricasoli of Florence,
who was Magister aulve palaiii to
John XXin. in 1410. The pres-
ent one is Monsignor Ricci-Par-
acciani, a Roman, who, however,
has become majordomo by Mon-
signor Pacca's promotion. The
Maestro di Camera^ being constant-
ly in company with exalted per-
sonages who seek an audience of
the Holy Father and wait their
turn in, or at all events pass through*
the Anticamera nobile^ which opens
immediately into the Pope's recep-
tion-room, must be distinguished
for good breeding and courtliness,
and serve as a model to his subor-
dinates in that august apartment,
lest it be said of him :
** His manners kad not tfie repose
That marks thecaxte of Vere de Vere.**
Hence we are prepared to find the
noblest families of Italy represent-
ed in the office, and notice such
patrician names as Odescalchi, Al-
tieri, Fieschi, Ruffo, Doria, Massi-
mo, Pignatelli, Caracciolo, Barbcr-
ini, Riario-Sforza, etc.
UDITORE.
The auditor of his Holiness —
Auditor Papa — is the agent-gene-
ral, most intimate privy councillor,
and canonist of the Pope. He is
tnird in rank of the palatine pre-
lates, and lived in the Quirinal,
where his offices and the archives
were situated, until the present iir .
iquitous occupation, since which
they have been removed to the
Torlonia palace, near the Vatican.
This office was instituted by Paul
n. (1464-1471), and the first lo
hold it was the renowned J. B-
Millini, a Roman, who was at the
same time Bishop of Urbino (which
was administered by some one else
in his name) ; he later became a
The Palatine Prelates of Rome.
377
cnrdinal under Sixtus IV., in 1476.
His successor at the present time
is Monsignor Sagretti. Up to this
century the po\ver and general in-
fluence of the auditor were extra-
ordinary, since he had a court of
justice and ample jurisdiction,
even exercising in the name of the
Pope the supremacy of appeal in
many matters. For this reason
the great epigraph ist Morcelli, who
wrote before these judicial func-
•in>s were abolished, called him
Judex saerarum cognitionum. For-
merly he gave audience to all com-
ers about matters of equity and
appeal on Tuesdays, in his apart-
ment at the Quirina], standing in
his prelatic robes behind a low-
backed throne supposed by a sort
of fiction to be then occupied by
the Pope ;* hence he was called in
choice Latin Co^noscens vice sacrd —
/.<•, in lieu of his Holiness. The
common Italian appellation Udiiore
Saatissimo is only a corrupt ren-
dering of the Latin Auditor Sanctis-
simi» This post has always been
occupied by one of the ablest ju-
rists in Italy ; and even now^ the
auditor must be both very learned
and most incorruptible, from the
part that he takes officially in fill-
ing vacant sees and making other
important nominations.
MAESTRO DEL SACRO PALAZZO. ^
The Master of the Holy Apostol-
ic Palace — Af agister Sacri Palatii
Apostdici — is one of the most dis-
tinguished members for piety and
doctrine of the Dominican Order.
He is the Pope's official theologian,
and usually a consultor of several
Roman congregations, more nearly
concerned with matters of faith and
morals, as the Inquisition, Indul-
* la Engfand, l>y s timtlAr Action, the king (or
qveca) « iiBMlifiH to pwride ia the Court of Ktag'i
gences and Relics, Index, etc. He
ranks fourth among the palatine
prelates, and resided until the late
invasion in the Quirinal Palace
with his "companion " and two lay
brothers of his order. He is con-
sidered an honorary auditor of the
Rota, and as such has a place with
the prelates of this class in the
papal chapels and reunions. He
retains the habit of his order, but
wears on his hat a black prelatical
band. He is cx-officio president of
the Theological Faculty in the Ro-
man University, and the person to
whom was entrusted the censorship
of the press. The origin of this
office dates from the year 12 18,
when S. Dominic, who established
the Order of Friars Preachers, sug-
gested to Honorius III. that it
would be proper if some one were
charged to give religious instruction
to the many servants of cardinals,
prelates, and others, who used to
spend their time idly in useless
talk and slanderous gossip with
their brethren of the papal palace
while their masters were expecting
an audience or engaged with his
Holiness.* The Pope was pleased,
and at once appointed Dominic to
the good work, who began by ex-
plaining the Epistles of S. Paul.f
The fruit of these pious confer-
ences was so apparent that the
pope determined to perpetuate
them under the direction of a
Dominican. Besides the more fa-
miliar instructions, which were
given at first extempore, it was
arranged later that while the pope
* The first convent of the Dominicans in Rome, at
Santa Sabina on the Aventine, was in port composed
of a portion of ths SavcDi palace, in which Honorius,
who belonged to this family, generally resided, so
. that their founder could not help remarking the mis-
behavior of the loungers about the court. He did
not g*) out of his way to find fault.
t There was a somewhat similar office of very
ancient institution at the im^perial court of Constanti-
nople, the holder of which was called Episicmon^
arcAa,
378
Tlu Palatine Prelates of Rome.
and court were listening to the
preacher appointed to sermonize
in the palace during Advent and
Lent, the papal dome^ics and
other servants should also have
the benefit of formal discourses,
but in another part of the building.
It was always the father master —
i.e., doctor — who held forth to
them ^mtil the XVIth century,
when the duties of his office be-
coming more onerous, especially
by reason of the many attempts
to hiisuse the recently-discovered
art of printing to corrupt faith and
morals in Rome itself, the obliga-
tion devolved upon his companion
— Pro- M agister or Socius — who
also holds three days of catechism
in preparation for each of the four
general communions that are given
yearly in the palace. This deputy
is appointed by the master, and is
a person of consequence, succeed-
ing sometimes to the higher office.
The present master is Vincenzo
Maria Gatti. When the learned
Alexander V. became pope (1409),
the Master of the Palace was re-
quired to stand by at his meals,
especially on Sundays and festival
days, and be ready to propose
difficult points of debate, or to
enter into an argument on any
matter and with any person pre-
sent as the Holy Father should
command.* There have been
seventy -nine occupants of this
office since its institution (not to
count several anti-masters created
by anti-popes), of whom seventeen
have been made cardinals, and
* Peter Filarigo was a Greek from the island of
C'andia, which may account for his love of what at a
pontifT't table corresponded to the symposium of
the ancients —a species of after-dinner etijoymcnt,
when, wine bein^' introduced, philosophical or other
affh>eable subjects were disctissed*
among them the celebrated church
historian Orsi. The great writer
on Christian antiquities, Mamachi.
held this office with distinction.
It is one, of course, in which
" brains " rather than "blood " find
a place ; and since there is do
royal road to learning — for as an
old monkish couplet says :
it
Gutta carat lapidem, son vi, seJ saepe cadendo,
Sic homo fit dcictus, noa vi, aed siepe studeado "
— we are not surprised that theseri<
of Masters of the Apostolic Palace
exhibits no such names as thosel
that predominate among the cham-
berlains and majordomos — " Not
many noble " (i Cor. i. 26).
In the mother-church of thai
Dominican Order at Rome,
Maria sopra Mitierva^ which i^
also the title of the first America
cardinal,* there is a special vault
beneath the chapel of S. Dominidl
for the entombment of the masters;
but the brutal invaders who now
hold possession of Rome having
forbidden all intra-niural burials—
evidently through malice, because,
from the dry nature of the soil and
the perfection of Roman masonry,
there could not be the slightest
danger from a moderate number
of interments within the city — they
will have to sleep after death in
some less appropriate spot : " How
fong shall sinners, O Lord, how long
shall sinners glory ? . . . Thy
people, O Lord, they have brought
low : and they have afflicted thy in
heritance ** (Ps. xciii.)
* The special significance of this title i^ven w
Cardinal McCkiskey is that his predecessor in th?
see of New York and its first bishop, Luke Concaaea,
who was consecrated in Rome oa April 94 iSo9^was
a Dominican, and had been for a loi^ time officiaily
attached to the convent and church of the '^l:»frv**%
which was the headquarters of his order.
jkk
Power ^ Actiatt^ and Mavemeni.
379
POWER, ACTION, AND MOVEMENT.
The word " motion '* is now
commonly used for movement, but
it properly means the action by
which a thing is set into movement.
This action, or motion, of course
proceeds from an agent, and con-
sists in the production of an act,
or momentum, which must be ter-
minated or received in a patient.
The active power of the agent is its
substantial act as virtually contain-
ing in itself all the acts which the
agent is ready to produce, accord-
ing to its nature. This active
power may therefore be called the
virtuality, or terminability, of the
act by which the agent is. The mo-
liientum produced by such a power
stands to the power in the same
ontological relation as the n(nv of
time to the virtuality of God's
eternity, and as the ubication of a
point in space to the virtuality of
Ciod*s immensity; for in all these
cases there is question of nothing
else than of an extrinsic termina-
bility and an extrinsic term. We may,
llierefore, in treating of motive
powers and momentums, follow the
same order of questions which we
liave followed in our articles off
space and duration.
But the subject which we are
about to investigate has a special
feature of its ov/n ; because in the
exertion of active power, and con-
^•equently in the momentums pro-
duced, there is something — intensity
—which is not to be met with either
in the when or in the where. For
the when and the where are mere
terms of intervals or distance*;, and
do not partake in their continuity ;
from which it follows that they are
not quantities, but merely terms of
quantities, whereas the momentum
of motion is the formal principle of
the real changes produced by the
agent in the patient. And these
changes admit of different degrees,
and thus by their greater or less
magnitude reveal the greater or less
intensity of the exertion. The rea-
son of this difference is very plain ;
for the when and the where are not
efficiently produced by God's eter-
nity and immensity, for these di-
vine attributes do not connote
action. Their origin is not to be
traced to action, but to resultation>
as we have explained in our pre-
ceding articles. The entity of
every creature, on the contrary,
proceeds from God as efficient
cause — that is, it does not merely
result from the existence of other
things, but it is actively produced ;
and, since an act produced must
have some degree of perfection,
creatures are more or less perfect
as to their entity, and tlierefore
have in their own act a greater or
less power of acting, according to
the degree of their entitative per-
fection. This explains why it is
that there is intensity in all action
and in all act produced, whereas
there is no intensity in the when
and the where.
But, apart from this special fea-
ture, the questions regarding active
powers, actions, and the acts pro-
duced are entirely similar to those
which we have answered in treat-
ing of space and of duration. Nay,
more, the same questions may be
ti
!»
380
Power ^ Action^ and Movement.
viewed under three distinct aspects-
— viz., first, with reference to the
divine power and its causality of
contingent things ; secondly, with
reference to second causes, their
actions, and the momentums pro-
duced by them ; and, thirdly, with
reference to these momentums
themselves and the local move-
ments resulting from them. This
third view of ttte subject is the only
one immediately connected with
the notions of space and of time,
and we might limit ourselves to its
consideration. Nevertheless, to
shed more light on the whole
treatise, we propose to say some-
thing of the other two also ; for,
by tracing the actions and the phe-
nomena of the material world to
their original sources, we shall dis-
cover that all different grades of
reality are linked with their imme-
diate principles in such a manner
as to exhibit a perpetual analogy
of the lower with the higher, till we
reach the highest — God.
To ascertain the truth of this
proposition, let us recall to mind
the main conclusions established
by us with respect to space. They
were as follows :
I St. There is void space — that is,
a capacity which does not imply the
presence of anything created.
2d. Void space is an objective
reality.
3d. Void space was not cre-
ated.
4th. Absolute space is the vir-
tuality, or extrinsic terminability,
of God's immensity.
5th. Absolute space is not modi-
fied by the presence of matter in
it — that is, by its extrinsic termina-
tion.
6th. Ubications are extrinsic
terms of absolute space, and their
relations have in space itself an
extrinsic foundation.
A similar series of conclusions
was established in regard to dura-
tion. They were :
I St. There is a standing dtlration
— that is, an actuality which does
not imply succession.
2d. Standing duration is an ob-
jective reality.
3d. Standing duration is not cre-
ated.
4th. Standing duration is the
virtuality,or extrinsic terminability,
of God's eternity.
5th. Standing duration is not
modified by the existence in it of
created things — that is, by its ex-
trinsic termination.
6th. The wJuns of creatures arc
extrinsic terms of standing dura-
tion, and their relations have in
standing duration their extrinsic
foundation.
Before we give the analogous
conclusions concerning active
powers and their causality, w<
have to premise that all poirer
ready to act is said to be in actu
prinio^ or in the " first act," wiih
respect to its termination and term,
or act, which it is ready to pro-
duce. Its action is its termination,
and it consists in the causation of
a second (ui. This second act, in-
asmuch as it exists in its proper
term, potency, or subject, is called
actio in facto esse — that is, an action
•wholly complete, though the action
proper is always in fieri; for it con-
sists in the very production of such
a second act, as we have just stated-
The result of this production is the
existence of a new reality, substan-
tial or accidental, according to the
nature of the act produced. This
well-known terminology we shall
use here for the parallel develop-
ment of the three classes of ques-
tions which we have to answer.
Origin of Power. — First, then,
with regard" to the primary origin
Power, Action^ and Movement.
381
of active and moving powers, we lay
dovirn the following conclusions :
I St. There is some absolute
|>o\ver — that is, a first act which has
no need of producing any second
act.
2d. Absolute power is an objec-
tive reality.
3d. Absolute power is uncreated.
4tl]. Absolute power is the vir-
tual ity, or extrinsic terminability,
of the act by which God is.
5tli. Absolute power is not modi-
fied by the production of effects —
that is, by its extrinsic termination.
6lh. The beings thus produced
are extrinsic terms of God's power;
and although, owing to their intrin-
sic perfection, which may be greater
or less, they can be related fo one
another by an intrinsic foundation,
yet their " entitative distances "
have only an extrinsic foundation —
to wit, God's omnipotence.
Some of these propositions are so
obvious that they might have been
omitted but for the object we have
in view of pointing out the parallel-
ism of absolute power with space
and duration.
The first of these conclusions is
proved thus: All first act which
naturally needs to produce some
second act has an intrinsic and
natural ordination to something dis-
tinct from itself; for all effect is
really distinct from its efficienl
principle. But it cannot be admit-
ted without absurdity that every
first act has such an intrinsic and
natural ordination ; for, if every-
thing were thus ordained to some-
thing else, all things would tend to
some subordinate end, while there
would be no supreme end at all;
for nothing that is ordained to
something else can rank as the su-
preme end. On the other hand,
no subordinate ends can be admit-
ted without a supreme end. And
therefore there must be some first
act which has no intrinsic necessity
of producing any second act. Such
a first act is altogether absolute.
The second conclusion is evident.
For what we call here " a first act "
is not an imperfect and incomplete
act, since it needs no termination ;
nor is it a result of mental abstrac-
tion and analysis, but a perfect
principle of real operations ; for the
ei)ithet ** first," by which we char-
acterize it, doe? not imply that it
lacks anything in its entity, but, on
the contrar}*^, it means that it already
contains eminently the whole real-
ity of the effects which it is compe-
tent to produce. Hence it is clear
that, if such effects are objective
realities, the first act on which their
production depends is an objec-
tive reality, and a much better one
too.
The third conclusion needs no
proof, it being evident that what-
ever is created must tend to the
end of its creation, wkich is the
manifestation of the perfections of
its creator. This manifestation im-
plies action — viz., a transition of the
first act to its second act. Ac-
cordingly, a first act which has no
necessary ordination to second acts
cannot be created.
The fourth conclusion follows
from the third, since an uncreated
act can be nothing else than the
act by which God is. This act, in-
asmuch as it eminently contains the
reality of all possible things, is ex-
trinsically terminable, and as tlius
terminable it exhibits itself as a
" first " act. But, since God has
no need of creatures, such a first
act has no need of extrinsic termi-
nations, and, as first, it constitutes
omnipotence, or God's absolute
power. This power in its infinite
simplicity has an infinite range, an
it extends to all conceivable reality.
382
Poifffr, Action, and Movement.
Tile fifth conclusion will be
easily understood by reflecting that
the extrinsic termination of active
power consists in giving existence
to contingent things by efficient ac-
tion. Now, to act efficiently does
not bring about any intrinsic change
in the agent ; for all intrinsic change
foltows from passion, which is the
opposite of action. Nor does God,
when giving existence and active
powers to any number of creatures,
weaken liis own power. For the
power imparted to creatures is not
a portion of the divine power, but a
product of creation, and nothing, in
fact, but the created act itself. For,
as ail contingent things are created
for the manifestation of God's per-
fections, all creatures must be ac-
tive; and as everything acts as it
is in act, the act being the princi-
ple of the acting, it follows that all
act produced by creation is an ac-
tive power of greater or less perfec-
tion according to the part it is des-
tined to (fll in the plans of its
Maker. This shows that the act
by which a creature is, bears a re-
semblance to the act by which God
is, inasmuch as it virtually contains
in itself all those acts which it is
fit to produce according to its na-
ture. But, since all contingent act
is extrinsic to God, divine omnipo-
tence is not entitatively and intrin-
sically more actuated by creation
than by non-creation ; though, if
God creates any being, from the
term produced he will acquire the
real denomination of Creator. Thus
the existence of a contingent being
is the existence of a real term, which
extrinsically terminates the virtual-
ity of God's act, in which it is emi-
nently contained. Its relation to
Its Creator is one of total depend-
ence; whilst God's relation to it is
Iliat of first causality. The founda-
tion of this relation is the action
which proceeds from God an
minates in the creature.
The first part of the sixth ci
sion, that beings produced by
'tion are extrinsic terms of
power, has just been expl
But we say, moreover, that xX
titative distances between su(
ings have an extrinsic foun<
in God's omnipotence. By '
talive distance" we mean th
ferencc in degree between di
beings — v.g., between a man
tree — as we have explained i
other place.* And we say tt
the distance between two m;
points in space has its cxI
foundation in the virtualil
God's immensity, so also the
tative distance of two beinj
its extrinsic foundation in tl
tualilyof God's infinite act — t
in divine omnipotence. In
tile difl'erent degrees of entii;
ceivable between the tree ar
man are all virtually contair.,.- ...
God's omnipotence, just as all the
distinct ubications possible be-
tween two points are virtually in
God's immensity. Hence the foun-
dation of such enlitative distances
is extrinsic to the beings compared
in the same manner as the founda-
tion of local distances.
But the terms produced by crea-
tive action, inasmuch as they pos-
sess a greater or less perfection in
their individual constitution, can
be compared with one another ac-
cording to the relative degree of
their intrinsic reality; and thui
besides the extrinsic relation just
mentioned, they have a mutual re-
lativity arising from an intrinii>'
foundation. The relative degree
of reality of a contingent beini;
becomes known to us through I'n'
relative intensity of its active pon-
• S« Thi Catholic World, Auguit, i»7J, ^li(
Power y Action, and Movement,
383
cr; which implies that the beings
compared have powers of the same
species. If they are not of the
same species, the comparison will
give no result. •
Remarks, — Before leaving this
part of our subject, we have to
notice that, as the ubication, so
also the act produced by creation,
can be considered both absolutely
and respectively. A created act,
considered absolutely, is an act in-
trinsically conij)leted by its essen-
tial potency, and constitutes the
being as it is in acta secundo. The
same act, considered respectively,
or as ordained to something else,
is a power ready to act, and thus it
is in acta primo with regard to all
the acts which it is able to produce.
The essential act of a contingent
being, be it considered absolutely
or respectively, bears no propor-
tion to the perfection of its Crea-
tor, no more indeed than a point
in space to immensity, or a no7V of
lime to eternity. Hence all con-
tingent act or power, whatever be
its perfection or intensity, as com-
pared with God, is like nothing.
It is only when a created act or
power is compared with another of
the same kind that we can estab-
lish a proportion between them as
to degrees of perfection and of in-
tensity. These degrees are meas-
ured by comparing the relative in-,
tensities of the effects produced by
distinct causes of the same kind,
acting under the same conditions.
The quantity of efficient power
may be conceived as a virtual sum
of degrees of power. In this par-
ticular the quantity of power differs
<?ntirely from the quantity of dis-
tance; because this latter cannot
l>c conceived as a virtual sum of
ubications. The reason of this
'iiflerence is that ubications, as
being simple points, have no quan-
tity, and therefore cannot by addi-
tion make up a continuous quan-
tity ; whereas the degrees of pow-
er always possess intensity, and
are quantities ; hence their sum is
a quantity of the same kind.
It may be useful to remark that
all continuous quantity has a ne-
cessary connection with the quan-
tity of power, and that all exten-
sion owes its being to the efficacy
of some motive principle. In fact,
all intervals, whether of space or
of time, are reckoned among con-
tinuous quantities only on account
of the quantity of continuous
movement which can be made,
or is actually made, in them, as we
hive explained in a preceding arti-
cle ; but the quantity of movement
is itself to be traced to the inten-
sity of the momentum produced
by the agent, and the momentum
to the intensity of the motive pow-
er. As soon as movement is com-
municated to a point, its ubication
begins to shift and to* extend a
continuous line in space ; and its
now, too, for the same reason be-
gins to flow ^nd to extend contin-
uous time.
When the quantity of power is
expressed by a number, its value is
determined, as we have stated, by
the intensity of its efficiency in a
given time and fixed conditions.
The unit of intensity by which the
amount of the effect produced is
measured is arbitrary ; for there is
no natural unit for the degrees of
intensity, it being evident that such
degrees can be divided and subdi-
vided without end, ^just like the
continuum. Hence the numbers
by which we express degrees of in-
tensity are only virtually discrete,
just as those by which we express
continuous quantities. The ordi-
nary unit assumed for the measure
of intensity is that degree of inten-
384
Pozver^ Action J and Movement,
sity %vhich causes a unit of weight
to measure a unit of distance in a
unit of time. As all these units
lire arbitrary, it is evident that such
is also the unit of intensity.
T^et us remark, also, that the pow-
er of natural causes has in its ac-
tion a twofold continuity — that is,
with regard both to space and to
duration. As long as a natural
cause exists, it acts without inter-
ruption, owing to its intrinsic de-
termination, provided there be, as
there is always in fact, some sub-
ject capable of being acted upon
by it. This constitutes the contin-
uity of action with regard to dura-
tion. On the other hand, the mo-
tive power of such natural causes
is exerted, according to the Newto-
nian law, throughout an indefinite
sphere, as we have shown in an-
other place;* and this constitutes
the continuity of action through
space. Moreover, if the point act-
ed upon approaches the agent or
recedes fiom it, the continuous
cliange of distance will be accom-
panied by a continuous change of
action ; and thus the intensity of
the act produced by the agent will
increase or decrease in a continu-
ous manner through infinitesimal
degrees corresponding to the infi-
nitesimal changes of local relations
occurring in infinitesimal instants
of time. This relation of changes
IS the base of dynamics. But
enough on this point.
Origin of minrmfni. — We may
now pass to the conclusions con-
cerning movement as dependent on
its proximate cause. The power
by which the natural causes pro-
duce momenlums of movement is
called ** motive power." This pow-
er is to be found both in material
and in spiritual beings ; but as in
• Sit Tarn CAnrouc Wo«L»t Sffte«fccr« !•?«. p^
spiritual substances the exercise of
the motive power is subject to their
will, and consists in the application
of a nobler power to the productioo
of a lower effect, we do not and
cannot consider the power of spiri-
tual beings as merely " motive/' for
it is, above all, intellective and voli-
tive- Material things, on the con-
trary, because they possess no other
power than that of moving, arc
characterized by it, and are natu-
rally determined to exercise it ac-
cording to a law which they cannot
elude. It is of these beings in par-
ticular that the following conclu-
sions are to be understood.
I St. There is in all material
creatures a motive power — that is, a
first act of moving — which, considc^ ^
ed in its absolute state, has no need
of extrinsic termination, that is, of
producing a momentum of move-
ment.
2d. This motive power is an ob-
jective reality.
3d. The same power is nothing
accidentally superadded to the be-
ing of which it is the power.
4th. This power is the virtuality,
or extrinsic terminability, of the
act by which the agent is.
5th. This power is not modified
by the production of momcntumsin
extrinsic terms.
6th. The momentums thus pro-
duced are second acts of the motive
power, extrinsic to it ; and though,
owing to their intensity, which may
be greater or less, they can be re-
lated to one another through an in-
trinsic foundation, yet their entita-
tive distances have only an extrin-
sic foundation — to wit, the agent's
power.
Some of these propositions are
quite evident ; but our present ob-
ject is not only to explain what
may require a special discussion,
but also» and principally, to dissect
Ui
Power ^ Act ten ^ and Movement,
385
oar subject in such a manner as to
make it manifest that a perpetual
analogy exists between the condi-
tions and the principles of all kinds
of continuum, and that in all of
iheni the transition from the abso-
lute to the relative, from the cause
10 the effect, and from the formal
reason to its formal result, is made
til rough a like process and through
similar degrees. For this reason
we think that even those conclu-
sions wliich seem too obvious to
deserve mention become interest-
ing and serve a good purpose ; for
in the parallel treatment of analo-
gous subjects, those things which
are clearer throw light on those
which are more abstruse, and about
which we often feel a certain hesi-
tation.
riie first of our present conclu-
sions needs only a short explana-
tion. When we say that in every
crc.iture there is a motive power
>\hich, considered in its absolute state ^
has no need of producing a momen-
tum, we mean that in every crea-
ture there is an act which is a prin-
ciple of activity, but that the exer-
cise of this activity is not required
for the substantial perfection and
essential constitution of the crea-
ture itself, though it may be requir-
ed for some other reason, as we
shall see presently. In fact, every
substance has its own complete be-
ing independently of accidents; and
since the exertion of motive power
is an accident, every substance is
cntitatively independent of it. We
conceive that if God had created
nothing but an element of matter,
such an element would indeed (on
its own part) be ready to act and
lo produce a momentum of move-
ment ; but, as there would be no
subject capable of receiving a mo-
mentum, the motive power would
remain in acttt prima — that is, with-
• VOL. XXII. — 25
out actual exertion. And yet it is
evident that the non-existence of
other elements can have no bearing
on the intrinsic constitution and
substantial perfection of the ele-
ment in the question. Therefore
the power of an element of matter
is a first act, which, as far as the
entity of the element itself is con-
cerned, has no need of producing
any second act.
Nevertheless, since all creatures
must in some manner glorify God
as long as they exist, because such
is the true and highest end of
their existence, hence to every cre-
ated power some proportionate term
or subject corresponds, in which
its exertion is received without in-
terruption. In the same manner
as the understanding never lacks an
intelligible object, and the sense
never lacks a sensible term, about
which to exercise itself by imma-
nent operation, the motive power
of inferior beings never fails to
meet a proportionate — that is, mov-
able — term and to impress upon it
a momentum of a certain intensity.
Hence, when we regard, not the
substance of natural things as such,
but the natural necessity they are
under of tending constantly to the
ultimate end of their creation, we
see that their first act of moving
must always entail some second
act, or momentum, in all the terms
which it can reach according to its
natural determination.
The second conclusion is self-
evident ; for. if the principle of real
movement were not an objective
reality, a real effect would proceed
from an unreal cause — which is
absurd. Nor does it matter that
the power is only a ** first " act.
For, as we have explained above,
it is first as compared witii the acts
which it can produce, but it is in-
trinsically complete in the entity
Power, Action, and Moviment.
of tlie agent, as it is terminated to
its substantial term.
Tlie third conclusion is notliing
t)iit a corollary of tlie well-known
axiom that in all things the princi-
ple of operation is the substantial
act : Forma est id quo agens agit,
and Principium essendi est pritieipium
operandi. We have proved in an-
other place* that no natural ac-
cident possesses active power or is
.actually concerned in any of the ef-
fects produced by the agent. This
truth should be well understood by
the modern scientists who very coin-
monly mistake the conditions of
the action for the active principle.
Of course no creature can act in-
dependently of accidental condi-
tions; but these conditions have
no bearing on the active power
itself — they only determine {for-
mally and not efficiently) the mode
of its application according to a
constant law. Thus the distance
of two material points has no active
influence on their motive power or
on their mutual action, but only
constitutes the two points in a cer-
tain relation to one another; and
when such a relation is altered, the
action is changed, not because the
power is modified, but because its
determination to act — that is, ils
very nature — demands that it should
in its application follow the New-
tonian law of the inverse ratio of
the squared distances.
The philosophers of the old
school admitted, but never proved,
that, although the substantial form
is the main principle of activity in
natural things, nevertheless this
principle was in need of some
accidental entity, that it might be
proximately disposed to produce
its act. This opinion, too, origin-
ated in the confusion of active
■ TiH Catboug WoRio, Mudi, ■■;4, P. tM-
power with the conditions on
which the mode of its exertion de-
pends. What they called "active
qualities " is now aclcnowledged to
be, not a new kind of active pon-
er superadded to the Bubstanii-i
forms, but merely a result of
the concurrence of many siinplf
powers acting under determin-
ate conditions. The accidental
change of the conditions entail?
the change of the result and
action, hut the active powers evi-
dently remain . the same. The
ancients said also that the sub-
stantial forms were the active prin-
ciples of substantial generations,
whereas the " active qualities"
were the active principles of nieie
alterations. As we have shovn
that the whole theory of substan-
tial generations, as understood br
the peripatetic school, is based on
assumption and equivocation, and
leads 10 impossibilities,* we maybe
dispensed from giving a new refuta-
tion of the opinion last mentioned.
Our fourth conclusion directly
follows from the general principle
that the act by which a thing hss
its first being is its principle of
action : Quo ahquid prima nl, »
agit. The substantial act, consider-
ed as to its absolute entity, does not
connote action, but simply consti-
tutes the being of which it is iht
act. It order to conceive it as an
active power, we must refer to iht
effects which it virtually contains—
that is, we must consider it* vinfl-
ality. In this manner what is a
second act with regard to the sub-
stance of the agent, will be conceiv-
ed as a fi rst act with reference to ih(
effects it can produce, according"'
a received axiom : Actus sccui^i
essendi est actus primus operandi-
* S«i1k two itticlc DO -SulBimtUl Cnn*
lioiu " in Tut Catrouc World, ApcO ud *fl-
Power f Action^ and Movement,
387
The fifth conclusion, notwith-
standing the contrary opinion of
many philosophers, is quite certain.
For all intrinsic modification is the
result of passive reception or pas-
sion. Now, to produce a mo-
mentum of movement is action,
not passion. Therefore, when such
a momentum is produced, no other
subject is intrinsically modified by
it except the one which passively
receives it. It is therefore the
being whicii is acted on, not that
which acts, that, acquires an in-
trinsic modification. The power
ol the agent is not entitatively
and intrinsically more actuated by
action than by non-action. Its
action is an extrinsic termination,
and gives it nothing but the real de-
nomination of agent, by which it is
really related to the term acted on.
The patient, by its reception of
the momentum, becomes similarly
related to the agent, as is evident.
And the relation consists in this :
that the patient acquires formally
an act which the agent virtually
contains. This relation is of acci-
dental causality on the one side
and of accidental dependence on
the other. The foundation of the
relation is the accidental action as
coming from the one and terminat-
ing in the other.
As everything that is in move-
ment must have received the mo-
tion from a distinct agent, according
to the principle Omne quod mavetur^
ab alio movetur^ it follows that what-
ever is in movement is accidentally
dependent on an extrinsic mover ;
and, since all material elements are
both movers and moved, they all
have a mutual accidental causality
and dependence.
Our sixth conclusion is suffi-
ciently clear from what has been
said concerning the sixth conclu-
sion of the preceding series. The
momentum of movement is evi-
dently the second act of the motive
power — that is, the extrinsic term
of its exertion. The entitative dis-
tance between two momentums pro-
duced by the same mover is an
extrinsic relation ; for its founda-
tion is the virtuality of the act by
which the agent is, as has been ex-
plained above. But the same mo-
mentums, as possessing greater or
less intensity, can also be compared
with one anotlier according to their
intrinsic entity or degree ; and thus
they will be found to have a mu-
tual relation arising from an intrin-
sic foundation.
Remarks. — As the ubication, so
also the momentum produced by
accidental action, can be con-
sidered both absolutely and respec-
tively. The momentum, considered
absolutely, is an act received in a
subject — an absolute momentum,
an extrinsic term of the virtuality
of the motive principle ; and, as
such a momentum is only one out
of the innumerable acts which can
proceed from the agent, it has an
entity infinitely less than that of
the agent. It is evident, in fact,
that between a substantial and an
accidental act there must be an in-
finite entitative disproportion, both
because no substance can be sub-
stantially changed by its accidents,
and because the substantial act
can never be exhausted, and not
even weakened, by the production
of accidental acts, as we have es-
tablished in another place.* The
momentum is considered respec-
tively when it is compared with
another momentum, in which case
we can find the relation of the
one to the other as to intensity.
This intensity is measured by the
quantity of the movement to which
• S«e The Catholic Wobld for Febniary, \Vi^
pp. 584, 585.
J
I^fwer, Actioa, and Maitment.
vc rise wlieii not counter-
tii)i[ of intensity is arbitrary
iiomcii turns, as in llieir prit)-
;i>r tlic siimc reason — that is,
• ill lu'iilur cuse a naiiiral
nilvitsiu ciin bo found. Tlie
I- exprosirtj; the relative in-
i>f a III omen titm is only
.(■ vii-.i-rete, liecaiise tlic
•a. siiKf it is not a number
lut avl\,l>ut one act ccjuiva-
■.i.'ii a'ri iff .i/fWei.w.—'l'he
tu'ii <>l a uionientnni entails
,,■1,1, 'niesi-neral definition
wiui-nt. ai-cordiiig to Aris-
inl S. 'I'lionins, is Actm ex-
it poUntia III in potenlia, or,
would say, an actual pas-
rum one potential state to
r. Now, all created being is
i.il in two manners: first, on
il of its passive receptivity ;
My, on account of its affecti-
wliicli is a consequence of
sivity, as we have explained
"Principles of Real Being."*
■ the nioincntii
\ It 1
patient, actuates its passive
■y ; and inasmncb as its re-
n entails a certain mode of
it affects its resultant po-
ity. But besides tliis double
ialily, which is intrinsic to
jbject, there is another po-
; term, and for this reason
nent is considered both as it
modification of its subject,
• iubjccti, and as it points at
rinsic term, ntlionc teriiiiiii.
h regard to its subject, move-
is usually divided into im-
'I and lra>mn<i. It is called
iient wlieii it results from im-
manent acts, as when the soul
directs its attention to sucli
such an object of thou^lit ; and il
is called transient when it brings
about a change in a subject distinct
from the agent, as when a man
moves a stone, or when the sun
moves the earth. But this is in-
accurate language; for what is
transient in these cases is tlic
action, not tlie movement.
With regard to its term, move*
ment is divided into two kiniis—
that is, movement to a place, nwtai
ad uhi, and movement tovv.irds .1
certain degree of perfection or in-
tensity of power, mollis virliitii. *
The first is called local movement,
of which we will speak preseally.
The second is subdivided inio in-
tension, remission, atid alteraticn.
quisition or loss of some degree of
perfection or of intensity witli re-
gard to poiverand qualities ; alter.T
lion is the passage from one kind
of quality or property to another. |
Thus, in water, heat is subject to I
intension and remission ; but when ]
the cohesive force of the moleciiles
is superseded by the expansive
force of vapor, there is alieiation.
It is important to notice that
there is nj viotus virtiitis in primi-
tive elements of matter. The ex-
ertion of their power varies indeed
according to the Newtonian la*,
but the power itself is always enaci-
ly the same, as its principle is Hie
substantial act, wliich cannot l>e
modified by accidental action. It
is only in material compounds that
the motus rirtutis can be admitted,
• In llic Ari»<xclic Ihnry, a Ihird Irind of ib»^
II WoiLr, Mar, i87<,p. rB.
Power^ Actiofi^ and Movement.
389
for the reason that the active
powers and qualities in them are a
result of composition ; lience a
change in the mode of the compo-
sition brings about a change in the
resultant. So also in spiritual sub'
stances there is no fNotus virtutis^
because their active faculties are
always substantially the same. True
it is that the intellect has also its
pnssivity with regard to intelligible
siMfcies, and that it acts by so much
tlie more easily and perfectly in
proiKjrtion as it is better furnished
with intelligible species distinctly
expressed and arranged according
to their logical and objective con-
nection. But this cannot mean
that the active power of the intel-
lect can be increased, but only that
it can be j)laced in more suitable
conditions for its operations. And
the like is to be said of all acquired
habits; for they give a greater fa-
cility of acting, not by intensifying
the intrinsic power, but by placing
the active faculty in such condi-
tions as are more favorable for its
operation.
But let us revert to local move-
ment. This movement may be de-
fined as the act of gliding through
successive uhications. Such a glid-
ing alters the relations of one body
to another, as is evident, but it in-
volves no new intrinsic modifica-
tion of the subject. As long as the
subject continues to move under
thf same momentum, its intrinsic
mode of being remains uniformly
the same, while its extrinsic rela-
tions to other bodies are in con-
tinuiil change. Hence the local
movement of any point of matter
merely consists in the act of ex-
tending from ubication to ubica-
tion, or, as we may say, in the evolu-
tion of the intensity of the momentum
into continuous extension* The rea-
son of this evolution is that the
momentum impressed on a subject
has not only a definite intensity,
but also a definite direction in
space ; whence it follows that the
subject which receives the momen-
tum receives a determination to
describe a line in a definite direc-
tion, which it must follow, owing to
its inertia, with an impetus equal to
the intensity of the momentum it-
self. And in this manner a mate-
rial point, by the successive flowing
of its ubication, describes a line in
space, or evolves the intensity of
its momentum into extension.
Hence, of local movement we can
predicate both intensity and exten-
sion. The intensity is the formal
principle, which, by actuating the
inertia or mobility of the subject,
evolves itself* into extension. The
extension is the actual evolution of
the momentum, and constitutes the
essence of local movement, which
is always in fieri. And this is what
is especially pointed out in Aris-
totle's words : Afotus est actus exist-
entis in potentia, ut in potentia.
The cuius refers to the intensity,
which is not /// fieri^ but has a
definite actuality ; whilst the /«/^-
tentia ut in potentia clearly refers to
the evolution of extension, which
is continually in fieri under the in-
flux of said act. Accordingly, local
movement is both intensive and
extensive. But this last epithet is
to be looked upon as equivalent to
"extending,*' not to "extended";
for it is the line drawn, or the track
of the movement already made,
that is properly *' extended," where-
as the movement itself is the act oi
extending it.
The formal intensity of local
movement is called velocity. We
say the formal intensity, because
movement has also a material in-
tensity. The formal intensity re-
gards the rate of movement of each
390
Power, Action-, and Movetmnt.
element of matter taken by itself,
and it is greater or less according
ii3 it evolves a greater or a less ex-
tension in equal times. The mate-
rial intensity regards tlie quantity
of matter which is moving with a
given velocity, and is measured by
tlic product of the velocity into the
mass of the moving body. This
product is called the momentum
of the body, or its quantity of move-
ment.
Local movement is subject to
tliree affections — viz., intemioii, re-
mission, and inflexion. In fact, since
local movementconsists in extending
with a certain velocity in a certain
direction, it is susceptible of being
modified either by a cliangeof veloc-
ity, which will intensify or weaken it,
or by a change of direction — that is,
by inflexion. So long, however, as
no agent disturbs the actual move-
ment already imparled to a body,
the movement must necessarily con-
tinue in the same direction and
with the same velocity; for matter,
owing to its inertia, cannot modify
its own state. Tliis amounts to
saying tliat the tendency uniformly
to preserve its rate and its direc-
tion is not an accidental affection,
but the very nature, of local move-
ment.
This being premised, we are po-
ing to establish a series of conclu-
sions, concerning movement and
its alfeclions, parallel to that which
we have developed in the preced-
ing: pages respecting power and its
e\etiioni. The reader will see
that the chain of our analogies
must here end; for. since move-
thing new, and produces no extrinsic
terms, but only entails changes of
lot.il relations. On the other hand,
the atTeclions of local movement
arc not of a transient, but of an
immanent, character, and thus they
give rise to no new entity, but are
themselves identified with the move-
ment of which they arc the modes.
Our conclusions are the following:
I St. There is in all local move-
ment something permanent — that is,
a general determination of a lasting
character, which has no need of
being individuated in one manner
more than in another.
id. This constant determination
is an objective reality.
3d. This sarrie determination is
nothing accidentally superadded
to local movement.
4tli. This determination is the
virtuality of the momentum of
movement, or the act of evolving
extension in a definite direction.
Sth. This determination is not in-
trinsically modified by any acciden-
tal modification of local movement.
6ih, The affections of local
sitive modes, which identify them-
selves with the movement which
they modify.
The first of these conclusions is
briefly proved thus: whatever is a
subject of real modifications lias
somethingpermanent. Local move-
ment is a subject of real modifica-
tions. Therefore, local movement
involves something permanent.
q'he second conclusion is self-
The third conclusion, too, is evi-
dent. For whatever is acciden-
tally superadded to a thing can^be
accidentally taken away, and tiierc-
fore cannot belong to the thing
permanently and invariably. Hence
the constant and fixed determina-
tion in question cannot be an acci-
dent of local movement.
The foiirih conclusion is a cor-
ollary of the third. For nothing
is nccessaiily permanent in local
movement, except that which con-
stitutes its essence. Now, its fi-
Pawer^ Action^ attd Movement.
391
sence lies in this: that it must
evolve extension at the rate and
in the direction determined by the
momentum of which it is the ex«
IKinent. Therefore the permanent
determination of which we are
speaking is nothing else than the
virtuality of the momentum itself
as developing into extension. And
since the momentum by which the
moving body is animated has a
determinate intensity and direction,
which virtually contains a deter-
minate velocity and direction of
movement, it follows that the per-
manent determination in question
consists in the actual tendency of
movement to evolve uniformly and
in a straight line — uniformly ^ be-
cause velocity is the form of move-
ment, and the velocity determined
by the intensity of the actual mo-
mentum is actually one ; in a
straight line, because the actual
momentum being one, it gives but
one direction to the movement,
which therefore will be straight in
itstendencv. Whence we conclude
that it is of the essence of local
movement to have an actual tenden-
cy to evolve uniformly in a straight
line.
Some will object that local
movement may lack both uniformi-
ty and straightness. This is quite
Irue, but it does not destroy our
conclusion. For, as movement is
always in fieri, and exists only by
infinitesimal instants in which it is
impossible to admit more than one
velocity and one direction, it re-
mains always true that within every
instant of its existence the move-
ment is straight and uniform, and
that in every such instant it tends
to continue in the same direction
and at the same rate — that is, with
the velocity and direction it actually
possesses. This velocity and direc-
tion may, of course, be modified in
the following instant ; but in the fol-
lowing instant, too, the movenient
will tend to evolve uniformly and in
a straight line suitably to its new
velocity and direction. Whence
it is manifest that, although in the
continuation of the movement there
may be a series of different veloci-
ties and directions, yet the tenden
cy of the movement is, at every
instant of its existence, to extend
uniformly in a straight line. This
truth is the foundation of dynam
ics.
Our fifth conclusion is sufficient-
ly evident from what we have just
said. For, whatever be the inten-
sity and direction of the move-
ment, its determination to extend
uniformly in a straight line is not
interfered with.
Our last conclusion has no need
of explanation. For, since the af-
fections of local movement are the
result of new momentums impressed
on the subject it is plain that they
are intrinsic modes characterizing
a movement individually different
from the movement that preceded.
The tendency to evolve uniformly
in a straight line remains unim-
paired, as we have shown ; but the
movement itself becomes entitative-
ly — viz., quantitatively — different.
Remarks* — Local movement is
divided into uniform and varied.
Uniform movement we call that
which has a constant velocity.
'For, as velocity is the form of
movement, to say that a movement
is uniform is to say that it has but
one velocity in the whole of its
extension. We usually call " uni-
form " all movement whose appa-
rent velocity is constant ; but, to
say the truth, no rigorously uni-
form movement exists in nature
for any appreciable length of time.
In fact, every element of matter
lies within the sphere of action of
392
Power, Action, and Movement.
all other elements, and is continu-
ally acted on, and coniiniially re-
ceives newuiomentnnis; the evident
cnnsequonce of wliicli is thut its
real movement must undergo a
continuous change of velocity.
Hence rigorously uniform move-
ment is limited to infinitesimal
Varied movement is that whose
rate is i.-onlinually changing. It is
divided into a(celeialtd xaA retard-
ed; and, when the acceleration or
the reinidalion arises fiom a con-
stant action which in equal times
inipavtsequalmomentums,ilie move-
ment is sail! to be uiii/orniiy accel-
erated or retarded.
7y)//(y,'«^.— The exi>lanation ive
have given of sjiace, duration, and
movement suffices, if we are not
mistaken, to show what is the true
nature of the only continuous quan-
tities whicli can be found in the real
order of things. The reader will
have seen that the source of all con-
tinuity is motive power
eriiii
It ii
engt'nders local movement, and
causes it to be continuous in its
entity, in its local extension, and in
its duration. In fact, why is' the
local movement continuous in ils
entity 1 Ikcause the motive action
stren^ithens or weakens it by contin-
uous infiniiesimal decrees in each
causing it to pass through all the
degrees of intensity desi'^nable be-*
tWL-en its initial and its tiual velo-
city. .\iii.i a,^;iin : why is the lociil
movemout continuous in ils lu<.al
e.rtrn.'i.'n f Ik-catise it is the pro-
perty of an action wiiich proceeds
from a point in sjiace and is ter-
minated to auotlier point in space,
to pive a local direction to the siib-
jfci in which tiie momenimn is re-
ceived ; wheiK-e it tV.liows that the
subject under the iniluence of such
St draw a. conrin-
uous line in space. Finally, why is
the local movement continuous I'ii
itsdnratioui Because, owing to the
continuous change of its ubicalioB,
the subject of the movement er-
tends its absolute when from bej^re
to after, in a continuous succession,
which is nothing but the duration
of the movement.
Hence absolute space and abso-
lute duration, which are altogether
independent of motive actions, are
not formally continuous, but onlv
supply the extrinsic reason of the
possibility of formal continuums.
It is matter in movement that by
the flowing of its ubi from htreXo
there actually marks out a contin-
uous line in space, and by the flow-
ing of its quando from before to
after maiks out a continuous line
in duration. Thus it is not abso-
lute space, but the line drawn in
space, that is formally extended
from here to there ; and it is not ab-
solute duration, but the line succes-
sively drawn in duration, that is
formally extended from before l<i
after.
With regard to the difficulties
which philosophers have raised at
different times against local move-
ment we have very little to say.
An ancient philosopher, when cal!-
the possibility of movement, thougln
it sufHcient to reply : Solvilar ambw
lanJti — "I walk; therefore move-
ment is possible," This answer
was excellent ; but, while showiitj
the inanity of the objections, it
took no notice of the falLicies by
which they were supported. We
might follow the same course; fof
tlie arguments advanced against
movement are by no means formid-
able. Yet we wili mention and
solve three of them before dismiss-
ing the subject.
Power y Action^ and Movement.
393
First. If a body moves, it
moves where it is, not where it is
not. But it cannot move where it
is ; for to move implies not to re-
main where it is, and therefore
bodies cannot move. The answer
is, that bodies neither move where
ihey are nor where they are not,
hwxfram the place where they are
/«? the place where they are not.
Second. A material element can-
not describe a line in space be-
tween two points without gliding
through all the intermediate ubica-
lions. But the intermediate ubica-
tions are infinite, as" infinite points
can be designated in any line ; and
Ihe infinite cannot be passed over.
Tlie answer is that an infinite mul-
titude cannot be measured by one
of its units; and for this reason
the infinite multitude of ubications
which may be designated between
the terms of a line cannot be
measured bv a unit of the same
kind. Nevertheless, a line can be
measured by movement — that is,
not by the ubication itself, but by
the flinving of an ubication ; be-
cause the flowing of the ubication
IS continuous, and involves contin-
uous quantity ; and therefore it is
to be considered as containing in
itself its own measure, which is a
measure of length, and which may
serve to measure tlie whole line of
movement. If the length of a line
ncre an infinite sum of ubications —
that is, of mathematical points — the
objection would have some weight ;
hut the length of the line is evi-
dently not a sum of points. The
line is a continuous quantity
evolved by the flowing oC a
point. It can therefore be mea-
sured by the flowing of a point.
For as the line described can be
divided and subdivided without
end, so also the time employed in
describing it can be divided and
subdivided without end. Hence
the length of a line described in a
finite length of time can be con^
ceived as an infinite virtual nuilti-
•
tude of infinitesimal lengths, just in
the same manner as the time em-
ployed m describing it can be con-
ceived as an infinite multitude of
infinitesimal instants. Now, the
infinite can measure the infinite;
and therefore it is manifest that an
infinite multitude of infinitesimal
lengths can be measured by the
flowing of a point through an in-
finite multitude of infinitesimal in-
stants.*
Third, The communication of
movement, as we know by experi-
ence, requires time ; and yet time
arises from movement, and cannot
begin before the movement is com-
municated. How, then, will move-
ment be communicated } The
answer is that time and move-
ment begin together, and evolve
simultaneously in tlie very act of
the communication of movement.
It is not true, then, that all com-
munication of movement requires
time. Oirr experience regards only
the communication i^i finite move-
ment, 'whicii, of course, cannot be
made except the action of tlie agent
continue for a finite time. But
movement is always communicated
by infinitesimal degrees in infinite-
simal instants ; and thus the be-
ginning of the motive action coin-
cides with the beginning of the
movement, and this coincides with
the beginning of its duration.
* S. Thomas explains this point in the following
words : Quum magnitudo sit divisibilis in infinitum,
et puncta sint etiam infinita in potcntia in quali-
het magnitudine. sequitur quod inter qua:Iibet duo
loca sint infinita loca media. Mobile autem infini-
tatem mediorum locorum non consumit nisi per
continuitatem motus ; quia sicut loca media sunt in-
finita in potentia, ita ct in motu continuo est acci-
pere mfinita quaedam in potentia. — ^um 'J'/ieoL^ p.
>i 4* 53« A* 3* This explanation is identical with
our own, thouf^h S. Thomas docs not explicitly
mention the intinitesimab of time.
394 "Of
And liere we end. The con-
siderations which we have devel-
ii])ed in our articles on space,
duration, and movement have, we
think, a sufficient importance to
i)e regarded with interest by those
who have a philosophical turn of
mind. The subjects which we
have endeavored so far to investi-
gate are scarcely ever examined as
deei'ly as they deserve by the
modern writers of philosophical
treatises; but there is no doubt
that a clearer knowledge of those
subjects must enable us to extri-
cate ourselves from many diffi-
nlUe
be I
. othe
■ parts
cipaily
of metaphysics. It is pri;
in order to solve the soph
llie idealists and of the ir
dental pantheists that we need an
exact, inteliectnal notion of space
and of time. We see how Kant,
the father of German idealism and
pantheism, was led into nnmerous
errors by his misconception of
these two points, and how his fol-
lowers, owing to a like hallucina-
tion, succeeded in obscuring
light of thtir noble intellects,
were prompted to deny and ri
the most certain and fundami
principles of human reasoning.
fact, a mistaken notion of s
lies at the bottom of nearly
their philosophical blunders. 1
desire to refute their false thei
by direct and categorical a
ments, we must know how fai
can trust the popular languag
space, and how we can coi
its inaccuracies so as to give
cision to our own phraseology,
by conceding or denying i
than truth demands we fui
them with the means of reio;
against oitr argumentation,
is the main reason that indi
us to treat of space, dura
and movement in a special si
of articles, as we entertained
hope that we might thus
in cutting the ground from ui
the feet of the pantheist by
rooting the very germ of his n
fold errors.
NOT YET.
Methought the King of Terrors came my way :
Whom all men flee, and none esteem it base.
But lo ! his smile forbidding me dismay,
I stood — and dared to look him in the face.
" So soon !'" the only murmur in my heart :
For I had shaped the deeds of many years^
Ambitioning atonement, and, in part.
To reap in joy what I had sown in tears.
Then, turning to Our Lady ; " O my Queen !
'Twere very sweet already to have won
My crown, and pass to see as I am seen,
And nevermore offend thy Blessed Son:
Yet would I stay — and for myself, I own :—
To stand, at last, tlie nearer to thy throne."
SoHgs of the People*
39S
SONGS OF THE PEOPLE.
WiTHOUt going back to abstruse
speculations on the origin of music
in England (there is a mania in
WIT century for discovering the
** origin *' of everything, and theor-
izing on it, long before a sufficient
number of facts has been collected
even to make a pedestal for the
I most modest and limited theory),
we gather from the mention of it
tin old English poems, and books
-<m ballads and songs, glees and
catches, that it existed in a very
creditable form at least eight hun-
I dred years ago. Indeed, there was
Rational and popular music before
' this, and the Welsh songs, the
oldest of all, point far back to a
legendary past as the source of
their being. The first foreign song
iWat mingled with the rude music
of the early Britons was doubtless
that of the Christian missionaries
in the first century of our era, and
after that there can have been little
music among the converted Britons
but what was more or less tinged
w'uh a foreign and Christian ele-
ment. We know, too, that at
various times foreign monks either
came or were invited to the dif-
ferent kingdoms in England to
teach the natives the ecclesiastical
chant. Gardiner, in his Music of
Nature, says tiiat ** as the invaders
came from all parts of the Continent,
our language and music became a
niotley collection of sounds and
^ords unlike that of any other
people ; and though we have gained
•1 language of great force and ex-
lent, yet we have lost our primitive
I niusic, as not a single song remains
that has the character of being
national." He also says that be-
fore music was cultivated as an
art, England, in common with
other countries, had its national
songs, but that these, with the
people who sang them, were driven
by tlie conquerors into Ireland,
Scotland, and Wales. This asser-
tion is rather a sweeping one, and
the recognized formula about the
ancient inhabitants of Britain
being all crowded into certain
particular districts is one that will
bear modifying and correcting.
The British Anthropological So-
ciety has, during the last ten
years, made interesting researches
in the field of race-characteristics
in different parts of England,
and an accumulation of facts has
gone far to prove the perma-
nence of some Gaelic, Cymric,
and Celtic types in otiier parts,
exclusive of Wales and Corn-
wall. Dr. Beddoe and Mr. Mack-
intosh have published the result
of their observations, and the latter
concludes that " a considerable
portion of the west Midland and
southwestern counties are scarcely
distinguishable from three of the
types found in Wales — namely, the
British, Gaelic, and Cymrian. In
Shropshire, and ramifying to the
east and southeast, the Cymrian
type may be found in great num-
bers, though not predominating.
... In many parts of the south-
west the prevailing type among the
working classes is decidedly Gaelic.
. . . North Devon and Dorset
may be regarded as its head-
396
Son£s of tlte People.
quarters in South Britain." Then,
ajrain, the district along tlie borders
of Wales, especially between Taun-
ton and Oswestry, and as far east
ns ISalh, sliows a population more
naturally intellecltial than lliat of
any otlier part of England, and
that without any superiority of
primary education to account for
it. The people are what might be
called Anglicized Welsh, and there
is among them a greater taste for
solid knowledge than in the heart of
England, Lancashire is to a great
extent Scandinavian, and also some-
there the people are known as a
shrewd, hardy race, thoughtful and
fond of study, and great adepts in
music.
At a large school in Tiverton,
Devonshire, nine-tenths of the boys
presented the most exaggerated
Gaelic physiognomy; while at an-
other, near Chichester, the girls
were all of the most unmistakable
Saxon type. We need not go further
in this classification, and only in-
troduced it to show that massing
together all Jiiltish types in Wales
and Cornwall is a fallacy, such as
all liasly generalizations are. It is
not so certain, therefore, that there
exists no indigenous element in
the old songs that have snrvived,
though in many an altered form,
in some of the nirnl districts of
Kngland. Then, again, how is the
word "national" used — in the
sense of indigenous, or of popu-
lar, or of exclusively belonging
to one given country .' English
, befof
the
wealth, at least as indigenous as
the English hnguage, as that
gradually grew up and welded
itself together. As to popularity,
there was a style of song — some
specimens of which we shall give
— which was known and used by
the poorest and humblest, and a
style, too, far removed from llie
plebeian, though it may have been
rather sentimental. Then glee
and catches are, though of no ver
great antiquity, essentially Englisli.
and are scarcely known in any
other country. If "national"
stands for "political," as many
people at this day seem to take
for granted, then, indeed, England
has not much lo boast of. That
music is born rather of oppression
and defeat, and loves to commem-
orate a people's undying devotion
lo their own race, laws, custooK,
and rulers. Irish and Welsh and
Jacobite songs exhibit i
best, though only the first of
the three have any present s
ficance, the two other kinds
ing long ago become i
able for
his-
torical merit than for their po-
litical meaning. Certain modem
English songs, such as " Ye Mari-
ners of England," " Rule Britan-
nia," "The Deatii of Nelson."
might be called national songs in
the political sense ; but " God Save
the King," though patriotic and
loyal, is thoroughly German in
style and composition, and there-
fore hardly deserves the title na-
The Welsh have kept their musi-
cal taste pure. Mr. Mackintosh, Id
his paper on tlie Compaiative An-
thropology of England and Waiei,
says of the quiet and thoughtful
villagers of Glan Ogwen, near the
great Penrhyn slate qvurries, llut
" their appreciation of the composi-
tions of Handel and othtr great
musicians is remarkable; and the*
perform the most difficult oratorioi
with a precision of time and inlo-
nation unknown in any p.irt ol
England, except the West Riding
of Yorkshire, Lancashire, Woices-
San^s of the People.
397
tcr, Gloucester, and Hereford."
Tiie three latter are towns wliere
the musical festivals are so fre-
tjiient that the taste of the people
cannot help being educated up to
X good standard. Hereford, too, is
very near the Welsh border. " The
DYusical ear of the Welsh is ex-
tremely accurate. I was once pre-
sent in a village church belonging
to the late Dean of Bangor, when
the choir sang an antliem com-
posed by their leader, and repeat-
ed an unaccompanied hymn-tune
five or six times without the slight-
est lowering of pitch. Tlie works
of Handel, Haydn, Beetlioven,
and Mozart are republished with
AVdsh words at Ruthin and several
other towns, and their circulation
IS almost incredible. At book and
music shops of a rank where in
England negro melodies would
k)rm the staple compositions,
Handel is the great favorite; and
•»urh tunes as *Pop goes the Wea*
sel' would not be tolerated. The
l^ative airs are in general very ele-
gflnt and fhelodious. Some of
them, composed long before Han-
del, are in tlie Handelian style ;
others are remarkably similar to
some of Corelli's compositions.
The less classical Welsh airs, in y^
lime, such as 'Jenny Jones' are
well known. Those in 2-4 lime
arc often characterized by a sud-
den stop in tlie middle or at the
close of a measure, and a repeti-
tion of pathetic slides or slurs."
Much of this eulogium might be
equally applied to the ptople of
Lancashire, especially the men,
trho know the great oratorios by
kar\ and sing the choruses fault-
lessly among themselves, not only
:it large gatlierings, but in casual
Reunions, whenever three or four
happen to meet. Their part-sing-
ing, too, in glees, both ancient and
modern, is admirable, and they
have scarcely any taste for the low
songs which are only too popular
in many parts of England.
The songs of chivalry were an-
other graft on the stock of F)nglish
music, and the honor paid to the
bards and minstrels was a mingling
of the love of a national institu-
tion at least as* old as the Druids
— some say much older — and of
the enthusiasm produced by the
metrical relation of heroic feats of
arms. The Crusades gave a great
impulse to the troubadours* songs,
while the ancient British custom
of commemorating the national
history by the oral tradition and
the music of tlie harpers, seem-
ed to merge into and strengthen
the new order of minstrels. Long
before the bagpipe became the
peculiar — almost national — instru-
ment of Scotland, the harp held
that position, as it has not yet
ceased to do, in Ireland and Wales.
The oldest harp now in Great Bri-
tain is an Irish one, which was al-
ready old in 1064. It is now in
the museum of Trinity College,
Dublin. These ancient instru-
ments were very different f}om
the modern ones on which our
grandmothers used to dis])lay their
skill before the pianoforte became,
to its detriment, the fashionable in-
strument for young ladies ; and even
now the Irish and Welsh harps are
made exactly on the old models,
and have no pedals. But the use
of the harp was not confined to
the Welsh, and in the reign of
King John, in the Xllth century,
on the occasion of an attack made
on the old town of Chester by the
Welsh during the great yearly fair,
it is recorded in tiie town annals
that the commandant assembled
all the minstrels who had come to
the place upon that occasion, and
398
Songs of the People.
marched them in the night, with
their instruments playing, against
the enemy, who, upon liearing so
vast a sound, were filled with such
terror and surprise that tliey in-
stantly fled. In memory of this
famous exploit, no doubt suggested
by the Biblical narrative of Gid-
eon's successful stratagem, a meet-
ing of minstrels is annually kept
up to this day, with one oX the
Dulton family at iheir head, to
whom certain privileges are granted-
In the reign of Henry I. the min-
strels were formed into corporate
bodies, and enjoyed certain immu-
nities in various parls of t!ie king-
dom, Gardiner* says that "the
most accomplished became the
companions and favorites of kings,
and attended ilie court in all its ex-
peditions." Periiaps we may refer
ihe still extant office of poet-lau-
reate to this custom of retaining a
court minstrel near the person of
the sovereign. In the lime of
KIJKabeth the profession of a harp-
er had become a degraded one,
(inly embraced by idle, low, and
dissolute characters; and so it has
remained ever since, through the
various stages of ballad-monger,
street-singer and fiddler, in which
the memory of the once noble office
has been merged or lost. In Scot-
land the piper, a personage of im-
portance, has taken the place of
the harper since the lime of Mary,
Queen of Scots, who introduced
the pipes from France; but in
Wales the minstrel, with his harp,
upheld his respectability much long-
er, and even now most of the old
families, jealous and proud of their
national customs, retain their bard
as an officer of the household.
The writer has seen and heard one
of these ancient minstrels, in the
service of a family living near Lli
narth, the mistress (a widow) malt-
ing it her special business to pro-
mote the keeping up of all old na-
tional customs. She was an excel-
lent farmer, too, and had a pet breed
of small black Welsh sheep, whose
wool she prepared for the loom her-
self, and with which she clothed
her family and household. In ihe
neighboring town she had got ap
an annual competition of harpen
and choirs for the perfonnanc*
of Welsh music exclusively. The
concert was .ilways the occasion of«
regular count ryfestivity,cnding«itli
a ball, and medals and other \miet
were given by her own hand to the
be*t instrumental and vocal artists.
In Percy's Rdiquts a descriptioB
is given of the dress and appear-
ance of a niedi3e\-al bard, as per-
sonated at a pageant given at iienil-
worth in honor of Queen Eli/abelK.
The glory of the brotherhood ««
already so much a thing of th^^ pasi
that it was thought worth while m
introduce this figure into a moct
procession. This very circumstance
is enough to mark the decline of
the art in those days, but already
a new sort of popular song had
sprung up to replace the romances
of chivalry. " A person," says
Percv, " very meet for the purjiosi;.
. . . his c.np off; his head seemly
rounded tonsure-wise, fair-kcmbtd
[combed], that with a sponge daint-
ily dipt in a little capon's grease
was finely sjnoothed, to make it
shine like a mallard's wing. His
beard smugly shaven ; and yel hi'
shin, after the new trink, with rufi
fair starched, sleeked and giitterini;
likeapairof newshoes; maishalkd
in good order with a setting s*ick
and strut, that every ruff stood ui>
like a wafer.* A long gown of
Songs of the People
399
)
Kendal-green gathered at the neck
with a narrow gorget, fastened
afore with a white clasp and a
keeper close up to the chin, but
easily, for heat, to undo when he
list. Seemly begirt in a red caddis
girdle ; from that a pair of capped
Sheffield knives hanging at two
sides. Out of his bosom was drawn
forth a lappet of his napkin [hand-
kerchief j edged with a blue lace,
and marked with a true-love, a
heart, and D for Damain ; for he
was but a bachelor yet. His gown
had long sleeves down to mid-leg,
lined with white cotton. His doub-
let-sleeves of black worsted ; upon
them a pair of poynets [wristlets,
froni poignei\ of tawny chamlet,
laced along the wrist with blue
ihreaden points; a wealt towards
the hand of fustian-a-napes. A pair
of red neather stocks, a pair of
pumps [shoes] on his feet, with a
cross cut at the toes for corns ; not
new, indeed, yet cleanly blackt with
soot, and shining as a shoeing-horn.
About his neck a red riband suita-
ble to his girdle. His harp in good
grace dependent before him. His
wrest [tuning-key] tyed to a green
lace, and hanging by. Under the
gorget of his gown, a fair chain of
silver as a squire minstrel of Mid-
dlesex, that travelled the country
this summer season, unto fairs and
vorshipful men's houses. From
his chain hung a scutcheon, with
metal and color, resplendent upon
his breast, of the ancient arms of
Islington." The peculiarities mark-
ing his shoes no doubt referred to
the long pedestrian tours of the
early minstrels.
Chaucer, in the XlVth century,
wakes frequent mention of music,
■on enough until whhin half a century ago. The
Soem of James I., Anne of Demnaik, insisted upon
Frying the part of ThetU, goddess of theoceao, in
* *^ auMi^irous farthingale '* (in modem speech, a
*<nr cnggerated oiDoliiie.)
both vocal and instrumental. Of
his twenty-nine Canterbury Pilgrims,
six could either play or sing, and
two, the Squire and the Mendicant
Friar, could do both. Of the
Prioress he quaintly says :
" Ful wel she sang^ the service devine,
EntunM in hire nose fill swet61y."
Dr. Burney thinks that part-sing-
ing was already known and practis-
ed in Chaucer's time, and draws
this inference from, the notice the
poet takes in his " Dream " of the
singing of birds :
". . . for some of them soQge lowe
Some high, and all of one accorde" ;
and it is certain that this kind of
music was a great favorite with the
English people at a very early
period, and was indebted to them
for many improvements. The same
writer says that the English, in
their secular music and in part-
singing, rather preceded than fol-
lowed the European nations, and
that, though he could find no music
in parts, except church mu.oic, in
foreign countries before the middle
of the XVIth century, yet in Eng-
land he found Masses in four, ^\^^
and six parts, as well as secular
songs in the vulgar tongue in two
or three parts, in the XVth and
early part of the XVIth centuries.
Ritson, it is true, in his Ancient
Songs from the Time of King Hen-
ry III. to the Revolution^ disputes
this, but Hawkins is of the same
opinion as Burney. Mr. Staflford
Smith, at the end of the last cen-
tury, made a collection of old Eng-
lish songs written in score for three
or four voices ; but though the old-
est music to such songs is scarcely
intelligible, the number collected
proves how popular that sort of
music was in early times. (Per-
haps the illegibility of the music is
due to the old notation, in use be-
400
Songs of the People.
fore the perfected stave of four
lines became general — llie pneiima-
lie notation, sup|)osed by Coussema-
kLT, Scluibiger, Anibros, and otlier
u-iilers 01) nuisir lo have been de-
veicijied out of llie system of ac-
tuius of speecb re|)resented by
si};ns. such as are still used in
frencb.)
Laiidini, an Italian writer of the
XVtli century, in Wx'i Cammcritaiy on
Jhtnli\ speaks of " many most ex-
ccllent musicians " as coming from
r:n[5land lo Ilaly lo bear and study
under Antonio ii*S^i orgaiii {a name
denoting bis profession) ; while an-
oihe
the
the royal chapel of Ferdinand, King
oi Naples, mentions the excellence
ol the KngUsh vo<.;il mnsic in parts,
and even (incorrectlv) calls John
of Puustable (a musician of the
middle of the XVib century) the
■' inventor of counterpoint."
One of the oldest comi)Ositions
of this kind is a manuscript score
in the British Museum, a canon in
unisini for four voices, with the ad-
dition of two more voices for the
/«. as it is called, which is a kind
of ground, and is the basis of ihe
iiarniony. The words, p.artially
mtulernized, are as follows (they
are much older than llie music,
which is oniy four hundred years
old):
Ew< Mcalulh ilur bmb ;
Loweth aCicr cair. cow ;
llulln.'kMcrlrlh[lcnp<].
which many modern compositi
of the "popular" type are very
from possessing. Under the '
dors music made rapid strides.
Robert Fairfax was well knowi
a composer in those days, am
collection of old English song; v
their music (often in parts), m
by him, has been preserved lo
day. Besides himself, such irri
as Cornyshe, Syr Thomas I'lic
pes, Davy, Urown.^ Banister, Tm
Turtles, Sheryngham, and Will
of Newark are represented.
ihef
, Corr
Purctll, two hundred years la
imitated much of his rondeau st
most of tiiese composers beini;
lirely secular. Henrv Vlll/h
self wrote music for two Mas
and had them sung in liis clia]
and In be .able to take a pari
madrigals, and sini; at sight in
piece of concerted music, wa^ rt
oned a part of a gentleman's e
cation in those days. The iin
tion of printing gave agre.it imp;
to song-writing and rompos
thougb for some time alter
probably stiil copied by hand c
the words; for the printing of ni
was of course a further and subse-
quent development of ibe new art.
A musician and ])oct of the namf
of Gray became a favorite of Henry
VIII. and of the Protector Somer-
set "for making certain inerr)- bal-
lades, whereof one thieily was 'The
hunt is up— the hunt is up.'"*
" A pojiular species of harmony."
snysRiison, "arose in this reign; it
was called 'King Henry's Mirlli,"
or * Freemen's Songs,' ihal monarch
beinL; a f;reat admirer of vocal raii-
Songs ' i-ia cornir--
n of ' I'ht
;ir beio^
Pumnb^m, /(
■ from
gene J
for ihtci
Simgs of the People.
API
voices/' Very few songs were
written for one voice.
Ballads were very popular, and
fonned one of the great attractions
at fairs. An old pamphlet, publish-
ed in the reign of Elizabeth, men-
tions with astonishment that '* Out-
roaring Dick and Wat Winbars "
got twenty shillings a day by sing-
ing at Braintree Fair, in Essex. It
does seem a good deal, considering
that the sum was equal to five pounds
of the present money, which again
is equivalent to about thirty dol-
lars currency. These wandering
singers, the lowly successors of the
proud minstrels, were in their way
quite as successful ; but, what is
more wonderful, their songs were
for the most part neither coarse
nor vulgar. Good poets wrote for
music in those days; ncw<» as a
general rule, it is only rhymers who
avowedly write that their words
may be set to music. As quack-
doctors, fortune-tellers, pedlers,
etc., mounted benches and barrel-
heads to harangue the people, and
tlms gained the now ill-sounding
name of mountebanks, so too did
these singers call over their songs and
sing those chosen by their audience ;
and they are frequently called by
the writers of those times cantaban^
chi^ an Italian compound of cantare
(to sing) and bamhi (benches).
Among the headings given of these
popular songs are the following ;
*' The Three Ravens : a dirge " ;
'* By a bank as I lay " ; ** So woe
is me, begone " ; ** Three merry
men we be " ; " But now he is
dead and gone "; "Now, Robin,
lend me thy Bow;" ; ** Bonny Lass
upon a green " ; ** He is dead and
gone. Lady," etc. There is a quaint
grace and sadness about the titles
which speaks well for the manners
of those who listened and applaud-
ed. Popular taste has certainly
VOL. XXII. — 26
degenerated in many parts of Eng-
land ; for such titles ncnv would
only provoke a sneer among an
average London or Midland coun-
ty audience of the lower classes.
Gardiner says : ** The most ancient
of our English songs are of a grave
cast, and commonly written in the
key of G minor."
Among the composers of the
reigns of Elizabeth INid James I.
was Birde, who wrote a still popu-
lar canon on the Latin words
" Non nobis, Domine," and set to
music the celebrated song ascrib-
ed to Sir Edward Dyer, a friend
of Sir Philip Sidney, " My Mind
to me a Kingdom is."
Birde's scholar, Morley, produc-
ed a great number of canzonets,
or short songs for three or more
voices ; and Ford, who was an
original genius, published some
pieces for four voices, with an ac-
companiment for lutes and viols,
besides other pieces, especially
catchejs of an humorous character.
George Kirbye was another canzo-
net composer, and Thomas Weelkes
has been immortalized by the good-
fortune which threw him in Shak-
spere's way, so that the latter often
wrote words for his music. Yet
doubtless the fame of the one, as
that of the other, was chiefly pos-
thumous ; and poet and musician,
on a par in those days, may have
starved in company, unknowing
that a MS. of theirs would fetch
its weight in gold a hundred years
after they were in their graves.
" The musical reputation of
England," says a writer in an old
review of 1834, "must mainly rest
on the songs in parts of the period
between 1560 and 1625." And
Gardiner says : ** If we can set up
any claim to originality, it is in
our glees and anthems." The
gleemen, who were at first a class
403
Songs of the People.
n
I *
,i
of the minstrels, are supposed to
have been the first who performed
vocal music in parts, according to
set rules and by notes, though the
custom must have existed long
before it was thus technically
sanctioned. The earliest pieces
of the kind upon record are by the
madrigal writers, and were, per-
haps, founded upon the taste of
the Italian sdiool ; but there soon
grew up a distinction sufficient
to mark English glee-music as a
separate species of the art. It is
said that glee-singing did not be-
come generally popular till about
the year 1770, when glees formed
a prominent part of the private
concerts of the nobility ; but their
being adopted into fashionable
circles only at that date is scarcely
a proof of their late origin. The
canzonets for three or four voices
must have been closely allied to
glees, and a family likeness existed
between these and the madrigals
for four or five voices, the ballets,
or fa-las, for five, and the songs
for six and seven parts, which are
so prodigally mentioned in a list
of works by Morley within the short
space of only four years — 1593 to
1597. The number of these songs
proves their wonderful popularity,
and we incline to think, with the
writer we have quoted, that the
English, in the catches and glees,
the works of the composers of the
days of Elizabeth and James I.,
and those of Purcell, Tallis, Croft,
Bull, Blow, Boyce, etc., at a later
period, possess a music essentially
national and original — not imita-
tive, as is the modern English
school, and not more indebted to
foreign sources than any other
progressive and liberal art is to
the lessons given it by its prac-
tisers in other civilized communi-
ties. For if national is to mean
isolated and petrified, by all means
let us forswear nationalism.
Shakspere's songs are scattered
throughout his works, and were
evidently written for music. Both
old and new composers have set
them to music, and of the latter
none so happily as Bishop Weclkes
and John Dowland, his contempo-
raries and friends; the latter, the
composer of Shakspere's favorite
song (not his own), '* Awake, sweet
Love," often wrote music for his
words. In his plays Shakspere
has introduced many fragments of
old songs and ballads ; but Ritson
says of him : " This admirable wri-
ter composed the most beautiful
and excellent songs, which no one,
so far as we know, can be said to
have done before him, nor has any
one excelled him since." This
statement is qualified by an excep-
tion in favor of Marlowe, a prede-
cessor of Shakspere, and the au-
thor of the " Passionate Shepherd
to his Love" ; and besides, it means
that he was the first great poet
among the song-writers, who, in
comparison with him, might be call-
ed mere ballad-mongers. Shak-
spere's love for the old, simple^
touching music of his native landi
shown on many occasions through-
out his works, is most exquisitely
expressed in the following passage
from Twelfth Night :
" Now, good Cesario, but that piece of songi
That old and antique song we had last ni^t :
Methought it did relieve my paMion much.
More than light ain and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced tiac&
O fellow, come, the song we had last ni^t.
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain ;
The spinsters and the knitters io the sua,
And the free maids that weave their thrcid viA
bones,*
Do use to cha^t it ; it is silly sooth.
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the okl age."
Though Shakspere 's plays were
* Pkobably some coane laoe or net
W.^1
SoMgs of tlu People.
40S
marked with the coarseness of
speech common in his time, and
therefore not, as some have thought,
chargeable to him in particular, his
songs, on the contrary, are of singu-
lar daintiness. They are too well
known to be quoted here, but they
breathe the very spirit of music,
being evidently intended to be sung
and popularly known. The chorus,
or rather refrain, of one, beginning,
•* Blow, blow, thou winter wind,"
runs thus :
** Hdgh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly ;
UosK Inendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then hetgb ho ! the holly I
This life is mote joUy!"
The *' Serenade to Sylvia" is love-
ly, chaste and delicate in speech
as it is playful in form ; and the
fairy song '* Over hill, over dale,"
is like the song of a chorus of ani-
mated Aowers. The description
of the cowslips is very poetic :
** The cowslips tall her penaionen be.
In their gold coats spou you see —
Those be rubies, fairy favors ;
In those freckles live their savors.
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And bang a pearl in every cowslip's ear."
Bishop Hall, in 1597, published a
satirical poem in which he com-
plains that madrigals and ballads
were " sung to the wheel, and sung
unto the pail" — that is, by maids
spinning and milking, or fetching
water; and Lord Surrey, in one of
bis poems, says (not satirically, how-
ever) :
''My mother's maids, when they do sit and spin,
Tlwy fing a song.*'
Now, we gather what was the style
of these songs of peasant girls and
laborers from the writings of good
old Izaak Walton, who mentions, as
a common occurrence, that he often
met, in the fields bordering the
river Lee, a handsome milkmaid
who sang like a nightingale, her
voice being good and the ditties
tilted for it. " She sang the smooth
song which tv^as made by Kit Mar-
lowe, now at least fifty years ago,
and the milkmaid's mother sang
the answer to it which was made
by Sir Walter Raleigh in his young-
er days. . . They were old-fashion-
ed poetry, but choicely good ; I
think much better than that now
in fashion in this critical age."*
He wrote in the reign of Charles
I., and already deplored the influx
of more pretentious songs ; but
those he mentions with such com-
mendation were the famous *' Pas-
sionate Shepherd to his Love"
and the song beginning "If all the
world and love were young," two
exquisite lyrics of an elegance
much above what is now termed
the taste of the vulgar.
Izaak Walton was as fond of
music as of angling, and quotes
many of the popular songs of his
day. He was a quiet man, and
only describes the pastimes of hum-
ble life. He used to rest from his
labors in an " honest ale-house "
and a " cleanly room," where he
and his fellow-fishermen, and some-
times the milkmaid, whiled away
the evenings by singing ballads and
duets. Any casual dropper-in was
expected to take his part; and
among the music mentioned as com-
mon in these gatherings are num-
bers of ** ketches,'' or, as we should
say, catches. The music of one of
his favorite duets, '* Man's life is but
vain, for 'tis subject to pain," is
given in the old editions of his
book. It is simple and pretty;
the composer was Mr. H. Lawes.
Other songs, favorites of his, were
"Come, shepherds, deck your
heads" ; " As at noon Dulcina
rested"; " Phillida flouts me"; and
that touching elegy, ** Sweet day,
so cool, so calm, so bright," by
* Tht C^mpM* Angler^ or tkt Ctuiem^mtivt
Man** RecrtattPH,
S^T :-':hc PropU,
had
iliould siippoat, from the com-
:-:ing words, that this poeci '
; r.:illy been a Nativity hymi
■.jining to the ancient church
: it IS possible thai
:'■.! be traced to the
. . The music, th
nding with the
where this pasti
Stationed, greati;
maginaiion of tl
ol Denmark a
r-.iitfd the
genius
ind lit
The rea
of English poetr;
before the Coi
pojiular miisii: <
cd a blow during
, Songs and bail;
>n as profane ; a
'^ttsiW enacted iha
persons cotntnoni;
s or minstrels si
: be taken playi
rr-.-.ting music in
if. or tavern, or sh
"■ '.T-z themselves,
rr:-;L:ing any to
o- t,.,-itc music ii
-^ .-T.resaid," the
, -.'."j and dcci
^ vjj.ibonds, .
, -:.- i-o'.itii-al cha
•- »"puint of h
.< i,L^;i:s to listen
-,-:sct the veries
.i himself a mini
,- »r.;ien with no pi
-.u^i of political alli
V.~« SirickluKl'i tint ;
SffHgs of tiu Pet^.
405
taunts and sneers; and it was the
delight of the Cavaliers to sing
(liCK doggerel rhymes and make
the wandering fiddlers sing them.
Many a brawl owed iis origin to
this. Lven certain tunes, witliout
any words, were considered as
identified with political principle,
and led to dangerous ebullitions
of feeling, or kept alive party pre-
judices in those who heard them.
Fopufer music has always been a
powerful engine for good or bad,
in a political sense. Half the
loyiliy of the Jacobites of Scot-
land in the XVIIIlli century was
due to inflammatory songs; Kiir-
ner'i lyrics fired German pa-
triotism against Napoleon ; and
there has never been a parly of
any kind that did not s|>eedi1y
adopt some representative melody
to fan the ardor of its adiierents.
But if music and poetry were
proscribed by the over-rigorous
Puritans, a worse excess was fos-
tered by the immoral reign of
Charles II. The Restoration pol-
luted the stream which the Com-
monwealth had attempted to dam
up. Just as, in a spirit of bravado
Jnd contradiction, the Cavaliers
)ud osicntaliously made cursing
and swearing a badge of their
party, (p spite the sanctimonious-
ness of the Roundheads, so they
affected to oppose to the latler's
|«alm- singing roaring and im-
modest songs, Rilson says that
Charles II. tried his hand at song-
vriting, and quotes a piece by
liim, beginning :
" 1 pui jll my houra In a ihidy old gtoie."
"Though by no means remarkable
for poetical merit," says the critic,
"it has certainly enough for the
composition of a king." Moli^re
was not more severe on the
attempts of Louis XIV, But
though the general spirit of the
age was licentious, many good
songs were stiil written. Sedley.
Rochester, Dorset, Sheffield, and
others wrote unexceptionable ones,
and the great Drydeti flourished
in this reign. One of his odes,
"On S. Cecilia's Day," is thorough-
ly musical in its rhythm, the re-
frains at the end of each stanza
having the ring of some of the old
German Minnesongs of the Xllth
and Xlllth centuries. But his
verses were scarcely simple or
flowing enough to become popular
in the widest sense, which honor
rather belonged to the less cele-
brated poets of bis day. Lord
Dorset, for instance, was the
author of a sea-song said to bave
been written the night before an
engagement with the Dutch in
T665, and which, from its admirable
ease, flow, and tenderness, became
at once popular with all classes.
The circumstances under which
it was supposed to be written had,
no doubt, soiiiclhing to do with its
popularity; but Dr. Johnson says;
" Seldom any s|)iendid story is
wholly true. I have heard from
the late Earl of Orrery, who was
likely to have good hereditary intel-
ligence, that Lord Dorset had been
a week employed upon it, and only
retouched or finished it on the
memorable evening. But even
this, whatever it may subtract from
his facility, leaves bim his courage."
The anonymous writer to whom we
have referred * tells us that " the
shorter pieces of most of the poets
of the time of Charles 11. had a
rhythm andcadence particularly well
suited to music. They were, in
short, what the Italians call (aula-
bile, or fit to be sung. ... In the
succeeding reigns, with the growth
* Pmnf Magmtint., iBm-
4136
Sangs of the People.
of our literature, there was a con-
siderable increase in song-writing;
irtost of our poets of eminence, and
some who had no eminence except
what they obtained in that v.- ay, de-
voting themselves occasionally to
the composition of lyrical pieces.
Prior, Rowe, Steele, Philips, Par-
nell, Gay, and olhers contributed
a stock which might advantageous-
ly be referred to by the composers
of our own times." Prior was a
friend and protigi of Lord Dorset,
who sent him to Cambridge and
paid for his education there. Par-
nell was an Irishman. His " Hymn
to Contentment " is a sort of coun-
terpart to the old song " My Mind
to me a Kingdom is"i
(lay. Ilie elegant, the h
and the pathetic, shows to most ad-
vantage in this group. He it was
who wrote the famous ballad" Black-
eyed Susan," and many others
which, though less known at pre-
sent, are ei|ua]ly admirable. One
of them was afterwards set to music
liy Handel, and later on by Jackson
of Exeter. But music did not keep
pace with poetry; and though Pur-
cell, Carey, and one or two other
composers flourished in the latter
part of the XVIIth and beginning
of the XVnith centuries, they kept
mostly to s.icred music, and the
new songs of the day were generally
set to old tunes. Gay's Bef^gar's
Offm, a collection of seventy-two
songs, could not bo.ist of a single
air ci>u>posed for the purpose. The
music was all old. but the stage,
savs Dr. Burney. ruined the sim-
plicity of the old airs, as it invaria-
bly does all music adapted to dra-*
malic purposes. Indeed, we, in
our own day, sometimes have the
opportunity of verifying this fxct,
when old airs or ballads arc tnlio-
duced into operas to whicli th«*
are unfitted. The "Last Rose of
Summer" put into the opera of
Martha is an instance in point;
but, worse than that, the writer onrc
heard "Home, Sweet Home "sung
during the music-lesson scene in
the Barbier de Seville. Adelina
Patti was the prima donna, and any
one who has seen and heard her
can imagine the contrast between
the simple, pathetic air and words,
and the kittenish, coquettish, Dres-
den-china style of the singer ! .^dd
to this the costume of a Spanish
senorita and the stage finery of
Rosina's boudoir, not to mention
the absurd anaclironism involved
in a girl of the XVllth century
singing Paine's touching song. Of
course the audience applauded
vigorously; for an English audience
at the opera goes into action in the
spirit of Nelson's words, '' England
expects every man to do his duty,"
and the incongruousness of the
scene never troubles its mind.
Carey tried to stem the downfall
of really good popular music by
writing both the words and music
of the well-known ballad of "Sally
in our Alley," which attained a
popularity (using the worj) in its
proper sense) that it has never lost
and never will lose. The song was
soon known from one end of the
country to the other, and, like ihe
old songs, was " whistled o'er tlie
furrowed land" and "sung to the
wheel, and sung unto the pail."
.Wdison was no less fond of it
than the common people; but the
song was an exception in its time,
and the poetry of the day never
ag.iin made its way among the grut
body of the people, as )l had done
under the Tudors and the esd;
Stuarts. MusicandpoetrybothgrtT
So/f^ of tfu Ptople.
407
artificial under the Hanoverian dy-
nasty, and the mannerisms and alTec-
tation.sof iliyniersand woit]d-t>e niu-
sicalcritics were sharply satirized by
Pope and Swift. In the reign of
Queen Anne the Italian opera was
introduced into London, and the
ully Titge for foreign music, because
it was foreign, soon wotlced its way
among all classes. Handel brought
about tlte first salutary return to
natural and simple musical expres-
sion, and, setting many national and
pastoral pieces to music, diifused
the taste for good music through
the intermediate orders of the peo-
ple, especially the country gentry,
but the masses still clung to inter-
minable ballads, with monotonous
lunes and no individuality either
ofscnse orof form. Although Eng-
land could boast of some good native
composers andpoetsin the XVIIIth
century — for instance.amoiig the for-
mer, Boyce, Acne, Linley, Jackson,
Shield, Arnold, etc. — still no good
music penetrated into the lower
strata of society; for these musi-
cians mostly cun6ned themselves to
pieces of greater pretension than
anything which was likely to be-
come popular, Wales and the
North of England still kept up a
better standard, hut the general
taste of the nation was decidedly
vitiated. Dibdin's sea-songs broke
the spell and reached the heart
of the people ; hut this was rather
a momentary Hash than a perma-
nent resurrection of good taste and
discernment. The custom of writ-
ing the majority of songs for one
voice, we think, had had much to
do with destroying the genuine love
of music among the people. It
seemed tosluftthc burden of enter-
tainment upon one member of a
social gathering, instead of assuming.
lliat i:
■•eltc
pition and pastime of the greater
number; and besides this, it no
doubt fostered an undue rage for
melody, or, as it is vulgarly called,
Ittne. We have often had occasion
to notice how bald and meagre —
trivial, indeed — a mere thread of
melody can sound when sung by
acquires a majestic and full tone.
Tlie fashion of solo-singing, which
obtains so much in our day, has
another disadvantage : it encourages
affectation and self-complacency in
the singer. The solo-singer is very
apt to arrogate to him or herself
the merit and effect of the piece;
to think more of the individual per-
formance than of the music per-
formed ; and to spoil a good piece
by interpolating runs and shakes to
show off his or her powers of vo-
cal gymnastics. All this was im-
possible in the old part-songB, where
attention and precision were indis-
pensable. .
There are hopeful indications at
present ibat England is not utterly-
sunk into musical indifference, but,
strange to say, wherever the good
leaven does work, it does so from
below upwards. The lower classes
in the North of England have main-
ly given the impulse; the higher
are still, on the whole, superficial in
their tastes and trivial and medio-
cre in their performances. Even
as far back as 1834, the writer in
the Penny Alagazine oiKudy quoted
gives an interesting account of a
surprise be met with at a small vil-
lage in Sussex. (This, be it re-
membered, is an almost exclusive-
ly Saxon district of the country.)
Being tired of the solitude of the
little inn and the dulness of a
country newspaper, he walked down
the street of the village, and, in so
doing, was brought to a pause be-
fore a small cottage, nowise dis-
tinguished from the other humble
4o8
Songs of the Pi^U.
homesteads of the place, from which
proceeded sounds of sweet nmsic.
The performance wiihin consisted,
not of voices, but of instriinieDls;
and the piece was one of great
pathos and heiiiily, and not devoid
of musical diflicolty. When it was
finished, and the performers had
rested a few seconds, they executed
9. German quartet of some pre-
tensions in very good style. This
was followed by variations on a
popular air by Stephen Storace,
which they played in excellent
time and wiih considerable ele-
gance and expression. Several
other pieces, chosen with equal
good taste, succeeded this, and the
stranger enjoyed a musical treat
where he litilc expected one. On
making inquiries at tlie inn, he
found that the performers were all
young men of the village, humble
mechanics and agricultural labor-
ers, who, for some oonsiderable
time, had been in the habit of
meeting at each other's houses in
the eveniuft, and playing and prac-
tising together. The taste had
originated with a young man of
the place who had acquired a little
knowledge of music at Brighton.
He bad taught some of his com-
rades, and by degrees they had so
increased in number and improved
in the art that now, to use the
words of the "informant, "there
were eight or ten that could play
by book and in public."
At that time, and in that part of
the (
, this
and remarkable proof of refine-
ment and good taste; but at pre-
sent, though still the exception, it
is no longer quite SO rare to find
uneducated people able to a certain
degree to appreciate good mutic.
Much has been written to vindicate
English musical taste within the
last thirty or forty years; but still
the fact can scarcely be overloo
that, notwithstanding all effort!
the contrary, the standard of t
among the masses is lower ihu
was in Tudor days.
Every one is familiar with
choral unions, the glee-clubs,
carol-singing, Leslie's choir, ;
Hullah's methods, which all go fa
raise the taste of the people and
list the vocal powers of many i
otherwise would have been leraf
to leave singing lo the " mounsee
and other "furriners," as the t
thing those benighted individi
could be good for. There is
there has been for many generatl
the Chapel Royal, a soit of in
mal school of music ; there is
Academy of Music ; there
" Crystal Palace " and " Mod
Popular Concerts"; musica' fi
vals every year in the vari
cathedrals, oratorios in Exeter H
and there soon wilt be a " Nati<
School of Music," which is to 1
climax in musical education,
pride of the representative boi
of wealthy and noble England
princes and corporations have i
with each other in founding ache
ships); but with all this, the pa
days of the Tudors are dead
gone beyond the power of mat
galv.inize tlieni into new a^tit
True, every young woman plays
pianoforte; you see thatinstrun
in the grocer's best parlor and
farmer's keeping-room; but the
of music played upon it is tri
and foreign, an exotic in the lifi
the performer, a boarding-sci
accomplishment, not a labor
love. You can hear " Beaul
Star," and " Home, Sweet Hot
and Mozart's "Agnus Dei " s
one after the" other, with the S;
.expression, the same " strummint
the same Gtolidity, or the same
fecled languor.and you will perc
Pious Pictures.
409
sat, though the singer may know
hem, she neither feels nor iinder-
tands them. Moore's melodies,
Ml, yoti hear ad nauseam, murdered
nd shirred over anyhow; but both
he delicacy of the poetry and ihe
uthos of the music are a dead-let-
er to the performer. But though
I few songs by good writers are
mpular in the middle classes — for
nstance, Tennyson's " Brook " and
' Come into the garden, Maud," the
immortal and nlmost iinKpoilable
* Home, Sweet Home " — >yet there is
itso a dark side to the picture in
the prevalence of comic songs, low,
slangy ballads, sham negro melo-
dies (utterly unlike tlie real old
pathetic plantation-song), and other
degrading entertainments classed
under the title of " popular tniisif."
The higher classes give little coun-
tenance or aid to the upward move-
ment in music, and stili look upon
the art as an adjunct of fashion.
With such disadvant:iges. it is a won-
der that England has struggled back
into the ranks of music-lovers at all.
even though, as yet, she can take but
a subordinate place among them
PIOUS PICTURES.
A GREAT deterioration having
been observable for some time past
in the multitudinous little pictures
published in Paris, ostensibly with
a religious object, some of the more
thoughtful writers in Catholic peri-
odicals have on several recent oc-
casions earnestly protested against
the form these representations are
taking. Their remonstrances are,
however, as yet unsuccessful. The
"■ article " continues lo be produced
on an increasing scale, and is daily
transmitted in immense quantities,
not only to the farthest CMtremities
of the territory, but far beyond, es-
pecially to England and America,
In ruin taste, sentimentalize piety,
and " give occasion to the enemy
to" deride if not to "blaBpheme."
The bishops of Fri»nce have al-
itady turned their attention to this
unliealtliy state of things in what
may be called pictorial literature
for the pious, and efforts are being
made in the higher regions of
ecclesiastical milhority to arrest it5
deterioration. In the synod lately
held at Lyons severe censure was
passed on the objectionable treat-
ment of sacred things so much in
vogue in certain quarters ; and, still
more recently, Father Matignon, in
his conference on '" The Artist, ''con-
demned these " grotesque interpre-
tations of religious truths, which
render tlieni ridiculous in the eyes
of unbelievers, and corrupt the
taste of the faithful." The elo-
quent preacher at the same time
recommended the Catholic journal-
ists to denounce a species of cor.-
merce as ignorant as it is merce-
nary, and counselled the members
of the priesthood lo "declare unre-
lenting war against this school of
pettiness, which is daily gaining
ground in France, and which gives
a trivial and vulgar asi>ect to things
tJie most sacred."
This appeal has not been with-
out effect. There appears in the
4IO /iriMM t
Mi'nde, from the pen of M. L£on
Ganticr, the aullior of several pious
and learned works, 3. Letter
"Against Curtain ficliires," address-
ed '" lo tlie presideiu of tlie Confer-
ence of T ," in whicli tlie ab-
siirdity of these sil!y compositions
iclced with I
ich spiri
good sense. The Semaiae Reii-
gUuse de Paris reproduces this let-
ter, with an entreaty to its readers
to enroll themselves in the critsade
therein preached by the eminent
writer — a crusade the opportune-
ness of which must be only too evi-
dent to every thoiightfid and reli-
gious mind. M- L6on Gantier writes
as follows ■
You bave requested me, dear
friend, to purchase for you a
"gross" of little pictures for dis-
tribution among your poor and
llieir children. . . .
As to the selection of lhe.se pic-
tures I must own myself greatly
perplexed, and must beg to submit
to you very bunibly my difficulties,
and not only my difficulties, but
also ray distress, and, to say the
truth, my indignation. 1 have be-
fore my eyes at this moment four
or five hundred pictures which bave
been sold to me as " pious," but
wliicli I consider as in reality among
the most detestable and irreverent
of .nny kind of merchandise. A
);reat political journal the other
day gave to one of its leaders the
title of L'EcceimmeHt* I cannot
give a title to my letter, but, were
it possible to do so, I sliould choose
this one in preference to any other.
I am in the unfortunate state of a
man who has swallowed several
kilograms of adulterated honey. I
am suffering from an indigestion of
sugar ; and wbat sugar ! W
the act of buying these lilt]
rors, I beheld numberless pu n
succeed each other with i
eagerness in the shops, whic)-
not specify. Yes, 1 had ih
of meeting there wiih Ci
Brothers and with Sisters o
lity, who made me sigh b;
simple avidity and ingenue
light at the sight of these fi
little black or rose-colored
They bought them by hundr
thousands, by ten thousand
sciiools, for orphanages, fo
sions. Ah ! my dear frienc
many souls are going to t
treacled in our hapless worl
is the triumph of confect
" Why are you choosing s
, thes
I asked
good Brother Theodore, wl
my great astonishment, I
among the purcliasers ; " th
disagreeable." " Agreed."
are stupid." " I know it."
are dear." " My purse is o
well aware of the fact."
why do you buy them ?"
cause I Hud that these only
ceptable." And thereup
worthy man told me that he had
the other day distributed amon<;
liis children pictures taken from the
fine head of our Saviour attributed
to Morales — a chcf-ifxuvrr. The
children, however, perceiving that
there was no gilding upon tliem,
had thrown them aside, gaping.
Decidedly, the evil is greater ihaji
I had supposed, and it is time to
consider what Is to be done.
In spite of all this, 1 have boughi
your provision of pictures ; but do
not be uneasy — I am keeping them
myself, and will proceed to describe
them to you. I do not wish llm
the taste of your beloved poor
should be vitiated by the sight of
these mawkish designs; but I nil!
-^ .(
Aake upon myself tn analyze them
for your benefit, and tlien see if
you are not very soon as indignant
■MS myself.
In the first place we have the
"symbolical" pictures, and these
Are the most numerous of all. I
do not want to say too much
against tbeni. You know in what
high estimation I hold true sym-
boHsm, and we h:ive many a time
exchanged our thoughts on this
, admirable form of the activity
of the human mind. A symbol
it a comparison between things
I belonging to the physical and
j things belonging lo the immaterial
I world. Now, tliese two worlds
are in perfef:t harmony with
i each other. To each phenomenon
; of the moral order there corre-
I kponds exactly a phenomenon of
{ Ihe visible order. If we compare
I tbese two facts with each other, we
1 have a symbol. 'Vhere is a life, a
j breath, a whiteness, which are
I material. Figurative language is
nothing else than a vast and
vondeifitl symbolism, and you re-
member the marvellous things writ-
ten on this subject by the lamented
M. Landriot. In the supernatural
order it is the same, and all Chris-
tian generations have made use of
symbolism to express the most
sacred objects of their adoration.
There has been the symbolism of
the Catacombs ; there has been
also that of the Middle A);es.
The two, although not resembling,
nevertheless complete, each other,
and eloquently attest the fact that
the Christian race has never been
without the use of symbols.
Tluis it K not symbolism whicli I
condemn, but this particular sym-
bolism of which I am about to
speak, and wiiich is so odiously
lilly. I write lo you whh the
pnx)ls before me. I am not in-
ciures. 411
venting, but, mirror-wise, merely re-
flecting. I am not an autlior, but
a photographer.
Firstly, here we have a ladder,
which represeois "the way of the
soul towards God." 'rhis is very
well, although moderatrly ideal ;
but tlien who is mounting this
ladder,' You would never guess.
It is a dove ! Ves ; the poor liird
is painfully climbing up the rounds
as if she were a hen gelling liack
to roost, and apparently forgetting
. she
pair of
mgs.
But we shall fmd this
where; for our pictures are full of
the species, and are in fact a very
plentifully-stocked dove-cote. I
perceive down tliere anothei ani-
mal; it is a roe with her fawn,
and with amazement I read this
legend : " 'I'he fecundity of the
breast of the loe is the image of
the abundance and sweetness of
grace." Why. was llie roe selected,
and why roe's milk ? Strange ! But
here again we have a singular col-
lection. On a heart crowned with
roses is phiced a candlestick (a
candlestick on a heart !), and this
candelabrum, piice twenty - nine
sous, is surmounted by a lighted
candle, around wliich angels are
pressing. Tiiis, we are told under-
neath, is "good example." Dues it
mean that we are to set one for ilie
blessed angels to follow ? Next,
what do I see liere? A guitar;
and this at the foot of the cross.
Let us see what can be the reason
of this mysterious asscmblniie ; the
text furnishes it : Je me dehnserai
h I'abri lie la Croix—" I wij! jefresh
myself in the shelter of tlie cross"
— from wlience it follows tliai one
can play the guitar upon Gcilgotha,
Touching emblem! And what do
you say of this other, in which our
Saviour Jesus, the Word, and. as
Bossuet says, the Reason and In-
'
412
Pious Pictures.
I •
terior Discourse of the Eternal
Fatlier, is represented as occupied
in killing I know not what little
insects on the leaves of a rose-
bush? "The divine Gardener
destroys tlie caterpillars which
make havoc in his garden," says
the legend. I imagine nothing,
but merely transcribe, and for my
part would gladly turn insecticide
to this colleciion of imagerie.
This hand issuing out of a cloud
I recognize as the hand of my
Lord God, the Creator and Father
of all, who is at the same time their
comforter, their stay, and their life.
I admit this symbol, which is an-
cient and truly Christian ; but this
divine hand, which the Middle
Ages would most carefully have
guarded against charging with any
kind of burden ; this hand, which
represents Eternal Justice and Eter-
nal Goodness — can you imagine
what it is here made to hold }
Not even the fiery bolt which the
)eathen of old times represented
in the grasp of their Jupiter To-
nans, but] a horrible and stupid
little watering-pot, from the spout
of which trickles a driblet of water
upon the cup of a lily. Further on
I see the said watering-pot is re-
placed by a sort of jug, which the
Eternal is emptying upon souls in
the shape of doves; and this, the
legend kindly informs me, is ** the
heavenly dew." Heavenly dew
trickling out of a jug! And
there are individuals who can im-
agine and depict a thing like this
when the beneficent Creator daily
causes to descend from his beauti-
ful sky those milliards of little
pearly drops which sparkle in the
morning sunshine on the fair man-
tle of our earth ! Water, it .must
be owned, is scarcely a successful
subject under any form with our
picture-factors. Here is a poor
and miserably-painted thread
ing itself up above a basin, while
am informed underneath that *'
jet of water is the image of ti
soul lifting itself towards God by
meditation."
I also need to be enlightened as
to how " a river turned aside frosi
its course is an image of the gooi
use and of the abuse of grace-'
It is obscure, but still it does nai^
vulgarize and debase a beautifid
and Scriptural image, like the nexlj
I will mention, in which, over the^
motto, *' Care of the lamp : iraageJ
of the cultivation of grace in outi
hearts," we have a servant-maid;
taking her great oily scissors andf
cutting the wick, of which she scaK
ters the blackened fragments no ma^^
ter where.
The quantity of ribbon zn4
string used up by these symbol-
manufacturers is something iiv-
calculable. He;e lines of string
unite all the hearts of the faithful
(doves again !) to the heart of Our
Blessed Lady; there Mary hersell,
the Immaculate One and our own
incomparable Mother, from the
height of heaven holds in leash,
by an interminable length of string,
a certain little dove, around the
neck of which there hangs a scap-
ular. This, we are told, means that
" Mary is the directress of the obe-
dient soul." Elsewhere the string
is replaced by pretty rose-colored
or pale-blue ribbons, which have
doubtless a delicious effect to those
who can appreciate it. Here is a
young girl walking along cheerfully
enough, notwithstanding that her
heart is tied by one of these ele-
gant ribbons to that of the Blessed
Mother of God, apparently without
causing her the slightest inconveni-
ence. Her situation, however, is, 1
think, le.ss painful than that of this
other young person, who is occu-
Pipits Piciuret,
♦13
lied in carving her own heart into
I shape resembling that of Mary.
Another young female has hoisted
his miich^tormented organ (her
»tim) on an easel, and is painting
t after the same pattern. But let
IS hasten out of this atelier to
l^reathe the open air among these
trees- Alas ! we there find, under
the fonn and features of an effemi-
nate child of eight years old, " the
Jivine Gardener putting a prop to
» sapling tree," or ** grafting on the
»ild stock the germ of good fruits.'*
^bis is all pretty well ; but what
ean be said of this ciborium which
^s been energetically stuck into a
tar, with the legend, " I seek a
^re heart" ? These gentlemen, in-
Ideed, treat you to the Mc5st Holy
lEucharist with a free-and-easyness
lUiat is bv no means fittins: or
reverent. It is forbidden to the
I bands of laics to touch the Sacred
Vessels, and it is only just that the
tame prohibition should apply to
picture-makers. They are entreat-
ed not to handle thus lightly and
irreverently that which is the object
of our faith, our hope, and our love.
Hitherto I have refrained from
touching upon that very deh'cate
subject which it is nevertheless
necessary that I should approach —
namely, the representation of the
Sacred Heart. And here I feel
myself at ease, having beforehand
submitted to all the decisions of
the church, and having for long
past made it my great aim to be
penetrated with her spirit. Like
yourself, I have a real devotion to
the Sacred Heart, nor do I wish
to conceal it. When any devotion
tikes so wide a development in the
Holy Church, it is because itiswill-
fd by God, who watches unceas-
ingly over her destinies, and the
forms of worship which she renders
to him. All Catholics are agreed
upon this point. It is true that
certain among thern regard the Sa-
cred Heart as the symbol of Divine
Love, and that others consider it
under the aspect of a very adorable
part of the Body of the God-Man,
and, if I may so express it, as
a kind of centralized Eucharist.
Well, I hold that to be accurate
one ought to admit and harmonize
the two systAns, and therefore I
do so. You are aware that it is
my belief that physiology does not
yet sufficiently understand the me-
chanism of our material heart, and
I await discoveries on that subject
which shall establish the fact of its
necessity to our life. The other
day, at Baill^re's, I remained a long
time carefully examining a fine en-
graving representing the circula-
tion of the blood through the veins
and arteries, and I especially con-
templated the heart, the source and
receptacle of this double move-
ment, and said to myself, " The wor-
ship of the Sacred Heart will be
one day justified by pliysiology."
But why do I say this, when it is
so already } Behold me, then, on
my knees before the Sacred Heart
of my God, in which I behold at
the same time an admirable symbol
and a yet more admirable reality.
But is this a reason for representing
the Sacred Heart in a manner alike
ridiculous and odious 1 I will not
here enter upon the question as to
whether it is allowable to represent
the Sacred Heart of Jesus other-
wise than in his Sacred Breast, and
I only seek to know in order to ac-
cept unhesitatingly whatever with
regard to this may be the thought
of the church. But that which to
my mind is utterly revolting is the
sight of the profanations of which
these fortieth-rate picture-manu-
facturers are guilty. What right
have they, and how do they dare.
4U
Pious Pictures
to represent hundreds of consecrat-
ed Hosts issuing from the Sacred
Heart, and a dove pecking at them
as they are dropping down ? What
right have they to make the Heart
of our Lord God a pigeon-house,
a roost ing-place for these everlast-
ing doves, or into a vase out of
which they are drinking? What
right have they to insert a little
heart (ours) into the Divine Heart
of Jesus ? What right have they
to represent to us [a Pelion, Ossa,
and Olympus on a small scale]
three hearts, the one piled upon
the other, and cascades of blood
pouring from the topmost, which is
that of Otir Lord ; upon the second,
which is that of his Blessed Mother ;
and thence upon the third, which
IS our own ? What right have they
to make the Sacred Heart shed
showers of roses, or to give its
form to tlieir " mystic garden " ?
Lastly, what right have they to
lodge it in the middle of a full-
blown flower, and make the latter
address to it the scented question,
** What would you desire me to do
in order that I may be agreeable
to you ?** Ye well-meaning picture-
makers ! beware of asking me the
same question ; for both you and I
very well know what would be the
answer.
The truth is that these clumsy
persons manage to spoil everything
they touch, and they have dishon-
ored the symbolism of the dove, as
they have compromised the repre-
sentations of the Sacred Heart.
The dove is undoubtedly one of the
most ancient and evangelical of all
the Christian symbols; but a cer-
tain discretion is nevertheless ne-
cessary in the employment of this
emblem of the Holy Spirit of God.
This discretion never failed our
forefathers, who scarcely ever de-
picted the dove, except only in
the scene of Our Lord's bapth
and in representations of the Bh
cd Trinity. In the latter the Eti
nal Father, vested in pontifical
imperial robes, holds between
arms the cross, whereon hangs hi
Son, while the Holy Dove p:
from the Father to the Son as tl
eternal love which unites th<
This is well, simple, and even fiai
But there is a vast difference
tween this 'and the present abi
and vulgarization of the dove as
emblem, where it is made use of
represent the faithful soul. N<
truly, one is weary of all this,
you see this flight of young pigeoi
hovering about with hearts in tb(
beaks ? The beaks arc verv si
and the hearts very large,
you are intended to understand
this that " fervent souls rise rapi<
to great perfection." These oil
doves, lower down, give themseli
less \ rouble and fatigue; they ai
quietly pecking into a heart, and
read this legend : " The heart
Love is inexhaustible; let us go l{
it in all our wants." The pigeoi
that I see a little farther off is n(
without his difliculties ; he is carry
ing a stout stick in his delicatcr]
beak, and — would you believe it.^-
the explanation of this remarkableej
symbol is, ** Thy rod and thy sti
have comforted roe." Here again
are carrier-pigeons, bringing us in
their beaks nicely-folded letters in
charming envelopes. One of these
birds [who possibly may belong to
the variety knows as tumbler pig-
eons] has evidently fallen into the
water ; for he is shown to us stand-
ing to recover himself on what ap-
pears to be a heap of mud in the
middle of the ocean, with the motto,
"Saved! he is saved!" Next 1
come upQn a party of doves again
— always doves ! — whose occupa-
tion is certainly no smecure. Can
Pious Pictures.
415
pre been fitted to their feeble
laws, and these hapless creatures
re rowing. Here is another un-
»rtunate pigeon. She is in pri-
pn with a thick chain fastened to
fCT left foot, and we are told
^at she is ** reposing on the damp
iraw of the dungeon." Further
m appears another of this luck-
ess species, on its back with its
daws in the air. It is dead. So
buch the better. It is not I who
pill encourage it to be so un-
iise as to return to life. True,
default of doves, other symbols
ill not be found lacking. Here
€ some of the tender kind — little
^Duvenirs to be exchanged between
biend and friend, wherein one finds
know not what indescribable con-
raerations of religious sentiment
d natural friendship. P'lowers,
all sides flowers : forget-me-nots,
jipansies, lilies, and underneath all
[the treasures of literature: "It
IS a friend who offers you these" ;
*Near or far away, yours ever";
"These will pass; friendship will
remain." ** C*est la fleur de Marie
Que je vous ai choisie." (N.B.-^
This last is in verse.)
I know not, my dear friend,
whether vou feel with me on this
point. While persuading myself
that all these playfulnesses are
very innocent, I yet find in thera a
certain something which strikes me
as interloping, and I do not like
mixtures.
We have also the politico-re-
ligious pictures. Heaven forbid
that I should speak evil of the
jUurS'dC'iys which embalmed with
their perfume all the dear Middle
Ages to which I have devoted so
tnuch of ray life ; but we have in
these pictures of which I am speak-
ing mixtures which are, to ray
mind, detestable, and I cannot en-
dure this pretty little boat, of which
the sails are covered with Jieurs-ife-
fys, its mast is the Pontifical Cross,
and its pilot the Sacred Heart. Is
another allusion to legitimacy in-
tended in this cross surrounded
with flowers and bearing the legend,
" My Beloved delights himself
among the lilies " ? I cannot tell ;
but if we let each political party
have free access to our religious
picture-stores, we shall see strange
things, and then Gan: aux abeilles !
— *' Beware of the bees."
One characteristic common to
all these wretched picturelings is
their insipidity and petty childish-
ness. They are a literature of
nurses and nursery-maids. The
designers must surely belong to the
female portion of humanity ; for
one is conscious everywliere of the
invisible hand of woman. One is
unwilling to conceive it possible
that any one with a beard on the
chin could bring himself to invent
similar meagrenesses. These per-
sons are afraid of man, and have
wisely adopted the plan of never
painting him, and of making every-
body under the age of ten years.
Never have they had any clear or
serious idea of the Word, the
God made man — of him, the
mighty and terrible One, who
pronounced anathema on the
Pharisees and the sellers in the
Temple. They can but repre-
sent a little Jesus in wax, or sugar,
or treacle ; and alarmed at the lofti-
ness of Divinity, and being incap-
able of hewing his human form in
marble, they have kneaded it in
gingerbread.
And yet our greatest present
want is manliness. Truly, truly, in
France we have well-nigh no more
•men ! •Let us, then, have no more
of these childishnesses, but let us
behold in the divine splendor and
perfect manhood of the Word made
flesh the eternal type of regenerat-
ed humanity.
i
4l6 SuMt»fr Storms.
SUMMER STORMS.
Summer storms are fleeting things.
Coming soon, and quickly o'er ;
Vet their wrath a shadow brings
Where but sunshine dwelt before.
On the grass the pearl-drops lie
Fresh and lovely day appciirs ;
Yet the rainbow's arch on high
Is but seen through falling tears.
For, though clouds have passed away,
Though the sky be bright again.
Earth slili feels the transient sway
Of the heavy snmnfer rain,
Uroken flow'rs and scattered leaves
Tel! the sborl-lived tempest's power;
Something still in nature grieves
At the fierce and sudden shower.
There are in the human breast
Passions wild and deep and strong,
Bearing in their course nnblest
Brightest hopes of life along.
O'er the harp of many strings
Often conies a wailing strain.
When the hand of anger fiings
Discord 'mid its soft refrain.
Tears may pass, and smiles again
Wreathe the lip and light the brow ;
But, like flowers 'neath summer's rain,
Sonic bright hope lies crushed and low.
Some beart-idnl shattered lies
In the temple's inner shrine:
Ne'er unveiled to human eyes.
Sacred kept like things divine.
The King of Metals.
417
Speak not harshly to the loved
In your holy household band ;
Days will come when where they moved
Many a vacant chair will stand.
To the erring — oh, be kind !
Balm give to the weary heart ;
Soft words heal the wounded mind,
Bid the tempter's spell depart.
Let not passion's storm arise,
Though it pass like summer showers ;
Clouds will dim the soul's pure skies,
Hope will weep o'er broken flowers.
Speak, then, gently ; tones of strife
Lightly breathed have lasting power ;
Memories that embitter life
Often rise from one rash hour.
THE KING OF METALS.
FXOM THB nOENCB.
There once lived a widow named
Mary Jane, wha had a beautiful
daughter called Flora. The wid-
oir^was a sensible, humble woman ;
tlie daughter, on the contrary, was
very haughty. Many young per-
sons desired her in marriage, but
she found none to please her ; the
greater the number of her suitors,
the more disdainful she became.
One night the mother awoke, and,
being unable to compose herself
again to sleep, she began to say her
rosary for Flora, whose pride gave
^er a great deal of disquietude.
Vlora was asleep near her, and she
smiled in her sleep.
The next day Mary Jane in-
quired :
^ What beautiful dream had you
VOL. XXII.— 27
that caused you to smile in your
sleep '> "
** I dreamed that a great lord con-
ducted me to church in a copper
coach, and gave me a ring compos-
ed of precious stones that shone
like stars ; and when I entered the
church, the people in the church
looked only at the Mother of God
and at me."
" Ah ! what a proud dream,"
cried the widow, humbly drooping
her head.
Flora began to sing. That same
day a young peasant of good repu-
tation asked her to marry him.
This offer her mother approved,
but Flora said to him :
" Even were you to seek me in a
coach of copper, and wed me with
4rt
The King of Metals.
a ring brilliant as the stars, I would
not accept you."
The following night Mary Jane,
being wakeful, began to pray, and,
looking at Flora, saw her smile.
" What dream did you have
last night ? " she asked Flora.
" I dreamed that a great lord
came for me in a coach of silver,
gave me a coronet of gold, and
when I entered the church those
present were more occupied in
looking at me than at the Mother
of God."
" O poor child !" exclaimed the
widow, "what an impious dream.
Pray, pray earnestly that you may
be preserved from temptation."
Flora abruptly left her mother,
that she might not hear her remon-
strances.
That day a young gentleman
came to ask her in marriage. Her
mother regarded this proposal as
a great honor, but Flora said to
this new aspirant :
" Were you to seek me in a
coach of silver and offer me a coro-
net of gold, I would not wed you."
" Unfortunate girl !" cried Mary
Jane, " renounce your pride.
Pride leads to destruction."
Flora laughed.
The third night the watchful mo-
ther saw an extraordinary expres-
sion on her child's countenance,
and she prayed fervently for her.
In the morning Flora told her
of her dream.
" I dreamed," she said, ** that a
great lord came to seek me in a
coach of gold, gave me a robe of
gold, and when I entered the church
all there assembled looked only
at me."
The poor widow wept bitterly.
The girl left her to escape seeing
her distress.
That day in the court-yard of
the house there stood three equi-
pages, one of copper, the other of
silver, and the third of gold. The
first was drawn by two horses, the
second by four, the third by eighc
From the first two descended pa^
clothed in red, with green caps;
from the third descended a noble*
man whose garments were of gold.
He asked to .marry Flora. She
immediately accepted htm, andra
to her chamber to decorate herself
with the golden robe which he pre>
sen ted to her.
The good Mary Jane was sor
rowful and anxious, but Floni^
countenance was radiant with de^
light. She left her home withovt;
asking the maternal benediction,
and entered the church with i
haughty air. Her mother remained
on the threshold praying and weep-
After the ceremony, Flora entered
the golden equipage with her hu^
band, and they departed, followed
by the two other equipages.
They drove a long, a very long
distance. At last they arrived at a
rock where there was a large en-
trance like the gate of a city.
They entered through this door,
which soon closed with a terrible
noise, and they were in midnight
darkness. Flora was trembling
with fear, but her husband said :
*' Reassure yourself ; you will
soon see the light." In truth, from
every side appeared little creatures
in red clothes and green caps—
the dwarfs who dwell in the cavi-
ties of the mountains. They car-
ried flaming torches, and advanced
to meet their roaster, the King of
Metals.
They ranged themselves around,
and escorted him through long
valleys and subterranean forests.
But — ^a very singular thing — all the
trees of these forests were of lead.
At last the cortege reached a
\
New Publications*
419
laagnificent prairie or meadow; in
the midst of this meadow was a
chiteau of gold studded with dia-
monds. ** This," said the King of
Metals, "is your domain." Flora
was much fatigued and very hun-
gry. The dwarfs prepared dinner,
and her husband led her to a table
of gold. But all the meats and all
the food presented to her were of
this metal. Flora, not being able
to partake of this food, was re-
duced to ask humbly for a piece of
bread. The waiters brought her
bread of copper, of silver, and of
gold. She could not bite either of
them. " I cannot give you," her
husband said, " the bread that you
wish ; here we have no other kind
of bread."
The young woman wept, and the
king said to her :
** Your tears cannot change your
fate. This is the destiny you have
yourself chosen."
The miserable Flora was com-
pelled to remain in this subterra-
nean abode, suffering with hunger,
through her passion foir wealth.
Only once a year, at Easter, she is
allowed to ascend for three days to
the upper earth, and then she goes
from village to village, begging from
door to door a morsel of bread.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Am ExposrriON .of the Church in
View or Recent Difficulties, and
Controversies, and the Present
Needs of the Age. London: Basil
Montagu Pickering, 196 Piccadilly.
1875. New York: The Catholic
World. April, 1875.
(From Le ConUmporain^
I. Renewed Working of the Holy Spirit
in the World. — We are, in a religious,
social, and political point of view, in
times of transition which we are not able
to understand, for the same reason that
00 one can follow the movements of the
battle-field who is in the midst of the en-
gigement.
To judge from appearances, especially
those which are nearest at hand, we are on
the brink of an abyss. The Catholic re-
ligion, openly persecuted in Germanv,
prostrated now for several years in Italy
and Spain by the suppression of the re-
ligious congregations, attacked in all
countries, abandoned by all sovereigns,
appears, humanly speaking, to be on the
blink of destruction. There are not
wanting prophets who predict the col-
lapse of Christianity and the end of th'e
world. There are, however, manly souls
who do not allow themselves to be dis-
couraged, and who see grounds for hope
in the very events which fill ordinary
hearts with terror and consternation.
Of this number is an American reli-
gious. Father Hecker, who has just issued
a pamphlet in English, wherein, without
concealing the difficulties of the present,
he avows his expectation of the approach-
ing triumph of religion.
His motives are drawn from the deep
faith he professes in the action of the
Holy Spirit in the church, outside of
which he does not see any real Chris-
tianity. It is the Holy Spirit whom we
must first invoke ; it is the Holy Spirit
of whom we have need, and who will
cure all our ills by sending us his gifts.
*• The age," he says, ** is superficial ; it
needs the gift of wisdom, which enables
the soul to contemplate truth in its ulti-
mate causes. The age is materialistic;
it needs the gift of intelligence, by the
light of which the intellect penetrates into
the essence of things. The age is cap-
tured by a false and one-sided science ; it
needs the gift of science, by the light of
which is seen each order of truth in its
420
New Publications,
true relations to other orders and in a
divine unity. The age is* in disorder,
and is ignorant of the ways to true pro-
gress ; it needs the gift of counsel, which
teaches how to choose the proper means
to attain an object. The age is im-
pious ; it needs the gift oi piety, which
leads the soul to look up to God as the
heavenly Father, and to adore him with
feelings of filial affection and love. The
age is sensual and effeminate ; it needs
the gift of force, which imparts to the will
the strength to endure the greatest bur-
dens, and to prosecute the greatest enter-
prises with ease and heroism. The age
has lost and almost forgotten God ; it
needs the gift of fear to bring the soul
again to God, and make it feel conscious
of its great responsibility and of its des-
tiny."
The men to whom these gifts have
been accorded are those of whose services
our age has need. A single man with
these gifts could do more than ten thou-
sand who possessed them not. It is to
such men, if they correspond with the
graces which have been heaped upon
them, that our age will owe its universal
restoration and its universal progress.
This being admitted, since, on the other
hand, it is of faith that the Holy Spirit
does not allow the church to err, ought
we not now to expect that he will direct
her on to a new path ?
Since the XVIth century, the errors
of Protestantism, and the attacks upon
the Catholic religion of which it gave
the signal, have compelled the church to
change, to a certain extent, the normal
orbit of her movement. Now that she
has completed in this direction her line
of defence,* it is to be expected that she
will resume her primitive career, and en-
ter on a new phase, by devoting herself
to more vigorous action. It is impossible
to dispute the fresh strength which the
definition lately promulgated by the
Council of the Vatican has bestowed
upon the church. It is the axis on
which now revolves the church's career —
the renewal of religion in souls, and the
entire restoration of society.
Do we not see an extraordinary divine
working in those numerous pilgrimages
« The Council of Trent decreed nothing on the
tttt^t of the authority of the church : that of the
Vatican had to supply the omissios. The struggle
with Protestantism on this subject reached its Ixst
•taf^e in the definition of the dogma of Papal In-
fallibility decreed by the church assembled at the
Couadl of the Vatkan.
to authorized sanctuaries, in those molti^;
plied novenas, and those new assoctM
tions of prayer ? And do they not git€
evidence of the increasing influence of
the Holy Spirit on souls !
What matter persecutions ? It is tkef
which purify what remains of the too \e^
man in the church. It is by the crott i
we come to the light — Per cjucaa ti\
lucftn. I
A little farther on the author explaioi |
in what the twofold action of the liijtf \
Spirit consists.
He acts at one and the same time im
an intimate manner upon hearts, and oi
a manner quite external on the choidl
herself.
An indefinite field of action cone
to the sentiments of the heart, withoiilft
sufficient knowledge of the end and ob»
ject of the church, would open the wa^
for illusions, for heresies of eveiy kin^
and would invite an individual mysticisB-
which would be merely one of the fonns
of Protestantism.
^n the other band, the exclusive poiil
ofview of the external authority of tkt
church, without a corresponding compre-
hension of the nature of the operations
of the Holy Spirit within the bean of
every one of the faithful, would make
the practice of religion a pure formalism,
and would render obedience servile, and
the action of the church sterile.
Moreover, the action of the Holy Spirit
made visible in the authority of the
church, and of the Holy Spirit dwelling
invisibly in the heart, form an insepara^
ble synthesis ; and he who has not a clear
conception of this double action of the
Holy Spirit runs the risk of losing him-
self in one or other of the extremes
which would involve the destruction and
end of the church.
In the external authority of the church
the Holy Spirit acts as the infallible in-
terpreter and the criterion of the divine
revelation. He acts in the heart z&jg^-
lag divine life and sanctification.
The Holy Spirit, who, by means of the
teachings of the church, communicates
divine truth, is the same Spirit which
teaches the heart to receive rightly the
divine truth which he deigns to teach.
The measure of our love for the Hclj
Spirit is the measure of our obedience to
the authority of the church ; and the
measure of our obedience to the autho-
rity of the church is the measure of cor
h)ve for the Holy Spirit. Whence the
New Publications,
421
Baying of S. Augustine : Quantum guts-
wme amat ecclfsiam Da, tantutn hnbet Spir-
HviKr Sitnctttm.
It is remarkable that no pope has done
much for the despised rights of hu-
reason as Pope Pius IX. ; that no
ncil has done better service to science
that ot tlie Vatican, none has better
l|C|gulated its relations to the faith ; that
i'tooe has better defined in their funda-
iBKntal principles the relations of the
JIfttural and the supernatural ; and the
I'^lrork of the pontiflfand of the council is
yet finished.
£very apology for Christianity must
'feenceforth make great account of the in-
Hinsic proofs of religion, without which
people of the world would be more and
^fiore drawn to sec the church only on her
4bnnan side.
Tlic Holy Spirit, by means of the sacra-
, consummates the union of the soul
of the believer with God. It is this end
.vhich true religion should pursue. The
|ilacing in relief the internal life, and the
constitution of the church, and the intel-
I Qgible side of the mysteries of %he
'^urch — in short, the intrinsic reasons
of the tfuths of the divine revelation com-
Uned with the external motive of credi-
bility — will complete the demonstration
of Christianity. Such an exposition of
Christianity, founded on the union of
these two categories of proofs, will have
the effect of producing a more enlighten-
ed and intense conviction of religion in
the souls of the faithful, and of stimulat-
ing them to more energetic action ; and
it will have, as its last result, the opening
of the door to their wandering brethren,
and gathering them back into the bosom
of the church. With the vigorous co-
operation of the faithful, the ever-aug-
menting action of the Holy Spirit will
raise the human personality to such an
intensity of strength and greatness that
there will result from it a new era for the
church and for society — an admirat)le era,
which it would be difficult to describe in
human expressions, without having re-
course to the prophetic language of the
inspired Scriptures.
II. Thf Mtssion of Rtues. — In pursuing
bis study upon the action of the Holy
Spirit in the world, the author says that a
wider and more explicit exposition of the
dogmatic and moral veriticsof the church,
with a view to the characteristic gifts of
every race, is the means to employ in order
to realize the hopes he has conceived.
God is the author of the different races
of men. For known reasons of his provi-
dence, he has impressed on them certain
characteristic traits, and has assigned to
them from the beginning the places
which they should occupy in his church.
In a matter in which delicate suscepti-
bilities have to be carefully handled, it is
important not to exaggerate the special
gifts of every race, and, on the other
hand, not to depreciate them or exag-
gerate their vices.
It would, however, be a serious error,
in speaking of the providential mission
of the races, to suppose that they were
destined 10 mark with their imprint reli-
gion, Christianity, or the church. It is,
on the contrary, God who makes the
gifts and qualities with which he has en*
dowed them co-operate in the expression
and development of the truths which he
created for them.
Nevertheless, no one can deny the
mission of the Latin and Celti: races
throughout the greater part of the history
of Christianity. The first fact which
manifested their mission and established
the influence they were to exercise was
the establishment of the chair of S.
Peter at Rome, the centre of the Latin
race. To Rome appertained the idea of
the administrative and governmental
organization of the whole world. Rome
was regarded as the geographical centre
of the world.
The Greeks having abandoned the
church for schism, and the Saxons hav-
ing^ revolted against her by heresy in
the XVIth century, the predominance
which the Latin race, united later ob to
the Celtic race, assumed in her bosom,
became more and more marked.
This absence of the Greeks and of a
considerable part of the Saxons — nations
whose prejudices and tendencies are in
many respects similar — left the ground
more free for the church to complete her
action, whether by her ordinary or nor-
mal development, or by the way of coun-
cils, as that of Trent and that of the
Vatican.
That which characterizes the Latin and
Celtic races, according to our author, is
their hierarchical, traditional, and emo-
tional tendencies.
He means, doubtless, by this latter ex-
pression, that those races arc very sus-
ceptible to sensible impressions — to those
which come from without.
As to the hierarchical sentiment of the
422
New Publications.
Celtic and Latin races, it appears to as
that for upwards of a century it has been
much weakened, if it be not completely
extinct.
In the following passage the author is
not afraid to say of the Saxon race :
" It is predsely the importance given to the
external constitution and to the accessories of
the church which excited the antipathies of
the Saxons, which culminated in the so-called
Reformation. For the Saxon races and the
mixed Saxons, the English and their descend-
ants, predominate in the rational element, in
an energetic individuality, and in great practi-
cal activity in the material order."
One might have feared, perhaps, a
kind of hardihood arising from a certain
national partiality in regard to which the
author would find it diffioult to defend
himself against his half-breihrtn of Ger-
many, if he had not added :
•
"One of the^hief defects of the Saxon mind
lay in not fully understanding the constitution
of the church, or sufficiently appreciating the
essential necessity of her external organization.
Hence their misinterpretation of the providen-
tial action of the Latin-Celts, and their charges
against the church of formalism, superstition,
and popery. They wrongfully identified the
excesses of those races with the church of
God. They failed to take into sufficient con-
sideration the great and constant efforts the
church had made in her national and general
councils to correct the abuses and extirpate the
vices which formed the staple of their com-
plaints.
•'Conscious, also, of a certain feeling of repres-
sion of their natural instincts, while this work of
the Latin-Celts was being perfected, they at the
same time felt a great aversion to the increase
of externals in outward worship, and to the
minute regulations in discipline, as well as to
the growth of papal authority and the out-
ward grandeur of the papal court. The Saxon
leaders in heresy of the XVIth century, as well
as those of our own day, cunningly taking ad-
vantage of those antipathies, united with self-
ish political considerations, succeeded in mak-
ing a large number believe that the question
in controversy was not what it really was— a
question, namely, between Christianity and in-
fidelity—but a question between Romanism
and Germanism !
"It is easy to foresee the result of such a
false issue; for it is impossible, humanly
speaking, that a religion can maintain, itself
among a people when once they are led to be-
lieve it wrongs their natural instincts, is hostile
to their national development, or is unsympa-
thetic with their genius.
•• With misunderstandings, weaknesses, and
jealousies on both sides, these, with various
other causes, led thousands and millions of
Saxons and Anglo-Saxons to resistance, hatred,
and, finally, open rerolt against the ai
of the church.
** The same causes which mainly pi o du a rf
the religious rebellion of the XVltb cm
are still at work among the Saxons, and
the exciting motives of their present
tions against the church.
*• Looking through the distorted medimn of
their Saxon prejudices, grown stronger
time, and freshly stimulated by the recent
nition of Papal Infallibility, they have wc
themselves into the belief— seeing the chmik
only on the outside, as they do— that she is pwe^
ly a human institution, grown sk)«ly, by tiir
controlling action of the Latin-Celik instiad^
through centuries, to the present formidifafe
proportions. The doctrines, the sacraments, Ok
devotions, the worship of the Catholic Chunk,
are, for the most part, from then- standixni,
corruptions of Christianity, having their soiov
in the characteristics of the Latin-Celtk t^m.
The papal authority, to their sight, is nothii^
else than the concentration of the aceit
tendencies of these races, carried to their
minating point by the recent Vatican ik
tion, which was due, in the main, to the ei&il9
and the influence exerted by the Jesuits. Thfc
despotic ecclesiastical authority, whidi eoB*
mands a superstitious reverence and servb
si^ission to all its decrees, teaches doc-
trines inimical to the autonomy of the Gersaa
Empire, and has fourteen millions or moie of
iU subjects under its sway, ready at *any mo*
ment to obey, at all hazards, its dedsioitt.
What is to hinder this Ultramontajie power
from issuing a- decree, in a critical moment,
which will disturb the peace and invoh-e. per-
haps, the overthrow of that empire, the fruit of
so great sacrifices, and the realization of tht
ardent aspirations of the Germanic races ? Is
it not a dictate of seIf-prescr\'atior and political
prudence to remove so dangerous an element,
and that at all costs, from the state ? Is it not
a duty to free so many millions of our Ger-
man brethren from this superstitious yoke and
slavish subjection ? Has not divine Provi-
dence bestowed the empire of Europe upon the
Saxons, and placed us Prussians at its head, in
order to accomplish, with all the means at our
disposal, this great work .> Is not this a doty
which we owe to ourselves, to our brother Ger-
mans, and, above all, to God ? This supreme
effort is our divine mission !"
It would be impossible to enter into
the idea of the Bismarckian policy in a
manner more ingenious, more exact, and
more striking.
It is by presenting to Germany this
monstrous counterfeit of the church thai
they have succeeded in provoking its
hatred of her, and the new empire pro-
poses to be itself the resolution of a
problem which can be only foimulaied
thus : " Either adapt Latin ChristianitT.
the Romish Church, to the Gennank
New Publications.
423
<«•
of character and to the exigences
of the empire, or we will employ all the
ces and all the means at our disposal
4o stamp out Catholicity within our do-
Vkinions, and to exterminate its existence
as fsLi as our authority and influence ex-
tend."
This war against the Catholic religion
Is formidable, and ought not to leave us
without alarm and without terror.
Truth is powerful, it is said, and it
will prevail. But truth has no power of
itself, in so far as it is an abstraction.
It has none, except on the condition of
eomtng forth and showing itself living
In minds and hearts.
What is to be done, then ?
No thought Can be entertained for a
moment of modifying Catholic dogmas,
of altering the constitution of the church,
or of entering, to ever so small an extent,
■ on the path of concessions. What is
needed is to present religious truth to
minds in such a manner as that they
•hall be able to see that it is divine. It
is to prove to them that our religion
alone is in harmony with the profoundest
instincts of their hearts, and can atone
realize their secret aspirations, which
Protestantism has no power to satisfy.
For that, the Holy Spirit must be invoked
in order that he may develop the interior
life of the church, and thnt this develop-
ment may be rendered visible to the per-
secutors themselves, who hitherto see
nothing in her but what is terrestrial and
human. Already a certain ideal concep-
tion of Christianity exists amongst non-
Catholics of England and of the United
Slates, and puts them in the way of a
more complete conversion. As to the
Saxons, who, in these days, precipitate
themselves upon an opposite course, we
should try to enlighten their blindness.
Already we have seen the persecutors,
whether Roman or German, become them-
selves Christian in their turn. We shall
see the Germans of our days exhibiting
the same spectacle. It is a great race,
that German race. Now, '* the church
is a divine queen, ^nd her aim has always
been to win to her bosom the imperial
r^es. She has never failed to do it, too."
Already we can perceive a very mark-
ed return movement amongst the demi-
Saxons, or Anglo-Saxons It is a great
sign of the times.
At different epochs there have been
movements of this kind in England. But
none exhibited features so serious as
that of which we are witnesses in these
days. Conversions to the church mul-
tiply without number, above all amongst
the most intelligent and influential class-
es of the nation ; and that in spite of the
violent cry of alarm raised by Lord John
Russell, and in spite of the attacks of
the ex-minister Gladstone, who has the
reputation of being the most eloquent
man in England.
The gravitation towards the Catholic
Church exhibits itself in a manner still
more general and more clear in the bo-
som of the United States.
The Catholics in that country amount-
ed to scarcely a few hundreds at the
commencement of this century. They
form now a sixth of the population of
the United States. They number about
7,000,000. And the Catholic is the only
religion which makes any real progress.
It is, then, true " that the Catholic reli-
gion flourishes and prospers wherever
human nature has its due liberty. Let
them but give to the church rights only
equal to those of other confessions, and
freedom of action, and we should see her
regain Europe, and, with Europe, the
worid."
Now, might we not conclude that these
two demi-Saxon nations, England and
the United States, are predestined by
Providence to lead the Saxons them-
selves in a vast movement of return to-
wards the Catholic Church ?
Before concluding, the author returns
to the Latin and Celtic nations, and di-
rects towards them a sorrowful glance.
As for France, he regrets that a vio-
lent reaction against the abuses of the
ancient regime, of which he gives a
somewhat exaggerated picture, has
brought about an irreligious revolution
and a political situation which oscillates
ceaselessly between anarchy and despo-
tism, and despotism and anarchy. lie
deplores still more that the progressive
movement has been diverted from its
course in Spain and in Italy by the evil
principles imported from France.
"At this moment," says the author,
" Christianity is in danger, on the one
hand, of being exterminated by the per-
secution of the Saxon races ; on the oth-
er, of being betrayed by the apostasy of
the Celto-Latins. This is the great tri-
bulation of the church at the present
time. Between these two perils she la-
bors painfully."
According to human probabilities, the
424
New Publications,
dhrinebark should be on the point of pep
ishing. But perish it cunnot. God can-
not abandon the earth to the spirit of
evil. " Jesus Christ* came to establish
the kingdom of God on the earth, as a
means of conducting men to the king-
dom of God in heaven."
It is thus, in his last chapter, our au-
thor surveys the future :
" During the last three centuries, from the
nature of the work the church had to do, the
weight of fier influence had to be mainly ex-
erted on the side of restraining human activity.
Her present and future influence, due to the
completion of her external organization, will be
exerted on the side of solicitiny^ increased action.
The first was necessarily repressive and unpop-
ular ; the second will be, on the contrary, ex-
pansive and popular. The one excited antago-
nism; the other will attract sympathy and cheer-
ful co-operation. The former restraint was ex-
ercised, not against human activity, but against
the exaggeration of that acti\ity. The future
will be the solicitation of the same activity
towards its elevation and divine expansion,
enhancing its fniitfulness and glory.
"These different races of Europe and the
United States, constituting the body of the
most civilized nations of the world, united in
an intelligent appreciation of the divine char-
acter of the church, with their varied capacities
and the great agencies at their disposal, would
be the providential means of rapidly spreading
the light of faith over the whole world, and of
constituting a more Christian state of society.
*• In this way would be reached a more per-
fect realization of the prediction of the pro-
phets, of the promises and prayers of Christ,
and of the true aspiration of all noble souU.
*'This is what the age is calling for, if
rightly understood, in its countless theories
and projects of reform."
The zealous religious who is the au-
thor of this important manifesto traversed
the seas in order to submit it to the Holy
Father. [A mistake. Father Hccker
went to Europe for other reasons, and
took advantage of the opportunity to
submit his pamphlet to the examination
of the Roman censors and other eminent
theologians ] If we are well informed,
the Roman Curia found in it neither error
nor rashness.* It is a complete plan of
action proposed to the apostolate of the
church for the future. The old era
would close, a new one would open.
* In its numben of Apiil aa and May i6 last the
Unith Cattfllica passed a hii*h eulo^um on the
work of Father Heckcr. " There is in this work,"
says the Abb^ Mar^^otti. ** a great boldness of
thought, but always governed by the faith, and by
the great principle of the infallible authority of the
Pope"
On this ground all ancient diffiBrencci
should disappear. Bitter and useless t^
criminations would be laid aside. All
would be moving towards the same fs»
ture, in accord not only as to the end, hoc
as to the means.
(From L£ Monde^
The Culturkanipf advances daily. Its
war - cry in precipitating itself upon
the church, bent upon her destruction,
is : " The doctrine of infallibility has
made spiritual slaves of Catholics, who
are thus a hindrance to civilization." I&
presence of so furious an attack, eveiy
voice which suggests means of safety d6»
serves our best attention.
Of this kind is a pamphlet published
lately in London, and which has been
already translated into French, Gennao,
and Italian, and of which the journals of
different countries, of the most opposite
views, have given ver}' favorable opinions.
The lamented M. Ravelet would, had
he been spared, have introduced it to the
readers of the Monde ; for he had met its
author at Rome, and knew how to appre-
ciate the breadth of his views. Father
Hecker, its author, the founder of the
Paulists of New York, is celebrated in
llis country for a style of polemics adml*
rably adapted to the genius of his fellow-
countrymen. Does he understand £u-
rope, to which he has made prolonged
visits, equally well ? On that point ooi
readers will soon be able to judge.
How is it that the Catholic religion,
which reckons more adherents than any
other Christian religion, does not suc-
ceed in making itself respected? Evi-
dently because many Catholics are not
on a level with the faith which they pro-
fess. " We want heroes," said J. de
Maistre at the beginning of our century.
At this moment is not the demand the
same? There is no lack of religious
practices ; a number of exterior acts of
exterior piety arc performed ; but the in-
terior life of souls is not exalted : tbej
seem to be afflicted with a kind of spiritual
dyspepsia. The crises which threaten
terrify them, instead of inflaming before-
hand their courage and their confidence
in God. It is in the sources of religion
itself we shall find energy ; it is to them
we must betake ourselves to reinvigorate
our strength, in the direct action of God
upon our consciences, and in the opera-
tion of the Holy Spirit upon our sooK
From this source issues the true reli-
Mew Publications,
425
floas life, and oor external practices are
aniling only so far as they are inspired
^ this internal principle, itself inspired by
Ae Spirit of God. Herein are the primal
verities of Christianity. At every epoch
of decadence the voices of saints remind
the world of them ; the spirit of the
chuich inclines us to them ; but, dis-
tracted by external agitations, we forget
10 correspond with its suggestions. We
do not possess enough of God ! Here is
Odr weakness. A little more of divinity
within us ! Lo, the remedy !
Father Hecker has well written upon the
pfts of the Holy Spirit, and upon the
men onr age wants. Intelligences illu-
minated from 00 high, wills divinely
strengthened — is not that what is wanted
to maintain the struggle ? Is he not right
when he asserts that one soul adorned
with these gifts would do more to pro-
mote the kingdom of God than a thou-
sand deprived of them ?
This urgent call to a more intensely
spiritual life will touch Christian hearts.
Bat the pamphlet foresees an objec-
tion. Docs not this development of our
faculties and of our initiative under the
divine influence expose us to some of
the dangers of Protestantism? Do we
not run the risk of the appearance of
strong individualities who, filled with
their own ideas, will think themselves
more enlightened than the church, and
so be seduced into disobeying her au-
thority ?
This eternal question of the relation of
liberty to authority! Catholics say to
Protestants : ** Libi*rty without the con-
trol of the divine authority of the church
leads insensibly to the destruction of
Christianity." Protestants reply : " Au-
thority amongst you has stifled liberty.
You have preserved the letter of the
dogmas ; but spiritual life perishes under
your formalism." We are not estimat-
ing the weight of these reproaches ; we
merely state the danger. The solution
of the religious problem consists in
avoiding either extreme.
No Catholic is at liberty to doubt that
the Holy S')irit acts directly in the soul
of every Christian, and at the same time
lets in another way, indirect, but no less
precious, by means of the authority of
the church Cardinal Manning has
written two treatises on this subject, one
00 the external, the other on the inter-
nal, working of the Holy Spirit. It is
these two workings which Father Hecker
endeavors to connect in a lofty syn-
thesis, and this is the main object of his
work.
The first step of the synthesis is the
statement that it is one and the same
spirit which works, whether by external
authority or by the interior impulse of
the soul, and that these two workings,
issuing from a common principle, must
agree in their exercise and blend in
their final result. The liberty of the soul
should not dispute the authority of the
church, because that authority is divine ;
the church, on the other hand, cannot
oppress the liberty of the soul, because
that liberty is also divine. The second
step is to prove that the interior action
of the Holy Spirit in the soul alone ac-
complishes our inward sanctification and
our union with God. The authority of the
church, and, generally, the external ob-
servances of religion, having only for
their aim to second this interior action,
authority and external practices occupy
only a secondary and subordinate place
in the Catholic system, contrary to the
notion of Protestants, who accuse us of
sacrificing Jesus Christ to the church,
and of limiting Christianity to her exter-
nal action. The completion of the syn-
thesis is in the following : The indivi-
dual has not received for his interior
life the promise of infallibility ; it is to
Peter and his successors — that is to say,
to the church — that Jesus Christ has con-
ceded this privilege. The Christian thus
cannot be sure of posse<;sing the Holy
Spirit, excepting in so far as he is in
union with the infallible church, and that
union is the certain sign that the union
of the two workings of the Holy Spirit
is realized in him.
We have no doubt that this theory is
one of the most remarkable theological
and philosophical conceptions of our age.
Father Hecker is no innovator, but he
seizes scattered ideas and gathers them
into a sheaf of luminous rays ; and this
operation, which seems so simple, is the
result of thirty years' laborious meditation.
One must read the pamphlet itself to ap-
preciate its worth. The more we are
versed in the problems which agitate
contemporary religious thought, the bet-
ter we shall understand the importance
of what it inculcates.
We shall briefly dispose of the appli-
cation the author makes of his synthesis.
One most ingenious one is that Protes-
tantism, by denving the authority of the
414
Pums Pictures
to represent hundreds of consecrat-
ed Hosts issuing from the Sacred
Heart, and a dove pecking at them
as they are dropping down ? What
right have they to make the Heart
of our Lord God a pigeon-house,
a roost ing-place for these everlast-
ing doves, or into a vase out of
which they are drinking? What
right have they to insert a little
heart (ours) into the Divine Heart
of Jesus ? What right have they
to represent to us [a Pelion, Ossa,
and Olympus on a small scale]
three hearts, the one piled upon
the other, and cascades of blood
pouring from the topmost, which is
that of Olir Lord ; upon the second,
which is that of his Blessed Mother ;
and thence upon the third, which
is our own ? What right have tliey
to make the Sacred Heart shed
showers of roses, or to give its
form to their " mystic garden " ?
Lastly, what right have they to
lodge it in the middle of a full-
blown flower, and make the latter
address to it the scented question,
" What would you desire me to do
in order that I may be agreeable
to you ?*' Ye well-meaning picture-
makers ! beware of asking me the
same question ; for both you and I
very well know what would be the
answer.
The truth is that these clumsy
persons manage to spoil everything
they touch, and they have dishon-
ored the symbolism of the dove, as
they have compromised the repre-
sentations of the Sacred Heart.
The dove is undoubtedly one of the
most ancient and evangelical of all
the Christian symbols ; but a cer-
tain discretion is nevertheless ne-
cessary in the employment of this
emblem of the Holy Spirit of God.
This discretion never failed our
forefathers, who scarcely ever de-
picted the dove, except only in
the scene of Oar Lord's bapttsin
and in representations of the Bless-
ed Trinity. In the latter the Eter-
nal Father, vested in pontifical or
imperial robes, holds between his
arms the cross, whereon hangs his
Son, while the Holy Dove passes
from the Father to the Son as the
eternal love which unites them.
This is well, simple, and even fine.
But there is a vast difference be-
tween this 'and the present abuse
and vulgarization of the dove as an
emblem, where it is made use of to
represent the faithful soul. No^
truly, one is weary of all this. Dc
you see this flight of young pigeow,
hovering about with hearts in tlieif
beaks ? The beaks are very smdt i
and the hearts very large, biA
you are intended to understand bf'
tilts that " fervent souls rise rapidly
to great perfection." These othcf
doves, lower down, give themselves
less trouble and fatigue; they are
quietly pecking into a heart, and I
read this legend : " The heart of
Love is inexhaustible; let us go to
it in all our wants." The pigeon
that I see a little farther off is noc
without his difficulties ; he is carry-
ing a stout stick in his delicate
beak, and — would you believe- it? —
the explanation of this remarkable
symbol is, " Thy rod and thy staff
have comforted me." Here again
are carrier-pigeons, bringing us in
their beaks nicely-folded letters in
charming envelopes. One of these
birds [who possibly may belong to
the variety knows as tumbler pig-
eons] has evidently fallen into the
water ; for he is shown to us stand-
ing to recover himself on what ap-
pears to be a heap of mud in tlic
middle of the ocean, with the motto,
"Saved! he is saved!" Next 1
come upqn a party of doves again
— always doves ! — whose occupa-
tion is certainly no sinecure. Oars
Pious Pictures.
415
Ijave been fitted to their feeble
claws, and these liapless creatures
are rowing. Here is another un-
fortunate pigeon. She is in pri-
son with a thick chain fastened to
her left foot, and we are told
that she is *' reposing on the damp
straw of the dungeon.'* Further
on appears another of this luck-
less species, on its back with its
claws in the air. It is dead. So
much the better. It is not I who
will encourage it to be so un-
wise as to return to life. True,
in default of doves, other symbols
will not be found lacking. Here
Sre some of the tender kind — little
louvenirs to be exchanged between
fiiend and friend, wherein one finds
I know not what indescribable con-
^merations of religious sentiment
and natural friendship. Flowers,
on all sides flowers : forget-me-nots,
painsies, lilies, and underneath all
the treasures of literature: "It
is a friend who offers you these" ;
Near or far away, yours ever";
These will pass; friendship will
remain." ** C est la fleur de Marie
Que je vous ai choisie." (N.B.-^
This last is in verse.)
I know not, my dear friend,
whether vou feel with me on this
point. While persuading myself
that all these playfulnesses are
very innocent, I yet find in them a
certain something which strikes me
as interloping, and I do not like
mixtures.
We have also the politico-re-
ligious pictures. Heaven forbid
that I should speak evil of the
ficurs'dc'lys which embalmed with
their perfume all the dear Middle
Ages to which I have devoted so
much of my life ; but we have in
these pictures of which I am speak-
ing mixtures which are, to my
mind, detestable, and I cannot en-
dure this pretty little boat, of which
the sails are covered vfithjieurs-ife-
I M
un
lySy its mast is the Pontifical Cross,
and its pilot the Sacred Heart. Is
another allusion to legitimacy in-
tended in this cross surrounded
with flowers and bearing the legend,
" My Beloved delights himself
among the lilies " } I cannot tell ;
but if we let each political party
have free access to our religious
picture-stores, w^e shall see strange
things, and then Gare aux abeilUs !
— ** Beware of the bees."
One characteristic common to
all these wretched picturelings is
their insipidity and petty childish-
ness. They are a literature of
nurses and nursery-maids. The
designers must surely belong to the
female portion of humanity ; for
one is conscious everywhere of the
invisible hand of woman. One is
unwilling to conceive it possible
that any one with a beard on the
chin could bring himself to invent
similar meagrenesses. These per-
sons are afraid of man, and have
wisely adopted the plan of never
painting him, and of making every-
body under the age of ten years.
Never have they had any clear or
serious idea of the Word, the
God made man — of him, the
mighty and terrible One, who
pronounced anathema on the
Pharisees and the sellers in the
Temple. They can but repre-
sent a little Jesus in wax, or sugar,
or treacle ; and alarmed at the lofti-
ness of Divinity, and being incap-
able of hewing his human form in
marble, they have kneaded it in
gingerbread.
And yet our greatest present
want is manliness. Truly, truly, in
France we have well-nigh no more
•men ! iet us, then, have no more
of these childishnesses, but let us
behold in the divine splendor and
perfect manhood of the Word made
flesh the eternal type of regenerat-
ed humanity.
428
New Publications,
Exceptions have been taken to it, on
the ground that one meets nothing in it
but theories, without any practical con-
clusion. Yet what can be more practical
than the exhortation which confronts us
on every page, to seek in all our religious
acts, in sacraments, worship, and disci-
pline, the divine intention involved there-
in ? Whar more practical than to urge
us to develop all the forces of our nature
under the divine influence, and to tell
us that the more conscientious, reason-
able, and manly we are, the more com-
pletely men we are, so much the more
favorable ground will the church find
within us for her working?
Far from urging any abrupt change.
Father Ilccker recommends that every-
thing should be -done with prudence,
consideration being had for the manners
of every country. He is persuaded that,
by placing, more confidence in the divine
work in souls, they will become insensi-
bly stronger, and will increase thus in-
definitely the force and energy of the
whole body of the church. Such a fu-
ture will present us with the spectacle
of the conversion of peoples who at pre-
sent arc bitterly hostile to her — ^a future
which we shall purchase at the- cost cf
many sacrifices. But our trials will be
full of consolations if we feel that they
are preparing a more general and abun-
dant effusion of divine illumination upon
the earth. Per crucetn ad lucem.
Personal Recollf.ctions of LamjJ, Haz-
i.iTT, AND Others. The Bric-a-Brac
Series. Edited bv R. H. Stoddard.
New York :• Scribner, Armstrong &
Co. 1875.
This volume is a compendium of one
of those books of memoirs or personal
recollections bequeathed to us by the
survivors of the English Renaissance of
the beginning of the century — My Friends
ttttd AcquaintaficeSf by P. G. Paimore.
This the editor has supplemented, in the
case of Hazlitt, by some letters and re-
miniscences culled from the Memoirs pub-
lished by his grandson, W. Carew Haz-
litt. These works, it might be fairly
supposed, would be of themselves light
enough for the most jaded and flippant
appetite. However, the aid of the "edi-
tor" i«« called in — heaven forgive the man
who first applied that title, honored by a
Scaliger and a Bentley, to the modern
compiler of scandal !— the mo5t entemio*
ing and doubtfully moral tidbits are
picked out ; and the result is the class
of books before us, which is doing for
the national intellect what pastry ias
done for its stomach. The mutual cour-
tesies — honorable enough when rightly
understood — existing between publish-
ers and the periodical press make hooe$i
crijicism seem ungracious; and thus the
public judgment is left uninstrucied bf
silence, or its frivolous tastes are con-
firmed by careless approval.
The motives impelling the awful scit*
sors of the ** editor** not only deprive
the original works which fall under tbeca
of the modicum of value they may poft-
sess, but affirmatively they do worse.
The)' give an absolutely false impressioB
of the persons represented. Thus, in ibt
case before us the character and genius
of Lamb are as ridiculously overrated af
his true merits are obscured ; and the
same may be said with even more justice
of the portrait given of Ilazlitt. Singu-
larly enough, though the editor derives
all he knows, or at least all he preseots
to the reader, from Mr. Pat more and Mr.
Carew Hazlitt, he speaks in the most
contemptuous terms of both. One be
pronounces ** not a man of nnie," and
the other he terms, with a delightful uo-
consciousness of self-irony, '*a bump-
tious bookmaker, profusely addicted 10
scissors and paste " ; and both he bids, at
parting, to " make room for their bet-
ters." If such be the character of Mr.
Patmore and Mr. Hazlitt, what opinion,
w^ may ask, is the reader c;illed upon to
entertain of the ** editor " who is an acci-
dent of their existence? ISor is it in
relation only to the authors after whom
he gleans that the ** editor" shows bad
taste and self-sufTiciencv. The immortal
author of the Duneiad, speaking of a
kindred race of authors, tells us,
'* Glory and gain the industrious tribe provoke.
And gentle Dulness ever loves a j»kr."
" The ricketty little papist. Pope," is
the witticism the editor levels at the
brightest and most graceful poet of his
age — a master and maker of our Englisb
tongue, and a scourge of just such don-
ees as himself.
Of the writers whose habits and per-
sonal characteristics are treated of in
this volume we have little or no room to
speak, nor does the work before us afibrd
any sufficient basis to go upon. Lamb
New Publicatiotts.
429
occupies a niche in the popular pantheon,
as an essai'ist, higher than posterity mil
adjudge him. His essays are pleasing
and witty, and the style is marvellously
pure; but they want solidity; they are
idealistic, humorous, subjective ; they
fail 10 present that faithful transcript of
manners, or to teach in sober tones those
lessons of morality, which make the older
essayists enduring. Lamb's other works
are already forgotten. He was an amia-
ble man in the midst of unhappy sur-
roundings, and his unassuming manners
have enshrined his name with affection
in the works of his contemporaries.
Ilazlitt's was not a character to be ad-
mired, nor in many ways even to be re-
spected. He was devoured with vanity
and grosser passions. His work was
task-work, and therefore not high. Tis
true Horace tells us.
* . • . paupertas impulit audar
Ut versus facerem."
^K>verty has often. been the sting which
urged genius to its grandest efforts. But
Hazlitt, though undoubtedly a man of
genius, was not gifted with that genius
of the first order, which abstracts itself
wholly from the miserable circumstances
about it. The great body of his work is
criticism, brilliant, entertaining, even in-
structive at the moment in which it was
produced, but substantially only the fash-
ion of a day.
Of the poet Campbell and Lady Bless-
ingion it would be an impertinence to
say anything on the slight foundation
this volume gives us.
The editor of the " Bnc-4-Brac " Scries
has placed on the cover of each volume
this motto :
^ Infinite riches in a little room."
We will suggest one that will take up
even less room :
••
Stultitlam patiuntur opes."
The Civil Government of the States,
AND THE Constitutional History of
THE United States. By P. Cudmcre,
Esq., Counsel I of -at-Law, Author of the
/n'M Republic^ etc., etc. New York :
P.Cudmore. 1875.
The author of this work informs us in
(he preface that his object has been to
condense into one volume the colonial,
(CDcral, and constitutional history of the
United Statem This volume professes to
be a digest of the writings and speeches of
thefathersofthe Constitution of the United
States, the statutes of the several States,
the statutes of the United States, of the
writings and speeches of eminent Ameri-
can and foreign jurists, the journals and
annais of Congress, the Congressional
Globe^ the general history of the United
States, the decisions of the Supreme
Courts of the several States, the opinions
of the attorneys-general of the United
States, and the decisions of the Supreme
Court of the United States; of extracts
from De Tocqueville, the Madison Pa-
pers, the Ffderaiist, Elliott's Debates, the
writings of Jefferson, Adams, Hamilton,
and Vattel, and of extracts from Jefferson
and other eminent authors on parliamen-
tary law. The platforms of political par-
ties are also given: This list is copied
verbatim from the author. It will be seen,
therefore, that Mr. Cudmore has set him-
self no contemptible task to accomplish,
and, as he has executed it in a thin oc-
tavo of 254 pages, it may reasonably be
conjectured that he possesses a talent for
condensation that Montesquieu mighthax'e
envied. Mr. Vallandigham finds a pow-
erful advocate in this author, and his
philippics against Mr. Stanton are pro-
portionately severe. Mr. Cudmore has
a fondness for notes of exclamation ; and
such is the ardor of constitutionalism
with which he pursues this latter-day
" tyrant of the blackest dye " (we quote Mr.
Cudmore) that it often takes three notes
of admiration to express his just abhor-
rence of his measures. The bulk of the
work is taken up by /civil and military
history of the late conflict, and the dis-
putes that preceded it. If we might ven*
ture a hint to Mr. Cudmore, wc would
say that his tone is a little too warm for
this miserably phlegmatic age, which
affects a fondness for impartiality in great
constitutional writers. The fact is, the
question^ which the author discusses with
the greatest spirit are dead issues. They
still preserve a faint vitality for the phi-
losopher and speculative statesman, but
they have sunk out of sight for the prac-
tical politician and man of to-day. The
vis major has decided them. We might
as usefully begin to agitate for a re-en*
actment of the Agrarian Laws. Mr. Cud-
more*s Chapters IV. and V., containing a
digest of State and Federal law, show
much meritorious industry. The history
of land-grants, the homestead law, and
430
New Publications,
the laws pertaining^ to alians and natur-
alization, will be found useful.
The Young Catholic's Illustrated
Table. Book and First Lessons in
Numbers. New York: The Catholic
Publication Society, 9 Warren St.
1875.
This is a very simple and attractive
little book, designed to make the begin-
ning of arithmetic, which certainly is
rather a dry study in itself, interesting
and capable of fixing the attention of the
very young children for whose use the
work is intended. We do not remember
having seen any prettier or more practi-
cal little text-book for beginners, and
cannot recommend it too highly. It is
also very nicel}* illustrated.
Sadlier's Excelsior Geography, Nos.
I, 2, 3. New York : Wm. H. Sadlier.
1875.
As a first attempt in this country to
prepare a series of geographies adapted
to Catholic schools this is deserving of
great praise. The type is clear, the maps
and illustrations, and the mechanical
execution generally, are excellent* It is
based, to some extent, on a geographical
course originally known as Monteith's,
and adapted by the insertion of additional
matter interesting to Catholics. What
we should have preferred, and hope
eventually to see, is a series of geogra-
phies and histories entirely original, and
written from the Catholic point of view,
and pervaded by the Catholic tone which
we find in this.
Sevenoaks : A Story of To-day. By J,
G. Holland, author of Arthur Bonnu
eastU. New York : Scribner, Arm-
strong & Co. 1875.
It gives us great pleasure to express,
with slight qualifications, our entixe .ap-
proval of this work, so far as its moral
purport is concerned. Its plot and inci-
dents are all within the range of ordinary
life and experience, and therefore not
calculated to foster in the youthful reader
extravagant anticipations in regard to his
own future. There are many good hits
at the weaknesses and inconsistencies of
human nature, and faithful pictnrcs el
the vices and miseries to which an un-
scrupulous ambition leads. Selfishness
and injustice prosper for a time, but
eventually reap their reward ; while in-
tegrity and true manliness, even in ihe
rude and uncultivated, are recognised
and appreciated.
The Illustrated Catholic Family
Almanac for 1876. New York : The
Catholic Publication Society.
"Almanac," when applied to this pub-
lication, seems to us a misnomer. The
popular notion of an almanac is a tbia,
badly-printed pamphlet, containing in-
comprehensible astrological tables, delih
sive prophecies as to the weather, trades-
men's advertisements, and a padding of
stale jokes or impracticable recipes gath-
ered frum country newspapers ; whereas
the IllttstraUd Catholic Family Almamit
is an annual of 144 pages, contaioing
each year enough solid, well-digested in-
formation to furnish forth an ordinary
volume of three hundred pages, to sxf
nothing of the many fine engravings — and
this, too, at a price which should extend
its circulation to equal that of the once-
famous Moort*s Almanac (published in
England about the beginning of the
XVIIIth century), which is said at one
time to have sold annually more than
four hundred thousand copies.
The several volumes of the Family Al-
manac form a valuable manual for Catho-
lics, containing, as they do, articles of
great interest to the literary student, the
antiquarian, and the archaeologist. Much
of the information could be gathered only
from exceedingly well -furnished libra-
ries ; some of it appears here for the first
time in print.
In the Almanac for 1876, among other
good things, we find an extended and
very interesting biographical sketch of
His Eminence Cardinal McCloskej;
also, biographical sketches of Cardinals
Wiseman and Altieri, of Bishops Brai6
and Baraga, of Rev. Father Nerinckx
and the Cura Hidalgo — the Washington
of the Mexican revolution — and of Eu-
gene 0*Curry, the eminent Irish scholar
— all of these being illustrated with por-
traits. The approaching centenary has
not been forgotten, for in "Centennial
Memorials" is shown the part — a glori-
ous one, which received the public en-
New Publications.
431
dorsement of the " Father of hisCountr}'/'
as will be seen by perusal of the article —
taken by Catholics of Irish origin in the
Revoluiionary struggle. In the same
article are numerous statistics showing
the temporal growth of our country dur-
ing the century just closing ; the article
closes with an account of the wonderful
growth of the Catholic Church during
the same period — the whole being valua*
ble for future reference. ** About the
Bible" and. **The Bible in the Middle
Ages" contain information of interest to
every Christian, and which is to be got
elsewhere only by much reading ; the lat-
ter article also contains an ample refuta-
tion of the old slander that the Catholic
Church of the middle ages kept the
Scriptures from the laity. Besides the
foregoing, there is much curious and en-
tertaining prose and verse, and several
pictures of churches and other edifices
(among them one of old S. Augustine's
Church, Philadelphia, destroyed in the
riots of 1844, and toward the building of
which, in 1796, Washington contributed
$iSO; Stephen Girard, $40; George
Meade, father of Gen. Meade, $50 ; and
Commodore Birry, $150), a complete
and authentic list of the Roman pontiffs
translated from the Italian, the American
hierarchy, and the usual astronomical
and church calendars, postal guide, etc.
Madame Recamier and her Friends.
From the French of Madame Lenor-
mant. By the translator of Madame
Rfecaroier's Memoirs, Boston : Roberts
Brothers. 1875.
' This volume will doubtless be welcome
to those already familiar with the Memoirs
previously published. The work is
largely made up of letters which are of
DO particular interest, except so far as
they throw light on the character of the
writers. Endowed by nature with extra-
ordinary beauty, and possessing that
knowledge of public events and skill in
their interpretation which seems a special
gift of Frenchwomen, Mme. R6camier
became the centre of an admiring group
of statesmen and littiratturs who sought
the benefit of her intuitive wisdom.
A very strong testimony to Mme. R6-
caroier's many virtues is found in the
warm friendship which existed between
herself and other ladies holding a similar
position in French society ; in the loving
devotion of the child 'of her adoption,
who subsequently became her biographer ;
and — in the fear and jealousy of the First
Napoleon, who paid her the compliment
of a temporary exile. The personal at-
tention she gave to her adopted daughter's
education is worthy of imitation.
Wayside Pencillings, with Glimpses
OF Sacred Shrines. By the Rev.
James J. Moriarty, A.M. Albany :
Van Benthuysen Printing House. 1S75.
Father Moriarty^s work has one merit
on which editors place a high value —
brevit}'. A book of travels is not pro-
perly a history or topography of the
countries visited, and a bird's-eye view of
the most salient features is all that we
can reasonably ask at the traveller's hand.
The interlarded extracts with which
some authors swell their volumes are
often wearisome reading. In the above
work the reverend traveller narrates all
the important incidents of his journey,
with descriptions of the various shrines
on his route, in so picturesque a manner,
and in so few words, that the reader will
have no difficulty in laying up in his
memory many pleasant subjects for re-
flection.
Eight Cousins ; or, The Aunt-Hill.
By Louisa M. Alcott. Boston : Ro-
berts Brothers. 1875.
An entertaining volume for youthful
readers, and one which conveys many
useful lessons. The same charming
freshness which won for LittU Women its
wide reputation will render this volume
a favorite, notwithstanding its defects —
one of which is a spirit of self-assertion
in the heroine which is only too true to
nature in the average American girl.
However reluctant we may be to ac-
knowledge the fact, we cannot fail to see
that our so-called progress has had a
tendency to weaken veneration for age
and respect for authority. Miss Alcott
shows her sympathy with this fault by
sometimes placing age in a ludicrous
light before her juvenile readers. The
young people of this generation do not
need any encouragement in the belief
that age does not always bring wisdom,
and we the more regret this mistake in a
book otherwise commendable. Destroy
432
New Publications
the confidence and veneration with which
childhood looks up to those placed over
it, and you rob parents of that which
constitutes a great charm in their ofT-
spring, and go far to break down the
cliicf bulwark of society — the family.
Manual of the Sisters of Charity. A
Collection of Prayers compiled for the
use of the Society of Sisters of Charity
in the Diocese of Louisville, Kentucky.
Adapted to general use. Baltimore :
J. Murphy & Co. 1875.
This is a new volume added to the al-
ready large devotional literature of the
church. As its title imports, it was pre-
pared especially with a view to |he wants
of the daughters of St. Vincent, though
adapted to those of other religious, and
of persons in the world. As it bears the
imprimatur of the Archbishop of Balti-
more, and has the approval of the Bishop
of Louisville, and, in addition, has had
the benefit of Mr. Murphy's careful /fw/"-
readini^ — a matter the importance of
which can scarcely be over-estimated in
devotional works — we deem further com-
ment unnecessar}'. We would, however,
suggest whether the use of a somewhat
thinner paper would not make a better
proportioned volume.
Miscellanea : Comprising Reviews, Lec-
tures, and Essays on Historical, Theo-
logical, and Miscellaneous Subjects.
By M. J. Spalding, D.D., Archbishop
of Baltimore.. Sixth Edition, revised
and greatly enlarged. 1875.
The publishers have added to the valuo
of this edition by incorporating in it a
number of papers not contained in previ-
ous editions, and which had received the
author's last corrections. Few writers
of the present century in the English lan-
guage have done more to popolarift
Catholic themes and relieve Protestants
from the misconceptions which they had
previously entertained regarding tbej|iih
tory and doctrines of the church, thaif 'dk
late Archbishop of BaitJmore. Tholv
who have not previously possessed them-
selves of his admirable works liave a
new motive in the improvements nov
made.
A Full Course of Instruction in Ex-
planation of the Catechism. By
Rev. J. Perry. St. Louis: P. Fox.
1875.
The present edition of Perry's Instnu-
tions differs from the original one in tbt
addition of questions, thus making it a
text-book for advanced classes, whereas
its use was heretofore limited in a great
measure to teachers. The editor (Rcr.
E. M. Hennessey) has also incorporated
an explanation of the doctrines of the
Immaculate Conception and Papal In-
fallibilitv.
BOOKS AND PAMPHL.BTS KBCKXVSD.
From P. Donahoe, Boston : Theologia Monfis Mo>
visami Ecdesta Doctoris, S. A iphonsi, in Com-
pendium Redacta et Usui Venenbili^ Cferi Aaaefi-
cani Accommodata, Auctoxe A. Kooing^ C.SS.R.
Pan Tertia : Contincns tractatus de Sacza-
mentis, dc Censuris, de Irregularitatibos, et dt
Indulgentiis. 8vo, paper, pp. x., 433.
From P. O'Shea, New York: Lives of the Saiats,
with a practical Instruciioq on the Life of cad
Saint for every day in the year. By F. X. We»i>'
ger, D.D., S.J. Part iv., 8vo, pp. xaj, flcsUe
doth.^Life and Letters of Paul Scigneret, Seai-
narist of S. Sulpice, translated from the Frcack
by N. R. i2mo, pp. 31 x.
From the Author : The Sunday Laws: A Diica»>
sion of Church and State, etc By S. B.
McCracken. 8vo, pp. 8, paper.
From P. F. Cunningham, Philadelphia: life if
S. Benedict, sumamed '' The Moor." The Sob rf
a Slave. From the French oCM. AJlebcrt. itaOi
pp. SO.
ITERARY
ULLETIN.
-*♦*-
SPECIAL NOTICE.
Chis department was specially opened to keep the readers of The Catholic
\vLD acquainted from month to month with all the new Catholic books published
[his country and in England, a list of xvhich is given at the end of this Bulletin,
consulting this list every month, much time and trouble will be saved by our
Icrs and the publisher ; for it will save the former the trouble of writing about the
:e of certain bookstand the latter the time lost in answering such letters. It is
publisher's intention to make the list as correct as possible.
-»♦♦-
IE Du'/Un Rt'tleio for July has the following
lew of The life of Father Bernard :
'We alsrays hall with pleasnrc the pabllcatlon
ich volumes as the one now lying on our ta-
Sach lives arc calculated to do an immensity
>od by displaying bright examples to the
and showing that holy church still brings
th a succeeeion of such eminent preachers m
this remarkable son of S. Alphonsas Li-
m.
PaiCbcr Benird was bom at Amsterdam on
the liih of December, 1807. The favorite amuse-
ment of little Bernard in his childhood was * to
piiy pricdt.* * Scarcely a day passed in which
be was not seen, in his youthful simplicity, repre-
«eAilDg the functions of the holy priesthood.
Waen he celebrated Mass, or gave benediction in
bii cUapel, he required hfis brothers and sisters
to he present, and would not permit thom either
to ipeak or laugh. The service was frequently
preceded or followed by a sermon, as if the
Toothful (T/re had a presentiment of his vocation
to » mi9Bionary life. On one occasion he preached
•m the holy name of Jesus ; of this sermon his
fAnily projerved a precious remembrance. His
relstivea still recall the love for Jesus which
•bono forth In every word of the little preacher.
Ttiose who heard him were deeply affected, and
hl« parents were moved even to tcars.^ In 18*20
be became a pupil of the Ilogcveld Institute,
vbere bi illiant success attended him, and, when
onisined priest, he preached his first sermon in
tlie Diocese of Li6^c, where his first superior at
the Ilageveld Institute was Mgr., afterwards
Bi«hop, Van Bommel, who died a holy death at
Ll^ on the 7th of April, 1863. On the suppres-
sion of the Hagcveld Institute In 1825, and the
^•lablisbment of the Collegium Philoeoph'ciim
by William I., Bernard with his friend Beelcn
returned home, ' determined not to enter an in-
stitute which was condemned by all true Catho-
lics. They did not, however, interrupt their
studies. Having a knowledge of Greek and Latin,
they wished also to acquire that of the Hebrew
tongue, which could not fail to be useful to them.
They took lessons of a Jew in Amsterdam,^ and
when they had completed their philosophy, they
began theology under the direction of Abb^ Bo-
gaerts, one of their former professors at Hagc-
veld, which they completed at the Gregorian Uni-
versity at Home, better known as the Itnman
College; for, notwithstanding the Concordat cf
1827, ' the Calvin istic government found reasons
to delay the execution of the treaty, and did not
allow the reopening of the seminaries."
" Father Bernard celebrated Mars for the first
time on the F^ast of S. Joseph, 183:2, havlsg
been ordained on the Feast of S. Patrick, and en-
tered the Order of the Redeemer iu May of the
same year with the sanction of bis diocesan,
whose parting words to him were, ' Go, my so a ;
but you must absolutely return, for I wish to in-
troduce this congregation into my diocese.' He
entered his novitiate at the convent at Wicuhaus,
where Fathers Madlener and Doll were succes-
sively his masters in the spiritual life. ^They
tcfrtiHed that during the course of his novitiate
he gave his confrdres an example of every virtue,
particularly of obedience and regularity, of hu-
mility and the spirit of mortlflcatU n.* Be was
professed in 1833, and sent with F. Ilugurs to St.
Frond, where he was oppointcd to teach theology,
and this was ' the arsenal where he prepared his
cannon and shot.'
*'His first mission was at Thimister, where he
and ^his confrdres labored with indefatigable
zeal, and by their united efforts brought fcrth
Literary Bulletin,
f raits of salvation. The nnmbtT of those who
sought to be reconciled to God during the coarse
of thii> mission was so great that it was oecessary
to aslc for a reinforcement of confessors. Twelve
father* were occupied in the confessional from an
early hoar in the morning till late at night' Of
the great battle of Verviers, which was com-
menced amidst unforeseen difficulties, he thus
writes : 'I can assarc yon we have had, thanks
be to God, our share of sufferings. But the
humble period of our congregation has passed ;
henceforth we shall be no longer unknown.
Verviers has raised us to an eminent position.
We will hold on, and, with Gud's g:ace, will
courageously pnrsuc our course.' In 1840 he
was sent to Holland, where he labored most suc-
cessfully, and at Grave was the means of sending
away a circus-troupe which had been sent for
from Antwerp for the purpose of drawing away
the people from the exercises of the mission.
At Hulst he defeated the lieutenant of the gii-
liannerie by acting upon the advice given him by
the Bishop of Li6ge : 'Reply to the evil-disposed
by questions, and force ihem to Eubmit to be
questioned instead of submitting yourself.' It
seems that, ou the third day after the arrival of F.
Bernard and his two companions at Ilulst, a gen-
darme * rang the bell at the dean's door and ask-
ed to speak with his three guests. Father Ber-
nard quieted bis two confr&res and the affrighted
dean, aud communicated to them the plan he had
devised. He proposed to interrogate the gen-
darme while his two companions filled the re-
i^pective offices of clerk and usher. The Father,
seated in an arm-chair, addressed the gendarme
with the gravity of a judge. * My friend, what
do yon winh?' 'I am sent by my lieutenant;
I did not come of my own accord.' ' Do not be
uneasy about that ; but who is your lieutenant? '
'Mr. N , of Ghent.' * And what does he want
with us?* 'lam to inquire whether you are
'*trangci8 or not.' * Go and te^l Mr. N that wo
are natives of Hol!and, and that we exercise our
ministry la Holland. And now, another word :
should your lieutenant desire to kaow more, let
hitn address himself t j the chief authorities of
th 1 Hague ; they will teach him how to treat the
subj •vta of the king.' The poor gendarme, cov-
crcil with Cv)nfasion, commenced to stammer out
excuses, and told his judge that he had also or-
(loru to learn the impression produced by his
sermons. 'And on this point,' he said, * I will
!)(.' able to tpcak from experience ; for, althongh
A l*rotcs5lant, I have listened to your sermons,
and they have deeply aflected me.' He then took
a humble leave of the father?.
" Those who know the mysteries of grace and
its connection with suffering and prayer, will
not be surprised at the prodigious influence ex-
ercised by Father Bernard. He possessed, it Is
true, all the human endowments which are ne-
cessary for a great orator—' vir bonus d^cendl
peritns.' Of majestic appearance, possessed of a
strong and .flexible^ v<oice, rare facility of csprec-
AaM
sion, ardent language, profound Klencv— all
united harmoniouBly iu his person. Bat faU
power of expression came ttoipi higher son
it flowed from his lively faith and his ardeat
for Jesus Christ, for the chnrch, and for
This triple love was the prisciple of bis
and the source of his moat b^antifQl
tiona.
"He left Southampton for the United S
in 1848, but ^id not finally rccade there
1851, when the American Hou^e, haviBg
made a province by bia Holincas Pias IX. he
made provincial, and arrived at New Torkoii
Feast of S. Joseph, 1851. Shortly after his
val, he heard of his mother's death at
dam, and he thus wrote to his brothov and
tera : * I cannot conceal it,' ho aaye ; * altb
for twenty years I have made to God the
of my parents and of my family, the death of
mother has not the le»8 deeply afflicted me.
I know that I was her child ; the child of aa
comparable mother ! We have known her ia
her death has caused us to see still more dt
what a treasure the inflnite goodnees of God
given ns in the tenderness of this c
mother ! Ah I how happy yon ar«, yea who
seen our mother on her bed of eaffdriug;
who have been able to address to her weeds
consolation, to give her the last fllial kiss.
should be an alleviation to your grief to
witnessed her passage to a better life ; to ha^
been able to entertain yoorselvcs with
As to myself, I find no one here who anderf'
me when I speak of this good mother, vhea
mourn her loss. All I can do ie to prostrate nfi
self before my crucified Savionr, and tooflfer bi
as a son the sacrifice of the dearest of raothoa.
Ah 1 more than ever do I thank God for all ebc
done for you and tor me. I unceaaingly reos-
mend her soul to him. Oh ! may oar last end ba
like unto hers.* He remained in America tSI
1853, when he was appointed Superior of
Convent at Limerick, where he resided ihrst'
years, and, among other missions, gave what i»
still remembered as the Great Misaios tt 9.
Michael's Church, Dublin.
"In 1855 he left Ireland, where his name is stiQ
remembered with those of Father Gen till and Ft-
ther Ignatius Spencer. He died in 1865, at Heaf-
zen, near Aix-la-Cbapelle, from the effects of la
accident. While reciting the roeary for Che ch!)-
dren who were to make their first conimunioa ra
thelast day of May, he wished ' to ascend therlep*
of the altar of theBlessed Virgin, before wfeicft
the children were kneeling ; he tripped a^imt «
b nch wlych projected, and, seeing fa'tm^elf abow
to fall to the loll, he instinctively stnughteaei
himself to the other side, tearing; a si-.cw of lbs
knee, and fell helplessly on his back. The pf<>
pie came in haste to his assistance, and planA
him on a chair ; ho continued to aay. ** flaf.
Mary, fall of grace I " as if he had not been in iW
least inconvenienced by the fall. Soon, how«vtfi
the pain became so intense that by hfs nqoefibt
Literary Bulletin.
itftken to tlie pastor"*! residence opi^oslte tbo
ith.* lie Ungered on for a few months and
ir« told by his bioj^rapher that In the midst of
ponies of dcatk he did not lose the nee of hie
NM ; asd whion, tovrards the dawn of day, hia
feasor apked him if he desired to receive abso-
DB and the plenary Indulgence xk articfdo
^ he replied by a look of joy, and made the
I of the cro»0, aa if in the pnlpit. Ab?olntioa
\ repeated in the same manner abont eight
ntk. * It was 8atnrdsy, September 8, 18«5,
■t nine o'clock in the mornln?, when the soul
Ntker Bernard left this world to receive the
m promised to the falthfal soldier of Jesne
tet.^ We wo«1d refer omr readers, more espe-
Ij those who remember his labors in Ireland
tBss:land, to this interesting Lire, which, we
H, vUi have a ealatary and wide-spread in-
AC<;so that Father Bcrnard^s Mi'ision may
I be a living Inflnenco among ns.^^
Ebe lame number of the IMtlin Review no
p Father Hewit'abook, The Kinsr'a Hiffh-
}TK« King' 9 Highway; or, TU Catholic CJmreh
V(vy <2f SaittUioriy is a. remarkable book, and
^kope It will prove soccessfnl in inducing
im for whoe« benefit It is e-xpeclally written
iDqaire where the Klng^s Highway leads, and
tad the way of salvation. Father Hewit
Ikpiains, and with Justice, that ' most of the
ftks written in Boglieb, with the direct object
«>nvlncin(; Protestants of the truth of the
Ibollc religion, are specially adapted to the
lof Eptecopallane of High-Church opinions ' —
Oksiplaint we have often heard repeated by
kTerts from Calvinism. In The King*8 High-
Ir K«ther Hewit nses King James' version of
k 8acx«d Scripture, * because it is the one with
ikh hi» Protestant readers are most fsmiliar ^ ;
the tame time taking care to ascertain * thit
i pt«iagea quoted are substantially correct
Iderlniti of the original texts, and occasion-
y miking remarks to make the sense of the
■dt ft^ed more obvious and precise.' In the
kt chapter be refutes the Calvinfstic doctrines
PartJcalar Redemption, Election, and Repro-
lloa, and proves that the way of salvation
noifh the merits of Christ is prepared for all
iBkiud ; for he says : ' God the Father loves all
Q, in a special sense, because they partake of
I aatarc of hii» Soo. Jesns Christ loves them
csBse they partake of his own nature, are his
et, and of one blood with himself. This rcla-
Q tn Jetns Christ as the mediator, and to the
tberssGod the Saviour, Is contracted by that
BeratloB from Adam which makes each indi*
iui man a member of the human race, and by
itM of thia relationship every man is mnde a
fsMe and fit subject of the mercy of God and
■grseeof Christ.' In tho second chapter he
bteithe Lutheran and Calvlnistlc doctrine of
MlfieatSonby Faith alone, and after explaining
itBstare and offlco of faith as the first prere-
quisite to Justliication, he proves the CathDlic
doctrine of Saving Faith. He then proceeds, in
the third chapter, to speak of Regeneration and
Sinctifying Grace, and says that the sacraments
are lostmmcnts of grace. After proving his
proposition regarding the sacraments in a man-
ner wh-ch mast^ aod doubtless will, satisfy many
an iDqiiirer now wandering in the wilderness of
Calvinism that The King's ITigJixcay alone is
the way of salvation a^ revealed iu the Holy
Scriptures, and that it is, as the prophet sliys, a
* straight way, so that fools shall no!: err therein,*
and that the Via Jiegla Icadi to the Catholic
Church, in which alonb salvatl.m cau be fuund,
he concludes that *the inquiry after the true
church, the true faith, the lawf al sacrameuti^, is
not one of secondary importance^ relating to non-
essential matters. It is a question of life and
death, an inquiry after the true and only way of
salvation established by Jesns Christ* The only
consideration admissible by any upright and con-
scientious person who feirs God and wishes to
save his soul is, What is tho truth, what is my
duty r The only honest decision, when these are
ascertained. Is to follow them immediaUly, with-
out regard to any temporal motives or inter-
ests.' "
Tho Freeman's Journal notices tho Life of
S« John as follows :
*' When, seven years ago, M. L. Bannard pub-
lished in French what he called a Life of the
ApostU S, John and able and critical Catho-
lics read it, surprise was esprf*ssed that a work
such as this had not been written long before.
M. Bauuard'fl story of the life and doings of S.
John was so simple that every ono who had ever
carefully read the New Testament felt he ^A-ncw
all thai, and oukl have told it in just the eainc
words.' That M. Bannard did that is a!moj»t a
mark of ganinj*. Any clever man of talent can
get np a learned book. How few there are woo
have the gift of writing a deep book so clearly
that tlic reidcrs, as they go through it, think
they knew all that before, though they didn't.
'SBaunard^s Life of ^'. John was very soon
translated Into all the principal languages of the
Kuropean Continent, and has been acknowledg-
ed as a work of rare merit. '
** It has now been translated into Eng ish, and
published, as of right, not in London, but in.
New York, as the more Important city. The
Catholic Publication Society his charge of it.
We have shown our appreciation of its worth
by ordering, to begin with, a hundred copies,
that we will send, not as * premiums,' but as
tokens of regard to tbo good friends who are in-
terefetiiig themselves in getting np lists of sub-
scribers for the Freeman's Journal. M. B.iu-
nard's IJfe of S. Joh «• is a remarkable work. It i s
like a picture made of him by an artist. It is
more ; it is a ntudy. It is good reading. In
another column we give, no part of the work,
but from tho chapter that follows the work. It
shows the spirit of tho writer.
Literary BulUtin,
" In triflca the text has suffered by the evident
fact that the proof-sheets were not submitted to
the translator. Bat the fpirit of the aathor of
the work has been retained, and the text as given
\is fall of life."
3tR. DoNAHOx, Boston, has jast issned a new
edition of the Jastly celebrated work, The In-
stfuction of Youth in ChrlsUmn Piety ^ taken out
of the Sacred Scrlptnrcs and Holy Fathers, by
the Rev. Gbarles Gobinet, D.D., and has In press
a dellghtfnl book for children, entitled Prince
and Saviour: The Story ofJesug^ simply told for
the young, by Miss Rosa MnlhoDand. This book
will be illnstrated.
Mr. RoBBRT CoDDiNGTON, formerly of 366 Bow-
ery, bookseller, has removed hii booksU
Fonrth Avenae.
Bishop McNkirkt, of Albany, senda
following approval of The TToxkng Ci
School Series :
*' Albany, November 1,
'^ The series of Readers, pnbliehed by
tholic Pablication Society, appear to
of the patronage of Catholic honse^ of ed
I very cheerfally approve this series,
mend It to the Catholics of the D
Albany.
*'^ FRANCIS.
^' Bp. Ad'w'r €f A
NEW AMERICAN BOOKS.
The Life of Si. John ike Evangetiti. TransUted from the French.
i voL 1200,
FOREIGN
2 he Secrei Warfare of JTreematonry
apainei Ckurth and Siaie. Translated
from the German, x vol. xamo ^H 60
The Troubles of Our Caikotie rorefaihere.
Related by Themselves. Edited by Rev. J.
Morriss. Second Series, xvol. 8vo — S7 00
the Irish EectesiatHcai Record, A
Monthly Journal. 6 vols.,^ lor '69, '7°* '7'i '7^«
'73/74 ^/O 00
The Sucharisi and ihe Christian Life.
Translated from the French ^f 75
Catharine Grofrn Older. A Sequel to
'• Catharine Hamilton." Sf 25
Oratory Bymns Sf 25
The Stren Saetxitnents Explained and De-
tended in Question and Answer 6iP
Tiome Semper ^adem. By Denis Patrick
Michael O Mahony 75
The Spirit of JFaith ; or. What Must I Do to
Believe ? Five Lectures delivered in S. Peter's,
Cardiff, by Bishop Hedley. O.S.B 75
Life of leather Henry Young, By Lady
Fullerton 9f 75
The If^ublie Life of Our Lord Jesus Christ,
By the Rev. H. J. Coleridge, S.J. Part I.
SS 25
Our Lady's l^wry; or. How England Gained
and Lost this Title. A Compilation by the
Rev. T. E. Bridgett, C.SS.R. Crown 8vo,
486 psges. With four illustrations. By H. W.
Brewer, Esq ^t 50
The 'Prisoner of the Temple: or, Discrowned
and Crowned. By M. C. O'Connor Morris.
^2 25
f^rgatory Surrey ed; or, A Particular Ac-
count of the Happy and yet Thrice Unhappy
State of the Souls There. Edited by Dr. An-
derdon Sf 50
The 7*erfect Lny Srother, By Felix Cum-
pledo ^2 25
Lives of the Irish Saints. By Rev. J. O' Han-
Ion. Nos. I, 3,3, 4,56, 7, 8, 9 now ready. Price
perNo eo
Directory for ^orices of erery Religious
Order, particularly those Demoted to the
JSdueation of Touth Sf 25
On Some fhpular JSrrors Concerning
f^litics and fteligion. By Lord Robert
Montagu, M. P. x vol. tamo SS OO
The LetterSooks of Sir simias f^ulet.
Keeper of Mary, Queen of Scots. Edited bv
John Morris, S.j. i vol. 8vo S5 25
Mciy ^^P^f^ L ^^'^ Thoughts on the Litanies
ot Loretio. By Edward Ignatius Purbrick,
S.J.
BOOKS.
The Tiialogues of S. Gregory the
Edited by Henry James Coleridgpe, SJ..
The Life of Luius l^e Varwmjai.
Fullerton
Meditations of St. Anselm . A
lation. By M. R. With Preface by
the Archbishop of Westminster
the Question of Hnglican
Discussed. By E. E. Esxconit*
F.A.S., Canon of S. Chad's Cat
mingham. With an appendix of
uments and photograpAic faratimi
8vo
The Life of the Stessed John. Se
By Francis Golde. x vol. xanxo. .
The T*ope and the £n9peror.
tures delivered in the Church of S. J(
Evanarelist. Bath. By the Very Rev.
Sweeney. O.S.B.. D.D i
Who is Jesus Christ ? Five Lectures]
ered at the Catholic Church, Swana
Right Rev. Dr: Hedlev, O.S.B., Bishop i
iary of Newport and Meoevia. .
Life of sinne Catherine J^nsmerieh^
Helen Ram. x vol. tamo
f*eace through the TrtttJk / or.
Subjects connected with "Dr, Pasey*s
con. By Rev. T. Harper. S.J. Second
—Part L— Dr. Pusey's First Supposed
Contradiction ; or, 1 he Levitical t^rcisi
of Marriage in their Relation to the
ing Power of the Pope. x. Th«
Fundamental Principles. 3. The Issai
taining a detailed examination ot Dr.
evidence respecting Marriaic« with
ceased Wife^s Sister. 4. DoctiinaJ
The Epilogue, x vol. 8vo..« #i
FirstPart
Meditations on the Life csnel
Jesus Christ. By Nicholas A^
Translated by George Poner, S.J.
xamo
The I*ormalion of Chriwt^ssdaite'
Third. By T. W. Allies
headings from the Old Temiametii* 1
use of Students, t vol. xamo T
ffistory of the Irish Fasisime of fSi\
Rev. J. O'Rourke. x vol. xsmo. ''
Some and her Captors : Letters.
i2mo
Sossuet and his Conietmpareirits*
tamo
Sssays on Catholicism, Liberalism^
Socialism* Bv John Doooso Cortes,
lated by Rev. W. McDonald, x voL
NOVBMBBR II, 1875.
This supersedes aU previous Catalogues. ,£B
BOOKS PUBLISHED
BY
I Catholic Publication Society,
9 WAEBEN STREET, NEW YORK.
.-#-•
In consequence of the increase of postage on books, which took
eflfect in March this year, we must request all persons ordering
books by mail to accompany the order dy the retail price of the
book. , ^.. , .
No books will be sent by mail to booksellers,. or others entitled to
a discount, unless at least the money to cover postage accom-
panies the order. , xu .
All the publications ef the several Catholic Publishers, both m
this country and in England, kept in stock.
-•-*-
** A wonderful book.'*— J^«/4W Pilot*
, Olflrical Fxieadly imd their R«la-
ons to Modem Thought Contents : Chap.
I. The Vocation of the Clergy.— II. Tl«
Oergy at Home.— III. The Clergy Abroad.
-lYT The Clergy and Modern Thought.
X ?oL tsmo, 1 8v
By the tame author.
ivrch Deftncei Report of a Conference
on the Present Dangers of the Church.
By the author of ** My Clerical Friends."
Goniedy of Convocation in the
English Church. In Two Scenes. Edited
by Archdeacon Chasuble, D.D., and dedi-
cated to the Pan-Anglkan Synod. 8vo,
doth, i 00
BfUJofraphin Catholica ibnericana.
A Utt of American Catholic Books published
«p to the year iSss* By Rev. J. M. Finotii.
I vol. 8VO, 5 00
MUo VTottarviUo ) ei^ Ono o^^the
Tramplanted. A Tale of the Times of Crom-
well in Ireland. By Miss Caddell. i vol.
tamo, cloth, extra 1 PO
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
VHa Tiniei. A Tale of the Days of Queen
Uizabcth. By Cecilia Mary Caddell. First
American edition, t voL lamo, . 1 50
Cloih,gUt, 2 00
Tko r aro g roadoaiito and Angola.
Frem the German of Bolanden. x vol. 8vo,
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
Tho NoiAlitB ; or, A Mother's Last Reauesi,
sad Other Tales, i vol. xamo, . . 1 25
Hanio'o Booarr, and Otiior Talei.
(Coj?r«KTS : By the author of " Marion How-
ard." MaggieS Rosary— The White Angel
-Mab€l--Old Morgan's Rose-Trce. From
tbe French of Sou vestre. translated by Emilv
Bowles : The Sawyer of the Vosges— A Meet-
ing on the Alps— The Godson.) i vol. "mo,
1 00
Tho Boom of Torke: A StoiT of
American Life. Cloth, extra, . • 2 00
Clath,fttUgUt, 3 00
Littla Piorro, tlio Podlar of Al»f «'
Translated from the French, and iltastrated
by 37 first-class woodcuts. (This makes one
of the handsomest premium books ever
issued in this country.) Cloth, extra, 1 90
Cloth, full gilt 2 00
Peter's Journey and Other Talei,
and Wilfulness and its Consequences, x voh
xsmo, frontispiece, .... 1 90
Cloth, gilt, 2 90
The Tkreoheld of tlie CaHiolic
Church. A course of plain instructions tor
those entering her communion. By rr.
Bagshaw. With preface by Mgr. Ca^
X vol. xamo, * OO
Sermons on Bodesiastical Snl^ecta.
Vol. I. By Archbishop Manning. Cloth,
extra, 2 00
The same, Vol. II 2 00
The Internal Mission of .the Holy
fTK/%e» Ml/ ArrhhiKhou Maunine. x vol.
1 00
By Archbisbop Maiming.
Gbost.
lamo,
A Winsred Word, and Other Stories.
By the author of *»The House of Yorke,'*
eti IgO
Cloth gilt, ... 2 00
The Life of Saint John of the Crosau of
the Order of our Lady ot Mount Carmel. i
vol. x'6mo, 1 25
Lilb and Docibrine of Saint Catherine
of Genoa. Tranblaied irom the lUlian.
I vol. lamo, 2 00
Catherine Hamilton. A Tale for Little
tJiris. i8mo 60 cts.
The Parm of Mniceron, and Madame
Agnes. Translated trom the Y rench. x vol.
8vo, cloth, extra 1 52
Cloth^ilt, ^•. •, • • , • „• 2 00
The French Prisoner^ in^Rnsna.
Translaied from the French by P. b. One
illusiralion. x vol. x6mo, cloth, extra, 1 00
Cloth, Kilt, . ., . ._,. ^ • * 5?
The Spirit of Faith; or, What mnst I
do to Believe. By Bishop Headley. Cloth
OO cts
The Three Pearls; or, Virginity and
Mart>idom A OO
Glory mnd Sorrow, aad Solim the
Paslia of Salonique. Tt^nsUted from the
French by P. S. x vol. x6ino, cloth extra,
with two illustnitions, .1 00
Cloth, gilt I 50
Only a Pin. Tranilmtod firom tlio
French by a Graduate of St. Joseph's Aca-
demy, Emmittsburg. x vol. xteio, cloth
extra, 1 00
Cloth, gilt, . .... 1 50
The Gladitene Controversy. Man-
ning's knd ^ev^man b Kepiy. lamo, clotb,
150
The Gladstone Controversy. Vavgh«
an s and Lllailioinc's Keply,aii(l Feshlei on
Infallibility, with Syllabus. lamo, clotb,
1 50
B^rrha Lake ; or, Into the Light of
Catholicity. By Minnie Mary Lee. x toU
. x6mo, ....*..! 00
Constance Sherwood: An Antohio-
graph]^ of the Sixteenth Century. By Lady
Gcoigiana FuUerton. \%iih tour illustra-
tions. X vol. 8vo, extra cloth, . . 2 00
Cloth, gilt, 3 00
The Betrothed. From the lulian of Man-
zoni. I vol. xarao, .... 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2
French Eggs in anBnglisI
Translated by Emily Bowles, x vol. xamo,
150
A SuBsmer Tour to the Plains, the Kocky
Mouatains, and New Mexico. By James F.
Meline. x voL xamo. • • • 1 50
est lingliah Historian. A Nanative of the
Principal Events in the Life •( Mary Stuart.
With some Remarks on Mr. Froude's Uis-
tory of England. By James F. Meline. x
VOL xamo, X 75
The Ulh and Times of Sixtu ike
Fifth. Translated from the French by James
F. Meline. i vol. i€mo, ... 1 00
AU-BaDew Bvo; or The Test of
Futurity, and Other Stories. 1 vol. 8ro.
2CO
Ooih, gilt, 8 00
liapl firniS of Spain. Rr La«iy Herbert.
I vol. xamo, fifteen lUustxatioas. ckxh extra,
800
Egypt, Syris, Pajcsttiac,
Jerusalem, etc Ky Ladv Herbert. ISns.
traicd by e:ght fuU-pagc Dtustniioof. i vol
xamo, relluc; cloth 2 00
Ctoih, fcU gii:, 2 50
Haif^^Ii; 4 CO
Martyr m
TorQ- i . Trar.*.t:ed frran ihe Kreach Iv
Lady Herbert, x roL xtiso, . X OO
*hroe Phaaeo of Christtan XiOVOL
The Mc-Jicr. the >Ia,.«ea,ar.d ihe Relrca*.
Kt Lsdv Ucrben.
G Jt. extra.
Oae vc tairc^
50
a 00
A Sisierni SIciy.
I'tarea,
Tra«<Ja?<i 'Tv-a.
:?♦
F:rr<h ^v
vol cT\."^c M*v, rr
$»•;. c)eth« extra, 8 50
rv«k.cik, • ^ • . . 300
The Lift ofBenry Desie^ BCaitTT.
lated from the French by Lady Ha
voL, i6mo, 75
Anno Sote iin . By the Anther of ** A
ter*s Story.'* x voL xame, clolh« . 1
Cloth, gilt, . .8
Floaranipei By Madame AugnslwB C
x vol. Svo, 1
cieth, gilt, a
YhttlB to thoBkeeedSa
to the Blessed Virgin, for every day im
Month. By 8t Alphonsus Ligaorri.
cloth, new edition, ....
Waj of Salvatiesi im
for Every Day in the Year. Translated
the Italian of SL Aiphoasos Lignoti bji
James Jones. a4mo, doth, . 75
BoHXs of ihe PasBoa* or
Reflections on the Sufferings and
onr Blessed Redeemer. By St. — ».
New edition. Translated by Right Rev.
Walsh, Bishop of Hali£u, with a akeldl
the Lill of St. AlphonsBS Uguori.
doth, I
Iiorvo.of On* Iiocd Joans Ghri
duced to Practice. By SL Alphonsus
gnorL Translated by the Right Rev
Walsh. Bishop of Hah^x. New e
x8mo. cloth, i
Short Xitutioo en PTnver. Ada;
all Cfauses of Christians. By St. Alp
Lignori. The holy author of this t
Mvs : ^^ Were it in my |>ower, I woold f«h^
lish as many copies of this work as there fl
Chiistiaiis on earth, and would give each
copy, that each might be convinced of d
abaolnte necessity of prayer.*^ Neweditioak
a4mo,cloth, • 40
Spirit of St Alphenmi 4o IdnetL
A Seleciion from ms Shorter SpirituaiTre*'
tises. Translated from the Italian by th*
Rev. J. Joaes. With a Memoir of the anther.
a«mo, cioth, 50 CHh
from the Italian of Sl Alphonsus Maria de
Ugnoffi. Second editioo. Revised by Rev.
Robert A. Coffin, C.SS.R. x vol. laan.
iift and Letters of Madanio 9«e^
chine. TrsRvlated from the French c^ tke
Count Falioux. One voL xsmo, . 2 0#
;
Edited by Covat de FaUoux.
x vol. iaBio«
150
On
telev en Catholic Wenkip: A!
aal of Popular Instracti«n on the Ceremo-
ni » ac J Devotions of the Church. By. Fre-
derick Ca-cn OaheleT, M.A., MisaioBary
Rector oi Si. John's, Islington, x vel. 1600.
00 CIS
tshnh J 11 thu maas. TheOriersad
Cert^-a'a' -f:he most Holy and Adorable
S&crroe of t^s Maas explained is a I>ialce'*e
b^iwv^-: m ''Ties and a Caiechame«. W'lA
ac Ar7<-cj ca Solemn Mass. Venwrv^
Cc=:p' -e.acd the HenedicUon of the Uo<
H:-:t S*c-T»='e3t- By Canon Ffederkk
Oakery, i voL iSmo, . M ct&
I
k ll«wi&an's Annrar te Ihr. Pmey'i
tiKaicoa. Paper, 75 cts.
Bamy in Aid ^ a Qrmwmax ef
wnt. By John Henry Newman, D.D., of
Oratory, t vol. xanio^ cloth, . 2 50
Pro Vita Sua i Beiaff a S^
to a Pamphlet entitled '* Whiit, then,
Dr. Newman Mean ? *' By John Henry '
Bwmaa, D I/. New edition, x 7ol. xamo,
2 00
wf CMEQcil of Treat.
IhUsbed by command of Pope Pius V.
ited by RcT. J. Donovan, Professor
ral College, Maynooth. 8vo, . 2 00
•f Baff«Bi« dm Gueria.
by G. S. Ti^butien. x vol. lamo,
2 00
ti«m mf th« Dectrino of the
^olic Church in Matters of Cont;oTer«V.
tile Ri^ht Rer. J. B. Rossuet. A nevr
a, with copious notes, by Rev. J.
her, D.D. x8mo, 50 cts.
of Bmg^oaio io Gnoria.
by G. S. Tr^butien. x vol. xsmo.,
2 00
to a Proteotaat Friead oa tho
»ly Scriptures. By Rev. D. A. Gallitzin.
>, dotji, 50 cts.
taal Director of Doront aad Be-
iotts Souls. By St. Francis de Sales,
50 cts.
ctioB to a Bevoat UJbti From
French of St. Francis of Sales, Bishop and
ce of Geneva. To which is prefixed ar
of his Life. x8mo, cloth, 75 cts
WAl Ob^ I or, Beflectioafl oa
Great Truths ot the Christian Relii^ion,
revery day in the Month. By Right Rev.
f^ Challoner. jamo, cloth, 30 cts.
NUlc Cliristiaa lartracted ia the
ycr amenta, Sacrifices, Ceremonies, and Ob-
MTrances of the Church, by way of question
[iftd answer. By the Richt Rev. Dr. Chal-
kiifr. a4mo, doth, flexible, 25 cts.
|teoUe Ohristiaa iBBtmcted. »mo
•dUioa. Cloth, .... 50 cts.
Ihritt aad tlio Charch. Lectures deli,
vend in St. Ann's Church, New York, dur-
bf Advent, 1869. By Rev. Thos. S. Pres-
tos. X vol. xamo, .... 1 50
Imsmi aad Bevelatioa. Lectures De-
Bvered in St. Ann's Church, New York,dur-
toc Advent, 1867, 'by Rev. T. S. Preston.
One rol. xamo, 1 50
^tttU Treatiao oa the Little l^rtaea.
Written ori|;inally in Julian by Father Ro-
herti, of the Society of Jesus. To which are
^ded, A Letter on Fervor by Father Vallois,
a]., and Maaims from an unpublished
VAnascript of Father Seirneri, S.J. ; also, De-
votioos to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, samo,
doth «cts.
^ ■ g i t a a SonBOnL From the Italian of
Kither Segneri, SJ. Vol. L xamo, 1 50
Vol. n 1 50
^New and Enlarged Bdition, with Maps, etc.
A« OfantrateA Biatery of Irelaad,
(rov the Barltest Pertod to the Present
Tfabf ; wlih several fint-cUis fuU-pag:e en-
ffravinfTS of Historical Scenes designed by
Henry Doyle, and engraved by George Han-
Ion and George Pearson ; together with up-
ward of One Hundred Woodcuts, by eminent
Artists, illustratiog Antiquities, Scenery, and
Sites of Remarlcable Events ; and three large
Maps — one of Ireland, and the others ot
Family Homes, Statistics, etc. x vol. 8vo,
nearly 700 pages, extra cloth, . . 5 00
Half-mor., 7 00
The Lift of St^ Patrick, ApoatVe of ire-
land. By M. F. Cusack, author of '* The Il-
lustrated History of Ireland,'* etc. Illus-
trated, one vol., 6 00
The Patriot* a Biatory of
m7F. Cusack. X vU., "^
By
245
The Worka of the Moat Re^eread
John Hughes, first Archbishop of New York,
containing Biography. Sermons, Lectures,
Speeches, etc. Carefully compiled from the
Best Sources, and edited oy Lawrence
Kehoe. s vols. 8vo, cloth, 8 00
a vols., half-calf, extra, . 12 00
Poor niaa'a Catechiam) or. The
Christian Doctrine Explained, with Short
Admonitions. By John Mannock, O.S.B.
24mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Poor lOaa'a Coatroveray. Rv J. Man>
nock, author of " Poor Man*s Catechism.*'
x8mo, cloth, 50 cts-
Catholic Tracta. Fifty Catholic Tracts of
"The Catholic Publication Society," on
various subjects, x vol. xamo, cloth extra.
1 25
Iriah Odea, aad Other Poema. By Au-
brey de Vere. x vol. xamo, toned paper,
2 00
Cloth, gilt, . . ... 2 50
May Carol% aad Byaiaa aad Poema.
By Aubrey de Vere. Blue and Kold, 1 25
The Iiiqae&ctioa of tho Blood of St.
Januarius. Cloth, .... 1 00
Biatory of the Old aad New Teata-
ments. By J. Reeve. 8vo, half-bound, em-
bossed roan, 1 00
Compeadioaa Abatractof the Hiatory
of the Church of Christ. By Rev. Wm.
Gahan,O.S.A. With continuation down to the
present time, by John G. Shea, LL.D. i2mo ,
X 25
The Lift of Mother Jalia, Poaadreai
of the Sisters of Noire Dame, i vol. lamo,
cloth, extra, with Portrait of Mother Tulia.
1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
Hiatory of Eag-laad, fbr the Vae of
Schools. By W. F. Mylius. Continued
down to the present time by John G. Shea
LL.D. xamo, . . . ^ 1 25
Lift of Mother Marfaret Mary Hal-
lahan, founder of the English Congregation
of SL Catherine of Siena, of the Third Order
of St Dominick. By her Religious Children
With a Pc^face by the Right Rev. Bishop
Ullalhome. x vol. 8vo, .4 00-
Barly Hiat^hry of the Catholic Chareh
in the Island of New York. By the Right
Rev. J. R. Bayley. D.D. With four Steel
Plates of the (our hrst Bishops and a wood-
cut of old St. Peter's, i voL xamo, cloth,
150
8
Niatory •f *»» "^t^ •* 'i oo
|l«|||l||l<ltl' • Vlll« * vw
Z h.m h I vol. u.ma «vo, loncd ^per.
MHi tf ■! Vlncont <• FauL t.mo,
Mm •r MUm^ WwpfwrH Btar
N 5^ *iA«K
V V V ♦ •
•S*. * "X* 1
-tt. 'rl»C»,
. . ..TV lurranve lor
. . .V <,-«n of Pop*
.... tj4 ^r over 500
.. i^ttwbytbeinott
^ . >j.'..«s. ConUkihif
. 3 00
c .M.» . 1 00
.>s (. hureh. Con-
. ^.^.}JiUons, 540 pp., 3 00
s(l t>ooks can be bad In
« > xc>, suitable tor presents, m
<»
. ^Uuh eitra, . 7 00
. , X ' > , iU>ih extra, . . 9 00
• . . \ \ , I loth gih, 12 00
IV. N^'U h»li' calf, . 20 00
i« ^ \ «>t!i tuU calf antique, 30 00
k\xry Victoria! Bible and Chnrch
»i-^. \ ^tutics, A bridjE^ed and Complete, i
> <' V\ iili a view of Solomon's Temp}e, a
>ii ' .-\ e view of Jenisalttm, and upwards
vtt > •ML- huiuircd beautiful Engravinn. Crown
-.vvi, yjo pn. By Rev. Hemy Formby. Cloth,
txua, 1 50
n.nh, f;iU 2 00
iluU'-cAir, 3 50
Kull-calf, 6 00
This is an abridgment of the larger work
le sen bed abow.
The Book of the Holy Rosary. A Full,
Popular, Doctrinal Ex position of its Fifteen
M \ slcricR, and of their Corresponding Types
in the Old Testament. Illustrated with thirty-
s;.\ full-p«?e engravings, printed in the best
planner on toned paper, extra ornamental
•binding, and gilt edtres. Ry Rev. H. Form-
by. I \*ul. quarto, ^11 gilt, . 4 00
Ufty PaoioBy DeatBiy and
tioa of Our Lord Jesus Christ.
Abridged Harmony of the Four ,
the W^rds of the Sacred Text. Edited .
Rev. Henry Formby. With oversiztyi
grarings from original deagns. x voL u
Oothgilt, 2
The Lift ef & Catherine
Si
X TOL
, ef Jeeos Ghriet te
Fatthtal SoqI rkkt m devoutly affected
ward Him. t reL ifiaoL . . 1 '
nt>Bii iti
Ubtiafincsc & ^iht Keaonaation. By the I
Rer. C C Pjie. DDL 5 toU. 8vo, . 7
AjBoCkcr eiflcan; % vraiiSk. xxbo, doth, S '
SchooL Libnrv^ F^at Series. The
'.nic ars air ctiis ni 'Suz different roll
X'tii'iitsint titt 3^n«i(r^ Crusade of
C^i>irsn. TTnea if ^e Affections. Ai
nms n T"wnrs. T-mft and TmsL
r^xuuiar TTniA ^Hancaamti^ bound and |
xnf 31. a. luxL. I«catii. <vtrr», .3
Qn^. jpiti, . • « •4
Scho.»l 1-iiram. i«erjrmi; Series. The fol
i"tg are ttic uxtB a :ie ddlercnt vol
The Rir&i& Tm. IttcJe of Lepanto,
Scenes arte Irtcatsnft jc Sea. Toe
bt-»\^ a'-d itK Knr snx. :^ Man
t ittlc Rose. Ffisrectmc Siandsomely
and put up ic 4i tM& -nut^ czxraL, . 3
(''loth, gilt, .... . .4
The
School Libr«rr . Tnm Series. The
Ing are the ti:t9 n tm <£^crent volumt:
Nettlethorpe the Mim\ Tales of Naval
Military Life. Har- -"'Bricn, snd
Tales. The Hennr a: H'tmal Atlas,
or. The Choice o' c f-sad. Antonio
The Orphan of FlHisnce. Hai
bound, and pot op m « tax. Cloth,
3
Cloth, gilt, 4ffi
The ninstratBd rilhilii Sni^
School Library. Fourxt Ser-cs. ThefoHo«»';
ing are the titles at zte t ffiercot vohuaes:
Tales of the South re Fruce. Stories d
Other Lands. EannaY Crssa, and Olkr
Tales. UndeRdwvdf ^Qcoes. ToeBaktt
The Two Paintera. Hssdaomely boooi
and put up in a box. CtcX. extra, » 3 09
Cloth, gik 4 Off
The mnitxated
School Library. Fifth Seres. The foaow-:
ing are the titles of ibe oiSerent volaioes:
Bad Example. Mav-Dar, aad Other Talcs.
James Chapman. Tke Vonsg Astfooooxr* ,
and Other Tales. Ansel Dreams. EUertoe
Priory. Handsomely bc«cd, and put sp^a
box. Cloth, extra, . 3 Off
Cloth, gilt, 4 00
The nivstrated Cattrtic SanliT
School Library. Sixth Senes. The fen»w-
ing are the titles of the different vohtmes :
Idleness and Industrr. The Hope of die
Katzekopfs. St. Mau-ice. The Younr Sai-
grants. Angels' Visits. Scrivener's Oss|[^
tor, and Onxnge GirL Handsomely boaa^
and put up in a box. Qoth, extim, . 3 Off
Cloth, gilt 4 00
1
Tkm niiurtratsd Catholic Snnday-
Sctiool Library. Seventh Series. The loliow-
inz U'e the tftlen ot the different volumes :
Tales of Catholic Artists. Honor 0*M ore's
Three Homes. Sir iftlfric, and Other Tales.
Select Tales for the Young. Tales for the
Maov. Frederick Wilmot. In a box. illus-
trated. Cloth extra, .... 3 00
Clirth, Kilt, 4 00
The Illiistrated Catholic Smiday-
School Librury. Kizhth Scries. The follow-
ing are the titles o? the different volumes:
The Apprentice, and other Sketches. Mary
Benedicui, and Other Stories. Faith and
Loyalty, and The Chip Gaiherers. Agnes«
I aad Other Sketches. L4in)e Miilie. The
Chapel of the Angels. Handsomely bouqd,
and put up id box. Cloth extra, . 3 00
I aoth f^tU. 4 00
; Uoa and the Sibylfl: A ClaMoic, Chri*-
* tian Novel. Ky Miles Gerald Keon. One
voL Svo, cloth, extra 1 50
mastntted Catholic Family Almanac
for 1869, 1870, 1871, 187a, and 1873, each,
25 cts.
The T^70 Schools: A Moral Tale.
By Mrs. Hughes. i2mo, cloth, X 00
Uvea of the Fathers of the Desert,
and of tnanv Holy Men and Women who
dwelt In Solitude. Translated from the
French. Embellished with eighteen ene^rav-
lo^Ks. i8mo, cloth, 60 cis.
' IfOvisat OTy Th^ Virtnous Villaffor.
A Catholic Tale. New edition. i8mo, iToth,
60 eta.
\ Bome of tbm Lost Child. This story
I is tounded on fact, and records in a most in-
teresting manner a singular instance of (yod's
mercy. 18 mo, cloth, . 60 cts-
Qeaeyieve : A Tale of Antiqaity,
sboWing the Wonderful Wavsof Providence
in the •'roiection of Innocence. From the
German ol Schmid. i8mo, cloth, 60 cts.
Christinoy and Other Poems. By
Georg.- H. Mile^. Cioth, . . 2 00
Gilt, extra 2 50
The *^ Old-Catholics'* at Cologne. A
Sketch in Three Scenes. Ky the author of
''Comedy of Convocation. i vol. i8mo,
75 cts.
rather Rowland. A North American
Tale. i8mo, cloth, 60 cis.
The Reverse of the MedaL a Drama
tor iiiris, 20 cts.
Brnscliff BalL A Drama for Girls, 20 cts.
The Deaf^MtttO. A Drama for R')y8,
50 cts.
Bliai or, Spain Fifty Years Ago. From
the Spanish of Feroan Caballero. i • vol.
tamo .1 50
BUsa Despresf or. The Bfibcts of
R< lUing Bad liooks 60 cts.
Qh apses of Pleasant Homes. By the
St or of "The Liic ot Mother McCaufey."
ril Arated with four full-page Illustrations.
I I. lamo, cloth extra, 1,50
h,gUt, 2 00
>Vi it of Faithi or, Why Do I Believe.
Books of Irish Martyrs, ntemorials
ot those who Suffered fur the Catholic Faitli
in Ireland dupng the Sixteenth. Seventeenth,
and Eighiecnih Centuries. Collected and
edited by Myles O'Reilly. B.A., LL.D. x
vol. crown Svo. vellum cloth,. . . 2 50
I Diary of a Sister of Mercy. Tales
from the Diary of a Sister ot Mercy. By C. ^
M. Brame. i vol. lamo, extra cloth, 1 50
Extra gilt.
2 00
c voi. I a mo, 580 pages,
Anima Diyota ; or,
Oropincra After Tmth. a ute-journey
from New Kng:land Congregationalism to
the One Catholic Apostolic Church. By
Joshua Huntington. One volume vellum
cloth, 75 eta.
The Clergy and the Pnlpit and
their Relations to the People. By M. I'Abb^
Isidore MuUois, Chaplain to Napoleon 111.
One vol. lamo, extra cloth, . 1 50
Half-calf, extra, .3 50
Symholismj or, Exposition of the
Doctrinal UifTerences between Catholics and
Proicsiants, as evidenced by their Symbolic
Writings. Hy John A. Moehier, D.D. Trans-
lated from the Ucrman, WMh a Memoir of ihe
Author, preceded by an Historical Sketch of
the State of Protestantism and ratholiriam
in Germany for tue last hundred Years, oy
J. B. Robertson, Esq., 4 00
An Amicahle Discussion on the
Church of England, and on the Reformation
in pen^ral, dedicated to the Clergy of every
Protesiaut Communion, and reduced into
the form of let ers, by the Right Rev. J. F.
M. Trevern. D.D., Bishop of Strasbourg.
Translated by the Rev. William Richmond.
. 2 00
DoTont SonL
Translated from ihe Italian of Very Rev. J.
B. Pagani, Provincial of the Order of Char-
ity in England. This is one of the roost
instructive and useful books that enrich our
spiritual literature. It is a series ot excellent
consi(teratlons relative to the Eucharist as a
sacriiic^and sacrament, and will be found by
the pious Catholic to be a valuable manual
in the preparation for Holy Communion.
94nio, cloth, 60 cts.
Bona Mors : A Pioos Association of
the Devout Servants ot our Lord Jesus
Christ, dying on the Cross, in ordecto obtain
a good death. 34mo, cloth, 25 cts.
Why Men do not Believe | or The
Principal Causes of Infidelity. Translated
from the French of Mgr. Laforet. Clo'h,
1 00
In Beairen we Know Onr own.
Translated from the French of Ptre Blot, i
vol. i8mo 60 cti.
The See of Peter, the Bock of the
Church, the Source of Jurisdiction, and the
Centre of Unity. By Thomas William Allies
1 vol., cloth, 75 cts.
Oronnds of the Catholic Doctrine,
contained in the Profession of Faith publish-
ed by Pope Pius IV.; to which are added.
Reasons why a Catholic cannot Conform
to the Protestant Religion. 3amo. cloth,
20 cts.
The Gentle Skeptic or Essays and
Conver?»ations of a Country Justice on the
Authenticity and Truthfulness of the Oid
Tesument Records. Bdited by tht Rev. C.
A. Walworth. 1 vol. laaw, . 1 M
lO
The Doctrine of Bell p ventilated in m
Discussion between Rev. C. A. Walworth
and Wm. Henry Burr, x ^ol. i8mo, 60 cts.
The Devont Communicant. By Rev.
P. Haker.' 34010, .... 50 cts.
The Visible Unity of the Catiiolic
Church iniii'itaincd against Oj)posite Theo-
ries; with an Explanation of Certain Pas-
lages in Ecclesiasiical History erroneously
apptraled.to in their support. Hy M. J.
Rhodes, M.A. a vols, in i, 8vo. cloth extra,
5 00
Letter* to a Prebendary. Being an An-
swer to Keflections on Popery by Rev. J.
Sturgis, LL.D. Hy Rl^ht Rev. J. Milner,
D.D. 34010, cloth, .... 75 CIS.
A Vindication of Italy and the Papal
States, 40 ct&.
The Government of the Papal
States 50 cts.
Fifty Rcaions why the Catholic Be-
lij/ion oughil to be PreJcrred. . 40 cts.
Life of St John the Evangelist 2 00
Lilb of Father Bernard) • 1 50
The lllistress«f NovicM EnUghtened
up"n her JJuiies*. Translated b> a Sis'er
of Mercy. Net, .... 1 50
Oatechiim of Christian Bcligion.
'irAu U'cd from the German rt Dei arbe,
by Fander. S J., .... 75 cts.
The Veil Withdrawn. From the French
ot Mine. Ctaveu, . • ■ • 1 50
The Holy Communion. Its Philoso-
phy. Thcuiogy, and I'laitice. Hvjohn Her
nard Dnlgairns, Priest ol the Oratory ol St.
Philip Neri. t vol. lamo, . .2 00
Familiar Disconrses to the Tonn^,
I'rcccilcd by an Adtiress 10 Parents. Bv A
Catholic Priest, i vol. lamo, cloth, 75 cts.
Homihold on the Commandments,
etc. The (/i'minaiuiments and Sacraments
explained in hitiv-tv\o Disioiirscs. By the
Riiiht Rev. Dr. Homihold. auihor of " Real
Principles of Catholics." i7mo. cloth, 2 00
Spiritual Comhat. To wUiih i^ added,
i he Peace of the Soul and the Happiness ot
tlie He ut which Dies to Jlscll in order to Live
to God. 3amo 40 cts.
Practical Disconrses on the Perftc-
tUnw antl Works of God, a'ld tlie Divinitv
and \> orks o! Je^us Chrut. Hy Rev. J.
Reeve. 8vo, cloth, 2 50
Trinmph of Relifiiion; or, A Choice
Sfk'itiDM ol tdifving Narratucn. Compiled
froiu various authors. i8nio, cloth. 50 cts.
Spiritnal Consoler 1 or. Instructions
10 EnliRtiicn l*ious Souls m their DtMibls and
allM\- thci .ears. W rittcn onuinally in Latin
by bather ^undrupan. i8mo, . 50 ^t^s-
Stories on the Seven Virtues. By a g nc .
M. Mcwuit, Muilioicss ot ' bcsjivai ot the
Rosarx .*' {Vni^ i> a scries of moral aiid iu-
tcrestmK talcs told with an c.eiiai.t sim-
plicity, each lUusttaiiiiK ihe triuiupii of one
ot the seven virtues.) i8mo« cloth, 60 cts.
Oratory of the FaithlU Soul ; or, De-
fotioxia lo tht Mo»t Uoly Sacrament and to
our Blesaed Lady. Translated firem tlie
of Venerable Abbot Bloaiua. By Rot
Aston Coffin, Priest of the Oratory.
cloth, 50<
Nonet's Meditations on the Idb
Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, lor Er
Day in the Year. By Rev. J. Noue?, S.
To which are added, Mrditations oa the S
cred Heart ot Jesus Christ, being those tak
from a Novena in preparation lor a Feast
the same. Hy Father C. Borg^o, SJ.
vol. x3tno, 880 pages, ... .2
Familiar Instractions en
Prayer. By the Abbe Courbon. TransU
from the French, and edited by Rev. W. T.
Gordon, of the Oratory, London, ivol. i4
cloth, 75
Abridgment of the Christian D
By the Right Rev. Histiop liay
cloth,
Confidence in the Mercy of
Reflections on the Contid'.'ncc in the M
of God. Hy the Right Rev. Joseph Lap
i8mo. cloth, ....
Memorial of a Christian
(Tontaintngall that a soul newly converted
God oui^ht to do that it may attain the
fecti(>n to which it ought to aspire. By Ker,
Lewis de Granada. O.S.D. Revised and
rected by Rav. F. J. L^ Estrange, OAi
i8mo, cloth 75
Adhemar de Belcastel; or, Be.
Hasty in Jndfiring-, . . 1
Mary, Star of the Sea: a Story of c
ol.c Devotion, 1
Lile of Christ. Translated from the F
of Louis Vcuillot by Rev. A. Farley, i t
latnc, ....... 2
A Memoir of Thomas Swing- of Okla
X vol quarto, net, . . 3 M
Sacred Heart of Jesns and the 8a»
cred Heart of Mary. Translated Jroa tht
Italian ot Father Lanzt, author of " History
of I'aiiiting," etc. . With an introductjoobfy
Rev. C. P. Meeban. 34mo, cloth, 00 en
Month of Mary. Containing a Series 9t
Meditations, etc., in Honor ot the H, V. M.
Arranged for each day of the Month. ttaio»
cloth 40 ctiw
Peter Claver: A Sketch of His LA
and LKbor.s 111 behalf ot the African Sia»a
I vol. i6mo, 75cti
Homilies on the Book of Tohias ; «r»
A Familiar Kxplanaiion ot the Practical
Duties of Domestic Life. By Rev. T. M%f-
tyn. (C)niy a tew copies of this book ItiM
x2mo, dotti X Ov
Counsels of a Christian Mother. 00 c^
Shadows of the Bood. Eight Uqm«
Lectures 1 00
The Divinity of Christ.. By Right Rer.
S. H. Rosecmns. D.D.. . , 00 ca.
Leg'ends of Holy Mary . OOds.
Lenten Lectores. Hy the Rev. T. M^
Guire 75^
Price of a Sonl, . 50 c*^
The Progress of the Ag-e, . . 00 cts.
A Treatise on the Catechism, SO^
Marriage and Pamily Xhities^ BrArd-
bishop Purcell, ... -25^
The Land of tiie Cid. By OstMli
liiuatraietl, I OV
II
blllM aad Ronuin Inqidiitioii, 30 ctt.
mm Mtamal %f Devotion to the
Vicred Ue&rt of jes^s, and Spiritual Rou-
l|^ SOcts.
itttatioii of Sacrod Heart of Jesna.
Jrrofn tne Latin ot Arnoudt. . 2 50
I
(ie Hidden Treautare ; or, The Vadne
iof Holy Mass 50 cts.
bftlation of the Blessed Virgin, in
\SouT Books. i8mo, cloth, 50 cU.
■terlor Christian, in Sig-ht Books.
With a Supolerient. Extracted from the
Writings of M. Beraier de Louvigny. i8mo,
«loUi, 50 cts
BOOKS BT THB PAUUST
khs King's Bighway ; or, The Cath-
olic i fcurch the Only Way ot Salvation as
Kerealed io ifae Holy Scriptures. By Kev.
A. K. Lie wit. X vol.'istQO, 1 50
Nwtions of the SonL By Rev. 1. T.
Meeker. New edition, . 1 60
^Cloih, gilt, 2 00
Mpiratiens ol Nature. By Rev. i. T.
rHecker. Fourth Edition, revised, cloth,
Itaua, 1 50
Iknnons of the Panlist Fathers, for
1I64. New Edition. Cloth, extra, . 1 50
pannotts
of the Panlist Fathers, for
1863 and tg66. Cloth, extra, 150
i«lde
to Catholic Tonng Women.
C«pecl»Uy for those who earn their own liv-
iti%. HyKev. George De&hon, Mibsionarr
Pnett 1 vol. lamo, 1 00
jbUb of Father Baker. The Life and
Sermona ot" ihe Rev. Francis A. Baker,
FricM of the Congregation of St. Paul.
Edited bv Rev. A. F. He wit. One vol.
crowQ 8vo, pp. 504 2 50
Half-calfor morocco extra, . 4 00
imioas of the Panlist Fathers. Voi.
Vi. ismo, 336 pa^es, cloih, . 1 50
A New and Eaiarged Edition of Father Young's
Osthelic Hymns and Canticles. This
eduiuu cuniMins twenty-one new Hymns ;
VBotig which are live Christmas Carols, a
charming carol tor Easter, entitled " Tne
AUluia Bells"; several new and-onginal
Songs for Catechism ; the popular Congrcfra-
tiuna' Hymns sung in the I'aulisi Church by
the f jsary and Christian Doctnne Societies,
•od I the Way of the Cross, etc., the wliole
wfm ig the most complete Catholic Hymn-
Booji 'ver published. One vol. tamo, 1 00
I fnhi ,^ of the Age. With Studies
I u S4 Augustine on Kmdred Subjects. By
lUv, . K. Uewit. t voL xamo, extra cloth,
2 00
New and Enlarged Sdltloa of
The Office of Vespers. Containing the
order of the Vesper Service; the Gregorian
Psalm Tones, harmonized, with the Psalms
for all the Vespers during the year noiuted
for chanting. Common melorFies for the
Antiphons, and the Four Anthems ot the
B. V. Mary. By Rev. Alfred Voung. With
the Imprimatur of the Most Rev. Archbishop
of New York. (The Gregorian Tones, and
the words of the Psalms, by a new and
original division, are so arranged that but
one pointing of the Psalms, as given, is
needed for all the Tones, with their various
endings.) Single copies, . . . 75 cts
Per dozen, 6 00
Hymns and Songs Ibr Catholic ChiU
dren. Containing ihe most popular Cattiolic
Hymns for every season of the Christian
Year, together with May Songs, Christmas
and Easter Carols, for tne use of Sunday-
Schools, Sodalities, and Confraternities.
Paper covers, ' 15 cts.
Cloth, flexible, 25 cts.
Light in Darkness : A Treatise on the
Obscure Night of the Soul. By Rev. A F.
Hewit i6mo, cloth, extra, • . . 75 cts.
The Invitation Heeded : Reasons for a
Return to Catholic Unity. By James Kent
Stone, late President of Kenyon and Hobart
Colleges. X vol. lamo, . • 1 50
The Life of the IMEost Rev. M. J. Spal-
ding, D.b., Archbishop of Bal'.iniore. By
Rev. J. L. SpaliJing. S.T.L. i vol. 8vo, 480
pp., with portrait on steel, bevelled
cloth 4 00
• • • • • ^f
Halt-mor.,
00
Good Things ^r Catholic Readers
A Miscellany ot Catholic Biography, His
torv. Travels, etc. Containing Pictures and
Sketches of Eminent Persons, representing
the Church and Cloister, the Slate and Home,
Remarkable Places connected with Religion,
Famous Evenis in all Lands and Times.
With 108 illustrations. Being a compilation
from the first tive years of "The Illustrated
Catholic Family Almanac." x vol. xsmo,
2 00
Pleadings of the Sacred Heart of
Jesus. From the French. By Rev. M.
Comerford. Cloth, 50 cts.
Grapes and Thorns. By the author of
" The House of Yorke." x vol. 8vo, 2 00
Irish Bmigration to the United States-
What It has Been, and What it is. Facts
and Reflections especially .\ddre<ised to the
Irish People intetiding to Emigrate from
their Native land, and to those living in the
Large Cities ot Great Britain and of the
United States. By Rev. Stephen Byrne,
O.S.D. X vol. lamo, cloth, . . » 125
Paper, 60 cts.
Sacnun Septenarinmi or, The Seven
Gifts uf the Holy Ghost, as Exemplified in the
Lite and Person of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
for the Guidance and Instruction of Children.
By Rev. Henry Formby. x vol. x6mo, 1 20
12
BOOKS Of PAPBB OOTBSS. ' Twelve MyrtsriM of the Holy CklU-
hood, . - . 25 C3&.
Dr. Xf •wmaa'i Baplj to Gladitone.
50 cts.
Archbiihop Wanning*! Beply to Glad-
ttooe, 50 cts.
BQstorical Catachiim. Ry M. VAbbi
Klcury. Continued down to the Prrieai
Day, by Father Komiby. iSmo, paper corer,
10 ctft.
The Tme and tho FalM InfiUlibility.
By Bishop Fessier, .... 50 cis.
The Syllalmi ibr the People. Ry a
Monk of M. Augustine's, . 25 cis.
Bt. Bev. Biihop Tanghan'i Beply to
Mr. Gladstone, 25 <^is-
Bishop Ullathome's Beply to Mr.
Gladstone, 25 cis.
The CathoUc Christian Instmcted*
By Bishop Challoner. . 20 cts.
Bossnefs Bzposition of the Doctrinei
of the Catholic Church on Matters of Con-
troversy. With Notes. Large edition.
, 25 cts.
Bossnet^s Bzposition of the Doctrines
of the Catholic Church on Mutters ot Con-
troversy. Without Notes. Small edition,
20 cts.
The Poor Man's Catechism j or, The
Christian Docrine Explained. . 25 cis.
The Poor Man's Controversy, 25 cts.
End of Beligions Controversy, 50 cts.
Oallitzin en the BEoly Scriptores,
25 cts.
Catholic Tracts. Vol. i
Oakeley on the Mass,
Oakeley on Catholic
. 50 cts.
25 ^ts.
, 25 cts.
The Comedy of Convocation in the
English Church, .... 25 cts.
Net ftr the Fishers of Men, . 6 cts.
FATBEB FOBMBT^S BOOKS.
The Parables of Onr Lord Jesus Christ.
With twenty-one illustrations, 25 cts.
Formby's School Sonsrs. The junior and
Senior School Song-Book, complete in one.
20 cts.
The Seven Sacraments. With Sixteen
Illustrations, 25 cts.
The Seven Dolors of the Blessed
gin Mary. With Seven IllustrHtio.TS, 15 cts.
The School Keepsake. With Four illus-
trations X2 cts.
Lift of Christ Abridged. W*ith several
illustratioQB. 25 cts.
$126
1 7«
500
460
660
660
600
1 50
dOO
400
600
550
760
TBX HOLT BIBLB.
Pocket edition, embossed, plain,
Kmbossed, uih
Call", red or gilt edge, .
Morocco, extra, red edges or ifilt, .
Morocco or calf, extra, full i^ilt, .
Tooled edue,
Morocco Turkey, bevelled,
12niO edition^ embossed, plain,
'Km bossed, gilt
Morocco, ....
Morocco, extra
Kull calf,
*' or tnorocco. tooled edge.
8vo edition printed on the finest quatitv of
paper, w.lk Illustrated Family Kecor.i, c:c.
Arabesque, gilt, $4 00
Roan, gilt, 6 00
Morocto, extra, bevelled, . .7 6'
Full calf, bevelled 8 60
or morocco, tooled edge, . 50
NBW TESTAMENT.
12nio cloth $0 75
Embossed, gilt, . . . * , . 1 26
Koan, Bill 2 60
Morocco, extra, bevelled, . . 4 50
32mo cloth, embossed, . $0 40
Arab, gilt 75
Roan, full gilt 1 00
Tirkev morocco, 2 60
Fullckll 8 00
FOLLownva or chbxst.
In Four Rooks. By Thomas k Kempis, with
Reflect OMS at the conclusion of each chsfJc'
Translated from the Krcncn for this r<?i '-co.
iSti.o. (loth, $0 50
Arabesqiiv , gilt I 00
Qlnstrsitcd 12mo . ..
Koin I 60
Turkev morocco, super extra, . . 4 00
Full cair, 5 00
Without the Beflectioni^ 3amo ^^
(Moth, extra 40
Roan, gilt edge, 1 00
Turkev morocco, super extra, . .3 50
Full calf. SOO
OFFICa OF HOLT WBBI.
According t« the Roman Missal and Breri»«7.
in Latii: ;ind English. New and re\iscdr6>'
tion. i8mo. (loth, . . $0 76
ArHbescjue, gilt, 160
Roan, gilt, g 00
Morocco, gilt, ... . 1 60
«3
PRAYER-BOOKS.
'BW, KKTISBD, AKD BNLAXGBD EDITION OT
TBS MISSION BOOK.
Mmnual of Instructions and Prayers, adapted
to preserTe the Fkuits op the Mission.
Drawn chietlv from the Works of St. Al-
phonsus L,ig:uori Nbw. Improvbo, and i£N-
LAsr.KD Kdition. The handsomest Frayer-
B^k ^M^iisked. Edited by the Paulist
Fmthers. 6an pages, illustrated with new
Steel Kofrravings, f^ol up expressly for this
edition. It contaius a complete Vesperal,
with notes and other additions, makuigf it lao
p«|[es lari^er than former editions.
BditioiL -Arabesque plain.
Arabesque, uilt, . ' .
R'^n, i-ull gilt
Koan, full gilt, clasps, .
Moro( CO, extra, bevelled, .
Morocco, extra, bevelled, clasps,
Mur.« extra, bev. tooled edges, etc.
Morocco, rims and tooled edges.
Full calf.
Full calf, flexible
Fal calf, bevelled.
Full calf, tooled edges, etc..
Full calt, rims and torled edges.
$1 00
1 60
1 76
200
00
60
60
00
60
00
00
6 60
7 60
4
4
6
7
4
6
6
Ohaap fiditioiL-Arabesque, plain. . $0 76
Arabesque, embossed, gilt edges. 126
Arab., embossed, gilt edges and dps. 1 60
koan, gilt 1 60
Roan, gilt and clasps, .... 1 76
Morocco 2 26
Morocco, full gilt 2 60
Mor«>cco, extra, 8 60
Morocco, extm, bevelled clasps, . 4 60
Thi% edition is printed on clear white paper
from the same type, and contains the same
matter as the fine edition, mskinc; it the cheap-
est Prayer-Hook ever publishe'l.
DAII.T COIIIPAXtlON.
Containing a Selection of Prayers and Devo-
tional Exercises for the use of Children.
Kmbellished with thirty-six very neat illus-
trat*%'C Rnsravings. aamo, cloth, .$0 26
Arabesque, plain, .
Arabesque, gilt, .
Roan, gilt, ....
Roan, full gilt,
Morocco, gilt.
Full calf, antique.
Full calf, rimmed and clasp.
60
60
76
1 00
2 00
2 60
4 00
This book is printed on the finest quality of
paper, and is a most appropriate present for
children.
aHBISTIAXrS GUIDE TO
BEAVBN.
o, arabe<<qae, $0 60
abesque, uilt, . ^ 76
>ao. full gilt, . . : 1 26
irocco. extra, 2 60
11 calf, antique. . . 8 00
'' calf, rimmed and clasp, . 4 00
OATHOUO MANUAI..
«
Containing a Selection of Prayers and Devo-
tional Exercises. i8mo, cloth, . , $0 76
Arabesque, plain, 1 00
Arabesque, gilt, 1 26
Am. mor. gilt, .... 2 60
Morocco, extra, '8 60
Full calf, antique, . . 4 60
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
GARDEN OF TBB SOUL;
Or, A Manual of Spiritual Exercises and In-
structions for Christians who, living in the
world, aspire to devotion. By RiRniJ^cv
Dr. Challonsr. 34mo, cloth.
Arabesque, gilt, .
Roan, full gilt,
Morocco, gilt,
K .11 calf, antique.
Full calf, rimmed and clasp.
$0 60
1 00
1 60
2 60
8 00
6 00
THB EST OF HEAVEN;
Or, Devout Christian's Daily Companion. To
which is added. Daily Devotion ; or. Profit-
able Manner ot Heaiing Mass. Illustrated.
a4ino, cloth $0 60
Arabesque, gilt, 1 OO
Koan, full gilt, 1 60
Morocco, gilt 2 60
Full calt, antique 3 00
Full calt, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
TRUE PIETT I
Or, The Day Well Spent. A Manual of Fer-
vent Prayers, Pious Reflections, and Solid
Instructions tor Catholics. i8mo.
Arabesque and cloth, .
Arabesque gilt.
Roitn. rt'd edge, .
American morocco, gilt,
American morocco, full gilt,
Morocco, gilt.
Full calf, antique.
Full calt. rimmed and clasp.
$0 76
1 26
2 00
2 26
2 60
8 60
4 60
6 00
PIOUS GUIDE TO PRATER AND
DEVOTION.
C/ontaming various Practice?* of Piety calcu-
l«ted to answer the demands of the devout
members of the Catholic Church. i8mo.
Arabesque $0 76
Arabesque, ^\\U 1 26
Am. mor., gi't edge, .... 226
Am. mor., full gilt 2 60
Turkey mor. super extra, 8 plates, .$8 60
Full calf, antique 4 60
Full calf, rimmed and clasp. . 6 00
This Praytr-Book contains the Profession o!
Faith, Kona Mors Festivals explained, as well
IS other important things not generally found
in prayer-books.
PIOUS auiDB.
Mmo, cloth, . . $0 60
Arabesque, gilt, 1 00
Rotin, full gilt, 1 60
Morocco, giVt, 2 60
Full calf, antique 8 00
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
14
PATH TO PABAOI8B.
\ Sel«>ciion of Pmvers and Devotions for Ca-
ihol cs. 48mo. cloth, . . $0 2C
Arabe^t^ue, gilt,
RoHfcr. tu.l g>U,
Mo \KC\), £:Ii,
F- »* at, at'.tivj-e.
Kv.'I caX rimjtied and clasp.
40
75
1 25
1 75
8 00
Tk» >*ost ct>MP»aTa Pra\bk>Booic
ri-BLiSMKD.
THB OATBOUCrS TAIIB MBCUM,
\ Ssr'ct ^*x• 4." -:t !*-~Av«rs t^:?? Daily Use.
Co%ir '• ?v? ■• ■• ti 4 r.-T,xi s..-«ur."cs New and
UB •-••^•i <!'• r. e; rev! rc^-i the last
Lv. - .: • <x . J. vV . . :i ^ Lpi^tles aud
\ * c^- .tf. . i /. $0 75
- . . . 1 00
. . . . 1 50
. . . . 3 00
. . . . 4 00
. «.. 4 -.
i 4 V
SST or PASADISBi
>>i v*» ^ >c vi*:* >v k^.etuAi Salvation, lanio
4 i>^.,x;.^ $0 75
\ -^.V^v .. ,; : 1 25
^ t« t. .r. «■ • t^ . 2 50
V • -vx.^' < . .8 50
*. ■« »^..e . .4 50
•\ >* ■ J v's'vi a "U c»*sp, . . 6 00
V -s *v^. K .v»V ' >t Vl<» • i h'v book i^ printed
I c v-*.!.' u a s;e iv* c. i>n exua fine
•• . ' K N- . « V*. »;». -^ . i:h ixv "amine 650
►•' vv*. "«v' '* \« "v.* ncW, ;»4 Miches lonj»,
* '.■ .^ 'n "xo-* \^ul.*. U C'•■an^, besides
>»v^ N* »**\^^rv., ^ ^ut'ui.r y ot Christian
*s vv ^r» »' v» A\'\\ K>tr n^ Prayers—
• K . \ vv ' •» v*^ r^'" t'ompicte Mass. in
^ » ■« t • '^••v' Nil Vc\}>ei&- «n«i the Kpis-
V « » ^^' • S\ ... ^Q 50
V..^ '» »o..-, mil rxijtf, . 75
•< .♦ » , 1 25
xi.^'ssvt y\ti«« 2 50
► s.» . 8 00
M . . «.■ A . 3 00
I h^ vs.. *v' Ti^xei Hv»ok, ^^','f^**M/ Ki>istles
4.. . v» ,... ^ SuUaUU' U»i the Vkst Pihkkt.
V 4 « . . .$0 40
St .1 » '. ■ \, i;k*i» , , . . 60
K >. » <''\ 1 00
VI '^»«,v^ . , . . 1 50
w .' , ♦» hm»» 2 00
Mx'txsxvv u«vk. « . . 2 00
"" BBO I.INB "
PRATXR-BOOK POR MEIf.
Containing Epistlbs and Gospels.
Arabesque, gilt edge, . • . ^1 00
Koan, full gilt 2 00
Morocco, extra, 8 00
KuU calf, 4 00
Largt Ty^§ Praytr-B»ok.
MANUAL OP^ CATHOLIC DHTl-
NITT.
With Efistles and Gosfkls. iSmo.
Arabesque', plain, $0 75
Arabesque, Bilt, 125
Roiin, kill pilt 1 50
Morocco, extra, 3 50
Full caif, extra, 4 QO
niannal of the Bleised Sacrament
Published with ihe Appiot>aiion %>\ hisi Kcni-
nence Cardinal McCloskcy.
Arabesque, ...... $3
Re an, gilt, .... '
Morocco, extra, . . , ,
Calf, extra, 4 50
The People's Pictorial LiTos of the
Saints. Scriptural and Historical. Abndccd,
for the most part, from those of the late Rev.
Alban Kutler. In packst^res of la each One
packet now ready, containingr the lirea of
twelve different saints. Per packet, 25 cts.
These arc got up expressly for Sun day. school
presents.
Ps|cketa of Scripture Uiurtratioiift.
(onlaimng KiJiy Ergravings ot Subfects
from iho Old and New Testaments, after
original designs by Elster. Price, loose
packages of tifty, . . 75 cts.
Twenty Illustrations of the Holy
C>ospeU. Done in colors after original de-
signs. With appropriate texts, . 25 cts.
niuniiiated Sunday-School
Fen Cards in each Packet.
First series, net 3Q cts.
Second series, net, . iOcc&.
Third scries, net 30 cts
Fourth series, net, .... 30 cts.
SUNDAT-SCHOOL CLASS^OOSS.
The Catholic Teacher's Sunday-school Class
Book. No. I, paper, per dozen, . \ 00
The Sii nday-school Class-books. Cloth, Ko. s.
per doz. ... 2 00
'riu> Catholic Publication Society,
l..\WRENCE KEUOE, G«ii. Agent,
t> Warren Street,
New York.
Foreign Books.
Books ordered from this list will not he taken back or exchanged,
A discount frmn prices not marked net is allowed to cleryyviejif
libraries, and religions institutions.
Any of the follotcing books 7iot on ha?id, will be ordered if so desired.
-»♦«-
1
1
60
00
00
1 20
3 00
2 50
A Comparison between the Eis-
lory of the Church and the
Prophecies of the Apocalypse, $1 00
A DevciuL Paraphrase on the Seven
Penitential PsAlms ; or, Practi-
cal Gaiile to Repentance. Hev.
F. BIytb, ....
A Dialnirae of Comfort against
Tribulation. Sir Thomas More, 1 50
A Directory for Novices of every
Religions Order,
Adveutureti of a Watch,
A Few Flowers from the Garden, 1 00
Afmrnoons with the Saints. W.
H. Anderdon, D.D. First and
Second Series,
A Hundred Meditations on the
Love of (fod. Robert Southwell,
of the Society of Jesus, Priest
and Martyr. With Portrait.
1 vol. 12iuo, ....
Allies' St. Peter, his Name and his
Office, as set forth in Holy Scrip-
ture,
Allies, T. W. The Formation of
Christendom. 2 vols., . 13 00
An Essay on the Druids, Ancient
Churches, and Round Towers
of Ireland. Rev. R. Smiddy.
18mo
Ad Introduction to History of
France,
Ante-Nicene Christian Library.
Translations of the Writioflrs of
the Fathers down to A.D. 325. 24
▼ols. out. Per vol., . . . 3 00
\ Apostolic Fathers. 1 vol
Justin Martyr and Athenajiroras. 1
vol.
Tatian, Theophilus, and the Cle-
mentines. 1 vol.
Clement of Alexandria. Vol. 1.
Irenaeus. Vol. 1.
Hippolytns. Vol. 1.
''^^rtullian a^inst Marcion. 1 vol.
prian. Vol. 1.
e Completion of Irenseus and
iippolytus. 1 vol. •
e Writinjcs of Orifl^en. Vol. 1.
ement of Alexandria. VoL 2.
inullian. Vol. 1.
2 00
1 50
1 00
1 00
The Writings of Methodius. 1 vol.
Cyprian. Vol. 2.
Apocrvphal Writings. 1 vol.
Tertuilian. Vol. 2.
The Clementines 'and Apostolic
Constitutions. 1 vol.
Tertuilian. Vol. 3.
Aruoblus. 1 vol.
Dionynius, Gregory Thaumaturgus,
etc.
Lactantius. 2 vols.
Origeu. Vol. 2 (completion).
Early Liturgies and Remaining
Fragments.
Anti-Janus. Dr. Hergenr($ther, $2 50
Arbitration Instead of War. Rt.
Hon. Lord Montagu, M.P.
Paper,
A Remembrance for the Living to
Pray for the Dead. Rev. James
Mumford, S.J
A Reply to Faber's " Difficulties
of Romanism." Rev. F. C. Hu-
senbeth 2 00
A Series ^t Papers in Vindication
of Catholicism. E. W. Atwood,
A Spiritual Compendium, in
which the Principal Difficulties
in the Way of Perfection are ex-
plained. Father Gaspar de la
Figuera, of the Society of Je-
I5U9^ • • • • •
A Theory of the Fine Arts, .
At wood's Strom a la Procatholica.
A Series of Papers principally
Procatholic or Antidotal to Anti-
chrietianism, ....
Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury,
Life of. Mrs. Hope, .
Bellarmine, Cardinal. Commen-
tary on the Psalms. Cloth,
Book of Moses ; or, The Penta-
teuch, in its Authorship, Credi-
bilitv, and Civilization. Rev.
W. Smith, Ph.D. Vol. 1, .
British and Irish History, a Manu-
al of. Rev. Thos. Flanagan,
Butler's (Rev. Alban) Meditations
and Discourses on the Sublime
Truths and Important Dutlm of
2 50
2 00
2 00
1 50
2 00
2 50
7 50
6 00
uiitj. 2 toIb. poBl Bvo.
*4
. Dramas or. Ttajjiu,
'i>iu tue ^|>aDisb b« U. F.
. KJiiiotid: a BiOLcra^bj.
M-^(.>(aiiii. tLe Llie of!
.-x-t^ ilial Ubvp siitl-n?d
,:»ir.i\i l,V)T»ilUt4, . 1 50
v,.iu.u^ \V.'tkH ol Fl^q.
. . . 8 50
'«aiut MMtu>riHUi)f Great .
Autn. llrur; TIioiUHS
M.A, a v..|»,. . 13 00
.11 ..f il.^ tiick. A. F.
I. l.nrnt- ivi"-. . . 1 50
^11.1. ,.t UlrAtlOf AIWBJB
i,K, t- AlflmllBlW d«
1 00
.ntrv AiiimU of Kniu». . 2 50
..I ,.'i it.» IViifrnk Knee.
■i>"- a v,.li.. IJaio. . .6 00
\l.«il.1.'u n» l.ett«r8
S-'ii-.U,.!!,.*— Ht'7-30.
il>"l IiMiu llis Frruuli by
<M.<y 9 50
L'Mii.'V; i<r. KiftvPlniKaDt
.>! I'iilt.<i<i». 'IX»1 Juau
2 00
n.- simi<ii>'i[v .>r: DT,
ll..«»'U Vir^iu, W.
3 50
ihhI >'[ fh- I'liml Urd.-r
l>>'iiii>iu\ III LmlD aud
, ... 1 00
t il,.l.l, ll..i.drik Con-
1 50
lll-'n l.tr^ i-r ^t. I^uia.
V..tM-t-. . I 35
liirmit llrUlal, anduiber
3 CO
Miilura lulatall, wul other
8 00
De Vere's LegendB of St. Pattick.tl'
Diaba: The Si>iiiietfl and otber
P,*Qifi o( Heiirj C-inewble. »ub
Notes. Thomas Park, . . 2 .
Diiiby'a Childrnu'B Buvrer ; or.
Wbat Y..U Like. 2 toIb., . . S ■
Di((b;'gCompltum ; or, Tlie Me«t-
laic oi tbe VVaya of ibe CatLulic
Cburch, 4 vols., . . I! I
DiKbT's Evenieiiij on tbe TLaiueti,
2 v.,1b. 7 I
Direciorj for Novices of e«erj
ileliffiouB Order, particuUrlr
tbose Devoted to the Edocaiioa
ol youlb 1 :
Divioitf of Jeans I'brist. Aagoa-
te Nicolas HI
Dubl ID, Gilbert's History of. from
the earliesl period to tlie pre«eal
time. 3 vols.. . . . « I
E^clesiasticHl Aniiqiiities of I:on-
dnu and Suburbs. Aleiander
Wood, M.A., . . . . 2 J
Ecboi!'a of tbe Vaticaa. . . 1 '
Euulaod, Di Kid's CUarch Historr
of. 5 TolB. 8vo. . . '.at
E«ssy on BeatificatioD, C&noniia-
tiuD, and tbe Proctwses of tbe
CoDgreir"i'iiii of Kitee. F»b«r,. 1 fl
Eitram Irom tbe FaibrrB, HiKo
riRDS, and other VVrlters ul Ibe
Church. Literally Tmnelated, . 1 i
Falier'sHvmas Zi
Faber's Poem 4 B
Fahar's Norei on Doclriosl and
Spirituml SuhjeL-le. 2 vols., . i
Fahei's Sfiirit aad Ueuius of St.
Philip Neri 1»
Faitb and Keason. Abbi* .Msniaei, 1 '■
Father Ignatius, Lite of, . . ! ^
Fathers of tbe Desert, Lives of
tbe 3 :i
Florine. Princess of Buriianitv.
A Tale of the First Ciuaade.
William Bernard McC«lw. Ne«r
edition 2 0(
FlowerBof Mary ; or, DHTOtioDsfor
each Monlb in ibe Year, . .IK
FulleruiD (Ladv Uooriri ana). Seven
Stories, . . . . , 1 5«
nod in bis Works. Father Raires, 1 !9
Gold Diug-'f, and other Poema.
Lady Fullertun S DO
Good Deeds. Sketches of Htilv ud
Devoted Lives. . . .' . M
Qoiipel HiiriiioDy of the Life of
Our Lord 1 »
OoMBlin. The Power of the Pop*
duriugLheMiddloAiiee. avoKSW
Great Truths in l.iule Words. K«v.
Father iUwes, O.S.C., . . I 5»
H«ari to Heart with Jeiua. ^
Ue-jry Sueo, Tbe Ufe of. By Un-
•elf, . . . . .BOO
HsBry VUL, Th« Lif* of, . . 1 M
17
History of the Church in England.
Very Rev. Canon Flanigan. • 2
▼oIp., $9 00
Hi^rher Paths in Spiritual Life, . 50
History of the Vicerojs of Ireland.
J. T. Gilbert, . . . . 3 50
Holy Confidence. Father Rogacci, 1 00
Holy lale. The, ... 50
Homeward: A Tale of Redemp-
tion. Rev.FatberRawes^O.S.C, 1 50
Howard . The Life of Philip Tho-
mas Howard^ O.P., Cardinal of
Norfolk, 8 75
Hymna of the Church, . . 2 25
Inteniions for Mass and Holy Com-
munion, for every Day in the
Vear, 75
In the Snow. Rev. W. H. Ander-
don, 1 00
'Ireland, A History of. Martin
Haverty, 4 00
Ireland and her Churches. James
Godkin, 8 00
Ireland. A Selection from the
Family Archives of The Mc-
Gillicuddy of the Reeks, with
an Introductory Memoir. W.
Maziere Brady, D.D. 4to, cloth, 10 50
Ireland. Iksclesiastical History of
Ireland, from the Introduction of
Christianitvinto that Country to
the Year 1829. Rev. M, J. Bren-
nan, O.S.F., . . . 5 00
Ireland. Prof. O'Curry's Lectures
on the MS. Materiids for Irish
History, 5 00
Ireland. Rise and Fall of the Irish
Franciscan Monasteries in the
17th Century. Father Meehan, 75
Ireland. The Life and Letters of
Florence McCarthy Reagh, Ta-
nist of Carbery, McCarthy Mor.
D&niel McCarthy, of Qlean«a-
Cbroim. 1 vol. 8vo, . . . 8 50
Ireland. The Towers and Tem-
ples of Ancient Ireland. Marcus
Keane. M.R.I.A., . . 8 00
Ireland. The Irish Reformation ;
or, The Alleged Conversion of
the Irish Bishops at the Acces-
bIod of Qaeen Elissabeth, and the
Ai^Bumed Descent of the Present
Established Hierarchy in Ireland
from the Ancient Irish Church,
Ez)*osed. W. Maziere Brady,
_ D.D 1 00
land under English Rule. Rev.
L-Vther Perraud, ... 4 00
'as Christ : A Reply to M.
tenan. P^re Gratry, . . 75
uits in Conflict ; or. Historic
''acts Illustrative of the Times
I Queen Elizabeth. 1 vol.
2mo, 2 50
us, the Son of Mary ; or. The
Doctrine of the Catholic Church
upon the Incarnation of God the
Son. Rev. John Brande Morris,
A.M. 2 vols. 8vo, . $6 00
Julian Watts Russell, Pontifical
Zouave. A Memoir, . . . 1 00
Lady May: A Pastoral. Lady
Chatterton, 1 50
Lectures on Certain Portions of
the Earlier Old Testament His-
tory. Rev. Philip G. Munro.
1 vol. 12mo, . . . . 1 75
Lectures on Catholic Faith and
Practice. Sweeney, . . . 4 50
Lectures on the Lite, Writings,
and Times of Edmund Burke.
J. B. Robertson, Esq., . . 3 00
Lectures on the CEcumenical Coun-
cil. Rev. J. N. Sweeney, O.S.B. 2 50
Legends of Our Lady and the
Saints ; or. Our Children's Book
of Stories in Verse, . . . 1 25
Letters of the Most Rev. John
MacHale, D.D., Archbishop of
Tuam, 5 25
Life and Death of the Most Rev.
Francis Eirwan, Bishop of Kil-
lala, 2 50
Life and Spirit of Father Augus-
tine Baker, 1 25
Life of Beato Angelico da Fiesole,
of the Order of Friars-Preach-
ers, 4 00
Life of Blessed Alphonsus Rodri-
guez, Lay -Brother of the Society
of Jesus. With engraved por-
trait. 1 vol. crown 8vo, . . 2 50
Life of Blessed Margaret Mary.
Rev. George Tickell. 1 vol.
8vo, . . . . . 2 50
Life of Blessed Peter Favre, of the
Society of Jesus, first companion
of St. Ignatius Loyola. From
the Italian of Father Guineppe
Boero, . . 3 25
Life of Louis Marie Grignbn de
Montfort, 2 50
Life of St. Bernardine of Siena. 1
vol. 12mo, 2 50
Life of St. Dominick and other
Saints. Illustrated, . . . 5 50
Life of St. Francis of Assisium.
Rev. Father Murphy, O.S.F.. . 1 00
Life of St. Fran puis de Sales.
1 vol 2 00
Life of St. German, Bishop of Aux-
erre 1 75
Life of St. Philip Neri, Apostle of^
Rome. Mrs. Hope, . . . 1 50
Life of St. Walburge. Rev.
Thomas Meyrick, . . . 1 00
Life of Vincent Palloti, Founder ^^^
of the Pious Society of Missions. ' JZ:;
Melia 2 00
Life of Father Henry Young, . 1 75
19
Sermons on Subjeets of the
Dftj $2
Sermons before tlie Univer-
sit J of Oxford, . .2
u £asays. Critical and His torical.
W 2 vols., .6
The History of the Arians, . 4
Historical Sketches. 8 vols., 9
Lectures on Justification, . 2
Callista, 2
Church of the Fathers, . . 2
Discussions and Arfj^nments, . 8
Vever Forf^otten ; or. The Home
of the Loet Child, . 1
Nine Considerations on Eternity, 1
Of Adoration in Spirit and Truth.
'Written in Four Books. John
EasebinsNieremberfT, S.J.,
Oliver's Collections Illustrating^
the History of the Catholic Re-
li|i^ion in the Counties of Corn-
' wall, Devon, Dorset, Somerset,
'Wilts, and Gloucester,
OliTer's Collections toward lUus-
trating the Biography of the
Bootch, English, and Irish Mem-
bers of the Society of Jesus,
On Justification: What Saith the
Scripture ? Canon S. Eccles,
On some Popular Errors Concern-
ing Politics and Religion,
Origin and Progress of Religious
Orlers, and Happiness of a Re-
ligions State. Patrick Man-
nock,
Our Lady's Month,
Oar Lady's Dowry,
Paganism in Education. Abb6
Gaume, . . • .
Papal Sovereignty, The, Viewed in
its Relations to the Catholic Re-
ligion. Mgr. Dupanloup, .
Particular* Examen of Conscfence
according to the Method of St.
Ignatius. Father Luis d^ la
Palma, 1
Peace through the Truth. Father
Harper, 8. J. Part I., .7
Peace tlirough the Truth. Part
IT 10
Perry'i Practical Sermons for all
the Sundays of the Year. First
Sarien, 2
The Same. Second seiies, . . 2
Pl^tiiren of Youthful Holiness.
RfT. R. Cook. O.M.I. 1 vol.
IOtdo,
Piz) rro, Life of. Arthur Helps, .
Pin \«t. Life. Letters, and
S "fches of. His grandson, Hon.
E idPlunket. 2 vols., . .14
Pro fltant Journalism, . .
Pui pitory Surveyed, . . 1
Bn ties of Irish Life. W. Steuart
T Dcbj a . . . .5
25
25
00
00
00
25
25
50
00
75
25
8 00
4 00
6
8
8
00
50
00
50
00
50
00
00
25
00
50
00
00
1
3
25
00
00
00
50
00
Reflections and Prayers for Holy
Communion, . . $2 25
Remarkable Conversions, . 1 25
Revelations of Rome. Rev. J. H.
Turner, M.A., . . • . 2 00
Rise and Fall of the Franciscan
Monasteries in Ireland, . 75
Robertson's Lectures on Ancient
History, 2 00
Ritual of the New Testament.
An Essay on the Character and
Origin of the Catholic Ritual.
Being the second edition of '*In
Spirit and in Truth." Rev. T.
E. Bridgett. 1 vol. 12mo, . 2 50
Robertson's Lectures on Modern
History, Biography, and Mason-
ry, 8 00
Rock's Church of our Fathers.
Illustrated with many Eograv-
ings on Wood and Copper. 4
vols. 8vo, . . . 24 00
Rock's Letter to Lord Manners, . 1 50
Saint Mary and her Times. The
author of Geraldine, . . 1 00
Selections from the Poets. De
Vere . . 2 OO
Septem ; or. Seven Ways of Hear-
ing Mass, . 1 00
Sermons — Liguori's, . . 8 00
McCarthy's, . . . 8 00
Massillon's, . . . 8 00
Bourdaloue's, . . 8 00
Murray's (Archbishop), . 10 50
Meynell's, . . . 2 00
Moroney's, . . . . 8 00
Murphy's, . . 8 00
By the Fathers of the Society
of Jesus, . . . 8 00
By Father Harper, S. J., . 8 00
Rossi's, 1 75
Newman's Parochial. 8
vols., 18 00
Newman's Subjects of the
Day, , . . 2 25
Newman's Various Subjects, . 8 00
Newman's University Ser-
mons, . . . 2 25
Sketches of Religious Life on the
Continent, 1 75
Spirit of St. Gertrude, ... 75
Spirit of St. Teresa, . . 1 00
Spirit of the Cure of Ars, . . 1 50
Spiritual Retreat of the Rev.
Father Colombiire, of the So-
ciety of Jesus, . . . 1 00
Spiritual Worlcs of Louis of
Blois,' 1 75
St. Augustine on Christian Doc-
trine, etc 8 00
St. John of the Cross, The Com-
plete Works of. 2 vols., 14 OO
St. Peter's Day in the Vatican.
Canon Pope, . 2 50
St. Teresa, Life of. David Lewis, 5 23
St. Tsrcn'a Interior Cutlo. (1 7
St. TereM'e Book ot FousdatioDS, 5
St. Tereu'B I.etleni. . . .17
St. Tertea'a Wbj of Perfection, . 1 7
Saeto«, [lie IJule African Slave, . 1
Summer TslkB about Loardee. . 1
Suraum; or, Sparks Fljiog Up-
wards. Kev. H. A. Rawea, . 1 S
SuBO, BUfwd Ut^nry. Little Book
of Eternal Wigdom, . .17
SeWDer'a Lecture on the Nature,
the Qrounda, aod the Home of
Faith, . . . .17
Talea asd Sketches for Fireaide
ReadiDfTB, 15
Teatimnnies to the Moet High,
drawit from the Booka of Na-
ture and RevelatioD, . .10
Tbe Abb£ Zouave ; or, The Life of
Joseph Louia Oueria, .IS
The Abbots of St. Albana. A
Chronicle, .... 2
The Art of Djintf well, . 1 G
The Bleaaed Comelioa. Archbiahop
of Amtaeb. ' Dr. Dixon. . .10
Tbe Blened VirfriD'a Root traced
in the Tribe of Ephraim, . 6
The Catholic Church <n Scotlaod.
Rev. J. F. 8. Qordon. 1 vol.
quarto, ... IS S
ThsChoicenfa Stateof Life, . 1 S
Tbe Christian Xaop. Edited bj
Dr. AuderdoD 3
Tbe Condition of Catholic* under
James I. Father Gerard's Nar-
rative of the Gunpowder Plot.
Edited, with bia Life, bj Jobs
Mon-la, S.J 6
Th« Coreati Martjra. Canon
Shortland, .10
Tbe Crown Hymn-Book, . .30
The Day SaactiGni , heinff Medi-
Uttinna and Spiritual lieadinga
for Daily Uae, .17
The Devout Client of Mary In-
structed in the Motives and
Means of Servian her Well.
Father Seicneri, S.J.. .10
Tbe Dlal»gu«s of S. Qregory the
are
The Directotlum Asceticnm; or.
Guide to the Spiritual Life.
John Baptist ScarameUi, SJ.
4 vols 12
Tbe Divine Cloud. Father Au-
frusiiu Baker. OS. B., . 2
The Eteraal Happiness of the
Saiote ■ . 1
The Dolomua PaseioD of our Lord
JeauB Christ. From the Medi-
tationa of Catharine Emme-
The Ecclesiastical ChnirBook. A
Se'ttction of Motets, Hymns, and
MasBDS. from the Great Maatan
o( the Sliteenth CenlDfj. 1
. vol. quarto, $S OO
The Evidence for the Papacy.
Hon. Colin Lindsay. . . . 6 00
The Hidden Lifeof Jeaaa, . . t »
The History of the Christian Coiu- ■
dls, from Orifrlnal Documentsto
tbe close of tbe CouDCil of Nice,
A.D. 335. Bishop Hefcle, . 6 M
Tbe History of Iriah Periodical
Literature. Richard Robert
Madden, U.R.I.A. 2 vol a.. 10 OO
Tbe History of the Sacred Paaaioa.
.300
Palm ,
The King and the Cloister: < .
Legends of the IHsaoludon. 1
vol. 12mo 1 »
Tbe Legends of Mount Leinster, I 2S
Tbe Letters of Pladdaa mi Educa-
tion. 1 SO
Tbe Life and Labors in Art and
Archcoloiry of George Petrie.
William Stokes. M.D., . 6 »
The Life of Father Baltfaasar Al-
varez, Religloua of the Sodety of
Jesus. F. Louia Dn Pont. 2
vole. 3M
The life of John Banim. the Irish
Novelist. Patrick J. Murray, . 1 M
TheLifeofM. Qlier. . .3 00
The Lite of Lniaa De CarvsjaL
Lady Follerton. . 3 50
The Life of MoDseigneur Verneni,
Vic. ApoBtolic ot Corea. With
a Preface by Lady Herbert. 1
vol. 16mo 1 M
Tbe Ute of Paul Selfrneret of Saiot
Snlpide. 1 vol. IBmo, . "^
The Life ot St. Ignatius of Loy-
ola. Father GenneUi. 1 vol.
.300
The Life of ^t. Jane Francea de
Cbaotal. Emily Bowles. 1 vol.
13mo 3 :S
TheLiteofSt. Philip Neri, . 3M
The Life* of the Baron de Becty.
Edited by Edward Healy Tbomp-
Bon, M.A . .3 00
The Life of Luisa De Carvajal, . 2 SO
The Lifeof the Blesssd John
Berehmana. Franeie Goldie. 1
vol. 12mo - 3 *
The Literary Workman ; or, UFe
and Leiaure. , A Maxaiine ot
Amuning Literature and Gener
a1 Information ! '~
The LltiiTKica] Tear. Very Rbl
Dom Prosper Gue ranger. Ab-
bot of SolesmeE. Translanled
from tbe French by the Rft.
Dom Laurence Shepherd. Monk
of the English Benedictine Con-
gregation. The vo'umes no"
out are : . „
Advent. ... . S M
21
Cfarlstmas. Vol.1., |3
Christmas. Vol. II., . 3
Septuagesima, .2
Lent, 8
Passion-tide and Holy Week. 2
3
8
8
2
2
1
1
2
2
PMohal Time. Vol. I.,
Paachal Time. Vol. II.,
Paschal Time. Vol. III.,
The M jBtio Vine. From St. Ber-
nard., . . . « •
The Ordinal of Ein^ Edward VI. :
Its History, Theology, Liturgy.
Dom Wilfrid RayniS, O.S.B., .
The Origin, Persecution, and Doc-
trines of the Waldenses. Pius
Melia, D.D. 1 yol. 4to,
The Passion Flower : A Novel. 1
vol. 12mo, ....
The People's Martyr : A Legend
of CanterhuTjr,
The Perfect Lay Brother,
The Philosopher's Stone. F. Cros-
hie, M.A., . . . ^.
The Pope and the Emperor,
The Pope and the Church. Rev.
Paul Bottalla, ....
The Priest on the Mission. Canon
Oakeley. 1 vol. 12mo,
The Prisoner of the Temple,
The Prophet of Carmel. A Series
of Practical ConsiderationB upon
the History of Ellas in the Old
Testament. Rev. C. B. Garside.
1 vol. 12mo, ....
The Puhlic Life of Our Lord Jesus
Ctirist. Rev. H. J. Coleridge, S.J.
Parti.,
The Reign of Law. The Duke
of Argyll, ....
The Rosary: A Legend of Wilton
Abbey,
The Question of Anglican Ordina-
tions Discupsed. E. E. Estcourt,
M.A. 1 vol. 8vo,
The Religious and Social Position
of Catholics in England. Wise-
man,
The Russian Clergy. Translated
from the French of Father Gaga
rtn, S.J., ....
The Scale of Perfection, by Wal
ter Hilton, ....
The Sonnets and other Poems of
Henry Constable,
The Spirit of St. Gertrude,
The Spiritual Doctrine of Father
Louis Lallemant, of the Society
of Jesus, 2
The Spiritual Retreat of Father
Bounialoue, 8.J.,
The Treasure of Superiors ; or, Let-
00
00
50
00
00
00
00
00
75'
2 00
5 00
2 00
00
25
00
00
5 25
00
25
2 50
8 25
2 50
1 50
7 00
5P
2 50
2 50
3 00
60
00
75
00
50
25
25
1 25
1 25
1 25
5 00
ters upon the Manner of Govern-
ing Religious Houses. From the
French of P^re Beaufils,
S.J., . ^ $1 25
The Troubles of our Catholic
Forefathers Related by Them-
selves. Edited from hitherto
unpublished manuscripts by
Rev. John Morris, S.J. 1 vol. 8vo, 5
The Unforgiven Sister,
The Truth. By the Duke of Sal-
dana 1
The Vatican Council, . . .1
The Virtues of Mary, Mother of
God. Father Francis Arias, S.J.
1 vol. 16mo, ....
Thoughts on Some Passages of
Holy Scripture. By a Layman,
The Year of Preparation for the
Vatican Council,
Tradition, Principally with Refe-
rence to Mythology and the
Law of Nations. Lord Arundell
of Wardour. 1 vol. 8vo, .
True to Trust ; or. The Story of a
Portrait, 2
Union with Rome,
Versicles and Tales, . . .1
Vesper-Book, 2
Visions and Instructions of Blessed
Angela of Foligno, . . .2
Visits to the Altar of Mary,
Walsingham's Search Made in
Matters of Religion, .
Water worth's Origin and Develop-
ments of Anglicanism, . . 2
Waterworth's England and Rome, 2
Waterworth's The Fathers on St.
Peter 5
When Does the Church speak In-
fallibly ? Knox, . .1
Who is Jesus Christ ? .
Why do we believe ? Henry John
Pye, M.A., ....
Works of St. Augustine :
Writings m Connection with
the Donatist Controversy, . 8
St. John. Vol. 1, . . .3
Do. Vol. 2, . .3
Christian Doctrine, . . 8
City of God 2 tcIs., . . 6
The Anti -Pelagian Writings.
Vol. 1, . . . .8
The same. Vol. 2. . .3
The Manichean Heresy, . 8
00
50
75
00
00
50
3 00
50
50
00
25
Co
1 75
Letters, 3
On the Trinity, . .8
On Harmony of the Gospels, . 8
Ximenes, Cardinal, The Life of, . 5
Zeal in the Ministry. Dubois. 1
vol. 8vo, 5 00
00
00
00
00
00
00
00
00
00
00
00
00
AddresS;
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY,
UWRENCE KEHOE, General Agent, No. 9 Warren Street, N. Y.
I
€
.1
The Ave IMLaria^
A CATHOLIC JOURNAL
Devoted to the Honor of the Blessed Virgm.
Ihiblished every Smturday at
NOTREl DAME, INDIANA.
APPROVED BY
HIS HOLINESS POPE PIUS IX.
AND MANY DISTINGUISHED PRELATES.
This Periodical, the first established in the New World in the interests of tJie BleSBed
Virgin^ commends it^lf to all who love the Mother of Jesns and wish to see her honored
throughout the land.
The aim of the Ave Maria is to give the true doctrine of the Catholic Chnrch on de-
votion to the Blessed Virgin ; to answer the objections made by unbelievers ; and in-
crease to the utmost the filial devotion which every Christian should entertain for the
Mother of the Redeemer of the world.
It contains, also, a summary of events relating to religion, edifying Tales, accredited
Legends, Essays on subjects referring directly or indirectly to the Blessed Virgizi, Itema
of Catholic News, choice Poetry, a weekly letter from Rome,' etc. ; aJso, a regular bulle-
tin of the Association of our Lady of the Sacred Heart, and a. record of some of the most
remarkable cures effected by the miraculous water of Lourdes.
Among the contributors to the Ave Mabia are some of the best Catholic writers at
home and abroad : Lady FuUerton, Aubrey De Vere^ Grace Ramsay, Mrs. Anna H.
Dorsey, Eleanor C. Donnelly, Eliza Allen Starr, Miss Howe, the authoress of "Ty-
boma," Dame Dolores, etc., Marie, and others who desire to remain tncogrntto.
TERMS.-
One Year, $8 00
Two Years, 5 00
Single Copies, ----..-- 10
A specimen copy sent free to any address on application.
Payments invariably in advance.
All subacnptions, communications, books or periodicals for notice, etc., shoull bd
addressed to the
Sditor of the "Ave Maria,"
jSTotre Dame, Ind.
ELDER'S CATHOLIC AO-ENOY,
NEW ORLEANS, LA.,
EieoateB promptly all MndB of commlsgloin tor tliB CATHOLIC rLEBOT.EELIGIOUHINSTITU-
TIOSS, EDUi'ATfONAL ES rABLlsHMKNTS, and CI I'lZENS OENERALLY.
■ 'Igned U also prepared to fill with degpateli all ordera Cor BOOKS. STATIONEET.
CBAS. D. ELDER,
134 Camp Street—L^fajette Square,
p. O. Boi tfai. • NEW ORLEANS, LA.
Have been familiarly and faTorably known
to liie American public for upward of (Aj-t-e.
QuarifTs of a century, with yearly increas-
mzpopularily.
The; ipeak tbeii own pr&lBO whererer planted.
ILandrtib's Rural Kegisler and Almanac
18TS will be mailed without charge to all
who apply, enclosing a stamp to prepaj-
poatage.
DAVID LANDRETH & SON,
Nob. 31 and S3 South Elitht't., ruiadetphi*.
Sexton & Undertaker,
CHURCH OP ST. PAUL THE APOSTLE,
B9th Street and 0th Ave., New York.
Residence, 931 Eighth A. venue.
Between S4tb and liOth 8:rects.
METALLIC AND OTHER CASKETS.
Funcrsls furnished wllh everything requisite.
H. W. OOLLENDER,
Successor to JPBELAN <C COLLKynUR,
738 Broadway,
p. O. BOX 1,8«. ' ' NEW YORK.
Ciotb. Ball*, Caee, and eierythlug apportalnliiic tn BElllstds &t loneet prices. lUuetrated Cala-
logueR Mont by mail,
DRADDY BKOTHERS, '~
Monumental Sculptors,
. 1446 AND 1448 BROADWAY,
Kear PortyBeoond Street, SEW YOBX.
Uonameatg, Tombs, Altara, Buat«, etc., ereeitdln Frantone, Granite, and BrODi*.
BOOKS StITED TO THE TIXES,*!
ARCHBISHOP 8PALI>lSG->8 POPl
New, BevlMd, and SnlaiYB^ Bditiaiu Prepaied
These Volumaa oaglit to occupj a aoDBpicaouB place Ju eTerr Ptbli
t'ompfete nnd^linble Wor^ of Kefsienci
Nov Bead;, tbe Sixth Rertied aad Oreatly Eulan^ Edllion. in I to
8ro, oloth. nrtue !S 60. Llbrarj Kdltloo, flne paper. S vols. Nv
style. 96 ; hair-calf, t?.
.WISCKCr.-l.VK-l— CotnprisiQKBiyiEirs.LEKTDRKa, nctlKssiTS OD
^io'* Jt«adv.i.be Seventh Enlaiired Edition. ReTieed. la 1 lOl.orapwai
t-t 50. Lll.tary Edition, Hue- paper, cloth, beT.. U- Llbrarf itjK
ITISTOKY or THB l-ltOTICSTA\T JtHrOIt.VATTOX la ft
land, Ireland, SenCland, The Netherlands. France, and Nortbe
Bssaya. RevleirluK D'Aublnie, M^mel, Hallam, Bbort. Prcscott,
With a Nev Preface and a Neir and Completo Index.
Now RpBdv. the Slith EnlacgBd and HBviaed Kciltlon, In 1 vol. of i
|1 M. Library Edition. Ane paper, cloth. boT., (». Library style
Tnic KViDj-:.\CKS of catholicity, a series of x^otun
XS~ LiHHiHT Edihok complete In 6 vole. Hto, cloth, extra, bl
Llbracy Btjlc, f IS bO ; balf-call. 118.
A Now and CDmplete Kanaal of Cmtholic I
- -■ r<-|>ari(v. Af^ollfMlonofPniytniCompllfilf;
SKicn of Charily m ibc Dioie.i! of Lou L.vilic,
lal of I he I
Vtr Id * rO, publl.li a Larire and V.ricd LlFl of PopuLiB PT.SD.En F
Tlia Anthorized Lkwb of the CathoUc Chnrch in tl
IB- Haw mviaau Bditiocs, skaelt buoy
Ann ct Rcfrela ronrilli Flrnarll BalilinorFnala ftifcimdl. Ero, cl<
Tho Dcprm. nllh Dornmenta. ele. For tbcuDcofTheolDelcilSenilDi
aappnbm-'. tlMnet.
lo PrcHi, rrrpatlnBforur1iDnbllcalIoii,lanncT01,of abaul 9D0 nanea. llm
Th« ISliuipiil-- Manoal af'KiiillKhljirralure. Ry Kct. o. L. Jxsk
tiisrld.' follrge, ElllFott City, Md.. and fonuurlj President of SI. Wary-f
MURPHY A CO., I'-bliahera and B
ROBERT CODDINi
Old- Established Catholic 1
(FOHMEBLY 368 BOWERY
246 Fourth Avenue, Second Below Ti
i Edition of the Vcrj Rev. Father Preati
Automatic Te
SILENT SEWING MACHI
Hew Patent Automatic Tension — Hew Patent Peed^
New FeatureB.
PcFKon* ivho have never befure iiM-d any Sewlne-
Immedlnlclr lo do >■ cood and oven better n'orh n
ooK ic Cilbba" tban tbe woat Nkllml aud ciperlenect
oiker Semlns-HIachlne.
Main Office, 658 Bioadway, cor. Bond S
• in leading oltle* and tovu. Call aod aitn
Books for Christmi
-••^
JUST PUBLISHED:
The New Testament
OF
®ur lorir anir Sa6i0ttr 3^»tts €3
Translated from the Latin Vulgate,
I vol. 4to, illustrated^ $5.
ALSO,
-♦
.i
<*
r
1 1.
Bibles, Prayer-Boo
HISTORIES, STORIES,
Illustrated Books,
SUITABLE FOR
Christinas & New Years Gi.
A FULL ASSORTMENT OF
Velvet, Ivory, and Shell-BouHJ
PRAYER-BOOKS.
The Catholic Publication Society, *
Lawrence Kehoe, Gen. Act.
9 Warren SITw.
A ^ord to Our Headers.
It is customary at the beginning of the jear for
mutual friends to exchange greetings. The Catholk
World is now in the twelfth year of its existence. It is
not for us to say whether it has been of any service f<i
the Catholic cause in the past. Whatever it may havo
been, the present state of affairs oifers it a field which in
importance is altogether beyond that of any former
period of its existence. Our divine Master has promised
his disciples perpetual conflict, but also the victory. This
victory will be ours if we know how to defend the ti'utli
stanchly and without reservation, and at the same titne
with true charity to all. Such has been the course we
have always sought to pursue, and in the future we pio
pose to follow it with renewed fidelity and energy. Of
our intentions in this direction the present number will
give ^^onle evidence.
The Catholic World will in future more completely
realize its original aim, which was to express the spirit of
the Catholic Church, the decisions of her authorities, and
the application of these to questions of our times, un-
biasf'ed by personal, sectional, or partisan views. If Cod
o-rants us strength and health, with our accumulated ex-
perience, we do not feel that we are acting rashly in
making the above promise.
For the realization of this hope, we count firmly on
the sympathy and co-operation of the hierarchy, clergy.
and laity of the United States. Trusting in the renewed
aubscriptions of our old readers, and the efforts which
we and they shall make, to give The Cateiolic World
increased power and influence, we greet our friends,
heartily, with a Happy New Year.
I. T. HECKER.
'
I
I.
i
hi,
CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. XXI!., No. 130.— JANUARY, 1876.
THE PRESIDENT'S SPEECH AT DES MOINES.
The utterances of any person quite beyond the need of vulgar
occupying so lofty a station as that trickery, in order to maintain its
of President of the United States power. Having almost completed
demand attention and respect, by an illustrious public life, he is now
.reason of the source from whence able to express the results of his
they emanate- The deliberate observations, and no one can light-
judgments of such a man as Presi- ly question the validity of his con-
dent Grant have in llieuiselves a cldsions. The country is prepared
special claim to the consideration to receive anything he may have
of his fellow-citizens. He Has had to say to it, with solicitous, intelli-
opportunitics to study the length gent, and earnest consideration-
and breadth of the land. His pri- Those who may differ from him
vate convictions have matured in political convictions, or who may
amidst the most varied experience retain a partiality for some of his
of all classes and sections of our less successful competitors for the
people — first in a profession afford- highest prize of military glory, and
ing ample leisure and abundant even those who go so far as to
means of observation from an in- question his greatness — all must
dependent stand-point, and after- admit that he is a true American,
wards in commercial life, which formed and moulded by the events
placed tiim in the midst of daily in which he has moved, and truly
events, no longer as a theorist, but representing the country and the
as one actively concerned in their times.
course and development. His po- We are disposed, therefore, to-
siiion in military affairs has been attach the fullest importance to his
that of one of the most celebrated words, whether spoken officially or
commanders of the age, and his from the convictions of his heart,
political career has been that of and to ponder them respectfully and
an independent statesman, always thoughtfully.
wielding supreme influence, and On the 39th of September last
of tfas
434
The President's Speech at Des Moines.
\
His Excellency attended, at Des
Moines, the capital city of Iowa, a
convention of the " Army of the
Tennessee," one of those military
organizations composed of veterans
of the late war. The nature of
these and kindred associations is
not political. Their aim is to keep
up a brotherly spirit among those
who formerly stood shoulder to
shoulder on the battle-field. Never-
theless, the gallant men, who thus
risked life and limb for the integri-
ty of the national government, are
supposed to retain their patriotism,
and to look with pride and zeal
upon the continuance and healthy
growth of those institutions, which
are vitally connected with the na-
tion's greatness.
In the midst of such an ''assem-
bly, composed of men of all creeds,
our chief magistrate felt called upon
to utter a prophetic warning, which
has excited much comment at home,
and has been extensively published
abroad. We print his speech, de-
livered at the evening session of
the ** Army of the Tennessee," as
currently reported in the daily
press. President Grant, being called
for, came forward and said :
" Comrades : It always affords me
much gratification to meet my comrades
in arms of ten and fourteen years ago,
and to tell over again from memory the
trials and hardships of those days^of
hardships imposed for the preservation
and perpetuation of our free institutions.
We believed then, and we believe now,
that we have a government worth fighting
for, and, if need be, dvinpr ^or. How
many of our comrades paid the latter
price for our preserved Union ! Let their
heroism and sacrifice be ever green in
our memory. Let not the result of their
sacrifices be destroyed. The Union and
the free institutions for which they died
should be held more dear for their sacri-
fices. We will not deny to any of those
who fought against us any privilege un-
der the government which we claim for
ourselves. On the contrary, we welcome
all such who come forward in good faith
to help build up the waste places, and
to perpetuate our institutions against all
enemies, as brothers in full interest wiiii
us in a common heritage ; but we are not
prepared to apologize for the part we took
in the war.
'*It is to be hoped that like trials will
never again befall our country. Id this
sentiment no class of people can more
heartily join ihan the soldier who submit
ted to the dangers, trials, and hardships
of the camp and the battle-field, on which-
ever side he fought. No class of people
are more interested in guarding against a
recurrence of those days. Let us, then,
begin by guarding against every enemy
threatening the prosperity of free repub-
lican institutions. I do not bring into
this assemblage politics, certainly not
panisan politics ; but it is a fair subject
for the soldiers, in their deliberations, to
consider what may be necessary to secure
the prize for which they battled. In a
republic like ours, where the citizen is
the sovereign and the official the servant
where no power is exercised except by
the will of the people, it is important that
the sovereign, the people, should foster
intelligence — that intelligence which is
to preserve us as a free nation. If we arc to
have another contest in the near future of
our national existence, I predict that the
dividing line will not be Mason and
Dixon's, but between patriotism and in-
telligence on the one side, and supersti-
tion, ambition and ignorance on the
other.
*' Now, the centennial year of our na-
tional existence, I believe, is a good time
to begin the work of strengthening the
foundations of the structure commenced
by our patriotic forefathers one hundred
years ago at Lexington. Let us all labor
to add all needful guarantees for the se-
curity of free thought, free speech, a free
press, pure itiorals, unfettered religious
sentiments, and of equal rights and privi-
leges to all men, irrespective of nation-
ality, color, or religion. Encourage free
schools, and resolve that not one dollar
appropriated for their support shall be
appropriated to the support of any sec-
tarian schools. Resolve that neither the
State nor nation, nor both combined, shall
support institutions of learning oth;r
than those sufficient to afford evcrv child
growing up in the land the opportunity
of a good common-school education, un-
mixed with sectarian, pagan, or athetsti-
The Preddenfs Speech at Des Moines.
aS dogmas. Leave the mairer of religion
to the family aliar, tlie church, and ihe
private school, supponed entirely by pri.
>aie contributions. Keep the church
and the slate for erer separate. With
tlicsc safeguards, I believe the battles
which created the Army of the Tenoes-
Ke will not have been fought in vain."
Taking all things into considera-
tion, the speech is fully equal to
any written production of the Presi-
dent. It is direct. It is plain. It
is manly and vigorous, and far su-
perior to any other oratioti which
wc have heard of from the same
distinguished quarter. Beyond alt
things itexpresses, better than many
imagine, the common sentiments
of the American people.
We have not been surprised at
the general applause with which
it has been greeted ; and we think
that all our readers will agree in
the judgments which we are about
to express with regard to it.
An impression has been spread
abroad that the views of President
Grant are hostile to the Catholic
Church, and that the speech was
fulminated by his zeal against it.
It has been averred that he was
talked into making a public mani-
festation of his feelings by the
mayor of the city of Des Moines,
who called his attention to the po-
htical campaign in Ohio, where
Catholics were vainly struggling for
equal rights in the matter of the
public schools. His Excellency is
Slid to have been strongly moved,
and hastened home from his ride,
in order to prepare his speech for
llie evening. We have no means
of definitely ascertaining Ihe mo-
lives of the President's speech. If
lie meant to burl a thunderbolt at
us, we honor him for using language,
in the main, so just atid courteous.
Hut if his friends have sought to
make use of him to stir up feeling
435
against us, they must be sadly dis-
appointed at his words ; for, if they
now repeat inem too freely, for the
purpose of injuring us, tliey will
find themselves " hoist by " their
"own petard."
Trying as hard as we can to lash
ourselves into fury ; trying to fancy
ourselves insulted, by representing
to ourselves that the head of this
nation has gone out of his way and
abased his dignity, in order to cast
an aspersion at a large and respec-
table class of the community, we
are forced to give it up, and to lay
down our pen ; for wc find nothing
in the oration with which we are in
the least disposed to take issue.
On the contrary, we are prepared
to join our tribute to the burst of
applause which echoes tlirougli the
land. We are convinced that, if it
meets with the attention which it
merits, the country at large, and
Catholics in particular, will trea-
sure the " Des Moines speech "
among the "Sayings of tlie Fa-
thers." Like Washington's Fare-
well, and Webster's mighty perora-
tion, and Lincoln's noble and pa-
thetic Inaugural, it will pass from
the vulgar atmosphere of party
strife into the pure and serene em-
pyrean of immortality.
Wc have given the speech at
length. We now propose to explain
our decision with regard to it, and
to examine at greater length those
portions of it which seem to us most
true, most wise, and most remark-
able.
" Encourage free schools,"
the President says, "and resolve
THAT NOT ONE DOLLAR APPROPRI-
ATED FOR THEIR SUPPORT SHALL
BE APPROPRIATED FOR THE SUP-
PORT OF ANY SECTARIAN SCHOOLS."
Do we hear aright } Docs the
Presidentof the United States main-
tain Ihe proposition which has
436
7^ President's Speech at Des Moines.
brought us SO much contempt and
deriMon ? , ^
What is a free school? A
free school is one in which every
.scholar can obtain an education
without violating the honest con-
victions of conscience, or — to use
the words of the President — a free
school is one where education can
be obtained "unmixed with secta-
rian, pagan, or atheistical dogmas."
Are our so-calleb common
SCHOOLS FREE .' Let US glance at
tlie general history of the contro-
versy concerning them. As soon
as the pubhc schools had ceased
to be purely charitable institutions,
a new policy was inaugurated by
our people. The government as-
sumed (hnt it was bound lo ensure
.in intelligent use of the franchise,
by encouraging the mental activity
of its citizens. To this all Catho-
lics agreed, and still agree. But our
Protestant fellow-citizens, rightly
desiring that some religious instruc-
tion should be given their children,
ivrongly insisted upon having the
Bible read in the schools. The
government might have permitted
such a custom to continue, when
no protest was made against it.
But it Soon' became evident that
tlie schools were essentially Pro-
testant institutions, and served as
an instrument to prevent the growth
of " Popery." This was no secret.
It was openly preached.
About this time Catholics began
to see what everybody else wjs re-
joicing over, and were, naturally,
alarmed. They had assisted to
found and build up the republic,
or they had immigrated under the
assurance of eqvial rights. To find
it proclaimed a Protestant country
was news to them. They insisted
that the Government was bound to
deny tliis imputation, and they
regiilered an universal protest
against the design of the falsely so
called " common " schools.
We have demanded either thai
Tc be relieved from taxation foi
these sectarian schools, or tlui
such arrangement be devised as
shall render them equally desir-
able for Catholics and non-Catho-
lics.
We were not called upon to ei-
plain why we so earnestly desired
this. It was nobody's business but
our own. The public schools are
not held to be eleemosynary insli-
lutions. They are ostensibly for
thel>enef)t of all. And even if they
were -places for the confinement of
criminals, or almshouses, both cri-
minals and paupers have con-
sciences, however dull or uninform-
ed. What, then, is the objection lo
our having a right to direct the poli-
cy on which public institutions arc
to be conducted ? None. Bui jf ire
were to have taken such a position
as this, we should, at once, have
been indicted, for an insidious and
damnable conspir.acy.
. Therefore we have openly slated
the grounds of our convictions, re-
lying on the inherent force of iruih
to secure our 'rights. We regatJ
morality as inseparable from reli-
gion. In this we merely eclio the
sentiments of the greatest Ameri-
can statesmen, and notably, of the
Father of our republic. We say
that, if we are to pay for the educa-
tion of our children, we sliould
like to have the worth of our mon-
ey. What fairer demand can i
Yankee make ? We ask nothing
to which every citizen has not a
right. We have never met a fair
reply to our demands, or a fair dis-
cussion of their merits. First «c
were greeted with silent scorn.
The practical operation of the lias
was found to force our children
into Protestant schools. Wc prv-
Tke Prfsuitiii^s Speech at Dfs Moines.
A17
claimed them to be Protestant
schools. U was unblusliingly de-
nied. We put the question to tlie
lest, by endeavoring to stop tlic
Protestant Bible from being read in
tlietn. There ^¥as not enough pow-
er ID our voice, nor enough fair-
ness in our opponents, to enforce
even an appearance of consistency.
The schools w«re pronounced " un-
sectarian," a Protestant service was
daily carried out, and we were bid-
den to hold our tongues, and to bs
ihankfui. And, now, that we are
not willing, either to hold our peace,
or to be grateful to those who deny
us our equal rights, a loud outcry
is raised, and every manner of evil
H predicted, unless we are forcibly
restrained. The party of malevo-
lence seeks to create an issue where
none exists, and to force us into a
strife, in which it can avail itself
of superior numbers to strike us a
cruel and unjust blow. Now, nei-
ther this design nor the clamor with
which it is urged, can be defended
by any true or just plea. And we
venture to predict that there is loo
much intelligence and love of fair
play in the American people, to al-
low it to succeed in its sinister pur-
pose.
What is our position once more f
Here we stand, on the same basis
with all other American citizens.
Is it not .so,* Where, then, is any
lei;al disability proved against us.'
^^'e ,isk for nothing which we are not
ttilliiig to concede to all our fellow-
citizens — viz., the natural right to
iiav,; their children brought up ac-
':urdiiig to their parents' conscien-
lious convictions. We want, and
We will have, ourchildren brought up
("atliolics. It can be done in vari-
ous ways. The state can pay the
claries of our teachers, and the
rost of our buildings, and other ex-
penses, securing proper guarantees -
ihat the money will be honest-
ly laid out, and the children receive
their due amount of secular in-
struction. Again, the state may
pay a pro rata, and allow teachers
to compete for scholars. This is
done ill Protestant England and
Prussia, as well as in Catholic
France and Austria, and is, obvi-
ously, most in harmony with demo-
cratic principles. Other ways may
be devised which will secure justice
to all parties. There is no practi-
cal difficulty, except in the small-
est country school districts. These
are always settled by the citizens
themselves. Or, we can educate
our children, without the state.
The slate may let us alone, and
may doaway entirely with public ed-
ucation, except for those who are ut-
terly without means — in other words,
change the common schools Into
charitable institutions, and let |>a-
rents provide. But this, we are
persuaded, is full of practical diffi-
culties.
But the plan actually adopted
lias been to tax all alike for the com
mon good, and yet maintain a sys-
tem, which perfectly suits Protes-
tants, but to which Catholics cannot
honestly or conscientiously agree.
Our so-CALLfD common schools
ARE NOT FREE. Millions of the peo-
ple rise ui* and proclaim it. Let
those who like them send their chil-
dren to them. Let those support
them who like them by their
" private contributions." Then all
honor to President Grant when he
says " that not one dollar should
be appropriated to the support ol
anji sectarian schools."
The President further says :
"Resolve that neither Sfate
NOR Nation, Not both co.m-
OINED, SHALL SUPPORT INSTI-
TUTIONS OF Learning other
The PresidtHfs Speech at Des Moines.
HAN THOSE SUFFICrENT TO AP-
jRD EVERY Child growing up
[ THE Land the opporton-
v OF A GOOD Common-school
DUCATION, UNMIXED WITH SeC-
ARiAN, Pagan, or Atheisti-
f^L Dogmas."
,ow, wliat is it that Catholics
iplain of, except that the state
supported, and does support,
slilutions of learning" mixed
ih sectarian, pagan, and atheis-
1 dogmas"?
'here is no doubt about this
Protestants insist upon bav-
the Dibic rend in the public
mis, lest they become irreli-
is. Catholics maintain tliat the
iion used is garbled, and that,
™ if it were not, no one has a
it to teach il, except those who
e compiled it, and are to-day
only responsible witnesses to
rue meaning. The Jews main-
, that the New Testament part
t is not true. Infidels deny it
getlier. What right has any
3ol board, or any other purely
lan institution to decide this
Iroversy ; and what right has
man under the Constitution to
jrce his religious views or his
ial of religion upon others? It
in outrage. It is an inconsis-
:y, which cannot be stated in
terms without transparently
lifesling its absurdity. Under
Constitution, and according to
spirilof our government, all men
equal. Under the present system
:ommon scliools, and, according
the spirit of these who uphold
in, men are not equal, and there
lo such tiling as regard for con-
'nce; but every majority has a
It to enforce upon any minority,
matter how large, its peculiar
isofir
[Sthis
test, until we are almost sick and
tired of hearing the outrage men-
tioned ; we have never seen our
position manfully approached with-
in beat of drum ; and, yet, we ha«
constantly been forced to ask our-
selves, " Wifl the American peo-
ple never see this ? Can it be thai
our enemies are, as some of them
hold themselves to be, totally de-
praved ?"
Some time ago, after considerable
agitation, the Chicago School Board
prohibited the reading of the Sa-
cred Scriptures in the public
schools of that city.
Undoubtedly the protest of Ca-
tholics had something to do viih
this. But the action of the board
was certainly based upon the idea,
that the reading of the Protestant
Bible made the schools Protestant,
" sectarian " institutions, and there-
fore unjust towards all other re-
ligious bodies. Let it be thnroughlr
understood, that we fully appreciate
the desire of our Protestant fellow-
citizens, to hallow secular instruc-
tion. But the reading of the Scrip-
tures as a public ceremony is as dis-
tinctive to them, as the celebration
of Mass would be to Catholics. No
one can evade the argument whicli
forces this conclusion. " Sucli
schemes are glass ; the very sun
shines through them." And yet i(
is not a little remarkable, how
slowly the light breaks in upon
the seat of the delusion.
It is a satisfaction, however, lo
note the few acknowledgments,
t.ardy and incomplete as they are.
of the principle which we have al-
ways maintained. Prof. Swing, al-
luding to the action of the Chicago
School Board to which we have re-
ferred, gives voice lo tlie followins;
observations of common sense:
ays does, the question of religion
If. We have repeated our pro-
The Prrsidenfs Speech at Des Moines.
Koran. M7 idea is thai the govcniiYient
did. in its earlier life, run according 10 a
son of Christian cammon law ; but now
iho number o( Jews, Caiholica, and infi-
ilcla lias become so greatly increased, the
:.'overnment has to base itself squarely
upon iis constitutional idea thai all men
are religiously equal. Even if the ge-
nius of [he country permitted Ihe teach-
ing of the Bible, I should doubt the pro.
prieiy of continuing the custom, because
no Taluable moral resulls can ever come
from reading a few verses hurriedly in a
school-house, and social strifes will bo
coDiioually springing up out of ihc piac-
Tlie government, then, according
10 the professor, lias no riglits in
the spiritual domain — a proposition
which ne linve been condemned to
universal derision /or maintaining,
and yet one that is self-evident to
any person who will pause for a
moment to consider our insticu-
,An ardent advocate of uliat are
c.-illed liberal principles, comment-
ing upon the position of Prof.
Swing, very properly styles it the
<inly one tkfensible. The purpose
of the Liberal League is, unques-
tionably, lo procure the complete
seciilatizalion of our public schools,
which would, of course, be as un-
just towards Catholic tax-payers
as any other system- This class is
no less hostile lo justice and true
liberty than any other set of med-
dlers. Nevertheless, it is not a lit-
tle amusing to see the unmistakable
fcnr with which it regards the issue
of the present anti-Catholic policy.
It waves, as its flag of hostility to
the Catholics, the threadbare pre-
text, tbat we are secretly opposed
to all education. It is not neces-
sary for us to repeat the indignant
denial and protest, with which ive
have ever met this gratuitous cal-
umny. We quote from llie Boston
fniiex of Oct. 28 :
in the greatest danger, not 10 much
the fact that it is openly 'attacked
without by the Catholics, as from Ih
that a great inherent injustice to all
ProtcslLiiits is made pan and parcel
by its distinctively Protestant char
What is built on wrong is built o
Band : and our school system will
tainly fall in ruins by and by, unli
can be grounded on equal justice t(
When tbe avowed heathen,
reap tbe fullest harvest, fear fo
destruction of our present ui
system of education, on the gn
that it is too iniquitous to last,
not time, for people who call t.
selves Christians, to give a
nient's heed lo tbe petition, w
we have for years addressee
them, ns most advantageous t
of us, and as doing injustic
none .'
It appears, however, that
idea has iufillrated into c
minds. ZiWs Herald, a Mcth.
journal, quoted by the liberal
per to which we have refe
says :
"The state deals only with tem
affairs, and does not attempt to 1
spiritual functions. Therefore ih
jects and methods of public educ
are wholly secular, but by no mean
cessarily, or at all. immoral or irreli;
On the contrary, they are decided
vor.-ible to pictyand morality. Bui
posed denominationally as the Amc
people is, the stale ought not lo ii
religious education. The moment
an attempt should be made, the coi
nity would be in conflict as to what
it should take. It may be cone
without danger perhaps, that the
should not teach ethics, except so f
the great fundamental principles of
als and politics, as to which all A
cans arc agreed, aiy concerned. 'I
ligioui tiltuatioa tf ihildren niayani.it
be itmiltri to the family, the SnibatA-i
and the church — the natural and di
ly-appointed t^ardians of religion
In the face of this growing
knowledgment of the "sectari
The publicschool system is to-'l.iy character of our public schools
The President's Spteth at Des Moines.
ring thnt they must give reli-
i iifstruction or else be " pagan
atheistical," we are pleased to
the demand that " neither the
; nor nation, nor both combin-
sball support such schools.
le fact is, that a people cannot
ly esc3j}e from its national tra-
ns, without forgetting its lan-
e, or undergoing some violent
luiion. If oar fellow-citizens
study the meaning of the terms
h they habitually use, they will
lose their traditions of freedom
equal rights, nor will they
w themselves into a violent,
,ous departure from ihem. But
hasten to comment upon an-
r sentence, which Is frequently
:ed from the President's oration :
t.EAVR THE HATTER OF REU-
J TO THE FAMILY ALTAR, THE
KlH, AND THE PRIVATE SCHOOL
H>RTE1> DY PRIVATE CONTRI-
rvoist-ly so. If it must come to
; if no arrangement can be
e. by which religion and mo-
y c;iu be taught in the public
>oU. then, leave the matter to
I'auuly nltTir and the church,
iilUitt' it to be done by private
I other words, either furnish
|>(.'»ple with that which you
end to tax them for — viz., a fair
nUiit^ble system of public
nils— or allow them to provide
:hcniSL-]ves. But, whatever you
ki^i-ji your hands off the sacred-
1 III llie "f;imily altar." Do not
loDl into the hallowed precincts
ilii! ilomestic sanctuary. The
ily, iliough subordinate, is not
.1^ viiihilud by the state. P.ir-
1 iitive ritjhtB, which no govern-
i1 t iiu usurp. You have no
" unlit to force the education
l"^!! I liildrcn out of their hands,
1 tn ill-line the number of off-
spring by law. You have no mon
right to establish a. system, to whici
you will endeavor to secure iheii
conformity by violent measures
than you have to establish publH
wet-nurseries, or, require that votci-
shall be brought up on govemmeni
pap and be fed out ofa govemmeni
spoon.
Keep from meddling with reli-
gion; you have no authority la
teach it.
What a bittei rebuke these words
of the President contain for thai
party, small and contemptible in
itself, but powerful by reason of ihe
times, which has ever sought to
widen the gulf between us and oar
true-hearted countrymen ! It is noi
enough that we should be estranged
by the traditions of three hundred
years. It is not enough to whispei
into the popular ear every stale anJ
loathed calumny. It is not enougli
to brii^ our holiest rites and beliefs
into the obscene literature now cir-
culating amongst the depraved
youth of our country. It is not
enough to drown with a thousand
noisy, insolent tongues, every at-
tempt we make at explanation. Ii
is not enough for this malignant.
persecuting power to drop its poi-
son into every crevice of our social
and religious system, from the pir-
lor to the sewer, from the teni[)I(
to the lupanar ; but the nation musi
be organized against us. Our reli-
gion must, in some way or other, be
dragged into politics. For shame!
we cry, with the President. In J
country of such varied religious iie-
liefs as ours, there is but one wiv
to order and peace — " Keep thi
CHURCH AND THE STATE FOR EVEH
SEPARATE."
To sum up : We agree with ihc
President :
ist. No "sectarianism" in oui
schools ; and, ihetefoie.
The President's Speech at Des Moines
"not one dollar" to our present
system of schools, because they are
sectarian.
ad. " Not one dollar "to "pagan"
schools, in which God is ignored.
3d, "Not one dollar " to " atheis-
tical " schools, in which God is de-
nied in the name "of "science false-
ly so-called."
We no* turn to consider the
prophecy in which the President
warns the American people of its
future dangers:
tr we are to have another
Contest in the near future
of our national existence, i
predict that the dividing
Line will not be Mason and
Dixon's, but between Patri-
otism AND Intelligence on the
one side, and superstition,
Ambition, and Ignorance on
the other."
What is meant by superstition?
Formerly it meant seeking for
power or knowledge, by dealing
with the impure spirits.
Does the President mean to warn
us against the delusions and iin-
ckanness of modern spiritism ? If
so, we are agreed.
But we do not really suppose
llut the President means any such
thing. What does he mean ?
We find in the dictionary four
other meanings of the word which
he has used. Superstition means
"an excessive reverence or fear
of that which is unknown or mys-
terious." But, we observe no
such phenomenon among our peo-
ple ; if anything, rather the re-
verse. Or it means " The worship
of false gods." We see no signs
of this except in the " Joss
Houses " of San Francisco, Nor
do we behold any great belief "in
the agency of superior powers in
certain extraordinary or singular
;nts.
I oir
tics," Nor, furthi
any "excessive n
lous exactness," a;
ture of our presi
tion. There rema
ing (and this, we
the sense which t
tended to convey
an ignorant or irra
the supreme Deity
An ignorant wt
which knows
lie
ngh
is unable to state
lieve; or,further,o
no conclusive rea:
anything. But, ou
Church, there is r
which can tell p
ought to believe, >
it does believe, or
ought to believe a
an irrational belie
which recognizes h
at the same time,
butes. For instan
tional belief in Gi
his wisdom; whici
has not chosen mi
accomplish his em
senls him, when ht
velation to man, a
vine truth in scatle
ous writings in an (
requiring men to fi
them, and believe
ing in order to be
fancies that readi
pages from these
children, wiU be s
pare them for the 1
is an irrational bel
represents him as
ating man simply
which denies his
edly imagining tl
punish oppression .
of a free and happ
The President's Speech at Des Moines.
flerc again we agree with the
;sident in denouncing such im-
ty, and in predicting that, if the
;rties and institutions of this re-
jlic are soon to be jeopardized,
will be by irreverence towards
d and the contempt of charity
1 justice towards men, ever prac-
:d by this " ignorant and irra-
lal worship of tlie supreme Deity."
Another item of danger wliicii
President foresees in the near
lire is " ignorance." Here, again
find him sounding the note of
rning, to which we have always
en voice. His Excellency says:
1 a republic like ours, . . .
ere no power is exercised except
the will of the people, it is im-
tant that the sovereign, the
iple, should foster intelligence
hai intelligence which is to pre-
k-e us as a free nation." The
■rties of this republic will not be
intained, we say, by an ignorant,
lanched, and corrupted genera-
1. Our common people must be
icated. They must possess
lat intelligence which is to pre-
^e us as A free nation." They
st know something more than
ply how lo read and write and
pher." Nor will it be sufficient,
idd lo this a knowledge of music,
cy must have a sound and tho-
gh moral training. Their con-
■nlious convictions must be
undcd on truth daily taught and
ly enforced. They must be
ly taught to control their pas-
is ; they must be taught honesty,
1 be required lo give back that
ch is unjustly gotten- They
SI be taught the true purpose of
!ut this training, as the President
rms, belongs not to the slate,
lo the " family altar and the
irch." Either assist alt families
I (i/i'churches, or else encourage
them lo help themselves. These an
our sentiments. But when sectarian
bigotry has gotten hold of a svstem
of the falsely so-called "common
schools," and with obstinate pui-
pose, and clamorous inter>SLly and
ever-swelling declamation, mani-
fests its resolve to maintain tliis
system, even thougli it conflicts iriili
the conscientious rights of million?
of the people of our country ; wlien,
further, it is determined to force a
large minority to accept this stale
of things, or to go without inslnic-
tion, we, as American citizens, de-
nounce the system as tyrannous; in
the full sense of the word, as a reck-
less and immoral oppression, ffe
assert that those who uphold it, do
not desire intelligence, but prefer
ignorance; that their aim is not to
promote knowledge, but to destroy
the religious convictions of ourchil-
dren, and to keep us from growing
in the land. We affirm that sucli
self-deiusion originates in ignorance,
is perpetuated by ignorance, tends
to still deeper degradation of ignor-
ance; and we predict that it vill
bring forth the fruits of ignorance,
not only in morality, but in tlie
lower sciences.
We, for our part, will never relax
our efforts to show up the dishon-
esty of this party ; we will never
withdraw our protest, until justice
has been done ; and knowing to
what lengths men can go when
they start without principle, we fully
share in the alarm of our chief
magistrate, as to the danger of " ig-
norance." Have we not, therefore,
reason to hope that, in the midsl of
the struggle, which his sagacious
mind perceives to be at hand, we
shall find liim on the side of palriol-
ism and intelligence, with all Ime
Americans, against that "supersli-
lion " and " ignorance," whose aim
is to destroy the " security of unfet-
The President's Speech at Des Moines.
tered religious sentiments and equal
lights " of liis fellow-citizens ?
There is another item of llie fii-
iiite contest, which, accordii)g to
<n.r President, is
" Ambition." What is ambition ?
A man has been elected lo the
higlicst iTffice in the gift of ,i free
people, the limits of whicli have
been fixed by a custom handed
down by the fathers of tbe nation,
and which, to the minds of Itne pa-
triots, lias the force of law. When
siicli a trust does not satisfy the
honored recipient, and he, yielding
lo personal motives, strains every
nerve, and seeks by every means at
l>is command, to break down all
liarriers to continuation of pttwer,
thereby abusing the dignity of his
post and the confidence of the peo-
ple — that is ambition.
We do not fully share the ap-
prehension with which the President
1'>resees this threat to ihe " near
of
lal welfar
liiit if it be true, we fully agree with
liim when he says ; " Now, Ihe cen-
tennial year of our national exist-
ence, I believe, is a good time to
begin the work of strengthening
the foundations of the structure
commenced by our patriotic fore-
fathers one hundred years ago at
Uxington."
" Language," according to a great
iliploraatist, "was given lo mnu, in
order that he might conceal his
ideas." But this maxim has never
been accepted by honorable men.
In examining, thus briefly, the
" Des Moines speech," we have fol-
Iiined that other canon of criticism,
nhich requires that words shall be
interpreted in iheirliterjil sense, as
far as possible. Submitted lo this
just ctiilcism, the language appears
10 us inmiorlal, and worthy of the
liigli iilace whicli is even now being
jircpartd for it. Some may marvel,
and may wonder how the President
443
came to be filled with so high a de-
gree of the prophetic spirit. Like
Balaam, the son of Beor, he was
expected to curse us; unlike Ba-
laam, he was not stayed, but rather
urged on by the faithful servant
with whom he previously conversed.
But there is no mystery about it.
He has grown up with the in-
stincts of a true American, and he
has spoken accordingly. Not only
are the words on which we have
commemted true, but they are in ac-
cordance with sound Catholic princi-
ples. We are ready to take him at
his word, and his words in their true
meaning. To those who will join
us we say, without disguise or re-
serve : " Gentlemen, you will never
regret having trusted us, and dealt
fairly with us, according to the laws
and Constitution of this country."
We believe with the President, that,
if the only honest meaning of his
language be as honestly carried
out, " the battles which created the
Army of the Tennessee " (which, by
the way, a Catholic general once
commanded and in whose ranks
hundreds of Catholic hearts bled)—
we believe, we say, that these bai-
lies "will not have been fought in
vain." The children of the soldiers
of the Union will at least be the
peers of those whom tlieir fathers
overcame. The nations' heroes
will not look down, to see iheir
heirs defrauded of equal rights In
" the Union and the free institutions
for which they died." The President
will yield to his comrades in
anns, at least as much as he is so
ready lo accord to hi,? late oppo-
nents. And as for our countrymen
throughout the Union, we are pre-
pared to wait, trusting that when
fully enlightened, they will agree to
our obtaining, independently of all
political agitations or party organ-
izations, our just and equal rights
as American citizens.
Sounets in Memory of tke late Sir Aubrey de Vere, Bart.
JNETS IN MEMORY OF THE LATE SIR AUBREY DE
VERE, BART.
To-night upon thy roof the snows are lying ;
Tlie Christmas snows lie heavy on thy trees ;
A dying dirge that soothes the year in dying
Swells from thy woodlands on tlie midnight breeze.
Our loss is ancient ; many a heart is sighing
This hour a late one, or by slow degrees
Heals some old wound, to God's high grace replying —
A time there was when thou wert like to these !
Where art thou ? In what unimagincd sphere
Liv'st thou, sojourner, or a transient guest J
By whom companioned ? Access hath she near.
In life thy nearest, and beloved the best .'
What memory hast thou of thy loved ones here ?
Hangs the great Vision o'er thy place of rest ?
" Sweet-sounding bells, blithe summoners to prayer !" *
The answer man can yield not ye bestow:
Your answer is a little Infant, bare,
Wafted to earth on night-winds whispering lon'.
Blow him to Bethlehem, airs angelic, blow!
There doth the Mother-Maid his couch prepare :
His harbor is her bosom : drop him there
Soft as a snow-flake on a bank of snow.
Sole Hope of man ! Sole Hope for us — for thee !
" To us a Prince is given ; a Child is born !" —
Thou sang'st of Bethlehem, and of Calvary,*
,The Maid immaculate, and the twisted thorn
Where'er thou art, not far, not far is He
Whose banner whitens in yon Christmas morn !
K Sonf ^4* Futb-" 1843. Baidd Ihit poem, my ^her paUiihcd two djunuic wdi^
»tl,tA^lattU<i'i> "d r*./>.*Ii./,W»»<w, .813, In 1847, bu \MitiTmsax.M.r, Tm
hcd. HcvuboriwCurTiiik ChtM. Irelud, oa t^ iXX^ at kitfOt, tjt», uti died iIki
A Messagr,
445
A MESSAGE.
Is there anrthing more tantaliz-
ing than to be caught with a tooth-
ache and swelled face just at Christ-
mas time, when one's hands are
full of work that must be finished,
of plans that have been begun in
lime and carried on prosperously
to within a few days of their fulfil-
ment ? This is just what befell Mr.
Stephen Walpole on the aoth of
Ueceraber in the year of grace
1870. You remember what a ter-
rific winter that was? How the
bleak north wind blewovei ice and
snow, and added teniold horrors to
the poor soldiers lighting in that
terrible Franco-German war — how
all our hearts shuddered in pity for
them, as we sat stitching and knit-
linn '" Iheir service by the glow of
our Christmas fires! This 20th of
December was, perhaps, the bitter-
est day of the whole season. The
snow was deep on the ground, the
ice hung in long spikes from rails
and roofs, and the east wind blew
cruelly over all. Stephen Walpole
ought to have been out breasting
it, but, instead of this, he sat at
liome moaning, in a voice that
sounded like a fog-hell at sea,
through poultices, wadding, and
miles of flannel that swelled his
head out of all human proportions.
" To think of a man being knock-
ed down by a thing no bigger than
a pin's pointl" he grumbled. "A
|irick of that miserable atom one
calls a nerve turns the seat of one's
intellect into a monster calfs head,
and makes one a spectacle to gods
and men. I could whip myself for
lieing such a milksop as to knock
under to it. I'd rather have every
tooth in my head pulled out than
play the woman like this. . • Och !
Whew !"
" Serves you right, sir, for your
impertinence !" protested Nelly
Walpole, bridling up and applying
a frefh hot poultice to her brother's
cheek, which she bade him hold ;
but Stephen, in his manly inability
to bear the toothache with compo-
sure, dropped the soft mess under
a sudden sting that jerked it out of
his hand.
" What an unmanageable baby it
is !" cried Nelly, catching the poul-
tice in time to s.ave her pretty vio-
let cashmere dress. " I lold you to
hold your cheek while I fastened
the bandage ; make haste now be-
fore it cools." .
"O my unfortunate brother!
Ill-fated man ! Is this how I find
you, bound and poulticed in the
hands of the Philistines?"
This was from Marmaduke, Nel-
ly's younger brother, who entered
while the operation was going on,
and stood sur>eying the victim in
serene compassion.
"Yes," cried Stephen, "and all
the pity a poor devil gets is being
bullied for not holding his jaw."
"Oh! come, you're not so bad,
since there's vice enough in you for
a pun !" said Marmaduke. " How
did you catch the thing.'"
" What thing — the pun ?"
"The toothache,"
"It caught me," said Stephen re-
sentfully.
" Then it caught you in some of
those villanous cut-throat places
446
A Message.
where you go pottering after beg-
gars and blackguards and the Lord
knows wliat !" said Marmaduke with
airy contempt, drawing his slim, be-
ringed fingers gracefully through a
mass of remarkably fine curls that
clustered over his high, white fore-
head, and gave a boyish look to his
handsome young face, and add-
ed to its attractions. He was
extremely prepossessing, this per-
fumed, patent-leather-booted young
gentleman of two-and-twenty. You
could not look at him without
liking him. His eye was as clear
as a child's, his smile as frank,
his laughter as joyous and catch-
ing. Yet, as it sometimes happens
with the graces of childhood, these
things were a deceptive promise.
The frankness and the joy were
genuine; but there was a cold
gleam of contempt, a cold ring of
selfishness, \(i the bright eyes and
the merry voice that were very dis-
appointing when you' found them
out. But people were slow to find
them out. Even those who lived
with Marmaduke, and thus had
ample opportunities of judging,
remained under the speli of his
attractive manners and personal
charms until some accident reveal-
ed their worth lessness. A false coin
will go on passing current through
many hands, until one day some
one drops it to the grouivd, and the
glittering sham is betrayed. He
had not a bad heart ; he was kind
even, whe^ he could be brought to
forget himself for a moment and
think of others. But it required a
shock to do this ; and shocks are,
happily, rare in c very-day life. So
Marmaduke slept on undisturbed
in his egotism, hardening uncon-
sciously in self-absorbed enjoy-
ment. He had never taken trou-
ble about anything, made a genu-
ine effort of any sort except for his
amusement. He had just the kind
of brains to enable him to get
through college with a decent
amount of success easily — ^laci,
ready repartee, a quick, retentive
memory that gave the maxinuim oi
result for the minimum of work.
He would pass for clever and well
informed where au awkward, ugly
)routh, who had ten times his intel-
lect and studied ten times harder,
would pass for knowing nothing.
Stephen was eight years older than
he, and had not yet discovered
his brother's real value. Perhaps
this arose partly from Stephen's
not being of a particularly observ-
ant or analytical turn of mind.
He took people pretty much at
their own valuation, as the world is
rather apt to do. Marmaduke set
a very high price on his handsome
face and limited attainments, and
his brother had never dreamed oi
disputing it. He would sometimes
naively express his surprise that
people were so fond of Duke when
he did so little to please them;
and wonder how popular he was,
considering that he never gave
himself the smallest trouble to
oblige or humor people.
" I suppose it's his handsome fare
that mankind, and womankind in
particular, find so taking," Stephen
would remark to Melly. " He cer-
tainly has a wonderful knack for
getting on with people without car-
ing twopence whether they like hira
or not. I wish I knew his secret.
Perhaps it's his high spirits."
Nelly would sometimes suggest
that Marmaduke's fine tem|)er
might count for something in the
mystery. And Stephen never con-
tradicted her. His temper was not
his best point. He had a heart of
gold ; he had energy, patience, and
endurance to any extent — except
in case of toothache ; he was nn-
1\
J
A Message.
447
selfish and generous ; but he was
sensitive and exacting. Like most
peraons who dispense liberally, he
tras impatietit of the selfishness and
ingratitude of men who take all
they can get and return nothing.
Marmaduke had no such accounts
to square with human beings, so he
never felt aggrieved, never quarrel-
led with them. Stephen was work-
ing hard at his profession — he was
an engineer — and so fn r he had
achieved but moderate success.
Marmaduke had been called to the
bar, but it was a mere formality so
far; he spent his time dawdling
about town, retailing gossip and
reading poetry, waiting for briefs that
never came — that never do come
to handsome young gentlemen who
take it so easy. His elder brother
laid no blame on him for this
want of success. He was busy all
day himself, and took for granted
that Marmaduke was busy on his
side. Tlie law was up-hill work,
besides ; the cleverest and most
industrious men grew gray in its
service before they made a name
for themselves ; and Duke was
after all but a boy — he had time
enough before him. So Stephen
argued in his brotherly indulgence,
in ignorance of the real state of
tilings.
Nelly was, as yet, the only person
nho had found out Marmaduke, who
knew him thoroughly. She knew
him egotistical to the core, averse
to work, to efiort of every sort, idle,
self-indulgent, extravagant ; and the
knowledge of all this afforded
much anxious thought to her lit'
lie head of nineteen years. They
lived aloiiS; these three. Nelly was
a mother to the two young men,
watching and caring for them with
that instinctive child-motherhood
that is so touching in young girls
She was a spirited,
elfin little creature, very pretty,
blessed with the sweetest of leni-
pers, the shrewdest of common
sense, and an energy of characicr
that nothing daunted and f<r>v
things resisted. Marmaduke de-
scribed this trait of Nelly's in bro-
therlike fashion as "a will of her
own." He knew his was no match
for it, and, with a tact which made
one of his best weapons of defence,
he contrived to avoid clashing wii'»
it. This was not all policy. He
loved his pretty sister, and admired
her more than anything in tiie
world except himself. And yet he
knew that this admiration was not
mutual; that Nelly knew him thor-
oughly, saw through him as if he
were glass ; but he was not afraid
of her. His elder Ivother was
duped by him ; but he would have
slaked his life on it that Nelly
would never undeceive him; th;!t
she would let Stephen go on be-
lieving in him so long as the de-
ceiver himself did not tear off the
mask. Yet it was a source of bit-
ter anxiety to the wise little mother- ,
maiden to watch Marmy drifting
on in this life of indolence and _
vacuity. Where was it to end ?
Where do such lives always end.'
Nothing but some terrible shock
could awake him from it. And
where was the shock to come from .'
Nelly never preached — she was far
too sensible for that — but when the
opportunity presented itself she
would say a few brief words to
the culprit in an earnest way that
never irritated him, if they worked
no better result. He would admit
with exasperating good-humor that
hen*asagood-for-nothing dog; that
he was unworthy of such a perfec-
tion of a sister and such an irre-
proachable elder brother ; but that.
as nature had so blessed him, he
meant to take advantage of the
448
A Message.
privilege of leaving the care of his
perfection to them.
" If I were alone on my own
hook, Nell, I would work like a
galley-slave," he protested once to
her gentle upbraiding. " But as it
is, why need I bother myself?
You will save my soul, and pray
me higli and dry into heaven ; and
Stephen — Stephen the admirable,
the unimpeachable, the pink of re-
spectability — will keep me out of
mischief in this."
" I don't believe in vicarious sal-
vation for this world or the next,
and neither do you, Marmy. You
are much too intelligent to believe
in any such absurdity," replied
Nelly, handing him a glove she had
been sewing a button into.
Marmadulic did not contradict
her, but, whistling an air from the
Trovatore^ arranged his hat be-
comingly, a little to one side, and,
with a farewell look in the glass
over the mantel-piece, sauntered
out for his morning constitutional
in the i)ark. Nelly went to tlie
window, and watched the lithe
young figure, with its elastic step,
until it disappeared. She was con-
scious of a stront![er solicitude about
Marmaduke this morning than she
had ever felt before. It was like
a presentiment. Yet there was no-
thing that slie knew of to justify it.
He had not taken to more irregular
hours, nor more extravagant habits,
nor done anything to cause her
fresh anxiety ; still, her heart beat
as under some new and sudden
fear. Perhaps it was the ring of
false logic in his argument that
sounded a louder note of alarm and
warned her of worse danger than
she had suspected. One might
fear everything for a man starting
in life with the deliberate purpose
of sliifting his responsibility on to
another, setting his conscience to
sleep because he had two briTe,
wakeful ones watchinc; at his side*
'*If something would but cone
and wake him up to see the mon-
strous folly, the sinfulness, of it!*
sighed Nelly. ** But nothing short
of a miracle could do that, I b^
lieve. He might, indeed, fall ill
and be brought to death's door; he
might break his leg and be a cripple
for life, and that might serve the
purpose ; but oh ! dear, In not
brave enough to wish for so seveic
a remedy."
Two months had passed since
this little incident between the bro-
ther and sister, and nothing had oc*
curred to vindicate Nelly's gloomj
forebodings. Marmaduke rose late,
read the newspaper, then Tennyson,
Lamartine, or the last novel, made
an elaborate toilet, and sauntered
down to the courts to keep a lock-
out for the coming briefs. But it
was near Christmas now, and this
serious and even tenor of life had
been of late broken in upon by the
getting up of private theatricals
in company with some bachelor
friends. What between learning
his own part, and hearing his fel-
low-actors and actresses theirs, and
overseeing stage arrangements, Mar-
maduke had a hard time of it. His
hands were full ; he was less at home
than usual, seldom or never of an
evening. He had come in very
late some nights, and looked worn
and out of si)irits, Nelly thought,
when he came down to his late
breakfast.
" I wish those theatricals were
over, Marmy. They will kill you
if they last much longer," she said,
with a tender, anxious look on her
pretty little fiice. This was the
day he came home and found Ste-
phen in the hands of the Philis-
tines.
'Tis hard work enough," as-
it »'
sented tlie young man, strelching
out his long limbs wearily ; " but
ihc z6th will soon be here. It will
li« loo bad if yoii are laid up and
c.in't come and applaud me, Steevy,"
he added, considering his elder
hrolher's huge bead, tliat looked as
if it would take a month to regain
its natural shape.
"Humph! That's the least of
my troubles !" boomed Stephen
ihroui-h his poultice.
"Civil! Eh, Nell? I can tell
jon it's as bad as any toothache,
the labor I've had with the busi-
ness — those lazy dogs, Travers and
Milford, throwing all the weight of it
on me, under pretext of never hav-
ing done that sort of thing before."
"That's always the fate of the
willirfg horse," said Stephen, with-
out the faintest idea of being sar-
caslic. "Thal'sjustwhat I complain
'jf with those idle fellows X
and \V ■ ; they throw the bur-
den of all the business on me, be-
cause, forsooth, I understand things
belter! I do understand that peo-
ple can't get work done unless they
bestir themselves and attend to
it,"
" I wouldn't be such an ass as to
let myself be put on in that way,"
said Marraaduke resentfully. " I
would not be fooled into doing the
work of three people instead of
" And yet that's what you are
doing at present," replied Stephen,
"Oil! that's different; it is only
«/iUMff/," explained Mamiadukc;
"and then, you see, it . . ,"
"Amuses you," Nelly had it on
"'« tip of her tongue to say ; but
ibe checked herself, and finished
ihe sentence for hitn with, "It is
not the same thing ; people cannot
i".ike terms for a division of Inbor,
ficept it be in the case of real busi-
VOL. XXII. — 19
sia^f. 449
" Of course not," assented Ste-
phen. Marmaduke looked at his
boots, and inwardly voted Nelly
"no end of a trump."
Did she guess this mental vote,
and did she take advantage of it to
ask him a favor ,'
"Perhaps Marmy would go and
see that poor man for you, Ste-
phen.*" she said in the most natu-
ral way possible, without looking up
from her work.
"I wish he would; I should be
ever so much obliged to him.
Would you mind it, Duke ?"
"Mind what?"
"Taking a message for me to a
poor fellow that I wanted badly to
go and see to-day,"
"Who is he? Where does he
hang out?"
"His name is John Bain es, and
he hangs out in Red Pepper Lane,
ten minutes from here, at the back
of Ihe square."
" Some abominable slum, no
doubt,"
" The locality is not Berkeley
Square or Piccadilly, but it would
not kill you to walk through it
once," rejoined Stephen.
"Do go, there's a dear boy!"
coaxed Nelly, fixing her bright eyes
on Marmaduke's face, with a smile
that would have fascinated a gorilla.
Marmaduke rose, stretched his
arms, as if to brace himself for an
effort.
"Who's your friend John
Baines ?" he said. " A ticket-of-
ieave man ?"
"Nothing so interesting; he's
only a rag-and-bone man."
Marmaduke said nothing, but his
nose nttered such an unmistakable
pHaw! that Nelly, in spite of her-
self, burst out laughing.
"What the deuce can make him
cultivate sucli company?" he ex-
claimed, appealing to Nelly, and
,f
I
*
450
A Message.
joining good'humoredly in her
merriment.
" To help them and do them
good ; what else ?" she replied.
** Every man to his taste ; I con-
fess I have none for evangelizing
rag-and-bone men, or indeed men
of any station, kind, or degree,"
observed Marmaduke emphatically.
"Then you won't go.?" said
Stephen.
** I didn't say I wouldn't. I don't
mind devoting myself for once to
oblige you. What's your message
for John Baines? Not a leg of
mutton or a bottle of port? I
won't bargain for carrying that sort
,of article."
** I don't want you to carry any-
fthing that will encumber you," re-
plied the elder brother. ** Tell him
.'I cannot get to see him to-day, and
why, and that I am very sorry for
it. Meantime, you can say I have
done his commission. See if he
wants anything, and, if so I will
send it at once."
** What ails him?" enquired Mar-
maduke with a sudden look of
alarm.
** Poverty : hunger, and cold, and
misery."
" Oh ! that's all ! I mean it's not
a case of typhus or small-pox. I
should not care to imperil my valu-
able life by running in the way of
that sort of thing," observed Mar-
maduke.
" Have no fear. The complaint
is not catching," replied his bro-
ther. *' Whatever good he may do
you, he'll do you no harm."
** Dtar Marmy ! it's very good
of you !" whispered Nelly, as she
tripped down-stairs after the reluc-
tant messenger, and helped him on
with his fur coat in the halL
" It's not a bit good ; it's an in-
fernal bore, and I'm only doing it
to please you, Nell," protested Mar-
maduke. '' What a fool's errand
is ! I sha'n't know from Adam wl
to say to the man when I g<
there. IV/iat am I to say to him?'
** Oh ! anything," suggested Nel
ly. "Say you have come to
him because Stephen is ill, and as|
him how he is. You're never at
loss for something to .say, you knot
that right well ; and whatever yoi
say is sure to be right."
" When I know who I'm talkinj
to ; but I don't know this intcn
ing party, or what topics of convei
sation he particularly affects. H^
won't expect me to preach him
sermon, eh ?" And Marmadukj
faced round w\th a look of sucl
comical terror at the thought th;
Nelly again burst out laughing.
"Heaven forbid! That'^ tW
last thing you need dream of," sW
cried. " He is much more likely
preach to you."
" Oh ! indeed ; but I didn't bari
gain for that. I would very mud
rather be excused," protested Man
maduke, anything but reassured.
" You foolish boy ! I mean thai
he will preach to you as the pool
always do — by example; by ihcij
patience, and their gratitude for th^
least thing one does for them."
"I'm not going to do anythin)
for John Baines that I can see;
only bothering him with a visil
which he would very likely rallier I|
spared him."
" You will give him Stephen'sl
message," suggested Nelly, "andl
then let him talk. There is nothing;|
poor people enjoy so much as a
good listener. They are quite hap-
py when they can pour out their |
grievances into a willing ear. Tlic
sympathy of the rich is often a
greater comfort to the poor than
their alms."
''Humph! That's lucky, any-
how,"grunted Marmaduke. " VVell,
A Message.
451
ni let tlie old gentlemaa have his
head; I'll listen till he pulls up
of his own Sccord," He had iiis
hand on the door-latch, when Ste-
phen's muffled tones were heard
calling from the room above. Nel-
ly botmded up the stairs, and was
b3ck in an instant.
" He says you are to give Baincs
liair a sovereign from him ; he bad
nearly forgotten it."
" Where is it ?" said Marniaduke,
holding out bis hand.
"Stephen has not his purse about
him, so he begs you will give it for
" Neither have I mine," said the
young man.
"Well, run up for it; or shall
1.' Where is it .'" inquired willing
Nelly.
Marmaduke hesitated for a mo-
ment, and then said abruptly: "It
doesn't matter where it is; there's
nothing in it."
"What have you done with your
money ? You had plenty a few
days ago ?" exclaimed Nelly in
childlike surprise.
" I have lost it ; I haven't a brass
farthing in the world!" He said
.this in a reckless, dogged sort of
'way, as if he did not care who
knew it ; and yet he spoke in an un-
dertone. For one moment Nelly
looked at him in blank astonlsh-
" Lost it ?" she repeated, and
llien, the truth flashing on her sud-
denly, she cried in a frightened
v.hisper : " O Marmaduke ! you
havf not been gambling? Oh!
tell me it's not true." She caught
liold of his arm, and, clinging to it,
limked into his face, scared and
»'hiie.
" Nonsense, Nell ! 1 ihotighl you
«ere a girl of sense," be exclaimed
pettishly, disengaging himself and
IHisbiog back the bolt. " 1.^1 me be
off; tell Stephen I had not change,
so his friend must wait till he can
go and tip bim himself."
"No, no; he may be hungry,
poor man. Stay, I thinV 1 have ten
shillings here," said Nelly ; and she
pulled out her porte-monnaie, and
picked four half-crowns from the
promiscuous heap of smaller coins.
"Take these r I will tell Stephen
you will give the ten shillings."
Her hand trembled as she drop-
ped the money into Marmaduke's
pocket. He was about to resist;
but there was something peremp-
tory, a touch of that will of her own,
in her manner that deterred him.
" I'm sorry I said anything about
it; I should not if I thought you
would have minded it so much," he
observed.
"Minded it.' O Marmaduke!
Minded your taking to gambling ?"
"Tush! Don't talk nonsense!
A man isn't a gambler because
once in a way he loses a twenty-
pound note."
And with this he brushed past
her, and closed the ball-door with
a loud bang.
Nelly did not sit down on one of
the hall chairs and cry. She felt
mightily inclined to do so ; but she
struggled against the weakness and
overcame it. Walking quietly up
the stairs, she hummed a few bars
of a favorite air as she passed the
door of Stephen's sitting-room, and
went on to her own room on the
story above. But even here, s.ife
and alone, the tears were bravely
held back. She would not cry ;
she would not be seen with red eyes
that would betray her brother; she
would do her very utmost to les-
cue him, -to screen him even now.
Willie she is wrestling and pleadinj;
in the silence of her own room, lei
us follow the gambler to Red Pep-
per Lane.
452
A Messagr.
Marmadulje had described the
place accurately when he called it
an abominable slum. Red Pepper
Lane was ope of those dismal, fright-
ful dens of darkness and dirt that
cower at the back of so many of our
wealthy squares and streets — poison-
pits for breeding typhus and every
social plague that desolates great
cities. The houses* were so high
and the lane so narrow that you
could at a stretch have shaken
hands across from window to win-
dow. There was a rope slung half-
way down the alley, with a lantern
hanging from it which looked more
like a decoration or a sign than a pos-
sible luminary; for the glass was
too thickly crusted with dirt to admit
(if the strongest light piercing it.
In the middle of the lane was a gut-
ter, in which a few ragged, begrim-
ed, and hungry-looking little mor-
tals were playing in the dirty snow.
The east wind whistled through the
dreary tenements with a sharp, piti-
less cry ; the sky was bright outside,
but here in Red Pepper Lane its
brightness did not penetrate. No-
thing but the wind could enter,
and that came with all its might,
through the crannies in the walls,
through the rickety doors, through
the window-frames glazed with
brown paper or battered old Iiats —
any rng that could be spared to
stuff the empty panes. Not a head
was seen anywhere protruding from
windows or doors; the fierce blast
kept every one within who had a
roof to cover them. If it were not
for the sooty little objects disport-
ing themselves in the gutter, the
liine mij;ht have been the precincts
of tlie jail, so deserted and silent
was it. Marmaduke might have
wandered up and down for an hour
wiiliout meeting any one whom he
could ask to direct him to where
John Baines lived, but luckily he
recognized tt'
Stephen's sign
nailed over th
for a knocker
neither, he sc
ta-tat with tl
walking-stick,
called out fro
the latch !" '.
left to his on
ed Stephen's
straight np
where he kno<
to a sharp " C
The gloom
pared him gra
gloom of the
distinguished
rightly surmis
bone man, siti
near the fire-
a brown blanl
ing on the 1
were toasting
no fire — only
visible in a m:
they did not 1
of the l.tte
them. He I
door, and, wh'
ed his head
not sufficient!
Marmaduke,
threshold, too
at a glance.
the floor in on
clothes to spe
ing just now
cloak ; ami
and two chair
and the one 1
and a basket
window, and
about. Ther
larly dreadful
compared wit
cheerful one
Marmaduke, v
A Message.
of the dwellings of the poor, thought
it the most, appalling picture of
misery and desolation that cou'ld
be conceived. He was roused
from the stupor of horror into
iliich the sudden spectacle had
thrown liim by hearing the figure
in tlie blanket ask rather sharply a
second time " Who's there ?"
" I beg your pardon," said Mar-
raadukc, advancing within a step of
thechair. "My nameis Walpole ; I
have come to see if there is any-
thing I can do for you — anything
that you . . . that . . ." he stam-
mered, not knowing how to put It.
" Oh ! Mr. Walpole. I am oblig-
ed to you for calling, sir. I want
nothing ; but I am glad to see you.
It is very kind of you. Pray take a
chair. You must excuse nie for not
getting up ; my leg is still very pain-
ful."
" I am only the brother of the
Mr. Walpole whom you know," said
Hatmaduke, surprised beyond mea-
sure at the good address of the
man. " My brother is laid up with
a violent face-ache. He was great-
ly put out at not being able to keep
liis appointment with you Ibis after-
[ noon, and sent me to see how you
were getting on, and to tell you he
had done something that you com-
nmsioned him to do."
"Your brother is extremely
kind," said the man. "I am sorry
10 hear he is ill. I'his weather is
trying to everybody."
" You seem to be a severe suffer-
er from it," remarked Marmaduke.
He had opened his fur coat, and sat
back in the rickety chair, in mor-
tal fear all the while that it would
go to smash under him. This was
vile most extraordinary specimen of
llic rag-and-bonc tribe — lie could
not say that he had ever known,
for he had never known one in his
life, but — that he could have imag-
ined. He spoke like an educ
man, and, even in his blanket
had the bearing of a gentleman.
it were not for his swoll^ri nose
the glare of his red eye-balls, w
were decidedly not refined, t
was nothing in his appearanc
indicate that he belonged to
very dregs of human society,
was impossible to say how oh
was, but you saw at a glance
he was more broken than aged.
"Yes, I am suffering ra
severely just now," he replied
quiet, conversational way; "I
ways do when the cold sets in,
added to my chronic complain
sciatica, I slipped on the ice s
time ago, and sprained my left
badly. Your brother made mj
quaintance at the hospital whe
was taken to have it set right."
" And has it been set right ?"
"Yes; I can't gel about e;
yet, but it will be all right by
by." And then, dismissing
selfish subject, he said : " I am
tressed, sir, that you should I
had the trouble of coming to \
a place as this; pray don't let
detain you longer."
" I'm in no hurry," replied ]
maduke, whose interest and cu
ity were more and more e«
" Is there nothing I can do for j
It's dismal work sitting here all
with a sprained ankle, and ha
nothing to do; would you cat
have some books .'" It did
occur to him to ask if he knew
to read ; he would as soon havi
quired if he knew how to speak
Baines looked at him with a <
ous expression.
" I don't look like a man to
books to, do I .'" he said. " Thi
not much in common betv
books and a rag-and-bone man.
" Quite as much, I should sa;
there is between some men
A Messagf.
gs and bones," retorted Marmi-
ike, meeting the man's eyes with a.
s])onsive question in his own.
Haines turned away with a short
ugh. Perhaps it was mere ac-
dfiit or the force of habit that
ade liim look vip at the space over
e mantel-piece; but there was
imething in the deliberate glance
at made Marmaduke follow it,
id, doing so, he saw a faded but
iginally good engraving of Shak-
lerc hung in a frame against the
ill. Repressing the low whistle
hich rose involuntarily to his lips,
• said, looking at the portrait :
"You have a likeness of Shak-
lere, I see Have you read his
"Ay, and acted them!"
"Acted them! You were origi-
illy on the stage, then ? I saw at
ice that you were not what you
em to me," said Marmaduke, with
at frankness that seemed so full
■sympathy and was so mislead-
g, though never less so, perhaps,
an at this moment. " Would it be
sagreeable to you to tell me
rough what chapters of ill-luck
■ otlie
itude^
: in the position where I now see
The man was silent for a few
inutes; whether he was too deep-
offended to reply at once, or
helher he was glancing over the
1st which the question evoked, it
IS impossible to say. Marma-
ike fancied he w:is offended, and,
'\ed with himself for having ques-
ined him, he stood up, and laying
elly's four half-crowns on the
lininey-piece, " I beg your paidon
I seemed impertinent ; I assure
)u I did not mean it," he snid. " I
It interested in you, and curious
. know something more of you;
H I had no right to put questions.
ood-uiorning." He made a step
towards the door, but Gaines, mns^
ing himself, arrested him by a sipn
"I am not offended," he said
" I saw quite well what made yoi
ask it. You would have everi
right to catechise me if I hac
come to you for help; as it is, you:
kindness and your brother's makei
a claim which I am in no mind t<
dispute. If you don't mind shiv
ering in this cold place for half ai
hour, pray sit down, and I will tel
you my story. I have not a cigai
to offer you," he added with ;
laugh, " but perhaps you don't af
feet that vice?"
" I do indeed very coosidera
biy," said Marmaduke, and, puUinf
out a handsome cigar-case, hi
handed it to Baines, and invilet
him to help himself; the rag-roar
hesitated just for a moment, and
then, yielding to the instinct of hii
good-b reed ing, look one.
"It's not an amusing story," hi
began, when they had sent up :
few warm puffs from their fragram
weeds, "but it may not be unin
teresting to you. You are ver)
young; would it be rude to asl
how young.'"
" Two. and-twenty next week, if
I live so long," replied Marmadake
"Humph! I was just that aS'
when I took the fatal turn in tb(
road that led to the honorable ca-
reer in which I am now embarked
My father was an officer in the line.
He had no fortune to speak of: a
couple of thousand pounds lefi
him by an aunt was all the capital
he possessed. When he was still
young, he married, and got thret
thousand pounds with his wife. I
was their only child. My father
died when I was ten years old, and
left me to the sole care of wy
mother, who made an idol of inc
and spoiled me to my heart's content.
I was not a bad boy, I had no enl
A Mtssage.
455
propensities, and I was not defi-
cient in brains. I picked up things
with little or no effort, and got on
better at school than many who
bad twice the brains and four
limes the industry. I was passion-
ately fond of poetry, learned pages
of Byron and Shelley by heart, and
declaimed with a good deal of
power. There could not have
been a greater curse than such a
gift to a boy of my temrperaraent
and circumstances. When I left
school, I went to Oxford. My poor
mother strained every nerve to give
me a university education, with a
view to my becoming a barrister ;
but instead of repaying her sacri-
fices by working hard, I spent the
greater pari of my time acting. I
became infatuated about Shakspere,
and took to private theatricals with
a frenzy of enlhttsiasm. As ill-
luck wonld have it, I fell in with a
«t of fellows who were drama-mad
like myHcif. I had one great chiim
named Hallam, who was stark mad
about it, and encouraged me in the
folly to the utmost. 1 soon became
a leading star in this line. I was
sought for and asked out by every-
body in the place, until my head
got completely turned, and I fan-
cied I had only to walk on to the
Jtage to take Macready's place and
achieve fame and fortune. The
tint thing that roused me from the
absurd delusion was seeing Charles
Kean in Macbeth. I felt utterly
annihilated under the superiority
of his acting; it showed me in an
instant the difference there is be-
loeen ordinary taste and talent
»nd the divine afflatus of genius.
.^nd yet an old friend who happen-
ed to meet me in the theatre that
night assured me that the younger
Kean was not a patch upon his
father, and that Mac ready out-
ihone the elder Kean. I went
back to Oxford a crest-fallen man,
and for a time took refuge from my
disappointment in real work. I
studied hard, and, when the term
came for going up for my degree,
I was confident of success. It was
a vain confidence, of course. I
had only given myself to study for
a period of two months or so, and
it would have been little short of
a miracle if I had passed. My
mother was terribly disappointed ;
the sight of her tears cut me up
more than the failure on my own
account, and I determined to suc-
ceed or die in the effort, if she con-
sented to let me make one more. ,
She did consent, and I succeeded.
That was the happiest day of my
life, I think." He drew a long
breath, and repealed in an under-
tone, as if he forgot Marmaduke's
presence, and were speaking aloud
to himself: " Yes, the happiest day
of my life!"
" You worked very hard to pull
up for lost time !" observed Mar-
mad uke.
" Lost time ! Yes, that was it —
lost time !" said Baines, musing;
then he continued in his former tone:
" My poor mother was very happy.
She declared I had repaid her am-
ply for all her sacrifices. She saw me
already at the top of my profession,
a Q.C-, a judge, the chief of all the
judges, seated in robes on the wool-
sack. I came home, and was in
due time called to the bar. I was
then just twenty-four. We lived
in a pretty bouse on the road to
Putney ; but my mother thought it
now desirable to move into Lon-
don, that I might have an oEfice in
some central neighborhood, where
my clients would flow in and out
conveniently. I remember that I
strongly opposed the plan, not from
dislike, but from some feeling like
a presentiment, a dread, that Lon-
A Message.
m would be a dangerous place
r me, and that I was taking the
ad to ruin by leaving the shelter
our secluded home, with its gar-
m and trees, away from a thou-
nd temptations that beset a young
an in the great city. But my
other's heart was set on it. She
lis convinced my character had
oronglily changed, that I had
■iiki-n olT for ever from old habits
id old propensities, and that I
IS strong enough to encounter
ly amount of temptation without
.k. I'oor mother! It was no
nil of hers if she was blinded by
ve. The fault was all mine. 1
d her wi[h false hopes, and then
bttrayed them. She gave in so
r lo my wishes as to consent only
let the house, instead of selling
as she first intended ; so that our
moval to London took the ap-
■arance more of an essay than
permanent arrangement. I was
ankful for this, and set about
e change in high spirits. We
;re somi comfortably settled in a
ry small house in Wimpoie Street,
found it rather like a bird-cnge
ter our airy, roomy abode in the
burbs ; but it was very snug, and
y mother, who had wonderful
ste, soon made it bright and pret-
. She was the brightest and pret-
;st thing in it herself; people ustd
take her for my elder sister when
e took me lo parties of an even-
g. I was very proud of her, and
th better reason than she was of
He patjsed again, looking up at
e Shakspere print, as if he saw
i mother's likeness there. The
nken, red eyes moistened as he
zed on it.
"It is a great blessing to have
;ood mother," said Marmaduke.
[ lost mine when I was litlle more
an a child."
" So much the better for both o
you," retorted Paines bitterly ; "^h
did not live for yon to bre:tk lir
heart, and then eat out your on
with remorse. But I am ii'.l'-.i,
wildly. You would no doni.i lui
been a blessing to her; yuu Kui;i.
h.ave worked like a man, and i'l'
would have been proud of you i.
thee
It V
snots<
was never fond of work. I was no
fond of it then ; indeed, whst 1 dii
was not worthy of being called woi!
at all, I moped over a laiv-lwo.
for an hour or so in the mornine
and then read Shakspere or som
other favorite poet, by way of le
freshing myself after the unpaliia
ble task, and getting it out of lu
head as quickly as possible. Iwtn
down regularly to the courts; buia
I had no legal connection, and nc
thing in myself to make up forth
want of patronage, or inspire cont:
dence in my steadiness and aUil:
ties, the attorneys brouglit mt m
business; and as I was loo liii)
and perhaps too proud, to sloop i
court them, I began lo feel iho
roughly disgusted with the nrofes
sion, and to wish I had neier en
tered it. I ceased to go llirougl
the farce of my law-reading of ■
morning, and devoted myself tn
tirely to my dilettante tastes, re id
ing poetry, and occasionally aniu5
ing myself with writing it. My oli
longing for the stage came b.-;ct
and only wanted an Oi>|»ortLniiiv u
break out actively. This opijorlu
nity was not far off. My niorhr
suspected nothing of the w.iy I n..
idling my time; she knew llie I"
was up-hill work, and was satisiiiri
to see me kept wailing a few ycir
before I became famous ; but it k.^'
matter of surprise to her lliat !
never got a brief of any descri]'.
tiun. She set it down to jealoas)
on the part of my rivals at thi
jrls, and would now and then
X wroth against them, wondering
at expedient could be devised
showing up the corrupt state of
i profession, and forcing my ene-
es to recognize my superiority as
deserved. Don't laugh at her
i think her a fool ; she was wise
every subject but this, and I
r I must have counted for some-
ng ill leading her to such ri*
ulous conclusions- I held very
ch to preserving her good opin-
, but, instead of striving to justi-
t by working on to the fulfilment
ber motherly ambition, I took
cheating her, first tacitly, then
iberately and cruelly. Things
re going on in this way, when
! day, one ill-fated day, I went
as usual in the afternoon, osten-
!y to the courts, but really to
lime where I could — at my club,
the Row. or lounging in Pall
.11. I was passing the Army and
vy Club, when I heard a voice
I out :
"Halloo, Hamlet!' (This was
name I went by at Oxford, on
ount of my success in the part.)
owglad 1 am to see you, old boy!
u're the very man I've been on
look-out for."
" Hallam I' I cried, returning
.... friendly grasp, and declaring
how delighted I was to see him.
"'I've been beating about for
you ever since I came to town, ten
days ago,' he said. ' I wrote to your
old address, but the letter was sent
back to me. Where have you mi-
grated to, and what are you do-
ing?'
"I told him the brief history of
ray existence since we had parted
M Oxford, he to enter the army, I
to begin my course of dinners-eat-
ing at the Temple. He was now on
leave; he had just come from the
tiorlhj where his regiment was quar-
A Meaagt. »rj
tered, and he was in high spirits at
the prospect of his month's holiday.
I asked him what it was he b:id
been wanting me so parlicularlv
for,
"'I wanted to see you, first of ^lU.
for your own sake, old boy,' he an-
swered heartily ; 'and in -the next
place I want you badly to help us
to get up some private theatricals
at the Duchess of B 's after
Easter. I suppose you are a per-
fect actor— a Garrick and Chailes
Mathews combined — by this time.
You have had plenty of practice, I'll
be bound.'
" I assured him that I had not
played since the last time he and I
had brought down the house to-
gether. He was immensely surpris-
ed, and loudly deplored my mistake
in burying such a talent in the
earth. He called me a conceited
idiot to have let myself be crusht-d
by Kean, and vowed a year's train-
ing from a professional would bring
me out a better actor than ever
Kean was. Amateur acting was all
very well, but tlie finest untaught
genius ever born could no more
compete successfully with a man
who had gone tlirough the regular
professional drill than a civilian
could with a trained soldier in exe-
cuting a military manceuvre.
" ' I lold you before, and I tell
you again,' he continued, as arm in
arm we paced a shady alley of the
park — ' I tell you that if you went
on the stage you would cut out the
best actor we have; though that is
not saying much, for amore misera-
ble, ignorant lot of drivelling idiots
no stage ever saw caricaturing thi-
drama than our English theatres
can boast at this moment.'
" My heart rose high, and my
vanity swelled out like a peacock's
tail, pluming itself in this luxurious
air of flattery. I knew Hallam
458
A Message.
iiieanl what he snid; but I knew.
ih^t lie was a light-headed young
fullow, not at all competent to judge
dinniaCic power, and slill le
Yet !
; the i
i"\icaling effect of vanity that I
>wallowed his praise as if it had
been the purest wisdom, I opened
iny whole heart to him, told him
how insufferably bored I was at the
l>:ir, that I had no aptitude for it,
that I was wasting my time waiting
for briefs that never came — I did
not explain what pains I took to
prevent their coming — until, kind-
ling with my own exaggerated state-
ment as I wentun, I ended by curs-
ing the day I look to the bar, and
lieclaring that if it were not for my
mother I would abandon the whole
thing and try my luck on the stage
lo- morrow.
"' And why should you let your
mother stand in your way?' said
Hullam. ' If she is too unreasona-
ble to see the justice of tiie case,
v.liy, then . . . well, I can't for the
life of me see why your happiness
and fortune should be sacrificed to
" He was not a bad fellow — far
from it. He did not mean to play
the devil's advocate. 1 am certain
he liiought he was giving me excel-
lent advice, using his superior
knowledge of the world for my
benefit. But he was a fool — an ig-
norant, silly, welt-meaning fool.
Such men, as friends, are often
wor^e than knaves. If he had pro-
posed anything obviously wicked,
dishonest, or unprincipled, I should
.have scouted it indignantly, and
walked off in contem])l. But he
^irgied with a show of reason, in a
lone of considerate regard for my
mother's wishes and feelings that
deceived and disarmed me. He
represented to me the folly of stick-
ing to a life that I hated and that I
had next to no chance of evei
ceeding in ; he had a score o
aniples at his fingers' ends of y
fellows teeming with talent, p:
as asses, and hard workin
negroes, who had gone fur th
and given it up in despair,
mother, like all fond mothers,
urally expected me to prove a;
ception to the general rule, ar
turn out a lord chancellor ol
romantic sort, rising by sheer
of merit, without patronage. '
out money, without any of ih
sential helps, by the power ol
unaided genius. ' This is si
bosh, my dear fellow — innoceni
ternal bosh,' persisted Hallam,
as dangerous as any poison, Ci
bar, as your better genius pro
you to do, and take to your
calling — the drama,'
" ' For aught I know, I may
lost any talent I had,' I rep
' it is two years, remember, sii
acted at all.'
"'That is very easily ascei
ed,' said my friend. ' You will
a part in these theatricals wi
going to get up, and we will
see whether your talent has <
orated or not. My own impre
is that it will come out strt
than ever; you have studied,
you have seen something, if noi
very much, of life since your last
attempts.'
"'My mother has a horror of the
theatre,' I said, unwilling to yield
without a show of resistance; 'it
would break her heart to see me
take to the stage.'
"'Not if you succeed; hearts
are never broken by success.'
" ' And how if I fail ?'
"'You are sure not lo fail,' he
urged. ' But look here : do nothing
rashly. Don't say anything about
this business until you have tried
your hand at it in private. Vlt
A Message.
459
have not settled yet what the play
is to be ; they left it to me to select,
and I will choose one tliat will
bring out your powers best — not
tragedy ; that never was your line, in
my opinion- At any rate, you must
for the present confine yourself to
hght parts, such as . . /
" I interrupted him in high dud-
geon.
"'Why, if I'm not tragic, Fm
nothing !' I exclaimed. * Every
one who ever saw me in Hamlet
declared they had never seen the
part so well rendered ! And you
said many a time that my Macbeth
was . . .'
" * First-rate — for an amateur ;
and I will say it again, if you like,'
protested Hallam ; *but since then,
1 have seen real acting . . .*
" * Then mine was not real ? I
can't for the life of me see, then
. . .' I broke in.
*** Don't get so infernally huffy,'
said Hallam, shaking my arm with
good-humored impatience. * If
you want to know what real, trained,
professional acting is, you must go
abroad, and see how the actors of
the Th^itre Fran^ais, for instance,
study and train and drill. If you
will start with the English notion
that a man can take to the stage as
lie does to the saddle, give up the
plan at once ; you will never rise
above an amateur. But to come
back to our present purpose ; we
will select a part to suit you, and
if the rehearsals promise a genuine
success — as I have not a doubt they
will — we will invite your mother to
r.ome and see you, and she will be
fio proud of your triumph that the
cause will be won.'
** * My dear Hallam, it was some
good fairy sent you in my way
imurcdly this morning !' I cried,
grasping his arm in delight.
** I was highly elated, and took to
the scheme with enthusiasm. We
spent the afternoon discussing it.
It was settled that the play should
be The Taming of* the Shrew; the
part of Benedict would suit me to
perfection, Hallam declared, and I
was so subdued by the amount of
worldly wisdom and general know-
ledge of life which he had displayed
in his arguments about my change
of profession that I yielded without
difficulty, and consented to forego
tragedy for the present.
" For the next week I was in a
wliirl of excitement. He took me
to the Army and Navy Club, and
introduced me to a number of
sw^ells, all military men, who were
very agreeable and treated me with
a soldier-like cordially that charmed
me. I fancied life must be a de-
lightful thing in such pleasant,
good-natured, well-bred company ;
that I was now in my proper sphere ;
and that I had been hitherto out
of place amidst rusty lawyers and
hard-working clerks, etc. In fact,
I was a fool, and my head got turn-
ed. I spent all my time in the day
lounging about with Hallam and
his aristocratic captains and colo-
nels, and the evenings I devoted to
the business of rehearsal, which
was carried on at Lady Arabella
Dancer's, the married daughter of
the duchess at whose house the
theatricals were to be performed.
I had been very graciously received
by her grace, and consequently all
the lords and ladies who composed
her court followed suit. I was
made as much of as if I had been
* one of them,* and my acting soon
established me as the leading star
of the select company. I suppose
Hallam was right in saying that
more mature reading and so on had
improved my dramatic talent ; for
certainly it came out with a bril-
liancv that surprised mvself. The
A Messagt.
I)igh-bred atmosphere that
led me seemed to infuse
or into me. I borrowed or
a power that even my
ad never suspected- Hal-
enchanted) and as proud
ccess as if it had been liis
in fancy how yonr mother
ly this!' lie exclaimed one
as I walked home with liiin
ambers in Piccadilly. ' She
leside herself with pride in
fellow. Fancy what it will
light of your fifst public
lation ! I expect a seat in
mind !'
*sjiist two days before the
ehearsal — the final one — in
.re at B House, which
;ed up and filled with a se-
in order to judge of the
effect for the following
[ was in great spirits, and
tier than I had done yet.
lience applauded warmly,
s clapping their white-kid
id shaking their handker-
lat filled the air with the
. of Arabia, while the gen-
more audible in their de-
lons, cheered loudly,
1 it was over, we sat down
■r, about a bundred of us.
;xt tlie duchess, and my
Katharina on. the other
lie. Slie was a lovely girl
', a cousin of the ducliess.
L'u struck by her beauty at
but the more I saw of her
ilie pleased me ; she was a
:]uettish youn); lady, and
L-rated me because I was
a good set-off to her act-
li, to be just, was excellent,
saw anything so good off
;, and very st-ldom saw it
even there. Flushed with
U triumph, which had bor-
rowed additional lustre from
she was more gracious and ct
sattonal than I had yet knuwr
I was flattered, though I knev
fectly how much the caprici
worth, and I exerted myself t
utmost to be agreeable. We
altogether a very merry parly
champagne flowed freely, and
it the s|)irits of the guests re
sparkling point. As we rose
the table, some one called out
dance before we broke up-
ments after the rehearsal, but
were still in the house. The dm
a good-natured, easy-going pi
who always agreed wuh evci;
all round, at once ordered thc
people began to eng.ige par
and all was laughing cont
round the supper-table. I ti
to my pretty neighbor, and :
if slie was engaged ; she re|
laughing, that being neither a
nor a clairvoyant, she could
have known beforehand that
was 10 be dancing. 'Then r
have the honor of claiming vo:
the first dance, whatever 'it
be V I said ; and she replied 1
miglM. I offered her my arm
we took our way back inic
theatre, which was still brilli:
ilkmiinated. We were to danc
the siage. As we were pnshin
with the crowd, I felt a strung
hand laid on my arm, and, before 1
had time to prevent it, Lady Caio-
line's hand was withdrawn, and iHe
intruder stood between us. He
was a square-built, distinguiilicJ-
looking man, not very young, l>ui
handsome and with the beau stam;j-
e.l all over him.
"' Excuse my want of ceremo-
ny,' he said in an easy, supercilious
tone to me. 'I claim liie first
d.ince with Lady Caroline."
'"On what grounds?' I demanded
A Message.
461
stiffly. We were still moving on,
carried with the crowd, so it was
impossible to make him stand aside
or to regain my post next Lady
Caroline.
"'On the grounds of her pro-
mise,* he replied haughtily.
" Lady Caroh'ne uttered a laugh-
ing *0 Lord George!' but did not
draw away the hand which he
had so unceremoniouslv transferred
from my arm to his.
*' ' Lady Caroline made no en-
gagement before she came here to-
night/ I said, * and she promised
this dance to me. I refer you to
herself whether this be true or not.*
" ' Gentlemen are not in the ha-
bit of catechising ladies as to their
behavior — not, at least, in our set ;
and while you happen to be in it
you had better conform to its
rustoms,' observed Lord George,
without looking towards me.
" I felt my blood boil so that it
was an effort not to strike him.
Two ladies near me who had heard
the passage between us cried,
' Shame ! No gentleman would have
said that !* This gave me courage
to maintain mv self-command. We
were now. in the theatre; the or-
chestra was playing a brilliant pre-
lude to a waltz, and Lord George,
as if he had forgotten all about me,
prepared to start. I laid my hand
peremptorily on his arm.
** * In my set,' I said, and my voice
shook with agitation, * gentlemen
don't tolerate gratuitous imperti-
nence ; you either make me an apo-
logy, or I shall exact reparation of
••nother kind.'
** * Oh ! indeed. I shall be hap-
l>y to hear from you at your conve-
nience,' sneered Lord George, with
'1 low bow. He turned away, and
said in a voice loud enough to be
lieard by me or any one else near,
'The puppy imagines, I suppose.
that I would meet him in a duel.
The next thing will be we shall
have our footmen sending us chal-
lenges. Capital joke, by Jove!
Come, we are losing time, Lady
Caroline ! The waltz is half over.'
" They were starting this time,
when a voice behind me called out
imperiously: *A moment. Lord
George Halberdyne ! The gentle-
man whom you have insulted is a
friend of mine and a guest of the
Duchess of B ; two conditions
that qualify him, I think, to be an
adversary of yours.'
" * Oh ! he's a friend of yours,
is he V repeated Lord George, fac-
ing around. * That's a natural phe-
nomenon- that I shall not stop to
investigate just now; but it cer-
tainly puts this gentleman in a new
light. Good-evening, sir. I shall
have the pleasure, probably, of see-
ing you to-morrow.'
"* You shall, my lord,' I replied ;
and allowing Hallam to link my
arm in his and draw me away, I
turned my back on the brilliant
scene, and hurried out of the house,
feverish, humiliated, desperate.
" * The idiot ! The snob ! You
shall give him a lesson that he'll
not forget in a hurry,' said Hallam,
who seemed nearly as indignant
and excited as myself. ' Are you a
good shot? Have you ever stood
fire r
" I answered both Questions in
the negative. He was evidently
put out; but presently he said in a
confident tone :
" * Well, it does not so much
matter ; you are the offended party,
and consequently you have the
choice of weapons. It shall be
swords instead of pistols. I suppose
you're a pretty good swordsman V
" My dear Hallam,' I said, * you
forget that these things are not in
my line at all. I never handled
462
A Message.
a sword since we flourislied them
in the fencing-hall at Oxford. In
fact, if the choice be mine, as you
say it is, I think I would do better
to choose pistols. I have a chance
with tliem ; and if Lord George be
a swordsman, I have none with the
other.'
" Hall.im seemed seriously dis-
concerled.
" ' It's not quite such an affair of
cliaiice as you appear to imagine,'
he said. ' Halberdync is one of the
best shots in ibe service; he never
misies liis mark ; and he is a first-
rale swordsman. 'Pon my honor I
don't know what to advise you.'
'"I must stand advised by my-
self then, and here goes for pistols,"
1 said, trying to put a bold face on
it, though I confess I felt anything
but cheerful at the prospect. You
will stand by me, Hallam, will you
■"Of course I will! I've com-
mitted myself to as much already,'
he answered cordially; but I saw
he was uncom fori able. ' I shall
take your card to the scoundrel
to-morrow morning. I wonder who
he'll have for second — that bully
Roper, very likely,' he went on,
talking more to himself than to me.
" ' Is the meeting to take place to-
morrow morning ?' I inquired ; and
a sudden rush of anguish came on
me as I put the question. I
thought of my mother, of all that
might be in store for her so soon.
"'We must try and put it off for
a day,' said Hallam. ' It is deuced-
ly awkward, you see, if it comes off
to-morrow, because of the play.
You may get hit, and it would be
a terrible business if you were hors
de concoun for the evening." There
was something so grimly comical
in the e.imcsiness wiiii which lie
s.iid this that, though I was in no
merry mood, I burst out laughing.
"'A terrible business inde«
said. 'How exceedingly un
sant for Lady Caroline pariici
to be left in the lurch on sue
occasion ! However, if I go t
wall, and Lord George comei
safe, he might get up the part
hurry and replace me, eh .'' ]
hit the mark without knonin
It was jealousy that had pro%
Lord George to the graluiiou
tack. I suppose there was s
Ihin
;ardoni
struck Hallam with the inappi
ateness of his previous reir
He suddenly stopped, and gra
my arm warmly —
" ' I'm used to this sort of I
my dear fellow,' he said;
don't fancy from that that my
ings are turned to stone, or t
forget all that is, thai may bi
pleasant in the matter. But
is no use talking of these tl;
they tinman a fellow, and he'
all his nerves in working orde
moment like this. Take m]
vice and go home now, and
yourself by a quiet night fo
morrow's work, if it is to b
morrow. You may have soim
ters to write or otiier things I
lend to, and they had belli
done at once."
" I replied that I had no li
to write and no business in<
tions to leave. The idea of (
my home, passing my mother's
aod then going to bed as if the '
had not turned right rovmd ; as
life, the present and the future,
not revolutionized — this was
I did not, at this moment at
feel equal to, and I said so.
" ' I would rather go for an
to the club,' 1 said, 'if you
mind, and we will have a gan
billiards. I don't feel inclin
go home, and I should not sl<
I went to bed.'
A Mtssage.
463
U(
Just as you like,* he said ;
* but the night is so fine we may
as well take a few more turns in the
open air. It does one good after
those heated rooms/
•*It did me no good. I felt the
most miserable man in this miser-
able world. I would have given
any happiness the world could have
offered me to undo this night's
work, to be as I was an hour ago,
free, guiltless of projected murder
or suicide. I repeated to myself
that it was not my fault ; that I had
been gratuitously provoked beyond
endurance; that as a gentleman I
could not have done otherwise ;
but these sophistries neither calm-
ed nor strengthened me. Truer
voices rose up and answered them
in clear and imperious tones that
drowned the foolish comforters.
Why had I ever entered the so-
ciety where my position exposed
me to such results } What busi-
ness had I there ? What good could
it do myself or any one else to
have been tolerated, even courted,
as I fancied I was, by these fine
people, who had nothing of any
sort in common with me 1 I had
forsaken my legitimate place, the
profession that my mother had
made such Iseavy sacrifices to open
to me. I had deliberately frittered
away my life, destroyed my pros-
pects of honorable success; and
this is what it had brought me to !
I was going either to shoot a man
who had done me no graver injury
than offend my pride and punish
my folly, or to be shot down by
him — and then ? I saw myself
brought home to my mother dan-
gerously wounded, dead perhaps.
I heard her cry of agony, I saw
her mortal despair. I could have
cried out loud for pity of her. I
could have cursed myself for my
folly — for the mad, sinful folly that
had rewarded her by such an awak-
ening.
" There is an electric current
that runs from mind to mind, com-
municating almost like an articu-
late voice the thoughts that art-
passing within us at certain mo-
ments. I had not spoken for sev-
eral minutes, as we paced up and
down Pall Mall, puffing our cigars
in the starlight ; but this current I
speak of had passed from my brain
to Hallam's, and informed him of
what my thoughts were busy on.
" * Don't let yourself down, old
boy,' he said good-naturedly. * No
harm may come of it after all ;
I've known a score of duels where
both sides came off with no more
than a pin-scratch, sometimes with
no scratch at all. Not that I sus-
pect you of being faint-hearted — I
remember what a dare-devil you
were at Oxford — but the bravest
of us may be a coward for others.'
" I felt something rise in my
throat as if it would choke me. I
could not get a word out.
" * Who knows } ' continued Hal-
lam in his cheeriest tone; 'you
may be bringing down the house
to-morrow night, and your mother
may be the proudest woman in
London, seeing you the king of the
company, cheered and compliment-
ed by " fair women and brave
men !" I feel as sure of it, do you
know, as if I saw it in a glass.'
" He spoke in kindness, but the
levity of his tone, the utter hollow-
ness of his consolations, were intol-
lerable. They mocked my misery ;
every word pierced me like a knife.
What evil genius had led me across
this man's path ? Only a few weeks
ago I said it was the work of an
angel, a good fairy, or some ab-
surdity of the sort. It was more
likely a demon that had done it. If
I had never met him, I said to my-
464
A Message,
self, 1 would never have known this
liour; I should have been an inno-
cent and a happy man. But this
would not do either. I was neither
innocent nor happy when I met
him. I was false to my duty, wast-
ing my life, and sick to death of
both ; only longing for the opportu-
nity which Hallam had brought
me. If I had not met him, I should
have met or sought out some other
tempter, and bitten greedily at the
bait when it was offered. Still, I
felt embittered toward Hallam. • I
accused him, as if he had been the
sole author of my misfortune; as if
1 had been a baby or an idiot with-
out free-will or responsibility.
" * Come into the club,* I said,
dropping his arm and. throwing
away the end of my cigar.
" He did not notice the impatient
movement, but readily crossed over,
;ind we entered the club. The lofty,
^pacious rooms were blazing with
light and filled with groups of men.
Soine were lounging on luxurious
couches, reading the evening papers,
some were chatting, some were
playing cards. An air of easy
grandeur, prosperity, and surface
happiness pervaded the place. I
felt horribly out of keeping with it
all. I had no business amongst
these wealthy, fashionable men ; I
was like a skeleton stalking into the
feast. I believe it was nothing but
sheer human respect, the fear of
making myself ridiculous, that pre-
vented me from turning on my heel
and rushing straight out of the
iiouse. I mechanically took up the
Giohe^ which a member tossed on to
a table near me, and sat down as if I
were going to read it.
*' ' Leave that alone, and come in-
to the billiard-room,' said Hallam.
And he whipped the paper out of my
hands with brotherly unceremoni-
ousness
" I rose and followed him like a
dog. I would have gone anywhere,
done anything, he or anybody else
suggested. Physically, 1 was in-
different to what I did ; mv brain
on fire, I felt as if 1 were walking
in a dream.
"We were passing into the billiard-
room when a gentleman who was
seated at a card-table cried out to
Hallam to come and join them.
It was Col. Leveson, a brother offi-
cer and great friend of his. H^il-
lani replied that he was going on
to have a pull at the balls ; but
he strolled over to see how the
game was going. I mechanically
followed him. Some of the players
knew me, and greeted me with a
friendly nod. They were absorbed
in the game ; it was lansquenet. I
knew very little about cards ; but
lansquenet was the one game that
interested me. I had lost a few
sovereigns a night or two before at
it, and, as the luck seemed set in
against the banker, it flashed over
me I could not do better than to
take a hand and win them back
now. I did not, however, volunteer
to join the game. In my present
state of smarting pride I would
not run the risk of being made to
feel I was an intruder. Unluckily,
Hallam's friend, reading temptation
on my countenance perhaps, said,
holding up his cards to me : "I'm in
splendid vein, but I must be off.
I'll sell you my hand for half a sov-
ereign, if you like."
" ' Done !* I said ; and paying the
half-sovereign, I sat down. I had
scarcely taken his place when there
was a noise in the adjoining room
announcing fresh arrivals. I recog-
nized one loud, domineering voice
above the others, and presently
Lord George Halberdyne came in.
" * Going, Leveson V he said.
* Luck against you, I suppose.^'
A Message
465
« «
On the contrary, never was in
better vein in my life,* replied the
colonel. ' I sold my hand for a
song, because I have an appoint-
ment that I can't forego/
" ' Who's the lucky dog you sold
it to?' asked Lord George.
'*'Mr. Botfield,' said Col. Leve-
son. (My real name is Botfield ; I
only took the name of Baines when
I fell into disgrace and misery.)
** Lord George muttered an ex-
clamation of some sort — whether of
surprise or vexation I could not
tell — and advanced to the table.
** * Do you mind my joining you Y
he said, appealing to nobody in
particular. There was a general
assent, and he sat down. Hallam
vould not take a hand. He hated
cards ; his passion was for billiards,
and he played nothing else. He
came and stood behind me to
watch the game. I felt him lay
his hand on my shoulder, as if to
encourage me and remind me that
tie was there to stand by me and
take my part against my late bully,
if needs be. It did not seem as if
he was likely to be called upon to
do so. My late bully was as gra-
cious as man could be — at least
he intended to be so ; but I took
his familiar facetiousness for covert
impertinence, and it made my blood
boil quite as fiercely as his recent
open insult had done. I was not
man of the world enough to under-
stand that Lord George was only
doing his duty to society ; that he
was in fact behaving beautifully,
with infinite tact, like an accom>
plished gentleman. I could not
understand that the social canons
of his * set' made it incumbent on
a man to joke and laugh and de-
mean himself in this lively, careless
fashion towards the man whom he
was going to shoot in a few hours.
I grew inwardly exasperated, and
VOL. XXII. — 30
I _•
it was nothing but pride and an un-
precedented effort of will that en-
abled me to keep my temper and
remain outwardly cool. For a time,
for about twenty minutes, the luck
continued in the same vein; my
half-sovereign had been paid back
to me more than fifty times. Col.
Leveson was right when he said he
had sold his hand for a song. Hal-
lam was all this time standing be-
hind my chair, smoking his cigar,
and throwing in a word between
the puffs. The clock struck two.
** * Come off now, Botfield,* he
said, tapping me on the shoulder —
* come off while your star is shin-
ing ; it is sure to go down if you
stay too long.*
** * Very likely, most sage and
prudent mentor,' retorted Lord
George ; * but that cuts both ways.
Your friend has been pocketing
our money up to this; it's only fair
he should give us a chance of win-
ning it back and pocketing a little
of his. That is a law universally
recognized, I believe.' As he said
this, he turned to me good-humor-
edly enough ; but I saw where the
emphasis pointed, and, stung to the
quick, I replied that I had not the
least intention of going counter to
the law ; I would remain as long as
the game lasted.
" * Halloo ! That's committing
yourself somewhat rashly,' inter-
posed Hallam. * You don't know
what nefarious gamblers these fel-
lows are ; they're capable of keep-
ing it up till morning !'
** * If they do, I shall keep it up
with them,' I replied recklessly. I
was desperate, and my luck was
good.
** Hallam said no more, but saun-
tered to the other side of the table^
where Ifelt his eyes fixed on me
warningly, entreatingly.
'* I looked up at last, and met
A Messagi.
f.istened on me in a mute,
ienC appeal- I answered it
peremptory nod. He saw I
I rot brook farther interfer-
Bo he took himself off to the
I, and did not reappear
ird.
n ho
cannot recall clearly what
'd during the interval. The
h;id turned suddenly against
hut, nothing daunted, I went
tiTi»K^^^^P^'^'^'l'> lQ^>"g3s fast
had been winning, only in
I ht.ivier sums ; for the stakes
iscn enormously on the change
tk. There was a large pool,
;nse it seemed to me — some
luudred pounds. I lost again
igftin. At last terror sobered
i began to realize the madness
I conduct, and wanted to with-
; but they cried out against
minded me that I had pledged
If to remain and see the game
Lord George was loudest in
sting that I must remain.
can't have luck always,' he
' A man must put up with it
the tide turns. It is of good
for you, Mr. Botfield,' he
1 pointedly ; ' you will be in
did luck to-morrow,'
shuddered. I can remember
lorrible, sick sensation that
Jirough me as he said this,
y, pleasantly, as if he alluded
rowing-match I had in view.
my mother's pale face beck-
me to come away — to stop
i I ruined her utterly. 1 al-
made a movement to rise, but
hing glued me to the chair,
game went on. I again held
ank, and again lost. I had
oney about me except the
pounds or so I had won at
utset; but several leaves out
y pocket book were strewn
the tabic bearing I. O. U.'s for
limes that sum. I suppose
by this time I had quite lost m;
senses. I know that I went <
betting like a maniac, with i
feverish, triumphant impulse of
man in delirium. I was losing iri;-,
mendously. I remember noilun;
except the sound of my own vol
and Lord George's calling Sana
again and again, and how the cryj
ran through me like a blade eve7
time, and how I hastily tore (
fresh leaves and wrote down i
sums I lost, and tossed them to t
winner, and went on. All ihi^
time we had been drinking deeply of
brandy and water, I was natuuDy
abstemious, but to-night
recklessly. The wonder wa
was going to say the pity— thai ^
had not stupefied me long ago, a
so made me physically incapalA
of continuing my insane
But excitement acted, I suppose,*
an antidote, and prevented
alcohol from taking effect a;
otherwise must have done. Au
last Hallam came back. I liai e a
vague recollection of hearing him
exchange some remarks in
dertone with one of the plajer*^
who had given up and w
watchingthegame WLthanuniberofi
others who had dropped in from .id-
joining rooms. I then heard him say,
'Good God! he is ruined taice
over!' I heard nothing more. I
had fallen back insensible in my
chair. Everybody started up ; the
cards were dropped, and all irj5
confusion and terror. It api>tjra
that at the first moment intj
thought I was dead. A yourj
guardsman present declared 1 «.i?.
and that it was disease of Uk
heart ; a young kinsman of his iiaJ
dropped down on parade only 3
month ago just in the same way
There was a cry for a doctor, 3>»l
two or three ran out to fetch ow
Dcfore he arrived, however, I l;..J
A Message.
A67
l^ven signs of reluming conscious-
ness* Up to this moment Lord
George had been anxiously looking
on, silent and pale, they said. He
had borne me with Hallam to a
couch in the next room, where the
air was free from cigar-fumes, and
had opened the window to admit
the fresh night-breeze. Hfe bad
done, in fact, what any humane per-
son would have done under the
circumstances; but he had done it
HI a manner that betokened more
than ordinary interest. He drew an
ftudible breath of relief the mo-
pnent he saw my eyelids quiver and
^eard me breathe like a man awak-
jilig to life. Hallam signed to him
|E»> leave the room ; he did not
Cish his face to be the first I saw
n opening my eyes. Lord George
po doubt understood ; for he at
bnce withdrew into* the card-room.
He drew the door after him, but
he did not quite close it, so that 1
Ihcard dreamily, yet distinctly, all
that was said. Lord George's se-
cond for the morrow's meeting, the
Hon. Capt. Roper, inquired eager-
ly how I WHS going on. * Oh ! he'll
be all right presently,' was the reply,
spoken in Lord George's offhand
way. * There was nothing to make
such a fuss about ; the poor devil
was scared to see how mucli money
he had lost, and fainted like a girl —
that's all.'
" * Hallam says he is quite clear-
ed out by to-night's ill-luck,' ob-
served some one.
*'* Served him right,' said Lord
(leorge ; * it will teach puppies of
his kind not to come amongst us
and make fools of themselves.'
" * And do you mean to shoot
i>ira to-morrow ?* inquired the same
voice.
** * I mean to give him a chance
of shooting me; unless,' he contin-
ued — and I saw in imagination, as
vividly as if my bodily eyes had seen
it, the cold sneer that accompanied
the remark — 'unless he shows the
white feather and declines fighting,
which is just as likely.'
'* While this little dialogue had
been going on in subdued tones
close by the door which opened at
the head of the sofa where I lay,
Hallam was conversing in animated
whispers with two gentlemen in the
window. He was not more than a
minute absent, when he returned to
my side, and, seeing my eyes wide
open, exclaimed heartily: * Thank
God I he's all right again !'
** I grasped his hand and sat up.
They gave me some sal-volatile and
water to drink, and I was, as he
said, all right again. But it was
not the stimulant that restored me,
that gave me such sudden energy,
and nerved me to act at once, to
face my fate and defy it. I took
his arm, and led him, or let him lead
me, to some quieter place near, and
then I asked him how much he
thought I had lost.
*'* Don't think of that yet, my
dear fellow,' he said ; * you are too
done up to discuss it. We will see
what can be done to-morrow.'
" * Five thousand pounds !* I
said. * Do you hear that 1 Five
thousand pounds! That means
that I am a beggar, which an't of
much consequence; and that I've
made a beggar of my mother. She
will have to sell the bed from under
her to pay it, to save my honor.
A curse upon me for bringing this
blight upon her !'
*** Tut ! tut! man, don't take on
like a woman about it !' said Hal-
lam. * These things can be arrang-
ed ; no need to make matters out
worse than they are. I'll speak to
Lord George, and see what terms
we can make with him.*
** He made me light a cigar, and
468
A Message.
left me alone, while he went back to
parley with the man who held my
fortune, my life, my all in his hands.
I never heard exactly all that passed
between them. I only know that
in answer to Lord George's qiies-
tion, put in a tone of insulting
haughtiness, * Has the fellow pledg-
ed himself for more than he's
worth } Can't he pay V Hallam
replied : * He can, but it will ruin
l^im *; upon which the other retort-
ed with a laugh, * What the devil is
that to me?' and turned his back
on my second, who had nothing left
but to take Capt. Roper aside and
arrange for the morrow's meeting.
He came back, and told me all
was settled ; that Halberdyne was
behaving like a brute, and would
be tabooed in the clubs and every
decent drawing-room before twen-
ty-four hours. This thought seem-
ed to afford him great satisfac-
tion. It gave me none. Anguish
had drowned resentment. I could
think of nothing except that I was
a ruined man, that I had beggared
my mother, and that I was going to
fight a duel in a few hours. Rich-
mond Park — 6 a.m. — pistols at
thirty paces ! This was how the
appointment was notified by our
seconds to both of us. Suddenly
a light burst on me — a ray of hope,
of consolation : I might be killed
in tlus duel, and, if so, surely my
honor would be saved and my debt
cancelled. Lord George would not
pursue my mother for the money.
She should know nothing of this
night's work until after the meet-
ing. If I escaped with a wound, I
would tell her ; if I died, wlio would
h.ivc the cruelty to do so } I told
HaUam of this sudden thought as
he walked honie with me. He ap-
proved of it, and cheered me up iiy
almost assuring me that I should be
*hot. Halberdyne was a dead-
shot ; it was most likely that I
should not leave the field alive.
" The night passed — the few
hours of it that must elapse before
the time named for the meeting.
God ! how did I live through
them ? And yet this was nothing,
absolutely nothing, compared to
what was yet in store for me. . . .
" The duel took place. Lord
George wounded me in the hip.
He escaped unhurt ; I fired in the
air. I was carried home on a door,
insensible. Hallam had gone before
to prepare my mother. For sonic
weeks it was feared I would not live.
Then amputation was talkectof. I es-
caped finally with being a cripple for
life. Before I was out of danger, Hal-
lam's leave expired, and he went to
rejoin his regiment. He had been
very assiduous in calling to inquire
for me, had seen my mother, and,
judging by her passionate gnti
that I was in a fair way not to re-
cover, he had forborne mentioning
anything about the five thousand
pounds. She promised to write
and let him know when any change
took place. Meantime, she had
found out my secret. I had talked
incessantly of it in my delirium, and
with an accuracy of iteration that
left no doubt on her mind but that
there was a foundation of truth in
the feverish ravings. The doctor
was of the same mind, and urged
her to give me an opportunity of
relieving my mind of the burden,
whatever it was, as soon as this was
possible.
" The first day that I was strong
enough to bear conversation she
accordingly broached the subject.
1 inferred at once that Hallam had
told her everything, and repeated
the miserable story, only to confinn
what I supposed he had already
said.
*• My mother was sitting by my
A Message.
Aio^
)cdside. She busied herself with
:easeling out linen into lint for my
vound, and so, purposely no doubt,
kept her face continually bent or
iverted from mine.
*' Seeing liow quietly she took it,
t began to think I had overrated the
blisfortune; that we had larger re*
sources in some way than I had im-
igined. ' Then it is possible for us
to pay this horrible debt and save
Biy honor, and yet not be utterly
beggared, mother?'! said eagerly.
She looked at me with a smile that
Dust surely have been the reflex
of some angel near her whom I
could not see. *Yes, my boy; he
11 be paid, and we shall not be
ggars,' she said gently, and press-
my hand in both her own. ' You
riiould have told me about it at
©nee ; it has been preying on your
liiind and retarding your cure all
this time. I will see Mr. Kerwin
to-day, and have it arranged at
nee. Promise me now, like a good
l)oy, to forget it and think no more
of it until you are quite well. Will
you promise } '
**I did not answer, but signed
with my lips for her to kiss me. She
Tose and twined her arms around
me, and let me sob out my sorrow
and my love upon her breast.
" It was about three days after
this that she handed me a letter to
read; it was from Lord George to
Mr. Kerwin, and ran thus :
" * Sir : I beg to acknowledge the
receipt of the sum of five thousand
pounds which you have forwarded
to my lawyers in the name of Mr.
Botfield. I make this acknowledg-
ment personally in order to express
my sincere satisfaction at the happy
progress of Mr. Botfield *s recovery,
and beg you will convey this senti-
ment to him. — I remain, etc.,
*' Halberdyne."
<( <
Mother ! mother !' I cried out,
and opened my arms to her in a
passion of tears. But she laid her
finger smilingly on my lips, and
made me be silent. In a month
hence, when I was well, we should
talk it all over, but not now.
"Before the month was out, she
was dead!^* . . .
Marmaduke started to his feet
with a cry of horror, and Botfield,
unable to control the anguish that
his own narrative evoked, dropped
his head into his hands, and shook
the room with his sobs.
" O dear God ! that I should have
lived to tell it! — to talk over the
mother that I murdered ! Brave,
tender, generous mother ! I killed
you, I broke your heart, and then —
then I brought shame upon your
memory ! O God ! O God ! why
have I outlived it?" He rock-
ed to and fro, almost shouting
in his paroxysm of despair. Mar-
maduke had never beheld such
grief; he had never in his life been
so deeply moved with pity. He
did not know what to say, what to
do. His heart prompted him to do
the right thing : he fell on his knees,
and, putting his arms around the
wretched, woe-worn man, he burst
into tears and sobbed with him.
Botfield suffered his embrace for
a moment, and then, pressing his
horny palm on the young man's
blond head, he muttered : " God
biess you ! God bless you for your
pity !"
As soon as they were both
calmed, Marmaduke asked him if
he would not prefer finishing the
story to-morrow. But he signed to
him to sit down ; that he would go
on with it to the end.
"What is there more to tell?" he
said, sadly shaking his head.
" I was Iving a cripple on my bed
J
470
A Message.
when she was carried to her grave.
I was seized with a violent brain
fever, which turned to typhus, and
they took me to the hospital. The
servants were dismissed ; they had
received notice from my mother.
She had foreseen everything, taken
every necessary step as calmly as if
the catastrophe I liad brought upon
l)er had been a mere change of resi-
dence for her own convenience.
All we had was gone. That brave
answer of hers to my question
about our resources was a subter-
fuge of her love. If ever a sin was
sinless, assuredly that half-uttered
falsehood was. She had directed
the lawyer to raise the money im-
mediately, at every sacrifice. She
meant to work for her bread, and
trusted to me to make the task light
and short to her. I would have
done it had she been spared to me.
So help me God, I would! But
now that she was gone, I had
nothing to work for. I left the
liospital a cripple and a beggar. I
did not even yet know to what an
extant. I went straight to our old
house, expecting to find it as I had
left it — that is, before all conscious-
ness had left me. I found it dis-
mantled, empty ; painters busy on
scaffolding outside. I went to Mr.
Kerwin, and there learned the
whole truth. Nothing remained to
me but suicide. Nothing kept me
from it, I believe, but the prayers of
ray mother."
'*You were a Christian, then.^"
interrupted Marmaduke in a tone
of unfeigned surprise.
" I ought to have been. My
father was, and my mother was ; I
was brought up as one, until I went
to the university and lost what lit-
tle belief I had. For a moment it
seemed to come back to me when I
found myself alone in the world.
I remember walking deliberately
down to the river's side when I left
the lawyer's office, fully determined
to drown myself. But before I
reached the water, I heard ror
mother's voice calling so distinctly
to me to stop that I felt myself ar-
rested as by some visible presence.
I heard the voice saying, * Do you
wish never to see me again even in
the next world V Of course it was
the work of imagination, of nor
over-wrought feelings ; but the ef-
fect was the same. I stopped, and
retraced my steps to Mr. Kerwin's."
" It was your guardian angel, per-
haps your mother's, that saved you,**
said Marmaduke.
"Oh! I forgot," said Botfield.
'* Your brother is a Catholic ; I sup-
pose you are too V*
Marmaduke nodded assent ; he
felt that his Catholicity was not
much to boast of. Like the poor
outcast before him, he had lost his
faith practically, though he adhered
to it in name.
"Yes, it was an angel of sonic
sort that rescued me," said Bot-
field ; " it was no doubt my own
fault if the rescue was not com-
plete. I went back to Mr. Kerwin,
and asked him to give me, or get
me, something to do. My chance
on the stage was at an end, even if
I could have turned to that : I was
dead lame. He got me a situation
as clerk in an office; but the weari-
ness of the life and the pressure of
remorse were more than I could
bear. I took to drink. They for-
gave me once, twice; the third lime
I was dismissed. But of what use
is it to go over that disgusting, pit-
iable story .' Step by step 1 went
down, lower and lower, sinking
each time into fouler depths, drink-
ing more loathsome draughts, wal-
lowing in mire whose very exist-
ence such as you don't dream cf.
I will spare you all those detailv
A Message.
A7i
Enough th&t I came at last to what
you see me. One day when hun-
ger was gnawing me, and even the
Satanic consolation of the public-
liouse was shut against me for want
of a sixpence to pay for a glass of
its diabolical elixir, I fell in with
a man of the trade ; he offered me
work and bread. Hunger is not a
dainty counsellor. I closed with
the offer, and so sank into the last
slough that humanity can take re-
fuge in. . . .
"Now, Mr. Walpole, you have
heard my history ; it was a pain,
and yet, somehow, a relief, to me
to tell it. It has not been a very
pleasant one for you to listen
to ; still, I don't regret having in-
flicted it on you. You are very
young; you are prosperous and
happy, and, most likely, perfectly
free from any of the temptations
that have been the bane of my life ;
still, it never hurts a young man
starting in life to hear an older
man*s experience. If ever tempta-
tion should come near you, dash it
from you with all your might ;
scorn and defy it from the first;
hold no parley with it ; to treat
with perdition is to be lost."
^* Vou have done me a greater
service than you know of," said
Marmaduke, rising and preparing
to take leave of his singular enter-
tainer. •* Perhaps one day I may
tell you. . • ." He took a turn in
tlie narrow room, and then, coming
l»ack to Botfield, resumed in an agi-
tated manner : " Why should I not
oM'n it at once ? You have* trusted
lae with all; I will tell you the
truth."
Botfield looked up in sui^rise,
but said nothing.
**I stand on the very brink of
the abyss against which you warn
me. Like you, I am a barrister;
like you, I hate my profession, and
spend my time reading poetry and
playing at private theatricals. They
are my passion. A few nights ago I
tried my luck at cards, and won.
This tempted me; I played last
night and lost — precisely the sum
of twenty pounds."
Botfield started and uttered a •
suppressed exclamation.
'*! am in debt — not much — a
mere trifle, if it lead to no worse!
You see now what a service you
may have done me ; who knows ?
Perhaps my mother's guardian an-
gel prompted you to tell me your
story as a warning, to save me be-
fore it was too late ! I know that
I came here to-day at the bidding
of an angel ; and reluctant enough
I was to take the message !"
'* I never thought to be of use to
any one while I lived," said Bot-
field with emotion. " I bless God,
anyhow, if my wretched example
proves a warning to you. Who
sent you to me } I understood it
was your brother V*
** So it was ; but it was to please
my sister that I consented to come.
She is one of those angels that
people talk about, but don't often
see. You will let her come and
see you, Mr. Botfield, will you
not r
He held out his delicate laven-
der kid hand, and pressed Bot-
field's grimy fingers cordially.
When Marmaduke got home, he
inquired at once where his sister
was, and, hearing she was in her
room, he crept up quietly to the
door and knocked. He entered so
quietly that Nelly had scarcely '
time to jump off her knees. Mar-
maduke saw at once that he had
^ taken her by surprise ; he saw also
that her eyes were red.
" What is the matter ?" she ask-
ed, with a frightened look. ^' Has
anything happened? You havei
462
A Message.
a sword since we flourished them
ill the fencing hall at Oxford. In
fact, if the choice be mine, as you
say it is, I think I would do better
to choose pistols. I have a chance
with them ; and if Lord George be
a swordsman, I have none with the
other.*
" Hallam seemed seriously dis-
concerted.
"*It's not quite such an affair of
chance as you appear to imagine,*
he said. * Halberdync is one of the
best shots in the service ; he never
misses his mark ; and he is a first-
rate swordsman. Ton my honor I
don't know -what to advise you.'
** ' I must stand advised by my-
self then, and here goes for pistols,*
I said, trying to put a bold face on
it, though I confess I felt anything
but cheerful at the prospect. You
will stand by me, Hallam, will you
not V
" * Of course I will ! I've com-
mitted myself to as much already,'
he answered cordially ; but I saw
he was uncomfortable. * I shall
take your card to the scoundrel
to-morrow morning. I wonder who
he'll have for second — that bully
Roper, very likely,' he went on,
talking more to himself than to me.
" * Is the meeting to take place to-
morrow morning?* I inquired; and
a sudden rush of anguish came on
me as I put the question. I
thought of my mother, of all that
might be in store for her so soon.
" * We must try and put it off for
a day,' said Hallam. * It is deuced-
ly awkward, you see, if it comes off
to-morrow, because of the play.
You may get hit, and it would be
a terrible business if you were hors
de concours for the evening.* There
was something so grimly comical
in the earnestness witli which he
said this that, though I was in no
merry mood, I burst out laughing.
" * A terrible business indeed !' I
said. * How exceedingly unplea-
sant for Lady Caroline particularly
to be left in the lurch on such an
occasion ! However, if I go to the
wall, and Lord George comes off
safe, he might get up the part in a
hurry and replace me, eh V I had
hit the mark without knowing it.
It was jealousy that had provoked
Lord George to the gratuitous at-
tack. I suppose there was some-
thing sardonic in my voice that
struck Hallam with the inappropri-
ateness of his previous remarks.
He suddenly stopped, and grasping
my arm warmly —
'* ' I'm used to this sort of thing,
my dear fellow,* he said; *but
don*t fancy from that that my feel-
ings are turned to stone, or that I
forget all that is, that may be, un-
pleasant in the matter. But there
is no use talking of these things;
they unman a fellow, and he wants
all his nerves in working order at u
moment like this. Take my ad-
vice and go home now, and cool
yourself by a quiet night for to-
morrow's work, if it is to be to-
morrow. You may have some let-
ters to write or other things to at-
tend to, and they had better be
done at once.*
" I replied that I had no letters
to write and no business instruc-
tions to leave. The idea of facing
my home, passing my mother*s door,
and then going to bed as if the world
had not turned right round ; as if all
life, the present and the future, were
not revolutionized — this was what
I did not, at this moment at least,
feel equal to, and I said so.
** * I would rather go for an hour
to the club,* I said, *if you don't
mind, and we will have a game of
billiards. I don't feel inclined to
go home, and I should not sleep if
I went to bed.'
A Message.
463
«C (
Just as you like,* he said ;
*but the night is so fine we may
as well take a few more turns in the
0|)cn air. It does one good after
those heated rooms.'
•* It did me no good. I felt the
most miserable man in this miser-
able world. I would have given
any happiness the world could have
offered me to undo this night's
work, to be as I was an hour ago,
free, guiltless of projected murder
or suicide. I repeated to myself
that it was not my fault ; that I had
been gratuitously provoked beyond
endurance ; that as a gentleman I
could not have done otherwise ;
but these sophistries neither calm-
ed nor strengthened me. Truer
voices rose up and answered them
in clear and imperious tones that
drowned the foolish comforters.
Why had I ever entered the so-
ciety where my position exposed
me to such results ? What busi-
ness had I there } VVhat good could
it do myself or any one else to
have been tolerated, even courted,
as I fancied I was, by these fine
people, who had nothing of any
sort in common with me } I had
forsaken my legitimate place, the
profession that my mother had
made such heavy sacrifices to open
to me* I had deliberately frittered
away my life, destroyed my pros*
pects of honorable success; and
this is what it had brouglit me to !
I was going either to shoot a man
who had done me no graver injury
than offend my pride and punish
my folly, or to be shot down by
him — and then } I saw myself
brought home to my mother dan-
gerously wounded, dead perhaps.
I heard her cry of agony, I saw
her mortal despair. I could have
cried out loud for pity of her. I
could have cursed myself for my
folly — for the mad, sinful folly that
had rewarded her by such an awak-
ening.
"There is an electric current
that runs from mind to mind, com-
municating almost like an articu-
late voice the thoughts that are
passing within us at certain mo-
ments. I had not spoken for sev-
eral minutes, as we paced up and
down Pall Mall, puffing our cigars
in the starlight ; but this current I
speak of had passed from my brain
to Hallam's, and informed him of
what my thoughts were busy on.
" * Don't let yourself down, old
boy,' he said good-naturedly. * No
harm may come of it after all ;
I've known a score of duels where
both sides came off with no more
than a pin-scratch, sometimes with
no scratch at all. Not that I sus-
pect you of being faint-hearted — I
remember what a dare-devil yon
were at Oxford — but the bravest
of us may be a coward for others.'
" I felt something rise in my
throat as if it would choke me. 1
could not get a word out.
" * Who knows } ' continued Hai-
1am in his cheeriest tone; * you
may be bringing down the house
to-morrow night, and your mother
may be the proudest woman in
London, seeing you the king of the
company, cheered and compliment-
ed by " fair women and brave
men !" I feel as sure of it, do you
know, as if I saw it in a glass.'
*' He spoke in kindness, but the
levity of his tone, the utter hollow-
ness of his consolations, were intol-
lerable. They mocked my misery ;
every word pierced me like a knife.
What evil genius had led me across
this man's path ? Only a few weeks
ago I said it was the work of an
angel, a good fairy, or some ab-
surdity of the sort. It was more
likely a demon that had done it. If
I had never met him, I said to my-
474
The Protestant Episcopal Church Congress.
merely a meeting for talk, and not
for action. The strict rules appli-
cable to conventions, synods, and
other business meetings were not
in force. The topics of discussion
were not so much points of doctrine
as minor questions of discipline and
methods of applying the machinery
of the church to the every-day work
of religion'. And with the know-
ledge that no vote was to be taken
upon any subject whatever, the
Congress unanimously agreed to let
every man say what he pleased.
The great variety of irreconcilable
things which it accordingly pleased
the gentlemen to say seems to have
attracted remark, and denomina-
tional papers point to it with pride
as a proof of the large toleration
allowed within the bosom of the
church. If they like it, far be it
from us to interfere with their en-
joyment.
The Episcopal Church is one of
the largest and richest of the Pro-
testant sects. Its clergy are popu-
larly supposed to boast of more
general culture and enjoy fuller op-
portunities for study than those of
the other religious bodies, and its
l)eople are found in large numbers
among the educated and well-to-do
classes. A congress of this church,
gathered from all parts of the coun-
try, representing all shades of opin-
ion, and possessing almost un-
bounded facilities for talk and de-
liberation, ought therefore to have
elicited a great deal that was worth
remembering. The programme of
the sessions was stated in an allur-
ing manner by Bishop Clarke, of
Rhode Island, who made the in-
troductory address. " We come,"
said he, ** to consider how the doc*
trine and organization of the church
ran be brought most effectually to
sanctity''; and then he went on
to speak briefly of the particular
things, in our daily experieBce,
which the church ought to purify
and bless — our business affairs, our
amusements, our care of the poor,
our family relations, the marriage
tie — practical points all of them,
and points, too, in which the church
and the state are more or less in
contact.
Well, having laid out this plan
of work, how did the Congress ad-
dress itself to it ? The first ses-
sion gave a rather curious illustra-
tion of the practical spirit of the
assemblage ; for the reverend gen-
tlemen, by way of '* bringing the
doctrine and organization of the
church most effectually to sanctity,"
rushed straightway with hot haste
into the subject of " ultraman-
tanism and civil authority,** and
pounded upon the doors of the
Vatican the whole afternoon. The
Rev. Francis Wharton, D.D., of
Cambridge, Mass., was careful in
the outset to distinguish betweeB
ultramontanism and the Roman
Catholic Church in the United
States. The mass of us, he be-
lieves, have always been loyal to the
territory of whose population we
form a part, but our loyalty has no
connection with our religion. If
we followed the teachings of our
church, Dr. Wharton thinks we
should be a dangerous set of
people. ** Ultramontanism teaches
that the Pope, a foreign prince, de-
riving his support from a foreign
civilization, is entitled to set aside
governments which he considers
disloyal, and to annul such institu-
tions as he does not approve." We
confess that we do not know what
Dr. Wharton means by the Pope
deriving his support from a foreign
civilization. If. he means his phy-
sical support, then the doctor is
both wrong and right ; for that is
derived from the faithful of the
Tlu Protestant Episcopal Church Congress,
475
whole world. If he means that his
authority is derived from a foreign
civilization, then the doctor is ap-
parently irreverent ; for the papal
authority is derived from the insti-
tution of Our Lord Jesus Christ,
and surely a respectable Cambridge
divine would not call that a foreign
civilization.
As for the distinction which is
drawn between American and ul-
trauiontane Catholics, let us repu-
diate it with all possible warmth
before we go any further. Ultra-
montanism is an oi>jectionable word,
because it was invented to localize
a school of religious doctrine which
is the only catholic school — the
school acknowledged all over the
world; but if it be understood as
defining that spirit of faith and pie-
ty which yields all love and obedi-
ence to the Vicar of Christ, accepts
nil the Vatican decrees gladly and
without reserve, is not afraid of
paying too much respect to the
Holy See, or showing too much
humility before God, or believing
one little partfcle more than we are
commanded to believe under pain
of anathema, then the Catholics of
America are ultramontane Catho-
lics to a man. Probably there are
no Catholics in any country of the
world less disposed to compromise
in matters of religious duty, and
more thoroughly imbued with filial
reverence and love for the Head
of God's church on earth, than the
Catholics of the United States.
The spirit of the church in Rome
\s the spirit of the church in Amer-
ica ; and when Dr. Wharton asserts
that " the political tenets of ultra-
montanism are repudiated by the
leading Catholic statesmen of our
bnd," he makes an utterly errone-
ous statement, against which Ameri-
can Catholics will be the first to
protest. It is very true that with
the fictitious ultramontanism con-
ceived of his fears and prejudices
neither Americans nor any other
sensible people have the slightest
sympathy. But show us what Rome
teaches, and there you have precise-
ly what the church in the United
States accepts- If it is true, therefore
that the Pope claims authority ^* to
set aside governments which he
considers disloyal, and to annul
such institutions as he does not
approve," it must be true that
America upholds his pretensions.
Dr. Wharton may live in the fear
that His Holiness will some day
send the Noble Guard to set aside
the government of Gen. Grant
whenever it becomes " disloyal'* ;
while h« may well feel an absolute
certainty that our common-school
system, our constitutional prohibi-
tion of the establishment of a state
church, our laws against sectarian
appropriations, and various other
wicked and heretical provisions
found on our statute-books, will
sooner or later be '^ annulled " by
a decree from the Vatican. He
need not flatter himself that any
superior enlightenment among the
Catholics of America will save the
Protestant community from the
miserable fate in store for it. We
are not a bit wiser or better than
the Pope.
The possible interference of the
Vatican with our Congresses and
ballot-boxes Dr. Wharton evident-
ly regards as a very remote danger.
There are points, however, he
thinks, where the Vatican clashes
every day with the civil power, and
where it ought to be resisted with
all the energy at our command.
And just at this part of the reve-
rend doctor's address we should like
very much to have seen the face of
Bishop Clarke. In his introductory
remarks Bishop Clarke told the
476
Tke Pi'otestant Episcopal Church Congress.
Congress that one of the most im-
portant subjects for churchmen to
consider was the influence or au«
thority of the church over the fam-
ily relations. ** The Gospel obtain-
ed hold of the family before it
touched the state. How does the
condition of the marriage bond
stand today? In some of our
States it is as easy to solve it as it
is to join it. Is this the religion
of which , we have made such
boast?" But here, before the
echoes of the bishop's words
have fairly died away, is the
Rev. Dr. Wharton on his feet
denouncing as a crime the very in-
terference which Bishop Clarke in-
culcated as a duty. It is one of
the usurpations of ultramontanism,
says the Cambridge doctor, to an-
nul civil marriages which the state
holds binding, and to treat as inva-
lid divorces which the state holds
good. This is one of the most se-
rious conflicts between the state
and the Vatican, and it is one, if
we understand aright the somewhat
imperfect report of his remarks,
in which Protestant Episcopalians
must prepare themselves to take
an earnest part, remembering that,
while their church is free, it is '* a
free church within a free sovereign
state, and that this state, in its own
secular sovereignty, is supreme."
Here, then, we have a distinct de-
claration that the family relation is
not a proper subject of religious
regulation. If the state sees fit to
make it as easy to loose the mar-
riage bond as to tie it, the church
has no right to object ; it is a secu-
lar matter, and the free sovereign
state is supreme in its own secular
sovereignty. If the state sanc-
tions an adulterous connection, the
Protestant Episcopal Church must
revise its Bible and bless the un-
holy tie ; it is a secular matter, and
the free sovereign state is supreme
in its own secular sovereignty.
The sanctity of the family relation
is under the protection of the?
church, says Bishop Clarke. No
such thing, replies Dr. Wharton —
that is an insolent ultramontane
pretension ; the Protestant Episco-
pal Church knows its place^ and
does not presume to interfere with
the legislature. " The Gospel ob-
tained hold of the family before it
touched the state," says the bi-
shop. " Oh ! well,' we have changed
all that," rejoins the doctor; the
glory of the Protestant Episcopal
gospel nowadays is that it lets
the family alone. In point of fact,
Episcopalian ism is not quite so
bad as this hasty advocate would
have us believe ; for it does censure,
in a mild way, the laxity of some
of the divorce laws, and does not
always lend itself to the celebration
of bigamous marriages. But Dr.
Wharton is correct in his main po-
sition — that his church leaves to the
state the control of the family re-
lation ; and if she shifinks from the
logical consequences of her deser-
tion of duty, that is only because a
remnant of Catholic feeling re-
mains to her in the midst of her
heresies and contradictions. The
time must come, however, when
these illogical fragments of truth
will be thrown away, and the Pro-
testant Episcopal Church will take
its place beside the other Protest-
ant bodies in renouncing all right
to be heard on one of the most im-
portant points of contact between
the law of God and the concerns
of every-day life. It is impossible
to allow the civil power to bind
and loose the family tie at pleasure,
without admitting that the subject
is entirely outside the domain of
ecclesiastical supervision. The at-
tempt of the Episcopal Church to
I
The Protestant Episcopal Church Congress.
477
compromise on adultery is an ab-
surdity, and in the steady course
of Protestant development it will
surely be abolished.
Is there any particular in wliich
the Protestant Episcopal Church
fairly takes hold of the family ? We
have seen that she abandons to
politicians the sacred tie between
the parents; what has she to do
with the next domestic concern —
the education of the child ? Dr.
Wharton holds it to be one of her
distinguishing claims to public
favor that she abandons this duty
also to the secular power. The
right to control education, accord-
ing to him, is, like the right to sanc-
tion the marriage tie, one of the in«
Solent pretensions of the Vatican
usurper. The state, he thinks, is
l>ound not only to educate all its
subjects, but to decide what points
A secular education shall cover,
while the church may only add to
tins irreligious training such pious
instruction as the child may have
tunc and strength to receive after
the more serious lessons are over.
'*The church," he says, "concedes
to the state the right and duty to
require a secular education from all,
while for itself it undertakes, as a
free church in a free state, the right
and duty to give a religious educa-
tion to' all within its reach." Ex-
pressed in somewhat plainer Eng-
lish, this means that thirty hours a
week ought to be given to the dic-
tionary and multiplication table,
and one hour to the catechism and
the ten commandments. Send your
children to schools all the week
where they will hear nothing what-
ever of religion, where that most
vital of all concerns will be a for-
bidden subject, where the idea will
be practically, if not in so many
words, impressed upon their tender
minds that it is of no consequence
whether they are Christians, or
Jews, or infidels, so long as they
master the various branches of
worldly knowledge which promote
success in the secular affairs of
life ; and then get them into Sun-
day-school if you can, for a wild
and ineffectual attempt to counter-
act the evil tendencies of| the pre-
vious six days' teachings. This is
trying to give a Christian education
without the corner-stone of Chris-
tian doctrine; building a house
upon the sand, and then running
around it once a week with a hatful
of pebbles and a trowel of mud to
put a foundation under the finished
structure. Dr. Wharton seems to
embody in his own person a sur-
prising variety of the inconsisten-
cies for which the Protestant Epis-
copal Church has such a peculiar
celebrity. For here, after lie has
claimed credit for his church as the
champion of a secular education,
he tells the Congress that secular-
ism is one of the great dangers of
the age, against which the church
must fight with all her strength.
" The battle with secularism has to
be fought out." It must be fought
" by the church, and eminently by
our own church. Our duty there-
fore is to fit ourselves for the en-
counter, and we must do this with
the cause of religion, undertaking
in its breadth and embracing all
branches of religious, spiritual, and
ethical culture." Well, but, dear
sir, you have just said that during
the most important period of man's
intellectual development, when the
mind is receiving impressions which
are likely to last through life, the
church ought to stand aside and
let the state teach secularism with-
out hindrance. Are you going to
cultivate secularism in the young
until it becomes firmly rooted, an I
then fight against it with sermons
478
The Pt'ctcstant Episcopal Church Congress.
and essays wjiich your secularized
young men will not listen to ? How
do you expect to impart religious,
s|)iritual, and ethical culture when
you have formally renounced your
inestimable privilege and your sa-
cred duty as a guide and teacher
of children ? You propose to wait
until your boys have come to man's
estate before you attempt to exer-
cise any influence upon them ; and
then, when they have grown up
with the idea that religious influ-
ence ought to be avoided as one
avoids pestilence, you wonder and
complain that they are indifferent
to the church and will not hear
you. " The battle with secularism
has to be fought out." Your way
of fighting is to abandon the out-
posts, leave front and rear and
flanks unprotected, and throw
away your arms.
It was one of the peculiarities of
the Congress that whatever error
was promulgated in the essays and
debates, somewhere in the course
of the sessions an antidote was sure
to be furnished — this being an illus-
tration, we suppose, of the extreme
toleration of opinion to which Bi-
shop Clarke referred as '* some-
what singular " in a church " so
fixed in its doctrines." Hence we
need not be surprised to find in the
second day's proceedings a refuta-
tion of the educational theories pro-
pounded during the first. Dr.
Wharton made use of the principle
of secular schooling as a weapon
of offence against the Vatican. But
when the delegates had relieved
their minds and vindicated their
Protestant orthodoxy by giving the
poor Pope about as much as he
could stagger away with, they turn-
ed their attention to their own con-
dition, and one of their first subjects
of inquiry was what secular educa-
tion had done for them. The topic
of consideration on the second
morning was "The Best Methods
of Procuring and Preparing Can-
didates for the Ministry." Dr.
Schenck of Brooklyn began by stat-
ing that the supply of candidates
for holy orders was not only inade-
quate to the needs of the church,
but it was falling off — ^a smaller
number offering themselves to-da?
than six or seven years ago. Th)s,
said he, should excite the gravest
concern of the church ; and nobody
seemed disposed to contradict him.
Dr. Edward B. Boggs indeed pre-
sented some uncomfortable statis-
tics which tell the whole story. In
1871, the number of resident pres-
byters of the Episcopal Church in
the United States was 2.566 ; in
1874, it was only 2,530. Here, then
while the population increases the
clergy are diminishing. A great
many reasons were suggested for
the phenomenon. One thought the
question of salary was at the bot-
tom of the evil. Another blamed
mothers for not giving their boys a
taste for the ministry while they
were young. A third believed
the trouble was too little prayer
and too much quarrelling over can-
dles and ecclesiastical millinerv.
And more than one hinted in the
broadest terms that the ministry*
was discredited by having too many
fools in it.* The truth, however,
which had been vaguely suggested
by some of the earlier speakers,
was plumply told by Dr. Ed-
ward Sullivan of Chicago. " The
church," said he, "must learn ti>
supply the ranks of the ministry
Dr. SctMrndc said : ** It liad been a laaxiai \\ai.
the fool of the taaoSXy should go into the mioBtry,
and he was sorry to say that there were many of
those who had i^ped their way into tt. It had
been stated that a minister would often pay tvioe
before he would be sued. . . . Rev. Dr. Nev-
ton said that he would stand a suit before he woeU
pay twice. The speaker replied that he was gfa4
there was some pluck in those xaattcxs ** {Re/ci
tm t.kt Pktladel^MU Frrtt).
The Protestant Episcopal Church Congress.
479
from her own material " — that is to
say, by giving the. children of the
church a Christian education. He
lamented the exclusion of the Bible
from some of the common schools
as a national calamity — not, if we
understand him, because he has any
overweening faith in the efficacy of
Bible-reading p^r se^ but because
he knows that when positive reli-
gious teaming is banished from the
school, the children can hardly fail
to grow up without any religious
feeling whatever. ** Until we estab^
lish parochial church schools,'* he
continued, " we can never solve this
problem,** And he might have add-
ed that if the teaching of secularism
is to be continued for a generation
or two longer, the problem will
solve itself: there will be no need
of preachers when there cease to be
congregations.
If such an alarming phenomenon
as an actual falling off in the num-
bers of the clergy were noticed in
our own holy church, it would per-
haps occur to good Catholics to in-
quire whether the bishops were do-
ing all that they ought to do for the
souls of their people. But the
Episcopal Congress at Philadelphia
seems to have been vexed with the
idea that the bishops were doing
entirely too much. Looking at the
assemblage from the outside, we
cannot pretend to see the under-
currents of opinion, or to compre-
hend the denominational politics;
i)ut it was plain both from the tone
of the addresses in the session set
apart for considering the " Nature
and Extent of Episcopal Authority "
and from the manner in which some
of the remarks of the speakers were
received, that a jealousy of episcopal
authority prevailed with considera-
hkbitterness. Dr. Vinton of Boston
drew a parallel between the govern-
ment of the church and the govern-
ment of the state ; both were ruled
by executives appointed by law and
controlled by law, and in each case
the chief officer acted by the as-
sumed authority of those he gov-
erned. The bishops therefore, wc
infer, have just as much power as
the people choose to give them, and
we see no reason why the congrega-
tions should not enlarge and restrict
that power at pleasure — make a new
constitution,' if they wish, every
year, and treat their prelates as the
savage treats his idol, which he sets
upon an altar for worship in the
morning, and if things go not well
with, him, kicks, into the kennel at
night. Indeed, since the founda-
tion of the Anglican Church the
episcopate has always been treated
with scant ceremony. Dr. Vinton
tells us that it is a reflex of the poli-
tical organization, and as that has
varied a great deal in England and
America, and is not unlikely in the
course of time to vary a great deal
more, we must not be surprised to
find the system undergoing many
strange modifications and holding
out the promise of further change
indefinitely. In the primitive
church, the episcopacy was a des-
potism. In the Anglican Church, it
is " merely an ecclesiastical aristoc-
racy." In the Protestant Episcopal
Church of America, where the exigen-
cies of politics have to be consider-
ed, it is — well, that is just what the
Congress tried in vain to determine.
For one thing, Dr. Vinton and other
speakers after him laid great stress
upon the fact that its authority was
carefully circumscribed by statute,
and that the church was a corpora-
tion — though whence it derived its
charter nobody was good enough
to tell us. In truth, we did not
find the day*s proceedings edifying.
Dr. Vinton declared that an organ-
ic evil of the church constitution,
48o
The Protestant Episcopal Church Congress.
** boding more of mischief and sor-
row to the body of Christ than any
or all of the evils besides that our
age makes possible," was the lia-
bility of bishops to grow arrogant
of power, to make their authority
troublesome, to put on idle pomp,
and set themselves " in conspicuous
difference from the taste, the tradi-
tions, the educated and intelligent
convictions which the providence
of God has caused to rule in this
land." Dr. Fulton of Indianapo-
lis inveighed with warmth against
any bishop who ventured to in-
trude into another' man's diocese,
and remarked that " some bishops
were never at home unless they
were abroad." A bishop, contin-
ued the doctor, is subject to civil
law. He should be tried for vio-
lation of the ninth commandment
if he wilfully slander a clergyman
f ither in or out of his own diocese,
llishops must not affect infallibili-
ty in doctrinal utterances.- They
must remember that in more than
one respect they and their presby-
ters are equals. ^A bishop who
would be respected must respect
the rights of other bishops — not
being an episcopal busybody in
other men's sees. Dr. Goodwin
of Philadelphia thought that what
our Lord meant to have was " a
moderate episcopate." Dr. Wash-
burn of New York believed tfcat
even the powers granted to the
apostles were not exclusive, and
that eAer since the apostolic age
these powers had been gradually
more and more distributed, until
now, we should think, they must
be so finely divided that no frag-
ment of them is anywhere visible
in the Episcopal Church.
Dr. J. V. Lewis convulsed the
house with laughter by a speech
in which he declared that the bish-
ops had been so ** tied hand and
foot by conventions and canons
that it was wonderful they had time
to do anything but find out what
they must not do" ; and he called
upon the church to " cut those
bands and let the bishops loose."
We quote from the report of his
remarks in the Church Journal:
'•What will they do.? He would
tell them what they would do. He
had at home in his yard^x chick-
ens about half-grown. He had
placed among them a turkey big
enough to eat any of them up.
But they all flew at him. One lit-
tle fellow pecked him and spurred
him savagely. The turkey looked
on in perfect astonishment, appa-
rently ; but at length he spread out
his wings and literally sat down
upon him. From that day to this,
whenever that turkey stirs, these
chickens cannot be kept from fol-
lowing him. And this is just what
will happen in the church, if we
will only let our bishops loose."
All this was the cause of much'in-
nocent hilarity among the brethren;
but we fear that it was to Dr. Lew-
is that the Churchman referred the
next week in the following solemn
strain : '* It is a sad circumstance
that the ministry has in it, here
and there, a professional joker and
cheap story-teller and anecdote-
monger, one of the most tedious
and least estimable types of foolish-
ness that try Christian endurance
and vex religious families. It is
to be hoped no such melancholy-
moving buffoon will ever propose
himself as clown to the Church
Congress ; and, short of that, will
it be wise to confer the award of
the heartiest and loudest applause
on a sort of comic pleasantry and
* jesting not convenient * which,
at best, is outdone in its own line
in* whole columns of daily newspa-
pers ? We may smile, because it
Tlie Protestant Episcopal Church Congress,
481
cannot be helped, but we cair^urely
reserve our plaudits — if they must
be given at all — for that species of
superiority which manifests a chaste
refinement and suits tastes that are
intellectual rather than jovial.'*
Clearly there was a great deal
more in these essays on the limita*
tions of episcopal authority than
met the profane eye. Who are the
trespassed upon other men's sheep*
folds, and the busybodies, and the
slanderers, and the pompous bi-
shops, and the infallible bishops,
and the bishops who think them-
selves better than their presbyters,
it is not for us to inquire. Neither
perhaps would it be decorous to
ask how the ten or twelve bishops
in the Congress — none of whom
opened their mouths during the
debate — enjoyed the session. But
there is excellent reason to believe
that the presbyters had a very
pleasant day, singing the opening
hymn in the morning, " Come, gra-
cious Spirit, heavenly dove," with
peculiar unction, and joyously dis-
uiissing their right reverend fathers
in the afternoon with the verses,
• Go forth, ye heralds, in my name."
If the bishops a/e in disrepute
and the inferior clergy are falling
away, it can hardly be necessary to
icU us that the church has no real
hold upon the people ; that follows
as a matter of course. According-
ly, the most interesting of the de-
bates were on the best methods of
giving vitality to the work of the
church — on ministrations to the la-
boring classes, on free churches and
free preaching, on the abuses of
il»c new system, and on the need
of something equivalent to the
preaching Orders and Congregations
of oar own church. Of all the pa-
|icrs read at the Congress the only
one which was received with what
we may fairly call enthusiasm was
VOL. XXII. — 31
an essay by Mr. Francis Wells, edi-
tor of the Philadelphia Evening
Bulletin^ on the " Parochial System
and Free Preaching," at the close
of which one of the reverend dele-
gates jumped upon a bench and
led the assembly in three cheers.
We have seen no report which gives
a fair abstract of Mr. Wells' paper,
or even explains what practical
suggestions he had to offer, so that
it is impossible to understand what
it was that moved the feelings of
the Congress. But if he drew a
faithful picture of the average
Episcopal Church of our day he
may well have startled his audi-
ence. '* The chief trouble," he
said, "lies in the spirit of exclu-
siveness which eyes the fasliion of
the dress and warns off strangers
with a cold stare." He was quite ^
right in holding that the renting of
pews and the expenditure of lar>;e
sums of money for the adornment
of the house of God are not neces-
sarily obstacles to the influence of
the church over the masses. Our
own experience proves that. What
poor and ragged sinner was ever
repelled from a Catholic Church
by imposing architecture, or gor-
geous windows, or the blazing mag-
nificence of lighted altars, or the
strains of costly music } The rich
ha^ their pews — at least in this
country, where it is only by pew-
rents that we can meet the neces-
sary expenses of the parish — but
the most wretched beggar feels that
he is welcome at all times in the
splendid temple, and he may kneel
there, feasting the senses, if lu* '
pleases, as well as refreshing the
soul, without fear that his more
comfortable neighbor will stare at
his humble garments. Whatever
the character of our churches, it is
always the poor who fill. them. It
never occurs to a Catholic that the
1
:s::zji£ :ipts£jfial C/iurch Congress.
.*»V-V»**''C
- - - - ^» »»»Wi
«i :i .-a
— . --<
s .
^v,. :• ▼ ./*
■» - -^ " • • ■» "
.>.-.•. -^. > '^ ^
> . .:"^--L V
, . . ^ >.. ' ^.'^ K' '■^'•^-•^ '*
» . V ..<i'. IV. - *^ ,- '^ *>•
V .;>.».♦ >kOa> ^.i.ec per*
V , ^,,, . .\ >♦ ii^.c ra>;.e ot nve-
... V. vx v>^cci»»a^ up t'.ie aisles.
^ 1 . K...^.N^^iic vii>puiy oi milli-
V , . , . I *s wc u wo w li re else fo r
... »K'.K\. W .Kit IS a working-
, o ,.o \\ Miv«i A bnlhant g.ith-
,< I ux.* He looks timidly at
»..s :^ %v.tl"H *i''iv.l he finds there
» K* i>vv» oi tliree old women,
^ p, uiiv^uci's Sunday-school
^ , ,i» wi'i^n »»^'»^ who keep near
^ ^;v.,a \\\ vAsicr to :ilip out quietly
« • • •
\.
when t^ey are tired of the scrvicci,
but noDody of his class. The pros-
perous people all around him listen
:o die choir, and the reader, and
toe preacher, with an indescribable
Jir of proprietorship in all of them.
Hie sermon is an elaborate essay
addressed to cultivated intellects,
lot to his common understanding.
lie ^oes avay with the uncoraforta*
jte consciousness that hV*lias been
.n:rudin<^, and feels like a shabby
jhU. ankempt person who has stroll-
ed jy mistake into the stockholder
173 w ox the Italian Opera, and been
mned oat by a high-toned box
*,::rper. ** It is indeed hard to im-
a.r :e.*' said The Nation the other
vi-^', " o^jLaing more likely to makt
-^..^- :a seem repelling to a poor
man wiaa the sight of one of the
^cr5^:-,is edifices in which rich
C.ii-.sLans nowadays try to make
:.:eir wxj to heaven. Working out
oiies s^ration clothed in the height
of : :e Lishion, as a member of a
weil:.:y cl jb, in a building in which
:.:e am l' Lest provision is made lor
::ie in'^ridcation of all the finer
senses^ must seem to a thoughtful
ci:y met: ban ic, for instance, some*
tii.n^ ui the nature of a burlesque.
Njc that the building is too good
for die lofty purpose to which it is
devccid* for nobody ever gets an
impression of anything but solemn
a;procrij.teness from a great Calh-
ci.v: cj.:be\iral, but that it is the
property of a close corporation,
w^o, as it mi^ht be said, * make up
a party * to go to the Throne of
Grace, and share the expenses
equally, and fix the rate so high
that only successful business-men
can join."
But we need not enlarge upon
the prevalence of this evil. The
speakers at the Congress recognized
it frankly, and they are undoubted-
ly aware, though they may not have
The Protestant Episcopal Church Congress.
483
deeinecL it prudent to confess, that
tilt; case. is growing more and more
hkcrious all the time. As wealth
concentrates in the large cities and
habits of luxury increase, the Pro-
testant Episcopal Church is contin-
ually becoming colder and colder
towards the poor. No remedy that
has been proposed holds out the
faintest promise of stopping this
alarming feline. No remedy pro-
posed even meets the approbation
of any considerable number of the
Episcopal clergy. One speaker pro-
poses a greater number of free
congregations, and is met by the
obvious objection that the result
would be a still more lamentable
separation between rich and poor,
with a different class of churches
for each set. Another recommends
the bishops to send missionary
preachers into every parish where
there seems to be need of their
labor, but does not tell us where
I lUe missionaries are to be found,
and forgets that almost every parish
in the United States would have to
be supplied in this way before the
evil could be cured. A third ad-
vises the rich and poor to meet to-
gether, and fraternize and help each
other ; and a fourth calls for more
2eal all around. All these propo-
sals are merely various ways of
stating the disease; they do not
indicate remedies. Perhaps it may
occur to some people that if the
Catholic Church and the Episcopal
Church correspond so closely in
their outward operations, both striv-
ing to celebrate divine worship with
all possible splendor, both build-
ing costly churches and supporting
them by pew-rents, both employing
highly paid choirs, both keeping up
a system of parishes, and if all the
while the one gathers people of
every rank and condition into her
fold, offering health and consolation,
to all alike, while the other is con-
stantly losing the affections of the
multitude and becoming a lifeless
creature of forms and fasliions, the
explanation of the diffewnce after
all may be that the Holy Ghost
lives and works in the one, while
the other is only the device of man..
4?4
YuU Raps.
YULE RAPS.
A CHRISTMAS STORK
We once saw a picture of a wide,
undulating snow-landscape, over-
spread with a pale rosy tint from
the west, and we thought it a fancy
picture of an Arctic winter. It
hung in a pretty room in a Silesian
country-house. The weather was
.lovely, warm but temperate ; it was
mid-June, and the woods were full
•of wild strawberries, and the mea-
dows of forget-me-nots. Yet that
.landscape was simply Silesia in
the winter; the same place, six
months later, becomes a wilderness
of snow. What shall we say of
Mecklenburg, then, so much farther
to the north of Silesia ? But even
there winftr brings merriment ; and
as in these snow-bound countries
there is less work to be got through
in the winter, their people associate
'the ideas of pleasure and holiday
with the cold ratli«r than the warm
weather. In Mecklenburg spring,
•summer, and autumn mean work —
ploughing, sowing, haying, harvest-
ing; winter means fun and frolic,
peasants' dances, farmers' parties,
weddings, christenings, harvest-
homes, Christmas, New Year's, and
Epiphany presents, gatherings of
friends, fireside talk, innocent games,
and general merriment.
In a little village in this province
the house of Emanuel Kohler was
•famous for its jollity. Here were
old customs well kept up, yet al-
ways with decorum and a regard iq
higher matters. Emanuel was vir-
tually master of the estate of Stel-
hagen, the absentee owner of which
was a giy young officer who never
wrote to his agent, except for a new
supply of money. Clever and en-
lightened an agricultur^^ as old
Kohler was, it was sometimes diffi-
cult for hini to send the required
sums, and yet have enough to farm
the estate to his satisfaction, in
the language of the country, he was
called the inspector, and his house,
also according to the local custom,
was a kind of informal agricultural
school. At the time of our story he
had four young men under him «-*wbo
were in all respects like the appren-
tices of the good old time — ^and two
of his own relatives, his son and his
nephew. His only daughter was
busy helping her mother, and learn-
ing to bMft efficient a honsejceeper
as the y^Bmen to be first-rate far-
mers ; anothis n acleos of young so*
ciety, added to the good Kohler's
hearty joviality and the known
good -cheer always provided by
Frau Kohler, flatu rally made tbf
large, cosey, rambling house a plea-
sant rendezvous for the neighbor-
hood. The Kohler household was
a host in itself, yet it always loved
to be reinforced on festive occa-
sions by the good people of the
village and farms within ten mile?
round. So also the children, whe-
ther poor or pretty well off, were
all welcome at old Emanuel's, ami
knew the way to the Frau Inspci-
torin's pantry as well as they knew
the path to the church or the
school. All the servant-girls in the
neighborhood wanted to get a place
in this house, but there was scarce-
ly ever a vacancy, unless one of the
Yule Raps.
485
dairy-maids or the house-girls mar-
ried. Frau Kdhler and her daugh-
ter did all the kitchen work them-
selves, and the latter, a thoughtful
girl, though she was only fifteen,
studied books and maps between-
whiles. But her studies never in-
terfered with the more necessary
knowledge that a girl should have
when, as Rika,* she has to depend
upon herself for everything. In
the country, in the Mecklenburg of
even a very few years ago, every-
thing was home-made, and a sup*
ply of things from the large town
twenty or thirty miles off was the
event of a life-time. Such things
came as wedding-gifts ; and though
fancy things came every Christmas,
even they were carefully and sa-
credly kept as tokens of that mir-
aculous, strange, bewildering world
outside, in which people wore their
stik dresses every day, and bought
everything they wanted at large
jkliops a few steps from their own
houses. Frau Kohler j|^n won-
dered what other won^^Hid who
had no farm-house to m^mage, no
spinning, or knitting, or cooking, or
dairy-work to do ; and when her
daughter Rika suggested that they
probably read and studied, she
shrugged her shoulders and said :
** Take care, child ; women ought
to attend to women's work. Study-
ing is a man's business."
The honest soul was a type of
many an old-fasliioned German
liouse-nfiother, of whose wisdom it
were well that some of our contem*
poraries could avail themselves; and
when Rika gently reminded her of
the story of Martha and Mary, she
would energetically reply :
'* Very well ; but take my word
for it, child, there was a woman
more blessed than that Mary, and
•Short for Pnd«rika.
one who was nearer yet to her Lord ;
and we do not hear of her neglect-
ing her house. I love to think of
that house at Nazareth as just a
model of household cleanliness and
comfort. You know, otherwise, it
could not have been a fitting place
for Him; for though he chose pover-
ty, he must needs have surrounded
himself with spotless purity."
And Rika, as humble and docile
as she was thoughtful, saw in this
reverent and practical surmise a
proof that it is not learning that
comes nearest to the heart of truth,
but that clearer and directer know-
ledge which God gives to " babes
and sucklings."
This particular Christmas there
was much preparation for the family
festival. The kitchen was in a fer-
ment for a week, and mighty bak-
ings took place ; gingerbread and
cake were made, and various con-
fectionery-work was done ; for Frau
Kohler expected a friend of her
own early home to come and stay
with her this last week of the year.
This was the good old priest who
had baptized her daughter; for
neither mother nor daughter were
natives of Mecklenburg, though
the latter had grown up there, and
had never, since she was six months
old, gone beyond the limits of the
large estate which her father ad-
ministered. Frau Kohler was a Ba-
varian by birth, and had grieved very
much when her Mecklenburg hus-
band had taken her to this northern
land, where his position and wages
were so good as to make it his duty
to abide and bring up his family.
But the worthy old creature had done
a wonderful deal of good since she
had been there, and kept up her
faith as steadfastly as ever she had at
home. Frederika had been her trea-
sure and her comfort ; and between
the mother's intense, mediaeval firm-
486
YuU Raps.
nessof belief, and the child's natural-
ly deep and thoughtful nature, the
little farm-maiden had grown up a
rare combination of qualities, and
a model for the young Catholic
womanhood of our stormy times.
The old priest whom Frau Kohler
had looked up to before her mar-
riage as her best friend, and whom
Rika had been taught to revere
from her babyhood, had been very
sick, and was obliged to leave his
parish for a long holiday and rest.
His former parishioner was anxious
that he should see Christmas kept
in the old-fashioned northern style,
more characteristic than the French-
ified southern manners would now
allow, even in her remote native
village. Civilization carries with it
the pick-axe and the rule ; and when
young girls begin to prefer Manches-
ter prints and French bonnets to
homespun and straw hats, roost of
the old customs slip away from their
homes.
In the sturdy Mecklenburg of
twenty years ago, even after the
temporary stir of 1848, things were
pretty much as they had been for
centuries, and it was Emanuel's
pride that his household should be,
if needful, the last stronghold of
the good old usages. He heartily
acquiesced in his wife's invitation
to the southern guest, and resolved
to have the best Christmas that had
been known in the country since
he had undertaken the care of the
Stelhagen estate. In truth, he liv-
ed like a patriarch among liis work-
people ; his laborers and their fam-
ilies were models of prosperity and
content, and the children of all the
neighborhood wished he were their
grandfather. Indeed, he was god-
father to half the village babies
born during his stay there.
The sleighs of the country were
the people's pride. Some were
plain and strong, because their
owners were not rich enough !o
adorn them, but others were quiir
a curiosity to the visitor from ihr
south. They partook of the sanu*
quaintness as the old yellow famii>
coaches that took the farmers to har-
vest-homes and weddings before iht
early snows came on. Lumbering*
heavy-wiieeled vehicles these were,
swinging on high like a cradle tied
to a couple of saplings in a stonu ;
capacious as the house- mother's
apron-pockets on a baking day;
seventy years old at least, barriDg
the numerous patchings and mend-
ings, new lining or new wheel,
occasionallv vouchsafed to the
venerable representative of the
family dignity. The sleighs were
much gayer and a little less an-
tiquated, because oftener used,
and therefore oftener worn out ; be-
sides, there were fashions in sleighs
even in this remote place — fash-
ions indigenous to the population,
each individual of which was capa-
ble of some invention when sleigh* j
were in question. On Chnstnijs
Eve, long before it grew dark, many
of these pretty or curious convey-
ances clattered up to the farm-
house door. St)me w^ere laden with
children two rows deep, all wrap-
ped in knitted jackets, blankets,
boas, etc., and here and there cov-
ered with a fur cap or furred hood;
for knitting in this neighborhood
supplied all with warm winter
wraps, even better than woven or
machine-made stuffs do nowadays.
There were no single sleighs, no
tiny, toy-like things made to dis-
play the rich toilet of the occu-
pant and the skill of the fast dri-
ver by her side ; here all were hon-
est family vehicles, full of rosy
faces like Cliristmas apples; hearty
men and women who at three-
score were almost as young as
Yule Raps.
487
their grand-children on their bri-
dal day ; and young men and maid-
ens who were not afraid to dance
and move briskly in their plain,
loose, home-spun and home-made
elothes, nor to fall in love with
Oerman downrightness and hon-
est, practical intentions. Most of
these sleighs were red, picked
out with black, or black lib-
erally sprinkled with red ; some
were yellow and black, some yellow
and blue, and in most the robe
and cushions were of correspond-
ing colors. Some of these robes
had eagles embroidered in coarse
patterns and thick wool, while oth-
ers were of a pattern something
like those used for bed-quilts; and
^ome bore unmistakable witness to
the thrift of the house-mother, and
were skilfully pieced together out
of carpet, curtain, blanket, and
dress remnants, the whole border-
ed with some inexpensive fur. One
or two sleighs bore a sort of figure-
head — the head of a deer, or a fox,
or a hawk — carved an^J let into
the curling part of the front; while
one party, who were gazed upon
with mingled admiration and dis-
approval, went so far as to trail
after them, for three or four feet
behind the sleigh, and sweeping
up the snow in their wake, a thick
scarlet cloth of gorgeous appear-
ance, but no very valuable texture.
This was the doing of a young fel-
low who had lately been reading
one or two romances of chivalry,
and been much pleased with the
''velvet housings of the horses,
sweeping the ground as the knight
rode to the king's tournament/'
His indulgent old mother and ad-
miring sisters had but faintly re-
monstrated, and this was the con-
sequence. The horses were not
less bedecked than the vehicles.
Stiver bells hung from their har-
ness and belted their bodies in va-
rious places ; shining plates of me-
tal and knobs driven into the lea-
ther made them as gay as circus*
horses ; while horse-cloths of varie-
gated pattern were rolled up under
the feet of their masters, ready for
use whenever they stopped on the
road.
Emanuel himself had gone to
the nearest town at which a stage-
coach stopped, to welcome his wife's
friend and special guest, and enter-
tained him with a flow of agricultu-
ral information and warm eulogy of
the country through which they
were speeding on their way home.
He arrived at Stelhagen before the
rush of country visitors, and was
triumphantly taken through every
part of the well-kept farm, while
his meal was being prepared by
Rika and the maids. But more
than all, Frau Kohler, in hef de-
light, actually made him " free" of
the sacred, secret chamber where
stood the CAn's/daumy alresidy laden
but unlighted, among its attendant
tables and dishes. The old man
was as innocently charmed as a
seven-year-old child; it reminded
him so of his own Christmas-tree in
days when the simple customs of
Germany were still unimpaired, and'
when it was the fashion to give
only really useful things, with due
regard to the condition and needs
of the recipients.
" But at the feasts to which my
people ask me now," said he," I see
children regaled with a multitude
of unwholesome, colored ^ndons
in boxes that cost quite as much as
the contents, and servants given
cheap silks or paste jewelry, and
the friends or the master and mis-
tress themselves loaded with pretty
but useless knick-knacks, gilded
toys that cost a great deal and
make more show than their use war-
48S
Yule Raps.
rants. Times are sadly changed,
Thekla, even since you were mar-
ried."
'* Well, Herr Pfarrer, I have had
little chance, and less wish, to see
I he change ; and up here I think we
still live as Noah's sons after they
came out of the ark," said good
Frau Kohler, with a broad smile at
her own wit. As the day wore on,
she and Rika left the Pfarrer
{curS) to Emanuers care, and again
busied themselves about the serious
coming festivity. She ftew around,
as active as a fat sparrow, with a
dusting-cloth under her arm, whisk-
ing off with nervous hand every
speck of dust on the mantel-piece
or among the few books which lay
conspicuously on the table in the
best room ; giving her orders to the
nimble maids, welcoming the f?im-
ilies of guests, and specially pet-
ting Ihe children. Emanuel took
the men under his protection, and
i^ave tliem tobacco and pipes, and
talked farming to them, while his
own young home-squad whispered
in corners of the coming tree and
supper.
At last Rika came out from the
room where the mystery was going
on, and, opening the door wide,
let a flood of light into the dark
apartment beyond. There was a
regular blaze. The large tree stood
on a low table, and reached nearly,
np to the ceiling. There were
only lights, colored ribbons, and
gilded walnuts hung upon it, but
it quite satisfied the expectation of
* the good folk around it. Round
the room were tables and stands
of all kinds, crowded together, and
barely holding all the dishes appor-
tioned to each member of the party.
The guests had secretly brought
or sent their mutual presents ; one
family generally taking charge of its
neighbor's gifts, and vice-versa^ that
none might suspect the nature of
their own. The tree, loo, was a
joint contribution of the several
families ; all had sent in tapers and
nuts, and this it was that made it
so full of bright things and necessi-
tated its being so tall.
On the middle table, under the
tree itself, were dishes for the Kohler
household, each one having a Ulv-
eral allowance of apples, nuts, and
gingerbread. Besides these, there
were parcels, securely tied, laid by
the dishes, and labelled with the
names of their unconscious owners.
Kohler was seized upon by his wife
and daughter before any one else was
allowed to go forward — ^for in this
old-fashioned neighborhood the
head of the house is still considered
in the light of an Abraham — and a
compact parcel was put into his
hands by Rika, while Thekla kissed
him with hearty loudness. Next
came the guest, whom Rika led to
the prettiest china dish, and pre-
sented with a small, tempting- look-
ing packet. Leaving him to open
it at his leisure, she joined her
young friends, and a good-natured
scramble now began, each looking
for his own name in some familiar
handwriting, finding it, and open-
ing the treasure with the eagerness
of a child. It would be impossible
to describe every present that thus
came to view ; but though many
were pretty and elaborate, none
were for mere show. Presently
Frau JCohler was seen to take pos-
session of her husband, andv pulling
off his coat, made him try on the
dressing-gown he had just drawn
from his parcel. She turned bim
round like a doll, and clapped ber
hands in admiration at the perfect
fit ; then danced around to the
other end of the room, and called
out to the maids :
*' Lina ! Bettchen ! it is your
Yule Raps.
*4f9
turn now ; you have not been for-
gotten. Those are your dishes
where the silver dollars are sticking
In the apples." The maids opened
I heir parcels, and each found a
bright, soft, warm dress, crimson
and black. Then came George,
the ro.-in who did most of the imme-
diate work round the house, and
found a bright red vest with steel
Imttons in his parcel. P>au Koh-
ler was busy looking at other peo-
[*lc's things, when her husband
slipped a neat, long packet on her
dish, and, as she turned and saw
the addition, she uttered an excla-
mation of joy. Rika helped her
lo unfold the stiff, rustling thing,
•rhen it turned out to be a black
sUk dress. Not every housewife in
those days had one, and her last
*as nearly worn out. Then the
old priest came forward to show
the company his Christmas box;
and what do you think it was?
There was no doubt as to where it
came from. It was a set of missal-
markers, and in such tastg as was
scarcely to be expected in that
lime and neighborhood. Rika had
designed it, and her mother had
worked it ; but many an anxious
debate had there been over it, as
the Frail Inspectorin had been at
first quile vexed at what she called
its plainness. It was composed of
five thick groS'grain ribbons, two
inches wide and fifteen long.
1'here was a red, a green, a white,
a purple, and a black ribbon ; and
im each was embroidered a motto —
on the red and green, in gold ; on
th(^ white, in red ; and on the black
;»nd purple, in silver. The letters
were German, though the mot-
toes were in Latin, and each of the
five referred to one of these events:
•Mir Lord's birth, death, Resurrec-
vmn, and Ascension, and the Com-
ing of the Holy Ghost. At the end
of each ribbon^ instead of fringe or
tassels, hung a cross of pure silver,
into the ring of which the ribbon
was loosely gathered. Every one
crowded round this novel Christmas
gift, and examined it with an admi-
ration equally gratifying to the giver
and the receiver. But Emanuel's
jolly voice soon broke the spell
by saying :
** Tiiese fine presents are very
delightful to receive, no doubt, and
the women-folk would not have
been happy without some such
thing; but we are all mortal, and I
have not forgotten that my guest
has feet and hands, and needs
warmth ancf comfort as much as wc
of grosser clay."
And with this he thrust a large
parcel into the Pfarrer's arms.
Every one laughed and helped him
to open it; every one was curious
to see its contents. They were, in-
deed, of a most substantial and
useful kind : a foot-muff of scarlet
cloth, lined and bordered with fur,
and a pair of huge sealskin gloves.
Scarcely had the parcel been
opened when a hum of measured
sound was heard outside, and pres-
ently a Christmas carol was distinctly
audible. Every one knew the words,
and many joined in the song before
the singers became visible. Then
the door opened, and a troop of
children came in, dressed in warm
white furs and woollen wrappings,
and carrying tapers and fir-
brknches in their hands. They
sang a second carol, quaint and
rustic in its words, but skilfully set
to anything but archaic music, and
then, in honor of their southern
guest, they began the song of the
evening, a few stanzsis from the
" Great Hymn " to the Blessed Vir-
gin, by the Minnesinger, Gottfried of
Strasburg, the translation of which,
according to Kroeger, runs thus:
490
YuU Raps.
XXV.
God the« hath clothed with numents seven ;
On thy pure body, drawn from heaven.
Hath put them even
When thou wast first created.
The first one Chiistity ts named ;
The second is as Virtue famed ;
The third is claimed
As Courtesy, well mated ;
The fourth dress is Humility ;
The fifth is known as Pity ;
The sixth one. Faith, clings close to thoe ;
The seventh, noble Modesty,
Leads gratefully
Thee in the path of duty.
XXVII.
' Thou sun, thou moon, thou star so faur,
God took thee from his own side there.
Here to prepare
The birth of Christ within thee.
For that his loved Child and thine.
Which is our life and life's sunshine.
Our bread and wine.
To stay chaste, he did win thee ;
So that sin's thorns could never touch
Thy fruitful virtue's branches.
His burning love for thee did vouch.
He kept thee from all sins that crouch :
A golden couch.
Secured by his love's trenches.
XLVII.
• . • •
Rejoice now, thou salvation^s throne.
That thou gavcst birth to Him who won
Our cause, thy Son,
Our Saviour and our blessing.
XLVIII.
*^ Rejdce now, O thou sunshine mild,
That on thy blessed breasts there smiled
God's little • hild—
Its earthly destination.
Rejoice that then drew near to thee
From foreign lands the wise kings three.
Noble and free.
To bring their adoration
To thee and to that blessed Child,
With many a graceful ofi''ring.
Rejoice now, that the star beguiled
And to that place their pathway smiled
Where, with thy Child,
They worshipped thy sweet suff*ring."
" You are not so utterly unknow-
ing of all gentle and learned pur-
suits as you would have had nie
believe," said the Pfarrer to Frau
KOhler. " It is not every child in
Bavaria that could sing so well this
Old-VVorld poem, so graceful in its
rhyming and so devout in its allu-
sions. Our old Xllth-century po-
etry, the most national — /.^., pecu-
liar to our country — is too much su-
perseded by noisy modern rhymes
or sentimental bnllads copied from
foreign models. Hive you any un-
known scholar among your farmers
and agents, who, you told me, madr
up a hearty but not a learned s<»-
ciety here .^ "
" Well," said Frau Kohler, " therr
is the school-master, Heldmann*
who is always poring over old use-
less books, but never can have a
good dinner unless his friends send
it to him, poor man ! He is a bach-
elor, and cannot afford to have a
housekeeper. And then there is
one of our young gentlemen, who
Kohler says is always in the clouds,
and who spends all his spare time
with Heldmann, while the other
boys spend theirs with their pretty,
rosy neiglibors. By the way, Held-
mann is coming to-night ; but he
Said he could not come till late, as
he had some important business
which would detain him for an hour
or two."
" You forget our Rika, mother,"
said Emanuel, not heeding the ]a^t
part of his wife's sentence; "she is as
wise as ajjy of them, though she says
so little. She knows all the old
legends and poetry, and more be-
sides, I warrant."
" Rika designed that missal-mark-
er," said the Frau Inspectorin
proudly (she had found out, sintr
it had been so admired, that hei
daughter*s instinct had guided her
aright in the design).
But Rika, hearing her name men-
tioned, )iad slipped away amont;
the white-wrapped children, an<i
was laying their tapers and fir-
branches away, preparatory to giv-
ing them cakes and fruit. This wa<
quite a ceremony, and when they
were ready Frau Kohler, handmi;
the large dish of nuts to the PJarrr*
begged him to distribute them, while
she took charge of the gingerbreaii
and Rika of the apples.
It was funnv to see the solciatt
Yule Raps.
•491
expectancy with which the children
brought out dishes, mugs, pitchers,
etc., in which to receive these
Christmas gifts. Some of the girls
held out their aprons, as more con-
venient and capacious receptacles
than anything else they could lay
hands on. One boy brought a
large birthday cup, and another a
wooden milk-bowl ; another a small
chtimy while a fourth had carried
off his father's peck-measure, and a
fifth calmly handed up a corn-sack,
which he evidently expected to get
EUcd to the brim. As Frau Kohler
caroe to one of the children, she
said :
" Fritz, I saw you in the orchard
last autumn stealing our apples.
Now, naughty boys must not expect
to get apples at Christmas if they
take them at other times; so, Rika,
don't give him any. He shall have
one piece of gingerbread, though."
A piteous disclaimer met this sen-
tence ; but the Pfarrer thrust a
double quantity of nuts into the
culprit's basket, and p^sed on.
Then once again Frau K6hler stop-
ped and said: "Johann, didn't I
sec you fighting with another boy
in the churchyard two weeks ago,
and told vou that Santa Claus
would forget you when he came
to fill the stockings on Christmas
night ? I shall not give you any
gingerbread." «
*' Franz knows we made it up
again," whined the boy, and Franz,
with a roguish look, peeped out
from his place in the row and said :
" Yes, we did, Frau Inspectorin " ;
so both got their gingerbread. At
last, this distribution being over,
the children, laden with their gifts,
went home to their own various
firesides, not without many thanks
to the •* stranger within the gates"
•nd his parting reminder, as he
showed them the stars :
" Look up at God's own Christ-
mas-tree, lighted up with thou-
sands of tapers, children, and at
the smooth, white snow spread over
the fields. That is the white table-
cloth which he has spread for the
beautiful gifts which spring, and
summer, and autumn are going 10
bring you, all in his own good
time." *
Then came another batch of vis-
itors — the old, sick, and infirm peo-
ple of the village; the spinning-
women, the broom-tyers, the wood-
en bowl and spoon carvers, and
the makers of wooden shoes ; and
some who could no longer work,
but had been faithful and industri-
ous in their time. They had some-
thing of the old costume on : x\vt
men wore blue yarn stockings and
stout gray knee-breeches (they had
left their top-boots outside; for the
snow was deep and soft, and they
needed them all the winter and
through most of the spring) ; and
the women had large nodding caps
and black silk handkerchiefs fold-
ed across their bosoms. Each of
these old people got a large loaf of
plain cake and some good stout
flannel ; and these things, according
to the local etiquette, the inspector
himself delivered to them as the
representative of his young master.
This distribution was an old cus-
tom on the Stelhagen estate, and,
though the present owner was care-
less enough in many things, he
wished this usage to be always
kept up. Even if he had not, it is
not likely that as long as Kohler
was inspector the old people would
not have been able to rely on tlic
customary Christmas gift. After
this some bustle occurred, and
two or three people went and sta-
tioned themselves outside the door.
* Fr>a ths Oi:a»a.
492
Yule Raps.
Presently the expectant company
within were startled by a loud rap^
and the door flew open, a parcel
was flung in, and a voice cried out :
** Yule rap I"
This was a pair of slippers fof
the inspector. No one knew where
they came from ; no one had sent
them. Yule raps are supposed to
be magical, impersonal causes of
tangible effects; so every one look-
t:d innocent and astonished, as be-*
came good Mecklen burgers under
Christmas circumstances.
" Yule rap !" again, and the door
opened a second time ; a smoking-
cap, embroidered with his initials,
was evolved out of a cumbrous
packet by one of the young appren-
tices, and scarcely had he put it
on than another thundering knock
sounded on the door.
" Yule rap !" was shouted again,
and in flew a heavy package. It
was a book, with illustrations of
travel scenes in the East, and was
directed to Rika.
" Yule rap !"
This time it was only a little
square envelope, with a ticket re-
ferring Frau Koliler to another
ticket up in the bureau drawer in
her bed-room ; but when on^ of the
boys found it, that referred again
to another ticket in the cellar ; and
when another boy brought this to
light, it mysteriously referred her
to her husband's pocket. Here, at
last, the hidden thing was revealed —
an embroidered collar, and a pair
of large cuffs to match. Kohler
had no idea what sprite had put it
there, so he said.
"Yule rap r* and this time it
was for the guest — a black velvet
skull-cap, warm and clinging. Then
came various things, all heralded
by the same warning cry of "Yule
rap 1" and a knock at the door, gen-
erally in George's strong voice.
The two maids got the package
ready, and peeyed in at the key*
hole to see when it was time u
vary the sensation by throwing ii
another present. Again.abreakfast'j
bell came rolling in, ringing as i^
bounded on, with just a few bam
of soft stuff and silver paper mi
fling its sound. Once a large meeri
schaum pipe was laid gently at
threshold of the door, and one off
the apprentices fetched it as cai
fully. Then a violin was push(
through the half- open door, ao(
the eager face of the one for whoi
it was intended peeped anxiousi]
over his neighbor's shoulder, w<
dering if any one else were the ha(
py destined one, and as much sar«|
prised as delighted when he foui
it was himself. That violin lii
since been heard in many a Iarge(
and populous town, and, though its
owner did not become as world-
known as Paganini or Sivori, he didj
not love his art less faithfully and|
exclusively. We cannot enumeratei
all the gifts which Yule brought
round this year; but before the'
evening was over, a different voice
cried out the magic words, "YuJcl
rap I" and the door being slightly^
opened and quickly closed agaiDHJ
a tiny, white, silky dog stood trem-
bling on the carpet. Rika juDipedj
up and ran to take it in her arms;
then pulling open XX-^ door, " Hcrr
Heldmann ! Herr Heldmann!" she
cried. " I know it is you !"
The schoolmaster came forward,
his rough face glowing with thte coki
through which he had just come.
*'I promised you a dog, Rika,*'
he said rather awkwardly, "but
they would not let me have it till
this very day, and I had no time to
go for it but this evening. I kept
it under my coat all the time; so it
is quite warm. It is only tvo
months old."
Yule Raps.
493
RiJca was in ecstasies. She de-
clared this was worth aU her Christ-
mas presents, and then rewarded
Herr Heldmann by telling him how
well the children had done their
part, and how delightfully surprised
the Ffarrer had been. The two
men were 60on in a deep conversa-
tion on subjects dear and familiar
to both, and the company gradually
dissolved again into little knots and
groups. Many took their leave, as
their homes were distant and they
did not wish to be too late ; but for
all an informal supper was laid in
the vast kitchen, and by degrees
most of the good things on the
table were sensibly diminished.
The host's wife and daughter, and
the Herr Pfarrer, with half a dozen
others and a few children, did not
leave the Christmas-tree, whose
tapers were constantly attended
to and replaced when necessary.
Other "Christmas candles" were
also lighted — tall columns of yellow
wax, made on purpose for this oc-
casion. As the household and its
inmates were left to themselves, the
children began asking for their ac-
customed treat — the stories that all
children have been fond of since
the world began. No land is so
i rich in the romance of childhood
' ns Germany, both north and south.
There everything is personified, and
as an English writer lately said, won-
derful histories ar( connected with
the fir-trees in the forests, the be-
loved and venerated Chrisibaum.
** Though it be yet summer, the
child sees in fancy the beautiful
Weiknachtsbaum^ adorned with
sparkling things as the Gospel is
adorned with promises and hopes ;
rich in gifts as tlie three kings were
rich ; pointing to heaven as the
angel pointed ; bright as those very
heavens were bright with silver-
winged messengers; crowned with
gold as the Word was crowned ;
odorous like the frankincense:
sparkling like the star; spreading;
forth its arms, full of peace and
good-will on every side, holding out
gifts and promises for all."
Weihnachiy the blessed, the hal-
lowed, the consecrated night, is the
child-paradise of Germany. That
land of beautiful family festivals has
given Christmas a double signifi-
cance, and merged into its memo-
ries all the graceful, shadowy le-
gends of the dead mythology of the
Fatherland. The German child is
reared in the midst of fairy-tales,
which are only truths translated into
child-language. Besides the old
standard ones, every neighborhood
has its own local tales, every family
its own new-born additions or in-
ventions. Every young mother,
herself but a step removed from
childhood, with all her tender im-
aginations still stirring, and her
child-days lifted into greater beauty
because they are but just left be-
hind, makes new stories for her little
ones, and finds in every flower a new
fairy, in every brook a new voice.
And yet the old tales still charm
the little ones, and the yearly com-
ing of King Winter brings the old,
worn stories round again. So
Emanuel Kohler told the fairy-tale
which the children had listened to
every Christmas with ever-new de-
light, about the journey of King
Winter from his kingdom at . the
North Pole, and how he put on his
crown with tall spikes of icicles, and
wrapped himself in his wide snow-
mantle, which to him is as precious
and as warm as ermine.
** And now," said the host, " there
is some one here who can tell you
a far more beautiful story than mine.
Some One, greater than the Winter-
King, comes too every year — a snow-
Child, the white Christ whom our
4P4
Yule Raps.
ancestors, the old Norse »ind Teu-
tonic warriors, learned to see and
adore, where they had only seen
and worshipped the God of War and
the God of Thunder before. Ask
hini to tell you a story."
And the old, white-haired Pfarrer
stroked the head of the child near-
est to him, as the little one looked
shyly up into his face, mutely en-
dorsing Emanuel's appeal. He told
them that they must already kno^
the story of the first Christmas
night, and so he would only tell them
how the news that the angels told
the shepherds on the hills came
long centuries after to others as
pure-minded as the shepherds, and
by means almost as wonderful. He
repeated to them from memory the
words of an English prose-poet,
which he said he had loved ever
since he came across them, and
which made the picture he best
loved to talk on atjChristmas-time:
'* That little infant frame, white as
a snow-drop on the lap of winter,
light almost as a snow-flake on the
chill night air, smooth as the cush-
ioned drift of snow which the wind
has lightly strewn outside the walls
of Bethlehem, is at this moment
liolding within itself, as if it were of
adamantine rock, the fires of the
beatific light. . . . The little
white lily is blooming below the
greater one; an offshoot of its stem,
and a faithful copy, leaf for leaf,
petal for petal, white for white,
powdered with the same golden
dust, meeting the morning with the
same fragrance, which is like no
other than their own !" *
There was a more marvellous tale
than any they had heard about
tal k i n g-flo wers. The Christkind
was a flower, and his blessed
Mother was a flower — holy lilies
« Father Faber*t BttkUkfm.
in the garden of God, blossoming
rods like Aaron's, fruitful roots,
stately cedars, and fruit-giving palm-
trees. It was a very happy thing
to know and feel all this, as we do;
but many millions of men know-
nothing of it, and centuries ago
even our forefathers in these forests
knew nothing of it. " But," lie
continued, '^ there was a distant is-
land, where men of our race lived
which did not receive the faith till
long after Germany and France
and Britain were Christian, and
even had cathedrals and cloisten
and schools in abundance. It was
two hundred years after Charie-
magne, who was a Frankish, and
therefore a German, sovereign,
founded the Palatine schools and
conferred with the learned English
monk, Alcuin. This distant, pagan
island was Iceland. The Norsemen
there were a wild, fierce, warlike
people, free from any foreign gov-
ernment, and just the kind of he-
roes that their old mythology rep-
resented them as becoming in their
future, disembodied life. They
had their scalds, or saga-men, their
bards, who were both poets and
historians, who kept up their spirit
by singing wild songs about their
ancestors and the battles they had
won. They were all pagans, and
thought the forgiveness of injuries
very mean. Well, one day, the eve
of Yule-tide, w||en it was terribly
cold and cheerless, an old scald
sat in his rough hut, with a flicker-
ing light before him, chanting one
of his wild, heathen songs, and his
daughter, a beautiful girl, sat at the
plank table near him, busy with
some woman's work. During an
interval of his song she raised her
eyes and said to him ;
"'Father, there must be some-
thing beyond all that — something
greater and nobler.'
Yule Raps.
495
«4 «
Why, child/ said the old man,
with a kind of impatient wonder,
* nrhy should you think so? Many
tilings different there may be, just
as there are different kinds of men,
and different kinds of beasts, and
dtfTerent kinds of plants ; some for
uiastery and some for thraldom;
some for the chase, and some for
the kitchen or the plough ; some
for incantations and sacrifices, and
some for common food. But any-
thing nobler than our history there
could not be; and as for our reli*
gton, if there were anything differ-
ent, or even better, it would not
suit our people, and so would be no
concern of ours.*
" * But if it were true, father, and
ours not true, what then ?'
'• * Why ask the question, child ?
What was good enough for the wise
.iiid brave Northmen who fled here
that they might be free to fight and
norship according to their fancy,
>> good enough for their descend-
.tnts.*
" * But you know yourself, father,*
persisted the maiden, * that those
whom our poetical traditions call
^ods were men, heroes and patri-
ots who taught our forefathers vari-
ous arts, and guided them safely
across deserts and through forests
in their long, long migration — but
still only men. Our chieftains of
to-day might as well become gods
to our great-grai^children, if tlie
old leaders have become so to us.
Wise as they were, they could not
command the frozen seas to open
A way for their ships, nor make the
Min rise earlier in the long winter,
nor compel the cutting ice-wind to
cease. If they could not do such
things, they must have been very
far from gods/
*'*It is true,* said the ©Id man,
*l!iat those great chieftains were,
m tlie dim ages we can scarcely
count back to, men like us ; but
the gods who taught them those
very arts took them up to live with
them as long as their own heaven
might last, and made them equal to
themselves. You know even Para-
dise itself is to come to an end
some day.*
" * So our legends say, father ;
but that, too, makes it seem as if
these gods were only another order
of mortal beings, stronger but not
better than we are, and hiding from
us the true, changeless heaven far
above them. For surely that which
changes cannot be divine. And
then our legends say that evil is to
triumph when heaven and earth
come to an end. True, they say
there will be a renewal of all things
after that, and that, no doubt,
means that good will be upper-
most; very likely all the things
spoken of in our Eddas are only
signs of other things which we
could not understand.'
*' The daughter continued these
questionings and speculations, the
scald answering them as best he
could.
" He had listened with evident
admiration and approval to her im-
passioned speech, but he was will-
ing to test her faith in her own wo-
manhood to the utmost. She now
seemed wrapt in her own thoughts,
but after a short pause said :
*' * It would not be another's in-
spiration in which I should believe ;
it would be a message from Him
who has put this belief already into
my heart. Some One greater than
all has spoken to my inmost heart,
and I am ready to believe ; but the
messenger that is to put it into
words and tell me what to do has
not come.*
" There was a silence, and the
wind and the sea roared with-
out. The old man shaded the 6 Ick-
496
YuU Raps.
ering light with his hand, and gazed
at his daiigliter, who was sitting
with her hands clasped in her lap.
He thoiiglit that she herself must
have received some divine illumina-
tion ; for the Norsemen believed in
the proplietic gifts of some of their
women. His own mind, more cul-
tivated than that of the warrior's,
saw through the symbolic character
of many of the very myths he sang,
and tended vaguely to belief in a
higher and hidden circle of things
infinite, true, and eternal. But
then the northern mind was nat-
urally simple, not prone to meta-
physical distinctions, not analytical
and subtle, dividing as with the
sword that pierceth between soul
and spirit; and the old man saw no
use in raising theological problems
for which he could offe» no rational
solution, save through the dreams
of a young girl. Presently the old
man rose, shaking off his medita-
tions, and said :
" * It is time for me to go to the
Yule-night festival, and I shall
have a stormy trudge of it to the
castle. I must leave you alone
here till to-morrow night. But, my
child, I know that there is safety
for the scald's daughter wherever
she may be ; the very sea would
not hurt her, and the wildest men
would kneel before her; so fare-
well, and a father's blessing be upon
you.*
** His daughter rose and fetched
his cloak and staff, wrapped the
former around him, and fastened it
over the rude musical instrument
that answered the purpose of lyre
and harp; but I am not very learn-
ed in such thxnirs, and cannot tell
you exactly what it was. The
young girl stood lon^ on the thresh-
old of the hut, shading the light,
and looking out after her father in-
to the darkness. The wind was
sharp and icy, and blew from the
frozen sea. As she held the light,
she thought she heardr a cry come
from the direction of the sea. She-
lingered before closing the door,
although the wind was very chill;
for the cry seemed repeated, and
she thought it was. a human voice
calling. A moment's reflection told
her it could not be so ; for the whole
sea was frozen for miles outward,
and no boat or wreck could conif
so near land. She sat down aga:n
to her work, and mused on the con-
versation she had held with her
father. He had studied their na-
tional books all his life, and she was
not yet twenty. He must know
best. Was she likely to be right?
She had little experience of the way
in which the old system worked;
only her own dreams and fancier
showed her any other possibility ;
and yet — she could not shake oif
the thought : she thirsted for anoiii-
er revelation. The far-off, unknown
God-head must have some mean*
of communicating with men ; why
should he not speak to her, wha
so passionately and blindly longed
for a message, a command, from
him 7
** The cry from the sea sounded
again. Surely, this time there
could be no mistake ; the voice wn<
human, and it had come nearer
since she had left the door. She
took up the ligit again, and went
outside, shouting as loud as she
could in return. She was answered,
and a strange awe came upon her
as she heard this crv. Was it that
of a man or a spirit .> The btter
supposition seemed to her unsophJN-
ticated mind quite as likely as the
former, but it did not frighten he:,
as it would most of her country-
women. She went in again, wnj>-
ped a thick fur cloak around her,
and, taking another on her zm.
Yule Raps.
497
sallied out once more with an-
other stronger light. It was barely
possible to keep the resinous torch
alight, and* she looked anxiously
out towards the sea, to try and
catch some glimpse of a human
figure. The cries came again at in-
tervals; but she knew that in the clear
air a seemingly near sound might
yet be far distant She had to walk
briskly up and down the shore, in
the beaten path between walls of
snoWy to keep herself warm, and oc-
casionally she lifted the flaring
torch and waved it as a signal. She
could do no more, but she longed
to see her unknown visitor, and to
go out to meet him on the frozen
waters. Was it some wrecked sail-
or, who had clambered frortv ice-
floe to ice-floe, in the desperate
hope of reaching land before he
died of cold and hunger, or some
unearthly messenger from an invisi-
ble world ? If he were a mere man,
from what coast could he have
drifted. No Icelander would be out
at this time and place ; it was Yule-
tide, and there were no wandering
boats out among the ice-clifls and
floes. At last she thought she
could discern a shadowy form,
blacker than the surrounding dark-
ness, but surely no human form ; it
was like a moving cross, one upright
shape» and one laid across near the
tup, and both dark and compact,
but tlie cry was r^eated, though it\
a more assured ana joyful tone, and
tile maiden waited with batedbreath,
wondering what this marvel could
mean. A field of unbroken ice
stretched between her and the ad-
Viincing figure, which now hastened
Us steps, and came on like a swift-
sailing bird, cleaving the darkness.
She thought she could distinguish
a human face above the junction of
the two arms of the cross, and slie
held up the light, still uncertain
VOL. XXII. — 32
what kind of visitant this approach-
ing form might be. At last it
flashed upon her that it was a man
bearing a child. But why so rigid ?
Why did he not hug him close to
his bosom to keep him warm, to
keep him alive ? Was the child
dead ? And a shuddering awe
came upon her, as she thought of
its dead white face upturned to
heaven, and of the faithful man who
had not forsaken it, or left it to the
seals and wolves on the ice, or
buried it in the chill waters be-
neath the ice-floes. What a cold it
must have struck to the heart of the
man carrying it; how his hands
must be well-nigh frozen in support-
ing this strange burden!
** She hardly knew whether she
was still imagining what might be,
or witnessing real movements, when
the figure came straight up to her,
and, stooping, laid the child at her
feet. She lowered the torcli, and,
as the glare fell on the little face,
she saw that it was no breathing
one ; the man had sunk down beside
it, hardly able to stir, now the su-
preme eff"ort was over and his end
was accomplished. She dropped
the cloak she held over the little
body, and caught up a handful of
snow, wherewith she energetically
rubbed the face and hands of tlie
stranger, then half dragged, half
supported him to the door of tlic
hut. He had only spoken once,
just as he dropped at her feet, but
she did not understand him : lie
spoke in a foreign tongue. Once
more she went out and brought in
the stiflened, frozen body of the
child, which she laid on a fur robe
just outside the hut ; for it was
warm within the small, confined
dwelling. It was an hour before
the stranger's eye told her that her
simple, quick remedies had suc-
ceeded. He was not very tall, but
498
Yule Raps.
immensely strong and powerful,
and there was a fire in his dark
gray eye that gave the clew to his
strange, weird pilgrimage over the
ice-floes. His hair was dark brown,
with a reddish tinge^ but already
mixed with a few gray streaks; it
had been shorn close to his head
some time since, as appeared from
its irregular growth at present.
Heneath his cloak he wore a long
black robe, with a leathern girdle
round the waist. The child was
very beautiful, even in death ; his
eyes were closed, but his black,
curling hair hung round his neck,
and the lips had a sweet though
somewhat proud outline. The
scald's daughter set some simple
food before her silent guest, and
made him a sign to eat. He was
evidently very hungry, but before
he began he moved his lips and
made the sign of the cross on his
forehead, lips, and breast. She ask-
ed him in her own language what
that ceremony meant, not hoping
to make him understand her speech,
but trusting to her inquiring looks
for some explanatory sign that she
might interpret as best she could
to herself. To her surprise, he
answered in a few, slow, labored
words, not in Icelandic to be sure,
but in some dialect akin to it ; for
she could make Out the meaning.
It was, in fact, the Norse dialect
that was spoken in the Orkney Is-
lands, but she did not know that.
As he spoke, her guest pointed
upwards, and she knew that he re-
ferred to God. A great longing
came into her heart, and she asked
;igain if his God were the same
the Icelanders worshipped. He
shook his head, and she eagerly
questioned farther, but grew so
voluble that he could not follow
her, and the conversation ceased.
Then the stranger rose and went
out to the little corpse, which he
addressed in impassioned tenns
in his own language, making over
it the same sign that had drawn
the maiden's attention before.
He then described to her — mostly
in pantomime, and with a few
Norse words to help him on, and
a few slowly-pronounced questions
on her part — how the boy and
he had been in a boat that was
v/recked many days* journey from
their own country, and how he
had carried him and fed him for
three or four days, and then 5ccn
him die in his arms. The bov was
the only son of a great chief,* and
he was taking him to his uncle in
the North of Scotland. His own
country was south of Scotland, a
large island like Iceland, but green
and beautiful, and there was oo
ice there.
" The girl made him understand
that she was alone for a day or two,
but when her father came back he
would help him. He evidently
understood her better than she did
him.
" The next morning, when she
again set food before him, she im-
itated his sign of the cross, and
said she wished to believe in the
true God ; and if his God were the
true one, she would believe in him.
She looked so earnest and anxious
that he again began to try to ex-
plain ; but the fipr words he could
command, though they sufficed to
hint at his worldly adventures, and
made clear to her that he had been
wrecked, were scarcely adequate
to tell her of the new religion she
longed to understand.
" But at noon that day another
guest and traveller passed by the
scald's dwelling. He was hurrying
to the same castle where the girl's
father had gone in his capacity of
minstrel, but a violent snow-storm
YuU Raps.
499
had come on that morning, and he
had lost his way. He stopped a
moment to refresh himself, and no-
riced the stranger. He was himself
known as a great traveller, and the
figure in the coarse black robe
.seemed not unfamiliar to him. He
addressed the stranger in the lat-
ter's language, guessing him at once
to be an Irish monk. He said he
had seen such men in the Scottish
islands, where he had been storm-
driven with his ship two years ago,
and he had picked up a little of
their speech. When the maiden
discovered that in this stray guest
she had found an interpreter, she
pressed him, implored him, almost
commanded him, to stay.
^ * I must ask him the questions
my father could not solve yester-
day,' she said ; * and my father's
friend will not refuse to speak in
my name, for I believe that the un-
known God has answered my
prayer in sending this holy man
over the sea to my very feet.*
And she told him how the stranger
had come to her, out of the dark-
ness, in the shape of a cross— the
same sign he made to propitiate his
God.
" • Ask him to tell us what he be-
lieves/ she said impetuously; and
the interpreter, compelled by some
instinct that he could not resist,
began his office willingly.
*• * Tell him,* she said, * that yes-
terday, before he came, I was all
day thinking that the high, true,
unknown God had a message for
me, and a truer faith to teach me,
because he had put into my heart
.1 longing for something higher than
what our books and songs have
taught us. And tell him that I be-
lieve God sent him in answer to
my doubts and prayers.*
** The traveller faithfully trans-
lated all this. The monk's face
glowed as he rep'iied, in his own
language, which he used with the
grace and skill of a poet :
"*Tell the maiden that she is
right; the true God /itW send me,
and now I know why such things
happened to me ; why I was wrecked
with my lord's only son, a precious
freight, a sacred deposit, which the
Lord of lords has now taken upon
himself to account for to the earth-
ly father, bereaved of his one hope.
But God sent me here because to
this pure-hearted virgin I was to
explain the faith he had already
put into her heart. It is not I who
bring her the true faith, but God
himself who has spoken to her and
inclined her to believe; me he has
sent to put this message into prac-
tical form. Tell her that this is, the
birthday of the Lord, and that a
thousand years ago, almost at the
same hour when I set my dead bur-
den at her feet, a living Child,
God's own Child, lay at the feet of
a pure Virgin in a little village far
away in the land of the rising sun.
And as this maiden's torch which I
saw over the wild, frozen sea, and
followed, was an emblem of the
faith that dwelt already in her
heart, so, too, a marvellous star led
three wise men, the scalds of the
East, to where this Child lay, and
the star was the emblem of their
firm faith, which led them to cross
rivers and deserts to reach the
Child. And tell her that the way
in which this wonderful birth was
celebrated was by a song which
held all the essence of truth in it :
'* Glory to God on high, and on
earth peace to men of good- will." *
"All this the interpreter told the
maiden, and both marvelled at it.
The stranger told them more and
more of that wonderful tale, so
familiar to us, but which once sound-
ed to our warlike forefathers like
500
Yule Raps.
the foolishness of babes and suck-
lings, or at most like some Eastern
myth good enough for philosophers
to wrangle over, but unfit for sturdy
men of the forest. To the Icelan-
dic maiden it seemed but the ful«
filment of her own dreams; and as
she listened to the story of the Child,
grown to be a wise but obedient
Boy, and then a wandering, suffering
Man, her soul seemed to drink in
the hidden grandeur of the relation,
to pierce beyond the human stum-
bling-blocks which confronted the
wise and learned of other lands,
and go at once to the heart of the
great mystery of love, personified
in the Man-God. All the rest
seemed to her to be the fitting gar-
ment of the central mystery, the
crc^wn of leaves growing from the
fruitful trunk of this one doctrine.
All day long the three sat together,
the two Icelanders hanging on the
words of the stranger; and so the
scald found them on his return.
He, too, wanted to know the news
which the monk had brought ; for
•he said he had always believed
that behind their national songs
and hymns lay something greater,
but perhaps not expedient for
Norsemen to know. He shook his
head sadly when lie learned the
monk's precepts of love, peace,
mercy, and forgiveness, and said
he feared his countrymen would
not understand that, but for his
part it was not uncongenial to him.
As the weather was such that no
■vessel could put to sea before
the ice broke up, he constrained
the monk to stay the rest of the
winter with him, and in the spring
promised to go over with him to
the nearest Scottish coast, and car-
ry the body of his little charge to
the uncle to whom he had been on
his way when he was wrecked.
** Before the New Year began,
the monk baptized the first Iceland-
ic convert, the daughter of the
scald, and gave her the name of the
Mother of the Babe of Bethlehem,
Mary. Many others heard of the
new religion before he left, but that
does not belong to my story. The
new convert and her father accoiu*
panied him to Scotland, and were
present at the burial of the Iiish
chieftain's son at the castle of his
Scottish uncle. The latter's son
married the Norse maiden, but she
never ceased to lament that it had
not been given to her to conven
many of her own countrymen, or at
least shed her blood for her nev
faith. All her life long she helped
to send missionaries to Iceland; and
when her .son grew up to manhood,
the palm she coveted was awarded
to him, for he went to his mother's
native country, founded a monastery
there, labored among the people,
converted iliany, and taught reading
and the arts of peace as well as the
faith to his pupils; became abbot
of the monastery, and was finally
martyred on the steps of the altar
by a horde of savage heathen Norse-
men.
" This is the best Christmas story
I know, children," concluded the
Herr Pfarrer ; " and you, Rika, I can
wish you no better model than the
fair maiden of Iceland."
It was nearly midnight when the
old priest finished his tale, and
Frau Kohler, rising, and thanking
him cordially for this unwonted ad-
dition to ordinary Christmas storie^,
led him to a door which had been
locked till now. It opened into .1
room decked as a chapel, with an
altar at the end, which was no*
decorated with evergreens. A few-
chairs and benches were ranged be-
fore it, and on a table at the side
was everything in readiness for say-
ing Mass.
Christinas Ckimes.
501
** It is long since I have heard
a midnight Mass," said the good
hostess, growing suddenly grave and
reverential in her manner, "and
my Kika never has ; and you know,
Herr Pfarrer, I told you I had a
greater surprise in store for you yet,
;ifter all the local customs in which
you were so much interested."
So the beautiful Midnight Mass
was said in the Mecklenburg inspec-
tor's farm-house, and a more impres-
sive one Frau Kohler had never
heard in any southern cathedral;
for though there was no music and
no pomp, there brooded over the
little congregation a spirit of rever-
ence and peace, which comes in full
perfection only through a deep si-
lence. The hostess and her daugh-
ter received Communion together,
and the attentive household could
not help thinking of the beautiful
Icelandic convert when she came
back from the altar, her hands
folded over her breast, and her long,
fair hair plaited in two plain, thick
tresses.
Herr Heldmann had stayed too,
and from that day he never ceased
his study of theological problems
and his correspondence with the
Herr Pfarrer, till he became a Cath-
olic, and was married to Rika in
this same little chapel-room a year
later by the same kind old priest.
One of the young apprentices of
Emanuel Kdhler had been his se-
cret rival ; but notwithstanding that
Heldmann was ungainly, shy, and
twice her age, Rika decidedly
thought that she had the best of
the bargain.
And it was true ; he had a heart
of gold, and she made him a model
wife.
CHRISTMAS CHIMES-
The clear starlight, of a southern night,
Shone in Judaea's sky.
The angels sang, and their harp-strings rang
With " Glory to God on high."
Through the pearl gates streamed, ere the morning beamed.
The radiance of Heaven's day ;
And the shepherds led to the lonely bed
Where the holy Child-God lay.
The Yule-log's light gleams warm to night
In many an English home.
And no spirits dare — so the wise declare-
In the light of its beams to come ;
The weird mistletoe and the holly glow
On castle and cottage wall ;
While the jest and song ring all night long,
Through the merry banquet-hall. |
And in other climes at the ringing chimes
There are scenes of joy and mirth :
E'en round the dead is its beauty shed
Who at Christmas pass from earth.
:'. ;..■_-. -"/ Catholics, andtlu Conference at Bomt.
On ::his holy day, so the old tomes say,
HexTcn's portals open wide,
.l3<i the soul glides in, freed from ail its sia
By the birth of the Crucified.
I^ mtr own fair land there is many a band
Whose home is filled with glee,
W*j.Me henrii beat high, as the fleet hours fly,
With thoughts of the Christmas-tree.
Mi» the Christ-Cliild weave, on this Christmas CTe,
New hopes as the years go by,
Jiad around His throne may at last each one
Stag " Glory to God on high."
^^..■CV^;S. OLD CATHOLICS, AND THE CONFERENCE
AT BONN.
N.>L-.>< the title oi Anglicanism, the last being the promise made o:
-,! ^ ..-h-iuism, and the Union of the tomb of a friend* to leav
, ^ ~.,..-:iait Hpis^-opal Churches, an nothing untried which might pfo-
.. ,v 't.i- iccently been published mote the return of the Greco-RN^--
, .ic Kfv. Father Tondini,* Bar- sian Church to Catliolic unity; an
..»,;«.•, *hi.)se intimate acquain- unexpected opportunity beinggiven
...^ »iilt tlie respective languages for fulfilling this promise by the
, K'l^l.iml, llermany, and Russia, reference made more than once bv
. »v,:, .u the religious history and Mr. Gladstone, in his recent publi-
^i.iuiiv- of those countries, pecu- cations, to the organization of the
.:^ viiutliui-s him for dealing with Eastern as contrasted with that of
V vjiK'AlKms just noA- exciting so the Catholic Church. Moreover.
..h 4Uctttion in Western Europe, the sympathy displayed by Mr.
I ,!i.ill, ihcttfore, not only malce Gladstone for the Old Catha1ic->
1 iw,tii»i', which merits more than and their Conference at Bonn senes
vliiMiV notice, the basis of the to complete the argument.
> ..iH article, but shall reproduce There axe two passages in Mt.
I. '■.\ (Kiilions of it as are particu- Gladstone's Vatieanism with which
\\\ iiiijiisiivc at the present lime. Father Tondini has more especially
>^t voiii'liule with some account dealt. One is the following :
■' - ' Vnfetence itt Bonn aitd the " Of these early provisions for a
iMlious it sii^^ests. balance of church power, and for
lliB Introduction to his securing the laity against sacerdotal
the reverend author gives domination, the rigid conservatism
a^ms which tailed it forth, ">f the Eastern Church presents us
even down to the present day, wiili
i; f!Ti^"'^'LMr;!.™l'!!dJI^l^B'* "" authentic and living record. "t
Li,..., (...,., .^■.,:,-.J.. B.V dfl If
.... .bx.i.'.Ua Jl>'i.ir-d.'-A''r.t>B. • FubcT SctKonMT (BimldK), Afdl t, ilw.
Anglicansy Old Catholics^ and the Conference at Bonn. 5^3
These valuable "provisions" are
set forth at length in the second
edition of a former work by Father
Tondini, Tfie Pope of Rome and
ih^ I^opes of the Oriental Church. ♦
In a. special preface he there says :
** There is much to be learned from
them, especially if we take into
consideration their recent date, and
the ecclesiastical canons of which
the Eastern Church has not been
indeed a rigid conservator."
In the quotations there given at
length from the original documents,
we find abundant evidence of the
manner in which the ancient can-
ons have been set aside, wherever
convenient to the czar, for his own
regulations.
The second passage requiring
comment is the following :
** The ancient principles of popu-
lar election and control, for which
room was found in the Apostolic
Church under its inspired teachers,
and which still subsist in the Chris-
tian East." f
This, as we shall see, is disposed
of in the third chapter of thepres^
ent essay, into which has been col-
lected trustworthy information as
to the non-popular mode of elec-
tion of bishops resorted to in the
Oriental Orthodox Church. %
Towards the close of the Intro-
duction the writer remarks that
if the statements made by Mr.
Gladstone respecting the Catholic
Church were true, she could not be
the true church of our Lord, and,
• Seeond EditiM, with a Letter of Mgr. Merminod«
% Special Preioce, and an Appendix. London:
Wa^bonme.
t Gladstone, Vaticanism^ p. 94.
t Wcafc authorixed by Father Tondini to remark
that, for the purpose of his argument, he has con-
fined himself to speaking of the non-popular elee-
uon of hi$k0P* : but in case any one should say that
Mr. Gladstone referred not to bishops only, but also,
and very largely, to clergy, besides that Mr. Glad-
stone's exprassions do net naturally lead the reader
to make any exception for himself, Father Tondini is
able te show that even with respect to the inferior
cfefgy Mr. Gladstone's stafeement is inaccurate.
if not, he asks, where then is the
true church to be found? The
Oriental Church could not solve
the question, because she is in con-
tradiction to the doctrine contained
in her own liturgy,* and also for
other reasons, to which for some
years past he has been directing
public attention, f There remain
to be considered the Anglican Es-
tablishment — this being the church
to which belongs the writer who
accuses the Catholic Church of
having changed in faith, and de-
prived her children of their moral
and mental freedom — and the new-
est sect of all, namely, the so-called
Old Catholics, owing to the same
writer's admiration of those who
figure in its ranks.
Reason, so loudly appealed to by
Mr. Gladstone, has been strictly
adhered to by Father Tondini in
his careful examination of the cre-
dentials of the two latter bodies,
and we will give, in as concise a
form as may be consistent with
clearness, the result of his inquiry.
He especially addresses those who
admit the existence of a visible
Church of Christ, and still more
particularly those who, rather than
reconcile themselves to the Catho-
lic Church, say that neither the
Roman Catholic Church, nor the An-
glican Establishment, nor the Old-
Catholic Society, but the Oriental
Orthodox Church, is the true visi-
ble church of Christ
The claims of the Anglican
* In the appendix to the second editSon of Tkt
ftf/# cf Rome, etc., will be found a prayer con-
poted of texts taken from the Greco-Sclavonian Lit-
urgy, where are quoted some of the titles given by
the Greco-Russian Church to S. Peter, and, in the
person of the great S. Leo, even to the Pope. This
appendix is 1^ to be had separately, under the
title of Simg Documents Concerning the Associa"
tion 0/ Prayerty etc., London, Washboume, 1875.
t See " Future of the Russian Chureh'* in Ths
Catholic World, 1875 (ammifit others).
504 Anglicans, Old Catholics, and the Conference at Bonn.
Church are first examined, her vi-
tality being an argument that we
jire in presence of an institution ad-
hered to, at least by a large portion
of her members, with conviction
and devotedness, as a valuable me-
dium between unbelief and super-
stition, worldliness and sanctity ;
and of a state church as solidly
framed as human genius could de-
vise.
** Bodies," says Mr. Gladstone,
** are usually held to be bound by
the evidence of their own selected
and typical witnesses."* Now, the
selected and typical witnesses of
the Church of England are the sov-
ereign, who is " Defender of the
Faith and Supreme Governor of the
Church in her Dominions," and
the episcopate. If the whole clergy
is consulted, the evidence becomes
as undeniable as it can possibly be.
This perfect evidence is found in
the Thirty-nine Articles, which are
thus headed : "Articles agreed upon
l>y the archbishops and bishops of
both provinces, and the whole clergy,
assembled in convocation holden
at London in the year 1562, for the
avoiding of diversities of opinions,"
etc., etc.
The Ratification is to the same
effect, with the addition of the
assent and consent of the queen
(Elizabeth), after their final rehear-
sal in the General Convocation of
bishops and clergy in 1571. They
are, moreover, reprinted in the Book
of Common Prayer, with the Decla-
ration of King James I. affixed, and
which runs as follows :
" Being by God's ordinance, ac-
cording to our just title, Defender
of the Faith and supreme governor
of the church in these our domin-
we will that all cu-
lons.
• •
lious search be laid aside»and these
^Bjt^^mfmiUm^ p. sa
disputes shut up in God's promises
as they be generally set forth in the
Holy Scriptures, and the general
meaning of the Articles of the
Church of England according to
them; and that no man hereafter
shall either print or preach to draw
the article aside any way, but shall
submit to it in the plain and full
meaning thereof, and • . . shall
take it in the literal and grammati-
cal sense."
*' Following this last admonition,
and bearing in mind that the Church
of England considers herself to be
a branch of the universal chnrch
of Christ, we open the Book of Cm-
mon Prayer, and turn to those
among the Articles which treat of •
the universal church, that we may
see how, without renouncing onr
Italian nationality — which to us is
very dear — we could belong to the
universal church of Christ. We
see an article headed * Of the Au-
thority of General Councils/ and, on
reading it, find to our astonishment
the definition, not indeed of the in-
fallibility of the Pope, but of the
fallibility, without any exception, of
the universal church of Christ! It
is: Article XXI. — 'General Coun-
cils may not be called together with-.
out the commandment and will of
princes. And when they be gath-
ered together (forasmuch as ther
be an assembly of men, whereof all
be not governed with the spirit and
word of God), they may err, and
sometimes have erred, even in
thingspertaining untoGod. Where-
fore things ordained by them as
necessary to salvation have neither
strength nor authority, unless it may
be declared that they be taken out
of Holy Scripture.'"
" Thus " (we give Father Tondi-
ni's words) "the Church of Eng-
land has defined, in two plenar}* na-
tional councils, that the universal
Anglicans^ Old Catholics^ and the Conference at Bonn. $05
criiurch of Christ, even when assem-
bled in a general council, may err,
:^T\d ordain, as necessary to salva-
tion, things which have neither
strength nor authority; and a king,
* Defender of the Faith,* has de-
••larcd that this is the true doctrine
of the Church of England, agreeable
to God*s word, and required all his
loving subjects to submit to this ar-
ticle * in the plain and full meaning
thereof,* and to take it * in the liter-
al and grammatical sense'!
'* We can hardly trust our own
eyes. Again : What does the word
' declare * mean in the concluding
words of the article ? This word
may convey two senses — that of
proving and of making a declara-
tion.
" In the first case, who is to offer
the proofs that * the thing ordained
as necessary to salvation ' is taken
out of Holy Scripture ? This the
Church of England has forgotten to
tell us ! . . . Moreover, an
authority whose decrees, in order to
have a binding power, must be prov-
ed to be taken out of Holy Scrip-
lure, is by that very fact subordi-
nate to those who are called to ex-
amine the proofs..* The chief au-
thorities of the church assembled
in a general council are thus ren-
dered as inferior to the faithful as
the claimant is inferior to the judge
who is about to pronounce sentence
• *' If ore than ooce/* nyi Father Tondin! in «
■ace on this •ubject — '* more than once, in reading
defences of the Catholic Church, written with the
best tatentiont, ve could not resist a desire that in
the ' Litanies of the Saints/ or other prayen of the
cbarch, there might be inserted some such invoca-
tin as this : A matit advocath libtra no9^ DomU
•r.*—* From mischievous advocates, O Lord ! deliv-
er us.* We say this most earnestly, the more so that
li applies alio to ourselves. Many a time, when
prepariag our writing^ we have experienced a feei-
ng not nnUke that of an advocate fully convinced of
dw innocence ol the accused, but dreading lest, by
want of clearness or other defect in putting forth
his aigumenu, he might not only fail to carry con-
vktioa to the mind of the judges, but also prejudice
the cause he wishes to defend. Never, perhaps, is
the nccetsity of prayer more deeply felt."
upon his claims. The teaching
and governing body of the church
is consequently no more than an
assembly commissioned to frame,
* as necessary to salvation,' laws to
be submitted to the approbation of
the faithful !
"Is this serious.? Is it even re-
spectful to human intelligence V*
Again, if the word " declare *^
must be taken in the sense of a
declaration, Father Tondini asks :
** But by whom is such a declaration
to be made ? Assuredly not by the
council itself — *judice in causipro-
prii.' An authority liable to err,
.'even in things pertaining unto
God,* and to ordain * as necessary
to salvation ' things which have
'neither strength nor authority,'
is liable also to mistake the sense
of Holy Scripture. To seek such
a declaration from this fallible
authority would be like begging
the question.
"The declaration must, then, be
made by some authority external to
the general council. But the * arch-
bishops,^ bishops, and the whole
clergy of England ' have omitted to
inform the faithful where such an
authority is to be found. Moreover,
since a general council — that is, the
* selected and typical witnesses ' of
the whole Church of Christ — may
err (according to Article XXL), it
necessarily follows that portions of
the whole church of Christ may
err also. In fact, this natural con-
sequence is explicitly stated in Ar-
ticle XIX. The zeal displayed by
the Church of England in asserting
the fallibility, both of the whole
church of Christ and of portions
of that church, may be said to rival
that of the most fervent advocates
of the infallibility of the Pope."
This XlXth Article modestly as-
serts that, " as the Churches of Jeru-
salem, Alexandria, and Antioch have
5o6 Anglicans. Old Catholics^ and the Conference at Bonn.
erred, so also the Church of Rome
hath erred, not only in their liv-
ing and manner of ceremonies, but
also in matters of faith."
Whereupon ** a legitimate doubt
arises whether the Church of Eng-
land, too, might not have erred in
issuing the Thirty-nine Articles
of Religion. This doubt is very
material. These Articles ordain
several things as * necessary to sal-
vation.* Are they, or are they not,
* taken out of Holy Scripture ?
Have they, or have they not,
'strength and authority '?'*
Shortly after their promulgation,
we have it upon the authority of
King James I. himself that this
doubt gave rise to ** disputations,
altercations, and questions sueh as
may nourish faction both in the
church and commonwealth," and
his majesty adds that " therefore,
upon mature deliberation," etc., he
** thought fit " to make th^ declara-
tion following :
" That the Articles of the Church
of England ... do contain
the true doctrine of the Church of
England, agreeable to God's Word,
which WE do therefore ratify and
confirm."
" May we " (with Father Tondini)
" be allowed respectfully to ask
whether King James I. was infal-
lible.?"
And if so, why should Catholics
be charged with having forfeited
their mental and moral freedom,
etc., etc., because they admit the
infallibility of the Pope, which re-
sults, by the law of development,
from several passages of Holy Scrip-
ture ; whereas, on the contrary, no
** brain power " will ever be able to
discover a single word in Holy
Scripture which can, by the most
vigorous process of development,
bud forth into the -infallibility of a
King of England }
On the other hand, if King Jamc^
were not infallible, by what right
could he then prohibit and nn/l m
matters of faith for his subjects?
His only right was this : that tlie
Church of England had been made
a powerful instrumenium regni rn
the hands of her sovereigns,* jii*it
as the Church of Russia is in the
hands of her czars.
After this, observes the writer, no
inconsistency ought to astonish us.
In Article XVIH. it is declared
that " the body of Christ is given,
taken, and eaten in the [Lord's]
Supper only after an heavenly and
spiritual manner " ; and again, at tiie
end of the " Order of the Ministra-
tion of the Holy Communion," thai
*' the natural body and blood of our
Saviour Christ are in heaven, and not
herey How can these declara-
tions be made to agree with the fol-
lowing, which is taught in the Lit-
tie Catechism } — ^** The body and
blood of Christ are verily and indeed
taken and received by the faithful
in the Lord's Supper."
Again, in Article XI. we find :
That we are justified by faith
only is a most wholesome doctrine,
and very full of comfort " ; where-
as in the order for the visitation
of the sick we read as follows :
^ With regard to the powers of the aorereign over
the episcopate we quote the foUowioi^ fron the
LoadoQ TabUt for March 97, XS75 : ** Aaons other
tremendous stumbling-hlocks against the daiins fc*
the Church (of England) by the High Church pam
a candid writer in the Ckurck Herald is ^ aoietr
staggered by the oath of allegiance, according t4
which we have the chief pastors of the church 4r-
daring in the Aoat solenm manner that they receirc
the spiritualities of their office oniy from the qocca.
and are bishops by her grace only.* *"*
In connection with the foregoing; we cannoK re»
frain from citing a passage frooi Marshall, which ■
as follows : ^ Any bishops can only obtain .•^intBal
jurisdiction in one of two ways— either by reoern^g
it from those who already possess it, in which cax
their (the English bbhops*) search must cxtcwt be-
yond their own communion, or by imitatnc the
two lay travelleis in Chkia of whom we haTe mwr
where read, who fancied they should like to beaii*
iiooaries, whereupon the one ordained the other, sad
was then in turn ordained by kim^ to the great aK>
isfactiooofboth."
a «■
AngiicatiSy Old Catholics^ and the Conference at Bonn. 507
««
Here shall the sick person be
noved to make a special confession
1/ his sinSy if he feel iiis conscience
rroul>led with any weighty matter.
A^fter which confession the priest
(hall absolve him (if he humbly
and heartily desire it) after this
sort," etc., etc.
" But," asks Father Tondini,
** by what strange metamorphosis
can the above-quoted doctrine of
justification by faith oiifyy declared
to l>e * most wholesome and very
full of comfort ' while we are in
Kood health, cease to possess the
power of comforting the conscience
of a sick person ? And how can
confession, which through life is
to be considered by Anglicans as
^ grown of the corrupt following of
ihe apostles ' (see Article XXV.), be-
come suddenly so transfigured by
the approach of death as to obtain
the power of relieving a conscience
* troubled with any weighty mat-
tcr 7"
Although it may not be matter
of much surprise that a church
which has so carefully defined her
ofm fallibility should have one
doctrine for her children in their
da.ys of health and vigor, and an*
other for the time of their sick-
ness and death, still it does sur-
prise us that a man of education
like Mr. Gladstone should be so
unconscious of his own extraordi-
nary inconsistency in appealing —
as he does throughout his attacks
against Catholics and the Catholic
Church — to "mental and moral
freedom," "logic," "consistency
of mind," " manliness of thought,"
etc., etc.
Already arise from all sides
echoes of the question singularly
enough asked by Mr. Gladstone
himself: "Is the Church of Eng-
land worth preserving ?" *
^ See CBtUtmporary Rtvieui for July*
" The Church of England," said
Laud, "is Protestant." And Mr.
Gladstone, true to " the church of
his birth and his country," pro-
tests, like her, against the church
which made his country a Christian
nation. The Ritualists, the latest
sect within her, still boast that they
"help to keep people from the
Church of Rome," and reject the
imputation of sympathy with her
as an insupportable calumny.*
"They will give communion in
Westminster Abbey to an Unita-
rian, flatter Jansenists and Mono-
physites, remain in communion with
bishops whom they themselves pro-
claim to be heretics ; but one thing
they will not do — tolerate the creed
of the church to which they owe
every fragment and crumb of truth
that remains to them." " Take
the great Anglian divines," writes
Mr. Marshall: "Bull scorned and
preached against the Catholic
Church ; Barrow wrote a book
against it ; Sandys called the Vi-
car of Christ * that triple-crowned
thief and murderer'; Hooker sent
for a dissenter on his death-bed ;
* Since writing the abore we happened to lee the
following case in point, in the Church Timet of
September lo, Z875, in which a cleigyman, signing
hifoself ** a priest, nat of the Oiocese of Exeter,"
writes a letter of remonstrance against the violent
abuse heaped by " a priest of the Diocese of Exeter ' '
against the late learned and venerable Vicar of
Morwenstow, Mr. Hawker, who, on the day before
his death, made his submission to the Catholic
Church. From this letter, which contains many
candid and interesting admissions, we quote the fol-
lowing : *' In these days, when we have among us
so many dignitaries and popular preachers of the
Established Church who in their teaching deny all
sacnunental truth, while ottiers cannot repeat the
Nicene and Athanasian Creeds without a gloss, and
others again boldly assert that ^ the old religious
ideas expressed in the Apostles* Creed must Ic
thrown into afresh form, if they are to retain their
hold on the educated minds of the present generation .
it appears monstrous that a clergyman whose faith-
ful adhesion to the Prayer Book during a ministry
of forty years was notorious should be denounced
as a * bUuphemous rogue and a scoundrel ' becaute
he held opinions which are considered by some indi-
vidual members of either church as denoting * a
Roman at heart,' or, in the exercise of a liberty
granted to everyone, thought fit to correspond with
influential memben of the Church of Rome.'*
SOS Anglicans, Old Catholics, and the Conference at Bonn.
Morton, Brarnhall, Andrews, and
the rest avowed the opinion that
the Protestant sects of the Conti-
nent were as true churches as their
own. Episcopal ordination, as the
late Mr. J. Keble confessed, was
not made a condition for holding
Anglican preferment until the latter
half of the XVIIth century; and
it was tMen adopted as a weapon
against the growing power of the
dissenters. Then Anglicans who
had always argued as Protestants
against the church began to argue
AS Catholics against dissent."
At the present time, however, the
Kn^Iish episcopate seems veering
lound again to the Protestant quar-
ter» against the pseudo-Catholic
innovations of a portion of the
V vc I ^\ % The Church Herald^ wh ich,
'.^p to the time when it ceased to
cxUt^ jt tew weeks ago, had been
'»u>tCNting for many months pre-
\»ou>l\» with good reason, against
tlw"' uu|>Ucable opposition offered
l»v l'»>c Anglican bishops to the so-
vaMvvl *' Catholic revival," gravely
tv»Ul its readers, while asserting
v>nco move that ** no one trusts the
bixhops," and that " of influence
ihoY have and can have next to
>uMu\" nevertheless that " their
V laiuw as Catholic bishops were
oovov Ko firmly established." (!)
Wuainly Anglican logic is peculiar.
Thru bishops were never more
\ ^^hcmently opposed to the Catho-
br liUlh; but no matter, "never
\s^Mo thry more truly Catholic." (!)
** I have very rehictanlly," says
\ht Loe (as reported in the John
A'/m?), ** come to a conclusion which
m.^krM me melancholy — that the
jMi^inuof the Public Worship Bill
It in to all intents and purposes seal-
\\\ tho fate of the Church of Eng-
luuli" Ita end, he thinks, is very
iM'.u» brrauHo no church can last
unh''»* U be a true portion of the
one family of God — not a mere hti-
man sect, taking its variable opin-
ion from the civil government, and
its practice from a parliamentary
officer without the faintest shade*
of spiritual authority. ** The point
that gravely perplexes me," he
writes, " with regard to the new law,
is that our bishops, one and all,
have, with their eyes open and de-
liberately, renounced their spirit-
ual jurisdiction, which, for both pro*
vinces and every diocese, is placed
in the hands of Lord Penzance, ex-
judge of the Divorce Court/* For
which reason certain Ritualist
papers lament it as ** strange and
sad " that Dr. Lee should say of
the bishops and their bill exactly
the same after their victory as they
themselves had said before it. These
papers, after the example of some
learned Anglican professors, etc., '
are ready enough beforehand to
threaten, in the event of such and
such a decision, to "reconsider
their position." The decision if
made ; they then discover that, after |
all, it is not so very serious, and
compose themselves, for the third,
or fourth, or fifth time, just where
they were before.
It is stated that the first case
under the Public Worship Regula-
tions Act is now being brought be-
fore Lord Penzance. It is a sail
against the Rev. J. C. Ridsdale, in-
cumbent of S. Peter's, Folkestone
According to the new law, three in-
habitants made a representation to
the Archbishop of Canterbury as
to the manner in which the services
were conducted at S. Peter's. A
copy of the representation was for-
warded to Mr. Ridsdale, and, no
agreement to abide by the decision
of the archbishop having been
made, the proceedings will be de-
termined by the judge, from whom
there is an ultimate appeal to brr
Anglicans ^ Old Catliolics^ and the Conference at Bonn. 509
Xy in council. There are, it
% said, three cases pending under
:he new law ; and fresh proceedings
xre al>out to be commenced against
Jie clergy of S. Alban's, Holborn.
The bill bids fair to be as one-sid-
ed in its application as it avowedly
was in its intention. " The Puritan
triumph in the XVIIth century,"
said the Bishop of London, ** would
not be more disastrous than a
pseudo-Catholic triumph nowf" and
the rest of the episcopal bench are
evidently of the same mind.
Nor can it be matter of much
surprise that such repression should
be exercised against men, many of
t^em truly earnest and self-deny-
iog, who are the means of reviving
a certain amount of Catholic doc*
trine as well as practice (however
illegal) in their communion, when
Dr. Lee is able to write as follows
lo an episcopal correspondent :
" The Catholic faith, Archbishop
Tait» in the presence of his suffra-
gans, frankly declared that neither
he nor they believedy and his grace —
lo give him all credit — has done his
worst to get rid of it."
Here again can we wonder at the
result, even to her highest dignita-
ries, of the uncertain teaching of a
church which, from its very begin-
ning, was intended to be a compro-
mise ?
And, again, how can a church
which is essentially a compromise
be expected to sympathize with that
unchanging church which is '^ the
pillar and ground of the truth " ?
II.
To return to Father Tondini's
essay. We come now to consider
the newest among the sects, the so-
called Old Catholics, who, after the
manner of many other schismatics,
•ippropriate the name of " Catho-
lic" with an affix of their own,
which is a proof that theirs is a
bastf metal, unworthy of the " im-
age and superscription of the King"
or his appointed vicegerent.
Mr. Gladstone's judgment of
these people is thus expressed :
" When the cup of endurance," he
says, '^ which had so long been fill-
ing, began, with the Council of the
Vatican in 1870, to overflow, the
most famous and learned living
theologian of the Roman commu-
nion, Dr. von DoUinger, long the
foremost champion of his church,
refused compliance, and submitted,
with his temper undisturbed and
his freedom unimpaired, to the ex-
treme and most pd^inful penalty of
excommunication. With him manv
of the most learned and respected
theologians of the Roman commu-
nion in Germany underwent the
same sentence. The very few who
elsewhere (I do not speak of Swit-
zerland) suffered in like manner
deserve an admiration rising in pro-
portion to their fewness.
" It seems as though Germany,
from which Luther blew the mighty
trumpet that even now echoes
through the land, still retained
her primacy in the domain of
conscience, still supplied the cen-
turia praro^ativa of the great comiiia
of the world."*
After giving this quotation. Fa-
ther Tondini, in the exercise of his
** mental freedom," proceeds to ex-
amine whether Old Catholics really
deserve this highly laudatory and
enthusiastic passage, and in what
their merit consists.
Their merit consists " in having
rebelled against the church to which
they previously belonged, on the
ground that, in their conviction,
she had changed her faith.
** Not one single bishop, not one
t
* Sxpottulatitn^ psfO ti ; W. ** The thiid pio
potitioa.*'
5 10 Anglicans , Old CatholicSy and the Conference at Bonn.
out of the teaching body of the
church, has expressed the same
conyiction. Old Catholics are, then,
:t mere handful . . . protesting
against the Pope and the whole
episcopate, preferring their own
private judgment to that of the
whole teaching body of the Catho-
lic Church, and fully decided to do
everything in their power to bring
about the triumph of their private
personal judgment. Their first act
was to raise a schism in the church.
They had openly and freely sepa-
rated themselves from her long be-
fore the sentence of excommunica-
tion was notified to them. They
then became the occasion of a se-
vere persecution against their for-
mer fellow-Catholics ; and now,
whilst the persecution is raging,
.'ind Old Catholics, supported by
governments and the press, have
suffered neither in person nor prop-
erty, nor in their individual liberty,
we are called upon to bestow upon
those who suffered 'in like manner*
an admiration rising in proportion
to their fewness!"*
But why is this? and what is
the Expostulation itself but a cry
of alarm to prevent British Catho-
lics from rebelling against the
queen ? Why, then, is the rebel-
lion of some private individuals to
be extolled in terms like these 1
Or if, indeed, strong private reli-
gious convictions (taking it for
granted that the Old Catholics have
such) make it praiseworthy to rebel
against the church, why should not
strong private political convictions
* *' Cooks and controvernalists seem to have this
in common : that they nicely appreciate the standard
of knowledge in those whose appetites they supply.
The cook is tempted to ssnd up ill-dressed dishes to
masters who have slifi:ht skill in, or care for, cookery ;
and the controversialist occasionally shows his con-
tempt for the intelligence of his readers by the quaU
ity of the arguments or statements which he pre-
sents for their acceptance. But this, if it is to be
done with safety, should be dons in measure." —
Gladstone, Vaticanism^ pp. 8a, 83.
make it equally praiseworthy to re-
bel against the state } The field
of similar applications is fearfuilj
wide, and many a parental admoni-
tion to an indolent or disobedienc
child might be met by the young
rebel in Mr. Gladstone's words,
that " with temper undisturbed,
with freedom unimpaired," he had
no intention to do as he was bid.
The first official document of the
Old Catholics is the " Declaration'
of Dr. von Dollinger and his adiie-
rents, dated Munich, June, 1871, *
and which bears the signatures of
Dr. von Dollinger, sixteen profes-
sors or doctors, seven magistrates^
three private gentlemen, two manu-
facturers, one " Mattre royal des
cdr^monies," and one ^'Intendact
royal de musique au thedtre de
cour " — thirty-one signatures in all,
to which was added later that of the
unhappy Loyson.
The second document is a French
manifesto or appeal, "Aux fideles
de TAncienne Eglise Catholique,"
signed " E. Michaud, Docteur en
Th^ologie," dated 1872, and widely
circulated in France, with a request
that every reader will help to make
it known and gain as many addi-
tional adherents as possible.
The style of both documents is
peculiar. They alike belong to
those literary productions which be-
tray an almost feverish excitement
of mind> A small number of per-
sons, till lately belonging to the
Catholic Church, declare themselves
" determined " to do their utmost
towards bringing about " the reform
of ecclesiastical affairs, so long de-
sired and henceforth so inevitable,
in the organization as well as in the
life of the church." In fact, the
* In the German edition oT Father ToadiaTt
pamphlet, the abstract of this document b given a
the original German, as it is to be seen in tlkc Jt««*
nrrZtitung of June 15, 1871.
Anglicans^ Old Catholics^ and the Conference at Bonn. 5 ^ '
authors of both these documents
Nhov afaith in their own infallibility,
l>oth doctrinal and practical, at
least as strong as their conviction
of the fallibility of the Pope. They
arc peculiarly unfortunate in their
choice of the fathers they quote,
as well as in their appeal to the au-
thority of S. Paul. Their style is
certainly wholly unlike that of this
great apostle, who, with so much
earnestness and humility, begs the
prayers of the faithful, while the
necessity of prayer for such an un-
dertaking as that which the Old
Catholics call the ** regeneration of
the church " is not even once allud-
ed to in their manifestoes.
There is another consideration
which presents itself. Every prac-
tical man is careful to ascertain the
competency, in any particular sub-
ject, of those who give him their
advice upon it. A sick man would
not consult a lawyer for his
t ure, nor an aggrieved man seek
legal advice of his baker or shoe-
maker. The distinguished magis-
trates who signed the German Dec-
laration must be supposed to have
done so, not in consequence of a
clear and detailed knowledge of the
grounds of the assertions it con-
tained, but in consequence of their
confidence in Dr. von Dollinger,
which led them to adopt hi» views.
In the same way must be explained
the adhesions given by the respecta-
ble manufacturers, ** Maftre royal des
c^r^monies," and " Intendant royal
dc musique au thddtre de cour "; for
though these pursuits need not be
in themselves an obstacle to a man
being well acquainted with religious
matters, still they are an undeniable
argument against his having made
it the chief object of his studies.
'" Xow," continues Father Tondini,
** the cliarges brought in the present
case against the Catholic Church
are so heavy, and the mere proba-
bility of their being founded on
truth of such vital importance to
the whole Christian world, . • .
that to require something more
than the ordinary amount of theo-
logical science which is in general
to be found in men involved in
worldly affairs of the most distract-
ing kind, is only acting in accor-
dance with the most ordinary laws
of prudence. All this will become
evident if we only suppose that the
' Declaration ' had appeared without
the signatures of Dr. von Dollinger
and the above-mentioned profes-
sors." In looking over the latter
we find that none of them can lay
any claim to the same scientific
authority and repute as that which
he enjoys ; and the same remark
applies to all who have subse-
quently joined the Old Catholics.
With regard to Dr. von Dollinger
himself, he has till now, if we are
rightly informed, abstained from
joining his fellow-subscribers to the
German " Declaration " in their
submission to Mgr. Reinkens, th*
Old-Catholic Bishop of Germany.
"Thus the chief promoter of the
opposition to the Vatican Council
stands apart, and we should be
grateful to any one who might tell
us to what church he belongs and
whom he recognizes as his legiti-
mate bishop. We cannot suppose
that he whom Mr. Gladstone calls
* the most famous and learned theo-
logian of the Roman communion '
has the pretension of forming a
church in his own person."
Father Tondini next notices the
remarkable phenomenon presented
by Old Catholicism during the first
three years of its existence as
body without a head, and calL
the reader's attention to the follow-
ing passage in the French mani-
festo :
512 ANglicans, jOld Catholics^ and the Conference at Bonn.
*' If it be the will of God," thus
it runs, " tliat some Roman bishops
have the courage to return publicly
to the profession of the ancient
faith, we will place them with joy
at our head. And if none break
publicly with heresy, our church,
tliough essentially episcopal, will
not for that reason be condemned
to die ; for as soon as it shall be
possible to regularize its situation
in this respect, we shall choose
priests who will receive either in
the West or in the East an episco-
pal consecration of unquestionable
validity."
** These," he remarks, " are plain
words. It evidently results from
them that there was a time when
the church, * unstained by any Ro-
man innovation,' was still looking
for a bishop — in other words, for a
head, which she did not possess as
yet. How, in spite of this defi-
ciency, the Old-Catholic Church
could be termed essentially episco-
pal we are at a loss to understand.
That which is essential to a thing
is that without which it cannot pos-
sibly exist for a single moment ;
but here we are asked to believe in
a miracle which at once destroys
all our physical and metaphysical
notions of things. A new-born
warrior fighting without a head,
and a being existing without one
of its essential constituents — such
are the wonders which accompa-
nied the genesis of the so-called re-
generated church of tlie Old Catho-
lics."
The German Declaration in like
manner states the then headless
condition of the Old-Catholic body.
Its subscribers, and among them
Prof. Reinken^, say they look for-
ward to a time when ** all Catho-
licity shall be placed under the
direction of a primate and an
episcopacy, which by means of
science," etc., etc., " and not by iht
decrees of the Vatican, . . . sluil
approach the crowning object ;in-
signed to Christian development —
we mean that of the union of i br-
other Christian confessions iiu^v
separated from us," etc.
Such was their language in June.
1871, when they were already near-
ly a year old. Their first bishop.
Joseph Hubert Reinkens, was con-
secrated in August, 1873. The-r
dates are very important. No pow-
er on earth will ever be able 10
annul them as historical facts, whicli
prove that a body calling itself the
true church of Christ has existed
some time without a single bishop,
although bishops are essential to
the church of Christ, as Scripture,
tradition, history, all antiquity
agree. S. Cyprian says :
** The church is the people in
union with the bishop — ^a flock ad-
hering to its shepherd. The bi-
shop is in the church and tU
church in the bishop. He who is
not with the bishop is not in the
church."* And again : " He can-
not be accounted a bishop who, in
despite of the evangelic and apos-
tolic tradition, has, of himself, be-
come one (fi se ipso ortus est, nemint
succedens)^ and succeeds to none.*'
Now, " to what bishop" (asks Fa-
ther Tondini) "did Dr. Reinkw
succeed } His first pastoral letter,
dated August 11, 1873, is addresscti
* to the priests and faithful »W
Germany who persevere in the an-
cient Catholic faith.* Who ever
heard of the bishop and dioce>e
* S. Cyprian (lO confidently appealed to b7 ikr
Old Catholics), speaking of Novatian, and, as it wtrt
of Dr. Reinkens' consecration, says : ** He who W>
neither the tinity of spirit nor the coramuakm«f
peace, but separates himself from the -bonds cf t^e
church and the hierarchical body, cannot hj«e
either ths power or the honor of a bishop — ^hc vk
would keep neither the unity nor the peace j< t^
episcopate."— S. Cyprian, i5>. s^^ Compare J*
JS>. 76, Ad magHum d* btiptizaHdis N^ uiu^i ,
etc., sect. 3.
Anglicans, Old Catholics , and ilu Conference at Bonn 513
cf Germany before this letter?"
Again : ** That same Dr. Reinkens
who in June, 187 1, signed the
* Declaration' in which the Chris-
tian confessions outside the Roman
I'hurch were called * Christian con-
fessions now separated from us/ in
August, 1873, saluted with the title
of * Old Catholics,* the Jansenists
of Holland, and Mgr. Heykamp,
the bishop by whom he was conse-
crated, with that of * bishop of the
Old Catholics * ! " ♦
III.
We now come to the considera-
lion of Old Catholicism as an in-
strument of union between the
Christian Episcopal churches. In
accordance with their " Declara-
tion," the Old Catholics insist upon
its being one of their main objects
lo reunite the Christian churches
separated from Rome during the
Vlllth and IXth centuries, and
complacently boast of the marks of
sympathy bestowed upon them by
these churches.
From one of their manifestoes
Father Tondini quotes the follow-
ing important statements :
"The bishops of the Oriental
Orthodox Church " — thus runs the
manifesto — " and those of the Epis-
copal Church of England and the
United States of America (!) en-
courage Old Catholicism with their
most profound sympathy. Repre-
sentatives of the Orthodox Church
of Russia assist every year at its
congress. . . . The interest dis-
played for it by governments is not
inferior to that of the churches. . . .
The governments of Russia and of
England are disposed lo recognize
• ** Je rail VBXxh dans une d« ces lign^et ininter-
inaipaes par rordination que j'ai re^ue des mains de
Mrr. Heykamp, ivique dts vitux Catkolique$ de
n^mtir, ^^luttre raster (ttt de Mgr, t Evique
y^^fh Hubert Keinkens, Dattenr en Thiolog:e,
Pari.: Sandoiet Fischbacber, 1874, p. it.
VOL. XXII. — ^33
its rights when it shall be opportune
to do so." *
Upon which he pomts out the
exceeding inexpediency, for their
own sakes, of these governments or
their bishops having any participa-
tion in the doings of Old Catholics ;
and this for the following reasons,
which are worthy of careful consid-
eration by the two governments in
question, and which we give in his
own words :
" In order, it would seem, to es-
cape the stringent conclusion of S.
Cyprian's words, * He who does
not succeed to other bishops, but is
self-originated, cannot be reckoned
among bishops,' Mgr. Reinkens, in
his above-quoted pastoral letter, . . .
authoritatively declared not only
that the 'apostolic see of Rome
was vacant,* but that not one of the
actually existing Roman Catholic
bishops was legitimate.
" In support of this assumption
the Old-Catholic bishop invokes
some fathers of the church — not, in-
deed, what they said or did while
living, but what they would say or
do if they were to return to life:
* If the great bishops of the ancient
church were to return to life in the
midst of us,' says Mgr. Reinkens,
* a Cyprian, (!) a Hilary, an Am-
brose, . - . they would acknow-
ledge none of the existing bishops
of the Roman Catholic Church as
validly elected.' f
" So much for the fact. As it
can only be ascertained when those
great bishops are restored to life, all
we can do is to defer this verification
until the great day of judgment.
" Now comes the general princi-
ple on which the assumed fact is.
founded. Let us iPsten again to-
Mgr. Reinkens : * They [the resus-
* Fr^grAmma 0/ Old-Catheiic Littrainrg^ Ubr
Sandos et Fischbacher. Pari*,
t " Pastoral Letter " {Programma^ etc.), p. y
;i4 AuglicanSy Old Catliolics^ and the Conference at Bonn.
citated bishops of the ancient
church] would not acknowledge
any of the existing bishop^ of the
Roman Catholic Church as validly
elected, because none of them
were appointed in conformity with
the immutable rule of the fathers
of the church. Never ! no, never !
would they have received into their
company, in the quality of a Catho-
lic bishop, one who had not been
chosen by the people and the clergy.
This mode of election was consider-
ed by them as of divine precept, and
consequently as immutable.* '*
** How many bishops are there in
existence at the present day," asks
Father Tondini, " either in the An-
lihvMn Church or in the Christian
K.ist» who have been chosen by
the people and the clergy?"
\\\ answer to this question we
have, respecting the non-popular
mode of election in the Oriental
Orthodox Church, the following
trustworthy information: In the
Orthodox Church of the Turkish
Kmpire the election of a patriarch
iji made by the members of its
Hynod, which is composed of me-
tropolitans, of one of their own num-
ber, and this election ** is then made
known to the people assembled in
the atrium of the synodicon, who
^ive, by acclamation and the cry
of a^io^ (worthy), their assent to
the election. . . . This, however, is
in fact an empty formality; the
more so as the election itself is the
rt'hult of previous secret understand-
ing's between the more influential
members of the synod and the lead-
ing men among the people."*
♦* The three patriarchs of Alex-
aiidriii, Antioch, and Jerusalem are
rlrrtt^d by their respective synods,
I iiin|MiHr(l of metropolitans.
• hilUrnaKi (I>r. ludor), Ver/nttunr umd /r-
fi^Hwarh^i/r /lettrtHd s^ntmtluher Kirchen dt*
{>» ift*t4. UuwUhut, 1865, pp. 10, II.
M 'PI
The metropolitans and bisho(>s
of each patriarchate are elected by
the respective patriarchs, logeih-fr
with their synods."
Did the Patriarch of' Constanti-
nople, in agreeing, on the inviution
of Dr. von Dollinger, to send repre-
sentatives of the Greek Orthodoi
Church to tlie Old Catholic Chnrch
Congress at Bonn, forget that, ac-
cording to Mgr. Reinkens, all bi-
shops who have not been elected by
the clergy and the people are ille-
gitimate bishops, that their sees
are all vacant, that this mode of
election is of divine precept, and
consequently immutable }
" We know not," says Father
Tondini, " which of the two is mort
to be wondered at : the boldness
of the Old Catholics in inviting tbc
patriarch to be represented at the
congress, or the logical inconsisten-
cy of the patriarch in accepting the
invitation."
Next, with regard to the Ortho-
dox Church of the Russian Empire.
No one who may have read
" The Future of the Russian
Church," which recently appeared
in the pages V)f The Cathouc
World,* will need to be told how
little voice either the inferior clergy
or people of Russia have in the
election of their bishops. The
Most Holy Governing Synod pro-
poses to his majesty two persons
(on an eparchy becoming vacant),
and that one of the two selected by
the czar is chosen and consecrated.t
(See Con sett. Spiritual Htgulaiwn
of Peter the Great.)
In the formula of the oath taken
by the Russian bishops before bein^
consecrated, they engage themselves
to yield true obedience to the Holy
* See Thb Cathouc Wosu>, JaanaiT-Afn!,
1875.
tSee TkePo^e9/R0m* mnd the Pm^ 0/ tkt
Orthodox Churchy ad ed., pp. 97, 9S. WagS*
Ummc, Loodoa.
AngiuanSy Old Catholics^ and tlie Conference at Bonn. 5 1 5
Synodv " ^» the legitimate authority
instituted by tne pious Emperor Pe-
ter the Great of immortal memory,
auid confirmed by command of his(or
Her) present imperial majesty," and
to obey all the rules and statutes
made by the authority of the synod
agreeably to the will of his (or her)
imperial majesty, adding the follow-
ing words : ** Furthermore, I do tes-
tify that I have not received this
province in consideration of gold
or silver given by me, . . . but I
have received it by the free will of
our most serene and most puissant
sovereign (by name), and by tlie
tUclion of the Holy Legislative
Synod.* Mt>reover, at the begin-
ning of the ceremony the bishop-
consecrator thus addresses the new-
ly-elected bishop : ** Reverend Fa-
ther N., the Most Serene and Most
Puissant Czar N. N. hath command-
tdy by his own singular ami proper
e*iicty and the Holy Legislative Syn-
od of all the Russias gives its bene-
diction thereto, that you, holy sir,
be bishop of the city of N."; to
which the future bishop is made to
answer : ** Since the Most Serene,
etc., Czar has commanded, and the
. . . synod . . . has judged me
worthy to undertake this province,
1 give thanks therefor, and do un-
dertake it and in nowise gainsay."f
After sifnilarly disposing (with
• Rine, Tht Ritts^ etc., p. 095. Quoted in The
'*''/" **/ ffomt^ etc , p. 9S. See also for what con-
cerns the election of the Russian bishops the Ri^t*
m^ ' t *'t:cU*ia*tiqtt€ d4 Pierre ie Granti^ avec intro-
duce ion, notes, etc , par le R. P. Casarius '1 ondini.
Paris : Libr. de la Soc. biblaographique.
t *' The idea," says Polevoi, " that spiritual mat-
ters do not appertain to the authority of the sover-
eign was still so deeply rooted in men*s minds that,
b the very first session of the Spiritual College,
ftoac members dared (osmeliVs) to ask the emperor :
*Is (hen the Patriarchal dignity suppressed, aU
though nothing has been said about it ? ' M an
yofor Patriarch V ( Ya vnsk PntrinrkH /) ongrily
\gntrii») exclaimed Peter, striking his breast. The
questioners were dumb."
- This account of Peter's eou^ d*^tnt." adds Fa-
ther Tondini, ** was printed at St. Petersburg in
the year 1843, and, be it observed, not without the
approbationc^r the censors. See Fc^e fi/R^me^ etc.,
regard to the remaining Oriental
churches) of Mr. Gladstone's ex-
traordinary assertion that " the an-
cient principles of popular election
and conticl exist in the Christian
East *' — an assertion of which also'
he makes use as a weapon against
the Catholic Church * — Father
Tondini passes on to the election
of bishops in the Anglican Church.
With regard to this, the following
abstract from Stephen is amply suf-
ficient to show how far " the princi-
ples of popular election " prevail in
the nomination of the bishops of
the Establishment :
'* By statute 25 Henry VIII. c. 20
the law was altered and the right
of nomination secured to the crown,
it being enacted that, at every fu-
ture avoidance of a bishopric, tlu^
king may send the dean and chap-
ter his usual license to proceed to
election, or cong/ delire, which is
always to be accompanied with \
letter missive from the king, con-
taining the name of the person
whom he would have them elect ;
and if the dean and chapter delay
their election above twelve days,
the nomination shall devolve to
the king, who may by letters-patent
appoint such person as he pleases.
This election or nomination, if it
be of a bishop, must be signified by
the king's letters-patent to the arch-
bisliop of the province ; if it be of
an archbishop, to the other arch-
bishop and two bishops, or to four
bishops, requiring them to confirm,
invest, and consecrate the person
so elected ; which they are bonn«l
to perform immediately, without
any application to the See of
Rome. After which the bishop-
^" These principles have, by the constant aggres-
sion ofcurialism, been in the maineiTaced, or, where
not effaced, reduced to the last stage of practical in-
anition. We see before us the pope, the bishops,
the priesthood, and the people. The priests are nh'
salute over the people ; the bishops over both ; the
pope over all. . . ."— yaticamum^ p. 34
5 1 6 Anglicans, Old Catholics, and the Conference at Bonn.
elect shall sue to the king for his
temporalities, shall take oath to
the king and to none other, and
shall take restitution of his secular
possessions out of the king's hand
only. And if such dean and chap-
ter do not elect in this manner by
this act appointed, or if such arch-
bishop or bishop do refuse to con-
firm, invest, and consecrate such
bishop-elect, they shall incur all
the penalties of a pisemunire — that
is, the loss of all civil rights, the
forfeiture of lands, goods, and
chattels, and imprisonment during
tlie royal pleasure. It is to be ob-
served, however, that the mode
here described of appointing bish-
(>|)s applies only to such sees as are
of old foundation. The five new
bishoprics created by Henry VIII.
. . . have always been donatives,
and conferred by letters-patent
trom the crown ; and the case is
the same as to the bishopric of Ri-
pon, now recently created " (Ste-
phen's Commentaries on the Laws of
Englandy vol. iii. p. 6i).
In concluding his essay, Father
Tondini repeats Mgr. Reinkens'
words : " If the great bishops of the
ancient church were to return to life
in the midst of us, . . . never ! no,
never! would they have received
into their compaoy, in the quality
of a Christian bishop, one who had
not been chosen by the people and
the clergy ; this mode of election
'was considered by them as of di-
vine precept, and consequently as
immutable " ; and then asks : " How
ran the support given by the state
churches and governments of Eng-
Lmd and Russia to Old Catholicism
be explained ? Is it for the purpose
of declaring that all the episcopal
sees, both of England and Russia, are
vacant and awaiting the choice of
I ho people ?"
The reader, being now acquaint-
ed with much of the contents as
well as with the general tenor of
Father Tondini's essay, may find
some interest (possibly amusement
also) in comparing the following
remarks of the London Tablet
(Sept. i8) with the confirmation of
their accurate appreciation of the
"British Philistine's " pride in his
own obtuseness so ingenuously fur-
nished (Sept. 2$) by a writer in the
Church Reinew :
LONDON TABUCT.
"Wearealittleafrmid
that the Anglican sym-
eithben with the Old
atholics will not be
Bharp enough to under-
stand the keen logic of
Father Tondini*s coocise
reasoning. The British
Philistine rather glories
in being impervious to
logic or wit, and chuck-
les over his own obtuse-
ness as a proof of the
strength of the religion
which he i»atronizes. It
is provoking toasealous
oontrovernjuist to have
to do battle with such a
heavy antagonist, but we
trust the good father
will not cease to labor at
the conversion of our il-
logical but worthv fellow-
ooantrymen. We thank
him for a well-timed and
well-written pamphlet."
(The Univeru calls it
** another fatal blow for
the theolo^ of our ex-
prime minister; closely
reasoned and perfectly
terrible in its manner of
grasping its luckless oppo-
nent." — Univrrse^ Sep-
tember 35, 1875.)
CHUBCH KB VIEW.
" The Rev.
Tondini, who is fcad sf
liuking Russian Orth»>
doxy and Anglicaa Cath-
olicism in one s w ec psag
condemnation, is by oa
means «ae of the Pope's
greatest coot ro v m i a atfs.
Kut this pamphlet b
hardly worthy of cvea
his reputation. Every
point in it might he ■■»
swered by a /« ^n^quf.
Fact might be set agaiast
fact, defect agaiatt d^
feet, innovatioa
innovation,
cy against i
and error agaues ener.
But picking holes ia oar
neighoor's coat wtf nev-
er mend the rents ta oor
own. So we forbear, con-
tent for the present n
congratulate ouraehcs
on the fisctthat. wkfle
Romanists are stil utter-
ly blind to their ova na-
kedness, we have at leait
plucked a fiff-lcaf br the
efforts already maoe to
bring • about reuaios.**
[Who cookl help thiak-
ms, *^ We wcttld not nve
A fig for such a kaf a<
thS^VJ
IV.
We will conclude the present
notice by some account of the
recent Conference at Bonn, in
wliich the Old Catholics have given
abundant proof that they are no
freer from variation than are anv
other of the Protestant sects.
Desirous of strengthening their
position by alliance with other
forms of schism, Dr. von Ddllinger
invited to a congress representatives
of the schismatic Greek and Rus-
sian Church, the English and Amer-
ican Episcopalians, and the Old
Anglicans, Old Catfiolics, and the Conference at Bonn. 517
Catholics. The assembly was rail-
ed the ** International Conference
of the Union of the Christian
ChiircheSj" and proposed as its ob-
ject an agreement on the funda-
mental points of doctrine professed
by Christendom before its divisions,
with a view '* to restore by a reform
as broad as possible the ancient
Catholic Church of the West."*
In this International Conference,
which began on the 12th of Au-
gust and ended on the i6th, the
principal Orientals, who number-
ed about twenty in all, were
two bishops from Roumania ; an
archimandrite from Belgrade; two
archimandrites, Anastasiades and
Bryennios, from Constantinople,
sent by the patriarch as being well
versed in all the questions which
have divided and which still divide
the Greek and Latin Churches;
there were also present the Arch-
bishop of Syra and Tino, Mgr. Li-
courgos, well known in England, and
six professors, among whom were
Profs. Osinnin and Janischef, the
latter being the gentleman who at
the last Conference was so severe
on Anglican orders. The Protes-
tant Episcopalians were the most
numerous, being about a hundred
in number ; but they had only one
bishop among them — namely, the
Bishop of Gibraltar. Those of
Winchester and Lincoln, who had
also given their adherence to the
movement, found themselves at the
last moment unable to attend. The
most notable person in the Anglican
group was Dr. Liddon, Canon of
S. Paul's. Dean Howson, of Ches-
ter, was also one of its members ;
his " views " on nearly every point
of church teaching being diametri--
rally opposed to those of Canon
Liddon. The same group con-
• See French maoifesto.
tained an Unitarian minister from
Chesterfield (Mr. Smith), and a
"Primitive Methodist " (Mr. Booth,
a chemist and druggist of the same
town), who on a late occasion was
voted for and returned at the head
of the poll as an advocate of se-
cular education. The Americans
sent only three delegates, and the
" Reformed Church" one — the Rev.
Th. de Felice. The Old Catholics,
all of whom were Germans, num-
bered eighteen or twenty, with Dr.
Von Dollinger and Bishop Reinkens
at their head, supported by Herr
L,angen, "Ahkatholik"; Herr Lange,
Protestant, and Herr Lang, the
least orthodox of all. Close to this
little group figured seven or eight
more German Protestants. In all,
the Conference was composed of
about one hundred and fifty per-
sons, of whom the Times observes
that, "slender as the gathering was,
it was forced to display an almosf
luditrous caution in drawing up
such articles of faith as would com-
mand the assent of the whole as-
sembly " — articles " so vague that
they might be made to mean any-
thing or nothing"; and, further,
that the few English divines who
went to Bonn to play at a council
no more represent the Church of
England than Dr. von Dollinger
represents the Church of Rome, but
spoke in the name of nothing but
themselves. It suggests to them,
with scornful irony, that " charity
begins at home," and that in the
present distracted state of the
Church of England, "when nothing
keeps the various and conflicting
* schools * of clergy in the same com-
munion but the secular forces of the
Establishment, there is surely there
a magnificent field for the exercise
of even a genius of conciliation."
A Bavarian Protestant clergy-
man informed the assembly that,
5 18 Angiicans, Old Catholics, and the Conference at Bonn.
as there was no chance of their
coming to an agreement by means
of discussion about dogma, they had
far better throw over dogma alto-
gether, and trust to brotherly love
to bring about union. Dr. von
Dollinger, however, said that if they
all shared this opinion, they had
better have stayed at home. One
reverend gentleman proposed to
settle the difference by examining
where the fathers all harmonize,
and abiding by the result (a task
which, as a looker-on observed,
would give all the theological acute-
ness and learning in the world
abundant work for about half a doz-
en centuries) ; whereupon Bishop
Reinkens nervously tried to draw
the d^aters into the cloud-land of
love aiid unity of purpose, etc., etc.
Hut here Canon Liddon hastened to
the rescue with a carefully-prepared
scheme for effecting the reconcilia-
tion of the East and West, which was
apparently received by the Orien-
tals with a tranquil indifference,
and was chiefly remarkable for its
adroit semblance of effecting much,
while it in fact does nothing. Yield-
ing here and there a phrase of no
special meaning, it declared in the
next clause that it would retain its
own form of the Creed until the
dispute should be settled by " a
truly cecumenical council." This
announcement was the signal for an
outburst of disapproval, questions,
and objections. " What did Canon
Liddon mean by an oecumenical
council?" "An assent of the
whole episcopate." This was too
much for Lord Plunkett, who ex-
rlaimed that he would never have
c:ome to the Conference if he had
known that it meant to confine the
Christian Church within the bounds
of episcopacy. What, he should
like to know, was to hinder Presby-
terian ministers from being admitted
equally with bishops to take part
in an oecumenical council?
On this the canon obligingly
agreed to substitute "the whole
church " for the obnoxious term;
but while the assembly hesitated,
some paragon of caution suggested
the phrase " sufficient authority."
However, this masterpiece of concil-
iation — for nobody could say what it
meant — was rejected for "the whole
church," this latter being equally
ambiguous to those who were adopt-
ing it. On this they agreed. As
the Times* correspondent observes,
" Everybody will agree with every-
body else when all deliberately use
words for the purpose of conceal-
ing what they mean. When men
differ from each other essentially, it
is childish folly to try to unite them
by an unmeaning phrase."
The great question was that of
the procession of the Holy Spirit,
On this M. Osinnin was the chief
speaker on behalf of the Greeks
and he seems to have challenged
every interpretation of the Wes-
terns, maintaining even that procdii
was not an exact rendering of
iHTtopBverai. However, a com-
mittee was appointed, com|K>sed of
the Germans, two Orientals, an
Englishman, and an American;
and Dr. von Dollinger announced
to the Conference on its iast sitting
that an agreement had been arriv-
ed at on all essential points. The
Greeks were to retain their version
of the Nicene Creed, and the West-
erns theirs ; the latter were to ad-
mit that the Filioque had been im-
properly introduced, and that both
were to agree that, whichever ver-
sion they used, their meaning was
that the Holy Spirit proceeds from
the Father through the Son. Wiih
regard to the last point, however,
the Orientals said that althougi)
they bad personally no objection w
Anglicans, Old Catliolics, and the Conference at Bonn. 519
Ihe expression, yet they must de-
cline to give any official assent to
the article until it had been sub-
mitted to their synods or other
c ompetent authorities at home.
Judging from every account we
have seen (all of them Protestant)
of the Bonn Conference, it is evi-
dent that its members, in order to
give an appearance of mutual agree-
ment, subscribed to propositions
which may be taken in various
senses. The six articles agreed to
bv the committee were couched in
the following terms :
•* We believe with S. John Da-
mascene, I, that the Holy Spirit
proceeds from the Father as the be-
ginning, the cause, and the fountain
of Deity. 2. That the Holy Spirit
does not proceed from the Son
(fx rov vtov), and that for this
reason there is in the Godhead
only one beginning, one cause,
through which all that is in the
Godhead is produced. 3. That
the Holy Spirit is the image of the
Son, who is the image of the Father,
proceeding from the Father and
resting in the Son, as the outbeam-
ing power of the latter. 4. The
Holy Spirit is the personal bringing
forth of the Father, but belonging
to the Son, yet not of the Son, since
he is the Spirit of the Godhead
which speaks forth the Word. 5.
The Holy Spirit forms the connect-
ing link between the Father and
the Son, and is united to the Fa*
ther through the Son. 6. The
* Holy Spirit proceeds [or, as amend-
ed by Mr. Meyrick, ' issues *] from
the Father through the Son."
It is the supposed denial of that
unity of the apxi?, or originating
principle in the Most Holy Trinity,
which has always been the ground
of the Greek objections to the
Latin form of the Creed.* " The
• See London TaSM, Angnit ai.
double Procession* of the Holy
Ghost has always been believed in
the church, only to a certain num-
ber of minds it remained for a time
obscure, and thus there are to be
found in the writings of the fathers
passages in which mention is made
rather of the procession from the
Father than of the double proces-
sion from the Father and the Son,
but yet none which, although not
formally indicating, exclude or con-
tradict it.
'* In recurring to the expressions
employed by the fathers, the mem-
bers of the Bonn Conference have
made choice of some of those which
are vague and least explicit, instead
of others which convey to the mind
a clear idea. We are fully aware
that, from a historical point of view,
the question of the Filioque pre-
sents some difficulties. At Nicsea,
in 325, the question of procession
was not even mentioned, from the
fact of its not having up to that
time been raised. At Constanti-
nople, in 381, in order to cut short
discussions which were tending to
result in a denial of the Trinity, the
addition had been made to the
Creed that the Holy Ghost pro-
ceeds from the Father, without
mention of the Son. At the Third
Council of Toledo, in 589, the faith
of the church in the double proces-
sion was clearly indicated by the
addition of the Filioque — ^an addition
which was adopted by several par-
ticular councils, and which became
general in France. The popes,
however, foreseeing that the Orien-
tals — always inclined to be ill-dis-
posed towards the West — would
make this addition an excuse for
breaking off into schism, appeared
at first but little in favor of a modi-
fication which, although expressing
with greater accuracy the faith of
* See A nnaltt Catkoliqutt^ September as*
$20 Anglicans y Old Catholics ^ andtJu Conference at Bonn,
the church, would furnish fresh
fuel to theological disputes. It
was a question of prudence. But
when the truth was once placed in
peril, they hesitated no longer. All
the West chanted the Filioque ;
and the Greeks themselves, on re-
peated occasions, and notably at
the Council of Florence in 1438,
confessed the double procession to
be an article of the Catholic faith."
The Old Catholics of Bonn have
thus made, as it seems to us, a re-
trogression on this question. Will
this help to secure "the union of
the Christian churches " which was
the object of the Conference } In
outward appearance possibly it
may, because all the separated com-
munities willingly join hand in
hand against the true church of
Christ ; but in reality, no, for the
Greeks will continue to reject the
procession through the Son, as the
Anglicans will continue to accept
It; and we have no need to say
that the Catholic Churcli will never
cease to confess the double proces-
sion, and to sing : Qui ex Patre
Filioque procedit.
With regard to other subjects
discussed by the meeting at Bonn,
we will briefly mention that Canon
Liddon spoke against the invocation
of saints, and Dr. von DoUinger
talked of ** making a clear sweep "
of the doctrine of purgatory and in-
dulgences ; although, in stating the
belief of his co-religionists, he was
obliged to reaffirm the doctrine of
j>urgatory in terms nearly equiva-
lent to those of the Creed of Pope
Pius IV. On this matter, whatever
the Greeks might do, how many of
the Anglicans would agree with the
Old Cviiliolics .^ Not only are the
people who go to lliese conferences
from England in no sense repre-
sentatives of the bodv to which
ihcy belongs but even they them-
selves do not always abide by what
they have agreed to.* Dean Ho«r
son, in a statement he read at the
last Conference, put a Low-Chunn
interpretation on the resolutioD c»i
last year's Conference about the
Eucharist, which interpretation Ca-
non Liddon immediately repudi-
ated. Before Greek or Germaa
schismatics can unite with the
Church of England, they will have
to make up tlieir minds as to which
of at least four theological systemi
is Anglicanism, and then to get thai
admitted by the other three.
As to the validity of Anglican
orders, Dr. von Dol linger appears
to have considered it «is resting on
the certainty of Parker's consecra-
tion, without going into the reallr
more important questions of Barlow's
orders, or the sufficiency of form or
intention, all of which arc matters of
such grave doubt as to be practically
worthless to any one insisting upon
the necessity of certainty that the
communion to which he bclonirs
possesses the apostolic succession.
We cannot conclude this sketch
of the Bonn Conference withont
presenting our readers with a por-
trait of its chief. Dr. von DoUinger.
drawn by a friendly hand — ^that of
a French apostate priest, and one
of the members of the Conference
— which we reproduce from the
pages of the ImUpendance Beige.
" M. DSIlinger," he writes, '* pro-
nounced three long and eloquent
discourses, marked by that serious-
ness and depth which so especially
characterize his manner of s})eak-
ing ; but notwithstanding their
merit, they have not resulted in
any new conclusion. May not the
blame be in some measure due to
M. Overbeck, who . . . introduced
into the discussion authorities pos-
terior to the epoch of the separation
• Sc3 LoDdoo TtMti^ Ao^ as.
Anglicans^ Old Catholics^ andtfte Conference at Bonn. 521
of East and West, and mingkd the
question of the seven oecumenical
councils with that of the Filioquef
... At all events, both obscurity
and coldness found their way into
the debates. . . .
** Truly, this ex(?ellent M. Dollin-
fi^er seems fated to go on from one
contradiction to another, and to ac-
cept one year that which he refused
in the preceding. For instance, in
1^7 Xy at the congress at Munich, he
energetically opposed the organiza-
tion of Old-Catholic parishes; after-
wards he resigned himself to con-
sent to this. In 1 87 1 he desired
the Old Catholics to confine them-
selves, after his example, to protest-
ii^g against the excommunication
they had incurred ; but later on he
is willing that their priests should
take upon themselves the full exer-
cise of their ministry. In 187 1 and
1872 he wished to maintain the de-
cisions of the Council of Trent ; in
1873 he decided to abandon them,
as well as the alleged cecumenicity
of this council. In 1872 ... he
considered the attempts made to
establish union between the Old
Catholics and the Oriental churches
as at any rate imprudent, if not
even compromising. In 1874 he
adopted the idea of which he had
been so much afraid, and has since
that time used every endeavor to
promote the union of the churches.
\jdcat year a proposal [ for a com-
mittee to examine on what points
the earliest fathers harmonized]
was rejected by M. Dollinger with
a certain disdain, as impracticable
and even childish. Nout^ however,
we find him obliged to come back
to it, at least in part." * " It is by
• We wonder that it does not occor to Dr. von
DSUii«er*t ditciples to make some calculation, from
the DiMBber of changes his views have undergono
JttHiV the last five years, as to how many they had
Wacr Iw prepared for, according to the ordinaiy
r%U 0/ Pr0^rti0n^ for the remaining term of his
probable exi«eoce~ <^ , four changes m five yean
no means in reproach but in praise
that we say this," continues the
writer, adding: " He accepted with
the best -grace possible, in one of
the sittings of the Conference this
year, the observations of Prof.
Osinnin on the manner of studying
texts ; and when an erudite and ven-
erable man like M. Dollinger knows
how to correct himself with such
humility, he does but raise himself
in the esteem of sincere men."
We would here venture to ob-
serve that when " so erudite " a man
as Dr. von Dollinger, and one who
is acknowledged by an entire sect as
its most distinguished doctor and
its leader, is so little sure of his
doctrine that he is continually alter-
ing it, he and his followers are sure-
ly among the last people who ought
to refuse to the Pope the infalli-
bility which he in fact arrogates lo
himself in setting himself above nn
oecumenical council, as was that of
the Vatican.
If the head is represented' by one
of the members as being in a chro-
nic state of uncertainty, so are the
members themselves represented by
another. In the Church Retnciv
(Anglican) for Sept. 18, 1875, is an
article entitled " Old-Catholic Pros-
pects," the greater part of which
consists of one of the most abusive
and malignant attacks against the
Catholic Church, and in an especial
manner against the Jesuits, that it
has ever been our lot to come upon,
even in the journal in which it ap-
pears. After informing his readers
that "Jesuitism has led the Pope
into* the egregious heresy of pro-
claiming his own infallibility," and
that " the Spirit of Christ, who would
should prepare them for eight in ten, and for a doccn
siiould the venerable professor live fifteen yean more.
They should, further, not forget to ascertain, if pos-
•ible, for how kmg tkty tkemteivtt are n/tmmnh
to continue subject to similar variations in their
opinbns ; for one would suppose they hope to stop
semewherc, some time.
522 Anglicans, Old Catholics, and the Conference at Bonn.
not rest in the Vatican Council,
where all was confusion, restraint,
and secrecy, (!) has brooded over
the humble (?) Con ference'of trust-
ing hearts " at Bonn, etc., etc., this
person, with a sudden sobriety, ven-
tures on a closer inspection of the
favored sect for which he had just
profanely claimed the guidance of
the Eternal Spirit, while denying it
to the oecumenical council where
the whole episcopate of the Catho-
lic Church was assembled with its
head, the Vicar of Christ.
This writer perceives that, "on
the other hand, there are dangers
in the future. At present," he says,
*' the Old-Catholic body is kept in
order by two master minds — Dr.
Dollinger and Prof. Schulte. There
are innumerable elements of dis-
cord " (he adds) " manifest enough,
but they are as yet subdued by
reverence for Dr. Dollinger, and
beat down by the sledge-hammer
will of the lay professor. If either
fif these pilots were removed, it is
impossible to say into how many
frngments Old Calliolicism might
split. Its bishop has no means of
control over minds, as have Schulte
and Dollinger. Michaelis is simply
abusive and violent, ready to tear
down with hands and teeth, but in-
competent to build. Repulsive in
personal appearance, his work is
that of detraction, denunciation,
and destruction. To human eyes
the movement is no movement at
all ; it contains in itself no authority
to hold its members personally in
check; and yet, in spite of every
, disadvantage, the Old-Catholic so-
ciety is the expression of true feel-
ing," etc., etc.
But we have dwelt long enough
on this picture ; let us in conclu-
sion turn to a very different one.
** Rome accepts no compromise ;
she dictates laws," says M. Henri
Vignaud, * contrasting her in no
friendly spirit with the sect we have
been contemplating, but yet in a
spirit of calmness and candor.
And this, which he intends as a
reproach, is in reality a commenda-
tion. It is the true church only
which can accept no compromise
when the truth is in question, of
which she is the faithful depository ;
and whatever laws she dictates arc
to guard the truth, dogmatic lor
moral, issued in God*s name and
with his authority.
M. Vignaud acknowledges this
in the following remarkable mm-
ner: '* That cannot be conciliate
which is by nature irreconcilable.
There can be no compromise with
faith. . . . Either man forges to
himself the truths which roust illu-
minate his path, or he receives
them from the Deity, in which case
he must submit to accept the dog-
ma of infallibility; for without thjs
the whole theory falls. It is for
this reason that the apostolic Ro-
man Catholicity is so strong. Sub-
ordinating reason to faith, it does
not carry within it the germ of any
scepticism. There can be no trans-
acting with it, and whoever goes
out of it enters, whether he is aware
of the fact or not, into rationalism,
of which the logical outcome is the
elimination of the divine action in
human affairs." f
It would be scarcely possible to
show more clearly that there are but
two logical positions in the world
of intelligences — namely, Catholici-
ty and scepticism, or, as it is called in
the present day, positivism. The
next step after refusing God all ac-
tion in human affairs is to refuse
him existence.
The Conference at Bonn, hov-
^Eeh0 UmtverMtl,
Paris: AUard.
««1S
Midnight Mass in a Convent.
523
ever little it may have done in other
respects, has already produced one
result which was far from the inten-
tion of its promoters. It has fur-
nished an additional proof that there
i.s one churoii only which is capable
of resisting the invasion of scepti-
cism and unbelief, and that this
church is the Catholic and Roman.
" Either Jesus Christ never organ-
ized a churchy or the Catholic is the
church which he organized*^ *
* Ernest NavUle (a Protestant), Priuiko^ o/tht
Christian Church.
MIDNIGHT MASS IN A CONVENT.
I HAVE lately been reading some
remarks on the curious association
existing between certain tastes and
odors and an involuntary exertion
of the memory by which the recur-
rence of those tastes qr odors recalls,
with a vividness not otherwise to be
obtained, a whole series of incidents
of past life — incidents which, with
ihcir surrounding scenes, ' would
otherwise be quite forgotten and
buried out of sight by the successive
overlaying of other events of greater
interest or importance. Montaigne
has some singular illustrations of
this peculiar fact of consciousness,
and there is a brief reference to the
subject made in some recently re-
published recollections of William
Hazlitt. Connected with this is
the powerful influence known to
be exercised in many well-au-
thenticated cases upon the ner-
vous sensibilities by the exhalation
of particular perfumes or the scent
of certain kinds of flowers harmless
(»r agreeable to all other persons,
riiere is a reciprocal motion of the
mind which has also been noted, by
which a particular train of thought
recalls a certain taste or smell almost
as if one received the impression
from the existing action of tiie
senses. An illustration is given in
the discussion just noted, where a
special association of ideas is stated
to have brought back to the writer,
with great vividness, the "smell of a
baker's shop in Bassorah." Individ-
ual experiences could doubtless be
accumulated to show that this mys-
terious short-hand mind-writing, so
to term it, by means of which the
memory records on its tablets, by the
aid of a single sign imprinted upon
a particular sense, the history of a
long series of associated recollec-
tions, is not confined to the senses
of taste and smell alone, but makes
use of all.
The recollection of one of the
happiest days of my life — a day of
strong excitement and vivid pleasure,
but not carried to the pitch of satie-
ty — is inseparably associated with
the warm, aromatic smell of a cigar
which I lighted and puffed, walking
alone down a country road. In this
case the train of thought is followed
by the impression on the sense. But
in another instance within my ex-
perience the reciprocal action of
thought and sense is reversed ; the
sight of a particular object in this
latter case invariably bringing back
to my mind, with amazing distinct-
ness, a scene of altogether dissimi-
lar import, lying far back in the
memory. The circumstances are
these :
524
Midnight Mass in a Convent,
•Tis now some years since I visit-
ed the seaport town of Shipping-
ton. It is, or was, one of those
sleepy provincial cities which still
retain an ante-Revolutionary odor
about its dock-yard and ordnance
wharves. A group of ragged ur-
chins or a ruby-nosed man in greasy
and much-frayed velveteen jacket
might be seen any sunny morning
diligently fishing for hours off the
end of one of its deserted piers for
a stray bite from a perch or a floun-
der. The arrival of the spring clip-
per-ship from Glasgow, bringing a
renewal of stock for the iron mer-
chants, or of a brig with fruit
from the Mediterranean, used to set
the whole wharf population astir.
Great changes have taken place of
late years. Railroads have been
built. Instead of a single line, of
ocean steamships, whose fortnightly
arrival was the event of the day, half
a dozen foreign and domestic lines
keep the port busy. Fashion, which
was once very exclusive and con-
fined to a few old families, has now
asserted its sway over wider ranks,
and the officers of her majesty's
gallant Onety-Oneth, and the
heavy swells of Shippington society
whose figures adorn the broad steps
of the Shippington Club-House,
have now the pleasure of criticising
any fine morning a,(thin) galaxy of
female beauty and fashion sweeping
by them, whose viodes rival those of
Beacon Street or Murray Hill.
But at the time of which I write —
when I was a school-boy, a quarter
of a century ago — it had not been
much stirred by the march of these
modern improvements. Her Bri-
tannic majesty was then young to
the throne, and a great fervor of
loyalty prevailed ; and when the
Royal Welsh Fusi leers used to
march down to the parade-ground
for morning drill, with the martial
drum-major and its great bearded
Billy-Goat, presented by the queen,
dividing the honors of the head of
the regiment, it would be hard t«
exaggerate the enthusiasm :hat
swelled the bosoms oi the small
boys and African damsels who step-
ped proudly along with the band.
Those were grand days, quornm
pars magna fui, when I too marched
down the hill from the citadel, with
a mind divided between awe and
admiration of the drum-major —
curling his mustache fiercely and
twirling his staff with an air of
majesty — and a latent terror of the
bearded pet of the regiment, whom
report declared to have destroyed
three or four boys in Malta. But
rare indeed were those holidays,
for I was impounded most of the
time in a college, where the study
of the Latin Delectus gave little op-
portunity for the pursuit of those
more attractive branches of a liberal
education. About half a dozen of
the boys, of wliom I was one, were
proficients at serving Mass. It was
therefore with great joy at the dis-
tinction that we found ourselves
named, one frosty Christmas Eve,
to accompany Father W to the
Convent of the Sacred Heart, about
a mile distant, where he was to cele-
brate midnight Mass. Oh f how the
snow crisped and rattled under
our feet as we marched along, full
of importance, after Father W ,
each boy with his green bag, con-
taining his surplice and soutane,
swung over his arm ! What a jolly
night it was ; and how the stars
twinkled ! We slapped our hands
together, protected by our thick blue
mitts, and stamped our feet hke
soldiers on the march to Moscow.
It was after ten o'clock, and the
streets were dark and nearly desert-
ed. To us, long used to be sound
asleep at that hour in our warm
>
Midnight Mass in a Convent.
525
dormitory, each boy in his own lit-
tie four-poster, with the moonlight
streaming in through the windows
on its white counterpane — and not
<!aring,Tf we were awake, so much as
to whisper to the boy next to us,
under pain of condign punishment
in the morning — there was some-
thing mysterious and almost ghostly
in this midnight adventure. Aa
we passed the guard-house near
the general's residence, the officer
of the night, muffled in his cloak,
came along on the " grand rounds."
The sentry, in his tall bearskin hat,
stops suddenly short in his walk.
*' Who goes there?" he calls out in
.1 loud, fierce v'oice, bringing down
his bayonet to the charge.
We clung closer to Father
W *s skirts. " Rounds," replies
the officer in a voice of command,
his sword rattling on the ground,
iron-hard with the frost. "What
rounds .J^" "Grand rounds!" "Ad-
vance, grand rounds, and give the
countersign !" Then the sergeant
of the guard, the alarm being given,
rushes out into the street with his
men, all with bayonets drawn and
looking terrible in the moonlight.
They form in line, and the officer
advances. A whispered conversa-
tion takes place; the soldiers pre-
sent arms and march back into the
warm guard-house; and the officer
passes silently on to the next
i»uard.
While this scene was going on we
stood half terrified and fascinated,
hardly knowing whether to take to
our heels or not. But the calm
voice of Father W , as he an-
swered "A friend" to the sentry's
challenge, reassured us. Soon we
reached the convent gate, and, enter-
ing the grounds, which were open
for the occasion, found the convent
all ablaze with lights. The parents
and friends of the young lady pu-
pils were permitted to attend the
midnight Christmas Mass. The
convent, and convent chapel which
communicated with it, stood in the
midst of winding walks and lawns
very pretty in the summer ; but the
tall trees, now stripped of their
leaves, swung their bare branches
in the wind with a melancholy re-
collection of their faded beauty.
Groups, in twos and threes, walk-
ed silently up the paths, muffled in
cloaks and shawls, and disappeared
within the chapel. We were re-
ceived by the lady-superior, Mme.
P , whose kind voice and
refined and gentle manners were
sadly maligned by a formidable
Roman nose, that struck our youth-
ful minds with awe. What unprin-
cipled whims does Nature some-
times take thus to impress upon
the countenance the appearance of
a character so alien to our true dis-
position ! Nor is it less true that
a beautiful face and a form that
Heaven has endowed with all the
charms of grace and fascinating
beauty may hide a soul rank with
vice and malice. The Becky
Sharpes of the world are not all
as ferret-featured as Thackeray's ^
heroine, whom, nevertheless, with
much truth to art, he represents as
attractive and alluring in her prime.
But dear Mme. P 's Roman
nose was not, I have reason to be-
lieve, without its advantages; the
fortuitous severity of its cast help-
ing to maintain a degree of discip-
line among her young lady board-
ers, which a tendency to what Mr.
Tennyson calls "the least little
delicate curve" (yulgo^ a pug), or
even a purely classical Grecian,
might have failed to inspire. For-
give me the treason if I venture
even to hint that those young ladies
in white and blue who floated in
and out of Mme. P *s parlor:>
$26
Midnight Mass in a CamvenL
on reception-daySf like angels cut
out from the canvas on the walls,
were ever less demure than their
prototypes ! •
We altar-boys were marshalled
into a long, narrow hall running
parallel with the chapel. There
we busied ourselves in putting
on our red soutanes and white sur-
plices, and preparing the altar for
Mass. But we had a long time to
wait, and while we stood there in
whispering silence, and the chapel
slowly filled, suddenly appeared
Mme. P with a lay sister,
carrying six little china plates full
of red and white sugar-plums, and
some cakes not bigger than a
mouthful, to beguile our tedium.
To this day the sight ot one of
those small plates, filled with that
kind of sugar-plums, brings back to
my mind, with wonderful minute-
ness all the scenes I have described
and those that followed. The long
walk through the snow, the guard-
house, the convent grounds, the fig-
ures of Mmc. P and her lay
sister advancing towards us, rise
before me undimmed by time ; and
even now as 1 write the flavor of
the sugared cassia-buds seems to be
in my mouth, though it is over
twenty years ago since I cracked
them between my teeth with a
school-boy *s relish for sweetmeats.
The feeling of distant respect en-
gendered by the sight of Mme.
P *s nose gave way all at once
to a profound sympathy and admi-
ration for that estimable lady, as she
handed us those dainties. Yet, as
they disappeared before our juvenile
appetites, sharpened by the frost,
we could not help feeling all a boy's
contempt for the girls that could be
satisfied with such stuff, instead of
a good, solid piece of gingerbread
that a fellow could get two or three
bites at ! We had no doubt that the
convent girls had a cmigi thai
and that this was a part of the
that had been provided for tb
We marched gravely inh
sanctuary before Father W —
took our places around the
steps while he ascended the
A deeper hush seemed to fi
the congregation kneeling
heads bowed down before tl
viour born on that blessed
ing. The lights on the alur I
with a mystical halo at th<
night hour. The roses arou]
Crib of the infant Rec
bloomed brighter than Jum
heaped the incense into the b
censer, and the smoke rushes
a cloud, and the odorous, swi
filled the air. Then aloi
vaulted roof of the chapel st
jfirst notes of the organ, now
now falling; and the mur
voice of the priest was hear
ing the Missal. Did my hear
still when a boy — or is' it t
by a memory later? — as, b
the pure tones of the sopran
filling the church, and thrill
whole congregation ? Mar
magic of music ! Can we y
to see an Arion borne by^d<
over the waves, and stillir
winds with his lyre? Poor
L ! She had a voice of
ishing brilliancy and power,
upper notes I have never hea
celled in fiuie-like clearnes
sustained roundness of tone.
I heard 4ier years later, with ;
experienced ear, her voice, th
good deal worn, was still on*
singled out wherever it m\\
heard. She is since dead
was a French lady of good
Her voice had the tone of ar
She sang \\iQ Adeste JideUs q
Christmas morning with a so
ring pathos that impressed
much as a boy that the same
5. Louis' Bell.
S27
sung by celebrated singers and
more pretentious ciioirs, has always
appeared to me tame.
It would not serve my present
purpose to pursue these recollections
farther. Enough has been said to
show how quickly the mind grasps
at some one prominent point affect-
ed by sense, to group around it a
tableau of associated recollections.
That little china tea-plate with its
blue and gilt edge, heaped over with
sugar-plums, brings back to me
scenes that seem to belong to an-
other age, so radical is the change
which time makes in the fortunes
and even emotions of men.
When the lights were all out in
the chapel, except those that burned
around the Crib, and the congrega-
tion had silently departed, we wend-
ed our way back to the college with
Father W in the chill morning
air more slowly than when we start-
ed; sleepy, but our courage still
unabated by reason of tlie great
things we had shared in, and the
still greater things separated from
us by only one more, fast-corn ini;
dawn. We slept like tops all the
morning, being excused from six
o'clock Mass on account of our
midnight excursion. When we join-
ed the home circle on Christmas
morning, you* may be assured we
had plenty to talk about. Nor was
it untif afte» dinner, and all the
walnuts had been cracked, and our
ntw pair of skates — our most priz-
ed Christmas gift — tried on and
admired, that the recollection of
our first Christmas Mass began to
fade from our minds. Pure hearts
and innocent joys of youth ! How
smooth the stream — nescius aurcc
fallacis — on which it sails its tiny
craft ! How rough the sea it drifts
into !
S. LOUIS* BELL*
S. Louis' bell !
How grandly swell
Its matin chime.
Its noonday peal,
Its vesper rhyme !
How deeply in my heart I feel
Their solemn cadence ; they to me
Waft hymns of precious melody.
S. Louis* bell !
What memories dwell
Enshrined among
Each lingering note
And tuneful tongue I
* The bell of S. Louis' Church, BuffiOo, N. Y.
. I
528
5. Louis' Bell.
As on the quivering air they float,
Those sweet vibrations o'er and o'er
Bear tidings 'from a far-offshore.
S. Louis' bell !
What clouds dispel,
What doubts and fears
Dissolve away,
What sorrowing tears,
Like mists before the rising day !
While on the waiting, listening air
Rings out S. Louis' call to prayer.
S. Louis' bell !
Ring on and tell
In matin chime,
And noonday peal,
And vesper rhyme.
And let thy joyfuf notes reveal
The story loved of mortals best —
Of Holy Child on Virgin's breast,
While herald angels from above
Sang anthems of eternal love !
S. Louis' bell !
When earth's farewell
Upon my parting lips shall dwell.
And when I rise
On angel wing
• To seek the gates of Paradise,
And stand before the* Heavenly King,
Though in that realm of perfect peace'
All other earthly sounds should cease,
Methinks 'twould be
A joy to me
Once more to hear,
With bended ear, .
The music loved on earth so well—
The echoes of S. Louis' bell !
From Cairo to Jerusalem.
529
FROM CAIRO TO JERUSALEM.
Seated in the spacious hall of
the new hotel in Cairo, we dis-
cussed a tour through the Holy
Land. We had quitted our com-
fortable and home-like dahabUah^
wherein we had lived Tor nearly
four months upon the waters of the
iiistorical Nile. A sad farewell had
been said to our trusty sailors, and
even those of them who had linger-
ed around the hotel for days after
our arrival, to kiss our hands as we
came out, had now taken their de-
parture. Old Abiad, our funny
man, had for once worn a sober
look as he bade us God-speed on
our homeward voyage. Said — the
indefatigable, hard-working, muscu-
lar Said, ever ready for the hardest
work, and ever foremost in action —
had left us with tearful eyes, and
liad started on his upward voyage
to Keneh, to marry the young Mos-
lem maiden to whom he had pledg-
ed liis troth some few months be-
fore.
Yes, the Nile trip was really over,
hut on the tablets of memory was
painted a most bright and beautiful
picture, which time alone could ef-
face. Still another separation : one
of our party, having been in the
Holy Land the previous year, was
about to remain in Egypt, while the
rest of us visited Syria. Father
H , Mme. D , and the wri-
ter made the travelling party. The
plans were soon settled, and a day
was appointed upon which we
should depart from Cairo to meet the
Russian steamer which was advertis-
ed to leave Alexandria on Monday,
April the 13th, a.d. 1874. One of
VOL. xxii. — 34
the greatest difficulties in travelling
in the East is to obtain accurate
information concerning the arrival
and departure of steamers and
trains. When inquiring what time
the train would leave Cairo for
Rhoda, the terminus of the railway
along the Nile, I was informed that
it would leave somewhere about
seven o'clock in the morning, and.
would reach Rhoda between six.
and eight in the evening ; this was
the most accurate information I
could possibly obtain. In point of
fact, the train left Cairo at nine a.m.,.
and reached Rhoda at half-past ten .
at night. On Monday morning,
April 13, there was a general clear-
ing out of travellers from the ho-
tel. At nine A.M. — and, for a won-
der, punctual to the minute — we left
the station at Cairo on the train,
going to Ismailia. We passed
through some of the richest coun-
try of the Delta, teeming with life
and activity. The SagSars^ or Per-
sian water-wheels, were sending,
their streams of life-giving water
through the numberless little canals
on every hand. Here a line of
laden camels march along with
stately step. There a family — fa-
ther, mother, and son — accompan-
ied by the omnipresent donkey,,
called to mind the flight of the
Holy Family into Egypt. And
well they may ; for here we are in
the land of Goshen, at Rameses^
the home of the Israelites, the
starting-point of their long, dreary
wanderings. Now the railroad
marks the line between the cultivat-
ed land and the sandy plains of the
530
From Cairo to Jerusalem.
desert ; on one side rich vegetation,
nurtured by the fresh-water canal,
on the other, sandy hillocks stretch-
ing away to the line of the hori-
zon ; and in a few moments we
see the deep, rich blue of the water
of Lake Timsah, contrasting most
strikingly with the golden sand of
its desert bank. Ismailia ! Ere the
train has stopped we are surround-
ed by a crowd of Arabs thirsting
for their spoil. A score of them
pounce upon our baggage. After
considerable shouting and threaten-
ing, we compromise, and a truce is
proclaimed. We engaged two of
ihem to carry our baggage to the
steamer on the lake. O porters of
the United States ! how you would
blush and hang your heads in
shame to see these Arabs handle
'baggage. In my childish and un-
travelled simplicity I thought it
most wonderful to see you lift those
heavy boarding-houses, miscalled
trunks, and carry them to the fourth
^to!y of a hotel. But hereafter, for
lK>rtcrs» commend me to the Arabs.
We itad four or five heavy valises,
v^:jo of them weighing nearly one
IniJulicd pounds, and numberless
Ntuall parcels. One of the men
hui> : those valises from his neck,
.ukI t\t>i; tlK* smaller parcels in
a->o'>,; liun\\» as though by way of
>;»*iMK*^U started off, followed by
' XX V\\<\'<x porter, with our only
•v«.M>\, a lvU>:e and very heavy one,
X \ ♦'iNxl ou his back. They walk-
cvl ai a iMisk pace to the boat,
I'sHit vM>e mile distant, and did not
s, s i\> in I lie least fatigued when they
.iiuNcd there. As we started to
Nvalk iU>wn the long avenue leading
to \W lake, we were beset as usual
b\ ll\e importunities of three or
loiii iU»nkeyboys, each one rccount-
\\\\\ ihe praises of his own animal,
\\\\\ hju-aking disparagingly of the
nihil.*,, yet all in the best possible
humor. Running here and there,
dragging after them the patient'
donkey, they cried out : " Him";
good donkey, sah ; look him. Oder]
donkey no good; him back break.
Him exquisite donkey, sah ! Hini;
Yankee Doodle !" Suddenly, in a fu|
of indignation, I turned upon theim
and howled at the top of my voice:
" Empshy Ya Kelb " (" Get out, 0'
dog !"), when, with a roar of laugh-
ter, one little imp jumped in front
of me, and exclaimed : " Oh ! How-I
adji can speak Arabic. Him good
Arab donkey. Take him, sah ; himl
speak Arabic." Notwithstanding!
this great inducement, I did r.ot|
take him.
Like Aladdin's palace, Ismiilul
has sprung up almost in a single
night. In i860 the site of the prescm]
town was a barren waste of sand:'
but when the fresh-water canal was
completed to this place, and the
magic waters of the Nile were let
loose upon it, the golden sands ofl
the desert gave place to the richi
verdure of vegetation ; gardens, filled!
with the choicest fruits and flowers,]
sprang up on every hand. Indeed,,
it seems but necessary to pour the
waters of the Nile on the desert to
produce a soil which will grow any
thing to perfection. Here we see
the pretty little Swiss cMlet of M. d:
Lesseps, and a short distance be-
yond the palace of the viceroy,
built in a few months, for the par-
pose of entertaining his illustriou>
guest at the opening of the Suez
Canal.
What singular fellows these Ar;K><
are ! Our two porters dcmonv*
three rupees (a rupee is wort--
about fifty cents) for their servi-
ces. I quietly take one rupee
from my pocket and offer it :o
them. Indignantly they reject it;
and if 1 will not give them urh.-t
they ask, they will accept nothing
From Cairo to ytrusalem.
531
at all ; and with loud words and
angry gestures they shout and ges-
ticulate most vehemently, com-
plaining of the insignificant pittance
I offer them for the hard work they
have just gone through. I repock-
ct the rupee, and proceed very leis-
urely to arrange our places on the
little postal boat, which is to leave
in about an hour. Having pur-
chased tickets, and seen that
everything was properly arranged,
I again return to the attack, as I am
now upon the offensive, and offer
them the rupee. No, they will not
have it ; but now they will accept
two rupees. Well, it being the rule
of Eastern negotiations that as one
party comes down the other should
go up, like a balance, I increase
the rupee by a franc, and after
much talking they agree to accept
it. But now what a change comes
over them ! Finding that they have
extracted from me all that they
ixjssibly can, their whole manner
changes, and they become as polite
and affable as you please. They
thank me, proffer their services to
do anything for me that I may
wish, kiss their hands in respectful
salutation, and pre off.
Our steamer is somewhat larger
than a man-of-war's boat, and our
little company is soon assembled in
the cabin. Besides ourselves, there
nro, first, a voluble young Russian
who came with us from Cairo, and
who precipitates himself most des-
perately into the strongest friend-
ships that the time will allow with
every one he meets, telling you all
about himself and his family, and
then fmding out as much as he
can about you and yours ; next, a
stolid Saxon, Prussian vice-consul
at Cairo, a very pleasant and intel-
ligent young m:in; and, lastly, a
•jJiict, retiring young Italian lady,
who, unable to speak any language
besides her own, cannot join in the
general conversation, which is car-
ried on principally in French. At
six o'clock we left the landing-place
at IsmaiUa, and, passing out the
northeast corner of Lake Timsah,
we entered the narrow cutting of
El Guisr. The surface of these
heights is the highest point in the
Isthmus of Suez, being from sixty
to sixty-five feet above the level
of the sea. In cutting the canal
through this part they were obliged
to dig down some ninety feet, in or-
der to give the canal its proper
depth below the sea level. Just
after we entered this cutting, the
strong north wind which was blow-
ing at the time caught madame's
parasol, whirled it out of her hand,
blew it overboard, and the last we
saw of it it was floating placidly
along toward Suez. One sees heir
how perceptibly the sand is fillinir
up the hard-won trench, and tite
dredging-machines are kept in con-
stant operation to keep the chan-
nel clear. At dusk we passed a
large English steamer tied up for
the night — as large steamers are
never allowed to travel in the canal
after dark.
We soon entered Lake Menzaleh,
and continued through it some
twenty-seven miles to Port Sai<l.
Fifteen years ago a belt of sand,
from six to nine hundred feet in
width, occupied the place wliere
Port Said now stands. Here in
April, 1859, M. de Lesseps, sur-
rounded by a handful of Euro-
peans and a score of native work-
men, gave the first blow of ilu-
spade to that great channel of com-
munication between the East and
the West. Soon the ground for the
future town was made, houses erect-
ed, gardens laid out, and to-day
Port Said is a town of nearly ten
thousand inhabitants, with streets,
1-1—. -zz 1' iTTDajching us announce
—1 1 ±^ irr: -u ct M. de Lesseps with
^ * ii w:* ir.'i 2tT two nieces, en route
z :r ^ ' zr.zi.i^c to the Holy Land.
.:--i L ^ 1^5e7-5 is a man of mediQin
-n .i^i-LT.:^ -ziji:ir stout, and with a very
:^- j: .i~:-:i:irsd and jovial-looking
--r- z-ir.r^fijiTiis. He wears a heavy graj
t— r- z'-i^'ija iL ind his hair is silvery
:::i -- ▼• .:2i H-S irpearance is that of a
__:i~ T .- :* r"ijr energy and determina-
_ :- :-T. in J. r-re to project and carry
^-r- zr-.u:': :_ie colossal work he has
*? -=1 :'i<^illT executed. The
.T-^- 1.- T.^ '■■ery much crowded, or
: 1 -"rr- _:'-? l would be more correct
r SL- «iir the accommodations
.:i-- ▼^r^ --»-T limited, as we did not
• 'i -^ ^ "n "^ tJm fifty first-class pas-
■: re -cr^z^r^ ii board, and yet there
; "VTi I- TrijEeient accommodations
- -1- : r :.c!n 1 the first cabin. Father
: .-* md I. together with a young
. . i^L^r-.m ir::':i whom we had bc-
- ii • -::- It: rij^zted at Port Said, were
^ _ -..-I r: sleep in a second-class
.- :- •_ .:. '"-■* were told that thcr
r ^ V .. 1 io imnge it that we could
r-: n . le f rst saloon, and at dinner-
- . :.::e TT^ r^^iir.d a small work-table
: -i -t- -.r ■:.irot us to eat from. How-
^ ■ : -^ -n :r Tras quite large enough
.:>•- •. r n»j: fj-r I had not been seated
- -. ZL^-' Ti.::.i:es before I felt an unac-
,. \ r . i.u.:!-; desire to go on deck and
:: -i i.ie fresh air.
cir-jTZ done so, I retired for the
- «c '^-^ Bright and early the next
.- r rz^'^Z I was upon deck, but I
. ;:d Fither H there before
-^- -^ Miiiaie, having a very com-
- i« t room in the first cabin,
: T -: yet risen. The sea was
^ . I ' i cjilm as a pond, and, turn-
•^ ^!v :j:ce toward the east, I be-
•^ 1 .cr the first time the mountain
' -^"-j ct Judoea. Yea, there be-
r iT^ was Judxa, the land pron-
>^ : lid z\ycn to the seed of Abra-
- .J. . .1. There, among those bills.
From Cairo to Jerusalein.
533
Samson had performed his exploits
of power. There the royal David
and the wise Solomon had lived
and reigned. Ay, and there One
greater than them all, the Man-
God, was born, lived, and laid
down his life for the salvation of
mankind. And was it really true
that I, an inquisitive Yankee of tlve
XlXtli century, was soon to tread
those sacred spots, hallowed with
reminiscences so dear to the heart
of every Christian ? I could scarce
believe it. Was I not in a dream,
and would I not soon awake to
find it all a beautiful but fleeting
vision ? No, it was true, and it was
.made most painfully apparent by
the harsh clangor of the Arab
boatmen, and their frantic endea-
vors to take possession of us, as our
ship dropped anchor off the town
of Jaffa. There is no harbor of
any kind here, and when the sea is
calm the steamers anchor about
one mile from the shore, and pas-
sengers and their bciggage are land-
ed in small boats. Immediately in
front of the town, and but a short
.distance from it, a series of partial-
ly-covered rocks forms a wall, bro-
ken only by two channels or gate-
ways, one about ten feet in width,
and the other a little wider.
Through these the sea dashes with
tremendous fury, and as the little
boat approaches it is caught upon
the summit of some breaker, and
dashed through the opening into
the quiet haven beliind. When it
is stormy, the steamers do not stop
here at all, but land their passen-
gers a short distance farther up the
roast. The bright, genial face of
Father Guido (president of the
Casa Niiova) soon welcomed us to
Palestine. He had come down
from Jerusalem to meet M. de
Lesseps, and to offer him the hos-
pitality of their convent, which
was thankfully accepted. We soon
disembarked and entered a small
boat, accompanied by our trusty
dragoman, Ali Aboo Suleyman,
who had travelled with one of our
party the previous year, and whom
I believe to be one of the best
dragomans in the East. Our boat,
propelled by the strong arms of a
half-score of powerful Arabs, soon
brought us alongside of the town.
Passing through a narrow gateway,
and giving a substantial and mate-
rial wink to the revenue official, we,
with our baggage, were soon depos-
ited at the door of the Latin con-
vent. After greeting the kind and
hospitable fathers, and arranging
terms with Ali, we started out for a
short walk. Traversing the narrow,
tortuous streets and filthy alleys,
jostled by camels, horses, donkeys,
and preceded by Achmud, Ali's
youngest son — a lad of fourteen
years, who, with a pompous and
authoritative air, pushed aside old
men and young, women and cliiU
dren, and would have done the
same with the camels had he been
able, to make room for the How-
adji — we reached the spot where
stood in former days the house of
Simon the tanner. Here the Apos-
tle Peter resided many days, and
here he saw the vision of the clean
and unclean beasts, wherein the
voice commanded him saying:
"Arise, Peter, kill and eat." A
small mosque now occupies the
site of the house. The streets
were thronged with Russian pil-
grims returning from their Easter
pilgrimage to the Holy City.
Many of them will leave in the af-
ternoon on the steamer which has
brought us from Egypt, and in a
few short days will be at Odessa,
whence the railway will carry them
to St. Petersburg. About three in
the afternoon, accompanied by an
534
From Cairo to Jerusalem.
Irish priest who had lived in Malta
for several years, we mounted our
iiorses and started for Jerusalem.
We had been most hospitably en-
tertained by the kind fathers at the
convent; a large room and an ex-
cellent breakfast had been pro-
vided for us, but no remuneration
asked. We, of course, made a do-
nation, which was thankfully re-
ceived. We rode through the nar-
row streets, passed out the gate,
and in a few moments were among
tlie world-lamous orange-groves of
Jaffa. The sky was cloudless, the
weather like a beautiful May day
at home, and the air heavy with
the delicious fragrance of the
oranges. We rode for nearly a
mile through these beautiful groves.
Meanwhile, AH provided himself
with numbers of these large oranges,
and soon for the first time I tasted
:in orange that I really enjoyed.
Jiist plucked from the tree, with
skin half an inch in thickness, and
without seeds, this luscious fruit
seems almost to dissolve in the
mouth like ice-cream. AH owns a
large grove, from which he gathers
about one hundred and fifty thou-
sand oranges per annum. These
he sells in large quantities at the
rate of two pounds sterling per
thousand, yielding him a very nice
income, as the expense of taking
care of them is very small. Now
we are riding along the level plain
which separates the Judaean hills
from the bright blue waters of the
Mediterranean, and a little after six
o'clock we drew rein at the Latin
convent in Ramleh. It is almost
useless for me to speak of the kind-
ness and hospitality of these good
Franciscan fathers of the Holy
Land, as it is known throughout
the world, and abler pens than
mine have endeavored, but in vain,
to praise them as they deserve.
Unselfish, kind, burying self com-
pletely in the great work they
have undertaken, they have given
up their homes, families, and all
that was dear to them, to live
a monastic life among these
sacred spots, to guard these
holy places, and, like minis-
tering angels, to assist pilgrims
from every clime and of every
Christian race and nationalitv.
Clad in the humble garb of their
order, they go quietly and unos-
tentatiously through life, sacrificing
themselves at every turn for the
benefit and comfort of others.
They have stood through centuries,
a devoted band of chivalrous
knights guarding the spots render-
ed sacred by the presence of their
God. May he in his goodness re-
ward them by permitting them to
stand as a noble guard of honor
around his celestial throne in tne
heavenly hereafter ! After a com-
fortable night's rest and a good
breakfast, we started at six o'clock,
in order to avoid the intense heat
of midday. M. de Lesseps and
party had preceded us by nearly
two hours. As we rode out tiie
convent gate, numbers of lepers,
with shrunken limbs and distorted
countenances, clamored piteously
for alms. We dropped some small
coins into their tm boxes, which
they carry so that there may be
no possibility of contact with the
compassionate passer-by who may
bestow alms upon them. We rode
for some time across a level plain,
and near ten o'clock reached Bab-
el- Wady (Gate of the Valley), at the
foot of the mountain range. Her
we found a very comfortable hous<
which has been erected for ih
sake of affording accommodation t
pilgrims. We lunched here, too!
a short nap, and started on oui
way about two in the afternooo.
From Cairo to Jerttstdetn,
535
The whole distance from Jaffa to
Jerusalem is not over thirty-sijc
miles ; but fast riding i¬ practi-
cable on account of the baggage,
which is transported on mules at a
very slow pace ; consequently, it
generally requires two days - to
make the trip, whereas a mode-
rately fast horse could easily accom-
plish the journey in seven or eight
hours. We now enter Wady Ali.
One could scarcely imagine a more
suitable place for lurking bandits
to conceal themselves in than
among the thick undergrowth here.
Their musket-barrels might almost
touch their unconscious victim's
breast, without being visible, and
manv a tale has been told and re-
told around the Howadji's camp*
fire of their exploits of robbery and
murder in this place. But now,
thanks to the strict though tardy
vigilance of the sultan, the pass is
free from danger.
What feelings of emotion now
fill my breast ! The dreams of my
childiiood are being realized — I am
in the Holy Land ! Reaching the
summit of one of the ridges, a beau-
tiful panorama is spread out before
us. At our feet lies the valley of
Sharon, dressed in the richest green,
and ornamented with the bright,
beautiful wild Ylowers of early
spring ; beyond lies the plain of
Ramleh, and in the distance, like a
silver frame, sparkles and glistens
the bright waters of the Mediterra-
nean. Anon we see beneath tis the
beautiful valley of Beit Hanina,and
Ali, laying one hand on my shoul-
der, points to a little village nchtled
amid the olive-groves in the valley.
Ves, that is Ain-Karim, the place of
the Visitation of tiie Blessed Virgin
— the spot where was born the
** greatest of men." We check our
horses but for a moment ; we have
no eyes for that now. Every gaze is
fixed upon that small yellow house
upon the top of the opposite hill;
for has not Ali told us that from that
point we shall see the Eternal City ?
Riding rapidly down the mountain-
side, we do not even stop as we
cross the brook — where David gath-
ered the pebbles with which he slew
his gigantic adversary — and push
rapidly up the opposite mountain.
Father H and I are in advance,
while madame rides behind with the
Irish priest. The shades of evening
are now falling, and I fear lest night
may come on before we reach the
city. Scarce a word is spoken ; my
heart beats with excitement, such
as it has never known before, and
seems as though it would break
through its prison-house, so eager,
so anxious, is it to move quickly on.
Unable to restrain my impatience,
I give my horse a blow with my
riding-whip, and he starts on a full
run. Father H calls me back.
We have travelled so long and shared
so many pleasures together, let us;
together share the great pleasure of
the first sight of Jerusalem. I rein
in my horse, and ride by his side.
Nqw the top of the hill is reached,
and it is yet light ; but we have mis-
taken the house — it is another one
still farther on. It is now twilight.
We speak not a word, but, bent for-
ward, we scan the horizon with
piercing eyes, as though we would '
penetrate the mountains themselves,,
so eager are we to see the city. I
hail a passing boy : ** Fin el Kuds V*
("Where is Jerusalem.*^"), but with a
stupid stare he passes on. A few
moments more the house is reached,
and Sion, royal city of David, lies
before us ! Waiting until the rest
of the party ride up, we dismount,
kneel, kiss the ground, and then
recite aloud the psalm Latatus Sum^
a Pater Noster, and an Ave Maria,
remount, enter the city by the Jaffa -
536
From Cairo to Jerusalem.
gate, ride to our comfortable quar-
ters at the Latin Hospice, and ar^ i>r
Jerusalem*
At the convent we* were enter-
tained in the most hospitable man-
ner, and provided with the neatest
and tidiest of rooms. Early the
next morning Father H— — and I
sallied forth to call on P^re Ratis-
bonne. Following the Via Sacra,
we stopped before an iron gate a
short distance below the arch Ecce
Homo, and little Achmud, picking
up a large stone, pounded upon it
as though he were repaying a
grudge which he had cherished
against it for centuries. I ventured
to remonstrate, suggesting that they
might be displeased at so much
noise being made. But he answer-
ed very coolly — ^meanwhile continu-
ing the pounding as if his future
happiness depended upon making a
hole in the door — that he wanted to
inform those inside that some visi-
tors wished to call upon them. I
said nothing, but doubted seriously
whether that would be the impres-
sion produced on their minds. Had
it been in America, and had I been
inside, I should have imagined that
it was an election row, or a fire dur-
ing the reign of the volunteer fire
department. But notwithstanding
all this, no one appeared, and we
moved away disgusted, only to find
that we had been at the wrong
place, and to be farther informed
that Pere Ratisbonne was in Paris.
What shall I say of the sacred
spots of Jerusalem, which so many
abler pens than mine have attempt-
ed to describe } — vainly endeavor-
ing to portray the inexpressible
emotions that crowd the breast of
every Christian as he kneels before
them for the first time ! Perhaps I
can convey to my readers some idea
of the feeling which continually per-
vaded my whole beini;. it was as
if the curtain of the past had been
rolled back, placing roe face to face
with the living actors in that great
tragedy of our Redemption eighteen
hundred years ago. What contri-
buted in a great measure to this wa&
that we had lived during the winter
in an atmosphere of three or fonr
thousand years ago. We had scarce-
ly esteemed it worth while to look at
the ruins of the Ptolemys, they seem*
ed so recent after the massive tem-
ples of the Rameses and the Ositar-
sens« and now the beginning of the
Christian era appeared but an a^i'r
of yesterday. The Adamic and Mo-
saic dispensations seemed a \\Xi\t
old, 'tis true, but the Christian dis-
pensation was yet to us in all the
glory of its early morn. I felt, as 1
crossed the Kedron and read the
Holy Gospels seated beneath the
olive-trees in the garden of Geili-
semane, as if even I had been .i
personal follower of the Man-Got^
and in imagination could hear \\\c
hosannas of praise as he rode past
me on the ass on the wav from
Bethany. Before this religion had
seemed to me more like an intellec-
tual idea. Now I felt that I knev
Him as a friend, and my heart beat
earnest acquiescence to Father
H *s remark : " Coming from
Egypt, Christ appears a modem
personage; and the visit to the
sacred places of Palestine adds to
the intellectual and moral convic-
tion of the truth of Christianitf.
the feeling and strength of personal
friendship with its Author."
On Sunday Father H cele-
brated Mass at the altar erected on
the spot where the Blessed Virgin
stood during the Crucifixion. The
hole in the rock wherein the sacwi
cross was planted belongs to the
Greeks, and over it they have erect-
ed an altar, loaded down, like all
their other altars, with tawdry finerr.
From Cairo to yerusalem.
537
On another occasion I had
happiness to serve Father li-
the
Mass on the spot where our Lord
was nailed to the cross. But the
greatest happiness of all was reserv-
ed for the morning we left the Holy
City, when madame and I received
Holy Communion from the hands of
Father H ^, who celebrated Mass,
which I served, in the Holy Sepul-
chre itself. Hie Jesus Chris tus
upuiius est. In that little tomb the
three of us, who had shared together
the pleasures and dangers of a long
voyage in Egypt and Nubia — here
on the very spot where He was en-
tombed, we alone, in early morn, re-
ceived his sacred body and blood,
giving fresh life and courage to our
souls for our future struggles with the
world. How much better, instead
of incrusting the sepulchre with
marble and gems, to have left it as
it was, rude and simple as when the
Man-God was laid in it ! But one
sacred spot is left in its primitive
Slate — the grotto of the Agony. A
simple altar has been erected in it^
and a marble tablet let into the wall
with this inscription upon it : ** Hie
factus est sudor ejus sicut guttae
sanguinis decurrentis in terram."
The walls and roof of the grotto
are to-day as thev were that terrible
night when they witnessed the
sweat as drops of blood rolling
down his sacred face.
The limits of this article will not
permit me to tell how we wander-
ed reverentially along the Via Sa-
cra, or gazed in admiration from
Olivet's summit on Jerusalem the
Golden lying at our feet ; of our in-
teresting visit to the residence of the
Princesse de I^a Tour d'Auvergnc,
on the spot where the apostles were
taught the Lord's Prayer, which
she has inscribed on the court-yard
walls in every written language. I
could tell of our visit to the Carta-
culum^ to the Temple, the tomb of the
Blessed Virgin, our walks through
the Valley of Jehoshaphat ; btit these
descriptions are so familiar to every
Christian that I will content myself
wilh relating more of the person ii I
incidents which befell us than gen-
eral descriptions of what we saw.
Father H and I left Jerusa-
lem on Tuesday morning, and, after
riding several hours, camped for the
night near the Greek convent of
Mars Saba. No woman is allowed
to enter this convent, and men only
with permission of the Greek Patri-
arch of Jerusalem. We visited the
tomb of S. Saba, model of anchorites,
and saw in one room the skulls of
fourteen thousand of his brethren,
most of them massacred by the Be-
douins. Rev. Mr. Chambers, of New
York, with two young frends, was
encamped near us, and we spent a
very pleasant evening in their tent.
At five o'clock the next morning we
were in the saddle, en route for the
Dead Sea. We had a Bedouin es-
cort, who was attired in a dilapidate
ed,soiled night-shirt, and was scarce*
ly ever with us, either taking short
cuts down the mountain-side — as he
was on foot — and getting far in ad-
vance of us, or lagging equally as
far in the rear. Nevertheless, it
was a powerful escort — had we not
paid the sheik of the tribe five dol-
lars for it ? and did it not represent *
the force and power of a mighty
tribe of Bedouins? In sober
earnest, this hatless, shoeless es-
cort was a real protection ; for i f
we had been attacked while he
was with us, his tribe, or the sheik
of it, would have been forced by the
authorities to make good our loss,
and, moreover, the attacking tribe
would have incurred the enmity of
our escort's tribe — a very serious
thing in this part of the world, and
among men whose belief is: Whoso
538
From Cairo to Jerusalem.
siieddeth man's blood, by man shall-
liis blood be shed. The Bedouins
find this way of robbing travellers
more profitable than the old-time
system of taking their victim's pro-
perty w^/arw/V, for in the latter
instance they are liable to be pur-
sued, caught, and punished ; while
in the former, by exacting a fee
from the traveller and furnishing
an escort in return, they make con-
siderable money without fear of
punishment. While riding along to-
ward the Dead Sea, I frequently
dismounted to shoot partridges, and
on remounting I took out the cart-
ridges which had not been used,
before handing my gun to the escort,
who carried it for me. On one oc-
casion, when near the Dead Sea,
I had pursued several partridges,
but did not get a shot at them, and
returning to my horse, held by the
iscort, I was about to draw out the
Mrtridges when he requested me
to let them remain, so that I should
not have the trouble of reloading
for the next shot. I shook my
head witii a negative motion, when
he replied in an humble tone :
** Very well. I am a Bedouin, and of
course you cannot trust me.*' And
then flashed across my mind that
terrible curse pronounced upon Ish-
mael and his descendants: ** His
hand shall be n gainst every man,
• and every man's against him."
Feeling sorry for the poor fellow, I
looked him straight in the eye, as
though expressing my confidence
in him, and handed him tlie loaded
gun. I was alone with him now, as
ihe rest of the party had ridden on
\ mile or two in advance. But I
felt perfectly safe, because he was
walking ahead of me, and, had he
meditated treachery, I had my re-
volver in my belt, and could have
killed him before he could raise the
gun to shoot. However, I presume
that he simply wanted to play
sportsman himself; for when he re-
turned me the gun, some hours af-
terwards, both barrels were empty.
About ten o'clock we reached the
barren shores of the Dead Sea,
passing, very close to it, numberless
heaps of cinders, indicating a recent
Bedouin encampment. We took a
long bath in these buoyant waters.
I sank as far as my neck, and then
walked through the water as though
on land. I remained nearly an hour
in the water without touching the
bottom. It is very difficult to swim,
as, when one assumes the swimming
position, the legs are thrown half
out of the water. These waters,
covering the site of Sodom and Go-
morrha, are clear as crystal, yet to
the taste are bitter as gall. Riding
along tl)e plain for a short hour,
we entered the luxurious vegetation
on the banks of the Jordan, and
dismounted near the place where
S. John baptized our Lord. Swifl-
fiowing, muddy, turbulent Jor-
dan ! shall I ever forget thee or
the pleasant swim I had in thy
sweet waters 1 Father H and
I dozed for about an hour, took a
lunch, and then, remounting, rode
across the level plain of Jericho,
and about five o'clock reached oar
tent, pitched on dte site of ancient
Jericho, at the foot of the Mount of
Temptation, where Satan would
tempt our Lord with the vain, fruit-
less riches of this world. After
dinner we walked a short distance,
and sat down on the limb of a
tree overhanging the sweet waters
of the heaven -healed fountain of
Elisha. Surrounded bv armed
Bedouins, who watched our ctctt
motion with eng::r curiosity, and
occasionally in plaintive tones re-
quested backskccshy we passed a de-
lightful hour recalling the sacred
reminiscences connected with the
From Cairo to Jerusalem.
539
spots around us* Behind us a
crumbling ruin marks the site of
once proud Jericho — the city to
which the warlike Joshua sent the
spies from the Moabitish hills be-
>ond the Jordan; the city destroy-
ed by the Israelitish trumpet-blast,
and against which the terrible curse
was pronounced : " Cursed be the
man before the Lord that riseth up,
and buildeth this city Jericho : he
shall lay the foundation thereof in
his first-born, and in his youngest
a»on he siiall set up the gates of it "
— a curse which was most fearfully
fulfilled. Yonder Elijah went up
to heaven in a whirlwind. Far
away in the distance the Dead Sea,
hemmed in by its mountain banks,
lies calm and placid in the dying
^unset. At our feet is the broad
plain of Jericho, and at our back
the mountains of Judaea. How
singular it must have seemed to the
Israelites when they first saw moun-
tains covered with trees and ver-
^wtt ! In their old Egyptian home
they had seen but sand-mountains,
the vegetation in no place extend*
ing beyond the level ground ; and
now for the first time after their
dreary desert wanderings they saw
the vegetation creeping up the
mountain-side even to its summit,
and thousands df sheep browsing
upon it on every hand. Early tlie
next morning we were in the sad-
dle, en route for Jerusalem, and,
passing the spot where the good
Samaritan ministered to the poor
man who had fallen among thieves,
we reached Bethany about noon.
Procuring some tapers from an old
woman, we descended into the
lomb from which the voice of his
God had called forth the dead
Lazarus* A flight of steps leads
down some distance into a small
chamber, which is to-day in the
same condition as when Martha's
brother, arising from the dead, testi-
fied to the assembled crowd the
pow^r of Jesus of Nazareth. From
here we ascended Olivet, and from
its summit looked with admiration
upon the beautiful panorama spread
out beneath us, and lunched under
the venerable olive-trees, which
perhaps had cast their shade upon
the weary form of our Saviour, and
had witnessed the glorious miracle
of his Ascension. Soon after we
reached our convent home.
The Jews in the Holy City are
much fairer than their brethren in
America* They wear the old-time
gabardine, belted at the waist and
extending to the ankles ; on the
head a high black felt hat with
broad brim, while two curls hang
down the cheek on either side.
They are a sorrowful-looking race,
fascinating to gaze upon as <:on-
nected with the great Drama, yet
inspiring me at the same time with
a feeling of disgust which I could
not control. How striking a pic-
ture of their degradation and fall
from their once proud estate as the
chosen ones of God, is shown as
they gather on Fridays to their
\Kailing-place ; ^\s^ courses of large
bevelled stones being all that re-
main of Solomon's grand Temple !
Here are Jews of all ages and of
botn sexes, crying bitterly over fall-
en Jerusalem. Old men, tottering
up, bury their faces in the joints
and cavities, and weep aloud as
though their hearts were breaking,
while in chorus comes the low,
plaintive wail of the women. In
and among, and around and about
them, with shouts of mirth and
laughter, play the children of the
Arab conquerors. The Jews are
permitted to weep here unmolested.
On Sunday afternoon, accompa-
nied by Father Guido, we "went
to Bethlehem. We passed the
540
From Cairo to yerusalenu
night in the Latin convent,
and the next morning madame
and I received Holy Commun-
ion from the hands of Father
H , who celebrated Mass in
the Crib of the Nativity, on the
spot where the Wise Men stood
when adoring the new-born Babe.
The very spot where Christ was
born is marked by a silver star,
with this inscription upon it : " Hie
de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus
Natus est." The star belongs to
the Latins, but the altar over it to
the Greeks, who have several times
attempted to carry off the star, but
unsuccessfully. They, of course,
will not permit the Latins to cele-
brate Mass upon the altar. The
Greeks, being more powerful, are
continually harassing and heaping
all sorts of indignities upon the
Latins, who are ol)liged to submit
to them. Shame upon the Catho-
lic nations of Europe — nations
which in bygone times sent forth
those noble bands of Crusaders,
sacrificing their lives to rescue the
holy places from infidel hands !
But Easter a year ago they de-
stroyed the valuable hangings in
the Holy Crib, presented to the
L'atins by the French government,
and stole two pictured from their
altars valued at six thousand dol-
lars apiece. Nay, more than this :
they even severely wounded with a
sword the Franciscan brother who
endeavored to prevent the execu-
tion of their nefarious designs.
And again the past Easter, but a
few days before we were there, wit-
nessed another of these terrible
scenes of barbarism and inhumani-
ty. A number of unoffending pil-
grims, just returned from their an-
nual Easter visit to the Jordan, were
denied entrance by the Greeks to
the basilica over the Holy Crib.
And when they insisted upon enter-
ing the church — which is common
property, and in which they had .n
perfect right to go — and attempted
to force their way in, they were ar-
rested by the Turkish governor oi
Bethlehem — who is in league wiih
the Greeks — under the pretext that
they were inciting to riot, and cast
into a loathsome dungeon in Jeru-
salem. But, thanks to the exertions
of M. de L^sseps, they were subse-
quently released.
I rode over to the hill where the
shepherds watched their flocks
that eventful night when the angels
announced to them the " glad tid-
ings of great joy." In the after-
noon we rode across the moijntain^
to Ain-Karim, the binh-place of
S. John the Baptist.
The women in this part of ihc.
country, but particularly in Beth-
lehem and its vicinity, carry aJi
their fortunes on their head<.
Dressed in the picturesque garb oi
the Moabitish women, their coins
are hung in great numbers fAm
their caps. One youn g mother, wiih
her babe in her arms, and with
her cap almost covered with rows
of gold coins, approached me at
Ain-Karim, and begged me in a
piteous lone for a copper, and a|>-
peared delighted when I gave it ii>
her. They would almost sooner
starve than part with these coins,
in which they take great pride; but
I imagine that after they are mar-
ried their husbands find means oi*
obtaining possession of them, and
then they get into general circula-
tion again. We went to see the
scene of the Visitation, over which
an altar had been erected in the*
early ages of Christianity, but which
had been concealed for centuries,
and only accidentally discovered ot
late by the Latins in renovatinj*
their church. Alongside the altar
is the impression of a baby in the
A Christmas Vigil,
54»
rock. It is said that when Herod's
soldiers came to the house of S.
Klizabeth to execute their master's
murderous commands to massacre
the little innocents, the saintly mo-
ther pressed her Infant against the
wall, which opened, received him,
and then, closing again, hid him
frcm view ; and thus was he saved
to grow up a voice crying in the
wilderness, *' Make straight the way
of the Lord." We spent the night
in the convent built on the site of
the house where was born this
*' greatest of men." The next day
we returned to Jerusalem, visiting
fn route the Greek church on the
spot where grew the tree from
which the sacred cross was made.
Shortly after this we left the Holy
City, soon bade farewell to our
trusty dragoman, and embarked on
the Tibre at Jaffa, bound for Mar-
seilles. Oh! what impressions were
made upon me by my short sojourn
among those sacred places. How
my faith was strengthened, and my
love and devotion increased, and
how earnestly and often I wished,
and still wish, that each and every
one I know could see what I have
seen and feel as I now feel !
A CHRISTMAS VIGIL.
** One aim there u of endless worth,
One sole-sufficient love~
To do thy will, O God ! on earth,
And reign with thee above.
From joys that failed my s->ul to fill,
From hop^ that aU beriiled,
To changeless rest in thy dear wHl,
O JesiM ! call thy chUd."
Exeter Beach was divided into
two distinct parts by a line of cliff
jutting far out into Exeter Bay.
Below the eastern face of the cliff
lay the Moore estate, and then
came the town ; but on the west
side was an inlet, backed by dense
woods, and bounded on the farther
extremity by another wall of rock.
This was known as Lonely Cove,
and deserved its title. From it one
looked straight out to the open
sea ; no island intervened, nor was
anything visible on shore save the
two long arms of frowning rock,
the circuit of pine coming close to
the edge of drift-wood that marked
the limit of U/c tide, and, at the
far distance, a solitary house.
.This had once been occupied by a
man who made himself a home
apart from every one, and died as
lonely as he lived ; since then it
had been deserted, and was crum-
bling to decay, and many believed it
to be haunted.
Along this beach, about three
o'clock one Christmas Eve, Jane
Moore was walking. It was a dull
afternoon, with a lowering sky, and
a chill in the air which foreboded
rain rather than snow ; but, wrap-
ped in her velvet cloak and furs of
costly sable, Jane did not heed the
weather.
Her heart was full to overflowing.
From the first Christmas that she
could remember to the one previous
542
A C/tristmas Vigil.
to bis death, she had taken that
walk with her father every Christ-
mas eve, while he talked with her
of the joy of the coming day, sang
to her old Christmas carols, and
sought to prepare her for a holy as
well as a merry feast. He had tried
to be father and mother both to his
motherless girl, but his heart ached
as he watched her self-willed, impe-
rious nature, often only to be curb-
ed by her extreme love for him.
** Be patient, my friend," the old
priest who knew his solicitude used
to say. " It is a very noble nature.
Through much suffering and failure,
it may be, but surely y nevertheless,
our Jane will live a grand life yet
for the love of God." And so
James Moore strove to believe and
hope, till death closed his eyes
when his daughter was only thirteen
years old.
Heiress of enormous wealth, and
of a beauty which had been famous
in that county for six generations,
loving keenly all that was fair, lux-
urious, and intellectual, Jane Moore
was one of the most brilliant women
of her day. Dancing and riding,
conversation and music — she threw
herself into each pursuit by turn
with the same whole-hearted aban-
don which had ever characterized
her. Yet the priest who had ba|v
tized her, and who gave her special,
prayerful care and direction, laid
seemingly little check upon her.
Such religious duties as were given
her she performed faithfully; she
never missed the daily Mass or
monthly confession ; not a poor
cottage in the village in which she
was not known and loved, though
as yet she only came with smiles
and money and cheery words, in-
stead of personal tendance and
real self-denial. No ball shortened
her prayers, no sport hindered her
brief daily meditation. The priest
knew that beyond all other desires
that soul sought the Lord ; beyond
all other loves, loved him ; anU
that she strove, though poorly ami
imperfectly and with daily failure,
to subject her will to the highrr
will of God. To have drawn the
curb too tightly then might have
been to ruin all ; the wise priest
waited, and, while he waited, he
prayed.
This Christmas Eve en which
Jane Moore was speeding aloni;
the beach was the last she won id
ever spend as a merry girl in her
old home. As a wife, as a mother,
she might come there again, but
with Epiphany her girlhood^ days
must end. Her heart, once given,
had been given wholly, and Henr>-
Everett was worthy of the gift; but
the breaking of old ties told sorely
upon Jane, who always made htr
burdens heavier than need be hv
her constant endeavor to gain her
own will and way. Her handsop^
face looked dark and sallow tnar
afternoon ; the thin, quivering nos-
trils and compressed lips told of .i
storm in her heart.
" I cannot understand it," she
said aloud. ** Why must I iji^
away } Surely it was right to wi>h
to live alwavs in mv old hora-?
among my father's people. Whv
should God let Henry's father li\c
and live and live to be ninety vt-ars
old, and he be mean and trouble-
some } and why should my dear fa-
ther die young, when I needed him '
I cannot bear to go away."
And then came to her inimi
words said to her that very dav—
few words, but strong, out of a wi^c
and loving heart — "God asks somr-
thing from you this Christmas, in the
midst of your joy, Vt^hich I belie\c
he will ask from you, in joy or sor-
row, all your life long until he gets
it. He wants the entire surrender
A Christmas ViriL
543
of your will. I do not know how
be will do it, but I am sure he will
never let you alone till he has
gained his end. Make it youi*
Christmas prayer that he will teach
you that his will is better and
sweeter than anything our wills
may crave."
She flew faster along the beach,
striving by the very motion to find
relief for the swelling of her heart.
** I cannot bear it," she cried — " to
have always to do something I do,
not want to do ! I cannot bear it.
Yes, I can, and I will. God help
me ! But I cannot understand."
On, on, faster still, sobs choking
her, ta»irs blinding her. " I wanted
so much to live and die here. God
must have known it, and what dif-
ference could it make to him ?"
•' Don't ye ! Don't ye, Tom !
Ye've no right. Ye mustn't, for
God's sake." The words, in a
woman's shrill voice, as of one
w^k with fasting or illness,
yet strong for the instant with
the strengtii of a great fear or
pain, broke in upon Jane's passion,
and, coming to herself, she found
that she was close to the Haunted
House. Fear was unknown to her;
in an instant she stood witiiin the
room.
Evidently some tramp, poorer
than the poorest, had sought shelter
— little belter than none, alas ! — in
the wretched place. A haggard
woman was crouching on a pile of
s-a-weed and drift-wood, holding
lightly to something hidden in the
ragged clothing huddled about her,
striving to keep it — whatever it
might be — from the grasp of a des-
perate, half-starved man who bent
over her.
" Gie it to me," he cried. " I tell
ye, Poll,ril have it, that I wull, for
all ye. And I'll trample it, and I'll
burn it, that I wull. No more car-
rying o' crucifixes for we, and I
knows on't. Gie us bread and
butter, say I, and milk for the babby
there."
" Nay, nay, Tom," the woman
pleaded. "It's Christmas Eve.
He'll send us summat the night,
sure. Wait one night, Tom."
" Christmas ! What's him to we }
Wait ! Wait till ye starve and freeze
to death, lass; but I'll not do'l.
There's no God nowhere, and no
Christm?is — it's all a sham — and
there sha'n't be no crucifixes neither
where I bes. Ha! I's got him now,
and I'll have my own way, lass."
"Stop, man!" Jane stood close
beside him, with flashing eyes and
her proud and fearless face. " Give
me the crucifix," she said.
But she met eyes as fearless as
her own, which scanned her from
head to foot. " And who be you ?"
he asked.
** Jane Moore," she answered,
with the ring that was always in her
voice when she named her father's
honored name.
"And what's that to me .^ " the
man exclaimed. "Taki's more'n
names to save this." And he shook
the crucifix defiantlv.
" Stop, stop !" Jane cried. " I will
pay you well to stop."
" Why then, miss ?"
"Your God died on a cross,"
Jane answered. "You shall not
liarm his crucifix."
" Speak for yourself, miss ! Shall
not.^ My wuH's as strong as yours,
I'll warrant. God ! There's no
God ; else why be ye in velvets and
lier in rags } That's why I trample
this 'un."
In another moment the crucifix
would have lain beneath his heel;
but Jane flung herself on her knees.
All pride was gone ; tears rained
from her eyes ; she, who had been
used to command and to be obeyed,
544
A Christmas Vigil.
pleaded like a beggar, with hiinible
yet passionate pleading, at the feet
(if this beggar and outcast.
" Wait, wait," she cried. " Oh !
iicar mc. Truly your God was
born in a stable and died upon a
cross. He loves you, and he was
as i>oor as you."
" There be no God," the man re-
iterated hoarsely. "It's easy for
the likes o' ye to talk, all warm and
full and comfortable."
Jane wrung her hands. '* I cannot
explain," she said, " I cannot un-
derstand. But it must be that God
knows best. He sent me. Come
home with me, and I will give you
food and clothes and money."
** Not I," cried the man defiantly.
*' I knows that trick too welly miss.
Food and clothes belike, but a jail
loo. ru trust none. Pay me
here."
Jane turned her pocket out. " I
i ;ive nothing with me," she said.
*' Will you not trust me?" But in
iiis hard-set face she read her an-
swer while she spoke.
" Very well," she continued.
"Take a note from me to my stew-
ard. He will pay you."
" Let's see't," was the brief reply.
Hastiiv she wrote a few words in
pencil, and he read them aloud.
" Now, miss," he said, " it's not
safe for me to be about town much
'fore dark, and, what's more, I won't
trust ye there neither. Here ye'U
bide the night through, if ye means
what ye says."
" O Tom !" the woman exclaim-
ed, breaking silence for the first
time since Jane spoke, " 'twuU be
.1 fearful night for the like o' she."
** Let her feel it, then,** he retorted.
•* Wasn't her Lord she talks on born
in the cold and the gloom to-night,
'cording to you and she, lass } Let
her try't, say I, and see what she'll
believe come morn."
Like a flash it passed through
Jane's mind that her last midnight
Mass among her own people was
•taken from her; that, knowing her
uncertain ways, no one would think
of seeking her till it was too late,
any more than her steward, well
used to her impulses, would dream
of questioning a note of hers, no
matter who brought it. Yet with
the keen pang of disappointment a
thrill of sweetness mingled. Was
not her Lord indeed born in the
cold and the gloom that night? *'I
am quite willing to wait," she said
quietly.
The man went to the door.
" Tide's nigh full," he said^ '* and
night's nigh here. I'll go my ways.
But mark ye, miss, I'll be waiting
'tother side, to see ye don't follow.
Trust me to wait patient, till it's too
dark for ye to come."
Jane watched him till he had
reached the further line of the cliff;
then she buried iier face in her
hands. Space and time seenieAas
nothing; again, as for years she had
been used to do, she strove to place
herself in the stable at Bethlehem,
and the child-longing rose within
her to clasp the Holy Infant in her
arms, and warm him at her heart,
and clothe him like a prince. And
then she remembered what the man
had said : "It's easy for the likes o'
ye to talk, all warm and full and
comfortable."
There are natures still among us
that cannot be content unless ther
lavish the whole box of ointment
on the Master's feet. Jane turned
to the heap of sea- weed where the
half- frozen woman lay. ** Can you
rise for a minute?" she asked gen-
tly. " I am going to change clothes
with you. Yes, I am strong, and can
walk about and bear it all ; but you
will freeze if you lie here." And pat-
ting down the woman's feeble resis-
i
A Christmas Vigil.
545
tance with a bright, sweet will, Jane
liad her way.
Half exhausted, her companion
s:mk back upon her poor couch,
and soon fell asleep ; and when the
Iwby woke, Jane took it from her,
icst its pitiful wailing should rouse
the mother, to whom had come
blessed forgetfulness of her utter
inability to feed or soothe it. She
wrapped the child in her rags, and
walked the room with it for hours
that night. It seemed to her that
they niust freeze to death if she
stopped. For a time the wind
raged furiously and the rain fell in
torrents; no blessed vision came
to dispel the darkness of her vigil ;
no ecstasy to keep the cold from
biting her; she felt its sting sharp-
ly and painfully the whole night
through. The first few hours were
the hardest she had ever spent, yet
she would not have exchanged
them for the sweetest joy this world
had ever given her. '* My Lord
was cold," she kept saying. " My
I^ord was cold to-night."
By and by — it seemed to her that
it must be very late — the storm
)>assed over. She went to the
door. The clouds were lifting, and
far away the sea was glimmering
faintly in the last rays of a hidden
and setting moon. Below a mass
of dark clouds, and just above the
softly-lighted sea, shone out a large
white star. Across the water, heav-
ing heavily like one vho has fallen
asleep after violent weeping, and
still sobs in slumber, came to her
the sound of the clock striking mid-
night ; and then all the chimes rang
sweetly, and she knew that the
Mass she had longed for had be-
gun.
" I cannot bear it!" she cried;
then felt the child stir on her
breast, and, gathering it closer to
her, she said slowly : '* God un-
VOL. xxii.— 35
derstands. His way must be best."
And she tried to join in spirit with
those in church who greeted the
coming of the Lord. •
Surely there was some reason for
her great disappointment and for
her suffering that night. Reason }
Was it not enough to be permitted
thus to share His first night of de-
privation } And presently she be-
gan to plan for herself God's plan —
how the man would return, and.
find her there wet and cold and.
hungry, and would learn why she
had done it, and would never
doubt God again. She fancied
them all at home with her, employ-
ed by her, brought back to a happy,
holy life ; and she prayed long and
earnestly for each.
He did come, as soon as the gray
morning twilight broke — came with
haste, bade his wife rise, and take
her child and follow him. • He gave
no time for the words Jane wished.
to speak ; but when the woman said
that she must return the garments
v/hich had kept her warm, and per-
haps alive, that night, Jane cried
"No, no! It is as if I had kep
our Lady warm for once, and car-
ried her Child, not yours." And
she clasped the baby passionately,.,
kissing it again and again.
The man stood doubtful, then,
tore the rich cloak from his wife's
shoulders, seized the mean one
which it had replaced, wrapped hei
in it, hiding thus the costly attire,,
that might have caused suspicion,
then looked about the room.
" The crucifix ?" he said.
" Is it not mine V* Jane asked.
He pointed to the woman. " It's
her bit o* comfort," he said. " Gie
it to her, miss. Plenty ye's got, I
wot. I'll ne'er harm 'un again."
There was no more farewell than
that; no more promise of bettei
things. In a few minutes they had
546
A Christmas Vigil,
disappeared among the pines ; and
cold, suffering, disheartened, Jane
made her way homeward. To her
truest home first; for bells were
ringing for first Mass, and Jane
stole into church, and, clad in beg-
gar's rags beneath her velvet cloak,
xnelt in real humility to receive her
Lord. " I do not understand," she
said to him, sobbing softly. " No-
thing that I do succeeds as I like.
But, my Jesus, I am sure thy will
is best, only I wanted so much to
help them for thee. Why was it,
my Jesus V^
But the years went by, and
though Cliristmas after Christmas
Jane remembered with a pang that
great disappointment, her longings
and her questions remained unan-
swered.
And so It was in almost every-
thing. Her life after that strange
Christmas Eve was one of constant,
heroic, personal service for others,
in the love of the Sacred Heart of
Jesus. The brilliant woman was
never seen again at ball or hunt,
but beside the beds of the sick and
suffering she was daily to be found,
making the most painful, repul-
sive cases her special care. And
she, who had delighted in daintiest
apparel, never wore again after that
Christmas morning jewels or costly
clothing. " I have tasted once the
sweetness of faring like my Lord,"
she said impetuously to her hus-
band. " Do not break my heart
by making me all warm and full
and comfortable again." And he,
whose high soul answered nobly to
her own, never tried to hold her
back, but followed her eagerly in
her earnest following of her Lord.
Yet the self-willed nature cost its
owner many sufferings before it
learned submission to the divine
Master. It pleased God that Jane
Everett should live to an advanced
and very strong old age, and it alM
pleased him through all those yean
to conform her will to his by coo*
stant and peculiar trials. The hus-
band whom she loved with an al-
most idolatrous love was taken from
her, without an instant's warning, by
a fearful accident. Her sons, whom
she dedicated to God's holy priest*
hood, died in their cradles; her
daughters grew into the fairest
bloom of womanhood, only to be-
come the brides of death. Yet no-
thing quenched the fire in her eyet
and the cry of her heart for yean
was still its old cry: "O God! I
cannot bear it. Yes, I can. God*»,
will is best. But I cannot under-
stand."
One Advent the last remainiog
friend of her youth sent to her, beg-
ging her to come with haste to pas
with her the last Christmas they
could expect to be together on
earth ; and the brave old woman,
though craving to spend the ^dy
season near her darlings* gnvcSi
went forth to face the inclement
weather with as stout a heart as in
her youth she had sped along Exe-
ter Beach under the threatening
sky. In a little village, W4th no one
near who knew her except her. ser-
vants. Death laid his hand upon her
who had desired him for many
days.
** This is a serious illness," the
physician said to her. Then, read-
ing rightly the spirit with which he
had to deal, he added : '* A sickness
unto death, madam."
"Harness the horses, then," she
said, lifting herself, ** and let roe
get to Ewemouth and die there."
" Send for a priest," the doctor
answered her. " You have no time
to lose."
•" It has been always so» father,"
Jane said, looking up pitifully into
the face of the priest when at last
A Christmas Vigil.
S47
he came. " From the time that I
lirst earnestly gave myself to God,
up to this time, he has thwarted
me in every way. Sixty years ago
this very Christmas Eve he did it.
It ail comes back to me as hard to
l>ea.r as then ; and all my life has
been like that." And slowly and
with pauses Jane told the story of
her night at Lonely Cove.
^ It has always been so, father.
Whenever I have loved any one
or tried to help any one, I have
failed or they have left me."
** My daughter," the priest repli-
ed, *' God's work in a life like yours
is far more the subjection of the
will than the number of holy actions
for others. Be sure that nvhat we
think failure is often success in God's
eyes and through his power. He
asks one last sacrifice from you.
Madara, God has brought you here
to add the crowning blessing to
your life — the opportunity of a last
and entire surrender of your will
to his most blessed will. Will you
offer to him your whole life, that to
you seems so incomplete and marred,
judged by your own plans and
wishes, saying to him without re-
serve that you believe, certainly, that
his way is far better than yours ?"
He held the crucifix before her,
and suddenly the long years seem-
ed to vanish like a dream, and she
felt once more the biting cold in
the haunted house at Lonely Cove,
and again a child nestled upon her
heart, bringing with it the thought
of the manger-bed, and the ques-
tion, IVhy should so much suffering
be? And from that manger her
thoughts returned to the hard couch
of the cross; and to all that mys-
tery of suffering came the mysteri-
ous answer, ** Not my will, but
thine, be done."
She took and kissed the offered
crucifix. "Yes, father," she said
meekly. " May the most just, most
high, and most amiable will of God
be done, praised, and eternally ex-
alted in all things. I had rather
die here, O my God ! since it is thy
blessed will, than in any other place
on earth."
** Amen," said the priest.
But when the last sacraments had
been administered, and Jane lay
calm and patient now, waiting her
release, the priest drew near to her,
and looked with a great reverence
upon her face.
" My daughter," he said " it is at
times the will of God to show us
even here the use of some part at
least of what he has let us do for
him. Be sure his Sacred Heart re-
members all the rest as well. Sixty
years ago this Christmas Eve my
father was saved from a great sin,
my mother and I from death, by a
Christian woman's love for her Lord.
The first confession I ever heard
was my own father's last. He told
me that from the time he saw that
rich young girl in rags endure the
biting cold for God, faith lived in
his heart, and would not die, I saw
him pass away from earth in peni-
tence and hope. For more than
thirty years I have labored among
God's poor as your thank-offering.
Madam, my mother by the love of
God, God sends you this token that
he has worked his own work by
means of you all your life long.
He sends you this token, because
you have given him the thing he
most desired of you — your will."
Jane folded her aged hands hum-
bly. " Not unto us, O Lord !" she
said, low and faint, and then a voice
as of a son and priest at once spoke
clearly, seeing her time had come :
"Depart, O Christian soul! in
peace."
548
The Apostolic Mission to ChUu
THE APOSTOLIC MISSION TO CHILL
A CHAPTER Itf THE LIFE OF PIUS IX.
Before entertaining ourselves
with an account of the voyage and
journeys, from Genoa to Buenos
Ay res and across the continent to
Valparaiso, of the first pope who has
ever been to America, we shall en-
ter into a few details to show the
occasion of the apostolic mission
which he accompanied in an offi-
•ial capacity.
The great reverses of Spain at
the beginning of the present cen-
tury, and the consequent weaken-
ing of the bonds that united her
American colonies to their mother-
count rv, besides some other causes
silently working since the emanci-
patioa of the thirteen British pro-
vinces from England, finally led to a
Oeclaration of Independence, which
was established after several years
of war. But the king to whose
;.;ovemment these New-World pos-
sessions had been subject for nearly
three hundred years refused to re-
cognize the accomplished fact or
lo enter into diplomatic relations
with rebels ap;ainst his authority.*
The Congress of Verona, in 1822,
look some notice of these revolted
countries ; but the European pow-
ers did not all agree to receive
ihem into the family of nations by
a formal, recognition, and it is well
known that the views expressed in
^ Among the Spanish subjects in the colonies,
there was a class correspondJag to the Loyalists of
ilie American K evolution. One of these was Don
Miguel Moreno, a mj^istrate bclonsjing to a most re-
spectable C"lcn-al family, and the honcred father of
His Eminence the pretent Archbivhopof Valladolid,
who was bom in Guatemala on Nov. 34. 1S17, and
is therefore, in a strict sense of the word, the first
American who has been made a cardinal.
that assembly gave rise on the
of the President of the Unit
States to a declaration of polic
which has been called the Monr
Doctrine.* The Holy See, havin
sublimer interests to deal wit
could not act as indifferently in tliii
matter as other governments, whic
looked only to temporal advanta
and wrangled over old systems
public policy regardless of rccei
events. By the quixotic obstinac
of Spain the South American r
publics suffered much inconveni-
ence, particularly in point of reli-
gion, because Rome could not
provide for their spiritual wants
without risking an open rupture
with his Catholic Majesty — such
were royal pretensions of restrict-
ing the exercise of papal rights,
even in merely nominal doniinions.t
During the latter part of Pios
VII. 's pontificate the govemracnt
of Chili sent one of its distinguished
^ Hesoife of Decembers, 1893.
t It b curious to contrast the tedioas triak t^
Rome endured before being able to appoint btskifi
to independent Spanish America, with her case is
establishing the hierarchy in the United Stata>
Vet the Spaniards and Loyalists, who aomedaei
forgot that political differences should never ista>>
fere with religious unity, might have found a pee-
dent for this aversion in the case of th«r noitkai
brethren. In a sketch of the church in the Ucitrd
States, written by Bishop Carroll in 1790, it is said
that ** during the whole war there was not tbekstf
communication between the Catholics of Kmxcsx
and their bishop, who was the vicar- apostdic ^
the London district. To his spiritual JMiiriwtirn
were subject the United States ; but mbcther be
would hold no correspondence with a country «kic&
he, perhaps, considered in a state of reb^tan.*
whether a natural indolence and irresolntiatt r-
strained him, the fact b he held do kind of btcr
course with priest or lay nan in this part ef kis
char^."— B. U. CampbcU ''Memoirs, etc , of tie
Most Ker. John Carroll,*' in the U. S. C^tkdit
AfagmMi'mf^ 1S45.
The Apostolic Mission to Chili.
549
ritizens, the Archdeacon Don Jos6
Cienfiiegos, envoy to Rome, with
nstructions to try to establish
iirect ecclesiastical relations be-
tween the Holy See and Santiago,
the capital of his country. He ar-
rived there on August 22, T822,
ind was well received, but only in
his spiritual capacity. The pope
irould not recognize him as a polit-
ical agent. On the 7th of September
following the Holy Father address-
ed a brief to the Bishop of Merida
de Maracaybo, in which he express-
ed himself solicitous for the spir*
itual necessities of his children in
those far- distant parts of America,
and intimated his ardent desire to
relieve them. A little later he
formed a special congregation of
«ix cardinals, presided over by Del-
la Genga, who became his successor
as Leo XII. ; and after mature
deliberation on the religious affairs
in the ex-viceroyalties of Spain, it
was determined to send a mission
to Chili, that country being chosen
for the honor as having made the
first advances. This measure so
displeased the Spanish government
that the nuncio Monsignor — after-
wards Cardinal — Giustiniani was
dismissed; and although he was
soon after permitted to return, the
wound inflicted upon him left its
sting behind, for, coming very near
to the number of votes requisite to
election in the conclave after Pius
VIII. 's death, the court of Mad-
rid barred his fortune by the ex-
ercise of that odious privilege call-
ed the Esclusiva ; the ground of his
exclusion from the Papacy being
supposed at Rome to have been
his participation in the appoint-
ment of bishops to South America.
The right (?) of veto expires with
its exercise once in each conclave ;
and Cardinal Cappellari (Gregory
XVI.), who, as we shall see, had the
most to do with these episcopal
nominations, was elected pope.
The choice of a vicar-apostolic
for the Chilian mission fell upon
Prof. Ostini (later nuncio to Bra-
zil and a cardinal), who, after hav-
ing accepted the position, saw fit
suddenly to decline it for reasons
best known to himself. In his
stead Don Giovanni Muzi, then at-
tached to the nunciature at Vienna,
was selected, and, having been re-
called to Rome, was consecrated
Archbishop of Philippi in partibus
infidelium^ with orders to proceed
immediately to Santiago. The mis-
sion, of which we shall speak more
particularly hereafter, embarked
on October 4, 1823, and reached
Rome on its return the 7th of
July, 1825.
Leo XII. succeeded Pius VII.
In 1824 the republic of Colombia
sent Don Ignacio Texada to Rome
with an application for bishops and
apostolic vicars in that immense
region ; but the Spanish ambassa-
dor. Chevalier Vargas, a haughty
diplomate, brimful of Espaholismo^
went to the pope and demanded
his dismissal. This was refused.
The envoy had come for spiritual
interests, not on political grounds ;
and the Spaniard could not con-
vince Leo that the rebel's argument
— by which he asked no more than
that species of indirect recognition
granted by the Holy See, under In-
nocent X. and Alexander VII., to
the house of Braganza when it forc-
ed Portugal from under Spanish
rule — was not a good one and
founded on precedent. Neverthe-
less, Texada returned to Bologna,
and finally withdrew altogether
from the Papal States. He had
some fine qualities, ^ut lacked dis-
cretion in speech, which was a fault
^ He was translated by Leo XII. in i8a5 to the
residential see of Citti di Caitello.
5 so
The Apostolic Mission to Chili.
very injurious to his position.
Harpocrates is still the great god
of diplomacy the world over. This
state of things was embarrassing.
Spain had refused to recognize the
independence of her many provin-
ces in the New World, although she
had ceased practically even to dis-
turb them. The king, who was
somewhat of a Marquis de Carabas^
claimed all his old rights over
them, and, among them^ that of
episcopal presentation. Cardinal
Wiseitian, who was an attentive ob-
server of these times, remarks — very
properly, we think — that even if
such a power could be still called
legal, ** it would have been quite
unreasonable to expect that the
free republics would acknowledge
the jurisdiction of the country
which declared itself at war with
them." This was a clear case in
which allegiance should follow pro-
tection. After a prudent delay,
Leo thought it his duty to repre-
sent energetically to the Spanish
government the inconvenience he
suffered from the existing state of
affairs, and the impossibility of his
viewing with indifference a condi-
tion in which the faithful, long de-
prived of pastors, were urgently
asking for bishops for the vacant
sees. Yet His Holiness had taken
no decisive step, but called upon
his majesty either to reduce his
transatlantic subjects to obedience
or to leave him free to provide as
best he could for the necessities of
the church. In the consistory of
May 21, 1827, the pope, after pro-
testing that he could not any lon-
ger in conscience delay his duty
to Spanish America, proceeded to
nominate bishops for more than
six dioceses in those parts. Madrid
was, of course, displeased, although
it was twelve years since the gov-
ernment had lost even the shadow
of authority there, and at first re-
fused to receive the new nuncio,
Tiberi.* At this juncture Pedro
Gomez de Labrador was sent from
Spain expressly to defeat the mea-
sure ; but although " acknowledged
by all parties, and especially by the
diplomatic body in Rome, to be
one of the most able and arcom-
plished statesmen in Europe, ycr
he could not carry his point"
against the quiet and monk-like
Cardinal Cappellari, who was deput-
ed by the pope to meet him. lo
the allocution pronounced by Lab>
brador before the Sacred College,
assembled in conclave to elect a
successor to Leo, he made an allu-
sion to the ever-recurring subject
of the revolted Americans ; bat
although done with tact, it grated
on the ears of many as too jjersis-
tently and, under the circumstances,
unreasonably put forward.
The discussion between the courts
of Rome and Madrid was not renev*
ed during the brief pontificate of
Pius VIIL; but , in the encyclical
letter announcing his election there
is a delicate reference to the affair
which, although not expressly
named, will be perceived by those
who are acquainted with tiie ques*
t ions of that day. Com te de M aistre
says somewhere that if a parish be
left without a priest for thirty years,
the people will worship — the pi^;
and although the absence of a bi-
shop from his diocese for such a
length of time might not induce a
similar result, yet the faithful would
drop, perhaps, into a Presbyterian
form of church government and be
* Cardinal Wiseman has made a slip ia sajiaf
{Last Four Po^s^ p. 308) that the refusal to ream
Mgr. Tibet! gave rise to ** a little episode in tiM
life of the present pontiff." iTiberi went asnnndo to
Madrid in 1827, coasequently Umg after Caaaa
Mastai had returned from Chili. It vas in tht
case of the previous nuncio, Giustintani that a
*' passing coolness," occaaioBed the apostdic
aioQ to South America.
The Apostolic Mission to Chili.
55 1-
lost. The veteran statesman Cardi-
nal Consalvi evidently thought so,
as we see by the fourth point, which
treats of Spanish America, in the
conference that he was invited to
hold with Leo XII* on the most
important interests of the Holy
See. * When, therefore, Gregory
XVI. — who, as Cardinal Cappellari;
had not been a stranger to the long
dispute — became pope, he ended
the matter promptly and for ever.
In his first consistory, held in Feb-
ruary, 183 1, he filled a number of
vacant sees and erected new ones
where required in South America.
On the 31st of August following he
published the apostolic constitution
^ Solicitudo Ecclesiarum,'* in which
he explained the reasons why the
Holy See, in order to be able to
govern the universal church, whose
interests are paramount to all local
disputes, recognizes tU facto gov-
ernments, without intending by this
to confer a new right, detract from
any legitimate claim, or decide upon
di Jure questions. The republics
of New Granada f (1835)9 Ecuador
(1838), and Chili (1840) were sub-
sequently recognized with all the
solemnities of international law*
In the last-named country there
were two episcopal sees during the
Spanish dominion. These were
Santiago and Concepcion, both sub-
ject to the Metropolitan of Lima;
but Gregory rearranged the Chilian
episcopate, making the first see an
archbishopric, with Concepcion, La
Serena, and San Carlos de Ancud
• Anand ( Vi* d4 L/»n XII.) indicates in a note
Is p. 199, vol. i., the iourcca whence he obtained
tbeie view* of the late Frime Minister, which are
given in fiiD.
t In 1836 Mgr.—afteiwardt Cardinal— GaetaaoB»-
luA« Hichop d Bagnorea, was sent to this country a>
fint intcraundo and apottolic delegate. He publish-
ed an inteicstittg worWon his return to Italy, giving
SB account of religion in South America from its col*
enization to his own time : VA merica urn temp9
iprngnm^tm rigmardaia totio i'atp€ii4 rtligi^^
d^* tpoca. del tn9 ditcpprimimt^t tiM mi 1843.
(Aacooa, 1844.)
(in the island of Chiloe) for suf-
fragan sees.
At the time that the apostolic
mission to South America was de-
termined upon, there was living in
Rome a young ecclesiastic as yet " to
fortune and to fame unknown,'* but
who was destined to become the
first pope who has ever been across
the Atlantic, and the foremost man
of the XlXth century. This was
Don Giovanni Mastai-Ferretti, one
of the fourteen canons of the colle-
giate church of Santa Maria in Via
Lata, He was selected by Pius VII.
to accompany Mgr. Muzi as ad-
junct. The secretary of the apos-
tolic delegation was a priest named
Giuseppe Sallusti, who wrote a full
narrative of the expedition, in
which, as Cardinal Wiseman says,
" The minutest details are related
with the good-humored garrulity of
a new traveller, who to habits of
business and practical acquaintance
with graver matters unites, as is
common in the South, a dash of
comic humor and a keen sense of
the ridiculous, and withal a charm-
ing simplicity and freshness of mindy
which render the book amusing as
well as instructive, in spite of its
heavy quotations from that lightest
of poets, Metastasio." * It is in 4
vols. 8vo, with a map. Compara-
tively only a small portion of the
work is taken up with the actual
voyages and travels of the party,
the rest being devoted to the
preliminaries or causes of the mis-
sion, to a description of Chili, and
an account of the many mission-
ary establishments which had once
flourished, as well as of those that
* Dublin RrvftWt vol. niv., June, 1848. The
full title of this rare work (of which there it ao copy
even in the Astor Library) is as follows: Storta
d*lU Miuioni ApottoUckt dtlh tiaU dil CkiUy
colla dtscriuiont dtl viaggh dal vgcchic al nutvt
mondQ/aiU dalf auior*. Opera di Giuseppe Sal-
kisti Roma, 1827, pel Mauri.
552
TAe Apostolic Mission to Chili.
weie still maintained, there. A
fifth vohime was promised by the
author to contain the documents,
official acts, and results of the mis-
sion ; but we believe that it was
never published. The vicar-apos-
tolic having received, at the earnest
solicitation of a learned ecclesiastic
from the Argentine Confederation,
Rev. Dr. Pacheco, very ample fac-
ulties not only for the country to
v^hich he was more immediately ac-
credited, but also for Buenos Ayres,
Peru, Colombia, Mexico, and all
other parts of the ex-Spanish do-
minions, and accompanied by the
envoy Cienfuegos and Father Ray-
mond Arce, a young Dominican
belonging to Santiago, the party
left Rome for Bologna, where it
rested awhile to get a foretaste of
the magnificent scenes in the New
World from Father T. de Molina,
who had long resided in Chili. The
next stage in the journey was to
Genoa, the port of embarkation,
which was reached only on the
17th of July; but, **bya series of
almost ludicrous delays," the expe-
dition was detained until after the
death of Pius VII. and the election
of his successor, Leo XII., who con-
firmed the mission and addressed a
brief to the president* of the Chilian
Republic, recommending its objects
and the welfare of its members.
All matters being now satisfac-
torily arranged, the party got on
board the fine French-built brig
Eloysa on the nth of October,
1823. The vessel sailed under
* This wat Gen Bernard 0*H^gint, a gentleman
of one of the distinguished Irish families which
took refuge in Spain from the persecutions of the
English government. He was Iwrn in Chili of a
Chilian mother. His father had been captain-gene*
ral of what was called the kingdom of Chili, and was
afterwards Viceixry of Peru. The younger O'Hig-
gins was a very superior man, taking a principal part
in asserting the independence of hb native land , of
which he became the first president ; but unfortu-
nately he died in 1893, a few months before the arri-
val of the apostolic mnsioB.
Sardinian colors, and was manned
by a crew of thirty-four men, aod
officered by experienced sailors, the
captain, Anthony Copello, havii)g
several times navigated the South
Atlantic. The weather was vcr)-
rough, as usual, in the Gulf of
Lyons ; " and gurly grew the sea/'
to the dismay and discomfiture of
the terrified landsmen, ^ Mastai,"a5
Sallusti familiarly calls his compan-
ion, suffering horribly from sickness.
This was but the beginning of miny
trials, and even some serious dan-
gers, amidst which we can well
imagine that the captain would hive
been glad beyond measure if any
one had hinted at the very special
Providence that guarded his ship,
by quoting the famous words, " Quid
times f Casarem vehis et fortunam
ejus I ** Soon \.\\^ Eloysa approached
the coast of Catalonia, down whicM
she sailed at the rale of ten knofs
an hour, until struck by a furious
southwest hurricane, the libecci^ sj
much dreaded in the Mediterranean*
which threatened destruction to all
and everything in its course. To a
landsman like Sallusti the storms
encountered on this voyage would
naturally appear worse than they
really were, and his frequent ac-
count of ** waves mountain-high **
and " imminent shipwreck " wouk)
perhaps sound like "yams "to an
old tar. He delights in describing
the Eloysa as
** tJpfifted on the surge, to heaven ^e fliea,
Her ahattered top half buried m the skies **
and everywhere shows himself, like
a good inland abbate^ dreadfully
afraid of salt water. Capt. Copello
would fain have put into Valencia
for shelter ; but it was feared that
the Spanish authorities might de-
tain his ship, or at least disembark
the passengers, and it was determin-
ed rather to brave the elements
Tke Apostolic Mission to CkUi.
553
than to trust themselves within gun-
shot of a Spanish harbor. These
bold resolutions, however, did not
appease the fury of the wind, and it
finally came to deciding between a
watery grave and a stony prison ;
the decision was quickly taken, and
Palma, in the island of Majorca,
was fetched in safety. The mission
party was very inhospitably treated
here ; and' Mgr. Muzi and Canon
Mastai were ordered to come on
shore at once and give an account
of themselves. As soon as they
had put foot on land, the two dis-
tinguished ecclesiastics were thrust
into a cold and filthy Lazaretto, on
plea of sanitary regulations, but
really out of spite for their charac-
ter and destination. Their papers
were seized, and measures instantly
taken to bring them to trial ; and
there was even talk of sending them
to an African fortress where politi-
cal prisoners were confined. When
Sallusti heard of this Balearic treat-
ment, he summoned all his Italian
courage, and, going on shore, de-
clared to the cocked- hatted officials
that he would share the fate of his
companions ; but instead of admir-
ing this prodigality of a great soul
(Hor. Od- i. 12, 38), those unclassi-
cal islanders simply swore round
oaths and turned him in with the
rest. This was fortunate in one
sense ; for we would otherwise have
missed a good description of the
examination of the three Italians
before the magistrates, who behaved
rudely ; the alcade, in his quality
of judge, putting on more airs than
a Roman proconsul,* Further
outrages were threatened, but the
intervention of the Sardinian consul
and of the Bishop of Palma finally
• Paimn M-gts ofiN ancimt Htle of Afuy imsi^nt
y Ualciud*i4^ aim! that its habitants have been dis-
UflSttished ** tn todos tiemp^s par su filantropia
€wn Ut namfrajpM *'— a •pecunen of which we give.
convinced those proud men of the
exclusively religious mission of
their victims. In view of subse-
quent events in Italy, it seems
strange that the future pope should
have been saved from further in-
dignities, and perhaps from a dun-
geon, by an agent of the Piedmon-
tese government ; yet so it was.
The Italians were permitted to re-
turn to the ship, but a demand was
made to deliver up the two Chili-
ans as rebellious Spanish subjects.
This was promptly refused ; but
notwithstanding a great deal of
blustering and many threats, the
case was allowed to drop, and the
Eloysa sailed away after several
days* detention. Gibraltar was pass-
ed on the 28th of October, and a
severe storm having tossed the
brig about unmercifully on her
entry into the Atlantic, the peak
of Teneriffe loomed up on Novenj-
ber 4.
After leaving the Canary Islands,
the Eloysa was hailed one dark
night by a shot across her bows,
which came from a Colombian priva-
teer, and quickly brought her to.
She was quickly boarded, and a
gruff voice demanded her papers
and to have the crew and passen-
gers mustered on deck. Sallusti
was in mortal dread, and, to judge
from his de.scription of the scene,
he must have been quaking with
fear; but Don Giovanni Mastai be-
haved with that calmness and dig-
nity which even then began to be
remarked in him, in whatever cir-
cumstances he found himself. Af-
ter some delay, the brig was al-
lowed to proceed ; nothing beinc;
taken off but a bottle of good Mal-
aga wine — which, however, was ra-
ther accepted than stolen by the
rover of the seas.
After a time the Cape Vcrd Is-
lands appeared in all their richness ;
554
The Apostolic Mission to Chili.
and on the a7th of the month the
line was crossed amidst the usual
riot of sailors, and with the pay-
ment of a generous ransom by the
clergy. On December 8 the Eloysa
lay becalmed alongside of a sla-
ver crowded with poor Africans
on their way to Brazil. Sallusti
complains about this time of bad
water and short rations, and men-
tions with particular disgust that
the fare generally consisted of pota-
toes and lean chickens. On the
2 2d a man fell overboard in a dread-
ful gale, and was rescued with diffi-
culty. Christmas was celebrated
as well as circumstances permitted ;
and a neat little oratory having
been fitted up in the main cabin,
midnight ^ass was said by the
archbishop, the second Mass by
Canon Mastai, and tlie third by
Friar Arce. On the 27th of De-
rember, S. John s Day, and the pa-
tronal feast of the canon, the wel-
come cry of " Land ho !" was heard
from the look-out at the mast-head
about three p.m., and the crew and
passengers united upon deck to re-
turn fervent thanks to Almighty
God. The land sighted was a small
desert island, a little north of Cape
Santa Maria, off the coast of Uru-
guay. A fearful storm was encoun-
tered the next evening at the mouth
of the La Plata. This was one of
those southwestern gales, called
PamperoSy which frequently blow
with inconceivable fury, causing sin-
gular fluctuations in the depth of
the wide mouth of the river. It raged
so that the captain was obliged to
cut his cable and abandon the shel-
ter of Flores Island, which he had
sought when it began, and to take
to the open sea again. With better
»vealher he returned and dropped
anchor opposite Montevideo on the
evening of January i, 1824. S.i!-
Listi goes into raptures over the
beautiful aspect of the city, as seen
from the bay ; its broad and regular
streets, its stately houses built on a
gentle elevation, its fine cathedral
the strains of music borne over the
water — everything enchanted the
travellers* weary of a three months'
voyage.
** The sub were fbiTd ; with many a nidtliv doss
S ol emn and slov the evening anthem
RoK to the Virgin. ' r was the hour of day
When setting suns o*er sanuner * seas diipiay
A path of ^ory, opening in the west
To golden climes and islands of the Uest ;
And human voices on the bahny air
Went o*er the waves in songs of g^adnes there V
As soon as the news got abroad
of a delegation from the pope, the
whole city was in a joyful commo-
tion, and a deputation, consisting
of the cathedral chapter, four other
secular priests, and two Dominican
fathers, came to the ship to pay their
respects to Mgr. Muzi, who was also
invited on shore and pressed with
every offer of assistance by the most
honorable representatives of the
laity. These kind attentions could
not induce the party to land ; and as
soon as damages were repaired and
a pilot received, sail was made for
Buenos Ayres, which was sighted at
two P.M. of January 5 ; but just
while the passengers were all on
deck watching the approaches to
the city, they were assailed and
driven below by myriads of mosqui-
toes. Sallusti is very vehement
against these sharp little insects, and
bewails the lot of those who must
live among them ; but he carefully
avoids a comparison with the fieas
of his native Italy. Although the
passengers remained on board that
night, crowds of people lined the
shore, and, after salutes of artillery,
greeted them with cries of "Long
live the vicar apostolic!" •'Cheen
for America !" " Success to Chili !"
* In the southern hemisphere y«mmary
Bommer.
The Apostolic Mission to ChUi.
sss
On the following day the captain of
the port and his suite came off to
the brig, bringing a courteous note
from the governor, offering a public
reception (for which preparations
had already been made) and the hos-
pitalities of the city to the members
of the mission. This was declined,
for reasons that are not very clear ;
but although the archbishop gave
his bad health as the principal ex-
cuse, we suspect that Cienfuegos
impressed upon the Italians that,
the mission being directed to his
country, it were uncourtly to parade
it before reaching its destination.
By their minds such a view would
be accepted as assai diphmaiico.
When the party did land, they put
up at a hotel called "The Three
Kings," kept by a jolly Englishman,
who treated them right royally —
and made them pay in proportion.
During their twelve days' stay in
Buenos Ayres, the archbishop and
his suite received every mark of
reverence from the people ; yet the
officials maintained a cold reserve
since the refusal to accept their in-
vitation. Even the ecclesiastical
authority — such as it was — put on
very bad airs; Zavaletta, a simple
priest, but administrator of the dio-
cese, having the audacity to with-
draw from Mgr. Muzi permission,
which had been previously granted
to give confirmation. At the time
of tlie arrival of the apostolic mis-
sion the provinces of the Rio de
la Plata, which had formed part of
the Spanish viceroyalty of Buenos
Ayres, had been united from 1816
to 1820, but were now in a state of po-
litical isolation, somewhat like that
of the States of the American Union
before the federal Constitution was
adopted. Soon after the arrival of
the misiion, another General Con-
gress was called. Still, the Italians
were not impressed — as it was im-
portant that they should be to ob-
tain proper consideration at Rome,
— with the idea of a strong govern-
ment holding sway over a vast and
wealthy territory. On the i6th of
January, at nine o'clock in the fore-
noon, the party began the journey
across the continent. Three great
covered wagons, each drawn by four
horses and guided by twelve postil-
ions, composed the train ; while a
courier went ahead to hunt up quar-
ters, and a mounted orderly, with
a very long sword and a fierce-look-
ing beard, brought up the rear or
pranced about the flanks of the
line. The drivers kept around in
no particular order, sonorously
cracking their whips and uttering
loud sounds which probably were
not oaths to the unaccustomed ears
of Sallusti. Besides the three Ital-
ians, there was Cienfuegos with four
young Chilians in his company and
two servants, so that the whole
party was pretty numerous, and the
more so when, a little further on, six
gallant guachos were added as an
escort. Only fifteen miles were
made the first day, which brought
the party to Moron, where confirma-
tion was given. At a miserable
rancho called Lujan the archbishop
said his first Mass on the pampas at
a rich altar improvised for him by
the padre of the place, and sur-
mounted by four massive silver can-
dlesticks. The room was hung
round with rich damask hangings.
It was like a jewel in a dung-heap.
The Arecife stream was crossed in
boats by the travellers, but forded by
the wagons and horsemen. The su-
perb Parana River was reached at
San Pedro ; and thence the route lay
through a rich and beautiful coun-
try to the important town of Rosario,
on the high, precipitx)us banks of
the great river. At the outskirts of
this place the party was met by the
556
The Apostolic Mission to Chili*
parish priest; and confirmation was
administered the next day to an im-
mense number of the faithful, long
deprived of this sacrament. From
Rosario, which they left on the'
morning of the 23d, the journey
was long, weary, and dangerous, on
account of the roving bands of In-
dians which at that period scoured
the plains in all directions to cut
off herdsmen and small parties of
travellers or traders, making a booty
of their baggage, killing the men,
and carrying women and children
into captivity. At a little station
called Orqueta the party caught
sight for the first time of a wild In-
dian, who was lurking about the
place in a very suspicious manner,
but kept at a respectful distance
from the gtrachos. When Sallusti
saw this man apparently spying out
the route and strength of the party,
the marrow nearly froze in his
bones; and he certainly had good
cause for alarm. It happened that
leaving Buenos Ay res a few days
earlier than had been given out was
lucky ; for a large band of these
mounted savages, armed with lances
and lassos, had got wind of the ar-
rival of great personages from Eu-
rope, carrying (it was reported) an
immense amount of treasure to the
Pacific coast, and had formed a plan
to attack them, which was defeated
only by mistaking the day of their
departure, whereby their arrival at
the lonely and ill -famed post of Des-
raochados was miscalculated. Three
days after the mission party had
passed, the Indians, to the number
of about three hundred, swooped
down upon the place, but, instead of
finding the rich foreigners, they sur-
rounded only a miserable set of
twenty peons escorting a lot of goods
across the plains. These were all
massacred except one, who, although
badly wounded and left for dead.
survived to tell the story and
describe the fiendish disappoint-
ment of the savages at not ciiplurin^
the prey they expected. At Frnyle
MuertoMgr. Muzi received, throiioh
the agency of Cienfuegos, a polite
message from the clergy of Cordo-
va;* but having sent his return com-
pliments directly instead of throagh
the channel of original communica-
tion, the Chilian thought himself
slighted, and separated from the mis-
sion party, preceding it a good dis-
tance, and taking with him, besides
his own attendants, the orderly in
brilliant uniform, who, the Europe-
ans had the mortification of seeing,
was meant to distinguish the na-
tivcy although a subordinate in cleri-
cal rank. Such is human nature,
whether at courts or on a dusty
plain.
After passing through several
small settlements and the more im-
portant town of San Luis — bein*;
everywhere well received — the fine
old city of Mendoza was reached
on the 15th of February. It seem-
ed as if the entire population had
turned out to honor the distinguish
arrivals. Triumphal arches were
erected, troops were drawn up
under arms, processions of citizens
and clergy marshalled ; from every
house richly-colored tapestry was
suspended, while the balconies were
filled with ladies, who threw down
flowers in the path of the apostolic
vicar as he entered the town and
proceeded to the house of a noble
and wealthy lady, Dofia Emmanuela
* Cordova wsts fonneriy the second dry in the
Ticeroyalty. It had an univentty, erected hy t^
Jesuits, which was once famous. An ex-piofesaor
of this university wrote a book which has beca
called '* most erudite," but which is extremely iwe.
There is no copy in the Astor Library, although it is
an important work for the information it gives abooc
religion in South America under Spanish role. The
title i^ Fasti Novi OrHi tt ordimniionutn A^^ttttt"
carum ad India* pertinentiuin brreiarium tmm
admotatienibus. Opera D. Cyriaci MorelH pics-
byteri, olim in umversitate Nco-Cordubea«[ ia Tu
cumania profcssozis. Venctiis, 1776.
The Apostolic Mission to Chili.
557
Corbalan^ in wnich everything had
been prepared on the grandest scale
of provincial magnificence, and
w he re Cienfu egos, in all his glory and
recovered temper, was waiting to re-
ceive him and Canon (Count) Mas-
lai, "who were to be lodged there
during their stay ; the secretary, Sal-
I ust i, being handed over to a less wor-
shipful host. Religious and civic
festivals, excursions in the en-
virons to the vineyards, gardens,
farms, and silver-mines, with other
congenial occupations, detained
the party very agreeably during
nine days in this neat and pleasant
town,* the climate of which is noted
for its salubrity. On the 24th they
left Mendoza, and had a delightful
trip on horseback over good roads
and through a civilized country
for seventy-five miles to the foot of
llie mighty Andes. They were now
on the eastern range of the Cor-
dilleras, at the Paramilla Mountains,
vvliioh are about ten thousand feet
high and partly covered with wood.
Hetween these and the western range
they traversed, near thirty-two de-
grees south latitude, a wide valley,
stetileand impregnated with salt, for
over forty miles, called the Uspallata.
For fifteen miles the road was level,
and the remainder winding up and
down the hills which skirt both
ranges. After crossing this valley,
they struck the great range of the
Andes, which is between fifty and
sixty miles in width, consisting of
four or ^s^ parallel masses of rock,
divided from one another by deep
and dangerous ravines and sombre
glcns. The road which leads over
ihem is called the C//w^r^ (summit)
Pass, and attains an elevation of
twelve thousand four hundred and
fifty-four feet above the level of the
sea. O.ir travellers crossed on
mules by this road, getting to the
norih of them, <imidst piles of per-
petual snow, a magnificent view of
the grand volcano of Aconcagua,
which is nearly twenty-four thou-
sand feet high. The passage of
the mountains was grand and im-
pressive, but was not made without
danger to the lives of some of the
party, particularly on the 29th of
February. From La Cumbre there
is a gradual descent to the city of
Santiago. On the 1st of March
the travellers cast their admiring
gaze upon the Pacific slope, which,
from that day until they entered the
capital of Chili, on the 6th of the
month — passing through Villa-de-
Santa- Rosa and over the magnificent
plains of Chacabuco — was a contin-
ually shifting panorama of natural
beauty, enhanced by villages, con-
vents, and churches perched on the
sideofverdant hills or nestling in the
fruitful valleys. At every halting-
place their hearts were filled with a
holy joy to witness the demonstra-
tions of faith among the people, and
of loyalty to their great spiritual
chief on earth, represented by Mgr.
Muzi. The party entered Santiago,
as was said, on the 6th, and, going
to the cathedral, the archbishop in-
toned pontifically the Te Dcum^
with the assistance of a future pope
and of the historian of the apostolic
mission. The members of the lega-
tion were lodged in a house near
the Cappucinas ; and although we
know little of the occupations of
Canon Mastai in Chili, it is cer-
tain that he made himself person-
ally very agreeable. How could
it be otherwise }
'* A man of letten, and of manners too :
Of manners sweet as virtue always wears,
When gajr good nature dresses her in smiles.'*
'—{jCow^r,)
We have been told by a distin-
guished Chilian that Canon ico Mas-
tai was a frequent guest in Santiago
at the house of his uncle, Don Fran-
558
The Apostolic Mission to Chili.
Cisco Ruiz Tagle, and used to go
out with him quite often to his
country-seat. Although the mis-
sion was received with an almost uni-
versal outburst of enthusiasm, and
notwithstanding the majority of the
clergy and people was well disposed,
it met with considerable opposition
from a fierce and fanatical party of
Freemasons, which threw every ob-
stacle in the way of close relations
with Rome. Cardinal Wiseman
says, in the article in the Dublin
Rcintiv from which we have already
quoted, that "there was jealousy
and bad faith on the part of the
Chilian government, and want of
tact and bad management, we fear
on the part of the head of the mis-
sion." Unfortunately, the govern-
ment was in a transition state be-
tween the presidency of O'Higgins
and the election of his successor,
Freire, and administered by 2k Junta,
Where there were so many voices
there was much confusion. Cien-
fuegos, however, seems to have
done his duty, and he was rewarded
in 1832 by the bishopric of Concep-
cion, which had been vacant for
fourteen years. He died in 1839.
With regard to the causes of the
failure of the mission, we will not
conceal what we have heard from an
excellent senator of Chili, although
we mention it reservedly — that one,
at least, of the reasons was a suspi-
cion that Muzi intended to put Ital-
ians in the sees vacant or to be
erected in Chili.
From Santiago Mgr. Muzi and
his party went to Valparaiso, and
embarked for their return voyage
on the 30th of October, 1824.
The remarks of the celebrated
Spaniard Balmes upon the visit of
the future pope to the New World
find their place here: "There is
certainly in nature's grand scenes
an influence which expands and
nerves the soul ; and when these
are united to the contemplation of
different races, varied in civilization
and manners, the mind acquires a
largeness of sentiment most favoni-
ble to the development of the un-
derstanding and the heart, widen-
ing the sphere of thought and en-
nobling the affections. On this ac-
count it is pleasing, above all things,
to see the youthful missionary, des-
tined to occupy the chair of S.
Peter, traverse the vast ocean ; ad-
mire the magnificent rivers and
superb chains of mountains in
America ; travel through those for-
ests and plains where a rich and
fertile soil, left to itself, display?
with ostentatious luxury its inborn
treasures bv the abundance, varietv,
and beauty of its productions, ani-
mate and inanimate; run risk^
among savages, sleep in wretched
hovels or on the open plain, and
pass the night beneath that brilliant
canopy which astonishes the trav-
eller in the southern hemisphere.
Providence, which destined the
young Mastai-Ferretti to reign
over a people and to govern the
universal church, led him by the
hand to visit various nations, and
to contemplate the marvels of
nature." *
A remote but very providential
consequence of the visit of Pius IX.
to America, during his early c.irecr,
was the establishment of the South
American College at Rome, called
officially in Italian the Pio-Latino
Americano,! which educates aspi-
rants to the priesthood from Brazil
and all parts of the American con-
tinent where the Spanish languajir
is spoken. A wealthy, intelligem,
and influential Chilian priest, Den
• Pio IX. Pot D. Jaime Balmes, Presbiteio,
Madrid, 1847.
tThe Annnarh Pontificio of 1861 called it
Americano Ispano-Poitogfaese, but die &ame vas
since changed to the presqit one.
Free WiU.
559
- {gnacio Eyzaguirre, * who had been
" irice-president of the House of Rep-
resentatives in 1848, and was an
author of repute, was charged by
::~f ias IX. in 1856 to visit the dio-
'iceses of South and Central America
- ftnd Mexico, to obtain the views of
JIhe several bishops upon the neces-
~«ity of founding an ecclesiastical
Jieminary at Rome. The project
:^*Was universally acceptable, and
Vunds having been provided — the
: Holy Father giving liberally from his
L private purse — a beginning was
<;-|nade in 1858, when a part of the
J^^heatine Convent of San Andrea
* This deisTinan came to the aotice of the Pope
the fact that an uncle of his, a Tery worthy
« bad been one of Canon Majtai's great friends iu
, and was named and confirmed ArchbishoR of
tia^, but resigned the bulls. Hb nephew was
,e an aftostolic prothonotary in 1859. It was re-
ported that Mgr. Eyxaguirre ga re eighty thousand
Acodi to the South American College out of hb own
patrimony. We have enjoyed the pleasure of a peiw
acquaintance with him.
della Valle was given up to the stu-
dents, \yho were put under the di-
rection of Jesuit Fathers. This
location was only temporary ; and
the college was soon transferred \o
the large house of the general ot
the Dominicans, attached to the
convent of Santa Maria sopra Min-
erva^ and facing the piazza. How-
ever, it has been moved again, and
in 1869 occupied the right wing of
the novitiate at San Andrea on the
Quirinal, with fifty-five inmates.
As if this worthy establishment had
to figitre in its shifting fortune the
unsettled state of so many of the
Spanish American countries, it has
again been disturbed ; yet to suf-
fer at the hands of Victor Eman-
uel and his sacrilegious band is the
indication of a good cause, and w/ll
prepare to meet other, althoirgh
hardly worse, enemies in the New
World.
FREE WILL.
1.
The river glideth not at its sweet will :
The fountain sends it forth ;
And answering to earth's finger doth it still
Go east, west, south, or north.
II.
The soul alone hath perfect liberty
To flow its own free way ;
And only as it wills to follow theCf
O Lord ! it findeth day.
56o
Nellie's Dream on Christmas Eve.
NELLIE'S DREAM ON CHRISTMAS EVE.
They had quarrelled, these two —
it matters not about what trifle —
till the hot, bitter words seemed to
have formed an impassable barrier
and a silence fell between them that
the lowering brow and compressed
lip told would not be easily bro-
ken. Both had loving hearts, and
treasured each other above all
earthly things. They had real sor-
rows enough to make imaginary
ones glance off lightly ; for the
second Christmas had not yet cast
its snows on their mother's grave.
The thought of each was, ** Had
sfu been here, this would not have
happened"; but pride was strong,
and the relenting thoughts were
hidden behind a cold exterior.
It was the week before Christ-
mas, and Laura, the eldest, was
assisting to trim the village church,
and in the tloly Presence the dark
thought faded and tender memo-
ries seemed to reassert their olden
sway; and on returning from her
occupation she formed the resolu-
tion to stop this folly, and make
advances towards assuming the old,
happy life.
" Father Black asked after you,
Nell," she said, as she laid aside
her wrappings, and turned cheerily
to the fire. " He wants you to
play during the rehearsal of the
new Benediction to-morrow ; for
Prof. C will be away." But
she was met by a stony look and
closed lips. " Come, Nell," she said
half impatiently, ** don't be so dig-
nified ; why do you love that tem-
per of yours so dearly .?"
*' You said let there be silence
between us, and I am content/ was
the rejoinder. " I shall take care
not to trouble you in future."
Pride and love struggled for mas-
tery in the heart of the eldest, and
it was a mingling of both that
brought the answer, in tones cold
enough to freeze the tenderness qI
the words : " There will come a
silence between us one day, Nell,
you will be glad to break." And
she passed from the room.
** Let it come," was the almost
insolent reply ; but there was a mist
in the flashing black eyes that con-
tradicted the words.
They passed the day apart from
each other, and at night, although
kneeling for prayer in the same
little oratory, and occupying the
same little white-draped chamber,
the chilling silence remained. So
passed the next day, and it was
now Christmas Eve. The ever-
greens were all hung in the village
church ; the altar was radiajit
with flowers and tapers ; the con-
fessionals were thronged ; but both
sisters kept aloof, and both hearts
were aching over the pride and
anger that was strangling even reli-
gion in their souls. Alas! alas!
how the angels must have mourned
to see days of such especial grace
passing in sin. Christmas gifts
^had been J)repared, but neither
would present them. How differ-
ent other Christmas Eves had
been ! — the gentle mother oversee-
ing every preparation for the next
day, that was always celebrated as
a feast of joy. Those busy hands
were idle now, and the white snov
Nellie's Dream on Christmas Eve.
5«i
coldly drifting over the mound
that loving hearts would fain have
kept in perpetual summer. A
mother's grave! Except to those
who have knelt beside that mound —
that seems such a slight barrier be-
tween the aching heart and its
treasure, and yet is such a hope-
less, inexorable one — these words
have little meaning.
They retired early, and, as Nell
knelt for prayer, the hot tears roll-
ed through her fingers as she
thought of other Christmas morn-
ings, when they had been awakened
for early Mass by the ** Merry
Cliristmas ! girls," that earth would
never, never hear again. But the
icy bands of pride that had frozen
around her heart would not melt,
and sleep came again in that stony
ftliUness.
Morning came to Nellie's per-
turbed visions, and in the gray
dawn " Merry Christmas " broke
forth from her lips ; but the memory
of the past few days checked the
words, and they died in whispers.
But as she glanced at Laura^ she
saw that her eyes were open, but
that their expression was fixed and
rigid. She sprang up with a vague
alarm, and laid her hand upon the
low, broad forehead. It was icy
cold. Shriek after shriek rang from
her lips, but they reached not the
death -dulled ear.
** I never meant it, Laura — I nev-
er meant it! Only come back that I
may speak one word !" she moaned.
• ** O my God ! give her back to me
for one hour, and I will submit to
thy will." But her voice only broke
the silence, and the white, smiling
lips on the bed seemed a mockery
of the passionate anguish wailing
above them. She threw herself be-
fore the little altar in her room.
"Blessed Mother!" she prayed,
" I promise, solemnly promise, that
never, never again will I give way
to the passionate temper that has
been "^y bane, if she may only come
bacK for one hour to grant forgive-
ness for the awful words I have
spoken." And for the first time
since she had realized her sorrow
tears fell from her eyes.
"Why, Nellie, Nellie, what ails
you ?" said a familiar voice. " You
are crying in your sleep on this
merry Christmas morning ; do wak-
en." And, oh ! the heaven that
met those unclosing eyes — Laura
bending over her, smiling, yet with
a look of doubt in her face as if the
icy barrier had not yet broken
down.
"O my darling, my darling!"
sobbed the excited girl, winding her
arms around her sister. " Thank
God it is only a dream ; but never,
never again will I givei way to my
awful temper. I have promised it,
Laura, and I will keep my vow."
And she did. For though she
lived long enough for the dark hair
to lie like snowy floss under the
matron's cap, never did those lips
utter stinging sarcasm or close in
sullen anger. And often, when
her gentle voice seemed unable to
stem some furious tide of passion
among her grandchildren, would
she tell the story of her dream oa
Christmas Eve.
¥0L. XXII.— 36
S6a
AtUgris Miserere.
ALLEGRrS MISERERE.
At the base of a cliff flowed a
tiny rivulet; the rock caught the
rain-drops in his broad hand, and
poured them down in little streams
to meet their brothers at his feet,
while the brook murmured a con-
stant song of welcome. But a stone
broke from the cliff, and, falling
across the rivulet, threatened to cut
its tender thread of life.
" My little strength is useless,"
moaned the streamlet. " Vainly I
struggle to move onward ; and be-
low the pebbles are waiting for
their cool bath, the budding flowers
are longing for my moisture, the
little fish are panting for their
breath. A thousand lives depend
on mine. Who will aid me ? Who
will pity me?"
*' Wait until Allegri passes ; he
will pity ypu," said the breeze.
'* Once the cruel malaria seized me,
and bound messages of death upon
me. * Pity!* I cried. *Freemefrom
this burden, from which I cannot
flee.' ' Hear the wind moan,* said
some ; but no one listened to my
prayer till I met a dreamy musician
with God's own tenderness in his
deep eyes. *Have mercy!* I sob-
bed ; and the gentle master plucked
branches of roses, and cast them to
me. I was covered with roses,
pierced with roses, filled with roses ;
their redness entered my veins, and^
their fragrance filled my breath ;
roses fell upon my forehead with
the sweetness of a benediction.
The death I bore fled from me ; f6r
nothing evil can exist in the pre-
sence o^ Jieaven's fragrance. Crv
to the good Allegri, lime brooklet;
he will pity you."
So the rivulet waited till the
master came, then sighed for mercy.
The rock was lifted, and the stream
flowed forward with a cry of joy to
share its happiness with pebble and
flower and fish.
A little bird had become entan-
gled in the meshes of a net. ** Trust
to the good Allegri,** whispered the
breeze ; ** it is he who gave me lib-
erty.*' "Trust to the good Alle-
gri,*' rippled the brook ; " it is be
who gave me liberty." So the bird
waited till the master passed, then
begged a share of his universal
mercy. The meshes were parted,
and the bird flew to the morning
sky to tell its joy to the fading stars
and rising sun.
** Oh ! yes, we all know Allegri,"
twinkled the stars. " Many a night
we have seen him at the bed of
sickness.**
" Many a day I have seen him in
the prison," shouted the sun with
the splendor of a Gloria. " Wherever
are those that doubt, that mourn,
that suffer ; wherever are those that
cry for help and mercy — there have
I found Allegri."
The people of the earth wondered
what made the sun so glorious, not
knowing that he borrowed light
from the utterance of a good man's
name.
A multitude of Rome's children
had gathered in S. Peter's. The
Pope was kr^eeling in the sanctuary;
princes and merchants were kneel-
ing together under the vast cupol?i
\
AUigris Misirere.
563
the poor were kaeeling at the thres-
hold ; even a leper dared to
kneel on the steps without, and
was allowed the presence of his
Lord. All souls were filled with
longing, all hearts were striving for
expression.
Then strains of music arose : O
soul ! cease your longing ; O heart !
cease your strife ; now utterance is
found.
Sadder grew the tones, till, like the
dashing of wave?, came the sigh :
** Vainly I struggle to move onward.
Have mercy. Father ! " The lights
flickered and died, a shadow passed
over the worshippers, and the Tiber
without stopped in its course to
listen.
Sadder grew the tones, till the
moan was heard : " Vainly I strive to
escape these meshes. Have mercy,
Father !" The shadow grew deeper,
and a little bird without stopped in
its flight to listen.
Still was the mu^ic sadder with
the weight of the sob: " Vainly I flee
from this loathsome burden. Have
mercy, Father !" Vaster and cTarker
grew the shadow, and the very
breeze stopped in its course to lis-
ten.
And now the music mingled sigh
and moan and sob in one vast
despairing cry : " Vainly I struggle
against this rock of doubt. Have
mercy. Father ! Vainly I strive to
escape these meshes of sin. Have
mercy. Father ! Vainly I flee from
this evil self. Have mercy, O
Father! have mercy." Darker and
deeper and vaster grew the shadow,
and all sin in those human hearts
stopped in its triumph to listen.
All light was dead, all sound was
dead. Was all hope dead ? "No!"
wept a thousand eyes. **No!" sob-
bed a thousand voices ; for now high
above the altar shone forth the
promise of light in darkness, of
help in tribulation — in sight of
Pope and prince, in sight of ricli
and poor, and even in sight of the
leper kneeling without, gleamed the
starry figure of the cross.
" How was this Mass of Allegri so
completely formed," cry the three
centuries that have passed since
then, " that we have been able to
add nothing to its perfection ?"
The calm voice of nature an-
swers: It is because his own love
and mercy were universal ; because
he had learned that *all creation
needs the protecting watchfulness
of the Maker ; because he gave even
the weakest creatures voice in his
all-embracing cry of Miserere.
5^ TO'Day and Yesterday.
TO-DAY AND YESTERDAY,
I.
M
Tliat city knowetb nor sign nor trace
Of mutable land or sea ;
Thou who art changeless, grant me a place
In that far city with Thee."
So spake she, gazing on the distant sea,
That lay, one sheet of gold, in rooming light ;
And then she cried, " God, make my blindness sight !
Heart-sore, heart-hungry, sick at heart, was she,
And did mistrust no other hope could be,
This side the grave, than shifting sea and land ;
Yet dreamed she not her house was built on sand.
But fearless thought of dread eternity. '
And men admired the house she builded fair.
Until a tempest, risen with sudden shock.
Rent it. Then God made answer to her prayer :
Showed her on earth a city, calm, and old,
And strong, and changeless ; set her on a rock ;
Gave her, with him, a place in his true fold
11.
" For, oh ! the Master is so lair.
His smile so sweet to banished men.
That they who meet it unaware
Can never rest on earth again."
Such were the words that charmed my ear and hear^
In days when still I dwelt outside the fold ;
But now they seem to me too slight and cold,
For I have been with thee, dear Lord, apart.
And seen love's barbed and o'ermastering dart
Pierce thee beneath the olives dark and old,
Until thy anguish could not be controlled.
But from thy veins the Blood of life did start.
O Word made fiesh, made sin, for sinful man !
I seek not now thy smile, so fair, so sweet ;
Another vision, haggard, pale, and wan.
Of one who bore earth*s sin and shame and smart.
Hath drawn me, weeping, to thy sacred feet.
To share the unrest of thy bleeding Heart.
The Year of Our Lord 1875.
5«S
THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1875.
Tr year 1875 has not been a specially
remarkable one as distinct from the years
immediately preceding it. Great ques-
tions, which aiSect humanity at large be-
yond the line of nationality, and which
were rife three or four years ago, are un-
decided still. No wars, or revolutions, or
discoveries, or mighty changes have oc-
curred during the year to alter sensibly
the current of human affairs. What the
world at large quarrelled and wrangled
over a year, two years, three, four years
■go, it wrangles over still, and may for
jrears yet to come. Much as science and
culture have done to break down the
barriers that separate men and bring the
human family nearer together, nations,
nationally considered, stand as far apart
as ever they did, and the imaginary line
that divides neighboring peoples finds
them wide apart as the antipodes.
To begin a rapid and necessarily in-
complete review at home, the past year
can scarcely be regarded as either a
happy or successful one, commercially
speaking, in the United States. Prelimi-
nary echoes of the Centennial year of
the great republic have been heard, but
amid them the crash of falling banks
that had no legitimate excuse for falling,
and of business firms that followed in
due order. This, however, is only s
repetition of the two preceding years,
which it is as painful as it would be use-
less to dwell upon here. In a word,
business at large— rinstead of recovering,
as it was hoped it would, during the past
year — if an3'thing, fell behind, and so con-
tinues. The election did not tend to
enliven it. There are hopes, however, of
a real revival during the coming Centen-
nial year, or at least of a beginning on
the road of improvement. There is the
more reason to hope for this that large
branches of our industries, such as ce-
reals, iron, and cotton goods, are begin-
ning to find a good foreign market.
Looked at largely, there are some things
on which Americans may congratulate
themselves during the year. Chief
among these are their very misfor-
(ttnes. Extravagance in living, fool-
ish and vulgar display in dress and
equipage, have disappeared to a sat-
isfactory extent. Of course where wealth
abounds and fortunes are rolled up
easily, there will be shoddy ; but then
let it be marked off, and the world will
not be the loser. Again, there was a
good sign on the part of the people to
form opinions of their own regarding the
questions up before them and the re-
spective merits and qualifications of the
various candidates for election. To be
sure, many, too many, persons were elect-
ed who were a disgrace to their constitu-
encies ; and while such men are set in
high and responsible positions it is vain
to look for reform in the thousand abuses
that afflict the conduct of public affairs.
Still, there was a hopeful indication of
the right feeling among the people.
Perhaps the most memorable, certainly
the most significant, event to Catholics
in the history of this country took place
during the year. The venerable Arch-
bishop of New York was raised by the
Holy Father to the dignity of the cardi-
nalate, and thereby set in the senate of
the church of which Christ is the invisi-
ble, and the Pope, the successor of Peter,
the visible, head. To speak of the fitness
of the Holy Father's choice in selecting
Archbishop McCloskey for this high
office and proud privilege of being the
first American cardinal is not for us.
It is sufficient to say that not Catholics
alone, but their Protestant fellow-coun-
trymen also, all the land over, received
the news and hailed the choice with ac-
claim. But what moves us most is the
significance of the act. In the appoint-
ment of an American cardinal in the
United States the wish expressed by the
Council of Trent has in this instance
been realized. That great council or-
dained, respecting the subjects of the
cardinalate, that " the Most Holy Roman
Pontiff shall, as far as it can be conve-
niently done, select (them) out of all the
nations of Christendom, as he shall find
persons suitable" (Sess. 24, De Re/.^
c. i.) Were this recommendation com-
pletely carried out, it would probably be
566
The Year of Our Lard 1875.
one of the greatest movements that have
taken place in the Catholic Church lor
the last three centuries.
Suppose, for example, that the great
('atholic interests throughout the world
were represented in that body by men
of intelligence, of known virtue, and
large experience ; suppose every nation-
ality had there its proportionate expres-
sion — a senate thus composed would be
the most august assembly that ever was
brought together upon earth. It would
be the only world's senate that the world
has ever witnessed. This would be giv-
ing its proper expression to the note of
the universality of the church. The de-
risions of ttie Holy Father on the world-
intert'sts of the church, assisted by the
deliberations of such a body, would have
more power to sway the opinions and
actions of the world than armies of bay-
onets. For, whatever may be said to the
contrary in favor of needle-guns and
ritled cannon, the force of public opin-
ion through such agents as electri-
city and types moves the world, above
all when supported by the intelligence,
virtue, and experience of men who have
no other interests at heart than those of
(xod and the good of mankind.
Who knows but the time has come to
give this universality of the church a
fuller expression? Is not divine Provi-
dence acting through modern discoveries,
rendering it possible for the human race
to be not only one family in blood, but
even in friendship and unity of purpose?
Perhaps the present persecutions of the
church in Italv are onlv relieving her
from past gcocrraphical and national
limitations, to place her more completely
in relations with the faithful througrhout
the world. Who knows but the time is
near when the Holv Father will be sur-
rounded by representatives of all nations,
tribe?, and peoples, from the South as
well as from the North, from the East as
well as from the West ; by Italians,
(nrmans. Frenchmen, Spaniards, Eng-
lishmen, Belgians, Portug^ucse, .Xus-
tri.Ans, Irishmen. Americans. Canadians,
South Americans, Ausfalians, as well
:!< by representatives of the faithful from
the en\pire of China? Would this new
<1eparturo bo anything more than the
le.ili/ation of the wish expressed by
that v^real ;uul holy council held at
rienl thu^ centuries aco ?
!n p,\SNit^s; ti\'»m our own to other Ian Js,
xvc* cannot do $i\ at the opening of
the second century of our country's life,
without a glance at something larger
and wider than the mere local interests
of every-day life which touch us most
nearly. Beydnd doubt there is much to
criticise, much, perhaps, to be ashamed
of, much to deplore, in the conduct
cf our government, local and nation-
al, and in the social state genenllv
of our people. Still, we see nothing at
present existing or threatening that is
beyond the remedy of the people itsdl.
It is a fashion among our pessimists to
contrast the America of to-day with the
America of a hundred years ago. Well,
we believe that we can stand the con-
trast. The country has expanded and
developed, and promises so to continue
beyond all precedent in the history ot
this world. When the experiment <A a
century ago is contrasted with the estab-
lished fact— the nation — of a free and
prosperous people of to-day, we can only
bless God. And allowing the widest
margin for the evils and shortcomings in
our midst, when we glance across the
ocean at nations armed to the teeth,
looking upon one another as foes, and
either rending with internal throes or
threatening to be rent, pride in this
country deepens, and the heart swells
with gratitude that in these dajrs God
has raised up a nation where all men
may possess their souls in peace.
We have some alarmists among us
who look in the near future to the occur-
rence of scenes in this country similar
to those now being transacted in Eu-
rope, where men are persecuted for con-
science' sake. We cannot share in these
alarms. As we see no evils in our
midst which are beyond the remedy of
the people, so we see no religious or
other questions that may arise which can-
not be civilly adjusted. This is not a
country where the raw head and bloodv
bones thrive. The question of religion
is decided once for all in the Constitu-
tion. Catholics, of course, have a large
heritage of misrepresentation to contend
against, but that is rapidly diminishinc.
A Bismarck may strive to introduce into
our free country, through a band of
fanatics and weak-minded politician^,
the persecuting spirit which he has tt-
tempted to introduce into England by 3
Gladstone, which he has succeeded in
iniroducins: into Italy by a Mingbctti.
and into Switzerland by a Carteret ; but
before they reach the hundredth ^u\
The Year of Our Lord 1875.
567
of the influence of the disgraceful
Kno^v-Nothing party, the good sense
and true spirit of our countrymen will,
as it did in the case of that party,
brand all who have had any prominent
connection with the movement with the
note of infamy. The fanatical cry of
** No Popery " is evidently played out at
its fountain-source in old England, while
the attempt to revive its echoes will meet
with still less success in new England.
We see no clouds on the American
horixon that should cause Catholics any
grave apprehension.
The end of such attempts always is
that those who strike the sparks only
succeed in burning their fingers. All we
have to do is to walk straight along in
the path we have been following of com-
mon citizenship with those around us,
in order to secure for ourselves all the
nghts which we are ready to concede to
others.
The European situation during the
past year may be summed up under two
headings — the struggle between church
and state, and the prospects of war. To
enter at any length into the question be-
tween church and state in Germany and
in other countries in Europe would be
going over old ground which has been
covered time and again in The Cath-
olic World. Only such features of the
contest will be touched upon as may set
the present situation clearly before the
mind of the reader.
The official ProvituiaL Corrtspondettc^^ at
the opening of the past year, said in a re-
trospective article on the events of 1874 :
*' The conviction has been forced upon
the German government that the Ger-
man ultramontane party are a revolu-
tionary party, directed by foreigners and
relying mainly upon the assistance of
foreign powers. The German govern-
ment, therefore, are under the necessity
of deprecating any encouragement of the
ultramontane party by foreign powers.
It was for this reason that the German
government last year thought it incum-
bent on them to use plain language in
addressing the French government upon
tiie sayings and doings of some of the
French bishops. France had taken the
hint, and had prevented her ultramontanes
setting the world on fire merely to vent
their spite against Germany. ... It was,
perhaps, to be expected under these cir-
cumstances that, abandoning at last all
hope of foreign assistance, the German
ultramontanes would make their peace
with the government in Prussia, and no
longer object to laws they willingly obey
in Baden, Bavaria, WUrtemberg, and
Oldenburg, not to speak of Austria and
other states. At all events, it was very
desirable that the ultraipontanes should
yield before the church was thrown into
worse confusion by their malicious but
impotent resistance."
Such was the pleasant prospect hpld
out for the Catholics by the official organ
at the opening of the year. The pro-
gramme sketched in it has been faith-
fully carried out, and Germany has taken
another step In the path of freedom, in-
ternal peace, and consolidation by plant-
ing its foot nearer the throat of the
church. It is useless to enter into a re-
futation of the falsehoods contained in
the extract from the official journal. They
have been refuted in the German Reich-
stag and all the world over. It is need-
less, also, to call attention to the tone of
the official journal, and the manner, be-
come a fashion of late with German
statesmen and writers at large, of warn-
ing foreign powers to keep a civil tongue
in their heads respecting German mat-
ters, or it may be the worse for them.
How far the Catholics have yielded to
the kindly invitation held out to them
the world has seen. We have before
this remarked on the strange anxiety
manifested by a government, convinced
of the justice of its cause and the means
it was pursuing towards its end, to stifle
the expression of public opinion, nut
only at home, but abroad. Moreover, the
very fact of its being compelled to dc>
precate '* any encouragement of the ul-
tramontane party by foreign powers "
says as plainly as words can say it that
those powers see something in the p.irtv
to encourage.
Here is a sample — one out of hundreds
such — of the manner in which the mem-
bers of the " revolutionary party " have
been treated during the year, and cf the
crimes, S3rmpathy with which on the part
of foreign powers is so earnestly depre-
cated by the German government. That
extremely active agent of Prince Blsr
marck, the Prussian correspondent ul
the London Times, tells the stor>' of the
deposition of the Bishop of Paderborn by
the " Ecclesiastical" Court thus: "He
has been sentenced to-day (Jan. 6) to in-
numerable fines, chiefly for appointing
clergymen without the consent of the se-
568
The Year of Our Lord 1875.
cular authorities. [Is this a crime, reve-
rend and right reverend gentlemen of
the Prdtestant chui ches ?] Never paying
any of these forfeits, he has been repeat*
cdly imprisoned and forcibly prevented
from exercising his functions. [And
now for the perversity of the man, the
" malicious but impotent resistance."]
Notwithstanding the measures taken
against him, he has continued his oppo-
sition to the state. He would not allow
his clerical training-schools to be visited
by government inspectors ; he has declin-
ed to reappoint a chaplain he had excom-
municated without the consent of the
government [What criminals SS. Peter
and Paul would be were they living in
Germany to-day !] ; and he has contin-
ually issued pastorals and made speeches
to deputations breathing the most hostile
sentiments agamst crown and pariia-
ment [sentiments not quoted]. He
has received addresses covered with
more than one hundred thousand signa-
tures, and on a single day admitted twelve
thousand persons to his presence, who
had come to condole with him on the
martyr's fate he was undergoing." Let
it be borne in mind that this is not our
description, but that of an agent of the
Prussian government. Could words es-
tablish more clearly the side on which
the criminality lies ?
Only passing mention can be made of
events which have been already antici-
pated and commented on. The exten-
sion of the civil registration of births,
deaths, and marriages from Prussia to the
whole German Empire passed in January.
Perhaps no measure yet has so aroused
the indignation, not only of Catholics, but
of believing Protestants also. As the cor-
respondent already quoted tersely puts
the matter : " In all Germany this law
does away with the services of the clergy
in celebrating the three great domestic
events of life." That is to say, there is
no longer need to baptize Christian chil-
dren in the name of God ; there is no
longer need of God in the marriage ser-'
vice ; finally, as man comes into the
world, so he may go out of it, without the
name or the invocation of God, without
(iod's blessing over hisgraveor the cere-
monies of religion attending the last act.
Lilce a dog he mav come, like a dog he
may live, like a dog he may go. And
yet this is an evangelical power ! Verily,
but of a strange evangel. The result of
it is shown already. Since the I^ussian
Civil Registration Law was passed, only
twenty-five per cent, of all Berlin but*
riages have been celebrated in chmches,
while only thirty per cent, of the children
bom in the capital have been baptized by
clergymen.
The passing of the Landstunn BUI con-
verts the whole German Empire into an
armed camp. " Henceforth every German
sound in wind and limb must be a soldiei:
From the age of seventeen to forty-two^
every man not belonging to the army or
the reserve is to be liable to be called
out in the case of an actual or even a
threatened invasion/' says the London
Times. " At the word of command Gcr-
many is arming en masse, and the sur-
rounding nations — that is, the best part
of the world —cannot but do as she does.**
They are doing as she does, and all tbt
European powers to-day sleep beside
their arms. In face of this fact, what
comfort can men take from the meeting
and hobnobbing of the crowned heads
of Europe here, there, and everywhere,
or of their assurances of peace? Who
is strong enough to keep the peace, who
too weak to enkindle war? No man
and no people. It is this arming and in-
certitude of one another that alone pre-
vented what locally was so insignificant
an affair as the outbreak within the year
of the Bosnian insurrection against Tur-
key from lighting a universal conflagra-
tion. The eagles of the great powers
gather around the Turkish carcase.
England seizes beforehand on the con-
trol of the Suez Canal by way of prepar-
ing for eventualities, and the Eastern
question begins at last to resolve itself
into this simple form : not. How shall
we uphold the empire ? but. How ^all
we divide the spoils ?
The present rulers of Germany profess
to look upon their Catholic subjects as
the great foes of the German Empire.
The mistake is a fatal one ; for in binding
the church they bind the only power that
can stop the dry-rot which is slowly eat-
ing into the heart, not alone of Gcrmanj,
but of all nations to-day. That dry-rot
is socialism, the first-born of infidelity.
That socialism prevails in Germany the
rulers of that empire know, and its ut-
terances are as dreaded as an encyclical
of the Pope. Here are the elements of
socialism as pictured by the Cologne
Gazette at the opening of the year: "In
1874, althougli the great bubble schemes
burst in the summer of 1873, and al-
The Year of Our Lord 1875.
569
tlioiigli last year a plentiful harvest of
com and wine came to our relief, the
consequences of the crisis are still felt.
Nomerous undertakings are depreciated,
and even more lamentable than the loss-
es of the promoters are the mischievous
results of the sudden excessive rise in
wages, which could not possibly last, the
luxurious habits, the strikes, and all that
these invoiro on the laboring classes and
the whole industrial life of the German
nation. Habits of indolence and glut-
tony have been established which it will
be hard to eradicate," and much more in
the same strain.
This is only a straw showing which way
the wind blows. Persecution of the church
has not yet exhausted itself, though, be-
yond the actual taking of life, it is hard
to see what remains to be done. The
final measure has been resorted to of
abrogating the articles of the Prussian
constitution of 1850, which were speci-
ally drawn up to provide freedom of
religion and worship in their fullest
stnse. Of the attitude of the German
{Catholics, the prelates, the clergy, and
the laity, it is needless to speak. The
world has witnessed it; and the very
lierceness of the persecution simply
serves to show forth more gloriously the
divinity of the church ; for no human
institution could live under it. One
result of the persecution has been the
return of a Catholic majority to the
Bavarian Parliament. We hope for the
unity of the German Empire, and its
trae consolidation ; but it is not in our
hearts to support tyranny, under what-
ever name, least of all when it attacks
all that we hold most sacred. The Ger-
man policy must be totally altered be-
fore it can command the sympathy of
freemen. It must be totally altered be-'
fore it can command the respect and full
allegiance of its subjects, so large and
important a section of whom are Catho-
lics. The Catholic majority in Bavaria
IS but one sign of many of opposition to
the one-sided policy of which Prince
Bismarck is the author and expounder.
Who knows but that the threatened dis-
solution of an empire erected on so false
and narrow a basis has not already be-
gun in Bavaria? All the sacrifices made
to establish the empire^not the least of
which were made by Bavaria — the Ger-
man chancellor, by his determined and
senseless religious persecution, would
now seem foolishly to ignore. And these
Bavarians, of all the Germans, once
aroused, and their religious rights in->
fringed upon, are not the men quiet -y
and meekly to subside under opposition.
We have dwelt more at length upon
Germany because it is the centre of the
strife that convulses, and threatens to
convulse, the world. Other topics must,
consequently be hastily dismissed.
Of France there is nothing but good
to report. After a series of fiery debates
in the Assembly, the constitution of a
conservative republic was definitively
formed and agreed upon towards the end
of February. The nomination of coun-
cillors of state was given to the Presi-
dent, who resigned the nomination of iCie
senators. Of course France is still open
to surprises, and the various parties seem
as unable to coalesce as ever. But there
is no question that the government of
Marshal MacMahon has deserved well
of the country, and, could only a true re-
public be established in France, it would
serve as a safe counter-check to the abso-
lutisms that threaten the cast of Europe.
The commerce and inaustrics of the
country have advanced even on the pre-
ceding year, though the imports of 1874
amounted to 3,748,011,000 francs, and the
exports to 3,877,753,000 francs, these fig-
ures being in excess of those of any former
years. The returns for the Paris savings-
banks in 1874 indicate how the poorer and
lower middle classes, who chiefly patro-
nize these establishments, are recovering
from the effects of the war and the Com-
mune. The deposits amounted to 14,500,-
000 francs, while in 1873 they were 13.-
500,000 francs, and in 1872 12,629,000
francs. There is every reason to believe
that the ratio of the past year will show
a corresponding increase.
While the tokens of reviving prosperity
are thus encouraging* those of a revival
of religious feeling and coming back to
the old ways and the old faith among the
people at large are not less so. A noble and
and patriotic work is being accomplished
in the rapid formation and •spread of Cath-
olic Working-men's Clubs — a direct offset
to the socialism fostered by the spirit of
irreligion in other places. The part taken
by Catholic laymen of standing and abil-
ity in this work, so full of happy promise,
is in itself a significant feature, and one
that may well be recommended to tho at-
tention of Catholic laymen all the world
over. The pilgrimages to holy shrines
and to Rome have continued, spite of
570
The Year of Our Lord 1875.
the laugh of the infidel and the scorn of
the unbeliever. The solemn consecra-
tion of the church in Montmartre to the
Sacred Heart was one in which the whole
world was interested. But the most en-
couraging measure of all was the obtain-'
ing. after a fierce battle between religion
and infidelity, of permission to found free
universities in France, where students
who believe in God might, if they chose,
apply themselves to the study of their
'faith, or at least carry on their studies
under the divine protection and under
professors who, lackin:^ nothing in intel-
lect, recognize a higher than themselves,
whose law they have the courage to re-
cognize and the sense and piety to obey.
Surely, France was never so worthy of
the esteem and profound respect of all
the world as it is to-day. What a won-
derful vitality is displayed by this Latin-
Celtic race ! What people could so sud-
denly recover from what seemed so fatal a
blow ? What other nation would have
shown so much wisdom and self-control
as these Frenchmen, whom the outside
world stamped as "unstable as water"?
Is France to be the leader of the Latin-
Celtic races, to conform itself, consistent-
ly with its past history and traditions,
after a century of throes, into a political
form of society fitted to its present needs,
its future prosperity, and the renewal of
religion ? God grant that it be so !
England, true to its peace policy, still
keeps aloof from the troubled current
of European afi'airs, beyond its recent
move Eastward, which has alieady been
noticed. It steadily refused to accept
the invitation of Russia to join the In-
ternational Conference on the Usages
of War, which in reality resembled a
consultation among surgeons before be-
ginning to operate on an interesting sub-
ject. Mr. Disraeli's premiership has
been marked by some irritating mistakes,
though the securing control of the Suez
Canal was undoubtedly a move in the
present critical state of Eastern affairs
that compensates for many a blunder —
if he can only hold the control. Mr.
Gladstone finally retired from the leader-
ship of the liberal party, and was nomi-
nally succeeded by the Marquis of Har-
tington. The ex leader, ab.andoning a
position which, take him all in all, he
undoubtedly adorned, went paddling
in theology and got shipwrecked. The
Gladstone fulminations on " Vaticanism "
are now a thing of the past, and only
afiforded another melanchol^r instanced
the facility with which even %xtax men
can go beyond their depth. The porter
tons charges against the Pope, the i nnc
Romanay the rusty arsenals, and the rc5?
of the papal ** properties " were receive*:
by the English people themselves vitij
honest laughter or with passive fotxn.
until finally Mr. Gladstone lost his tcca-
per, and then the world became tired bet:
of him and his " rusiy'tools."
Materialism is taking deep root in the
English mind. The leading orgaD of
English opinion, itself highly respecti-
blc, but by no means religious, cots-
plained more than oocc during the ycax
of the general apathy with which tkc
public regarded the doings of the ▼aiijcs
convocations and general assemblies of
the Protestant churches in England. And
the success with which the onslaught K
such a man as Mr. Gladstone against the
Catholic Church met with at the hands
of Englishmen reveals anew the ^ct
that religious feeling has fallen to so Io«
an ebb in England that even the 005;
eloquent of bigots could not arouse an
anti- Popery cry. And this, for England.
is the last stage of religious apathy.
Is this again the immediate precursor
of a reaction in favor of the true church
in that land for which so many prayer;
have been offered up, and the blood of
so many martyrs has been shed ?
Ireland has been quiet, calm, aod
peaceable, and though, in common with
England, suffering from the commerciii
depression which spread from this couc-
try to them, it has shown a strong ten-
dency' to advance in prosperity. For it<
peace the Catholic clergy, accordioe to
the testimony of the London Ttme^, anu,
as we believe, the Home- Rule party, aw
jointly answerable. Men who believe in
God and obey the laws of the church
will, with honest and able representatives,
seek for no heroic measures of reform
while the legislature is fairly open to
complaints. The London J imri say!-
that the peaceful record of the year read^
like a fairy tale. Yet the Peace Prt5cr-
vation Acts were renewed, for which the
same journal could find no better reasun
than that " you cannot break offabrupd^
from the past," and goes on to say : "It
is possible that, if there never had bc«n
a resolution to impose upon a conquered
people a church which they rejected, and
to endow it with the spoils to w^hxh the?
remained attached ; if there never had
TJte Year of Our Lord 1875
571
a neglect so little creditable to our
statesmanship as the conditions under
^Hrhioli agricultural land was held in Ire-
lanci ; if laws had never been passed to
. deprive Roman Catholics of political
privileges and the right to possess pro-
perty ; if the attempt had never been
made to rule the inhabitants of the sister-
teland by a hostile garrison, that state of
feeling would never have been created
wbicli imposes upon the legislature of
to-day the sad necessity of maintaining
an exceptional coercive legislation." The
bitterest foe of England could scarcely
add one iota to the force of this terrible
indictment of English legislation in Ire-
land.
But we look with all hope to the
speedy dispersing of the clouds which
so long have hovered over this real
*' island of saints," which has done so
,' much in the past and promises so much
in the future for the spread of faith
among the peoples of the earth. More
pleasing topics to touch upon are the
celebration of the centennial of Daniel
O'Connell, the fiftieth anniversary of the
consecration of the venerable Archbishop
McHale, and, though last, far from least,
the Visit to Ireland of Cardinal McClos-
key, and bis reception by Cardinal CuUen
and the Irish people. The scene was
f indeed a memorable one ; the meeting on
a soil consecrated with the blood of
saints and martyrs — a soil every inch of
which could tell a tale of a struggle of
centuries forthefaith— of two cardinals of
the church that guards the representa-
tives, in their own persons, of the newest
and one of the oldest heritages of the
church, and the one Irish by birth, the
other Irish by blood. A meeting no less
significant was that in England between
the Cardinal of« New York and Cardinal
Manning, the first convert probably who
ever wore the title : a man of indomita-
ble activity, a fearless asserter of the
rights of the church, and always foremost
in every movement which aims at the
amelioration of the condition of the
vrorking classes.
Russia continues her strides in the
East, ncaring Hindostan, and with Hin-
dostan the sea, at every step. Despite
occasional reverses, her march against
the conflicting tribes and peoples that
Ho in her path can only be regarded as
irresistible. Meanwhile, at home she is
eaten up by sects and the socialistic spi-
rit that pervades other nations, and which
tjrranny may stifle for a time, but cannot
destroy. Again the mistake occurs of
regarding the Catholic Church as her
enemy, and dragooning her Catholic
subjects with a creed which their con-
sciences reject. Austria is engaged in
the attempt to set her internal affairs in
orde/, and to recover from the defeat at
Sadowa. She finds time, notwithstand-
ing, to attack the church, though without
the persistent brutality of her German
neighbor, whose offer to procure a joint
interierence among the nations in the
election of the next pope was politely
but firmly rejected by Austria. In this
path Italy also walks. Rejecting the
rough hempen cord with which Germany
binds and strives to strangle the church,
Italy, true to her national character,
chooses one of silk, which shall do the
work softly and noiselessly, but none
the less securely. Scnsim sine sensu.
Thus the Law of Guarantees of 1871,
which was founded on Cavour's maxiia
of ** a free church in a free state," pro-
vided for the absolute freedom of the
Pope in spirituals. This Germany re-
sents, and early in the year made strong
remonstrance with Italy, to see, in plain
English, if some plan could not be devis-
ed by which the Pope might be muzzled
and prevented from issuing encyclicals
and bulls and so forth, save only such as
might please the mind of present German
statesmen. luly refused to alter the
law. But now in November we find
Minghetti, the president of the Council,
stating to his electors at Cologna-Ven-
eta that there are defects in the law of
papal guarantees. The church — says that
excellent authority, M. Minghetti — is the
congregation of all the faithful, including,
of course, M. Minghetti himself. But
the state, on whom with the jus protegert'
di devolves also the jus inspiciendi^ is
bound to see that the right Of the laity
and the interest of the lower clergy be
not sacrificed to the abuse of papal and
episcopal authority. Wherefore, M.
Minghetti, urged solely by the desire of
seeing that no injustice is done, pledges
his electors that he will bring in a bill
empowering the laity to reclaim the
rights to which they are entitled in the
government of the church. How fnr
those rights extend, of course ,remains to
be seen.
The Holy Father is still spared to us
in the full enjoyment of his health and
powers of mind. Pilgrims flock to him
572
Tlie Year of Our Lord 1875.
in thousands, and the eyes of the world,
friends and foes alike, look with S3rTnpa-
thy upon him. Surely now is the real
triumph of his reign, and in his weak-
ness shines forth his true strength. No
earthly motives, if ever they affected the
allegiance of Catholics to him, could
affect it now. Yet what does the world
witness? As men regard things, a weak
and powerless old man, juling, from the
palace that is his prison, the hearts of
two hundred millions of people in the
name and by the power of Jesus Christ,
whose saintly vicar he is. The Pope,
lifted above all entanglements by recent
events with the political policy of so-
called Catholic countries — his voice, as
the head of the church, is heard and re-
spected by all nations as perhaps it
never was at any other period of time.
Spain opened with a new revolution
— the re- entering of Alfonso, the son of
the exiled queen, to the kingdom and
the throne from which she was driven.
This being said, the situation remains in
much the same condition that it has
done for the past two years; if anything,
notwithstanding some defections and
reverses, Don Carlos has gained in
strength and boldness. The move that
brought in Don Alfonso was a good one,
but it came too late.
The customary chronic revolutions
prevail in South America. The assassi-
nation of Garcia Moreno, the able and
good President of Ecuador, by members
of a secret society, added a unique
chapter of horrors and dastardly coward-
ice to the records of these societies,
showing that to accomplish their pur-
pose they are ready to stab a nation.
Garcia Mareno died a martyr to his
faith. From a far different cause, though
by the same means, died Sonzogno, the
editor of the CnpitaU^ the trial of whose
assassins furnished food for thought as
to the force at work in regenerated Italy.
An event that might have been of great
importance was the death of the youthful
Emperor of China, which was followed
by that of his wife. He was succeeded
by a child five years old, and the gov-
ernment seems to have passed into the
hands of the same men who held it be-
fore, so that a change for the better to-
wards Christians is scarcely to be hoped
for, while Christian residents are siill
exposed at any moment to a repetition
of the Ticn-Tsin massacre.
With the year closes the third quarter
of the most eventful cemury, perhaps,
which the world has yet known, the first
centuiy of the Christian era alone being
excepted. It opened on -what Lacor-
daire has well called " a wild and stormy
morning," and he would be a bold pro-
phet who should predict a clear skjai
the close. A writer of the day describes
nations wijthin the past year as engaged
in " a wild war-dance." The same \s true
of the century. Nations seem to have
learned nothing, but forgotten much. In
forgetting the faith that made them whole
they have forgotten the secret of the elixir
of national life. Hence, bitter as the strug-
gle is, a Catholic cannot but hope mudi
in the near future from the present trials
of the church. The blows of Gennaoy
have crushed shams -to the earth, vA
caused the truth to shine forth resplen-
dent and beautiful. Whatever may be tins
faith that the nations have forgotten^ that
has been a mockery among men of the
world"courtiers of
martyrdom " whose lives are the glory of
the church and the wonder of the world.
Paul Seigneret's is a name that must
be dear to all Catholics at all familiar
with his saintly life and death. To a
heart overflowing with love for all who
had claims upon his affection and chanty
for all mankind, and to those quick and
delicate perceptions which retain all that
is good and instinctively reject all tbac
is evil, was added a fervent piety and
ardent zeal for the glory of God. Ani*
mated by these sentiments, he sought the
priesthood, and soon turned his thoo^s
to the cloister — ** ' that pure and shininf
height ' whither he would go to fix his
dwelling nearer heaven." While yet a
student in the Seminary of S. Sulpice, he
fell a victim to the Commune, and was
permitted to win the crown of martyr-
dom, which had been the object of his
most ardent desires.
The volume before us is one which wc
would especially recommend to qar
youthful readers, who will find in it mncb
that is edifying and worthy of imitation.
In an age in which respect for authority
and filial obedience are so much ignor-
ed, we cannot place too high a value o&
the example Of Paul Seigneret, whose
devotion and submission to his parents
were second only to his love of God.
If a work so admirable in most re-
spects may be criticised, we would saj
that it would be quite as interesting 'i
the author had condensed the valuable
materials of which it is composed. We
are aware of the difficulties under which
many translations from the French arc
Bade. Innumerable things in that ver-
satile, flexible language will bear many
repetitions and much minutiae in descrip-
tion, which will not admit of more than
the simple statement in our unyielding
vernacular. Readers should therefore
hesitate in pronouncing a book dull be-
cause some of the aroma escapes in the
transition from one medium of thonght
to another.
Pastoral Letter of th£ Right Rkt.
P. N. Lynch, D.D., Bishop of Char-
leston, ON THE Jubilee of 187$. New
York : The Catholic Publication So-
ciety. 187$. 8vo, pp. 299.
The reader will rightly infer from Ibe
size of this pastoral that it differs io
many respects from other documents of
the kind. The learned author has takes
occasion to enter vexy fully into the doc-
trinal and historical aspects of his sab-
ject, thereby making the publication a
valuable reference to all who would oa-
derstand the history and nature of this
observance.
ITERAR'y
ULLETIN.
Copies of Thk Catholic Would mailed to
tortign coantriea by onr eubgcribera aro ire-
quenUy rctaraed to tbie offlce on accoant of In-
^olficient postage being paid on them. As we do
not know the fenders, we take this means of no-
tif/fng thcni. We prlot the postngc of The
Catholic Wobld to several countriea on the first
page of the cover, so that there Is no excuse for
the neglect of pnttlng on sufficient stamp?. We
'hsYc now in onr offlce one or two copies of the
magazine addressed to Father Merino, Porto
Rico. In many cases vre have put on the rcqnisito
»lAmp-« and eent the magazine ; but it has be-
( orae of »ncli ftequent occurrence of late that wo
take thia means of cautioning our subscribers in
tho matter.
The second volume of AIzo(s*b Chturoli Hi»-
tory Is promised n8 before Christmas. It will
contain almost 1,000 pages. Price, $5.
A. new work, by the late Connt Montalembert,
Lite and Times of Oresory VII., will a|i-
pear in Paris early in 18TS. Tue dnreapfrndant
U pnblishiiig excerpts from it which lead us to
think tills will prove to be the greatest of all
tiie author's works.
Tho London AVietuxum has the following :
**Twa years ago Mr. Foley, a lay brother of
the Society of Jesus, published a volume in duo*
decimo, with the title, Jesuits in Confliot>
rdnuiniog the lives of three members of the
NMlety who, during the reign of t^ueen Ellaa-
ti«th, safTcred more or less sharply fur the crime
uf being " Jesuits at large ' on English soil. The
vulume was scarcely more than a collection of
flomments printed from the originals in the Re*
cord Office and elsewhere; it professed to be the
'?ir»t Series,' and similar niuratives were to
f>»liow. For some reason, which has not been
zlvcn, the form of tho earlier * series' has been
abasdoned, and the publication, strictly speak>
lug, has been stopped ; but the * second, third,
and fourth scries' have Just issued fron^ tho
' Manrcsa Press '—we presume the press of the
Jesuit College at Roebampton— in the shape of a
ttilck octavo Tolume of nearly 700 pages. The
hook, unfortooately. Is printed * for private cir-
ralation,' which looks as if tho previous venture
liad not repaid the publishers. It is well known
that the records of the Jesuits have been pre*
-ervcd with a Jealous vigilance, and that in num-
berless instances these records contain curious
iDformatiou bearing incidentally upon tho local
and family history of almost every county in
Eagland. It will be a pity if the cautious policy
•>f the Society confines to a favored few the cir*
nilation of this Important volume."
The fourth and concluding part of liedita-
tlont for the ITse of the Clergy, for Every
Day of the Tear* from the Italian of Mon-
signor Scotti, Archbl!«hop of Thessalonlca, re-
vised and edited by the Oblatcs of St. i harlep.
Is received by The Catholic Publication Society.
Those who have purchased the other parts can
now comp'ete their set.
The Catholic Publication Society has pnrchas^
ed the plates and copyright of Thompson's
Complete System of Practical Business
Penmanship, In nine book^. This is one of the
best— if not the very best— system of penman*
ship now in nse in tho echo 1?. The price Is
very low, 90 cents per dozen, and they arc
printed on very fine paper.
Father Formby, an indefatigable workup in
the field of Catholic literature, announces a most
important work, the sample pages of which he
has sent us. It is to be called The Book of
KCartyrs; orj The Boman Ceosarsand
Christian M^krtyrdom. It will contain a cor*
rent sketch of the history of the empire, with
notices Interspersed of tho condition of the
Christians In It, of the city of Rome and Ma
Catacombs, with the *^ Acts'' of some of the
principal martyrs given In full. To which will
6o added a supplement relating the martyrdom
of St. Thomas d Bcckct, with some examples
of the most recent martyrdoms of missionaries
and native Christians In Asia In tho present
century. The whole woik will be profusely
Illustrated with new and original (losigii9 by C.
Ooldie, N. and P. Westlake, C. Cbazal, and
others, together with drawings of the hulldlngi
and monnment^ of ancient Rome, statues, btists,
and coins of the Roman emperorp, scenes and
paintings In the Catacomb*, and of many other
objects of historical Interest. It will make a
large 4to volume of over 000 pages. The work
will not be ready for two or three years. The
Catholic Publication Socict;^ being Father Foim-
Vy's American puhllshem, will have the woik a««
■oou as it is issued in London.
The article In the last number of Tui Catuo*
Lie World, on " Mr. Gladstone and Murylatd
Tolerat'on,'' has been issued in pamphlet form,,
for more extensive circulation. Price, SO cents.
We continue to receive tct'timoniala to tho
worth of cur Series of Headers. Wc give the
following as just at hand :
Wc have introduced your Yonng Catholics
Readers into our schoolH, aid arc hapjy to ruiy
they gi\ c eqtiro satisfaction.
SiSTKIlS or PBOrjVEKC£,
St. Joseph's Academy, Terre Haute.
St. Maut's School, SnuNoriKLn, lu..,
October IS, 1875.
L. Kkuok, Esq.^Dear Sir: Pleaso accept my
gratitude for the books you sent me, entitled
''The Young Catholic's Illustrated Ueaders." |
Literary Bulletin.
deem them the best aeries that I have over s«en.
The grading is flrst-claa?, and they are f trong'y
pat together. The whole Series, in a word, re-
flects great honor on The Catholic Publication
Society. I greatly desire that they should be
used in all the schools of the Holy C ross.
1 am, dear sir, yours very respectfully,
Bro. Obxgobt, C.S.C.
The Illustrated Catholio Family Al-
xnanao for 1876 seems to have been received
with more than ordinary favor this year. All
the papers ara loud in its praise. Here Is what
the Notro Dame So/iolattica says:
"The Catholic Publication Society fhoild be
regarded as one of our Cathelic benefactors. It
has published what it modestly terms an alma-
nac, but which in reality is a pretty annual filled
with excellent reading, and sells it to as for the
low price of twenty-five cents. It is the neatest
thin#ln the way of a low-priced annual we have
ever seen. The reading matter is well selected,
and the tables and lists of popes, et^., are of great
nsc. The engraviugs arc, as a rule, well exe-
cuted. There are in the Almanac portraits of
Cardinals McCloskey, Wiseman, and AltioH,
Bishops BMit6 and Baniga, the Cura Hidalgo,
Fra Angcllco, Father Nerinckx, and Bngene
0*Curry. Besides the portraits, there are many
engravings well executed. Altogether the Al-
manac is an excellent little work, neatly printed,
and worthy the generous patronage of the Cath-
olics of the United States.'*
And the Catholic Mirror says :
*' The Catholic Family Almanac, which for the
past few years has been steadily improving in
both appearance and subject-matter, comes to us
for 187ti in a haudsomer form than ever before.
It is filled with the most interesting and instrnc-
tlve rcadiug matter, clearly printed on fine-toned
paper, aud profusely interspersed with engrav-
ings, iucluding among others a fulNpage colored
portrait of Uis Eminence Cardinal McCloskey.
A mention of some of the articles contained in
the volume would, perhaps, be as good a means'
as any other of making known its sterling merits,
and with this in view wo refer our readers to
the advertisement in another column. The
Catholic Almanac is irdispent'ablc In every Cath-
olic household, and as its price brings it within
the reach of all, we bespeak for it the circulation
it so richly deserves."
The Catholic Publication Society has published
abeautirul new book, very suitable for the holi-
days, entitled The Three Pearls. The
Catholic Mirror thus notice? it:
♦• The Thre^ Pearls, written by a Sister of
Charity who will not allow her name to be given,
so sincere is her modesty, is a work that will be
read with deep intorost and great profit by both
young and old. The struggles of Cecilia, of
Agnes, and of Catharine with pagan autocrat-s —
pagans in name, yet not in heart— suggested the
idea of this work, and the three pearls are none
other than the three holy Virgin Martyrs named.
The livvi of the martyrs are first given in prose.
and then the good sister tells of their »1
and triumphs in verse. The poems abound ia
passages of nnsurpasging beauty, and hold t^
reader from the first to the close. The vohime
is clearly printed on fine paper, and th« bis^las
is exquisite."
The Book of Books. The Xnf Tc*iaiekeat ff
Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Chrit^. I Wns^nxtA
with full-page engravings.— The London ITmiHf
Register says of this work. jn*t published inDs^
lin : '* A very beautiful edition has been here prv
dnced .of a translation of the New Te«taEir©J
from the Latin Vn'gate, diligently compared wit^
the original Greek, and fir^t published oetri?
three hundred years ago, in 13b2, by the Kb^Ii^
College at Rhclms. The text is accompanied by
copious foot-note annotations aud rcftreactt,
with an index at once historical and cbro«oloft-
cal. It corresponds in all essential respects wit*
the version approved by the Irish Bishop on the
4th of May, 1857. It has the approbation of k5»
Eminence the Cardinal Archbishop of Dni^-
lin, dated on the 28th of last October. A mere
exquisite edition could hardly be desired. The
illustrationa are, many of them, singularly bees-
tifttl. Our only regret In regard to them ia that
no cine whatever ie afforded, except in one is-
stance, aa to the source of the picture— that \%^
to the Identification of the artist from whose
design the original ia Ukcn. The fronU«pieci'
represents the two disciples at Emmaus cocstrsB-
Ing their unrecognized Lord to stay because :i
was towards evening, the day being fir ^>cBt
The Annunciation portrays the Arcliangel Gf-
brlel kneeling at the feet of Onr Blessed Lady,
bearing in his right hand a scroll emblaxMefl
Ate QToHa plena. Through an arch in the bac*-
gronnd are seen, in the depths of the heavc&.
the Three Persons of the Ever-Adorable Trlniiy
— God the Father, the coming Ii^f^it Sxviocr,
and the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove. TV
** Nativity '* reveals Our Lord, then newly-<«a,
being swathed in swaddling clothes by bit
Blessed Mother— St. Joseph kneeling at the hcsd
of the crib^the shepherds keeping the nighi-
watch on the mountain — the aogt-la in the ^
singing '* Gloria in Excelsis." The "* AdoratioB
of the Magi " shows the three Kings from tl»
Bast grouped, on their knees, offering gold,
myrrh, and frankincense, the light from the stir
they have followed streaming in upon the k*
fant God on the lap of the Bieseed Virgin. TV
*' Presentation " depicts the aged Shneon o-
claiming, '* Nunc dimittls'*; Anna, with be
hands uplifted in rapture ; the Bleaeed Yirgjb.
contemplatively observant ; St. Joseph bearxDi;
on his arm the cage of the votive doves— a bait-
ing and transfixed heart revealed in mid*^. At
*' Flight into Egypt " is hinted by prerificm zi
an interior when the Angel of the Lord speaks to
St. Joseph in his sleep, telling him to arise as4
flee with the divine Infant and hlsYiighi Mo-
ther, who are seen in an adjoining alcove s^ua-
bering, while through a loop-hole in the bii'd-
Ing Is caught a visionary glimpse of (he ii^t
itself under a creacent moon. Ttie Holy TvaXij
Literary Bnlletiru
at Xaureth, the Child Savionr asleep in
is liulo cot, the Blessed Virgin spinning, 8t.
teepla reading Holy Writ from a scroll, while
inatKrred i^ont the room are his implements as
\ carpenter. As lovely a pictnre as any in the
BOlanie is the represeniatlon of *^ The Finding in
%m Tentple/* a charming, enchanting fkgnre of
Mkr Tm Krd at twelve years of age« seated enUironed
B tlie midst of the doctors at the moment when
d« Virgin Mother and his foster father are
tins hrcathlcssly on their return In search of
to Jerusalem. **The Miracle of the Loaves
Md Klshes** Is revealed in the midst of a noble
lBS»d»c«Kp«s as seen from nnder the nmbrageous
btaatrltee of a gigantic tree in the foreground — a
tm^ multitude bavmg In its centre the Llgbt of
(be "World, the adorable Redeemer having com->
|»«»io^ npfin them aud mnltip'ying the fuod.
'*«fei9as a..d Barsbbas*' is the lea^t satisfactory
^ mix the-««embellishment9. It Is poorly imagin-
tA And very indifferently drawn. *'The Last
Nipper J*' though iu severs! respects admirably
■roupea, makes us regret, on the whole, that tt
Ca not a copy irom Leonardo's masterpiece— the
momx «rond<rrful delineation of tr0i»e d iabi^ ever
Ittpioied bv mortal band. "The Descent from
kft« Cross *^ is the one exception among tbene
Eetnres to which we have already alludM. Al-
oat as a ra%tter of conrse, it is the most mar-
vciloua pyramidal group ever pencilled, being
cnpltd from the renowned painting by Sir Peter
Faul Rabens in the cathedral at Antwerp, one
of the three greatest pictnrps in the world.
''Christ Laid in the Sepnlchre" Is the loveliest
of all these illustrations. The grief portrayed in
the expression of every face and in the pose of
every figure ia entrancing. *' The Kesnrrection/'
though in many ways admirable, U by no means,
in \U general effect, sufficiently resplendent.
Pre-emtncntly beautlfnl, however, is the limning
of ** Christ appearing in the Oarden to Magda-
len,'* where oar Lord is mistaken by her for the
gardener. Another charming picture Is that re-
presenting the *' Disciples at Emmaas Kecng-
nixing our Lord by the Breaking of Bread.'*
One of them has started up with His hand upon
his breast. The other, overfurning the stool
upon which he has been seated, has fallen upon
his knee*. The bread Is breaiilng between the
divine hands at the moment before his dicap.
Seantfice. " The Unbelief of Thoma* , snmsmed
lidymuB.*^ is the next embellishment, and ihe
last is '' The Sadden ^pps rat ion of Christ io Ills
Disciples upon the 8es- h'>re.** when 8. Peter,
springing intx) the water, wades eagerly to the
feet of his Redeemer. The work is dimply bat
exquisitely got np lu every particular. The pnb-
llsbers, by issuing it from the press, have con«
ferred a boon npun the Catholics of the United
Kingdom. '
This beAutiful work is for sale in this country
by The Cathfflic Publication Society, which has
imported an edition of it. The price here ie $6,
In extra cloth binding.
NEW AMERICAN BOOKS.
PUBLISHED BY THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY.
Xfife of Si* John iht JffpaHffefiti, the English College io Rheims a.d. zsSa,
Translated from the French, x vol. ism^*, , with Annotations. References, and an Histori-
S9 OO cal and Chronological Index. Illustrated with
The JVetr Tetttawkent of Our jA>rd and full-page Engravings, z vol- 4to SS 0(/
SarSottr Jr»UH Christ. Translated from T/ie T/»ree I'earfa ; or, Virginity and Martyr-
the Lctja Vttlgate« and dtl'gently compared dom. By a Daughter of Charity* zvol. ismo,
with the original Greek, and first published by #/ SO
BY LUCAS BROTHERS.
The f>rdo for ISTO SO eta,
BY PATRICK DONAHOE.
T^ liuttrurtiou of Youth in (JUriaiU$n yietyt taken out of the Sacred Scriptures and Holv
fathers. By Kev. Chas. Golmet, D.D. i vol. lamo $1 SO
FOREIGN BOOKS.
Tk€ t*ubtieLif€ofOur LordJetut CMriti, JStaqy* on Caikoihitmt ZiberaUam,and
Rv the Kev. H. J. Coleridge, S.jk Part I. Soeialitm, Bv John Donoso Cortea. Trans-
SS 25 lated by Rev. W. McDonald, z vol. zamo,
Our Im^$ f^offryt or, How England Gained #^ OO
and Lost this Title. A Compils«on by the ^Ma Sea fa of f^rftaiicn . By Walter Hilton.
KcT. T. E. Bridgett, C.SS.R. Crown 8vo, With an Essay on the Spiritual Life of Medist-
48e pai^e^ With four illustrations. By H. W^ y^ England. By Rev.J. B. Dalgairns.
Brewer, Esq S^ SO * ' ' ^2 oo
rjpaaofiJke Irish Sainia. By Rev. J. 0*Han- ^ - *^ _ ^ ^ «^ ^ n^, o- ,i-
ion. Koa. z, .,3.4.56, 7,«,9, xo, zz, zs, 13 now ^S''*'*'*'* -*^«/'* ^u'^%, ^®A"'^A Fam liar
readv Price dcr No 60 Explanation of the Christian Doctrmc. In a
Wrteiify for JVorieai of'erej^' 'Xetipioua ^o^*- ^V '^«^- "•"'^y G»^«o" ^^ ^^
Ordar, pariieutarfy ihoaa Ifarotad to tha 7 ha Chronicte of Si* stniony of f^dtta, the
Mdmemiion of Touth ^f 26 Eldest Son of St. Francis. By Rev. H enrv
"Who U Jafua Christ P Five Lectures deliv- Jsmes Coleridge. S.J ^H TS
ered at the Catholic Church, Swanses. By the Ihe Story of St* l^tar. By W. D. S. $1 7S
Right Rev. Dr. Hedlev, O.S.B., Bishop AuxiU The Sacri/fea of tha JS'ueharisi, and other
iary of Newport and Menevia SS ets. Doctrines of the Catholic Church Explained
Ufa pf Anna Catharine Xmmarieh. Kv and Vindicated. By Rev. Charles B. Garside.
Helen Ram. z vol. zamo $9 SO M.A $2 7S
f^oa through tha Truth ; or. Essays on Tha f*ubtie Life of Our Lord. Vol. II.
Subjects connected with Dr. Pusey's Eireni' Preaching of the Beatitudes. By Rev. Ilenrv
con . By Rev. T. Harper, S.J. Second Series. James Coleridge. S.J $1% ItH
—Part 1.— Dr. Pusey's First Supposed Papal Svrtnona hy tha JFathera of the Society of
Contradiction ; or. The Levitical Prohibitions Jeaua, Vol. Ill $3 OO
ofMarriagein their Relation to the Dispens- The Holy Waya of tha Croan, From the
int Power of the Pope. z. The Prologue, a. Frcnchof Bourdon. By Edward HealyThorop<
Fundamental Principles. 3. The Issue, con- son. M.A $1 7S
taining a detailed examination of Dr. Puscy's The l*eraeeutiona of Anant. A History of
cridence respecting Marriage with a De- Christianity in Cochin China and Tonking.
ceased Wife's Sister. 4. Doctrinal Postil. 5. Ry John R. Shortland. M.A $*H OO'
The Epilogue, i vol. 8 vo ^/O OO Medlta tiona for th e Vae of the Clergy , for
First Part S? SO Every Day in the Year, on the Gospels for the
Tha Jiibte and the Ttute of Faith, Hv Sundavs. From the Italian of Mgr. Scotti.
Abbe Lonis Nazaire Begin Sf 7S Vol. IV $2 OO
The Pilot
THE CE^TEXMAIj VEAR-
c inr ins rnlllhroiuint Ihr mnW intcKMliiB
KuIiliecciitniT. Thi-MlatarattnBatllicnitlaMi
fBDlal HlUnoaoulitliPMirof (br muM munin-
iiiUUutu Dl f nr iKuulF trtll huld IvUliia ou tks lititb
l.lrtlidiir lit llir iirvM BvpnliUa. AU ths uil;m> ut
tlwNntiwmpullrlialv b Anieilat** EuHUtkui.
THE PRBMIOKNTIAI. ELUTTION-
Ncu ycir TlllalKi wi! ■ r
imunuairr Inumt. Tha
■ diWdfli '^ '■
OATlIOIiM* IJSTEBKMTS.
TorubullriaiulIritbpcoplDlliiTniicriTr npcni^ ■
luirv niuiocnwiM jnr ilHD i!W. Iii i-iriunii pkna ul
liF wnrld ilK t'arlHille RllfrtonliU.rriiLi'iii^ ; and
'VCD In oar inrn vamitTjr ll> Ind'rma nr dlKonml
in alt aldiH. and alwulil be mplalnad and dcIriHlHlIn
>i* hFM Inttf nrcU. TliFrvToiirrln^MuflalnOblOMie
'iMwluHt hliuiF tbc iirc<'»>ll]r nt aliio tialhulicliiiir
lalii, inanaKi;)! OD * INL-Ia at vduvailDn and muocift
tnlMI IXTISnE)fT»
propliiroauvaowMrlr ac
.... ,. ..nt nutliInK ICMihan amrat
HjofliTial known In evar» itmntww mirh i
■iWalBtuit nfitrualkHi
impair nmiif Ilia pnw
thvpninoHar nii^ llumi'llnlf tni
landlaotimvtInU'rvxI. ■huwinaaal. m.t«Lii.>....
](1d<ri™niJ)\Kl^ili^n':jlilyn»llniinlnii>^
i-.rwrviitlvi.' a:id luirlllin^nt struggle fgr DBllona
"""pBOaBAMlIE POB 1876.
In evGr* rxlrllnii di'MrlmrDi Tni riuir or IK
■ill be Iinimivcd. aud ucw •Ifpannpoiii Mil b
" Urtwi* II
tm^nlh-di ,
rkn at fiirrlmt ni'Vi Irutn 111 Mrlnnfthi
Thnr will hp i drfMrtmrnt di-TOlnl in i
ihB rnUui. Illiuinnliijt ih>- clianiciirrii
Than- wni he a raretnl werkly an'onm
'liie IrlKbpropleuvnuvaawMrlr acauired a^
our Iuhh-'H' iwlainti irfll iw fuiiud '[nti'rvittinii an
TiiiMc Who take an Inli'irM tn I1<i> iirocma at li
(lar OK** imin Ireland will bi' the lali'-'I.Hiulcvi'i
'«■'. Ji ^h^"** ";■""
h (il iiMi lifi- (liaT bah ajrai'Brcd f<
(•pltHT, mid III llir I'liniDiwtii-
i-i.Tlknii-nf Til
., -Ill lllr •lira
ir; pTiTian'd tur Jill-)''
SIX GRAND PRIZES,
r ilmavanM lo Ihp li.r laii^p.i c-Iu1i- or IJie yimr. i
-iJilMbBrrlnvluallnibn' Piulu a ptitt [.n.iwnl.iii
PATSICK SoVaHOE, Filot Offics,
for 187C
Il " SrwlD^iuKblne -
Il " hroDiii Firlur ilnek
b " FamlU Bible
AIMMTIUXAI. PRtZEif.
Tn reward IhoM clBha IbM fall la xnif^iii ■
luve vainalilv prlar*. vr nOa the Iol;<i>h; f
ua la ibe uii«iuce>in¥l cuuuictllan :
ny [icrauD arullna u lfW«i&c(lbert « Ite
regular rlnhnlci wflrSg CBIICIed Mitvd;
lliinnr wortb ,, ■ I
W mili'nitoBtainllyltbnuTWonb _..
* I! r. :; .'.
'" " !; ^ " ■■■'■-■■■■■
Xllbniloii retanrd la In the ihi»^*lMi
up fma Ibe bat luillnaal andi ^.-LdW
n lA* hone. Tbi- IHmnrn ran bi< *\p.vi*'
MRialKie, or, ft dnilml, hr ilir vlnarr iii iLr p;
Fhleli can ratalaanpi vUl be tent hua m
Tboae cotnpellnK lor prliea mar r-nt n
onira aur Iiraa trnm November 1. Iii:,»>
!i». SnbMilDllani *m dau fn<ni lb" a'
NOTrM In wlucb Ihrjr are irt: ivvd. as.l it'
nin(liaLliur,imleMli«tfk nwni^trai-f lar
ire <*peelallr orden-d.
tNinona Kettlos Dp rMb* eaueoinl''' "'
awiii u cjntBH tor muH-rlhen. Tl^'psi'-r
ii'ui to each pcmua'a aviaracv Mliln':"s ul
L.-eNTBM«IAI. (IHROMn OF WVOf
Tanuwr Uie Rnrninniemit Ml IqraUri
i1irpixailedDrl>«ibJ.i<'rDtmutal Vi«, Vr.l
iSan tlila chnnw. whleta luu be tatrlF •■
Kxt Ulumew of the UIIS4T LtBKKA1«l a
fflulbc aaib In ibe llrlllak IIduw eti ><ii.ii
I* a piTflict woiC of art. and tunm. an ixn
ivaBritnlpb.'int>-.
TflU wa tn Mleruui to ernr rakaCTIIitf
PlU>T (NelP aiulviiii, iMautt •! flw't •■«> »
Ta mi peifoB wninnR na frin Omr m
«il)«n,<Trirl{l<i.iMl thi-m.U ntiBtiH'i*)
No UISIIIT luirjarini or »iiiallBrlal-a-'>'_
that all an! Vai'ininiind !•> wurli, .R ■■! I ■■<'
reJvei- hir lila eunluii, hr will Ih: aniiifc"!-''
Krrrr ainitle inibMribiT paTbiK a yvar"! i
Hun, f! us, wWrb ineliidei lltt«-n eniik >
Htv'p'it-r jwduiir, will rrvElvr anr •'W ul-
Sinidr tulMerlptfiint one year. Inrliulhie iu
|ionaKi'.wlMiarbi>ki:atoQC(>r the t.illj*i
IIANIKL 01 O.NKiXl^
KAfllKK M.VTHEW".
tATlIKtt IIT'IiKE .»r
>IAI!>1I.\I. h'^;
fat !»• IhHii • Vpiir Kiibonl ikr
siTniiitLtrib pi><4|iald ... ........ . ..
Wlib a«r iinviii ibe aivvViitruBiV'tb-yi
Wll*! any'nu'' nt'lhi- aiaivirhnnnm iPiriiiii i
'nio>i>Kiiiin-n>ltiiniiPyioDKhhriUi-l bi t'
i^i-KiiniiiinitfliBiilk iinlibiituuurNiiw Ytr
birr ibt'lr iiilm. (>llimrl«r, it mxnT it
Pilot tbruogb lap UPWi^leaUin^ ot Klhi
KTCbann. Jlr.lmnahaeliainiadiTarriMi
rnlab rbroiiiua tn nvw>4fak'r< tur tht.
23, 25 & 2? Boylston St., Boston,
BBCBMBEB 13, X875.
This supersedes all previous Catalogues. JE^
BOOKS PUBLISHED
BY
The Catholic Publication Society,
9 WAEREN STEEET, NEW rOEK.
In consequence of the increase of postage on books, which took
effect in March this year, we must request all persons ordering
books by mail to accompany the order by the retail price of the
baek.
No books will be sent by mail to booksellers, or others entitled to
a discount, unless at least the money to cover postage accom-
panies the order.
All the publications of the several Catholic Publishers, both in
this country and in England, kept in stock.
• ♦ •
^ A wonderful book.'?— ^m/m Piht,
Wtw Glaiical Frl«id% siid their Rela-
tions to Modern Thought. Cooteots : Chap.
L The Vocation of the Clergy.— II. The
Clergy at Home.— III. The Clergy Abroad.
— lY. The Clergy and Modern Thought
I vol. i«9io, 1 60
By the same author.
Otareh Defence l Report of a Conference
on the Present Dangers of the Church.
by the author of ''My Clerical Friends."
nie Oooiedy ef Cenvocatioii In the
English Church. In Two Scenes, Edited
by Archdeacon Chasuble, D.D.« and dedi-
cated to the Pan-Anglican Synod. Svo,
doth 1 00
BiblioffrapUn Cathelica Americana.
A List of American Catholic Books published
up to the year 1825. iiy Rev. J. M. Finotti.
I Tol. 8vo, 5 00
IfelliA NetterviUei er. One ol tlie
Transplanted. A Tale of the Times of Crom-
well in Ireland. By Miss Caddell. t vol.
i«mo, cloth, extra, .... 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
Wild Timei. a Tale of the Days of Queen
BlirAbeth. Ky Cecilia Mary Caddell. First
American edition. 1 vol. xamo, . 1 50
Ohnb, gilt, 2 00
The PrMpeodenista and A»ip^ia
From the German of Bolanden. x voITSvo,
JM
doth, gilt, 2 00
The NeeUtif or, a Mother's Last Reouen,
and Other Tales# z vol. lamo, . . X 25
Han^* Besary, and OUier Tales.
iCosraMTS : By the author of '* Marion How-
ard.*' Maggie^s Rosary— The White Angel
—Mabel— Old Morgan's Rose-Tree. From
the French of Sou vestre. translated by Bmilv
Bowles : The Sawyer of the Vosges— A Meet-
ing 0:1 the Alps— The Godson.) i vol. zimo,
1 00
Tba Bdnso ef Torkei A Stoxj of
American Life. Cloth, extra, . .2 00
Cloth, full gilt 3 00
Utile Pierre, the Pedlar ef Alsace,
Translated from the French, and illustrated
by 37 first-class woodcuts. (This makes one
of the handsomest premium books ever
issued in this country.) Cloth, extra, 1 00
Cloth, full gilt ' . 5 00
Petor'e Jonmej and CKher Tales,
and Wilfulness and its Consequences, x vol.
lamo, frontispiece* .... 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
Tlie Threshold ef the Catholic
Church. A course of plain instructions tor
those entering her communion. By Fr.
Bagshaw. With preface by Mgr. Capel.
X vol. xamo 1 50
Sermons on Bcclesiastical SnWects.
Vol. I. By Archbishop Manning. Cloth,
extra, . 2 00
The same. Vol. II., .... 2 00
The Internal Mission of the Holy
Ghost. By /%rchbisQop Manning, i vol.
ismo, 1 00
A Winsfed Word, and Otiier Stories.
By the author of **The House of Yorke,"
etc. ... ... 1 50
Cloth gilt, . 2 00
The liift of Saint John of the Cross, ot^
the Order of our Lady of Mouoi Caruiel. 1
Tol. z6mo, 1 25
Life and Doclrine of Saint Cather^
of Genoa. Translated irotu the Itiihan.
X vol. tamo, 2 00
Catherine Bamilten. A Tale for Little
Girls. z8mo 60 cts.
The Parm of Mniceron, and Bladamo
Agnes. Translated from ihe French, z vdl.
8vo, cloth, extra, .... 1 50
Cloth, gilt 2 00
The Prench Prisoner in B^nssia,
Transtaied from tbe French by I*. S. One
illustration, x vol. t6mo, cloth, extra, 1 00
Cloih. eiit 1 50
The Spirit of Faith) or. What must I
do to Believe. By Bishop Headley. Cloth
50 o<8
The Three Pearb: or, Virginity, and
Martyrdom . . '. . .150
8
History of the Society of Jetus.
Daurig^noc. a vols., . .13 00
The Lift of Father Ravifinoan, &J.
By Father Ponlevoy, SJ. Translated from
the French, i vol. crown 8vo, toned pupcr.
4 00
latSb of St. Vincent do PaoL ^mo.
cloth» 4D0ts.
Lift of Bletsed Marirsiret Mary
AUcoque. With some Account of the Devo-
tion to the Sacred Heart. By the Rev. George
Tick^lUS.J. xvoLSvo, . .2 50
Onr Lady of Litanioi. Ry Rev. X. D.
McLeod, 1 00
JThe Sacramentals of the Bely Cath-
olic Church. By the Rev. W. J. Barry,
1 00
Lenten Monitor, or Moral Beflec-
tions and Devout Aspirations on the Gospel
for each day, from Ash- Wednesday till Raster
Sunday. By Kev. P. Baker, O.S.F. 24010,
clcth, new edition, . .^ . 60 cts.
The End of Reliffiona Controversy.
By Rt Kev. John Mflner, D.D. i vol. i«mo.
75cts.
FATHER FOBMBT'S WOBSS.
Pictorial Bible and Chnrch History
Stories. An easy, continuous narrative lor
the Younff, from Adam and Eve in Paradise
down to ihe Middle of the Reign of Pope
Pius IX. Profuselv fllustrated by over 500
^oodcuts from ori|[^inai desii^ns by the most
eminent artists. Crown 8vo.
I. The Old Testament Stories. Containing
aoo illustraiions and 6 maps, 520
PP . 3 00
II. The Life of Christ. Containln|r 100
illustrations, s86 pp., . 1 00
III. The History of the Church. Con-
tainiofi: 900 illustrations, 540 pp., 3 00
The above beautiful books can be had in
•ets« put up in boxes, suitable tor presents, as
follows:
In three vols., cloth extra, . 7 00
In five vols., cloth extra, . 9 00
In five vols., cloth gilt, X2 00
In five vols, half calf, 20 00
In live vols, full calf ant}<)ue, 30 00
Tho Pictorial Bible and Chnrch
Historv Stories, Abridged and Complete. 1
vol. With a view of Solomon's Temple, a
bird's-eye view of Jeiu«;alam, and upwards
of one hundred beautifuf Enpravines. Crown
8vo, 320 pp. By Rev. Heniy Konnby. Cloth,
extra, 1 50
CUth, gilt, 2 00
Half-calf, 3 50
Full-calf, 5 00
This is an abridgment of the larger work
described above.
The Book of the Holy Bosary. A Pull,
Popular, Doctrinal Kx position of Its Fifteen
Mysteries, and of their Corresponding Types
in the Old Testument. Illustrated with thirty-
Biz full-page engravings, printed in the best
manner on toned paper, extra ornamental
binding, and gilt edges. By Rev. H, Form-
by. I vol. quarto, full gilt, . ' . 4 00
Lift, Passion^ Bealfa, and
tio'* of Our Lord Jesrs Christ.
Abridged Harmony of the Four
the >^'ords of the Sacred I'ext. Edited
Rev. Henry Formby. With overaxty
gravings from original designs, x voLiim.1
Cloth gilt, 150!
The
Siena.
Of S.
I vol. xamo, .
175'
An Episae of Jeeos Christ to fti
Faith fill Soul that is devoutly affected t^
ward Him. x vol. x6mQ, . . 1 Ot
matory of the Chnrch firoo Hi It*
tabllshment to the Reformation. R7 the Itic
Rev. C. C. Pise, D.D. s vols, 8vo, . 7 51
Another edition. 5 vols, izmo, clotk. 5 00
The ZUnstrated Catholic Soaasf*
School Librarv. First Series. The follow-
ing are the titles of the different vohiaa:
Madeleine the Rosiirc. Crusade «( ^
Children. Tales of the Affections. Adrea-
tures of Travel. Truth and TnisL Sdte*.
Popular Tales. Handsomely bound and k:
up in a box. Cloth, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt, 4 00
The Bhistrated Catholic Soadsf-
School Librarv. Second Scries. The follow-
ing are the tiUes of the different toIssmi :
The Rivals. The Battle of Lepaatp, eu
Scenes and Incidents at Sea. Toe ^bcol-
bovs, and the Floy and the Man. Beaatiftd
Little Rose. Florestine. Handwmely b««rf.
and put up in a box, cloth, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt, 400
The ninstrated Catholic Siadir
School Library. Third Rries. The fonow-
ing are the Lilies of the different t-oluma:
Nettlethorpe the Miser. Talcs of Naval »b<?
Military Life. Harry O'Brien, »od Olhef
Talcs. The Hermit of Mount Adas. Leo;
or. The Choice of a Friend. Antonio ;cr.
The Orphan of Florence. Handsoiaa?
bound, and put up in a box. Cloth, extn.
300
Cloth, gilt, 4 00
The uAetrated Catholic Soadiy-
School Library. Fourth Series. TbetoUo*
ing are the titles of the different vohi»«s ;
Talcs of the South of France. Stories et
Other Lands. Enema's Cross, and Otba
Tales. Uncle Edmrard's Stories. Joe Biker.
The Two Painters. Handsomely boaarf.
and ptlt up In a box. Cloth, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gfft, 400
The ninstrated Catholic Suataf
School Library. FiOh Scries. The tollov
ing are the titles of the different voluecs
Bad Example. M«v-Day, and Oilier 7tki.
James Chapman. The Young .-Vstroooaer.
and Other Tales. Angel Dreams. Elkn&a
Priory. Handsomely bound, and pvtaf i=^
box. Cloth, extra, . . . 3 OO
Cloth, gilt 400
The ninstrated Catiiolic Suitf'
School Librarv. Sixth Series. The Mt**-
ing are the titles of the different r<rfuo«>'
Idleness and Industry. The Hope oC 'ke
Katzekop(s. St. Maunce. The Yo'^neE**
grantSL Angels' Visits. Scrivener's Dtsg^
ter, and Orange Girl. Handsomely boiin].
and put up in a box. Cloth, extra. . 3 00
Cloth, gilt 4 00
ninstrmted Catholic Snaday^
School Librftn'. Seventh Series. ThefoUow-
Hm mre the utiea of the different volumes :
Tales of Catholic Artists. Honor 0*M ore's
Homes. Sir ^Ifrlc, and Other Tales.
Select Tales for the Young. Tales for the
I Mftov. Frederick Wilmot. In a box. illuti-
trmted. Cloth extra, .... 3 00
Cloth, Rilt, 4 00
'The lUnttrated Catholic Shinday-
Scbool Library. Kiffhth Series. The follow-
iax are the titles of the different volumes:
The Apprentice, and other Sketches. Mary
Benedicta, and Other Stories. Faith and
L.oymttv, and The Chip Gatherers. Agnes,
•M Other Sketches. Lame Millie. The
Chapel of the Angels. Handsomely bound,
and put up in box. Cloth extra, . 3 00
Cloth gilt, .... . 4 00
Mon and the Sihylss A Claaiic, Chrii-
ttan Novel. By Miles Gerald Keon. One
▼ol. 8vo, cloth, extra, .... 1 50
QlBatrated Catholic Family Almanac
for 1S69, 1870, X871, 1873, and 1873, each,
25cts.
The Two Schoolsi A XRIoral Talo.
By Mrs. Hughes. »mo, cloth, . 100
Lives of the Fathers of the Desert,
and of many Holy Men and Women who
dwelt in Solitude. Translated from the
French. Bmbeltlshed with eighteen enffrav-
fag«. i8mo, cloth, 60 cts.
I oTf The ^^rtaons Villarer.
atholic Tale. New edition. iSmo, cloth,
60 cu.
Bomo of the Lost ChUd. This story
is founded on fact, and records ia a most in-
teresting manner a singular instance of God*s
mercy. z8mo, cloth, . 60 cts.
QeBfOvieve 1 A Talo of Antiquity,
showing the VVondcrtul Ways of Providence
in the Protection of Innocence. From the
» German ot Schmid. x8mo, cloth, 60 cts.
Chziatiai^ and Other Poems. 8v
George H. Miles. Cloth, . . .2 00
GUt, extra, .... ^^ . 2 60
Tho ^Old-OatiKeUcs" at Onogne. A
Sketch in Three Scenes. Hy the author of
*» Comedy of Convocation." x vol. i8mo,
75 cu.
American
60 cu.
A North
Father Rowland.
Tale. |8mo, cloth.
The B^tarse of the MedaL A Drama
for Girls, .... J> 20 cts.
fimscliff nan. A Drama for Girls, 20 cU.
The Deai^Mttte. A Drama for Boys,
50 cts.
SUftf or, Spain Fifty Years Ago. From
ih« Spanish of Fernan Caballero. x ml.
tamo, ....... 1 50
Blisa Despresj or. The Bffects of
Reading Bad Books, .... 60 cts.
aiiauses of Pleasant Bomec ByUe
suthor of ''The Lile ot Mother McCauIey."
Ulustimted with four fuU-psge Illustrations.
f vol. tamo, cloth extra, ... 1 50
Cloth, gUt, 2 00
Spirit of Faith j or, Why Do I BeUere.
^BithopUiiaarv), . . .60
Books of Irish Martjrrs. Blenorlals
of those who Suifered for the Catholic Faith
ia Ireland during the Sixteenth, Seventeenth,
and Eighteenth Centuries. Collected ana
edited by Myles O'Reilly. B.A., LL.D.
vol. crown 8vo, vellum cloth, . . 2 '
Diary of a Sister of Mercy. Tales
from the Diary of a Sister of Mercv. By C.
M. Brame. x voL xamo, extra clotn, 1 50
Bxtrmgilt, 2 00
Chropinn After Xrnth. a Ufe-Joumciy
from New England Congregationalism to
the One Catholic Apostolic Church. By
Joshua Huntington. One volume vellum
cloth, 75 cu.
The Olercy and the Pulpit and
their Relations to the People. By M. TAbbtf
.Isidore Mullois, Chaplain to Napoleon III.
One vol. xamo, extra cloth, . 1 50
Half-calf, extra, ,3 50
Sraiholism ) or, Bzposition of the
Doctrinal Differences between Catholics and
Protestants, as evidenced by their Symbolic
Writings. Hy John A. Moehler, D:D. Trans-
lated from the German, with a Memoir of the
Author, preceded by an Historical Sketch of
the State of Protestantism and CathoMcian
in Germany for the last Hundred Years. i>r
J. B. Robertson, Esq., 4 OO
An Aadcahlo Discussion en the
Church of England, and on the Reformation
in general, dedicated to tbe Clergv of every
Protestant Communion, and reduced inte
the form of letters, bv the Right Rev. J. F.
M. Trevern, D.D., Bisliop of Strasbourg.
Translated by the Rev. William Richmond.
X vdi. xamo, 580 pages, • • 2 00
Anima Divota) or, DoTont SooL
Translated from the Italian of Very Rev. J.
B. Pagani, Provincial of the Order of Char-
ity in England. This is one of the most
instructive and useful books that enrich our
spiritual literature. It is a series of excellent
considerations relative to the Eucharist as a
sacrifice and sacrament, and will be found by
the pious Catholic to be a valuable manual
in the preparation for Holy Communion.
a4mo, cloth, 50 cla.
Bona Mors t A Pious Association of
the Devout Servants of our Lord Jesus
Christ, dying on the Cross, in order to obtain
a good death. a4mo, cloth, 25 eta.
Why BKen do not Believe | or The
Pnncipal Causes of Infidelity. Translated
from the French of Mgr. Laforet. Cloth,
100
In Beaven we Enow Our own.
Translated from the French of Pftre Blot. 1
vol. z8mo CQ cts.
The See of Peter, the Bock of the
Church, the Source of Jurisdiction, and the
Centre of Unity. By Thomas William Allies
I vol., cloth, 75 cts.
Grounds of the Catholic Doctrine,
contained in the Profession of Faith publish-
ed by Pope Pius IV.; to which are added.
Reasons why a Catholic cannot Conform
to the Protestant Religion, lamo. cloth.
20 cts.
The Gentle Skeptic or Essays and
ConverAations of a Country Justice on the
Authenticity and Truthfulness of the Old
Tesument Records. Edited by the Rev. C.
A. Walworth, t voL tamo, . X 50
lO
Tho Hoetriae of Bell; TontiUtad in m
DIaoossion between Ker. C. A. Walworth
sad Wm. Henry Burr, i vol. i8mo, CO cu.
Tha Dttvont OonununicaBt. By Bev.
P. Baker. 84mo, .... SO cu.
TlM Tlnble Unity of the Catholic
Church maintained against Opposite Theo-
ries; with an Extilanation ot Certain Pas-
• sages In Bcclesiasiical History erroneousiv
appealed to in their support. Ky M. J.
Rhodes, M.A. t vols, in z, 4vo. cloth extra,
500
Z«etteni to a Probahdary. Being an An-
swer to Reflections on Po|>ery by Kev. J.
Sturgis, LL.D. By Right Rev. J. MUner.
» I
1},D, s4mo, cloth.
75 cts.
A Vindica t ion of Italy and tlio Papal
Sutes, 40 cts.
The Ooreznment of the Papal
States, 50 cts.
Fifty B ca e o M why the Catholic Bo-
ligion ought to be Preferred, . 40 cts.
Ufi» of St. John the ETangelist 2 00
Lift of Father Bemardf • • 1 50
The Mistreie of Novices Bnlii^htened
uDdn her Duties. Trsnslaicd by a Sister
cf Mercy. Net, .... 1 50
Catechiem of Christian Beligion.
iFftMcUted from the Ge^nmn r<t L/ecarbe,
by Faiider, S.J., .75 cts.
The Veil Withdrawn. F rom ti»e K t er ch
o< .Mnie. (^laven. . - . . 1 50
The Holy Conunnnion. Its Fhiloso-
pny. Theology, and Piactice. Kv John Ber-
nard Dalgairns, Pnest ol the Oratory ul St.
Philip Nerl. i vol. lamo, . . .2 00
Familiar Disconrses to the TonnflTy
Preceded by an Address to Pairents. Hy A
Catholic Priest, i vol. lamo, cloth, 75 cts.
IZemihold on the Commandments^
etc. The Commaudments and Sucraments
explained in FiAy-two Discourses. Hy ttie
Right Rev. Dr. Horn i hold, author of '' Real
Pnnciples of Catholica." lamo, cloth, 2 00
Spiritoal Cemhat. To which is added,
The Peace of the Soul and the Happiness ol
the Heart which Dies to iiseli in oraer to Live
to God. 3amo, , . . . . 40 cts.
Practical Discourses on the Perfec*
lions and Works of God, and tne Divmiiv
and Works of Jesus Chrttt. Ky Kev. J.
Keeve. 8vo, cloth, 2 50
Triumph of Beligion i or, A Choice
Selection of Adifving Narratu-es. Conipiled
from various autnors. x8mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Spiritoal Consoler i or^ Ins tractions
to Knlightea Pious Souls in their Doubts and
aJlavther hears. Written ohKinally in Latin
by Father Quadrupani. iSioo, . 50 cts.
Stories on the Seven Virtues. ByAgne.
M. Stewart, authored of *' Kestival ot tbe
Rosary.** (Tnls is a series of moral and in>
tereeting tales told with an elegant sim-
plicity, each illustrating the triumph of one
ot the seven virtues.) i8mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Oratory of the FaithlU Soul i or. De-
votions to tbe Most Holy Sacrament and to
our Blessed Ladv. Tnuislated firom the
of Venerable Abbot Hloslus. By
Aston Coffin, Priest of the Oratory,
cloth,
Bonetfs Bbditations on the
Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, lor Ei
Day in the Year. Hy Rev. J. Nouet, S.J
To which are added. Meditations on the ~
cred Heart of Jesus Christ, being those:
from a Novena in preparation lor a Fcsan
the same. Hy Fatlier C. Borgo, S.J. C
voL samo, 88o pages, ... .2
Familiar Instructions «b
Prayer. Ry the Abbd Courbon.
from the French, and edited by Rer. W. TJ
Gordon, of the Oratory, London. ivoL i<bcj
cloth, ....... 75<
Ahridsrment of the Chrislian^
Hy the Right Rev. Bishop liny. «hh>i
cloth, 3w ctti
Confidence in the IBercy of
Reflections on the Confidence in the 114
of God. By the Right Rev. Joseph Lscf
i8mo. cloth, .... 50 ^1
Memorial of a ChrisI
Containing all that a soul newly converted
God ought to do that It may attain the psTi
fection to which it ought to aspire. Ky Keti
Lewis de Granada. O.S.D. Revised and tc
rected by Rev. F. J. L* Estrange, O.^.D^
timo, cloth 75 <^
Adhenuuc do Belcastel; or, Be )
Basty m Jxtdgiagf . . . l
SSaryf Star of "Uio Sea : a s^rv of < sis- 1
olic Devotion 1 Sd{
Life of Christ. Tra'^slated from the Fremk
. of Louis Veuillol by Rsv, A. Fadey. i v..l.
ismo, . 2 00i
A Memoir of Thomas ^wing^ of Ohis.
X vol. quarto, net, . 3 00
Sacred Heart of Jesns .and the Sa-
cred Heart of Mary. Translated irom tU
Italian of Father Lann, author of ** Hi^corv
of Painting," etc. Witn sn introduction »v
Rev. C. P. Maehafi. s4mo, cloth, 50 cti.
Montil of Blary. Contataing a Series ei »
Meditations, etc.. in Honor ol the B. V. M
Arranged for each day of the Month, ttiao
cloth, .tL 40cts.
Peter Clamri A Sketch of Bis Uft
and Labors in behalf of the Atrican Slave.
1 vol. x6mo, 75 CIS.
nomiUes on tiio Book of ToMas ; sr.
A Familiar Explanation of the Prmctioal
Duties of Dome!«Lic Life. By Rev. T. Mai-
lyn. (Only a few copies of this ^ook left.)
lamo, do^, f 00
Cotmsels of a Christian Mother. 50 ct»
Shadows of the Rood. Eight Lcdu*
Lectures, % 99
The Divinity of Christ., k/ K.ght Ket
S. H. Rosecrans. D. D.. 50 ct«L
Legends of Boly Mary . 50 <<»
Lenten Lectnres. Rv the Rev. T Mt
Gulre 75ct«^
Price of a Seal, 50 eta
The Progress of the Ago, . 50 cts.
A Treatise on the Catechism, 50 ctt>
Marriage and Family Xhitiea. Hv Arch-
bishop Purceii. ... . ^c:*
The Land of the Cid. By Os
liittstrateii.
II
aadBemaalnqaliition, 3Dcu.
T— '^Tin*^ of Devotion to tlio
Heart of Jens, aod Spiritual Rou-
50ctt.
itflatloii.of Sacred Seart of Je«i&
fnm. th» JLatiD of Arnoudi. . Z DO
„ y^^^^wi Treasoro i or. The Value
rUoly Mass, 50 cts.
of the Blesied Virgin, in
r Books. iSmo, cloth, 60 cu.
btaior Cnuristian, in Sight Booki.
Ivith a Supplement. ExtTacted from' the
Wntini^ of M. Bernier de Louvigoy. iStnu,
60 cu.
BOOKS BY TBB PAUXJST
t%o King's Bighway; or, The Catli-
eUc Church the Only Way of baWation s»
Revealed in the Holy Scriptures. By Kev.
A» K. Hewit. x vol. lamo, . 1 50
QjMetlonn of the SonL By Rev. I. T.
Ilecker. Kcw edition, . 1 50
Ooth. gilt, 2 00
Aoimtiosui of Nature. By Ker. I. T.
lircker. Fourth Rditlon, revised, cloth,
eatra X 50
BtmuAUi of the Panlist Father% for
ta64. New Editltfn. Cloth, extra, . % 50
Of the Panlist Fathers, fbr
••6s uid x866. Cloth, extra, 1 50
Qalde to Catholic Tovng Women.
KipedsUy for tkose who earn their own ttv-
lug. By Kev. George Deshon, MissioDsir
Priest, t vol. ismo, . 1 00
tafb of Father Baker. Themdlb and
Sermons of the Kev. Krancis A. Baker,
Priest of the Congregation of Sl Paul.
Edited by Kev# A. K. UewiL One vol.
erown <▼<>« Pp. 5<H« .... 8 50
Ua&f-calf or morocco extra, . 4 00
SMMoa of the Panlist Fathgrs. ,VoL
VL umo, 336 pages, cioia, . 1 50
4 Newaad Enlarged Edition of Father Young's
OelheUe Bymns and. Canticles. This
edition contains twenty-one new Hymns;
saoog which sre five Christmas Carols, a
chanflng carol for Baster, entitled " The
Alleluia Bells"; several new and original
Songs for Catechistn ; the popular Congrega-
tional Hymns sung in the Paulist Church by
the RoMry and Christian Doctrine Societies,
•ad St the Way of the Cross, etc., the whole
ibrauog the roost comolete Catholic Uyvin-
Book ever published. One vol. xamo, 1 00
Pieblsma of the Age. WHk StBdIes
la St. Augustine on Kiodred Subjects. By
lUiv. ▲. F. aewU. s vol umo, extra cloth,
a 00
New and Enlarged Edition of
The Office of Vespers. Conuining th«
order of the Vesper Seryice ; the Grcgorlttn
Fsalm Tones, harmonized, with the PMkiM
for all the Vespers during the year pointed
for chanUng. Common melodies for the
Antiphons, and the Four Anthems of the
B. V: Mary. By Rev. Alfred Voung. Wkh
the Imprimatur of the Most Rev. Archbishop
of New York. fThe Gregorian Tones, an«<
the words of the Psalms, by a new and
original division, are so arranged that but
'one pointing of the I'salms, as given, la
needed for all the Tones, with their vtrlooa
endings.) Single copies, . . 75 cts
Per dozen, 5 00
B3rBins and Songs* Ibr Catholic Chi^
dren. Containing the most popular Catholic
Hymns for everv season of the Christian
Year, together vrlth May Songs, Christmas
and Baster Carols, for the use of Sunday-
Schools, Sodalities, and Confraternities.
Paper covess, 15 cu.
Cloth, flexible.
cU.
Light in Darknossi A Treatise on the
Obscure Night of ihe Seut. By Rev. A. F.
Hewit. x6mo, cloth, exUa, . . 75 cts.
The Invitatiott Btoeded 1 Reasons for a
Return to Catholic Unity. . ^7 James Kent
Stone, late President of Kenyon and Hobsrt
Colleges, t vol. xamo, ... 1 50
The LUb of the Most Bev. BL J. Spal-
dingTl^'l^t Archbishop of Baliimore. By
Kev. J. L. Spalding. S.T.L. 1 vol. 8vo,4Bo
pp., with poi trait on steel, bevelled
Soth, . 4 00
Ualf-mor 6 00
Good .Things fbr Catholic Beadns
A MlsccTlany of Catholic Bioeraphy, llw
tory , Travels, etc. ContainingTictu res and
Sketches of Eminent Persons, representing
the Church and Cloister, the State and Home,
Remarkable PUices cpn»ected with Relifnioa,
Famoui Events in all Lands and Times.
With 108 illustraaons. Be log a compilation
from the first five years of ^n^he Illustrated
Catholio Family Almanac." x vol. lamo.
2 00
I of
Kev. M.
00 cts.
Pleadings of the^Sao-
lesus. Prom the French.
Comerford. Cloth,
Chrapos and Thorns. By the author of
** The House of Yorke." x vol. 8vo, 2 00
Irish Bmigration to the United States
What it Sas Been, and What It Is. k<acts
and Reflections especially Addressed to the
Irish People intendiag to Emigrate from
their Native land, and to thos^ living In the
Large Cities of Great BriUin and of the
United Sutes. By Rev. Stephen Bme..
O.S.D. X vol. xsmo, cloth, . . Jl-eB5>
Paper, OiOou.
Sacnun Sentonarinm) or. The Sevon
Gifts of the Holy Ghost^ Exemplified IiKbe
Life and Person of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
for the Guidance and Instruction of Children.
By Rev. Henry Formby. 1 voL x6mOvl 25
lO
Tho Doctrine of Hell; ventilated in a
Ditoussion between Rev. C. A. Walworib
and Wm. Henry Hurr. x vol. iSmo, 60 cis.
The Devont Commnnicant. By Rev.
P. Baker. 24030, .... 50 ctH.
The Viiible Unity of the Catholic
(yhurch mainUined ap^ainst Opposite Theo-
ries; with an Explanation of Certain Pas-
• ugea In Ecclesiastical History erroneouslv
ap|>ealed to in their support. Ky M. J.
Rhodes, M.A. a vols, in z, Svo. cloth extra,
5 00
Z«etten to a Prebehdary. Being an An-
swer to Reflections on l*opery by Rev. J.
SturKis, LL.D. By Kiicht Rev. J. Milner.
D.D. a4mo, cloth, .... 75 cts.
A Vindication of Italy and tho Papal
Sutes, 40 cts.
The Qovomment of the Papal
States, 50 cts.
Fifty Scasone why the CathoUc Re>
tijTion oufi^ut to be Preferred, . 40 cts.
Lilb of St. John the Evangrelist 2 00
Ztifii of Father Bomardt . • 1 50
The IKIistreM of Novices Enlightened
upon her Duties. Translated by a Sistrr
tf Mtrcy. Nei, .... X 50
Catechism of Christian Qeliffion.
I r^>««^Uicd trom the GcniMii (t L»ei arbe,
by Faiider, S.J., .... 75 cts.
The Veil Withdrawn. Vutm ti»e Kiei ch
u: Mme. (.'laven. . • • • 1 50
The Holy Communion. Its Fhiloso-
pay, Thco1of;y, and l'ia(.tu-tf. Hvjohn Her-
nard Dalcairns, Priest ot the Oratory oi St.
Philip Nerl. i vol. xauio, . .2 00
Familiar Discourses to the Young',
Preceded by an Address to Purcnt.s. Hv A
Catholic Priest, i vol. lamo, cloLb, 75 cLs.
IZomihold on tho Commandments,
etc. The Coininauilmcnts miU ^ucruiucnts
explained in Fifty-two Oiscuurscs. Hy the
Ri^ht Rev. Dr. H'ornihold. outhor of '^ RchI
Pnnciples ol Catholics." i2tno, cloth, 2 00
Spiritual Comhat To which is added.
The Peace of the Soul and the liappinesN ot
the Heart which Dies to it^cll in order k- Li\ e
to God. 32010, , . . . . 40 ctb.
Practical Discourses on the Perfec-
tions and Works of God, Hid tiie Divinity
and Works of Jesus ClirifL. Ky Kev. J.
Reeve. 8vo, cloth, 2 50
Triumph of Religion; or, A Choice
Selection of EdifyiiiK Nairaiivcs. Conipilcd
from various authur:». xiiiiio, cloth, 50 cts.
Spiritual Consoler; or, Instructions
to Enli{!^htea Pious Souls in thvir Doubts and
allay ther rears. Written originally in Latin
by Father yuadrupani. iboio, . 50 cts.
Stories en the Seven Virtues. By.^Kne.
M. Stewart, authoress ot •* festival ot ihc
Rosary." (This is a scries of moral aud in-
tsrostini; tales told with an elegant siin-
plicity, each illustiuiir.jj the triumph of one
01 the seven virtues.) i8mo, cloth, 60 cts.
Oratory of the Faithfiil Soul ; or, De-
vouonii to the Must Holy Sacrament and to
our Blessed Lady. Tran^ted fron !hc ^
of Venerable Abbot Hlosiiit. By
Astoa Coffin, Priest of the OntofT. laq^i
doth -S3^l
Nonetfs Heditationfl on the Ufti
Passioti of Our Lord Jesus Christ, tori
Day in the Year. Hy Rev. J. Noy«_
To which are added.'MeditatioBsoalliiJ
cred Heart of Jesus Cfhrist, bdnf tkoael
from a Novena in preparation loraFfl
the same. Hy Kather C. Borgo, S.J.
vol. lamo, 880 pages, . ' 'W
Familiar Instmetloiu en
Prayer. By the Abb4 Courbon.
from the French, and edited by Rer.W.T.
Gordon, of the Oratory, London. itoI.iIh,'
cloth 78eU|
Abridgment of the ChristtaaDtrtriMi
By the Right Rev. Bishop Hay. ym.
cloth, 30<a
Confidence in the Mercy sf tUL
Reflections on the Confidence in ikcMen
of God. By the Right Rcr. Joseph Uenk
rSmo. cloth, .... 50 n
Memorial of a Chxistiaa Lift*,
Containing all that a soul newly coBTcrHrfto
God ought to do that U may atiun the mi-
fectlon to which it ought to aspire. Kr Rev.
Lewis de Granada. O.S.D. Revised sndur-
rected by Rot. F. J. L'Estrange, 0>.D.
tSmo, cloth TBciL
Adhemaj; do Belcastel] or, Be Ml
Hasty in Judging . . I M
Mary, Star of the Sen 2 A s^voft'sib-
ol-c Devotion, I S#
Ziifb of Christ. Trs-^ slated from rh^ FrcMi
. of Louis Veuillol by Rsv. A. Farley. 1 nL
lanic, 2 00
A Memoir of Thomas ^wiaff of OUi.
I vol. quarto, net 3 00
Sacred Heart of Jesus and the 9^
cred Heart of Mary. Translated irosi ibc
Italian ot Father Lanzi, author of "l!i*^;i.rf
01 Painting," etc. U'itn an introduitiyn :■*
Rev. C. P. Meehan. a4mo, cloth, 60 iis-
Month of Mary. Containini; a Sene« ur »
Meditations, etc., in Honor ol the H. V. M.
Arranged for each day of the Month, ante
cloth, .^ 4A*:^
Peter Clweri A Sketch of His Lift
and Labors 111 behalf ot tne Atricaa Siat-c.
I vol. i6mo, 75 <^
Zaomilies on the Book of Tohias j tr.
A Familiar Explanation of the Pnclioii
Duties of Domeiiic Life. By Rev. T. Mti-
lyn. (Only a tew copies of this booklcfi.'
lamo, clo(Ji, I 00
Counsels of a Christian Mother. 60 u«
Shadows of the Rood. Eight l.tr,:t^
Lectures | §0
The Divinity of Christ.. Ky k-gh: Kc*
S. H. Rosccraus. I>.D.. 60c'*
Leg'onds of Holy Mary ■ 60 ia
Lenten Lectures. Kv the Rev. T Mi
tiuiie. 75 ct^
Price of a SouL. 50 (u
The Progress of the Afl^c, 60 1^^
A Treatise on the Catechinn. 50 (^
Marriagre and Family Xhitiea, Mv.\rct-
bishop Purcell, ... • 25^-*
The Land of tho Cid. By Ozaaaa.
liiu»truie«i, . . I 00
<3
u
PRAYER-BOOKS.
■BTISKO, AND SNLAJtCBD KBITION OT
CATHOLIC MANUAL
miSSXON BOOS.
A BCftausl of Instructions and Prayers, adapted
to preaerre the FRurrs or tmb Mission.
Drawn chiefly from the Works ef St. Al-
phonsui Liguori. Naw. Impxovb», and Kn-
D Edition. The hands^mtst Frayer^
fuhluhtd. Edited by the Paulist
Fathers. 630 parses, illifstrated with new
Steel Bnfrravin^, ^ot up expressly for this
\ e diti on. It contains a complete Vesperal,
with notes and other additions, mainng It sso
larger than fonner editions.
$1 00
1 60
1 76
2 00
4 00
4.60
6 60
700
SditiOD, -Arabesque plain.
Arabesque, iHlt, ....
Roan, full irilt, ....
Roan, full {^ilt, clasps, .
Moro< CO, extra, bevelled, .
Morocco, extra, bevelled, clasps.
Mor., extra, ber. tooled edges, etc.
Morocco, rims and tooled edges,
Fttllcslf, . .
FuU calf, (Isxible
Foil calf, bevelled, .
Full calf, tooled edges, etc.-.
Fall calf, rims and tooled edges.
60
00
00
6 60
7 60
4
6
6
01mm Bditi«iL~Arabesque, plato, . $0 76
Arabesque, embossed, gilt edges, . 1 26
Arab., embossed, gilt edges and dps. 1 60
Koan,gilt 1 60
Roan, gilt and clasps, . . 1 76
Morocco 2 26
Morocco, full gilt 2 60
Morocco, extra, 8 60
Moracco, extn., bevelled clasps, . 4 60
T*hls edition Is printed on clear white paper
from the same type, and contains the same
natter as the 6ne edition, making it the cheap-
«t Prayer.Book ever published.
SAILT OOmPANlbM.
Contalninr a Selection of Prayers and Devo-
tional Exercises for the use of Children.
BnbelHshed with thirty-six very neat Illus-
trative Bnc ravings. 38mo, cloth, .$0 26
Arabesque, plain, 60
Arabesoue, gilt, ..... 60
Roan, gilt i . 75
Roan, full gilt 1 00
Morocco, gilt 2 00
Poll calf, antique, . • 2 60
PuU calf, rimmed and clasp. . 4 00
This book is printed on the finest quality of
paper, and is a most appropriate present for
«
OUIUSTlAirS OUIDB TO
HfiAVBN.
•■so, arabesque, $0 60
Arabesque, cilc, 76
Roaa, full gilt, 1 26
Mofoooo. extra 2 00
Fell calf, antique, , '. .8 00
FsU caU^ risuncd and cla^>, . 4 00
Containing a Selection of Prayers
tional Exercises, ztaio, cloth, .
Arabesque, plain, .
Arabesque, gilt, .
Am. mor. gilt,
Morocco, extra, .
Full calf, antique,
FuU calf, rtinmed and clasp.
and Devo-
. 1 26
4 60
eoo
8
GABDEN OF THE SOUX.1
Or, A Manual of Spiritual Exercises and In-
structions for Christians who, living in the
worid, aspire to devotion. By Right Rev.
, Dr. Challonbr. 84mo, cloth, . . $0 60
Arabesque, gilt, 1 00
Roan, full gilt, 1 60
Morocco, gilt, ..... 2 69
Full calf, antique, .... 8 00
Full calf, rimmed and clatfp, . 6 OO
THE SET OF HEAVEN)
Or, Devout Christian's Daily Companion. T«
which is added. Daily Devotion ; or, Profit-
able Manner ot Heating Mass. Illustrated-
t4mo, cloth, $0 60
Arabesque, gilt, 1 OO
Roan, full gilt, 1 60
Morocco, gilt 2 60
Full calr, antique, . 8 00
Full calt, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
Or, The Day Well Spent. A Munual of Fw-
vent Prayers, Pious Reflections, and Solid
Instructions for Catholics. z8mo.
Arabesque and cloth, .... $0 76
Arabesque gilt • 1 26
Roan, red edge, 2 00
American morocco, gilt. . . . 2 26
American morocco, full gilt, . . 2 60
Morocco, gilt, 8 60
Full calf, antique, .... 4 60
Full call, rimmed and clasp, . O 00
nous oniEB to feater and
DEVOTION.
Containing yarious Practicei* of Piety calcu*
lated to answer the demands of the devout
members of the Catholic Church. xSmo.
Arabesque. $0 76
Arabesque, gilt, 1 26
Am. mor., a lit edge, . .2 26
Am. mor., full gilt, -^90
Turkey mor., super extra, 8 plates, . $8 60
Full calf, antique, . • 4 60
Full calf, rimmed and clasp. . 6 00
This Prayer-Book contains the Profession ot
Faith, Bona Mors Festivals explained, as well
as other important things not generally fouad
ki prayer-books.
piom ouoB.
•4aM, cloCh, . . fO IIO
Arabesque, gilt, 1 00
Roan, fuU gift, 1 60
Morocco, gik, 2 00
FuU calf^ sntlqae, . 8 00
FuU calf, tian«d and clatp, . 6 M
13
BOOKS Hf PAXnOB GOVBBS.
Dr. Newman's Bopl j to Gladstone.
50cts.
Archbishop Manninsr^s Reply to Glad-
stone, • 50 ctt.
The True and the False Infallibility.
By Bishop Fessler, .... 50 eta*
The SyUabns fbr the People. Ry a
Monk of SL Augustine's, . . 25 cts.
Bt. Bev. Bishop Vanghan's Beply to
Mr. Gladstone, 25 cts.
Bishop nUathome's Beply to XOr.
Gladstone, 25 cis.
The Catholic Christian Xnstmcted*
By Bishop Challoner. . . . 20 cts.
Bossnefs Exposition of the Doctrines
of the Catholic Church on Matters of Con-
troversy. With Notes. lju-ge edition.
25 cU.
Bossnefs Exposition of the Doctrines
of the Catholic Church on Mstters of Con>
troversy. Without Motes. Small edition,
20 cts.
The Poor lllsin*s Catechism i or» The
Christian Doctrine ExplaiLed. . 25 cts.
The Poor IIIan*s ControTorsy, 25 cu.
Bnd of Beligions ControTorsy, 50 cts.
GallitEin on the Boly Scriptures.
25 cts.
Catholic Tracts. VoL I., . 60 cts.
Oakeley on the XKIasSy 25 cts.
Oakeley on Catholic Worship, 25 cts.
The Comedy of Convocation in the
English Church, .... 25 cU.
Net ftr the Pishers of Mon, • 6 cts.
PATBEB POBXVST'S BOOX&
The Parables of Onr Lord Jesns Christ.
With twenty-one illustrations, . 25 cu.
Pormby's School Songs. The junior and
Seoior School Song-Book, complete in one.
20 cu.
The Seven Sacraments. Vith Sixteei
Illustrations, ..... 25 cts.
The Seven Dolors of the Blessed Vir^
gin Mary. With Seven Illustrations, 15 cts.
The School Keepsake. With Four liius-
. trations, 12 cts.
Lift of Christ Abridged. With several
{Uustralioni, 25 ota.
Tw^ve Myiteriea ttf the B^gM
Bistorical Catechism. By M. rjMi|
Kleury. Continued down to Ibe FroMI
Day, by Father Kormby. lamo.pspercen^
10 a
Pocket edition, embossed, plam, .$1 tt
Embossed, Kill* If!
SOD
410
580
Calf, red or gilt edge,
Morocco, extra, red edgn or eiU, .
Morocco or calf, extra, full gilt, .
Tooled edee,
Morocco Turkey, bevelled.
6N
600
12bo edition^ embossed, plain. . 1 80
Embossed, eilt, 800
Morocco, 400
Morocco, extra, 500
Full calf 580
or morocco, tooled ed^e, . 7 60
«i
8to edition printed on the finest qoslily ef
paper, with Illustrated Family Kecofd,clL
Arabesque, gilt, $400
Koan, Kilt, 600
Morocco, extra, bevelled, . • •75'^
Full calf, bevelled 880
"' or morocco, tooled edfe, . 6 80
NXSW TfiSTASDlfT.
l^no cloth, $6 76
Embossed, gilt, 1 SO
Kosn, Kilt, 8 50
Morocco, extra, bevelled, . .4 00
32mo cloth, embossed, . $0 40
Amb, Kilt, 75
Roan, full clU 1 00
Turkey morocco, 2 W
KuUcalt; 6 00
FOLLgWXNG OF CHBIST.
In Pour Rooks. By Thomas St Kemp^s, w^ii
Reflections at the concltisinn ol esch chapter
Translated from the French for this cditin-
s8mo, cloth, $0 00
Arabesque, gilt 1 00
ninstrated 12mo edition. , „
Roan I 80
Turkey morocco, super extra, . . 4 00
Full calf, 5 00
Without the BefloctionsL 3*mo.
Cloth, extra 40
Roan, gilt edge, 100
Turkey morocco, super extra, . . 8 50
Full calf, 6 00
OFFICa OF HOLT wbh.
According to the Roman Missal and RrtvisiTt
In Latin and English. New and reviMd mi-
tion. i8mo, cloth, $0 75
Arabes(^ue, gilt, 1 50
Roan, gilt, . • i 99
Morocco, gilt, ... 660
Foreign Books.
Bookt ordered from this list will not he taken hack or exotanged,
A discount from prices not marked net is allowed to clergymen,
libraries^ and religious institutions.
Any of the following hooks not on hand, will be ordered if so desired.
-»♦♦-
00
60
1 20
3 00
60
A Cpmpariflon between the Hle-
tory of ilie Chnroh and the
Propheeies of the Apocaljpse, $1
A DeTont Paraphrase on the Seven
Penitential Psalms ; or, Practi-
oal Guide to Repentance. Rev.
F.Bijtb, ....
A IMalogue of Comfort agaiosi
TribulaUon. Sir Thomas More, 1 60
A Directory for Novices of every
Reli^rioas Order, . . 1 00
Adventures of a Watch, . 1 00
A Few Flowers from the Garden, 1 00
Afternoons with the Saintn. W.
H. Anderdoo. D.D. First and
Second Series,
A ilundrfMl Meditations on the
l/o\*e of God. Robert Southwell,
of the Society of Jesus, Priest
and Martyr. With Portrait.
I vol. 12nio. ....
Allies' St. Peter, his Name and his
(^Ificav as set forth in Uoly Scrip-
ture, . . r . .2
Allioa, T. W. .The ForBjation of
Christendom. 2 vols., . 18 00
Au Ksasy on the Druids, Ancient
Churches, and Round Towers
of Ireland. Rev. R. Smiddy.
18mo 2 00
An Introduction to History of
France, 1 50
Anie-Nioene Christian Library.
^ Translations of the Writio^s of
the Fathers down to A.D. 825. 24
vols. out. Per vol., . . 8 00
Apostolic Fathers. 1 vol.
J ustin Martyr and Athenagorss. 1
vol.
Tatian, Theophilus, and the Cle-
mentines. 1 vol.
Clement of Alexandria. Vol. 1.
Iren«u9. Vol. 1.
Hippolytus. Vol. 1.
Tertullian against Marcion, 1 vol.
t B<^P'i»n- Vol. 1.
The Completion of Irensus and
Hippolytus. 1 vol.
. Tlie Wriiinjfs of Ori^ep. Vol. 1.
Clement of Alexandria. Vol. 2.
Trrtullisn. Vol. 1.)
The Writings of Methodius. 1 vol.
Cyprian. Vol. 2.
Apocryphal Writings. 1 vol.
Tertullian. Vol. 2.
The Clementines and Apostolic
Constitutions. 1 vol.
Tertullian. Vol. 8.
Arnobius. 1 vol.
Dionysius, Gregory Thaumaturgus,
etc.
Lactantiufl. 2 vols.
Origen. Vol. 2 (completion).
Early Liturgies and Remaining
Fragments.
Anti^anua. Dr. HergenrOther, (2 60
Arbitration Instead ot War. Rt.
Hen. Lord Montagu, M.P.
Paper, 1 00
A Remembrance for the Living to
Pray for the Dead. Rev. James
Mumford, S.J 1 00
A Reply to Faber's " Difficulties
of Romanism.'' Rev. F. C. Hu-
senbeth. 2 00
A Series of Papers In Vindication
• of Catholicism. ^B. W. At wood,
JD. A., • . • . jw OU
A Spiritual Compendium, In
which the Principal Difficulties
in the Way of Perfection are ex-
plained. Father Gaspar de la
l«'ig<iera, of the Society of Je-
sua, 2 00
A Theory of the Fine Arts, . . 2 00
Atwood's Stromaia Procatholica.
A Series of Papers principally
Procatholic or Antidotal to Anti-
christianism, . 1 50
Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury,
Life of. Mrs. Hope, . . 2 00
Bellarmine, Cardinal. Commen-
tary on tbe Psalms. Cloth. * 2 M)
Book of Moses ; or, The Penta-
teuch, in its Authorship, Credi-
bility, and Civilization. Rev.
W. Smith, Ph.D. Vol. 1, . . 7 50
British and Irish Histoiy, a Manu-
al of. Rev. Tbos. Flanagan, . 5 00
Butler'a (liev. Alban) Meditations
and Discourses on the Sublime
Truths and Important Duties of
14
OF PABADISBi
Of)eainR the Gate to Eternal Salvatioa. lamo
arabesque, ^ 1^
Arabesque, ffilt, 1 25
Am. mor.. full eilt 2 60
Morocco, gilt, 8 60
Full calf, antique, . 4 60
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
TBB POCKXIT PBAYBB^BOOX.
A Prayer-Book for Men. This book is printed
from beautiful larj^e type, on extra fine
French paper, and, although containing 65*
paces, is only H inch thick, 33^ inches long,
ana aK inches wide. It contains, besides
Festival Days, etc., A Summary of Christian
Doctrine — Morning and Evening; Prayers —
The Three Litanies— The Complete Mass, in
I^tin and English— Vespers— and the Epis-
tles and Gospels.
Arabesque, $6 60
Arabesque, gilt edge, .... 76
Roan,glU, . . . . . . 1 25
Morocco, extra, 2 60
Full calf, 8 00
Morocco, tuck, 3 00
The Pocket Prayer- Book, n'i/Acut Epistles
and Gospels. Suitable for the Vbst Pockitt.
Arabesque, $0 40
Embossed, gilt, 60
Koan, gilt, 1 00
Morocco, 1 50
Full calf, limn, 2 00
Morocco, tuck, 2 00
TO PABADISB.
A Selection of Prayers a^d Devotiens for Ca>
iholics. 48mo, cloth, .... $0 2C
Arabesque, gilt, 40
Roan, full gilt, 75
Morocco, gilt, 1 25
Full calf, antique. ^ . . . 1 75
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 3 00
Tn^ most compi.btb Pkaybk-Book
rUBLISllBD.
THB OATHOLXC'S VADB MBCUm. •
A Select Manual of Prayers for Daily Use.
Compiled from approved sources. New and
improved edition, reprinted from the last
London edition, containing Epistles and
ooapels. 500 pages, 34mo.
Arabesque, plain, ^} 75
Arabesque, gilt, 1 00
Koan, full gilt, 1 50
Full morocco, 8 00
Full calf, 4 00
PBATBB^CKIK POB
COMTAXMINO EflSTLKS AKD GMTBU.
Arabesque, gilt edge, . .$100
Roan, full gilt, 800
Morocco, extra, 800
FuUcalf, 400
mhJtmKL OP OAT HoiJo om.
With Bpistlss and Gospbls. sSaie.
Arabesque, plain, . . . . $0 n
Arabesque, eilt, 1 JU
Roan, full gilt. 1 W
Morocco, extra, $ 00
Full oslf; extra, 400
lHaiiiud of tlui Blaaied
Published with the Approoalloa ot
nence Cardinal McCloakey.
I Arabesque, 4l 1
Roan, gilt. Ti
Morocco, extra, 3 ,
Calf, extra, 4
Thm VwMn Picfnrial Utm iflbi
Saints, Scriptural and HiMoricaL AbndtcC
for the most part, from those of the lata Ret.
Alban Butler. In packages of la each. Oh
packet now ready, conuining the llv« <i
twelve diflferent saints. Per packet, flftcni
These are got up expressly for Sunday ichssl
presents.
•f Scrlptore ,IIlQstnlMML
ig I* ifiy Engravings ot Subfecu
T)ld and New Testaments, after
Containin
from the
original designs
packages of fifty.
Testaments,
by Klster. Price.
75cts.
Twenty lUastratio^ of tho Bblr
Gospels. Done in colors alter original de-
signs. With appropriate texts, . tt5 ox
n^^imiiiated S1mds^f-S€hool
1 en Cards in each i'acicei.
First series, net
Second series, net, ....
Third series, net, ....
Fourth series, net, ....
Cirti.
fecu
OCCL
30 c»
30ctL
SUNDAY-SCHOOL CLASS-BOOIS.
The Catholic Teacher's Sunday-school Gas
Mook. No. I, paper, per dozen, . 1 00
The Sunday-school Class-books. Cloth, Ko.t.
par doz. . . • 2 00
The Catholic Publication Society,
LAWRENCE KEHOE, Gen. Agent,
9 Warren Street,
Neiv York.
»7
History of the Cbnrch in England.
Vei7 ^®^- Canon Flanigan. 2
▼ol«., . $9 00
Hljfh^r Paths in. Spiritual Life, . 50
UistoTyof the Viceroys of Ireland.
J. T.Gilbert, . . . . 3 50
Holy Confidence. Father Rogacci, 1 00
Holy Isle, The, ... 50
Homeward : A Tale of Redemp-
tion. Rev. Father Rawe8,0.S.C., 1 50
Howard. The Lif«^ of Philip Tho-
mas Howard, O.P., Cardinal of
Norfolk 3 75
Hymns of the Church, . . 2 25
lotentions for Mass and Holy Com-
munion, for every Day in the
Year, : 75
Id the Snow. Rev. W. H. Ander-
don 1 00
Ireland, A History of. Martin
Haverty 4 00
Ireland and her Churches. James
Godkin, 8 00
Ireland. A Selection from the
Family Archives of The Mc-
CJillicuddy of the R^eks, with
an Introductory Menpoir. W.
MaKiere Brady, D.O. 4io, cloth, 10 50
Ireland. Ecclef^iasti^ral History of
lr«*land, from the Introduction of
Chilstianityinto that Country to
the Year 1829. Rev. M. J. Bren-
nan, O.S.F 6 00
Iff land. Prof. O'Curry's Lectures
on the MS. Materials for Irish
History, 5 00
Irt-land. Rise and Fall of the Irish
Francii^can Monasteries in the
17th Century. Father Meehan, 75
Iteland. The Life and LetK^rs of
Florence McCarthy Reag^h, Ta-
nist of Carhery, McCarthy Mot.
Daniel McCarthy, of Glean-a-
Ci«roim. 1 vol. 8vo, . . 8 50
IrrlaLd. The Towers and Tem-
ples of Ancient Ireland. Marcus
Keare, MR. I. A., . . 8 00
Ireland. Tiie Irish Reformation ;
or. The Alleged Conversion of
tht! Irish Bishops at the Acces-
sion of Queen £lizaheth,and the
Ahsuraed Descent of the Present
Established Hierarchy in Ireland
fiom the Ancient Irish Churchy
ExfKwed. W. Maziere Brady, •
P.D 1 00
In land under English Rule. Rev.
Father Perraud, ... 4 00
Jesus Christ : A Reply to M.
Renan. Pere Gratry, . 75
Jesuitfl in Conflict ; or. Historic
Facts Illustrative of the Times
of Queen Elizabeth. 1 vol.
13mo, . . . 2 50
JetuBi the Son of Mary ; or, The
Doctrine of the Catholic C*hurch
upon the Incarnation of Ood the
Son. Rev. John Brande Morris,
A,M. 2 vols. 8vo. . ; $6 00
Julian Watts Russell, Pontifical
Zouave. A Memoir, . * . . 1 00
Lady May: A Pastoral. Lady
Cbatterton, 1 50
Lectures on Certain Portions of
the Earlier Old Testament His-
tory. Rev. Philip G. Munro.
1 vol. 12mo, . . . . 1 75
Lectures on Catholic Faith and
Practice. Sweeney, . . . 4 50
Lectures on the Lite, Writings,
and Times ol Edmund Burke.
J. B. Robertson, Eeq., . . d 00
Lectures on the (Ecumenical Coun-
cil. Rev. J. N. Sweeney. O.S.B. 2 50
Lejjfends of Our Lady and the
Saints ; or. Our Children's Book
of Stories in Verse, . . . 1 25
Letters of the Most Rev. John
MacHale, D.D., Archbishop of
Tuam, 5 25
Life and Death of the Most Rev.
Francis Kirwan, Bishop of Kil-
lala, 2 50
Life and Spirit of Father Augus-
tine Baker, 1 25
Life of Beato Angelico da Fiesole,
of the Order of Friars -Preach-
ers, 4 00
Life of Blessed Alphonsus Rodri-
guez, Lay -Brother of the Society
of Jesus. With engraved por-
trait. 1 vol. crown 8vo, . . 2 50
Life of Blessed Margaret Mary.
Rev. George Tickell. 1 vol.
8vo, . . . . . 2 50
Life- of Blessed Peter Favre, of the
Society of Jesus, first companion
of St. Ignatius I/gyola. From
the Italian of Father Guiseppe
Boero, . . . . 3 35
Life of Louis Marie Grignon de
Montfrfrt, 2 50
Life of St. Bemardine of Siena. 1
vol. 12mo, 2 50
Life of St. Dominick and other
Saints. Illustrated, . . . 5 50
Life of St. Francis of Assisium.
Kev. Father Murphy, O.8.F.. . 1 00
Life of St. Franyois de Sales.
1 vol 2 00
Life of St. German, Bishop of Anx-
erre 1 75
Life of St. Philip Neri, Apostle of
Rome. Mrs. Hope, . . . 1 50
Life of St. Walburge. Rev.
Thomas Meyrick, . . . 1 00
Lif<; of Vincent Palloti. Founder
of the Pious Society of Missions.
Melis, . ... . . 2 00
Life of Father Henry Young, . 1 75
i8
25
50
50
25
00
Life of 8tepben Lanj^too, Arch-
bishop of Canterbury, . $1
Life of Anne Catherine Emme-
rich 2
Iii<ruori nn the Reliffioas State,
Linjrard. The History and An-
tiquity of tbe Ang^lo-Saxon
Churcb. 2 veils 5 00
Linsrard's Trae Account of the
Gaopowrder Plot, . . .1
fiittle Book of tbe Love of God, . 1
Lives of the most Eminent Paint-
ers, Sculptors, and Architects
of tbe Order of St. Dominic.
Translated by Rev. C. P. Mee-
han. 2 vols., ^ . . 5 00
Lord Dacre of Oilsland ; or, The
Risin^r in the North. An His-
torical Romance. E. M. Stewart, 2 50
Jjoretto and Nazareth. William
Antony Hutchison, . . 2 50
Love of Holy Chnrch. From the
■* French of M. I'Abbe Petit. Ed-
ward Caswall, . ,1
Love for the Holy Eucharist, . 1
Luther, History of the Life, Writ-
inj^, and Doctrines of. M. Au-
din. 2 vols., . . .5
Mahometanism in its Relation to
Prophecy. Andrew Lisle Phil-
lipB, 2
Manning's Celebrated Answer to
the Rev. C. Leslie's Case Stated,
between the Chnrch of Rome and
the Church of England, . . 1
Manning's England and Christen-
dom
Manning's Essays on Religion and
Literature. Various Writers.
Edited by Archbp. Manning.
Vol. L, . . . ' . . .5
Manning. The same. Vol. II., .7
Manning. The |ame. Vol. III., 5
Manning's Love of Jesus to Peni-
tents, 1
Manning's Moral Entertainments, 2
Manning's St. Francis Assisi, the
Little Flowers of, . . .1
Manning's Temporal Power of the
Pope, 2
Mitnual of Devotions to Our Holy
Father Saint Benedict, . . 1
Manual of Devotion to tbe Sacred
Heartof Jesus. Father Gautrelet, 1
Manual of Instruction in the Chris-'
tian Doctrine, . .1
Manual of the Third Order of St.
Francis of Assisi. 2 vols., . 3
Marguerite Hibbert. A Memoir,
Margaret Verflassen : A picture
from the Catholic Church, . 1 50
Martyrs Omitted by Foxe. Being
Records of Religions Persecu-
tions in the 16th and 17th Cen-
iories, 1 25 i
6
00
00
00
25
75
00
25
00
25
00
00
50
50
•
50
25
50
00
50
8 00
3 5ft
256
ISO
Mary Magnifying God. Ber. F.
Humphrey, O.S.C., . ^25
May Papers ; or, Thoughts on the
Litanies of Loretto, . . 1 TS
Meynell's Short Sermons, chiefly
on Doctrinal Subjects, . S 00
Meditations for Every Day in tke
Year. 2 vols 4
Meditations for the Use of tbe
Clergy. From the Italian of
Scoti. 4 vols., .
Meditations of St. Ansel m, .
Meditations of St. Thomas on the
Purgative, Illuminative,and Uni-
tive Ways, for a Retreat of Ten
Days
Meditations on Divine Love.
Father Vincent Huby, SJ.,
Meditations on theVeni SanctlSpi-
ritus 90
Meditations for Every Day in the
Year and the Principal Feasts.
F. Lancicius, S.J., . . . S 25
Meditations on the Life and Doc-
trine ot Jesus Christ, . . 5 ^
Memoir and Correspondence of
Viscount Castlereagh. 4 vola, 8 00
Mllner, Life of the Right Rev.
John, D.D. F. C. Hnsenbetb,
D.D.,V.G 4 00
Month of March, St. Joseph, Pro-
^ tector of tbe Chnrch and Model
of Christians. Madame de Gen*
tellee. Paper, . . SO
Month of Mary of Our Lady of
Lourdes. Henry Laseerre, . 1 SS
Moran's Essays on tbe Origin,
Doctrines, and Discipline of the
Early Irish Church, . . 8 35
Moron's Life of Oliver Plnnket,
Archbishop of Armagh, . . 3 75
Moran's History of the Catholic
Archbishops of Dablin snce the
Reformation 8 00
Nature and Grace. William Geo.
Ward 6 00
Nazareth. Mrs. Cashel Hoey, . 1 SO
Newman, V. Rev. John Henry,
D.D., Works of. New
Editions :
Theological Tracts, . 4 00
Lectures on the Present Posi-
tion of Catholics in Eog-
land 3oO
Sermons on Various Occa-
sions 3 OO
Difficulties of Anglicanism, . S HO
An Essay on the Miracles. . 3 00
The OfBce and Work of Uni*
versities 8 00
The Scope and Nature of
University Education, . 3 00
Parochial and Plain Sermooa.
Complete in 8 vols. Per
vol.. ass
19
Sermoni on SabjectB of tbe
Da^, .... $2 26
SermooB before the Univer-
I* Bity of Oxford, . . 2 25
KsMiys, Critical and Historical.
2 vols., . . . 00
' The History of the Arians, . 4 00
Historical Sketches. 8 vols., 9 00
Liectares on Jostification, . 2 25
Callista, 2 25
Church of the Fathers, . .2 50
L Discussions and Arfromfnits, . 8 00
llerer Forgotten ; or, The Home
of the Lost Child, . 1 75
SHne Considerations on Eternity, 1 25
Of Adoration in Spirit and Truth.
I Written in Four Books. John
I Eosebius Nieremberg, S.J., . 8 00
nWer'fl Collections Illustrating
the History of the Catholic Re-
! ligion in the Counties of Corn-
wall, Devon, Dorset, Somerset,
Wilts, and Gloucester^ . . 4 00
Mirer's Collections towsrd Illus-
trating the Biography of the
Scotch, English, and Irish Mem-
I bers of the Society of Jesus, . 6 00
Dn Justification: What Saith the
Scripture ? Canon S. Eccles, . 1 50
Qa some Popular Errors Concern-
ing Politics and Religion, . 8 00
prigin and Progress of Religious
Orlers, and Happiness of a Re-
ligious State. Patrick Man-
Bock, 1 50
Oor Lady's Month, . 1 00
Our Lady's Dowry, . . 4 50
Pkganism in Education. Abb^
Oaume 1 00
Bipal Sovereignty, The, Viewed in
its Relations to the Catholic Re- *
ligion. Mgr. Dupanlonp, . . 3 00
Puticular Examen of Conscience
sccording to the Method of St.
Ifirnatius. Father Luis de la
Palma, 1 25
Peace through the Truth. Father
Harper, S. J. Part I., . 7 00
Peace through the Truth. Part
n 10 60
Perry's Practical Sermons for all
the Sundays of the Tear. First
Series, . . . 2 00
The Same. Second series, . . 2 00
Pictures of Toutiiful Holiness.
Rev. R Cook, O.M.I. 1 vol. '
16mo, 1 25
Pizarro. Life of. Arthur Helps, . 8 00
Planket, Life, Letters, and
Speeches of. His grandson, Hon.
David Plunket. 2 vols., . .14 00
Protestant Journalism, . . . 5 00
Pargttory Surveyed, . 1 50
BMOitiea of Irish Ufe. W. Steuart
TrsDcb, 5 tH)
Reflections and Prayers for Holy
Communion, . . (2 25
B^markable Conversions, . . 1 25
Revelations of Rome. Rev. J. H.
Turner, M.A., . . . . 2 00
Rise and Fall of the Franciscan
Monasteries in Ireland, . . 75
Robertson's Lectures on Ancient
History 2 00
Ritual of the New Testament.
An Essay on the Character and
Origin of the Catholic Ritual.
Being the second edition of " In
Spirit and in Truth." Rev. T.
E. Bridgett. 1 vol. 12mo, . 2 50
Robertson's Lectures on Modern
History, Biogfkphy, and Mason.
ry, 8 00
Rock's Church of our Fathers.
Illustrated withi many Engrav-
ings on Wood and Copper. 4
vols. 8vo, . . . 24 00
Rock's Letter to Lord Manners, . 1 50«
Saint Mary and her Times. The
author of Qeraldine, . . . 1 00
Selections from the Poets. De
Vere . 2 00
Septem ; or, Seven Ways of Hear-
ing Mass, . . . 1 00
Sermons — Liguori's, . . . 8 00
McCarthy's, . . 8 00
Massillon's, . . . . 8 00
Bourdaloue's 3 00
Murray's (Archbishop), . 10 60
Meynell's, .' . . . 2 00
Moroney's, . . . . 8 00
Murphy's 8 00
By the Fathers of the Society
of Jesus, . . 8 00
By Father Harper, S.J., . 8 00
Rossi's, 1 76
Newman's Parochial. 8
vols 18 00
Newman's Subjects of the
Day, . 2 25
Newman's Various Subjects, . 8 00
Newman's University Ser-
mons, . . • . 2 25
Sketches of Religious Life on the
Continent, 1 75
Spirit of St. Gertrude, ... 75
Spirit of St. Teresa, . . 1 00
Spirit of the Cur^ of Ars, . . 1 50
Spiritual Retreat of the Rev.
Father Colombi^re, of the So-
ciety of Jesus, . . . 1 00
Spiritual Works of Louis of
Blois, 1 75
St. Augustine on Christian Doc-
trine, etc., . • . . , . 8 00
St. John of the Cross, The Com-
plete Works of. 2 vols., 14 00
St. Peter's Day in the Vatican.
Canon Pope 2 50
St. Teresa, Life of. David Le^ris, 5 2u
20
St. T^re*i s Interior Castle, $1 75
St. TeresA^B Book of Fousdations, 5 00
St. Teresa's Letters, . . 1 75
St. Teresa's Way of Perfection, . 1 75
taenia, the LtttJe African Slave, . 1 00
Sumtner Talks aboat Loardes, . 1 00
Sursum ; or, Sparks Flying Up-
wards. Rt»v. H. A. ISawes, . 1 50
Suso, Blessed Henry. Little Book
of Eternal Wisdom, . 1 75
Sireener's Lectors on the Nature,
the U rounds, and the Home of
Faith 1 75
Tales and Sketches for Fireside
Reading 1 50
Testimonies to the ^ost High,
drawn fnnn the Books of Na-
ture and Rt>velation, . . 1 00
Tht» Abbt* Zouave ; or, The Life of
Joseph laouis Querin, . 1 50
TUe Abbots of St. Albans. A
Chronicle, .... 25
The Art of Dying well, . 1 00
The Blessed Cornelius, Archbishop
of Armagh. Dr. Dixon. . . 1 00
The Blened Virgin's Root traced
m the Tribe of Ephraim, . 5 00
T)ie Catholic Church in Scotland.
Kev. J. F. S. Gordon. 1 vol.
quarto, ... 13 50
The Choice of a State of Life, . 1 50
The Christian JEaop. Edited by
Dr. Anderdon 2 00
The Condition of Catholics under
JameH I. Father Gerard's Nar-
rative of the Gunpowder Plot.
Edited, with his Life, by John
Morris, S.J., . 6 00
The Corean Martyrs. Canon
Shortland, . . . 1 00
The Crown Hymn-Book, . 3 00
The Day Sanctified ; heme Medi-
tationB and Spiritual Headings
for Daily Upc, . . . 1 75
The Devout Client of Mary In-
8t.ru cted iu the Motives and
Means of Serving her Well.
Father Segneri, S.J., . 1 00
Tlje Dialogues of S. Greger to discover charges against
her. She is made responsible for
the crimes of those who called
themselves Catholics, though she
was the first to condemn their evil
deeds. The barbarism, the igno-
rance, and the cruelty of the mid-
dle ages are set to her count, when,
in fact, she was the chief source of
civilization, of enlightenment, and
• of mercy durin^hat period. When
she opposes the tyranny of kings,
Kai4 oordioff to Act of Coagress, in the year 1875. by Rer. I. T. Hkkbs, ip tfie Offico of tbo
librasian of Comtest, at Waahiagtoo, D. C.
578
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
she is called the enemy of the
state ; when she seeks to restrain
tllb lawlessness of the people, she is
proclaimed the friend of tyrants.
Against her dogmas and institu^
tions all the sciences are brought
to bear — astronomy, geology, eth-
nology, and the others. Not in
politics alone, but in all the physi-
cal sciences, men in our day stum-
ble on the Catholic Church.
We are told that she is the one
great spiritual organization which
is able to resist, and must as a mat-
ter of life and death resist, the pro-
gress of science and modern civili-
zation. These men profess to find
innumerable points of collision be-
tween her dogmas and the conclu-
sions of science, and are surprised
when she claims to understand her
own teachings better than they,
and is not prepared to abandon all
belief in God, the soul, and future
life because physical research has
given men a wider knowledge of
the phenomena of matter. Now
we hear objections to her moral
teaching — that it is too severe, that
she imposes burdens upon men's
shoulders too heavy for human na-
ture to bear, that she encourages
asceticism, celibacy, and all manner
of self-denial opposed to the spirit
of the age and of progress; then,
on the contrary, that her morality
is lax, that she flatters the passions
of men, panders to their sensual
appetites, and grants, for gain, per-
mission to commit every excess.
At one time we are told that her
priests are indolent, immoral, igno-
rant, without faith ; at another, that
they are ceaselessly active, astute,
learned, and wholly intent upon
bringing all men (^ their own way.
of thinking. Now we are informed
that her children cannot be loyal
subjects of any government ; and
immediately after we hear that they
are so subservient, so passively obe-
dient, that they willingly submit to
any master. And here we come more
immediately upon our subject; for
whereas Mr. Gladstone has de-
clared that the loyalty of Catholia
is not \o be trusted, M. de hast-
ily t asserts that ** despotic govern-
ment is the congenial government
of Catholic populations."
The pamphlet from which wc
quote these words, and which ve
propose now to examine, has been
presented to the English- reading
public by the special request of Mr.
Gladstone, and has been farther
honored by him with a prefatory
letter. The author, it is true, takes
a fling at the Church of England,
and' plainly intimates that in his
opinion it is little better than the
Catholic Church ; but the ex-prc-
mier could not forego the opportuni-
ty of striking his enemy, though he
should pierce his dearest friend in
giving the blow. He takes the pre-
caution, indeed, to disclaim any con
currencein M. de Laveleye's "rather
unfavorable estimate of the Church
of England in comparison with the
other reformed communions." The
question discussed in the pamphlet
before us, as its title implies, is the
relative influence of Catholicism
and Protestantism on the liberty
and prosperity of nations ; and the
conclusion which is drawn is that
the Reformation is favorable to free-
dom and progress, and that the
Catholic Church is a hindrance to
both.
This has long been a favorite
theme with Protestants — the wea-
pon with which they think them
selves best able to do good battle
in their cause; and doubtless it »
employed, in most favorable cir-
cumstances, in an age like ours, in
which material progress is so mark-
ed a feature that its influence mar
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
579
be traced in everything, and in
oothing more than in the thoughts
and philosophies of the raen of our
day. It is worthy of remark that
Protestantism, professing to be a
purer and more spiritual worship,
should have tended to turn men's
thoughts almost exclusively to the
worldly and temporal view of reli-
gion ; so that it has become the fash-
ion to praise Christianity, not be-
cause it makes men humble, pure,
self-denyjng, content with little, but
rather because its influence is sup-
posed to be of almost an opposite
nature. Much stress is laid upon
the physical, social, and mental su-
periority of Christian nations to
those that are still pagan, and the
inference implied, if not always ex-
pressly stated, is that these temporal
advantages are due to the influence
of Christianity, and prove its truth
and divine origin. Without stop-
ping to consider the question
whether the material and social su-
periority of Christian nations is to
be attributed to their religious faith,
we may ask whether, admittin^hat
this is the case, it may with propri-
ety be adduced in proof of the
truth of the religion of Christ }
In the case of individuals no one,
certainly, v/ould think of arguing
that prosperity proves a right faith,
or even consistent practice. To
hold that wealth and success are
evidences of religious life, whatever
it may be, is certainly not Chris-
tianity. Does the teaching of
Christ permit the rich to lay the
unction to their souls that they
are God's favored children } Were
Jhcy his friends.? Did they flock
around him ? Did they drink in his
words gladly? If men who claim
to be his disciples have deifled
worldly success, and made tem-
poral prosperity a sufficient test
of the truth of his religion, they
cannot plead any word of his in
excuse.
He certainly never paid court k)
the great, or stooped to flatter the
rich. Was it not he who said, " Woe
be to you rich: ye have received
your reward ".? and again, *' It is
harder for a rich man to enter the
kingdom of heaven than for a
camel to pass through the eye of a
needle " } Did he not take Lazarus
to his bosom when Dives was in
hell?
" Blessed are ye," he said, " when
men shall revile you, and persecute
you, and shall say all manner of
evil against you falsely tor my sake.
Rejoice and be exceeding glad ;
for great is your reward in heaven :
for so persecuted they thp prophets
which were before you."
The preaching of Christ was
wholly unworldly. He sternly re-
pressed the earthly ambitions of his
disciples, and declared that, as the
world hated him, it would also hate
those who believed in him. They
would be outcasts for his name's
sake ; if this life were all, they of
all raen would be most miserable.
Indeed, he rarely speaks of human
happiness in the customary sense ;
he passes over what might be said
in favor of this life, and brings out
in bold relief its vanity and unsat-
isfactoriness. He draws no pic-
tures of domestic bliss, and says
but little of even innocent pleasures
or those temporal blessings which
are so sweet to all ; and as he taught
that worldly prosperity is no evi-
dence of God's favor, he was care-
ful to correct the error of those
who looked upon misfortune as a
proof of guilt, as in the case of the
man born blind and of those upon
whom a tower had fallen.
Christ was poor, his apostles
were poor, his disciples were poor,
nearly all the Christians of the first
58o
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
ages were poor ; and yet every day
we hear men talk as though they
cgnsidered poverty and Christianity
incompatible. This is manifestly
the opinion of M. de Laveleye.
His argument may be stated in this
way : England and Scotland are
rich, Ireland is poor. The Protes-
tant cantons of Switzerland are
rich, the Catholic are poor. " In
the United States," says DeTocque-
ville, **the greater part of the Catho-
lics are poor." In fact, wherever
the two religions exist together, the
Protestants are more active, more
industrious, and consequently richer
than the Catholics.
This is the substance of what is
spread over a dozen pages of the
pamphlet.^ The conclusion is not
difficult to draw: Protestants are
richer than Catholics,and therefore
better Christians.
** No man can serve two masters,''
said Christ : " you cannot serve God
and Mammon." On the contrary,
says M. de Laveleye, the success
with which you worship Mammon
is the best proof that you serve God
' truly. Of course it would be for-
eign to M. de Laveleye's purpose to
stop to inquire whether the poverty
of Ireland be due to the Catholic
faith of her people or to the rapaci-
ty and misgovernment of England ;
whether that of the Catholic can-
- tons of Switzerland might not be
accounted for by the fact that they
are mountainous, with an inhospita-
ble climate and a barren soil ; and
whether even M. de Tocqueville's
assertion that the greater part of the
Catholics of the United States are
poor might not be satisfactorily ex-
plained by stating that the greater
part of them are emigrants who
have recently landed upon these
shores without a superabundance
of this world's goods.
. He had also good reasons, while
treating this part of his subject, for
not looking nearer home. He had
in Belgium, under his very eye, ooe
of the most thrifty, industrious, and
prosperous peoples of Europe, and
at the same time one of the most
Catholic. Why did he not compare
the wealth of Belgium with that of
Sweden or Denmark ? Why did he
not say a word about Catholic
France, whose wealth and thrift can-
not be denied. He does, indeed,
make mention of two French manu-
facturing towns, in which, he states,
on the authority of M. Audigannc,
the capitalists are for the most part
Protestants, whilst the operatives
are Catholics; though what this has
to do with any debatable question
between Catholicism and Protestant
ism is not easily seen.
The assertion (p. 14) that '* wher-
ever the two religions co-exist in
the same country the Protestants
are more active, more industrious,
more economical, and consequently
richer than the Catholics," is not
borne out by facts. A single ex-
ample will suffice to show how rash
M. dc Laveleye has been in mak-
ing so wide an affirmation. The
Catholics of the Rhine Province are
universally acknowledged to be
among the most thrifty and cntc^
prising populations of Prussia, and
are far richer than, for instance, the
Protestants of Pomerania.
It would not be diflScult, bj
adopting M. de Laveleye's mode
of reasoning, to turn his whole ar*
gument on this point against his
own position. Whether or not na-
tional wealth, we might say, is evi-
dence of orthodox Ciiristian faith,
there can be no doubt but that the
Christian religion is favorable to
even the temporal interests of the
lowest and most degraded classes
of society. Its doctrines on the
brotherhood of the race and the
A Sequel of tfte Gladstone Cotitroversy.
S8i
equality of all before God first in-
spired worthy notions of the dignity
of man. Then the sympathy which
it created for the poor, the suffering,
and the oppressed naturally set men
to work to devise means for tlie re-
lief of human misery. It is to its
influence that we must ascribe the
abolition of slavery, the elevation of
woman, and the thousand minis-
tries which in Christian lands attend
on the wretched and the weak.
We must infer that those nations
in which this influence is most pow-
erful — which, in other words, are
most truly Christian — will have, in
proportion to their population, the
smallest class of human beings
cursed by the worst plague known
to modern civilization, bearing with
it, as it does, a threefold degradation,
moral, physical, and social. We of
course refer to pauperism.
Now, in England, from whose
wealth M. de Laveleye would infer
the superiority of her religion, we
find that this pauper class, compared
with the whole population, is as i to
23; whereas in Ireland, which is
poor— and, according to this theory,
for that reason under the ban of
a false religion — there is but i
pauper to 90 inhabitants; in other
words, pauperism is four times
more common in England than in
Ireland. Now, whether we refer
this fact to England's wealth or to
England's religion — and in M. de
Laveleye's opinion they are correla-
tive — our conclusion must be either
that the influence of the Christian
religion, which necessarily tends to
prouioie the temporal well-being of
the most degraded classes of society,
is less felt in England than in Ire-
land, or else that national wealth is
hurtful to the interests of these same
classes, and consequently opposed
to tic true Christian spirit; and in
cither c^se we have Catholic Ire-
land more fairly Christian than
Protestant England. We would
not have our readers think for a
moment that we are seriously of
the opinion that our argument
proves anything at all. We give it
merely as a specimen of the way in
which the reasoning of this pam-
phlet may be turned against its
own conclusions, though, in fact, we
have done the work too respectably.
We cannot forget, if M. de Lav-
eleye does, that, of all sciences, the
social — if, indeed, it may be said
as yet to exist at all — is the most
complex and the most difficult to
master. The phenomena which it
presents for observation are so va-
rious, so manifold, and so vast, our
means of observation are so limited,
our methods so unsatisfactory, and
our prejudices so fatal, that only
the thoughtless or the rash will tread
without suspicion or doubt upon
ground so uncertain and so little
explored.
M. de Laveleye himself furnishes
us an example of how easily we
may go astray, even when the Avay
seems plain.
"Sectarian passions," he writes
(p. 11), " or anti religious prejudice
have been too often imported into
the study of these questions. It is
time that we sliould apply to it the
method of observation and the
scientific impartiality of the physi-
ologist and the naturalist. When
the facts are once established irre-
fragable conclusions will follow.
It is admitted that the Scotch
and Irish are of the same origin.
Both have become subject to the
English yoke. Until the XVIth
century Ireland was much more
civilized than Scotland. During
the first part of the middle ages
the Emerald Isle was a focus of
civilization, while Scotland was still
a den of barbarians Since the
S82
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
Scotch have embraced the Reform-
ation, they have outrun even the
KngHsh. ji . . Ireland, on the
other hand, devoted to ultramon-
tan ism, is poor, miserable, agitated
!)>' the spirit of rebellion, and seems
incapable of raising herself by her
own strength." The conclusion
ivhich is drawn from all this, joined
with such other facts as the late
victories of Prussia over Austria
and France, is that " Protestantism
is more favorable than Catholicism
to the development of nations.**
We may as well pause to examine
til is passage, which, both with re-
gard to the statement of facts and to
the interpretation put upon them,
fairly represents the style and me-
il)od of the pamphlet before us.
** It is admitted that the Scotch
and Irish are of the same origin***
'i'his is true, as here stated, only in
the sense that both are descended
of Adam ; and hence it would have
been as much to the point to affirm
that all the nations of the earth are
of the same origin. The Scots
were, indeed, an Irish tribe; but
when they invaded Caledonia, they
found it in the possession of' the
Picts, of whom whether they were
of Celtic or Teutonic race is still
undecided. The power of the Scots
tliemselves declined in the Xllth
centurv, when Scotland fell under
llie influence of the Anglo-Norman
Conquest, and the Celtic population
either withdrew towards the north,
or, by intermarriage with, the con-
(juerors, formed a new type ; so that
the people of that country are even
vet divided into two great and dis-
tinct stocks differing from each
other in language, manners, and
dress.
** Until the XVIth century," con-
tinues M. de Laveleye, "Ireland was
much more civilized than Scotland.
During the first part of the middle
ages the Emerald Isle was a fxas
of civilization, while Scotland v[3&
stilTa den of barbarians." Now, it
was precisely in those ages in which
Ireland was "a focus of civilixa-
tion *' that the Catholic faith of her
people shone brightest. Itwasthfn
that convents sprang up over the
whole island ; that the sweet songs
of sacred psalmody, which so touch-
ed the soul of Columba, were heard
in her groves and vales ; that the
sword was sheathed, and all her
people were smitten with the high
love of hoh^life and were eager to
drink at the fountains of knowledge
It was then that she sent her apostles
to Scotland, to England, to France,
to Germany, to Switzerland, and lo
far-off Sicily ; nor did she remit her
efforts in behalf of civilization until
the invading Danes forced her chil-
dren to defend at once their coun-
try and their faith.
But let us follow M. de Laveleye:
"Since the Scotch have embraced
the reformed religion, they have
outrun even the English. ... Iff-
land, on the otjier hand, devoted to
ultramontanism, is poor, miserable,
agitated by the spirit of rebellion,
and seems incapable of raising her-
self by her own strength.*'
We cannot think that Mr. Glad-
stone had read this passage when
he requested the author to have his
pamphlet translated into English;
for we cannot believe that lie is
prepared to lay the misfortunes of
Ireland to the influence of the
Catholic faith upon her people, and
not to the cruelty and roisgoven-
nient of England.
The Irish Catholics are reproach-
ed with their poverty, when for two
hundred years the English govern-
ment made it a crime for them to
own anything. They are taunted
with their misery, when for tvo
centuries they lived under a code
Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy*
58J
%rliich placed them outside the pale
of humanity ; of which Lord
firoughamsaid that it was so inge-
niously contrived that an Jrlsh
Clatholic could not lift up his hand
Without breaking it; which Ed-
mund Burke denounced as the most
proper machine ever invented by
tUe wit of man to disgrace a realm
and degrade a people ; and of which
iMfontesquieu wrote that* it must
have been contrived by devils,
ought to have been written in blood
and registered in hell 1
Ireland is found fault with be-
cause she is agitated with the spirit
of rebellion, when even to think of
the wrongs she has suffered makes
the blood to boil. Is it astonishing
that she should be poor when Eng-
land, with set purpose, destroyed her
commerce and ruined her manufac-
turing interests, fostering at the
same time a policy fatal to agricul-
ture, the aim of which, it would
seem, was to force the Irish to emi-
grate, that the whole island might
be turned into a grazing ground for
the supply of the English markets ?
"What a contrast,** further re-
marks M. de Laveleye (p. 12),
**even in Ireland, between the ex-
clusively Catholic Connaught and
Ulster, where Protestantism pre-
vails !"
Mr. Gladstone certainly cannot
be surprised at this contrast, nor
will he seek its explanation in the
baneful influence of the Catholic
Church. He at least knows the
history of Cromwell's invasion of
Ireland ; he has read of the massa-
< Tcs of Drogheda and Wexford ; he
knows the fate of the eighty thou-
sand Catholic Irishmen whom
Cromwell drove into the ports of
Munster, and shipped like cattle
to the sugar plantations of the Bar-
hadoes, there to be sold as slaves ;
nor is he ignorant of what was in
store for those Irish Catholics who
were still left ; of how they were
driven out of Ulster, Munster, and
Leinster across the Shannon into
Connaught — that is, into the bogs
and wild wastes of the most deso-
late part of Ireland — there to die of
hunger or cold, or to survive as best
they might. Five-sixths of the
Catholics had perished ; the remain-
der were driven into barren Con-
naught ; the Protestants settled on
the rich lands of Ulster, Munster,
and Leinster ; and now here comes
good M. de Laveleye to find that
Connaught is poor because it is
Catholic, and Ulster is rich because
it is Protestant. But we must not
forget Scotland.
'* Since the Scotch, says M. de
Laveleye, *' have embraced the re-
formed religion, they have outrun
even the English."
We shall take no pains to discov-
er whether or in what respect or
how far the Scotch surpass the
English. The meaning of the
words which we have just quoted is
evidently this : The progress which
the Scotch have made during the
last three centuries, in wealth and
the other elements of material
greatness, must be ascribed to the
influence of the Protestant religion.
To avoid even the suspicion of
unfairness in discussing this part of
the subject, we shall quote the words
of an author who devoted much time
and research to the study of the
character and tendencies of Scotch
Presbytedanism, and whose deeply-
rooted dislike of the Catholic
Church is well known:
"To be poor," says Buckle (Ifistotyof
Civilization^ vol. ii. p. 314), describing the
doctrines of the Scotch divines of the
XVIhh century — *' to be poor, dirty, and
hungry ; to pass through life in misery and
to leave it with fear ; to be plagued with
boils and sores and diseases of every kind ;
584
A Sequel of the Gladstome Coniraversy.
to be always sighing and groaning; to have
the face streaming with tears and the chest
heaving with sobs ; in a word, to suffer
constant affliction and to be tormented in
all possible way»— to undergo these
things was a proof of goodness just as
the contrary was a proof of evil. It mat-
tered not what a man lilccd, the mere
fact of his lilcing it made it sinful. What-
ever was natural was wrong. The clergy
deprived the peopleof their holidays, their
amusements, their shows, their games,
and their sports ; they repressed every
appearance of jo}', they forbade all merri-
ment, they stopped all festivities, they
choked up every avenue by which pleas-
ure could enter, and they spread over the
country an universal gloom. Then truly
did darkness sit on the land. Men in
their daily actions and in their every
looks became troubled, melancholy, and
ascetic. Their countenance soured and
was downcast. Not only their opinions,
but their gait, their demeanor, their voice,
their general aspect, were influenced
by that deadly blight which nipped all
that was genial and warm. The way of
life fell into the sere and yellow leaf; its
tints gradually deepened ; its bloom faded
and passed off; its spring, its freshness,
and its beauty were gone ; J03 and love
cither disappeared or were forced to hide
themselves in obscure comers, until at
length the fairest and most endearing
parts of our nature, being constantly re*
pressed, ceased to bear fruit and seemed
to be withered into perpetual sterility.
Thus it was that the national character
of the Scotch was in the XVIIth
century ;dwarfed and mutilated. . . .
They [the Scotch divines] sought to
destroy not only human pleasures, but
human affections. They held that our
affections are necessarily connected with
our lusts, and that we must therefore wean
ourselves from them as earthly vanities.
A Christian had no business with love
or sympathy. He had his own soul to
attend to, and that was enough for him.
Let him look to himself. On Sunday, in
particular, he must never think of bene-
fiting others ; and the Scotch clergy did
not hesitate to teach the people that on
that day it was sinful to save a vessel in
distress, and that it was a proof of reli-
gion to leave ship and crew to perish.
They might go ; none but their wives
and children would suffer, and that was
nothing in comparison with breaking the
Sabbath. So, too did the clergy teach
that on no occasion must food or dieUei
be given to a starving man, unless b»
opio ions were orthodox. Wliat need for
hfm to live? Indeed, they taught tba^ii
was a sin to tolerate his notions at ail.
and that the proper course was to xvsx
him with sharp and immedijite pnoish-
ment. Going yet farther, they broke the
domestic lies and set parents aj^ainst
their offspring. They taug^ht the fathff
to smite the unbefieving child, and to
slay his ovm boy sooner than to allow
him to propagate error. As if this were
not enough, they tried to extirpate aa-
other affection, even more sacred and
more devoted still. They laid their rude
and merciless hands 00 the holiest pas-
sion of which our nature is capable—
the love of a mother for her son. . . .
To hear of such things is enough to
make one's blood surge again, and raise
a tempest in our inmost nature. Hut to
have seen them, to have lived in the
midst of them, and yet not to have re-
belled against them, is to as utterly in-
conceivable, and proves in how complete
a thraldom the Scotch were held, and hcnv
thoroughly their minds as well as their
bodies were enslaved."
The XVIIth centurv, which
was the golden age of French lite-
rature, and also of the Catholic
Church in France, threw almost to-
tal darkness over Scotland, which
during that period was most com-
pletely under tlie power of Protes-
tantism. The clergy governed the
nation ; they were the only men of
real influence ; and yet there iras no
philosophy, no science, no poeln*,
no literature worth reading. "From
the Restoration," says Laing, "down
to the Union the only author of
any eminence whom Scotland pro-
duced was Burnet.**
If the thrift and industry of the
Scotch, are due to Protestantism^ to
what shall we ascribe theenterpri
and commerce of theCatholic rcpu
lies of Venice and Genoa during tl
middle ages?
If England's wealth to-day com
from the Reformation, how shall t*
account for that of Soain in tb
A Stquel of the Gladstone Controversy,
585
XVItH and XVIIth centuries?
And if the decline of Spain has been
brought about by the (^atholic
faith, to what cause shall we assign
that of Holland, who in the XVIIth
century ruled the seas and did the
carrying trade of Europe ? .
M. de Lavcleye's way of account-
ing for the prosperity of nations is
certainly simplCf but we douji>t
whether it would satisfy any respect-
able schoolboy. Unfortunately for
such as he, there is no rule of three
by which social problems may be
solved* Race, climate, soil, political
organization, and many other causes,
working through ever-varying com-
binations, must all be considered if
we would understand the history
of material progress. As labor is
the most fruitful cause of wealth,
there is a necessary relation be-
twfl^n national wealth and national
habits, which are the outcome of
a thousand influences, one of the
most powerful of which undoubted-
ly is religious faith. But who does
not know that climate influences
labor, not only by enervating or in-
vigorating the laborer, but also by
the effect it produces on the regu-
larity of his habits ? If the Italian
loves the dolce far nienie^ while
the New Englander makes haste
to grow rich as though some
demon whom gold could bribe
pursued him, shall we find the
secret of their peculiar characters
in their religious faith or in the
climate in which they live, or shall
we not rather seek it in a combina-
tion of causes, physical and moral ?
We have assuredly no thought of
denying the intimate connection
which exists between faith and
character or between a nation's re-
ligion and its civilization. We
are willing even to affirm that
not only the general superiority of
Christian nations, but their supe-
rior wealth also, is in great measure
attributable to their religion. And
now, bidding adieu to M. de Lave-
leye for a while, we propose to dis-
cuss this subject, to which we have
already alluded, somewhat more
fully.
Christianity certainly does not
measure either the greatness or the
happiness of a people by its wealth,
nor does it take as its ideal that
state of society in which ** the mil-
lionaire is the one sole god" and
commerce is all in all ; in which
"only the ledger lives, and only not
all men lie."
Whether we consider individuals
or associations of men, the Catho-
lic Church does not hold and can-
not hold that material interests are
the highest. To be noble, to be
true, to be humble, to be pure, is,
in her view, better than to be rich.
Man is more than money, which is
good onl^ in so far as it serves to
develop his higher nature.
"The whole aim of man is to be
happy," says Bossuet. " Place happi-
ness where it ought to be, and it is
the source of all good ; but the
source of all evil is to place it where
it ought not to be."
" It is evident," says S. Thomas,
" that the happiness of man cannot
lie in riches. Wealth is sought after
only as a support of human life. It
cannot be the end of man ; on the
contrary, man is its end. . . .
The longing, moreover, for the high-
est good is infinite. The more it is
possessed, the more it is loved and
the more all else is despised; for
the more it is possessed, the belter is
it knowi). With riches this is not
the case. No sooner are they ours
than they are despised, or used as
means to some other end ; and this,
as it shows their imperfect nature,
is proof that in them the highest
^ood is not to be found."
S86
A Sequel of tlu Gladstone Controversy.
If wealth is not the highest good
of • individuals, is it of nations ?
What is the ideal of society ? The
study of the laws which govern
national life must necessarily be-
gin with this question, which all
who have dealt with the subject,
from Phito to Comte and Mill, have
sought to answer. It is manifest
that each one's attempt to solve
this problem will be based upon his
views on the previous question :
What is the ideal of man ? This, in
turn, will be answered according to
ench one*s notions of the ideal of
God ; and here we have the secret
of the phenomenon which so sur-
prised Proud hon — the necessary
connection between religion and
society, theology and politics.
Is there a God, personal, distinct
from nature ? Or is nature the only
god, and science her prophet? It
is right here at this central point
that men are dividing; it is here we
must place ourselves, if we would
view the two great armies that in all
Christendom are gathering for a su-
preme conflict.
There is a form of infidelity in
our day — and it is the one into
which all unbelief must ultimately
resolve itself— which starts with this
assumption : " Whether or not there
is a God must for ever remain un-
known to man." It reasons in this
way : " This whole subject belongs
within the region, not only of the
unknown, but of the unknowable.
It is an insoluble riddle, and the
philosophies and theologies which
have sought to unravel it, if only
• idle, might deserve nothing more
than contempt ; but they have been
the bane of human thought, have
soured all the sweetness of life,
and therefore ought to be visited
with the execration of mankind*.
Since religion is a subject about
which nothing can be known, what
is so absurd as to spend time upoa
it } What so absurd as to divert the
thoughts of men from subjects ia
which thinking is fruitful to those
in which it must for ever remain
barren of all except evil results?
What so absurd as to set them work-
ing for a future life, of which wc
can never know whether it exists at
all, when we might at least teach
them how to make the present one
worth having ? The paradise of the
future, which the prophetic eye of
science can already descry, is/-«ibe
world, not beyond it ; and to seek iQ
hasten its approach is the highest
and only worthy object in life." As
we take it, this is the creed of modem
unbelief, to which as yet few will
openly subscribe, but toward which
all its hundred conflicting schools of
thought are moving. Few men in-
deed are able to perceive the lai-
cal outcome of their opinions, tSind.
still fewer have the courage to con-
fess what they more than half sus-
pect.
This superstition is a return to the
nature- worship of paganism, but
under a different aspect. Of old,
nature was worshipped as reveal-
ed to sense, and now as reveal-
ed to thought ; then as beauti-
ful, now as true or useful. The
first was artistic, and form was its
symbol ; the last is scientific, and
law is its expression. The religion
of humanity is only a phase of this
worship ; for in it man is considered,
not as the child of God, but as the
product of nature.
And now what has this to do
with the ideal of society or the
wealth of nations? At the basis
of all social organization lies mor-
ality, as it is by conduct that both
individuals and nations are saved
or lost. The history of tl\e hunun
race shows that religion and moral-
ity are intimately related. Thai
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
587
tliere h^ve been good atheists does
not nfTect the truth of this proposi-
tion any more than that th,ere have
been bad Christians. Men are
tisiialiy better or worse than their
l»xti^eip]es ; practice and profession
rarely accord ; and this is remarked
because it ought not to exist.
Conduct, to be rational, should be
motived, and consequently referable
to certain general principles by
which it is justified. To be partic-
ular, a man who believes in God,
the Creator, a Father as just as he
is good, has fundamental motives
of action which are wanting to the
atheist. The one should seek to
approve himself to his heavenly
Father; the other cannot go farther
than conform to the laws of nature.
To the one this life, as compared
with that which is to be, is of value
'inly as it relates to it; to the other
it '\% all in all. And since the ulti-
mate end of society is the welfare
of the associated, the one will re-
i;ard this end from a transcenden-
tal point of view, taking in time
and eternity ; the other will consid-
er it merely with reference to man's
jjresent state. Their notions cf
life, of its ends, aims, and proper
surroundings, will be radically dif-
ferent.
Suppose for a moment that re..-
gious beliefs are mere dreams, fan-
cies of sick brains ; is it not at once
manifest that human life is a much
poorer and soi-rier thing than it is
commonlv thought to be.^ As the
'•light of heaven fades away, do not
all things grow dark, leaving us in
the shadow of death, despairing or
debauched, sullen or frantic 1 The
fK>et*s dream, the mother's fond
hope, the heart's deep yearning, the
mind's flight towards the infinite, all
become flat, meaningless, and un-
profitable. Men are simply ani-
mals chained to \\\\% clod, too happy
if the Ireaven-seeking eye permitted
them to see it alone. Trouble,
danger, and physical pain are the
only evils, and virtue is the sharp-
sighted prudence which enables us
to avoid them. Self-denial is not
only useless, it is irrational. Our
apj)etites are good and ought to be
indulged. Nothing, of its own na-
ture, is sinful; excess alone is wrong;
all indulgence, provided it hurt no
one, is good — nay, it is necessary.
Whoever denies any one of his ap-
petites the food it craves cripples
himself, is maimed and incomplete.
" He may be a monk ; he may be
a saint ; but a man he is not."
When these views are transferred
to questions of political economy
and social organization, they lead
to materialistic and utilitarian theo-
ries. Society must be organiz-
ed on the basis of positivism; the
problem of the future is how to
give to the greatest number of indi-
viduals the best opportunities of
indulgence, the greatest amount of
comfort, with the least amount of
pain. This is the greatest-happi-
ness principle of Bentham and
Mill. Culture, of course, intellec-
tual and ae.sthetic, as affording the
purest pleasure, must form a feature
of this society ; but its distinctive
characteristic is wealth, which is
both the means and the opportu-
nity of indulgence.
" Wc constantly hear of the evils of
wealth," says Buckle, "and of the sinful-
ness of loving money ; although it is
certain that, after the love of knowledge,
there is no one passion which has done
so much good to mankind as the love of
money."
** If wc open our eyes," says Strauss,
" and are honest enough to avow what
they show us, we must acknowledge
that the entire activity and aspiration of
the civilized nations of our time ts >^ased
on views of life which run directly coun-
• Tht Cld Faith amdiht AV.c, p. tt&.
S88
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
ter to those entertained by Christ. The
ratio of value between the here and the
hereafter is exactly reversed ; and this
is by no means the result of the merely
luxurious and so-called materialistic ten-
dencies of our age, nor even of its mar-
vellous progress in technical and indus-
trial improvements. . . . All that is best
and happiest which has been achieved by
us has been attainable only on the basis
of a conception which regarded this pre-
sent world as by no means despicable,
but ratbcr as man's proper field of labor,
as the sum total of the aims to which his
efforts should be directed. If. from the
torce of habit, a certain proportion of
workers in this field still cany the belief
in an hereafter along with them, it is nev-
eitheless a mere shadow, which attends
their footsteps without exercising any
determining influence on their actions.*'
This is the cosmic religion, which
is preached as " the new faith,
the religion of the future." This
world is all in all — let us make the
most of it ; or, as the pagans of old
put it : " Let us eat and drink, for
to-morrow we die."
In its essence it is sensualism ; in
its manifestations it will be refined
or coarse, according to the disposi-
tions of the persons by whom it is
accepted. Now its worship will be
accompanied with music and song
and dance; at other times it will
sink to those orgies in which man
becomes only an unnatural animal.
Let us now turn to the Christian
religion, and consider its teachings
in their bearing upon the subject
we are discussing. They are the
very opposite of those which we
have just read, and proceed from
principles which are in direct con-
tradiction to the cosmic philosophy.
God is the highest, the Creator of
all things, which are of value only
as they relate to him and are in
harmony with the laws of his being.
The earth is but the threshold of
heaven or of hell, as the case may
be. This life is a preparation for a
future one, which is eternal ; and all
human interests, whether tndividtial
OF social, to be rightly understood^
must be .viewed in their relation to
this truth. Man* is essentially a
moral being, and duty, wjiich is
often in conflict with pleasure, is hi>
supreme law. He is under the ac-
tion of antagonistic forces ; seeing
the better and approving it, he is
drawn to love the worse and to do
it. Thus self-denial becomes the
condition of virtue, and warfare
with himself his only assurance of
victory.
** But he said to all : If any one
wishes to come after me, let him
deny himself, take up his cross
every day, and follow me."
Wealth, which is the world's great
slave and idol, and universal pro-
curator of tiie senses, though in it-
self not evil, is yet a hindrance to
the highest spiritual life. "If thou
wouldst be perfect, go sell what
thou hast, and give it to the poor,
and thou shalt have treasure in
heaven : and come and follow me."
As duty is tlie supreme law of ihe
individual, it follows that wo must
seek the ideal of society in the
moral order, to wliich all other
social interests should be made
subservient, or else they will be-
get only an unbounded and lawless
activity. Even education is valua-
ble 'only in so far as it gives man a
deeper sense of his responsibihty to
God, and enables him more thor-
oughly to understand and perform
his duiv. *
The social problem as between *
Christianity and modern paganism
way be stated in this way: is it \\\^
end of society to grow strong :»
virtue through self-denial, or to in-
crease indefinitely the means and
opportunity of indulgence.' On
which side is progress, on which
decline?
We cannot npw go farther into
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
589
this subject, but before leaving it we
^•isli to quote the words ofFitzjames
Stephen, who will hardly be called
a Christian, on modern progress.
** I sospect," he says* **that in many
ways it has been a progress from strength
to iMreakness ; that people are more sen-
sitive, loss enterprising and ambitious,
less earnestly desirous to get what they
Trant, and more afraid of pain, both for
tbetnselves and others, than they used to
be. If this should be so, it appears to
xae that all other gains, whether in wealth,
kno^edge, or humanity, afford no equiva-
lent. Strength, in all its forms, is life and
manhood. To be less strong is to be
less a man, whatever else you may be.
This suspicion prevents me, for one, from
feeling any enthusiasm about progress,
but I do not undertake to say it is well
founded. . . . . I do not my^lf see
that our mechanical inventions have in-
creased the general vigor of men's char-
acters, though they have no doubt increas-
ed enormously our control over nature.
The greater part of our humanity appears
to me to be a mere increase of nervous
sensibility in which I feel no satisfaction
at all."
The general superiority, and even
the greater wealth, of Christian na-
tions as compared with others we
would attribute, in great part at
least, to the influence of their reli-
gious faith, to which they owe tlieir
sentiments on the dignity and sa-
credness of human nature in itself,
apart from surroundings ; on the
substantial equality of all men be-
fore God, which tends to produce
as its counterpart the equality of
all before the 4aw, thus leading to
llie abolition of slavery, the eleva-
• tion of woman, and the protection
of childhood/ To it also they owe
their ideas on the family, which, in
its constitutive Christian elements,
lies at the very foundation of our
civilization. To Christianity they
owe the principles of universal
charity and compassion, which have
revolutionized the relations of so-
^Hbtrty, B^ttUiys Ifraitmity^ p. sao.
cial life; and, finally, to it they are
indebted for the rehabilitation of
labor, the chief source of wealth,
which the pagan nations looked
upon as degrading.
" I cannot say," writes Herodo-
tus, ** whether the Greeks get their
contempt for labor from the Egyp-
tians; for I find the same prejudice
among the Thracians, the Scythians,
the Persians, and the Lydians."
" The Germans," says Tacitus,
** cannot bear to remain quiet, but
they love to be idle; they hold it
base and unworthy of them to ac-
quire by their sweat what they
can purchase with their blood."
In the same way the Gauls looked
upon labor with contempt.
We shall have to take up M. de
Laveleye's pamphlet again ; for the
present we lay it aside with the fol-
lowing remark : If we should grant,
to the fullest, all that is here said
about the greater wealth and mate-
rial prosperity of Protestant as com-
pared with Catholic nations what
are we thence to conclude } Shall
we say that the greed of gain which
is so marked a feature in the popu-
lations of England and the United
States is at once the result and proof
of true Christian faith .^ May it
not be barely possible that the va-
lue of material progress is exagger-
ated.^ Is there not danger lest, when
man shall have made matter the
willing slave of all his passions, he
should find that he has become the
creature of this slave .^ However
this may be, might not a Catholic
find some consolation in the words
of Holy Writ ?
** And the angel that spoke in me, said
to me : Cry thou, saying. Thus saith the
Lord of hosts : I am zealous for Jerusa-
lem and Sion with a great zeal. And I
am angty with a great anger with the
nations that are rich ; for I was angry a
little, but they helped forward the evil."
TO BS CONTtNUIO.
590
Are You My Wiftt
ARE YOU MY WIFE ?
ADTBOB or **PAmiS BBrOKS TMS WAX," *NUMU» TKUmBR,** ^
CHAPTER XII.
THE BARONET IS RELIEVED. — A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY.
The night was wild and stormy.
The wind had risen to a hurricane,
and drove the rain in Raymond's face
as he walked home through the park.
It was driving the grass in cold rip-
ples over the fields, and tossing the
trees about as if it would break
them. Columns of black clouds
were trooping over the sky, and the
moon broke through them as if she
were pursued by the wind and flying
for her life. Raymond was a long
time getting to the cottage. Great
gusts swept up from the valley,
staggering him, so that he had to
stand every now and then and cling
to a tree until it passed. Then the
rain beat against his face so that he
could hardly profit by the fitful
gleams of the moon as she dipped
in and out of the clouds. He was
dripping wet when he got to his own
door and let himself in with his
latch-key. He took off his coat,
hanging it in the hall, and lighted
his candle. Franceline had left it
close to his hand with a match.
Mechanically he walked up to his
room and began to divest himself
of his drenched clothing. He hard-
ly noticed that they were soaking
and that he was wet through ; he
was flusl^ed and heated as if he had
come straight from a hot room.
How the blast roared and shrieked,
beating against the cottage till it
rocked like a ship at sea, and trying
the windows till thev cracked and
groaned! It whistled through the
chinks so that the flimsy red
curtain fluttered as if the window
had been open. Raymond pushed
it aside and opened the shutters,
and looked out. The night was
inky black, above and below, except
when^ star flickered in and out like
a gas-jet swept by the wind, and
showed the river like a bit of steel
as it flashed and quivered under the
pelting rain and .hurried away into
blacker distance. All this angry
roar was better than music to Ray-
mond. The fury of the elemenis
seemed to comfort him. Nature
was in sympathy with him. It was
kind of her to be angry and dis-
turbed when he was so distraught.
Nature had more heart than his
fellow-men. These were talking
over • his despair quietly enough
now — mocking him, very likely; but
the world around was shaken, and
tossed, and driven in sympathy with
him. A great gust came swelling
up from the river, growing louder
and heavier as it drew near, till,
gathering itself up l&e a mountain-
ous wave, it burst with a crash
against the cottage. M. de la*
Bourbonias leaped back, and, with a
sudden impulse of terror, flew out
into the landing, and knocked at
Angelique's door ; but the sono-
rous breathing of the old servant re-
assured him that all was right there
and in the room beyond. It was
pitch dark, but the reflection from
his own open door showed Fran-
Are You My Wife?
591
Celine's standing wide open.' He
listened, but everything was silent
there. He stole noiselessly back to
his room and closed the door, with-
out disturbing either of the sleepers.
The storm had reached its crisis,
and gradually subsided after this,
until the wind was spent and died
away in long, low wails behind the
woods, and the moon drifted above
the tattered clouds that were sweep-
ing toward the east, leaving a
portion of the sky stainless, with
stars flashing out brightly. Ray-
mond put out his candle and went
to bed.
Under ordinary circumstances he
would probably have paid for the
night's adventure by an attack of
bronchitis or rheumatic fever; but
the mental lever that had been
devouring him warded off every
other, and when he came down
next morning he wrfs neither ill nor
ailing.
Franceline, like her bonne ^ had
slept through the storm, and they
were quite astonished to hear what
an awful night it had been, and to
see the fields strewn with great
branches in every direction, gates
torn up, and other evidences of
the night's work. But they saw
no traces of another tempest that
was raging still in a human soul
close by them. Nothing betrayed
its existence, and they guessed
nothing — so securely does this liv-
ing wall of flesh screen the secrets
of the spirit from every outside gaze !
'passions rise^ up in hearts whose
pulses we fondly imagine close and
familiar to us as our own, and the
winds blow and the waves run high
and make wild havoc there, turning
life into darkness and despair, or, at
the whisper of the Master's voice,
illuminating it as suddenly with a
flood of sunshine ; and we are blind
and deaf to these things, and remain
as "a stranger to our orother." And
mercifully so. Many a battle is
won that would have been lost if it
had not been fought alone: AVe
hinder each other by our pity, per-
haps, as often as we help.
Sir Simon had very little appetite
for his breakfast when he came
down next morning, sick at heart
after a sleepless night, and found
the pleasant meal thoughtfully
spread in his favorite room, the
library, with the table wheeled
close to his arm-chair on the
right side of the hearth. It all
looked the very picture of comfort
and refinement and elegance. But
the cup was doubly poisoned to him
now ; last night's adventure had add-
ed the last drop of bitterness to it.
He could not think of Raymond
without a poignant pang. He
suspected — and he was right — that
Raymond was thinking of him, won-
dering whether it was really all over
with him this lime, and whether he
was bankrupt and his estate in the
fangs of the creditors ; and whether
he was driving away from the
Court never to see it again; or
whether once more, for the hundred
and ninety-ninth time, he had weath-
ered the storm and was still afloat
— even though on a raft. Ray-
mond would have scarcely believed
it if any one had informed him that
he had been the instrument of de-
stroying Sir Simon's one chance of
escape ; that he had snatched the
last plank from him in his ship-
wreck. It may have been an imag-
inary one, and Sir Simon, after the
fashion of drowning men, may have
been catching at a straw; but now
that it v/as snatched from him, he
was more than ever convinced that
it had been a solid plank which
would have borne him securely to
shore. He did not ask himself
592
Are You My Wifef
whether Mr. Plover would have
entered into his plans, and whether,
supposing he found it his interest
to do so, his fortune would have
been equal to the demand ; he only
considered what might have been,
and what was not ; and thinking of
this, his indulgent pity for M. de la
Bourbonais shrank in the bitter re-
flection that he had ruined not
only himself but his friend irretriev-
ably. They were pretty much in
the same boat now.
Sir Simon's self-made delusions
had cleared away wonderfully with-
in the last forty-eight hours. He
drew no comparison to his own ad-
vantage between Raymond's actual
position and his own. If M. de la
Bourbonais was a thief in the tech-
nical sense of the word, he. Sir Si-
mon, was a bankrupt; and a bank-
rupt, under certain conditions, may
mean a swindler. He had been a
swindler for years ; his life had been
a sham these twenty years, and he
had not the excuse of circumstan-
ces to fall back on ; he had been
dishonest from extravagance and
sheer want of principle. "Take it
first and afford it afterwards " had
been his theory, and he had lived
up to it, and now the day of reck-
oning had arrived. Many a time
he had said, half in jest, that Ray-
mond was the richer man of the
two. Raymond used to laugh
mildly at the notion, but it was true.
An ambitious, extravagant man and
a contented poor one are pretty
much on a level : the one possesses
everything he does not want; the
other wants everything he does not
possess. The unprincipled spend-
thrift and the higli-minded, strug-
gling man were then on an equality
of fortune, or rather the latter was
virtually the wealthier of the two.
But now the distinction was washed
out. The proud consciousness of
unstained honor and innennost sdt
respect which had hitherto sustained
M. de la Bourbonais and sweetened
the cup of poverty to him was gone.
He was a blighted man, who conki
never hold up his head again
amongst his fellow- men.
^ Good God ! what delirioB
possessed him .^ How could he be
so infatuated, so stupid !*' broke
out Sir Simon, giving vent to what
was passing through his miad.
" But," he added presently, **hc
was not accountable. I believe
grief and aqxiety drove him mad."
Then he recalled that answer of
Raymond's, that had sounded so un-
true at the time : " Yes, I can fan-
cy myself giving way, if the tensp-
tation took a certain form, and if
I were left to my own strength."
Tlie words sounded now like a pro-
phecy.
Of course we all know that, ac-
cording to the canons of poetical
justice, the brave, suffering man
should have been in some unei-
pected way succored in his extrem-
ity ; that some angel in visible or
invisible form should have been
sent to hold him up from slipping
into- the pit that despair had dug
for him ; and that, on the other
hand, the wicked spendthrift should
have been left to eat the bread <A
righteous retribution, and suffer the
just penalty of his evil behavior.
But poetical justice and the facts
of real life do not afWays agree.
Sir Simon, after walking up and
down the library, chewing the cud
of bitter thoughts until he was sick
of it, bethought himself that as
breakfast was there he might as
well try and eat it before it got
cold. So he sat down and poured
out his coffee, and then, by mere
force of habit, and without the
faintest glimmer of interest, be-
gan to turn over the bundle of let*
Are You My Wife?
593
bcrs piled up beside the Times on
the table. One after another was
tossed away contemptuously. The
duns might cry till they were hoarse
now; he need not trouble about
ihem ; he would be at least that
ranch the gainer by his disgrace.
Suddenly his eye lighted on an en-
velope that was not addressed in
the well-known hand of the race of
duns, but in Glide de Winton's,
and it bore the London post-mark.
The thought of Glide generally pro-
duced on Sir Simon the effect of a
needle run through the left side ;
but he took up this letter with a
strange thrill of expectation. He
opened it, and a change came over
his face ; it was not joy — it was too
uncertain, too tremulous yet for
that. He must read it again before
he trusted to the first impression ;
he must make sure that he was not
dreaming, and the words that danc-
ed like a will-o'-the-wisp before
his eyes were real, written with real
ink, on real paper. At last he drop-
ped the letter, and a heartier pray-
er than he had uttered since his
childhood came from him: "My
God, I thank thee ! I have not de-
served this mercy, but I will try
to deserve it."
He buried his face in his hands,
and remained mute and motionless
for some minutes. Then, starting
up as if suddenly remembering
something, he pulled out his watch.
It wanted five mfnutes of ten. The
law officer and the Jew creditor were
to start by the train that left Charing
Cross at a quarter past eleven. Sir
Simon rang the bell sharply.
" Saddle a horse, and ride as fast
w you can with this to the tele-
graph," he said to his valet, who
answered the summons ; " and the
moment you come back, get ready
to be off with me to London by the
raid* day train."
VOL. XXII.— 38
The telegram prepared Mr. Simp-
son to see his client appear at his
office at two o'clock that afternoon,
and, in obedience to its directions,
the Jew was there to meet him.
Glide dfc Winton had seen Simpson
the day before, and given him full
authority to settle the Dullerton
debts so as to set Sir Simon Har-
ness free. He had only arrived in
London that very morning, and it
was the merest accident that led
him to call on the family lawyer,
who was also the family's best
friend, on his way from the station
to his hotel. Simpson was discre-
tion itself, and one of the attributes
of that virtue is to know when to
be indiscreet. Glide's first inquiry
was for Sir Simon, with a view —
which the astute lawyer did not see
through — of leading up to inquiries
about other friends at Dullerton;
whereupon Mr. Simpson bolted out
the whole truth, told him of the ba-
ronet's position, the long arrears of
debt that had come against him, and:
which were to culminate in bank-
ruptcy within twenty-four hours.
It was as if the sky had fallen on
Glide, or the ground opened under
his feet.
" Thank goodness I am come in
time !" he exclaimed ; an-d there and
then sat down and wrote to Sir Si-
mon, telling him that proceedings
were stopped, and that he, Glide,
took them in his own hands.
** And this is what you call being
a friend!" said the young man, as
he and the baronet left Simpson's
office together, the one with a light-
ened purse, the other with a heart
considerably more so, " To think*ol
your letting things go to such
lengths, and that if I had been a
day later it would have been all
over !"
'* My dear boy 1 what can I say to
you 1 How can I ever repay you?*
S94
Are You My Wife t
ii
By forgiving me. I've lived
long enough to find out a secret or
two. One is that it requires a very
noble soul to forgive a nian a money
obligation, and that there is a deal
more generosity in accepting than
in conferring it. So if you don't
pick a quarrel with me after this,
and turn your back on me, we are
quits. Is it a bargain .'"
He held out his hand, laughing;
Sir Simon wrung it till the pressure
made Glide wince. This was his
only answer, and the only senti-
mental passage the occasion gave
rise to between them.
It was more than a month since
Glide had left St. Petersburg,, al-
thongh the season was still at its
height there, and Isabel's engage-
ment was to have lasted until the
end of it. This had, however, been
brought to an abrupt and tragic
close. She had acted for six weeks
with unprecedented success; every
night was a fresh triumph, and
nothing was talked of in the salons
and clubs but the wonders of her
voice, the intense reality of her
acting, and her rare beauty. Ophe-
lia was considered lier grandest
part. She was playing it one even-
ing to a crowded house, in the
presence of the imperial family
and the whole court, and seemed
wrought up to a pitch of power and
pathos that surpassed her finest
• preceding efforts. She was singing
* the mad scene with melting tender-
ness: the house was breathless,
hanging enraptured on every note,
when suddenly the voice ceased,
the prima donna cast a wild look
on eveni- sice of her, and then,
with a s>.r!ek too terriMv real to be
within the compass of art, she liung
her arms over her head, and. clasp-
ing her hands fell insensible to the
ground* Never did any openk-
house witness so dramatic a scen^
Tiie spectators rose in a body froa
the pit to the gallery, shoutiDg to
know what had happened, and call-
ing for help. Help was neat
enough. A man in plain clothes
sprang from behind the scenes, and
lifted the prostrate Ophelia before
any of the actors could interfere.
There were several medical raea
among the audience, and they rosh-
ed in a body to offer their services.
It was feared for a moment thai
she was dead ; but the doctors sooa
pronounced it to be only a swoon,
though it Was impossible to say
what might follow on the awaken-
ing. The emperor sent one of bis
chamberlains to hear and see what
was going on in the green-room, and
inquire if the piece was to be con-
tinned ; whereupon the luckless
manager flew out before the foot*
lights, and falling on his knees under
the imperial box, as if he saw the
knout suspended over his shoulders,
called heaven to witness that be
was a loyal subject and an innocent
man, and flung himself on the im-
perial clemency. The prima donni
had been seized with illness, and
the opera could not be finished that
night. The czar waved his clem-
ency to the terrified man, who with-
drew, invoking all manner of bene*
dictions on the mercy of the Father
of all the Russians, and flew to heai
what the doctors were now saying of
Ophelia. They were saying that
she was acting out her part as it
had n^ver vet been acted, with the
perfection of nature — she was rav-
ing mad.
This was not proclaimed at once-
The affair was hushed up for a fev
days, and kept out of the news-
paperar so that Glide only heaxd it
accidentally at the club, where be
happened to lounge in a week after
the occurrence. He sent Stantoo
Are You My WifeT
595
dT at once to make inquiries at the
lotise where Isabel lodged. But they
ould tell nothing of her there ; she
i«ci been taken away the day after
(er seizure at the opera, and had
eft no address. Glide went straight
D the lawyer, and asked if there was
K> way of getting access to her
hrough the police; of learning at
east whether she was in an asylum ;
or hts first idea on hearing that she
lad been taken away was that they
lad placed Iier in some such con-
ineinent. The larryer agreefi with
nm that this was most probable,
>ut did not promise much help
in verifying the supposition. He
teemed honestly willing to do what
he could in the matter, but repeated
the old warning that little could
be done where imperial favor stood
in the way. It was highly probable
that the czar would still show his
benevolence toward the beautiful
artist by screening her hiding-place
and the fact of her being mad,* in
hope of her being able to return
and complete her engagement after
rest and medical treatment.
His position now seemed worse
to Glide than it had ever been.
The thought of Isabel's being in a
mad-house, a prey to the most aw-
ful visitation that humanity is sub-
ject to, rudely, perhaps cruelly,
treated by coarse, pitiless menials,
was so horrible that at first it
haunted him till he almost fancied
he was going mad himself. The
image of the bright young creature
who had Brst stirred the pulses of
Ins foolish heart was for ever before
his eyes as she appeared to him
that day — ^how long ago it seemed !
—in the midst of the splendors of
Niagara, and that he took her for a
sprite — some lovely creature *of the
water and the sunlight. He re-
membered, with a new sense of its
meaning, the strange air she wore,
walking on as if half unconscious
he had wondered if she were not
walking in her sleep. Was it a
phase of the cruel malady that was
then showing itself.^ And if so,
was she not, perhaps, blameless from
the beginning? This blight that
had fallen on her in her brilliant
maturity might have been germi-
nating then, making strange havoc
in- her mind, and impelling her
character, her destiny, to fearful
and fantastic issues. Some weeks
passed whil.e Glide was a prey to
these harrowing thoughts, when he
received a letter from the lawyer,
saying he had something to com-
municate to him of interest.
" It is not good news," he said,
as the Englishman entered his of-
fice; "but it is better than com-
plete suspense. The signora is not
in St. Petersbufg. All our re-
searches were useless from the
first, as she was carried off almost
immediately to a lunatic asylum in
Saxony."
" And she is there still ?"
" Yes ; and she has been admira-
bly treated with the utmost skill
and care, so much so that it is ex- ^
pected she will be quite restored
after a short period of convales-
cence."
** How did you ascertain all
this?" inquired Glide.
" Through a client of mine who
has been for some time a patient
of the establishment. He left it *
very recently, and came to see me
on his return, and in talking over
the place and its inmates he de-
scribed one in a way that excited
my suspicions. I wrote to the di-
rector, and put a few questions cau-
tiously, and the answer leaves me
no doubt but that the patient whom
my client saw there a few days be-
fore his departure was the lady who
interests you."
596
Are You My Wife?
" Did you hear who accompa-
nied her to Saxony ?'*
** My client saw a person walking
in the grounds with her once, and
from the description it must be the
same who travelled with her from
England — her uncle, in fact : a
middle-sized man with coal-black
hair and very white teeth ; * decid-
edly an unpleasant-looking person'
my client called him."
" Strange !" murmured Glide.
That description does not tally
with my recollection of the man
who called himself her uncle, ex-
cept that he had a forbidding coun-
tenance and was of medium height.
He had a quantity of gray, almost
white, hair, and not a sound tooth
in his head."
" Humph ! White hair may turn
black, and new teeth may be made
to replace lost ones," observed the
lawyer. ** I would not be put off
the scent by changes of that sort,
if the main points coincided."
'* Very true. I must start at once,
then, for Saxony, and try and see
for myself. I shall have difficulty
in gaining the confidence of the di-
^rectors of the place, I dare say.
Can you help me by a letter of in-
troduction to any of them ?"
" Yes ; I am well known to the
principal medical man by name,
and I will give you a line to him
with pleasure."
He wrote it, and shook hands
with his client and wished him
good-speed.
Glide travelled without halting
till he drove up to the door of the
asylum. His letter procured him
admittance at once to the private
room of the medical man, and,
what was of greater importance, it
inclined the latter to credit his
otherwise almost incredible story.
When Glide had told all he deem-
ed necessary, the doctor informed
him that the patient whom he be*«
lieved to be his wife had alreadf.
left the house and the country alt»»
gether ; she had spent three fcdl
weeks under his care, and vas thea
well enough to be removed* an4^
had, by his advice, been takcsj
home for the benefit of native aii^l
It was just three days since ste
had left Saxony. The doctor could
give no idea as to where she bad
gone, beyond that she had returned
to England ; he knew nothing of
the whereabouts of her native place
there, and her uncle had left no
clue to his future residence.
Glide was once more baffled by
fate, and found himself again in i
dead-lock. In answer to his in-
quiries concerning the nature of
Isabel's disease, the medical nioji
said that it was hereditary, and
therefore beyond the likelihood —
not to say possibility— of radical
cure. This, it seemed, was the third
attack from which she had suffered.
The first was in early girlhood, be-
fore the patient was eighteen; the
second, somewhat later and of
much longer duration — it had
lasted six years, her uncle said;
then came the third crisis, which,
owing, perhaps, to the improved
general health of the patient, but
more probably to tlie more judi-
cious and enlightened treatment
she had met with, had passed of
very rapidly. It was, however, far
from being a cure. It was at best
but a recovery, and the disease
might .at any moment show itself
again in a more obstinate and din-
gerous form. Perfect quiet, free-
dom from excitement, w^hether men-
tal or physical, were indispensable
conditions for preserving her against
another crisis. It was needless to
add after this that the career of an
actress was the most fatal one tiie
unfortunate young woman could
Are You My Wi/ef
597
lave adcpte<L But in that, no
luubt, she was more passive than
tciive.
With tliis new light on his path,
rUde hastened his return to Eng-
Knd, farther than ever, it seemed,
rotn his jourrtey's end, and laden
rith a heavier burden than when
ie set out. March ! march ! was
rtill the command that sounded in
lis ears, driving him on and on like
the Wandering Jew, and never let-
in g him get nearer the goal.
He had not the faintest idea of
tsabcTs native place. She had told
him she was Scotch, and her name
said so too, though she was per-
fectly free from the native accent
which marked her uncle's speech
so strongly. But what did that
prove either way ? Was Cameron
her name, or Prendergast his ? He
had taken a new name in his travels,
and so had she. Still, feeble as the
thread was, it was the only one he
had to guide him ; so he started for
Scotland as soon as he landed in
England, having previously taken
the precaution to acquaint the po-
lice in London with his present
purpose, and what had led him to
it. If Isabel were sufficiently re-
covered to appear again in public,
it was probable that the brutal man
— who was in reality no more than
her task-master — would have made
some engagement for her with a
manager, and she might at this
moment be singing her brain away
for his benefit in some provincial
theatre. It was clear he shunned
the publicity of the London stage.
Clide thought of these things as he
tramped over the purple heather of
the Highlands, following now one
mirage, now another; and his heart
swelled within him and smote him
for his angry and vindictive feel-
ings toward Isabel ; and tears, that
were no disgrace to his manhood,
forced themselves from his eyes.
Poor child ! She was not to blame,
then, for wrecking his life, and
coming again like an evil genius to
thrust him^bpxk into the abyss just
as he had climbed to safety, beck-
oned onwards and upwards by an-
other angel form. She was a victim
herself, and had perhaps never meant
to deceive or betray him, but had
loved him with her mad, untutored
heart as well as she knew how.
The winter days dragged on
drearily, as he went from place to
place in Scotland, and found no
trace of the missing one, heard
nothing that gave him any hopes
of finding her. The police were
equally unsuccessful in London.
Stanton had gone back there, very
much against his inclination ; but
Clide insisted that he would be of
more use in the busy streets, keep-
ing his keen eyes open, than follow-
ing his master in his wanderings
up and down Scotland.
One dark afternoon the valet was
walking along Regent Street, when
he stopped to look at some prints
in a music-shop. The gas was
lighted, and streamed in a brilliant
blaze over the gaudily-attired tenors
z.Tid priffi€ donne that were piling the
agony on the backs of various opera-
tic songs. Stanton was considering
them, and mentally commenting on
the manner of ladies and gentlemen
who found it good to spend their
lives making faces and throwing
themseLves into contortions that
appeared to him equally painful and
ridiculous, when he noticed a lady
inside the shop engaged in choos-
ing some music. She was dressed
in black, and he only caught a
glimpse of her side face through her
veil ; but the glimpse made him
start. He watched her take the
roll of music from the shopman, se-
598
Are You My Wife?
cure it in a little leathern case, and
then turn to leave the shop. She
walked out leisurely, but the mo-
ment she opened the door she
quickened her pace almost to a
run ; and before Stanton knew where
he was, she had rushed into the mid-
dle of the street. He hastened
after her, but a string of carriages
and cabs intervened and blocked
the street for some moments. As
soon as it was clear, he saw the
flight figure in black stepping into
an omnibus. He hailed it, gesticu-
lating and hallooing frantically ;
but the conductor, with the spirit
of contradiction peculiar to con-
ductors, kept his head persistently
turned the other way. Stanton tore
after him, waving his umbrella and
whistling, all to no purpose, until
at last he stopped for want of
breath. At the same moment the
omnibus pulled up to let some tra-
vellers alight; he overtook it this
time, and got in. The great ma-
chine went thundering on its way,
and there opposite to him sat the
lady in black, his master's wife, he
was ready to swear, if she was in
the hind of the living. He saw the
features very indistincily, but well
enough to be certain of their iden-
tity ; the height and contour were
the same, and so was the mass of
jet black hair that escaped in thick
plaits from under the small black
bonnet. Then there was the con-
clusive fact of his having seen her
in' a music-shop. This clinched
the matter for Stanton. The omni-
bus stopped, the lady got out, ran
to the corner of the street, and
waited for another to come up, and
jumped into it; Stanton meanwhile
following her like her shadow. She
saw it, and he saw that she saw it,
and that she was frightened and
trying to get away from him. Why
should she do so if she were not
afraid of being, recpgnised !
was not a gentleman, and coi
no reason for an unprotected
woman being frightened at
looking fixedly at her and jm:
her, unless she had a guilt
science. He sat as near as h-
to her in the omnibus, and ^
pulled up to let her down
down. She hurried up a
quiet street off Tottenhara
Road, and on reaching a s<
tached small house, flew i
steps and pulled violently
bell. Stanton was beside
an instant.
" Excuse me, ma*am, but \
you. I don't mean to do j
'arm, only to tell you th;
Stanton, Mr. Glide's valet; y
my master's wife !*'
He was excited, bat res
in his manner.
" You are mistaken," repli
lady, shrinking into the do
" I know nothing about j
never heard of Mr. Glide, ai
not married I*'
Stanton was of course pr
for the denial, and showed t
of surprise or incredulity;
spite of himself, her tone of
ance staggered him a littli
could not sav whether th^soi
the voice resembled that o
de Winton. Its echoes had li
very faintly in his memory, \
many other voices and soun<
swept over it during the inter
years that he could not thi
affirm whether the voice he h
heard was hers or not. Bef
had found any answer to thii
tion, footsteps were audible j
ing on the tarpauling of the i
entry, and a slip-shod serva
opened the door. The lady
quickly in ; Stanton followed
** Vou must leave me I" sh
turning on him. *' This is my
Are YouAfy Wife?
S99
kbouse, and if you give any more
IJinnoyance he will have you taken
^into custody.*' She spoke in a loud
[voice, and as she ceased the parlor
jdoor was opened, and a gentleman
I in a velveteen coat and slippers
icame forward with a newspaper
^ in his hand.
\ " What's the matter ? What is all
I this about ?" he demanded bland-
|ly, coming forward to reconnoitre
; Stanton, who did not look at all
bland, but grim and resolute, like
a man who had conquered his foot-
ing on the premises, and meant to
hold it.
** Sir, I am Stanton, Mr. Glide's
valet ; this lady knows me well, if
you don't."
"Papa! I never saw him in my
life ! J don't know who Mr. Glide
is!" protested the young lady in a
tremor. "This man has annoyed
me all the way home. Send him
away !"
" I must speak to you, sir," said
Stanton stoutly. " I cannot leave
the house without."
" Pray walk in I" said the gentle-
man, waving his newspaper towards
the open parlor ; " and you, my dear,
go and take off your bonnet."
" Now, sir, be good enongh to
state your business," he began
when the door was closed.
" My business isn't with you, sir,
but with your daughter, if she
is your daughter," said Stanton.
"One thing is certain — she's my
master's wife ; there an't no use in
her denying it, and the best thing
she can do is to speak out to her
'usband peniteiit-like, and he'll for-
give her, poor thing, and do the
licst he can for her, which will
he better than what that uncle of
hers 'as been doin' for her, draggin'
her about everywhere and driving
the poor creature crazy. That's
what I've got to say, sir, and I
'ope you'll see as it's sense and
reason."
The occupant of the velveteen
slippers listened to this speech with
eyes that grew rounder and rounder
as it proceeded ; then he threw back
his head and laughed till the tears
ran down his cheeks. '
" My good man, there's some mis-
take ! You've mistaken my daugh-
ter for somebody else ; she never
was married in her life, and she has
no uncle that ever I heard of. Ha !
ha! ha! It's the best joke I ever
heard in my life !"
" Excuse me ; it an't no joke at
all !" protested Stanton, nettled,
and resolved not to be shaken by
the ring of honesty there was in the
man's laugh. " You mayn't know
the person that calls himself her
uncle, but I do, sir. Mayhap you
are duped by the rascal yourself;
but it'll all come out now. I have
it all in the palm of my hand." And
he opened that capacious member
and closed it again significantly.
" Your daughter must either come
away with me quietly, or I'll call
the police and have her taken off
whether she will or no !" ^
" I tell you, man, you are under
some preposterous mistake," said the
gentleman, his blandness all gone,
and his choler rising. " My name
is Honey. I am a clerk in H
Bank, and my daughter, Eliza Jane
Honey, has never left me since
she was born. She is an artist,
a singer, and gives lessons in sing-
ing in some of the first houses in
London !"
"Singer! Singing lessons! Ha!
Just so ! I know it all," said Stan-
ton, his mouth compressing itself
in a saturnine smile. " I know it
all, and I tell you I don't leave this
'ouse without her."
"Gonfound yourinsolence ! What
do you mean? You'd better be.
6oo
Are You My Wife f
gone this instant, or I'll call the po-
lice and %\\^you into custody!"
" No, sir, don't try it ; it won't
answer," said Stanton, imperturba-
ble. " It *ud only make more trou-
ble ; the poor thing has^enough on
her already, and I'm not the one to
make more for her. If you call in
the police I've something 'ere,"
slapping his waistcoat pocket, " as
'ud settle at once which of us was
to be took up."
Before Mr. Honey could say
anything in answer to this, a voice
came carrolling down tlie stairs,
singing some air from an opera,
rich with trills ^w^fioriture,
" There it is ! The very voice !
The very tune I've 'eard her sing
in the drawing-room at Lanwold !"
exclaimed Stanton.
The singer dashed into the room,
but broke off in her trills on see-
ing him.
** What ! you are not gone }
Papa, who is he ?"
** My dear, he is either a madman
or — or worse," said her father.
** It's the most extraordinary thing
I ever heard in my life !"
** Speak out, ma'am, and don't you
fear I'll do you any 'arm ; my master
wouldn't 'ave it, not for all the
money he's worth. Nobody knows
the sum he's spent on them detec-
tives already to try and catch you;
and it speaks badly for the lot to
say they've not caught you long
ago. But don't you be afraid of me,
ma'am !" urged Stanton, making his
voice as mild as he could.
Eliza Jane's answer was a peal
of laughter.
" Why should I be afraid of you }
I never laid my eyes on you before,
•or you on me ; you mistake me for
somebody else, I tell you. I never
heard of Mr. Glide, and I am cer-
tain he never heard of me. The
•idea of your insisting that I'm his
wife ! " And she laughed again ; bit
there was a nervous twitch aboat
her mouth, and Stanton saw it.
*' As like as two peas in a pod !'*
was his emphatic remark, as he de-
liberately scanned her face.
There was no denying the rcsesa-
blance, indeed. The face vai
fuller, the features more developed,
but the interval of years would ex-
plain that.
" Look at roy hand ! You see I
have no wedding-ring.^ Ask roe a
few questions ; you will find out the
blunder at once, if you only try,"
she said.
Stanton paused for a moment, as
if trying to recall something that
might serve as a test.
"I'ave it!" he said, looking up
with a look of triumph. **Open
your mouth, ma'am, and let me look
into it!"
He advanced towards her, ex-
pecting instant compliance. But
Miss Honey rushed behind her
father with a cry of terror and dis-
gust. The movement was perfectly
natural under the circumstances
but Stanton saw it in the light or
his own suspicions.
" Ha ! I guessed as much," I»c
said, drawing away, and speaking in
a quiet tone of regret. "I wi^
sure of it. Well, you give me no
choice. I know my dooty to a 1 fh.
but I know my dooty to my nu^^Vr
too.*' He went toward the wir.d«;T,
intending to throw it up and calH<''
a policeman.
'' Stop !" cried Mr. Honey. "Wiul
do you expect to find in my daugi^
ter's mouth .?"
" That, sir, is known to her and
to me," was the oracular rfjily.
" If she has nothing in it as caa
convict her, she needn't be afraid'i
to let me look into it,"
Mr. Honey turned aside, touchf^-
his forehead with his forefinger. and
Are You My Wife?
6oi
pointea with the thumb toward
Stanton. After this rapid and sig-
fiea.nt little pantdniime, he said
aloud to his daughter :
** My dear, perhaps it is as well
to let the man have his way. He
mrill see that there is nothing to see.
Come and gratify his singular curi-
osity."
'i*he girl was now too frightened
to see the ludicrous side of the per-
formance ; sli|^ advanced gravely to
the table, on which a gas-burner
threw a strong, clear light, and open-
ed her mouth. Stanton came and
peered into it. " Please to lift the
left side as wide open as you can,
raa'am ; it was the third tooth from
the back of her left jaw."
She did as he desired, but, after
looking closely all round, he could
see nothing but two (ine, pearly
rows of teeth, all ivory, without the
smallest glimmer of gold or silver
to attest the presence of even an
unsound one.
" I beg your pardon, ma'am !
I beg a thousand pardons, sir ! I
nnd I've made, a great mistake !
I've behaved shameful rude to you
and the young lady ; but I hope
you'll forgive me. I was only do-
ing ray dooty to my master. I'm
sorrier than I can say for my mis-
take!". Both father and daughter
were too thankful to be rid of him
to withhold their free and uncondi-
tional pardon. They even went
the length of regretting that he had
had so much trouble and such an
unpleasant adventure all to no pur-
pose, and cordially wished him bet-
ter success next time, as he with-
drew, profusely apologizing.
** Papa, he must be an escaped
lunatic!" cried the young lady, as
the hall-door closed on Stanton.
"I dare say they took me for a
maniac, and indeed no wonder !"
was Stanton's reflection, as he
heard a peal of laughter through
the window.
The adventure left, nevertheless,
an uneasy feeling on his mind, and
the next day he called on Mr.
Peckitt, the dentist, and related it.
Mr. Peckitt had not seen the wear-
er of the silver tooth since the time
he had attended her before her de-
parture for Berlin ; but he had seen
her uncle, and made an entire set
of false teeth for him. He took
the liberty on first seeing him of in-
quiring for the young lady ; but her
uncle answered curtly that she was
in no need of dental services at pre-
sent, and turned off the subject by
some irrelevant remark. Mr. Peck-
itt, of course, took the hint, and nev-
er reverted to it. Tiiis was all he
had to tell Stanton ; but he did not
confirm the valet's certainty as to
the non-identity of Miss Honey on
the grounds of the absence of the
silver tooth. It was, he thought,
improbable that his patient should
have parted with that odd append-
age, and that, if so, she should have
gone to a strange dentist to have it
replaced by an ordinary tooth ; but
either of these alternatives was pos-
sible.
This was all the information that
Stanton had for his master when
the latter returned from his boot-
less search in Scotland.
On the following day Sir Simon
Harness came to London and
heard of the strange adventure.
He was inclined to attach more
importance to it than Glide appa-
rently did.
" Suppose this so-called Eliza
Jane Honey should not have been
Isabel,*' he said, "but some one
like her — the same whom you saw
at Dieppe.^" Glide shook his
head.
"Impossible! /could not be
deceived, though Stanton might.
6o2
Are You My Wiftt
This Miss Honey, too, was fuller in
the face, and altogether a more ro-
bust person, than Isabel, as Stanton
remembers her. Now, after the ter-
rible attack that she has suffered
lately, it is much more likely that
she is worn and thin, poof child I"
" That is true. Still, there re-
mains the coincidence of the splen-
did voice and of her being an ar-
tist. If I were you, I would not
rest till I saw her myself."
" It would only make assurance
doubly sure. Stanton has startled
me over and over again for nothing.
Every pair of black eyes and bright
complexion that he sees gives him
a turn, as he says, and sets him off
on the chase. No ; the woman I
saw at Dieppe was my wife — I am
as sure of that as of my own iden-
tity. I did not get near enough to
her to say, * Are you my wife ?* but
I am as certain of it as if I had."
He promised, however, to satisfy
Sir Simon, that he would go to
Tottenham Court and see Miss
Honey.
While Glide s tongue was engaged
on this absorbing topic, he was
mentally reverting to another sub-
ject which was scarcely less absorb-
mg, and which was closer to his
heart. His love for Franceline
had not abated one atom of its ar-
dor since absence and a far more
impassable gulf had parted him from
her ; her image reigned supreme in
his heart still, and accompanied
him in his waking and sleeping
thoughts. He felt no compunction^
for this. His conscience tendered
-full and unflinching allegiance to
the letter of the moral law, but it
was in bondage to none of those
finer spiritual tenets that ruled and
influenced Franceline. He would
have cut off his right hand rather
than outrage her memory by so
much as an unworthy thought; but
he gave his heart full freedom to
retain and foster its love for her.
He had not her clear spiritual in-
sight to discern the sinfulness of
this, any more than he had her deep
inward strength to enable him to
crush the sin out of his heart, erea
if he had tried, which he did not
It was his misfortune, not hts fault,
that his love for her was unlawfttL
Nothing could make it guilty ; that
was in his own power, and the
purity of its object w^ its best pro-
tection. She was an angel, and
could only be worshipped with the
reverent love that one of her own
pure kindred spirits might accept
without offence or contamination.
Such was Glide's code, and, if he
wanted any internal proof of bis
own loyalty to sanction it, he had it
in the shape of many deep-drawn
sighs — prayers, he called them, and
perhaps they were — that Franceline
might not suffer on his account,
but might forget him, and be happy
after a time with some worthier
husband. He had been quite hon-
est when he sighed these sighs — at
least he thought h^ was ; yet when
Sir Simon, meaning to console him
and make things smooth and com-
fortable, assured him emphatically
that they had been both happily
mistaken in the nature of France-
line's feelings, and then basely and
cruelly insinuated that PonsoobT
Anwyll was in a fair way to make
her a good husband by and by,
Glide felt a pang more acute than
any he had yet experienced. This
is often the case with us. We nerer
know how much insincerity there is
in the best of our prayers — the anti-
self ones — until we are threatened
with the grant of them.
Sir Simon said nothing about the
stolen ring. His friendship for
Raymond partook of that stron|r
personal feeling which made an)
dishonor in its object touch him
like a personal stain. He could
Are You My Wife t
603
not bear even to admit it to hini-
sdf that his ideal was destroyed.
IWI. de la Bourbonais had been liis
ideal of truth, of manly indepen-
dence, of everything that was noble.
simple, and good. There are many
intervals in the scale that separates
the ordinary honest man from the
ideal man of honor. Sir Simon
could count several of the former
class ; but he knew but one of the
higher type. ^He had never known
any one whom he would have
placed on the same pinnacle of un-
sullied, impregnable honor with
Raymond. Now that he had fall-
en, it seemed as if the very strong-
hold of Sir Simon's own faith had
surrendered ; he could disbelieve
everything, he could doubt every-
hody. Where was truth to be
found, who was to be trusted, since
Raymond de la Bourbonais had
failed t But meantime he would
screen him as long as he could.
He would not be the first to speak
of his disgrace to any one. He
told Glide li«w Raymond had lost,
for him, a considerable sum of
money recently, through the dis-
honesty of a bank, and how he had
borne the loss with the mosf in-
credible philosophy, because just
then it so happened he did not
want the money ; but since then
Franceline's health had become
very delicate, and she was ordered
to a warm climate, and these few
hundreds would have enabled him
to take her there, and her father was
now bitterly lamenting the loss.
de la Bourbonais would make no
difficulty in accepting the service
from you."
" Humph ! As ill-luck will have
it, there is a coldness between us at
present,*' said Sir Simon — " a little
tifif that will blow off after a while*
but meanwhile Bourbonais is as un-
approachable as a porcupine. He's
as proud as Lucifer at any time,
and 'I fear there is no one but my-
self from whom he would accept a
service of the kind."
** Could not Langrove manage
it "i They seemed on affectionate
terms," said Glide.
" Oh ! no, oh ! no. That would
never do !" said Sir Simon quickly.
" I don't see any one at DuUerton
but myself who could attempt it."
" Well, but some one must, since
you say you can't," argued Glide
with imputience. ** When do you
return to the Gourt ?"
" I did not mean to return just
yet a while. You see, I have a
great deal of business to look to —
of a pleasant sort, thanks to you,
my dear boy, but still imperative
and admitting of no delay. I can't
possibly leave town until it has
been settled."
** I should have thought Simpson
might have attended to it. I sup-
pose you mean legal matters .^" said
the young man with some asperity.
He could not understand Sir Si-
mon's being hindered by mere bu-
siness from sparing a day in a case
of such emergency, and for such a
friend. It was unlike him to be
Glide was all excitement in a ipo- selfish, and this was downright
ment.
" But now you can supply them ?"
he cried. " Or rather let me do it
through you ! I must not, of
course, appear; but it will be
something to know I am of use to
her — to both of them. You can
easily manage it, can you not } M.
TO BSCONTIKUBD.
heartlessness.
"Simpson.^ To be sure!" ex-
claimed the baronet jubilantly,
starting up and seizing his hat.
** I will be off and see him this
minute. Simpson is sure to hit on
some device ; he's never at a loss
for anythirfg."
<504
The Story of Evangeline in Prose.
THE STORY OF EVANGELINE IN PROSE.
I SPARE you M. Jourdain's oft-
quoted saying. Too often, I fear,
I successfully imitate the " Bour-
geois Gentilhomnie" in speaking
prose without knowing it — aye, at
the very moment when I think to
woo the Muse most ardently. But
great is the courage demanded to
announce a purpose to be prosaic
— prosy, it may be — with premedi-
tation. Especially true is this
when, as in the case before me, the
subject itself ranks high as poetry.
Mr. Longfellow, in some of his
later writings, may seem to aim
at, or does, perhaps, unconsciously
catch, that tone, made fashionable
by the younger Victorian songsters,
which sets the poet apart as a
being differing from his kind, and
makes him, as the English poet-
laureate does, ^*born in a golden
clime"
'* With golden stanabove.**
But in his ** Tale of Acadie" our
American Wordsworth touches with
sympathetic finger the chords that
vibrate with feeling in common
hearts. This is the lyre he sweeps
with a magic sweetness not excell-
ed by any modern English poet.
Evangeline is a poem of the
hearth and domestic love. That
is to say, though it is true the hero-
ine and her betrothed never come
together in one happy home, the
feelings described are such as might
without shame beat tenderly in any
Christian maiden'sbreast; such, too,
as any husband might wish his wife
to feel. How different is this from
the fierce passion — a surrender to
the lower nature — which burns and
writhes and contorts itself in
Mr. Swinburne's heroines ! One is
Christian Love, the other the pagan
brutishness of Juvenal's MessaliiLa.
It may be said indeed with truth
that, in portraying a Catholic maid-
en and a Catholic cqpimunity, Mr.
Longfellow has, with the intuition
of genius, reflected in this poem
the purity and fidelity blessed by
the church in the love it sanctions.
His admirers, therefore, cannot but
regret that debasing contact with the
new school of the XlXth-century
realism which, in such an one of his
later poems, for example, as that
entitled " Love," draws him to tl>c
worship of the " languors" and
"kisses" of the Lucretian Venus.
The love of Evangeline is that
which is affected by refined women in
every society — humble though the
poet's heroine be ; th^other strips
the veil from woman's weakness.
The charm of the poem is that it
transports us to a scene Arcadian,
idyltic, yet which impresses us with
its truthfulness to nature. This
is not Acadia only, but Arcadia.
The nymphs, and the shepherds
and shepherdesses, and the god
Pan with his oaten reed, put off
the stage costumes worn by them
in the pages of Virgil or on the
canvas of Watteau,' and, lo ! here
they are in real life in the village
of Grand Pre — Evangeline milling
the kine, Gabriel Lajeunesse, and
Michael the fiddler,. and the level
Acadian meadows walled in by
their dykes from the turmoil of
war that shook the world all around
them. The picture is truthful; bnt
truthful rather by the effect of the
bold touches that befit the artist
The Story of Evangeline in Prose.
605
and poet than in the multitude of
deta,ils — some more prosaic, some
T40t so charming-*-which, massed to-
ilet lier, make up the more faithful
^•or trait of the historian. The de-
seription of scenery in the poem
confuses the natural features of
I "WO widely-separated and different
sections of the country ; the Evan-
gel ine of Grand Pr6 is not in all
respects the Acadian girl of Char-
levoix or MuKlock; the history of
men and manners on the shores of
the Basin of Mines,* as depicted
hy the poet, is sadly at variance
with the angry, tumultuous, suspi-
cious, blood-stained annals of those
settlements. Strange as it may
sceni, the poem is truer of the Aca-
dians of to-day, again living in
Nova Scotia, than of their expatri-
ated forefathers. Remoteness of
time did not mean, in their case, a
. iiolden age of peace and plenty.
Far from it! It meant ceaseless
war on the borders, the threats
and intrigues of a deadly national
feud, the evft--present, overhanging
doom of exile, military tyranny,
and constant English espionage.
Now absolute peace reigns within
the townships still peopled by tlieir
descendants, and the Acadian ])eas-
ant and village maiden cling in si-
lence and undisturbed to the man-
ners their fathers brought from Nor-
mandy nearly three centuries ago.
The first few lines give the color-
ing to the whole poem. They are
the setting within which are group-
ed the characters.
^* This u the forest primcTal. The munnuring pines
and the heailocks.
Bearded with moss, and io ganneots greea, indis-
tinct in the twilight,"
stand "like Druids of eld," or
** harpers hoar" ;
• Minnt in EvangtUnt^ probably as a guide to
the pronunciation. Haliburton also gives this speli*
ing, but it is now abandoned for the old Acadian
frcack form.
"While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced
neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents dbconaolate answers t!ie
wail of the forest."
This is the refrain running through
the poem like the aria of the
** Last Rose of Summer " through
Martha,^ Yet the picture con-
veyed to the reader's mind is that
of the Atlantic coast of Acadia, or
Nova Scotia, not of the Basin of
Mines, where Evangeline dwelt with
her people. The natural features
of the two sections of country are
strikingly diverse. On the east
coast of Nova Scotia rises a line of
granitic and other cliffs, sterile, vast,
jagged, opposing their giant shoul-
ders to the roaring surges of the
Atlantic. On the hills behind, the
pines and hemlocks rustle and mur-
mur in answer to the waves. This
is the "forest primeval" and the
** loud-voiced neighboring ocean."
But on the west coast is quite an-
other scene. The Basin of Mines
is an inland gulf of an inland sea —
the Bay of Fundy. Here the gran-
ite rocks and murmuring pines give
place to red clay-banks and over-
flowed marshes. And here is Hor-
ton, or Grand Pr^. It is separated
by the whole breadth of the pe-
ninsula of Nova Scotia from the
ocean. The " mists from the migh-
ty Atlantic," which
** Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their
station descended/'
are in reality the fogs of the Bay
of Fundy shut out by the North
Mountain. Instead of the long
swell of the Atlantic breaking on a
rocky coast, we have in the Basin
of Mines numerous small rivers
running through an alluvial coun-
try, with high clay-banks left bare
by the receding tide. This last
feature of the scene is correctly
described by the poet ; but it must
be borne in mind that it is not unit-
ed with the natural features of the
6o6
The Story of Evangeline in Prose.
tMst coast. The Acadians never,
in fact, .ificctfd the Atlantic sea-
board. They sailed shuddering
past its frowning and wintry walls,
and, doubling Ca[)e Sable, beat up
llie Bay of Fiindy to where the
slithered liasins of Port Royal and
Mines invited an entrance from
tlie west. For over one hundred
years after the founding of Port
Royal the Atlantic coast of Acadia
remained a waste. A fishing- vil-
lage at Canscau on the north — a
sort of stepping-stone to and from
the great fortress of Louisburg —
and a few scattered houses and
clearings near La Tour's first set-
tlement alone broke the monoto-
nous silence of the wilderness. The
Indian hunter tracking the moose
over the frozen surface of the snow,
and some half-solitary Irish 'and
New England fishermen in Che-
bucto Bay, divided the rest of the
country between them. It was
not until 1749 that Cornwallis
landed his colonists at Halifax, and
made tlie first solid foolini' on the
Atlantic coast. IJut for generations
previously, in the rich valley of the
River of Port Roval, and aloncj the
fertile banks of the streams ilowinfij
into the Basin of Mines — the (ias-
pcreau, the Canard, and the Pe-
reau — tlie thrifty Acadians spread
their villages, built their churches,
and were married and buried by
the good Recollect Fathers.
I was a lad scarce emancipated
from college wlien I first visited
those scenes. I renitmber well my
omoli:>n when 1 drew my eyes away
from the landscape, and, turning to
my companion. Father K , ask-
ed him if there were anv remains
of the old villaiie of (J rand Pre.
To my youthful imagination Evan-
geline was as real as the people
about me. Father K uas the
l)riest stationed at Kentville, about
ten miles distant from Grand Pre
and the Gaspereau River, wr.idi
were included in his mission. He
was an old family friend, and 1
was going to spend the summer va-
cation with him. We were driving
from Windsor through Horton and
Wolfville to Kentville, passing on
our road through all the scenes dc- j
scribed in the poem. I have often
visited that part of the countrr
since then, but neve& has it made
such an impression on me. The
stage-coach then rolled betveen
Windsor and Kentville, and some-
thing of the rural simplicity congen-
ial with the poem was still fell to
be around one. T.ast year I rodebv
rail over the same ground, ar.d la-
ter on another line of railroad to
Truro, and thence around the Ba-
sin of Mines on the north throngli
Cumberland. But my feelings had
changed, or the whistle of the loio-
motive was a sound alien to the
memories of those green meadows
and intersecting dykes* Evan-
geline was no longer a H)eing 10 be
loved, but a beautiful figment of
the i)oet*s brain.
I don't know to this day whether
Father K was quizzing me, or
was loath to shatter mv bovisli
romance, when he told me that there
were some old ruins which were
said to be the home of Evangeline.
It is probable he was having a
quiet joke at my expense, as he was
noted for his fund of humor, which 1
learned belter to appreciate in hiter
years. Poor Father K ! He
was a si)lendid type of the old Irish
missionary ])riest — an adniir.ible
Latinist; well read in English litera-
ture, especially the Queen Anne
poets ; hearty, jovial, and could tell
a story that would set the table in r.
roar. And, withal, no priest worked
harder than lie did in his wide and
laborioufj mission, or was a more ten-
751^ Story of Evangelim in Prose,
607
ler- hearted friend of the poor and
ifflicted. He is since dead.
lOuring the month or six weeks
[ spent with Father K , that
\SLrX of the country became quite
'amiliarto me by means of his nu-
Derous drives on parish duties,
when I usually accompanied him.
Often, as the shades of the summer
evening descended, have I watched
the mists across the Basin shroud-
ing the bluff front of Cape Blomidun
— " Blowme-down," as it is more
commonly called by the country-
folk. At other times we drove up
the North Mountain, where the
^ Sea-fqgs pitchecf their tents/'
and, standing there, I have looked
down upon the distant glittering
waters of the Bay of Fundy.
On one occasion we rode over
from Kentville to Wolfville, and
then up the Gaspereau, at the
mouth of which
tfc
The English ahipt at their anchors *'
swung with the tide on the morn-
ing which usliered in the doom
of Grand Pr^. We rode some
distance up the valley to the house
of a Catholic farmer, and there put
up for the day. It was the day on
which the elections took place for
the House of Assembly. The con-
test was fiercely conducted amid
great popular excitement. One of
those "No- Popery** cries, foment-
ed by an artful politician — which
sometimes sweep the colonies as
well as the mother country — was
raging in the province. Father
K — r- left Kentville, the county
town, on that day to avoid all ap-
pearance of interference in the
election, and also to get away from
the noise and confusion that per-
vaded the long main street of the
village. I can remember the news
coming up the Gaspereau in the
evening how every one of the four
candidates opposed to Father
K had been returned. But at
that time I paid little heed to poli-
tics^ and during the day I wandered
down through the field to the river,
and strolled along its willow-fringed
banks. Some of those willows
were very aged, and might have
swung their long, slim wands
and narrow-pointed leaves over an
Evangeline and a Gabriel a hun-
dred years before. Those willows
were not the natural growth of the
forest, but were planted there — by
whom ? No remnant of the peo-
ple that first tilled the valley was
left to say !
Riding home next day, a laugh-
able incident, but doubtless some-
what annoying to Father K ,
occurred. Just as we were about
to turn aiiarrow bend of- the road,
suddenly we were confronted, by a
long procession in carriages and
all sorts of country vehicles, wit!>
banners flying, men shouting, and
everything to indicate a triumphal
parade. It was, in fact, a proces-,
sion escorting two of the " No-
Popery " members elected the day
before. The position was truly
rueful, but Father K had to
grin and bear it. There was no
escape for us; we had to draw up
at the side of the road, and sit
quietly in our single wagon until
the procession passed us. It was
a very orderly and good-humored
crowd, but there were a good many
broad grins, as they rode by, at
having caught the portly and gen-
erally popular priest in such a trap.
Nothing would persuade them, of
course, but that he had been work-
ing might and main for the other
.side during the election. Finally,
as the tail of the procession passed
us, some one in the rear, more in
humor than in malice, sang out:
"To h— 11 with the.Pope." There
6o8
The Story of Evangeline in Prose,
was a roar of laughter at this, dur-
ing which Father K gathered
up his reins, and, saying something
under his breath which I will not
vouch for as strictly a blessing,
applied the whip to old Dobbin
with an energy that that respectable
(piadruped must have thought de-
manded explanation.
Changed indeed was such a
scene from those daily witnessed
when Father Felician,
** Priest and pedagogue both in the village," .
ruled over his peaceful congrega-
tion at the mouth of the Gaspereau.
It has been said in the beginning
of tliis article that Evangeline, the
heroine and central figure of the
poem, is not altogether true to his-
tory as typical of the Acadian girl
of that period, as seen in the an-
nals of Port Royal ; and doubtless
this assertion can be borne out
by the records. But, on second
til oughts, it does appear, as it were,
a profanation to subject such a
bright creation of tlie poet's mind
to the analysis of history. As pro-
fitably might we set about convert-
ing the diamond into its oric^inal
carbon. The mairical clicmistrv of
genius, as of nature, has in eitlier
case fused tliC dull and common
atoms into the sparkling and price-
less jewel.
The stoutest champion of licr
sex will not, upon consideration,
contend that so absolutely perfect
a creature as Evaniieline is iikelv
l<> be found in any possible phase
^^{ society. Is not a spice of co-
quetry inseparable from all wo-
ine'n .^ Kvancjeline has none of it.
Siie i^. too, too unconscious that
iier hn'er
" W.itchc5 for the gleam of htr l.imp and her
shadow *'
under the trees in the orciiard.
She is the heroine of an idyl —
not, indeed, of unreal Arthu
romance, but of that exalted
passionless love which the vi
heart seeks, but afterwards <
soles itself for not finding. 1
ideal star does not shine upon
world ; but its divine rays fall !
ly upon many an unknown heai
the cloister.
But it is incontestable that
Acadian maidens of Port R
and Mines shared in some of
agreeable frivolities which stil
is said, sometimes distinguish t
sisters in the world. They hat
eye for a military uniform
clanking spurs even in those "
raeval " days. It is a frcqi
complaint of the French go
nors to the home authoritic!
Paris that their young officers \
being continually led into marr
with girls of the country "will
birth,'* and, worse still, often **t
out money." In the old p:
register of Annapolis can be :
more than one entry of the ui
of a gallant ensign or captain
village belle from the inland se
ments whose visit to the Acai
metropolis hitd subjugated the
lie son of Mars. Nor was
goddess of fashion altogether \^
out a shrine in close contiijiiit
the "murmuring pines and
hemlocks." Some of the naval
military officers sent for theirs
from Paris or Quebec, and t
fine ladies brought their maids
them. This is not a supposi
but a fact which can be verifie
reference to the letters of M
Goutins and others in the -ct
spondence of the time. Imagi
Parisian soubretie of the XVI
centurv in the village of G
Pre ! It is a shock to those
derive their knowledare of Ac
Ironi Mr. Longfellow's poem :
those who are familiar with
The Stay of Evangeline in Prose.
6(^
oluminous records of the day, pre-
erveci in the provincial archives,
tre aware of a good many stranger
hings than that related in them.
»tnce Evangeline was published
be Canadian and Nova Scotian
jovernnients have done much to
collect and edit their records, and
hey are now accessible to the stu-
lent. Rightly understood, there is
no reason why the flood of light thus
ihrown upon the lives of the Aca-
[lians should detract anything from
nur admiration for that simple and
kindly race. I'hey were not fault-
less; but the very fact that they
shared in the common interests,
and even foibles, of the rest of the
world gives that tone of reality to
their history which makes us sym-
pathize w.ith them more justly in
the cruel fate that overtook them.
Yet, in depicting the young Aca-
dian girl of that period as he has
done, the poet has but idealifed
the truth. The march of the his-
tory of her people aids him in
making the portrait a faithful one.
Had he placed the time a little
earlier — that is to say, under the
French- Acadian rigime — and his
heroine at Annapolis, his poem
could not have borne the criticism
of later research. But in select-
ing the most dramatic incident of
Acadian history as the central
point of interest, he has necessarily
shifted the scene to one of the Neu-
tral French settlements. Here,
too, he is aided in maintaining the
truthfulness of his portraiture by
the fact that the English conquest,
in depriving the Acadians of the
right of political action, and cut-
ting them off as much as possible
from intercourse with Canada and
France, had thrown them back
"pon rural occupations alone, and
developed their simple virtues.
Mines and Chignecto had been
VOL. XXII. — 39
noted for their rustic independence
and their manners uncorrupted by
contact with the world, even under
the old regime. One of the mili-
tary governors of Port Royal com
plains of them as " serai-republi-
cans " in a letter to the Minister
of Marine and Colonies at Paris
After the conquest of 1710, in-
tercourse with Annapolis and its
English Government House and
foreign garrison became even more
restricted. No oath of allegiance
being taken to the new govern-
ment, the cure was recognized
both by the inhabitants and the
Annapolis government as their
virtual ruler. Under the mild
sway of Fathers Felix, Godalie,
and Miniac — in turn curh of
Mines — the Acadians sought to
forget in the cultivation of their
fields the stern military surveil-
lance of Annapolis, and, later, Fort
Edwards and Fort Lawrence. Fa-
ther Miniac comes latest in time,
and shared the misfortunes of his
flock in their expulsion. But in
Father Godalie, the accomplished
scholar and long-loved friend of
the people of Grand Pr6, we seem
best to recognize the '* Father F*e-
lician *' of Mr. Longfellow's poem.
He was a guide well fitted to form
the lovely character of Evange-
line ; nor do the authentic records
of the time bear less ample testi-
mony to the virtue of his people
than the glowing imagination of
the poet.
It is less in the delineation of
individual character than in its
description of the undisturbed
peace reigning at Grand Pr6 that
the poem departs most from the
truth of history. The expulsion of
1755 was not a thunderbolt in a
clear sky descending upon a garden
of Eden. It was a doom known to
be hanging over them for forty
6io
The Story of Evangeline in Prose.
years. Its shadow, more or less
threatening for two generations, was
present in every Acadian house^
hold, disabling industry and driv-
ing the young men into service or
correspondence with their French
compatriots. Space would not
permit, in so short a paper, to enter
into the hi&tory of that desperate
struggle for supremacy on this con-
tinent ending on the heights of Abra-
ham, isolated chapters of which
have been narrated with a graphic
pen by Mr. Francis Parkman.
Acadie was one of its chosen battle-
grounds. So far from the Acadians
living in rural peace and content,
it may be said broadly yet accurate-
ly that from the date of their first
settlement to their final expulsion
from the country, during a period
extending over one hundred and
fifty years, five years had never
passed consecutively without hos-
tilities, open or threatened. The
province changed masters, or was
wholly or partially conquered, seven
times in a little over one hundred
years, and the final English con-
quest, so far from establishing peace,
left the Acadians in a worse posi-
tion than before. They refused to
take the oath of allegiance to the
English government; the French
government was not able to protect
them, though it used them to
harass the English.
They acquired, therefore, by a
sort of tacit understanding, the ti-
tle and position of the " Neutral
French," the English government
simply waiting from year to year
until it felt itself strong enough to
remove them en masse from the
province, and the Acadians yearly
expecting succor from Quebec or
Louisburg. Each party regarded
the other as aliens and enemies.
Hence it is that no French-Acadian
would ever have used the words
*Mns majesty's mandate" — applied
to George II. — as spoken by Basil
the blacksmith in the poem. That
single expression conveys a radi-
cally false impression of the feelings
of the people at the time. The
church at Mines, or Grand Pr6,
from the belfry of which
** SofUy the Angdiis aoanded,"
had been burned down twice by
the English and its altar vessel
stolen by Col. Church in the old
wars. Nor had permanent conquest.
as we have said, brought any change
for the better. The cures were
frequently imprisoned on pretext of
exciting attacks on the English gar-
risons, and sometimes, as in the
case of Father Felix and Father
Charlemagne, were exiled from the
province. In 1714 the inteniion
was first announced of transporting
all the Acadians from their homes.
It was proposed to remove them to
Cape Breton, still held by the
French. The pathetic remonstrance
of Father Felix Palm, the cure ot
Grand Pre, in a letter and petition
to the governor, averted this great
calamity from his people at tb.it
time. But the project was again
revived by the English Board of
Trade, 1720-30. In pursuance of
its orders, Gov. Philipps issued a
proclamation commanding the peo*
pie of Mines to come in and take
the oath of allegiance by a certain
day, or to depart forthwith out of
the province, permitting, at the sane
time — ^a stretch of generosity which
will hardly be appreciated at this
day — each family to carry avay
with it "two sheep," but all the
rest of their property to be confis-
cated. This storm also blew over.
But the result of this continual ha-
rassment and threatening was to
drive the Acadians into closer cor-
respondence with the French at
The Story of Evangeline in Prose.
6ii
Louisburg, and to cause their
roung men to enlist in the French-
[Canadian forces on the frontier.
[n view of this aid and comfort
jiven to the enemy, and their per-
sistent refusal to take the oath of
allegiance, later English writers
have not hesitated to declare the
removal of the Acadians from the
province a political and military
necessity. But the otherwise una-
nimous voice of humanity has un-
equivocally denounced their whole-
sale deportation as one of the most
cruel and tyrannical acts in the col-
onial history of England. We are
not to suppose, however, that the
Acadians folded their hands while
utter ruin was thus threatening
them. In 1747 they joined in the
attack on Col. Noble's force at
Mines, in which one hundred of
the English were killed and wound-
ed, and the rest of his command
made prisoners. They were ac-
cused, not without some show of
reason, of supporting the Indians
in their attack on the new settle-
ment at Halifax. It is admitted
that three hundred of them, in-
cluding many of the young men
from Grand Pr^, were among the
j>risoners taken at Fort Beau Sejour
on the border a few months before
their expulsion. It is not our pur-
pose to enter into any defence or
condemnation of those hostilities.
But it is plain that Mr. Longfel-
low's beautiful lines describing the
columns of pale blue smoke, like
clouds of incense, ascending
** From a hudred hearths, the homes of peace and
contentment,"
"frse from fear, that reigns with
the tyrant, or envy, the vice of re-
publics," were not applicable to the
condition of affairs at Grand Pr^ in
1755, nor at any time.
The poem follows with fidelity
the outlines of the scenes of the ex-
pulsion. Heart-rending indeed is
the scene, as described even by those
who were agents in its execution.
The poet gives almost verbatim the
address of Col. John Winslowin tb.c
chapel. Nevertheless one important
clause is omitted. Barbarous as
were the orders of Gov. Lawrence,
he was not absolutely devoid of hu-
manity. Some attempt was made
to lessen the pangs of separation
from their country by the issuinj^
of orders to the military command-
ers that "whole farpilies should go
together on the same transport.**
These orders were communicated
with the others to the inhabitants
by Col. Winslow, and it appears
they were faithfully executed as far
as the haste of embarkation would
permit. But as the young men
marched separately to the ships,
and some of them escaped for a
time into the woods, there was no-
thing to prevent such* an incident
occurring as the separation of
Evangeline and Gabriel.
• About seven thousand (7,000)
Acadians, according to Gov. Law-
rence's letter 10 Col. Winslow, were
transported from their homes. The
total number of these unfortunate-
people in the province at that time
has been estimated at eighteen
thousand. The destruction was
more complete at Grand Prd than
elsewhere, that being the oldest set-
tlement, with the exception of An-
napolis, and the most prosperous
and thickly settled. A few years
later another attempt was made to
transfer the remainder of the Aca-
dian population to New England ;
bnt the transports were not permit-
ted to land them at Boston, as they
were completely destitute, and the
New England commonwealths pe-
titioned against being made respon-
sible for their support. The Aca-
dian exiles were scattered oVer
6l2
The Story of Evangeline in Prose.
Pennsylvania, Virginia, and Georgia.
About four hundred and fifty were
landed at Philadelphia.
** In that delightful land which is washed by the
Delaware's waters,
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn, the
apostle,
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the
city he founded.
• • ■ • e •
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline land>
ed, an exile.
Finding among the children of Peon a home and a
country."
A few months ago I visited the
Quaker City. There, where Evan-
geline ended her long pilgrimage, I
took up the thread of that story
the early scenes of which had been
so familiar to me. How different
those around me ! Gone were the
balsamic odors of the pines and the
salt spray of the ocean. One can
conceive how the hearts of the
poor Acadian exiles must have
trembled. I sought out the old
" Swedish church at Wicaco,"
whence the ** sounds of psalms
** Across the meadows were wafted "
on the Sabbath morning when
Evangeline went on her way to the
hospital, and there found her lover
dying unknown. The quaint little
church — not larger than a country
school- house — built of red and
black bricks brought from Sweden,
is now almost lost in a corner near
the river's edge, in the midst of
huge warehouses and intersecting
railroad tracks. In the wall near
the minister's desk is a tablet in
memory of the first pastor and his
wife buried beneath. Fastened to
the gallery of the choir — not much
higher than one's head — is the old
Swedish Bible first used in the
church, and over it two gilded
wooden cherubs — also brought from
Sweden — that make one smile at
their comical features. In the
churchyard, under the blue and
faded gray tombstones, repose the
men and women of the congregft-
tion of 1755 ^^^ years before. But
no vestiges of the Acadian wander-
ers remain in the Catholic burying-
ground.
*^ Side by side in their naradess gmyes the loitss
are sleeping.
Under the humble walls of the littk Cstkik
churchyard.
In the hsart of the dty, they lie aakaowa aal
unnoticed."
Many of the Acadians succeeded
in wandering back to their countrr.
Others escaped into what is now
called New Brunswick, which was
then a part of Acadia, and eitltcr
returned to* Nova Scotia in afier-
years when the whole of Canada
was finally ceded to the English, or
founded settlements, existing to
this day in New Brunswick, and
returning their own members to the
Provincial Parliaments. The de-
scendants of the Acadians, stili
speaking the French language and
retaining the manners of their fore-
fathers, are more numerous than is
generally supposed in Nova Scotia.
They number thirty-two thousand
out of a total population of three
hundred and eighty-seven thousand
(387,000), according to the census
of 187 1. The poet says :
** Only along the shore of the monmlnl sod antf
Atlantic
Linger a few Acadian peasants. . . •
Maidens still wear their Korman caps and tbor
kirtles of homespun.
And by the evening fire repeat Evang^v*
story.**
This refers, no doubt, to the set-
tlement at Chezzetcook, which, from
its closeness to Halifax, is best
known. On Saturday mornings i"
the market at Halifax, the Acadian
women can be seen standing vitJ'
their baskets of eggs and woollen
mitts and socks for sale. They are
at once recognized by their short
blue woollen outer petticoats or kir-
tles, and their little caps, with their
black hair drawn tightly up from
The Patient Church.
613
fclie forehead under them. The
Ifoung girls are 6ften very pretty.
THey have delicate features, an
ov2lI face, a clear olive complexion,
amd eyes dark and shy, like a
fawn's. They soon fade, and get a
weather-beaten and hard expression
from exposure to the climate on
their long journeys on foot and
from severe toil.
But in Yarmouth County, and on
the other side of the peninsula in
the township of Clare, Digby Coun-
ty, there are much larger and more
prosperous settlements. Clare is
almost exclusively French- Acadian.
The people generally send their
own member to the provincial
House of Assembly. He speaks
French more fluently than English.
The priest preaches in French.
Here at this day is to be found
the counterpart of the manners
of Grand Pr6. Virtue, peace, and
happiness reign in more than " a
hundred homes " under the old cus-
toms. Maidens as pure and sweet
as Evangeline can be seen as of
old walking down the road to the
church on a Sunday morning with
their "chaplet of beads and their
missal." But the modern dress-
maker and milliner has made more
headway than among the poor Chez-
zetcook people. Grand Pr^ itself,
and most of the old Acadian set-
tlements, are inhabited by a purely
British race — descendants of the
North of Ireland and New England
settlers who received grants of the
confiscated lands. By a singular
turn of fortune's wheel the descen-
dants of another expatriated race
— the American loyalists — now peo-
ple a large part of tlie province
once held by the exiled Acadians.
THE PATIENT CHURCH.
Bide thou thy time !
Watch with meek eyes the race of pride and crime;
Si; in the gate, and be the heathen's jest.
Smiling and self-possest.
O thou, to whom is pledged a victor's sway,
Bide thou the victor's day !
Think on the sin
That reap'd the unripe seed, and toil'd to win
Foul history-marks at Bethel and at Dan —
No blessing, but a ban ;
Whilst the wise Shepherd hid his heaven-told fate,
Nor reck'd a tyrant's hate.
Such loss is gain ;
Wait the bright Advent that shall loose thy chain !
E'en now the shadows break, and gleams divine
Edge the dim, distant line.
When thrones are trembling, and earth's fat ones quail,
True seed ! thou shait prevail.
— Newman.
6i4
Sir Thomas Man*
SIR THOMAS MORE.
A HISTORICAL ROMANCE,
ntOUTMl PBSNCM OF THB PRINCESSB DB CSAOV.
IV.
William du Bellay having re-
mained in France, M. de Vaux had
been sent to replace him in England.
The latter, having but recently re-
turned from Rome, where he was
attached to the embassy of M. de
Grammont, French ambassador to
that court, was not yet initiated in-
to the state of affairs as they existed
nt the court of Henry VIII.
Du Bellay was not satisfied with
the change ; and the old diplomate,
finding his new assistant inclined
to be somewhjt dull, undertook to
enlighten him — leading him on step
by step into the intricacies of di-
))lomacy, like a mother, or rather a
governess, a little brusque, who is
impatient at the slow progress the
child makes in learning to walk.
" Come !" he exclaimedt " I see
you understand nothing of this ; so
I shall have to be patient and begin
it all over again. It is incredible,"
lie added, by way of digression, ad-
dressing himself to the public (who
was absent), " what absurd reports
are circulated outside with regard
to what we say and do in our secret
negotiations! It extends even to
all these harebrains of the court ;
but you who have a foot in diplo-
macy I cannot excuse. Come, let
us see — we say :
" When my brother left, he went
to demand on the part of Henry
VIII., of the universities of France,
and above all that of Paris (pre-
ponderating over all the others) — re-
mark well : to demand, I say — that
they should give decisions favora-
ble to the divorce. N"ow, this
point appeared at first quite insig-
nificant ; but it is just here we have
shown our ability (I would say 1,
but I do not wish to vaunt myselj
over a young man just starting oat
in the world like yourself). Then
our king has replied to the King of
England that he would ask nothing
better than to use his influence
with the universities to induce
them to give satisfaction on this
subject ; but that (notice this espe-
cially) the Emperor Charles V. had
made precisely the same demand in
an opposite direction, in favor of
Queen Catherine, his aunt ; that if
he refused the emperor, he would
be extremely displeased, and that
he was compelled to reflect a second
time, because the princes, his chil-
dren, were held as hostages in the
hands of the emperor, and in spite
of all his efforts he had not ytx
m
been able to pay the price of their .
ransom stipulated at the treaty of
Cambrai.
" It then remained to say that
we could do nothing for him— on
the contrary, must oppose him so
long as the children were held pri-
soners, or while there was even a
chance that they would be restored
to us on condition that we should
throw our influence on thje side of
Queen Catherine. All of which
is as clear as day — is it not ? Now
Sir Thomas Mare.
6iS
yo\i are going to see if I have un-
derstood how to take advantage of
these considerations with Henry
VIII."
Saying this, with a slightly deri-
sive smile, Du Bellay took from a
drawer a casket of green sharkskin,
which, he handed to De Vaux, who
opened it eagerly.
" Oh ! how beautiful," he ex-
claimed, taking from the case and
holding up in the sunlight a magni-
c^rxX. fieur de lis composed entirely
of diamonds. ''Oh! this is most
superb."
*' Yes, it is beautiful !" replied
Du Bellay with a satisfied air, "and
worth one hundred and fifty thou-
sand crowns. Philip, the emperor's
father, pledged it to the King of
England for that sum. We are
obliged by the treaty to redeem it ;
hut as we have not the money to
pay, it has been made a present to
us. And here is what is better
still," he added, displaying a quit-
tance — " a receipt in full for hvt
hundred thousand crowns which
tUe emperor owed Henry VIII.;
and he now makes a present of it to
Francis I., to enable him to pay
immediately the two millions re-
quired for the ransom of the
princes."
" That is admirable !" cried De
Vaux. "It must be admitted, my
lord, that we shall be under great
obligations to Mile. Anne."
•* All disorders cost dear, my
cliild,** replied Du Bellay; '' and if
this continues, they will ruin Eng-
land. Think of what will have to
he paid yet to the University of
Paris! . . ."
" And do you suppose they will
consent to this demand .^" inter-
, rupted De Vaux.
**No, truly, I do not believe it,"
replied Du Bellay. '* Except Master
Gervais, who is always found ready
to do anything asked of him, I know
not how they will decide ; but, be-
tween ourselves, I tell you I believe
they will be against it. But, ob-
serve, we have not promised a
favorable decision — we have only
left it to be hoped for ; which is
quite a different thing."
" That is very adroit," replied De
Vaux, " assuredly ; but it seems to
me not very honest."
" How ! not honest?" murmured
Du Bellay, contracting his little
gray eyebrows, ^nd fixing his green-
ish eyes oji the fair face of the
youth. " Not honest !" he again
exclaimed in a stentorian voice.
"Where do you come from, then,
young man.^ Know that among
these people honesty is a thing un-
heard of. Others less candid than
myself may tell you the contrary,
knowing very well that such is not
the truth. They arrange projects
with the intention of defeating
them ; they sign treaties with the
studied purpose of violating them ;
they swear to keep the peace in
order to prepare for war ; and a
state sells her authority and puts
her influence in the balance of the
worid in favor of the highest bid-
der. Let the price be earth or
metal, it is of no consequence ; I
make no distinction. When Henry
devastated our territories and took
possession of our provinces, was it
just ? No ! * Might makes right' ;
that is the veritable law of nations —
the only one they are willing to ac-
knowledge or adopt. In default of
strength, there remains stratagem ;
and I must use it!"
"Under existing circumstances,
you are right," replied De Vaux,.
replacing in its case the superb y^Ifi/r
de iis^ and again waving ii in the
sunlight. " It is a pity," he added,
" that they may be obliged to re-
turn this ; it would set off wonder-
6i6
Sir Thomas Mare.
fully well the wedding dress of the
future Duchess of Orleans."
" What ! are they speaking already
of the marriage of the young Duke of
Orleans ?" asked Du Bcllay in sur-
prise.
" Ah ! that is a great secret," re-
plied De Vaux confidentially. ** You
kno»v our king has not abandoned
the idea of subjugating the Milanese,
and, to ensure the pope's friendship,
he oflfcrs to marry his second son to
his niece, the young Catherine de*
Medici."
'* No !" cried M. du Bellay. "No,
it is impossible ! How can they for-
get that but a short time since the
Medici family was composed of
only the simple merchants of Flo-
rence .>"
"It has all been arranged, not-
withstanding," replied De Vaux.
" In spite of all our precautions, the
emperor has been apprised of it.
At first he refused to credit it, and
would not believe the King of
France could really think of allying
his noble blood with that of the
Medici. In the meantime he has
been so much frightened, lest the
hope of this alliance would not
sufficiently dazzle Clement VIII.,
that he has made a i)roposal to break
off the marriage of his niece, the
Princess of Denmark, with the Duke
of Milan, and substitute the young
Catherine in her place. We have,
AS you may well suppose, promptly
advised M. de Montmorency of all
these things, who returned us, on the
spot, full power to sign the articles.
M. de Grammont immediately car-
ried them to the pope ; and he
was greatly delighted, as Austria, it
seems, had already got ahead of us,
and persuaded him that we had no
other intention than to deceive him
and gain time. Now evervthinfr is
harmoniously arranged. They pro-
mise for the marriage portion of
Catherine Reggie, Pisa, L«ghoro,
Modena, Ribera, the Duch? of
Urbino ; and Francis I. cedes to
his son his claims to the Duciijr
of Milan."
^ Sad compensation for a bad
marriage !" replied M. du BelUy
angrily : " new complications which
will only result in bringing about iih
terminable disputes ! Princes can
nevpr learn to be contented wiih
the territory already belonging to
them. Althougl) they may not poi^
sess sufficient ability to govern evcB
i/iai well, still they are alcrays try-
ing to extend it. War must waste
and ruin a happy and flourisiiing
country, in order to put them in poi-
session of a few feet of desolated
earth, all sprinkled with gold and
watered with blood."
" Ah ! yes," interrupted De Yaui
earnestly, " we have learned this
cruelly and to our cost. And relent-
less history will record without re-
gret the account of our reverses,
and the captivity of a king so val-
iant and dauntless — a king who has
sacrificed everything save his hoa-
or.
" Reflect, my dear, on all this.
The honor of a king consists not in
sacrificing the happiness of his peo-
ple. A soldier should be brave—
the head of a nation should be wise
and prudent," replied Du Bellay, as
he turned over a great file of papers
in search of something, *• Valor
without prudence is worthless.
The irUrigues of the cabinet arc
more certain ; they are of more
value than the best generals. They,
at least, are never entirely defeated:
the disaster of the evening inspire!^
renewed strength for the morrott-.
Cold, hunger, and sickness are not
able to destroy them. . . . They
can only waste a few words or lose
a sura of money. A dozen well-
chosen spies spread their toils is
Sir Tlunnas More.
617
rrery direction ; we hold them like
mndles of straw in our hands;
hey glide in the dark, slip through
four fingers — an army that cannot
w captured, which exists not and
ret never dies ; which drags to
he tribunal of those who pay them,
nrithout pity as without discrim-
ination, without violence as without
hesitation, the hearts of all man-
kind.
** Gold, my child, but never blood !
With bread we can move the world ;
with blood we destroy it. Your
heart, young man, leaps within you
at the sound of the shrill trumpet,
when glittering banners wave and
the noise of battle inebriates your
soul. But look behind you, child,
look behind you : the squadron
has passed. Hear the shrieks and
groans of the dying. Behold those
men dragging themselves over the
trampled field; their heads gashed
and bleeding, their bones dislocat-
ed; their limbs torn ; streams of
blood flow from their wounds; they
die in an ocean furnished from
their own lacerated veins. Go there
to the field of carnage and death ;
pause beside that man with pallid
face and agonized expression ; think
of the tender care and painful anx-
iety of the mother who reared him
from his cradle. How often she
has pressed her lips upon the gold-
en curls of her boy, the hope of her
old age, which must now end in
despair ! Reflect there, upon the
field of carnage and death, on the
tender caresses of wives, sisters,
and friends. Imagine the brother's
grief, the deep anguish of the fa-
ther. Alas ! all these recollections
pass in an instant before the half-
open eyes of the dying. Farewell !
dream of glory, hateful vision now
for ever vanished. Life is almost
extinct, yet with the latest breath
he thinks but of them I ' They will
see me no more ! I must die far
away, without being able to bid
them a last adieu.' Such are the
bitter thoughts murmured by his
dying lips as the last sigh is breath-
ed forth. Tell me, young man,
have you never reflected when, on
the field glittering in the bright
summer sunshine, you have seen
the heavy, well-drilled battalions
advance ; when the prince rode in
the midst of them, and they saluted
him with shouts of enthusiasm and
love ; wnen that prince, a weak
man like themselves, elated with
pride, said to them : ' March on to
death; it is for me that you go!*
For you ! And who are you ? Their
executioner, who throws their ashes
to the wind of your ambition, to
satisfy the thirst of your covetous-
ness, the insolent pride of your
name, which the century will see
buried in oblivion ! Ah ! my son,"
continued the old diplomate, deeply
affected, with his hands crossed on
the packet of papers, that he had
entirely forgotten, " if you knew
how much I have seen in my life
of these horrible calamities, of these
monstrous follies, which devastate
the world! If you but knew how
my heart has groaned within me,
concealed beneath my gloomy vis-
age, my exterior as impassible as
my garments, you would under-
stand howl hate them, these mighty
conquerors, these vile plagues of
the earth, and how I count as no-
thing the sack of gold which lies at
the bottojn of the precipice over
which they push us, the adroit
fraud that turns them aside from
their course ! But shall I weep like
an old woman V* he suddenly ex-
claimed, vexed at being betrayed
into the expression of so much
emotion.
Hastily brushing the tear from
his cheek, he began examining the
6i8
Sir Tlumtas Mare.
package of papers, and, instantly re-
covering his usual composure, be-
came M. du Bellay, the diplomate.
Young De Vaux, greatly surprised
at the excess of feeling into which the
ambassador had suddenly been be-
trayed, so much at variance with his
previous manner, as well as his rule
of conduct and the rather brusque
reception he had given him, still
remembered it when M thoXight of
the occurrence had passed from the
mind of his superior.
" Here, sir, read that,^* he ex-
claimed, throwing the young man a
small scrap of paper.
" I will read it, my lord."
** Read aloud, sir."
" * Cardinal Wolsey, overcome by
grief and alarm, has fallen danger-
ously ill. The king has been in-
formed of it ; he has ordered three
physicians to Asher, and obliged
Lady Anne to send him the goldea
tablets in token of his reconciliation.
Furthermore, it is certainly true
that the king has said: " I would
not lose Wolsey for twenty thou-
sand pounds." It is unnecessary
to impress upon my lord the im-
portance of this event. My lord
will, I hope, approve of the celerity
with which I have despatched this
information.' "
" It is without signature !" said
De Vaux.
" I credit it entirely," murmured
Du Bellay,
" By my faith, I am delighted !
These golden tablets afford me ex-
treme pleasure," said De Vaux.
* This will revive the hopes of poor
, Cardinal Wolsey."
" And that is all ! . . . And you,
content to know that he is happy,
will remain quietly seated in your
chair, I suppose," said M. du Bel-
lay, fixing his green eyes, lighted
with a brilliant gleam, on young De
Vaux. ** Monsieur I" he continued,
'* it is not in this way a man atteadi
to the business of his country.
Since the day the cardinal was ex-
iled, I have deliberated whether I
should go to see him or not. My
heart prompted me to do so, but it
was not my heart I had to consult
I was persuaded the king would
not be able to dispense wi th him«
and sooner or later he would be re-
called to the head of affairs. In
that case I felt inclined to gire
him a proof of my attachment in
his disgrace. But, on the other
hand, that intriguing family who
are constantly buzzing around the
king induced me constantly to hes-
itate. Now I believe we have al-
most nothing more to fear; we iriii
arrive there, perhaps, before the
physicians, and later we shall know
how to proceed."
** Most willingly!" cried De Vaux.
**r shall be happy indeed to see this
celebrated man, of whom I have
heard so many different opinions,"
" Doubtless," interrupted Du Bel-
lay impatiently, ** pronounced bf
what is styled * public opinion*— a
tribunal composed of the ignorant,
the deluded, and short-sighted, who
alwavs clamor louder than others,
and who take great care, in order to
avoid compromisi-ng their stupidity,
to prefix the ominous * they say' to
all their statements. As for roe, I
say they invariably display morr
hatred toward the virtues thev en-
vy than the vices they pretend to
despise ; and they will judge a roan
more severely and criticise him
more iiarshly for the good he has
tried to do than for what he may
have left undone. . . . Gossiping,
prying crowd, pronouncing judg-
ment and knowing nothing, who will
cast popularity like a vile mantle
over the shoulders of any man who
will basely stoop low enough be-
fore them to receive it ! He who
Sir Thomas More.
619
I '!"•
^dcavors to please all pleases
lone," added M. dii Bellay, with
singularly scornful expression.
To live for his king, and above
Jl for his country, despising the
>lanic or hatred of the vulgar,
»hould be the motto of every pub-
Tic man; and God grant I may
never cease to remember it !"
" You believe, then, the cardinal
urill be restored to the head of af-
fairs ?*' asked De Vaux, running his
fingers through liis blonde curls,
and rising to depart.
** I am not sure of it yet," re-
plied Du Bellay ; *' we are going to
find out. If the crowd surrounds
him, as eager to pay him homage
lo-day as they were yesterday to
overwhelm him with scorn and
contempt ; if, in a word, the cour-
tiers sigii and groan around his
bed, and pretend to feel the deep-
est concern, it will be a most cer-
tain indication of his return to fa-
vor. And, to speak frankly, I be-
lieve the king already begins to
discover that no one can replace
the cardinal near his person as
private secretary ; for that poor Gar-
diner copies a despatch with more
difficulty than his predecessor dic-
tated one."
M. du Bellay arose and started, fol-
lowed by De Vaux, to the bank of
the Thames, where they entered a
large boat already filled with pas-
sengers awaiting the moment of
departure to ascend the river either
to Chelsea, Battersea, or as far as
Pultncy, where the boat stopped.
Bales of merchandise were piled up
in the centre, on which were seated
a number of substantial citizens
conversing together with their
hands in their pockets, and wear-
ing the self-sufficient air of men
the extent of whose purse and cre-
dit were well understood.
They fixed, at first, a scrutinizing
glance on the new arrivals, and
then resumed their conversation. •
" Come, come, let us be oflF
now !" exclaimed a young man, bal-
ancing himself on one foot. " Here
is half an hour lost, and I declare
I must be at Chelsea to dinner."
"' Indeed, it is already an hour.
Look here! This cockswain doesn't
resemble our parliament at all ; that
does everything it is told to do!"
he added, as he sauntered into the
midst of the crowd.
**Hoid your tongue, William,"
immediately replied one of them ;
" you don't recollect any more, I
suppose, the assembly at Bridewell,
where the king, knowing we con-
demned his course in the divorce
affair, after having seized all the
arms in the city, told us himself
there was no head so high but he
would make it fall if it attempted
to resist him."
* " What shameful tyranny!" re-
plied another, rolling a bundle un-
der his foot. " I cannot think of
it without my blood boiling. Are
these Englishmen he treats in this
manner.?"
" And that wicked cardinal,"
continued his neighbor in a loud,
shrill voice — " he was standing by
the king, and looking at us with his
threatening eyes. He has been
the cause of all the troubles we
have had with this afHiir. But we
are rid of him, at last."
" We are rid of him, did you
say T* interrupted a man about fifty
or sixty years of age, who appeared
to be naturally phlegmatic and
thoughtful. ** You are very well
contented, it seems to me ; . . .
but it is because you only think
of the present, and give yourself
no concern whatever about the fu-
ture. Ah ! well, in a few days we
will see if you are as well satis-
fied."
620
Sir Thomas More.
"And why not then?" they all
exclaimed in the same voice.
** Because, I tell you, because
ft
" Explain yourself more clearly,
Master Wrilliot," continued young
William. " You always know what's
going to happen better than any-
body else."
"Ah! yes, I know it only too
well, in fact, my young friend," he
replied, shaking his head ominous-
ly ; ** and we will very soon learn
to our sorrow that if the favor of
the cardinal costs us dear, his dis-
grace will cost us still more. Par-
liament is going to remit all the
king's debts."
" What ! all of his debts } But
Parliament has no right to do
this !" they all exclaimed.
** No; but it will take the right!"
replied Master Wrilliot. "William
will lose half of his wife's marriage
portion, which, if I mistake not, his
lather gave him in royal trust; and
I shall lose fifteen thousand crowns
for which I was foolish enough to
accept the deed of conveyance."
" Ah ! ah ! that will be too un-
just ; it ought not to be," they all
repeated.
** Yes," continued this far-seeing
interlocutor, shaking his head con-
temptuously, " the king has no
money to pay us. War has drained
his private treasury, but he never-
theless draws from it abundant
means to ransom French princes,
who make him believe they will
marry him to that lady Boleyn ;
and if you do not believe me, go
ask these Frenchmen who are here
present," he added, raising his voice,
and casting on MM. du Bellay and
de Vaux a glance of cold, disdain-
ful wrath.
M. du Bellay had lost nothing
of the conversation; it was held
too near him, and was too openly
hostile for him to feign not to i«-
mark it. Finding himself rccog-
•nized, and neither being able to
reply to a positive interrogation nor
to keep silence, he measured in hi*
turn, very coolly, and without per-
mitting the least indication of
emotion or anger to appear, the
face and form of his adversary.
"Sir," he exclaimed, regarding
him steadily, **who are you, and
by what right do you call mt to
account.' If it is your curiosity
that impels you, it will not be
gratified \ U^ on the contrary, yoa
dare seek to insult me, you shouW
know I will not suffer it. Answer
me!"
"The best you can make d ft
will be worth nothing," replied, with
a loud burst of laughter, a Genoese
merchant who did not recogniie
the ambassador, as he sat by the
men who directed the boat. "For-
get your quarrel, gentlemen, and,
instead of disputing, come look at
this beautiful vessel we are just
going to pass. See, she is getting
ready to sail. A fine ship>load !— a
set of adventurers who go to try
their fortunes in the new world dis-
covered by one of my countrymen,'*
he added with an air of intense
satisfaction.
"Poor Columbus!" replied one
of the citizens, "he experienced
throughout his life that glory does
not give happiness, and envy and
ingratitude united together to crush
his genius. Do you not believe, if
he could have foreseen the crueUies
Hernando Cortez and Pizarro ex-
ercised toward the people whom he
discovered, he would have prefen-cd
leaving the secret of their existence
buried for ever in the bosom of the
stormy sea that bore him to Europe,
rather than to have announced there
the success of his voyage V*
" I believe it," said Wrilliot, *'his
Sir TAomas More.
621
9ul was so beautiful! He loved
omanitv."
"Christopher Columbus!" ex-
laimed young William, full of
outhful enthusiasm and admiration
i>r a roan whose home was the
rcea.n. " I cannot hear his name
>ronounced without emotion ! I al-
k'ays imagine I see him in that old
ronvent of Salamanca, before those
earned professors and erudite
nonks assembled to listen to a pro-
ject which in their ophiion was as
rash as it was foolish.
" * How do you suppose,' said they,
' that your vessel will ever reach the
extremity of the Indies, since you
pretend that the earth is round?
You would n*ver be able to return ;
for what amount of wind do you
imagine it would require to enable
your ship to remount the liquid
mountain which it had so easily
descended? And do you forget
that no creature can live under the
scorching atmosphere of the torrid
zone ?*
*' Columbus refuted their argu-
ments; but these doctors still in-
sisted, nor hesitated to openly
demand of him how he could be so
presumptuous as to believe, if the
thing had been as he said, it could
have remained undiscovered by so
many illustrious men, born before
him, and who had attained the
highest degree of learning, while for
him alone should have been re-
served the development of this
grand idea."
**And yet," said Wrilliot, who
had listened in silence, " it was per-
mitted, some years later, that he
should go down to the grave wear-
ing the chains with which his per-
secutors had loaded him, in order
to keep him away from the world
that he alone had been able to
discover!"
" What perseverance ! What ob-
stacles he succeeded in overcom-
ing!" replied one of those who had
first spoken. " I shall always, while
I live, recall with pleasure having
been of service to his brother Bar-
tholomew when he came to this
country."
** What ! he came here ?" repeated
William.
" Yes, and was in my own house,"
continued , the citizen. " Christo-
pher, finding the senate of Genoa
and the King of Portugal refused
equally to listen or furnish him
with vessels necessarv for the enter-
prise he had so long meditated, sent
his brother to King Henry VII.
He was unfortunately captured, in
(roming over, by some pirates, who
kept him in slavery. Many years
elapsed before he succeeded in
escaping and reaching England,
where he found himself reduced to
such a state of destitution that he
was obliged to design charts for a
living, and to enable him to present
himself in decent apparel at court.
The king gave him a favorable
reception, but Christopher, in the
meantime, receiving no intelligence
from his brother, solicited so ear-
nestly the court of Spain that he ob-
tained two small vessels from Isa-
bella of Castile, and very soon after
Europe learned of the existence
of another hemisphere. Spain
planted her standard there, and
we thus lost the advantages which
were destined for us."
" I do not regret it*," replied an
old man sitting in the midst of the
crowd, who had until that time
maintained a profound silence. " Is
it not better for a nation to be less
rich and powerful than-stained with
so many crimes? It is now but
thirty-eight years since Columbus
founded the colony of San Domin-
go. This island then contained a
million of inhabitants; to-day there
633
Sir ThomiosM^n.
scnrcely remain forty thousand.
But/' pursued the old man with a
bitter smile, ** they will not stop
there. No ; they will not confine
their barbarous exploits to that
miserable region. They are renew-
ing in Peru the caniage they carried
on in Mexico. It is necessary to
have a great many places for a man
to die — to pass a few moments, and
then go and hide himself in the grave!
I have already lived seventy-nine
years, and yet it seems to me now
that my left hand still rests on my
cradle. I can scarcely believe that
these white locks are scattered upon
my head; for my life has sped like
the fleeting dream of a single night
that has passed. Yes, William,"
continued the old man, " you look
at me with astonishment, and your
eyes, full of youthful fire, are fixed
upon mine, in which the light has
long been extinguished. Ah ! well,
you will very soon see it extinguished
in your owix, but not before you
will have witnessed all their cruel-
ties."
" That is bad," replied William.
" But these Indians are stupid and
indolent beyond all parallel ; * they
will neither work nor pay the taxes
imposed on them."
** And from whom do the Span-
iards claim the right of reducing
these people to a state of servi-
tude," exclaimed the old man in-
dignantly, "and to treat them like
beasts of burden whom they are
privileged to* exterminate with im-
punity, and carry off the gold their
avarice covets, the dagger in one
hand, the scourge in the other ?
They ensure them, they say, the
• They even went so far as to deliberate whether
theM people could be considered human beings or
net ; but the church, always the true and faithful
guardian of the rights of humanity, immediately
raised her voice in their favor, and was first to ren-
der, by the mouth of Pope Paul III., a decision which
conferred on them, or rather secured them, all thai
righto.
happineM of knowing the Oifii
religion 1 How dare they
to instruct these people io
Gospel of peace which comi
us to love our neighbor as
selves, to detach our hearts,
the things of the world, and,
our offering before the altar, |0
be reconciled with oar enemy?"
** From that point of view
argument would seem just,'' repiii
William; "but the fact iS| if
Spaniards did not force these
landers to work them, the
would remain unproductive,
fields uncultivated, and tfaei
would perish."
'* You are mistaken," replied
old man. ^ In acting* as she
Spain destroys in her own
the source from whence she
draw an immense revenue. If
had been satisfied to estaUiA
honest and peaceable comawice
with these countries, her indasti]^
excited to the highest d^rae lif
the rich commodities of exchange^
would have conferred an incalcula-
ble benefit on an entire people
whom her blind cupidity has in-
duced her to crush and destroy.
'*Do you suppose these isolated
negroes they buy at such enormous
prices will ever be able to replace
the native inhabitants who live and
die in their own country? Thii
strange and ferocious populatios
will remain among the colonies, cs-
emies always ready to revolt; a
yoke of iron and blood will alone
be sufficient to keep them in sub-
jection. But let these masten
tremble if ever the power falls into
the hands of their slaves !"
MM. du Bellay and de Vaux lis-
tened to this conversation in silence»
and the diversion was at first agree-
able; but they were soon convinced
that they were suddenly becoming
again the objects of general attention.
Sir Thomas More,
623
** I tell you," exclaimed one,
they are going to look for the
irdinal and bring him back to
L>urt
> 9
«*
Well!" replied another, "I
ould like to see M. du Bellay in
le place of the legate Campeggio."
** Ah ! and what have they done
rith him, then?" they all eagerly
emanded.
** He was arrested at Dover, where
te had gone to embark. He was
Ircad fully alarmed, believing they
aine to assassinate him. His bag-
;age was searched, in order to find
Volsey's treasures, with which he
?as entrusted, they said, for safe
teeping."
** And did they find them .>" asked
he Genoese merchant, eagerly
eanir)g forward at the sound of the
BTord treasure.
'* It seems they did not find
them," was the reply.
** Hear wliat they say !" whisper-
ed young De Vaux in the ear of
M. du Bellay.
" I presume they were in search
of the legal documents, but they
were too late. They have long
ago arrived in Italy. Campeggio
was careful enough to send them
secretly by his son Rudolph.* I
often saw this young man in Rome,
and heard him say his father had
entrusted him with all his corre-
spondence and despatches,! as he
was not certain what fate Henry
had in store for him."
" You say," replied young Wil-
liam, elevating his voice in order
that M. du Bellay might hear him,
^Campe^o, before he became cardinal, had
bees married to Fraagoise Vastavillani, by whgm he
had several children. We are more than astonished
%t the i^viorance or bad faith of Dr. Burnet, who
takes advanuge of this fact to accuse the cardinal
of licentiousness.
t This young man earned also ^he letters from
Henry VIII. to Anne Boleyn, virhich had been re-
ferred to the cardinal during the course of the
trial. They are still to be seen in the library of the
Vatican.— Lingaid's Histvry 0/ Engiand*
"that the king has sent the Earl
of Wiltshire to Rome to solicit his
divorce. He had better make all
these strangers leave who come
into our country only to sow dis-
cord, and then gather the fruits of
their villany."
This speech, although spoken in-
directly, was evidently intended
for the two Frenchmen ; but the
Genoese merchant, always inclined
to be suspicious, immediately ap-
plied it to himself.
" Master William," he exclaimed,
reddening with anger, " have you
forgotten that for twenty years I
have been a commercial friend of
your father. And if he has made his
fortune with our velvets and silks,
to whom does he owe it, if not to
those who, by their honesty and
promptness in fulfilling their en-
gagements, were the first cause of
his success } Now, because you
are able to live without work, you
take on this insulting manner —
very insulting indeed. However,
I give you to understand that, if it
suited me to do it, I could make as
great a display of luxury and wealth
as yourself, and can count on my
dresser as many dishes and fiagons
of silver as you have ; and if it
suited me to remain at home, there
is no necessity for me to travel any
more on business."
The merchant continued to boast
of his fortune, and William began
to explain that his remarks were
by no means intended for him,
when the passengers began to cry
out : ** Land ! land ! Here is Chel-
sea ; we land at Chelsea."
The rowers halted immediately,
and the little boats sent from the
shore came to take off the passen-
gers who wished to land.
Almost all of them went ; none
remaining on the boat except the
ambassador, the Genoese mer-
624
Sir Thomas Mare.
chant, and two citizens whose re-
tiring and prudent character could
be read in the quiet, thoughtful ex-
pression of their faces. They gazed
for a long time on the surrounding
country; at last one of them haz-
arded the question :
*' Do you know who owns that
while house with the terraced gar-
den extending down to the bank
of ll)e Thames ?"
'* That is the residence of Sir
Thomas More, the new chancel-
lor,'* replied his companion method-
ically.
'' Ah ! it does not make much
show. Do you know this new
chancellor ?'*
** By niy faith, no! However, I
saw him the other day on the square
at Westminster, as 1 was passing ; the
Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk were
conducting him with great ceremony
to the Star Chamber (at least that
is what they told me). I stopped
to look at him. There was an im-
mense crowd filling all the square.
Jn crossing it the Duke of Norfolk
stopped, and, turning to the crowd
before him, said the king had in-
structed him to publicly proclaim
what great and important services
Sir Thomas had rendered him in
every position he had confided to
his care, and it was on that account
he esteemed him so highly, and
had appointed him now to the
highest position in the kingdom
because of his virtues and the rare
talents he possessed. Everybody
listened and said nothing (because
you know the last is always the
best)." The cilizen said this in a
very low tone.
'* More replied very well," he
continued. ** He said that, while
(leoj)ly grateful for his majesty's
L^iMxlness and favors, he felt no less
di*ei>ly convinced that the king had
rewarded him far beyond his mer-
its; in all he had accomplished \t
had but done his duty, and k^
greatly feared now that he imgtt
not possess the ability necessaif
for acquitting himself of the datteSi
of so higli and important an o§ci
And — a very singular thing (fortbef
do not usually speak of their prede«
cessors) — he declared that he couH
not rejoice in the honor conferrrf
on him, as it recalled the name of
the wise and honorable prelate
whom he had superseded. Oi
hearing that I supposed they wodl
hiss ; but not at all. He said every
thing so well, with so much sinccft
ity, dignity, and firmness, that they
applauded him with an indescribable
enthusiasm. It seemed those *ha
knew him were never satisfied with
praising him. Nobody, they said,
rendered justice so scrupulously as
he ; none were so wise, so disin-
terested ; in fact, they never ended
the recital of his perfections."
** Ah !" said the other, in a voice
scarcely audible, while he looked
round to discover if any one could
hear him, " we will see later if he
performs all these wonderful things,
and if any one will be able to get
near him without paying even his
doorkeeper, as was the case with
the other."
" Yes, we will see," replied his
companion. " None of these great
lords are worth much — any amount
o{ promises; but of deeiis — nothing!"
**But this is not a great lord,"
answered the citizen.
" Ah ! well, it is all the same; as
soon as they rise, they grow proud,
and despise and scorn the people
You may believe if ever I obtaia i
patent of nobility, and become still
richer than I am now^, I will crush
them beautii"ully ; K.here will not be
one who will dare contradict me.
By my faith ! it is a great pity I
had not been bom a count or a
Sir Thomas More.
623
airon ; I should have been so well
p to all their impertinences and
ant of feeling."
** It is not very difficult," replied
Is companion; "you are, I think,
ifiBciently so now for the good of
lat poor youth who wants to mar-
f 3'our daughter. He will lose his
rnses, I am afraid, poor fellow."
" What did you say, neighbor ?"
cplied the citizen, feeling the blood
lount to his face. " Do you think
will give my daughter to a wretch
rho has not a cent in the world — I
rho have held in my family the
Ight of citizenship from time im-
nemorial.^ My grandmother also
old me we have had two al-
lermen of our name. All that
rounts, you see, Master Allicot;
md if you wish to remain my
riend, I advise you not to meddle
rourself with the tattle of my wife
md daughter on the subject of
that little wretch they are putting
it into her head to marry ; because,
in truth, the mother is as bad as
the daughter. Ah! neighbor, these
women, these women are the
plagues of our lives! Don't say
any more to me about it. They
will run me distracted ; but they
will make nothing by it, I swear it,
neighbor. The silly jades ! to dare
speak to me of such a match !
Hush ! don't say any more to me
about it, neighbor; for it will drive
me mad !"
The neighbor did reply, however,
because he had been commissioned
to use his influence in softening
the husband and father in favor of
a young mechanic full of life and
health, who had no other fault than
that of belonging to a class less
elevated than that of the proud
citizen who rejected his humble
supplications with scorn.
But the denouement of this em-
bassy, and the termination of this
VOL. XXII. — ^40
romance of the warehouse, have
been for ever lost to history ; for M.
du Bellay, seeing they were almost
in sight of Asher, made them land
him, and the two honorable citizens
doubtless continued their journey
and their conversation.
At Asher M. du Bellay found
everything just as he expected.
The physicians surrounded Wol-
sey's bed, watching his slightest
movement. The golden tablets of
young Anne Boleyn were thrown
open upon the coarse woollen bed-
spread that covered the sick man.
Cromwell walked the floor with
folded arms. He approached the
bed from time to time, looked at
Wolsey, whose closed eyes and la-
bored breathing betokened no-
thing favorable, then at the golden
tablets, then at the physicians
around him. He seemed to say,
" Is he going to die, and just when
he might be so useful to me .^"
On seeing M. du Bellay enter,
his countenance lighted up ; he ran
on before him, and* endeavored to
arouse Wolsey from his stupor.
" My lord, the ambassador of
France !" he cried in the ear of the
dying man.
But he received no reply.
" It is singular," said the doctors,
"nothing can arouse him." And
they looked gravely at each other.
" He will not die ! I tell you he
will not die!" replied Cromwell,
evincing the most impatient anxiety.
He approached the cardinal and
shook his head.
" Crom — well," murmured the
sick man.
" Monsieur du Bellay !" shouted
Cromwell a second time.
Wolsey's eyes remained closed.
" Let him alone," cried the phy-
sicians ; " he must not be excited."
" So I think," said M. du Bellay.
"You can tell him I have been
626
Primitive Civilutatian.
here/' continued the ambassador,
turning towards Cromwell, ** but
did not wish to disturb him."
M. du Bellay then took his leave,
and returned by the land route to
London. He encountered, not far
from Asher, a.party of the cardinal's
old domestics, whom the king had
sent to carry him several wagon-
loads of furniture and other effects.
At the head of this convoy rode
Cavendish, one of the cardinal's
most faithful servants.
Seeing M. du Bellay, they collect-
ed around him, and hastily inqi
ed about their master.
Du Bellay advised them to qui
en their speed, and, taking leti
went on his way, thinking that
cardinal would not be restored
favor, and already arranging in
mind another course in which
direct his diplomatic steps for
future.
He was not mistaken : W(
escaped death, but only to find hi
self surrounded by misery
abandoned to despair.
TO BS CONTDIUSD.
PRIMITIVE CIVILIZATION*
If our modern men of science
would not travel out of their sphere,
there would be no war between
them and the church. In the name
of the Catholic religion we invite
them to push onward in the path
of scientific discovery with the ut-
most energy and ardor of which
they are capable. But if their dis*
coveries are to have any bearing on
the truths of the Christian revela-
tion, we can accept nothing less
than demonstration, and they must
not credit science, as does Mr.Tyn-
dall, with mere theories of specula-
live philosophy. With this reserva-
tion, we wish their labors all possible
success. But if poor fallible rea-
son — whose discoveries, after whole
millenniums of toil, are little better
than a record of the blunders of one
generation corrected by the blun-
ders of another; and, even on the
supposition that they are all cor-
• Ctniilitm .• Rtliii^m frevisms to Ckrittieni-
t9. By RcT, Aog. J. Th^baud, S.J. New Yoik:
D.ftJ.Sitdlier*GiK 187&
rect, are, by comparison with vbat
is unknown, as a drop of water
compared with the limitless ocean-
ventures to deny the existence of
the soul because it has no lens
powerful ei>ough to bring it withii
the cognizance of the senses, its
conclusion is no longer scientific.
The doctor has become a quad,
the philosopher a fool. If the torch
which the Creator has placed at the
service of his creature, to help him
to grope his way amidst the objects
of sense, and to illuminate his faith,
is to be flung in his face because it
does not reveal the whole infini-
tude of the majesty of his beaat^
we can only compassionate so
childish a misuse of a noble gift.
If natural philosophy is to rob I'^f
sensible creation of a motive ojici
end, and to proclaim it tobemerd^
the result of an unintelligent atomic
attraction and evolution of forces.
a more intelligent and a more log-
ical philosophy, in harmony ^^^^
the unquenchable instinct of vor
Primitive CiviliBation.
627
toitality within the human soul,
tsts from it such pitiful trifling
tth indignation and a holy dis-
un. If, in short, the science of
iture would dethrone nature's
reator and God, we address to it
te word which He to whom all
He science leads addressed to the
cean he placed in the deep hollows
r the earth : ** Hitherto thou shalt
Hme, and thou shalt go no far-
ter: and here thou shalt break
iy swelling waves."
Physical science cannot con-
radict the divine revelation. No
iscuvery hitherto made has done
0; and until one such presents
iself we are entitled to assume its
npossibility as a philosophical
xiom. For this reason we are of
liose who would give full rein to
ven the speculations of experi-
nental philosophy, so long as they
ire confined strictly within the do-
nain of secondary causes or natu-
i\ law, and do not venture into a
sphere of thought beyond the reach
)f experimental science, wheiie they
ire immediately confronted with
he dogmas of the fakh.
We have never thought that the
:heory of the evolution of specfes
must of necessity transgress that
limit. It has been made to do so
by phiiosophuli^ if we may invent a
name for them — speculative bigots,
«rho are bent on extorting from
natural phenomena any plausible
mpport of the inlidel prejudices of
which they were previously pos-
sessed. A more intelligent obser-
vation of scientific facts would
have saved them from a ridiculous
extravagance which makes them
resemble those afflicted creatures,
whom we so often meet with in asy-
hims for the insane, who suppose
themselves to be God.
We must never lose sight of the
fact that God can only communi-
cate with his creature in such a
way as he can understand. If he
were to reveal himself to any of us
as he is, we should die, unless lie
supplied us with a miraculous ca-
pacity for supporting the vision.
If he had inspired the historian of
those primitive ages to describe the
astronomical phenomenon which
happened in the time of Joshua in
the exact language of physical
science, what meaning would it
have conveyed to people who did
not know that the earth revolves
around its own axis and around the
sun.^ If it be objected, Why did
not the Holy Spirit use language
consistent with scientific truth, and
leave it to be understood afterwards
in the progress of science? we reply.
Because it would have thwarted his
own designs to have done so. The
Bible is a book of instruction in
truth out of the reach of human in-
telligence, not a book of natural
science ; and it appeals to the obe-
dience of faith rather than to rea-
son. The. mental toil of scientific
discovery was a part of the punish-
ment inflicted on the original trans-
gression. To anticipate the result
of that toil by thousands of years
would have been -to contradict His
own dispensation.
In the same manner the sublime
record of the genesis of the illimit-
able universe which weaves its
dance of light in space is told in a
few sentences : The fiat of Him
with whom one day is as a thousand
years, and a thousand years as one
day, and the successive order of the
creation — that is all. Time was
not then, for it was the creation
of time. Man can conceive no
ideas independent of time, and
so days are named; but it is evi-
dent that the word may stand for
indeterminate periods of time. The
creation of light was, it cannot be
628
Primitive Civilizaiian.
doubted, instantaneous. But that
creation was a law — limitation, re-
lation, succession — whose working
was an evolution in'successive orders
or stages, over which presided the
Creator, and still presides. " My
Father worketh hitherto, and I
work." Each of these was a
distinct creation, perfect in itself,
not an evolution of species. The
creation was progressive, but not
in the sense of the creation of every
one of its six cycles evolving out of
the preceding one; for in that
case either the lower would have
disappeared or the evolution would
be still in operation. The firma-
ment did not develop out of light,
nor the ocean and the dry land out
of the firmament ; nor were the
fishes an evolution from the sea-
weed, nor the birds from the trees
and shrubs, nor the wild beasts from
the reeds of the jungle, nor man from
the lower animals. But they were
all to be made before his creation
who was the sum and end of all ;
and the atmosphere must be created
before the birds, the ocean before
the fishes, the dry land before vege-
table life.
And not onlv was there never
any evolution of species into other
species, but the creation of every
separate species was complete, so
that there has never been an evo-
lution of any species into a high-
er state or condition. There has
never been any progress in that
sense. Every species, including
the human being, remains precisely
as it issued from the hand of God,
when it has not degenerated or dis-
appeared. Indeed, the tendency of
.:il iivini; thini^s around us is to
I'ecieneracv and decav. Whatever
progress can be predicated of man is
»»:' his moral nature only, and of his
knowledge, throuj^h the divine reve-
lation. But even that is not a race
fa
progress, an evolution of
but an individual one. If this
conceded — and we think it scar
admits of dispute — ^we see no dan
to the dogmas of the faith in
mg to the natural philosopher
length of ages they may claim
the creation of the home of nuHt
before he was cklled into being M
whom it was destined.
Whatever period of time
covered by those cycles of creation
throughout them it may be ssii
that he was being made. If all va
for him and to end in him, it «i|
in effect he who all along was beittf
made. Yet the whole was only ft
preparatory creation. It was oolf
his body in which all resulted, "'k
body thou hast prepared for me.*
It was when " God breathed into
his nostrils the breath of life " that
man was created. It was then he
became " a living soul."
The error of the physicists
who reject revelation is threefold.
They make the body the man;
they thus assign to his body and
the inner principle which animates
it a simultaneous beginning and
joint development, some of them
going so far as to make the spirit
itself, or soul, or whatever they cail
the animating principle, the spon-
taneous product of material forces.
And, throwing back the beginning
of the evolution process into an*
told ages, by comparison with
which the life of an individual is^
scarcely appreciable moment, they
suppose the process to be still go-
ing on as it begun. All this obvi-
ously contradicts the direct state-
ments of revelation. It is, indeed,
shocking to mere human reasoc.
The work of the natural creation end-
ed with the sixth day. Up to lh:t
time, whether the periods wer;
long or short, the work was goiDi;
OD. But it was complete when the
Primitive Civilization.
629
idy which had been prepared for
m was animated with the spirit of
ۥ After that there was no farther
sveiopment. It is contrary to rea-
»Q to suppose it. It is contrary to
le whole analogy of nature. Not
I instance can be adduced, through-
it the entire creation, of one
^cies developing into another —
ot an instance even of any species
eveloping within itself into a high-
r order of being. But up to that
eriod, of which it is thus written,
f r/i/r PERFECTI SUNT cctU et ierra^ et
mnis ornatus eorum: compi.evit-
U£ I^eus die sepiimo opus suum quod
fecerai ; et requievit die septimo ab
miverso opere quod patraraty we may
dmit, without risk of heterodoxy,
my doctrine of evolution of which
he physicists may give us a satis-
factory evidence.
The physicists, in support of their
irrational theory of evolution, main-
tain that the earliest developments
of human consciousness were of the
lowest order, and that man has ever
since been gradually progressing
towards a higher morality and loft-
ier spheres of thought. In this
able and interesting work Father
Th^baud demonstrates, by an ex-
haustive induction from the history
and literature of all the nations,
that the history of mankind up to
the coming of Christ, instead of a
progress, was a continual retrogres-
sion.
In his introductory chapter he
establishes, by proofs which should
be conclusive to all minds unpre-
possessed by an arrogant perversity,
that primitive man was in posses-
sion of a primitive revelation. In
the morning twilight of the ages, as
far back as we can see across the
Flood, up to the very cherubim-
guarded entrance to the seats of
innocence from which the erring
creature had been driven, he traces
everywhere those rites and dogmas,
in their elemental form, which, in
their complete development and
full significance, made known to us
by the revelation of the fulness of
time, are still of faith and obser-
vance amongst the sons of God
from end to end of the habitable
globe. This revelation did not go
beyond monotheism, because the
fallen immortal had to be prepared,
through long ages of discipline, for
the revelation of the trii^ne nature
of the Godhead, and of 'his restora-
tion to the forfeited favor of his
Father by the incarnation and aton-
ing sacrifice of the Eternal Son.
We do not remember to have met
before with the ingenious hypothe-
sis * that the configuration of the
earth, consisting of an all-embrac-
ing ocean, in the midst of which
vast continents are islands, eviden-
ces the design of the Creator to
have been that " men should have
intercourse of some kind with one
another," and that on the land
'* The oceans and rivers, instead of be-
ing primarily dividing lines, intended to
separate men from one another, had pre-
cisely for their first object to become
highways and common channels of inter-
course between the various nations of
mankind.*'
But our author considers that
the social intercommunion to which
the configuration of the earth was
to administer was not to develop
in the form of " an universal repub-
lic," but that " men were to consent
to exist in larger or smaller groups,
each of them surrounded with well-
defined limits determiningnumerous
• It is, however, something more than a hypothe-
na. The confirmation it receiTes from the fact that
•ince the preTalcnce amongst to laige a portion of
mankind of an uniformity of rite and dogmA, and
the uriirenality of brotherhood occasiooed thereby,
what aee'med to be obsucles have become means oi
intercommunion, to such an extent that the whole
World has become, as ii were, one vast city, gives it
the force of a demonstration.
630
Primitive Civiiisaium.
nationalities/* united in the bond of
religious uniformity which he terms
patriarchal Catholicity.
The design of the Creator of
universal brotherhood amongst his
creatures was not to be fulfilled be-
fore the lapse of ages, and through-
out that dismal period it has the
appearance of being perpetually
thwarted by their perverseness. The
memories of Paradise rapidly faded
away amongst them. After what
period of time we are not told, the
sons of God committed a second
infidelity by intermarrying with the
daughters of men. The result was
a race of giants — giants in capacity
and crime as well as in bodily form
— whose existence universal tradi-
tion attests. In almost open alli-
ance with the powers of darkness,
they sank with such fearful rapidity
down the abyss of depravation,
dragging with them the better por-
tion of the race, that, to avert the
triumph of hell and the utter repro-
bation of his creature, the offended
Creator buried the guilty memories
of colossal crime beneath an univer-
sal deluge, at whose subsidence the
lust civilization reappeared on the
mountains of Asia in all its earliest
purity, brought across the forty
days* extinction of life upon the
earth by the eight souls who alone
had turned a deaf ear to the uni-
versal seduction. *' This idea of a
j^radual and deeper degradation of
iuunan kind,** savs Frederick Schlc-
goK " in each succeeding age, ap-
pears at iirst sight not to accord
verv well with the testimony which
sacred tradition furnishes on man*s
prnnilive state, for it represents
the two races of the primitive
worUi asconiemiH-krar)'; and, indeed,
Seth, the piogenuor of the better
and nobler race of virtuous pairi-
avchs^ x^jis much younger than
Cam, Hv>weven this contradiction
is only apparent, if we reflect
it was the wicked and violent
which drew the other into its
orders, and that it was from
contafnination a giant corrupt!
sprang, which continually inc
ed, till, with a trifling exception,
pervaded the whole mass of m
kind, and till the justice of God i^,
quired the extirpation of degeae^
rate humanity by one unireTsf
flood."
It does not admit of a roomeiit'f.
doubt, as our author argues, tbA
with this terrible judgment begai
the dissolution of that fratenit
unity which God had intendei
should be the happy lot of the h«-
man family, and for which the coft"
figuration of the earth was adapted.
The gigantic unity of crime va
smitten to pieces in the helplessoesi
of division. They who had been
brothers looked in one anothfr*s
faces and found' them strange.
They opened their lips, and, loj
their speech was to others a jargoa
of unintelligible sounds. The one
could no more understand the
other than they could the wolf or
the jackal with whom they botb
began to be mutually classed. The
intercommunion of families of raea
with one another was rudely snap-
ped asunder. There were nomcans
of common action, there was no
medium of common thought The
fragments into which the human
family were smitten went off in
different directions, to post theo-
selves, in attitudes of mutual dis-
trust and defiance, behind ino«n-
tains or morasses, on the skirts
of forests, the borders of torrents
or in the security of me!tsnreless
deserts, where their practised eyes
swept the horizon. Intercommu-
nion was rendered still more impos-
sible by the mutual antagonism.
fear, and luitred that prevailed.
Primitive Civilization.
631
Lnd the very ocean, instead of being
; pathway for the interchange of
octal life, became a formidable
Mirrter between man and man.
rhe dangers to be encountered on
he lands to which the winds might
K^ar them were more to be dreaded
ban the terrible phantoms which,
ssuing ever and anon from the
lome of the storms, raged across
he ocean, and lashed into merciless
ary its roaring waves. Memory
lad lost, in the primeval language,
Jitf key of its treasure-house. As
fears went on, amidst the exacting
preoccupations of new ways of life,
new surroundings, new ways of ex-
pressing their thoughts, and their
increasing tribal or race isolation,
the ideas upon which their primeval
civilization had been based grew
dimmer and dimmer, until they
finally disappeared-
" To establish this in detail,"
says the author of Gcniilism^ '* is the
purpose of this work." And this
purpose appears to us to have been
accomplished in the most convinc-
ing manner.
The scientists maintain, and it is
necessary to their evolution theory,
that man began with barbarism, and
moved slowly onwardsMn the grad-
ual stages of their tedious evolution
process towards what they call
civilization, which is to lead, we
believe, in the future developments
of the ever-continuing evolution, to
some loftier state and condition,
of the nature of which they supply
us with not the faintest idea.
This notion of the original bar-
barism of man is one of those falla-
cies which get imbedded in the
general' belief of mankind one
knows not how. Strange to say, it
has been very generally acquiesced
in for no manner of reason ; and
it is only of late years that thought-
ful men, outside of the faith, have
come to suspect that it is not quite
the truism they had imagined.
There is a reason for tliis : The
attenuation of the claims of another
world on the e very-day life and on
the conduct of men effected by the
great revolt of tlie XVIth century,
and the keener relish for the things
of this life which con3equently en-
sued, have infected the sentiments
of mankind with an exaggerated
sense of the importance of material
objects and pursuits. Thus the idea
of civilization, instead of being that
of the highest development of the
moral and whole inner being of so-
cial man, is limited to the discovery
of all the unnumbered ways and
means of administering to the em-
bellishment and luxury of his actual
life. His very mental progress, as
they term it with extraordinary in-
correctness, is only regarded in this
light.
" The speculators on the stone, bronze,
and iron ages," writes our author, " place
civilization almost exclusively in the en-
joyment by man of a multitude of little
inventions of his own, many of which
certainly are derived from the knowledge
and use of metals. Any nation deprived
of them cannot be called civilized in their
opinion, because reduced tu a very sim-
ple state of life, which, they say unhesi-
tatingly, is barbarism. . . . Barbar-
ism, in fact, depends much more on mo-
ral degradation than on physical want of
comfort. And when we come to describe
patriarchal society, our readers will un-
derstand how a tribe or nation may de-
serve to be placed on an exalted round
of the social ladder, although living ex-
clusively on the fruits of the earth, and
cultivating it with a simple wooden
plough."*
Father Th6baud next proceeds,
with convincing force, to demolish
the argument in behalf of the grad-
ual evolution of the entire race fr m
a state of barbarism, which the evo-
lutionists allege tohave'been inevita-
• Gnailitm, p. 67.
632
Primitive Civilisation.
blyits first stage of intellectual con-
sciousness drawn from the discovery
of human skeletons in caves, and in
the drift of long past ages, in jux-
taposition with instruments of rude
construction belonging to the palae-
olithic age and fossil remains of
extinct animals. This argument
lias always appeared to us so feeble
as to seem a mystery how it could
be employed by learned men, unless
in support of some preconceived
opinion which they would maintain
at all hazards. The occasional
outbreaks of the Mississippi, the
terrible devastation effected by the
mere overflow of the Garonne in the
South of France, give but a faint
idea of what changes must have
been effected upon the crust of the
earth by the subsidence of the huge
mass of water, whicli must have
been at least eight or nine times as
ponderous as all the oceans which
have since lain at peace in its hol-
lows. As the prodigious volumes
of water, sucked and drawn hither
and thither, as they hurried to
theirmountain-bed,rushed in furious
tides and vast whirlpools of terrific
force, they must have torn up the
earth's crust like a rotten rag.
Whole valleys must have been
scoopt^d out down to the very root
of the mountains, and debris of all
kinds deposited everywhere in all
kinds of confusion, so as to afford
no secure data whatever for chrono-
logical, or zoological, or geological
deductions.
Still more conclusive is Father
Thebaud's refutation of the argu-
ment in behalf of the evolution
theory drawn from the discovery of
stone implements of rude construc-
tion in what is asserted to be the
earliest drift deposit of iron in the la-
ter strata, and bronze in the latest.
To make this argument of any force
it must be proved that these periods
evolved regularly and inviriaUy
from one another throughout tbe
whole race of mankind. Their
periodicity^ as Father Th^baud has
it, must be indisputably proved.
But this is just what it cannot be.
On the contrary,
"In this last age in which we live; za
the previous ages, which we can koov
by clear and unobjectionable historj:
finally, in the dimmest ages of aotiqsay
of which we possess any sufficiently reli-
able records, the three ' periods ' of siooe,
bronze, and iron hare always subsistd
simultaneously, and consequently are nd
more ' periods ' when we speak of tbe
aggregate of mankind, but they are osi?
three co-existing aspects of the same^-
cific individual/' *
To the same effect is the argu-
ment that
"The artistic distance between iIk
rough palaeolithic flints and the poUshed
stones of the neolithic period exhibits a
gap which tells but indifferently in lawr
of the believers in continuous pro^r»s.
Either there has been a strange sever-
ment of continuity, or the men of the
first period were better artists, and not
such rough barbarians as the remains we
possess of them seem to attest."
The scientific arguments, how-
ever, of Father Th^batid, in dis-
proof of the alleged original barbar-
ism of the human race, satisfactoij
as they are, as far as they go, are \\^^
more than introductory to the more
conclusive historical argument which
constitutes the body of his vaios-
ble and very opportune worL
" The best efforts to ascertain the
origin of man," he justly remarks,
"or primeval religion,by the factsof
geology or zoology, can at best only
result in more or less probable con-
jectures."
In an argument of this nature
our author begins, as was to have
been expected, from that philoso-
Primitive Civilisation.
633
phical, impassive, and ancient peo-
ple who inhabit the triangular pe-
ninsula which stretches out from no
vast distance from the original seat
of the renewed race of man into
the Southeastern Atlantic. There
they have dwelt from times beyond
which history does not reach. In-
heriting a civilization which dates
from the subsiding Deluge, whose
gradual decadence can be distinct-
ly traced, they are in possession of
the earliest writings that exist, un-
less the books of Moses or the
book of Job are older, which, we do
not think it is rash to say, is, at
least, doubtful. We find ourselves
in the presence of the noblest truths
of even supernatural religion, min-
gled, it is true, with the gross pan-
theistical absurdities which had al-
ready begun to deface the primi-
tive revelation and to deteriorate
the primitive civilization.
The general process throughout
the world was, no doubt, as Father
Thebaud describes —
** After a period of universal monothe-
ism, the nations began to worship 'the
works of God,' and fell generally into a
broad pantheism. They took subse-
quently a second step, perfectly well
marked, later on, in Hindostan, Central
Asia, Egypt, Greece, etc. — a step origin-
ating everywhere in the imagination of
poets, materializing God, bringing him
down to human nature and weakness,
and finally idealizing and deifying his
supposed representations in statuary
and painting."*
But we must venture to differ
from Father Thebaud as to the
religion of the Hindoos having ever
taken the latter step. The form
its pantheism took, in consequence
of its tenets of the incarnations of
Vishnu — the second god of the triad
— and of metempsychosis, w«is a
worship of animals, and especially of
the cow — a worship which prevails
to this day. But this was not the
gross idolatry of the Greeks and
Romans, but rather a respect, a
cultus^ in consequence of the sup-
posed possible presence in tiie for-
mer of departed friends, and of the
incarnation of the divinitv in the
latter. Their idols are huge mate-
rial representations of the might
and repose which are the chief at-
tributes of the Hindoo deity, or of
animals with which the above-nam-
ed ideas were especially associated ;
but we do not think they ever were
worshipped as was, for example
Diana by the Ephesians.
Be this as it may, it in no way
affects the incontrovertible testimo-
ny which Father Thebaud adduces
to the high state of civilization of
this remarkable people fifteen hun-
dred years, at all events, before
Christ. He proves it from their
social institutions, which issued
from a kind of tribal municipality
closely resembling the Celtic clans,
but without the principle of super-
seding the rightful heir to a deceas-
ed canfinny by another son in con-
sequence of certain disqualifica-
tions, and that of the ever-recurring
redistribution of land, which were
the bane of Celtic institutions. The
caste restrictions, our author shows
from the laws of Menu, were not
nearly so rigorous in those primitive
ages ; and from the same source he
exhibits undeniable proof of that
purity of morals which evidences the
highest stage of civilization, and
which has sunk gradually down to
the vicious barbarism of the present
day. We suspect, however, that
this latter has been somewhat ex-
aggerated. It is certainly our .im-
pression, taken from works written
by those who have lived for years
in familiar intercourse with the
people, that amongst the Hindoo
women there still lingers conspicu-
634
Primitive Civilisation,
ous evidence of the purity of morals
which was universal amongst them
in the beginning of their history.
It might have been added, more-
over, that the laws of Menu, in ad-
dition to their high morality, dis-
play a knowledge of finance and
political economy, of the science
of government, and of the art of
developing the resources of a people
which indicate a very high state of
civilization indeed.
It is impossible for us, within the
limits assigned us, to follow Father
TJi^baud through an argument con-
sisting exclusively of learned de-
tail. Our readers, if they would
have any proper appreciation of it,
must consult the work itself. We
remark merely that, starting from
the admitted fact that the Vedas
contain the doctrine of plain and
pure monotheism, and that in those
distant ages " doctrines were pro-
mulgated and believed in "** which
far transcend all the most solemn
teaching of the greatest philosophers
who flourished in the following
ages, and which yield only to the
sublime and exquisitely refined
teachings of Incarnate Wisdom,"*
our author traces the inroads of pan-
theism from the time when the doc-
trine, recently revived by men once
Christians, of an " universal soul "
was openly proclaimed, and " when
it was asserted that our own is a
* spark ' from the * blazing fire,*
that God is ' all beings,' and * all
beings are God.' " \ And he traces
elaborately the change through the
several mystical works of the phil-
^ osophical Brahmins subsequent to
,' the Vedas. Buddhism is a com-
paratively modern development.
We doubt its being any form of
Hindooism whatever. It appears
to us to be rather the earliest de-
• G4mtUhm^ p. i%^
1 11>. pp. TSB, 153,
velopment of that spiriC of hostility
to the life-giving truths of the Chris-
tian revelation which began its
work alibost at their very cradle-
that abject principle of materialism
which, after having dragged dovn
the vast populations of China and
of North and Western India to the
lowest depths of mental and moral
degradation 9f which human nature
is susceptible, is now sweeping over
Christendom, and threatening to
** deceive," if it were possible,
** even the very elect."
Father Th^baud's next chapter
is devoted to a historical review of
the primeval religion and its de-
cline in Central Asia and Africa
And here the proof is more over-
whelming, if possible, than in the
case of India. As to the monothe-
ism of the great Doctor — ^if «
may give him such a title— of the
ancient East, and of the Zends,
there can be no manner of doubt.
Nay, " even the doctrine of the re-
surrection of the body is clearly
contained in the most authentic
part of the Zend-Avesta." There
is also that august personage, apart
from all superior beings under God,
** who stands between God and
man ; shows the way to heaven,
and pronounces judgment upon
human actions after death ; guards
with his drawn sword the whole
world against the demons ; has his
own light from inside, and from
outside is decorated with stars."
Our author makes Zoroaster, at the
latest, a contemporary of Moses,
and justly observes that the Zend-
Avesta " represents the thoughts of
men very near the origin of oar
species." Now, the magnificent
eloquence and profound truth of
the thoughts we meet, rivalling at
times the Book of Job, the beauty
of the prayers, and the elaborate
splendor of the ritualt testify to a
Primitive Civilization.
635
very different state of tilings in
those earliest days from that al-
leged by the evolutionists. Father
Th^baud decides the Zends to be
Vedic, and not Persian. And no
doubt in the remarkable form and
construction of the poems — dra-
matic, and mostly in the form of
dialogue — in the tone of thought
and leading religious ideas, they
closely resemble the Hindoo Ve-
das. But it is our impression that
we do not find in the writings of
Zoroaster that perpetual insistence
on the necessity of absorption into
the deity which characterizes the
Hindoo poems — the Bha^avdt-Gita^
for example. It would appear that
the Persians occupied a special
place in the dispensation of God
in the ancient world. The Holy
Spirit, in the prophecies, speaks of
**mv servant Cyrus whom I have
chosen," and it is certain that
the pure monotheistic worship
was preserved longer in Persia
than in any nation of antiquity,
except the Jewish. Its corrup-
tion was into dualism, by which
the spirit of evil, as in the Indian
Trimourii^ was invested with al-
most co-ordinate power with the
spirit of good. But for full infor-
mation on this important and inter-
esting subject we must refer the
reader to Father Th^baud himself.
Our limits do not admit of our
giving scarcely the faintest outline
of our author's argument in proof
of the monotheism of Pelasgic
Greece, and its gradual degrada-
tion to a sensual and idolatrous an-
thropomorphism in Hellenic and
Heroic Greece. The substantial
genuineness of the Orphic literature
he successfully establishes, as well
a> the similarity of its doctrines to
those of the Vedas; from which
he draws the obvious inference that
the two came from the same
source, and that that branch of
the Aryan family carried with them
to their more distant settlements
tmditions of the primitive revela-
tion so conspicuous in the Persian
and Hindoo mystic epics, but much
defaced and distorted in the course
of their long and toilsome migra-
tions. If pure monotheism ever
prevailed in Pelasgic Greece, its
reign was short: Indeed, to Or-
piieus himself are ascribed panthe-
istic doctrines. It was the poets
who ushered in that special form
of idolatry which took possession
of Greece, the worship of the hu-
man being deified with all his in-
firmities — the anthropomorphism of
the gods, as Father Th^baud calls
it. And the chief sinner, on this
score, was Homer, the first and
greatest of them all. Yet did that
densely-populated, unseen world of
the Greeks — that sensuous, nay vi-
cious, idolatry — which peopled the
ocean and the mountains and the
forests with gods, and imagined a
divinity for every fountain, and
every grove, and every valley, and
every rill, with its superior deities,
up to the supreme father of Olym-
pus, himself subject to that forlorn
solution of the riddle of " evil" —
fate — bear witness from Olympus,
and from Hades, and from the
realms of the sea, to the primitive re-
velation. It bore witness to a civili-
zation from which that degradation
of the ideas of God to the level of
humanity, in spite of its artistic grace
and poetic feeling, deformed, how-
ever, by a filthy lasciviousness, with
its short period of literary splendor
and of exalted philosophy, ending
with the sophistical negations of
scepticism, was a fall, and not a
progress.
For all this, " the precious frag-
ments of a primitive revelation are
found," as Father Th^baud truly
636.,
^Primitive Civilization.
observes, " scattered through the
writings of nearly all ancient Greek
and Latin philosophers and poets."
His two chapters on this subject —
chapter vii. on " Hellenic Philoso-
phy as a Channel of Tradition,"
and chapter viii. on " The Greek
and Latin Poets as Guardians of
Truth " — are perhaps the most inter-
esting part of his most interesting
and instructive work. They em-
brace a subject which has always
appeared to us as more worthy of
learned labor than any other which
could be named. That life would
be well spent which should devote
itself to collecting all these frag-
ments of traditionary truth from all
ante-Christian literatures. Such a
work would not turn back the flood
of rationalism, whose first risings
we owe to Greece — for it is rather
moral than intellectual — but it would
materially obstruct it, and would
rescue from it many souls which
might otherwise be lured to their
destruction by the feeble echoes
of the sophists and Aristophanes,
which, beginning with Voltaire, are
now multiplying through all the
rationalistic press of the world.
Meanwhile, we cordially com-
mend Father Th^baud's work on
Geniiiism to the attentive study of
all who wish for solid information
and sagacious criticism on a sub-
ject which appears to us, without
wishing in the least to underrate
scientific investigation, to be more
interesting and more important
than all or any of the discoveries
of physical science. These, as has
been proved of late years, may be
turned against the truth, and be-
come thus a means of darkening
instead of enlightening the soul.
At the best, be they correct or erro-
neous, great or small, many or few,
they cannot add an inch to our
stature or a day to our lives.
They do not even add to ourhapja-
ness.
But a false science — one which
would assign to each of us an io-
significant phenomenal existcnar,
whose individuality will disappear,
at the end of its few days of liTiog
consciousness, in an universal wbok
in an eternal state of progress— is
as fatal to human happiness as anj*
thing can be short of the abyss of
reprobation. More consoling, as
it is more in accordance with right
reason, is the testimony whidi
comes to us trumpet-tongued, in
one vast unison, from all the ages,
that the history of the race is one
of decadence, not of progress. The
sentence passed was death. The
road to death is decadence. The
way is rounded ; there is a raor^
ment onward and a growth of life
until the descent begins vhich
lands us in dissolution. But ever?
moment from the first cry of infia-
cy is a step nearer to death; ve
are every one of us dying every
day ; and a movement towards
death is not progress. Individual
experience joins its voice to that
of universal history in testimony
of this. The revelation of Christ
has put us in possession of tht
highest and certain truth ; it has
given us a more exalted moral, and
has recast our nature in a higher,
nay, in a divine, mould. We are
still dying everyday; but the cer-
tain hope of a joyful resurrection
has deprived death of its agonizing
sting, and made it, like sleep, a
source of happiness instead of de-
spair. But this is nothing like the
progress of which the sceptics prate.
It is a supernatural stage in the dis-
pensation of God for the renewal
of his fallen creature, predetermined
before all time. His own part in
it — the natural order — is one long
history of decadence. There has
Madame* s ExperimerU.
637
been the ebb and flow, the rising to
fall, of all movement. But deca-
dence has all along triumphed over
progress. Amidst what a deca-
dence are we now living from the
promising progress of the middle
ages ! And we are bid to expect
so terrific a retrogression before the
consummation of all things, that
'* even the elect shall scarcely be
saved."
It is the witness of all the ages —
human progress ebbing and flowing
— but, on the whole, the flow does
not overtake the ebb. The ocean
of life has been ever ebbing into its
eternal abysses, and will ebb, leaving
behind it a dry and barren waste,
until the morning of eternity shall
break over the withdrawing night of
time, chaos shall be for ever sealed
in the confusion and sadness of its
darkness, and the final word shall
go forth, of which the sublime phy-
sical law was only a type and a
shadow : " Let there be light 1"
w
MADAME'S EXPERIMENT.
A SAINT AGNES' EVE STORY.
MY THOUGHTS AX£ MOT YOUR THOUGHTS, NOR YOUR WAYS MY WAYS, SAiTR TUB LORD.
l»
Madame the Countess of Ho-
Jienstein stood at the window of the
great hall of her palace, waiting for
the coach which was to take her
to a chdteau some leagues distant,
where she was to grace a grand en-
tertainment, and to be kept for a
whole night by her hosts as an es-
pecial treasure. For Madame the
Countess of Hohenstein, spite of
her sixty years and her three grown
sons, was a famous beauty still and
a brilliant conversationist, and few
were her rivals, young or old,
throughout the kingdom. But her
face was clouded as she waited in
her stately hall that January after-
noon, and she listened with a pained
expression to the sound of a foot-
step overhead pacing steadily up
and down. She touched a bell pre-
sently.
** Tell your master," she said to
the servant who answered it, " that
I wish to see him again before I
leave." And soon down the winding
stairway she watched a young man
come with the same steady pace
which might have been heard over-
head for a half-hour past.
No need to ask the relationship
between the two. Black, waving
hair, broad brow, set lips, firm chin,
the perfect contour of the hand-
some face — all these were the son's
heritage of remarkable beauty from
his queenly mother ; but the head-
strong pride and excessive love
which shone from her eyes as he
came in sight met eyes very differ-
ent from them. Large and black
indeed they were, but their intense
look, however deep the passion it
bespoke, told of an unearthly pas-
sion and a fire that is divine.
" Ah ! Heinrich love," his mother
said, " once more, come with me."
" Nay, little mother," he answer-
ed — the caressing diminutive sound-
ing strangely as addressed to her
in her pomp of attire and stately
presence — "you said I need not
go; that you did not care for me
at the baron s."
638
Madavtes ExperimenU
44
Not so, Heinrich. I care for
you everywhere, everywhere. I
nm lost without you, love of my
soul. But I know you hate it, and,
if you must stay from any place,
better that than some others. There
are no maidens there I care for,
mv son."
She watched the calm forehead
contract as she spoke. *' There !
as ever," she exclaimed. " Wilt
never hear woman mentioned with-
out a frown } You are no monk
yet, child, at your twentieth year ;
nor ever shall be, if I can help it.
It is enough for me, surely, to Have
given two sons to the priesthood,
without yielding up my last one, my
hope and my pride."
Heinrich made no answer, for
the sound of the carriage-wheels
was heard, and he offered his mo-
ther his hand, led her down the
steps, and placed her in the coach.
She drew him towards her, and
kissed him passionately. ** Fare-
well, my dearest," she said. " I
count, the minutes till we meet
again." And she never ceased to
watch him as long as the mansion
was visible.
He was a sight of which many a
mother might have been proud, as he
stood there bare headed, the winter
sun lighting his face, the winter
wind lifting his dark locks, the fresh
blooili of youth enhancing his pecu-
liar beauty. His mother sighed
deeply as the coach turned a cor-
ner which hid him from her view —
a sigh often repeated during the
course of her journey.
It was a full hour before she was
out of her own domains, though
the horses sped swiftly over the
frozen ground. All those broad
acres, all that noble woodland, all
those peasant homes, were hers;
and for miles behind her the land
stretching north and west belonged
with it, for sne nad married the
owner of the next estate, and, wid-
owed, held it for her son. But at
her death all these possessions musi
be divided among distant unknovn
kinsmen, if Heinrich persisted in
the desire, which had been his from
early boyhood, to become a monk.
His mother's whole heart was set
against it. Her aim in life was to
find for him a wife whom he would
love, and whom he would bring to •
their home ; she longed to hold be-
fore her death her son's son on her
knee.
The coach stopped as the snu
was setting ; and at the palace
door, too eager for a sight of her
to wait in courtly etiquette within,
host and hostess stood ready to
greet this friend of a lifetime.
'* No Heinrich .?"' they cried
laughing. " A truant always. And
we have that with us to-day which
will make you wish him here. No
matter what ! You will sec in
time."
And in time she saw indeed.
Going slowly up the marble stairs
a half-hour later, a vision of mag-
nificent beauty, with her ermine
mantle wrapped about her, the
hood fallen back from her regal
head, the eyes with the pained look
of disappointment and longing still
lingering in them in spite of the
loving welcomes lavished upon her,
she came, in a turn of the stairs,
upon another vision of beauty ra-
diant as her own, and extremely
opposite.
Coming slowly down towards mx
was a young girl, tall and slight,
with a skin of dazzling fairness,
where the blue veins in temple and
neck were plain to see ; a delicate
tint like blush-roses upon the
cheek ; great waves of fair hair
sending back a glint of gold to the
torches 'ust lighted in the ball;
Madame s Experiment.
639
eyes very large, and so deeply set
that at first their violet blue seem-
ed black — eyes meek and down-
cast, and tender as a dove's, but in
them, too, a look of pain and yearn-
ing. The face at first view was
like that of an innocent child, but
beneath its youthfulness lay an ex-
pression which bespoke a wealth
of love and strength and patience,
nnawakened as yet, but of unusual
force. Skilled to read character
by j'ears of experience in kings'
palaces, madame the countess read
her well — so far as she could read
at all.
Evidently the maiden saw no-
thing that was before her; but mad-
ame held her breath in surprise and
delight, and stood still, waiting her
approach. Not till she came close
10 her did the girl look up, then she
too stopped with a startled " Pardon
madame" ; and at sight of the timid,
lovely eyes, at the sound of the
voice — like a flute, like water rip-
pling softly, like a south wind sigh-
ing in the seaside pines — madame
opened her arms, and caught the
stranger to her heart. "My child,
my child," she cried, " how beauti-
ful you are !"
" Madame, madame,* the girl
panted in amazement, carried away
in her turn at the sudden sight of
this lovely lady, who, she thought,
could be, in her regal beauty and
attire, no less than a princess —
"Madame sees herself surely !"
The countess laughed outright
at the artless, undesigned compli-
ment. ** And as charming as beauti-
ful," she said. " I must see more of
you, my love. "
Then, kissing the cheek, red now
as damask roses, she passed on.
In the hall above her hostess stood
with an arch smiFe on her lips.
"Ah! Gertrude, we planned it well,"
she said. *' Fritz and I have been
watching for that meeting. It was
a brilliant tableau."
"But who is she, Wilhelniina .?
Tell me quickly. She is loveliness
itself."
" 'Tis but a short story, dear. We
found her in Halle. Her name is
Elizabeth Wessenberg. She is well-
born, but her family are strict
Lutherans. She — timid, precious
little dove ! — became a Catholic by
some good grace of the good God.
But it was a lonely life, and I beg-
ged her off from it for a whiffe.
Oh ! but her parents winced to see
her go. They hate the name even
of Catholic. That is all — only she
sings like a lark, and she hardly
knows what to make of her new life
and faith, it is so strange to her."
" That is all ! Thanks, Wilhel-
mina. I will be with you soon.
I long to see her once again."
All that evening the countess
kept Elizabeth near her, and every
hour her admiration increased.
A maiden so beautiful, yet so ignor-
ant of her own charms, so unworld-
ly, so innocent, she had never seen.
Alone in her room that night
^he fell trembling upon her knees —
poor» passionate, self-willed mother!
—before the statue of the Holy.
Mother bearing the divine Son
in her arms, and she held up her
hands and prayed aloud.
" I have found her at last," she
cried — " a child who has won her
way into my heart at once with no
effort of her own ; a pearl among
all pearls ; one whom my boy
must love. Lord Jesus, have I not
given thee two sons } Give me now
one son to keep for my own, and
not for thee. Grant that he may
love this precious creature, fit for
him as though thou thyself hadst
made her for him, even as Eve was
made for Adam." And then she
covered her face, and sobbed and
Madame s Experiment,
-i-iie-i ir.\x i^-ng, wordless pray-
1":^ T-fxt C2T saw her on her
'^'leTi-i WIT, bi: not alone.
S ;! :^i c::x^i in her irresistible
L^' T : .. 5":e hid obtained for
*-r~>c.:' r"-:-!! >.:;r inend a part of
F .!.:_<;:* 5 t >.": : and Elizabeth
r.r i< :: 5,':e were living in a
i-^^.::» r^'i'^ ri the costly coach,
»-: \ci .n f-'s ir.i watched by
:''.-><; b<;i-:::\:l eyes- Constantly
: *; c? -!T:i5s txted with her, lead-
T^ :.:e 0'.\tvirsa::^a delicatelv in
>aci 1 zii-TTer thit she found out
•:: :c : i -ectni to Elizabeth's home,
jri vc:e:-j:ted into her hidden
>^'r-v vs : T n;card to the coldness
i *•- -•.»,'<«. c: s'* ::i?a:hv there. And it
» ^4 ♦ ••
<r»:o^'\j.
•^.-c * "
» » • ~» ^
o w?rds to tell that this
% "^^ JL ht-irt which craved sympa-
*^j a:'i I.ve irv">st keenly; which
•r $cmeth:n^ hUher and
^-ir* ::<el: to lean upon.
** r-M t^^v: s^e Lacked at the
^''^-. .* :L^e. e::c?wed with such
c\ ;,>.-* r'r':a;fni;;nt of beauty;
..* h'>« :..:*e the ch/-i.:ke vet ]on<r-
' ^^, ir'^i: <::ed eyes rrret hers;
c^vv f ♦^e t^e music:tl voice fell
1:0:1 r<rr ears* fe:iriri: ever an
^v^^> oi th.it same craving for some-
\ :.'^^ ?iK>re and better thjn the
^ :l .i.ul yet known, madame's mo-
iiicr-h^^sirt throbbed towards her,
.tjul it seemed to her that she
vv>u\l hwirdly wait for the blessing
\\.>:vli, she had persuaded herself,
\>4^ svirely coming to her at last.
Now a Jul then she spoke of the
v\nin:iy ti^rv^vgh which they pass-
evi ; a'u! 10 Khz abet h it was almost
i;m lovhhle :!iat such wealth could
IvivM)^; JO one person only. Now
vUvl ii)vn ^!>e siv^ke of *' mv son "
»u a loiie of exultant love, and
t SM\ l'l:.Mbe:h t:d^h..a :; .ttie;
UM Nho liiwuud to meet tliis
^M.ini;ou Very grand and proud
klio Kuuicd him; one who would
hardly notice at all a person so iih
significant as herself.
" Here is the village chapel,
Elizabeth," madame said, as the
coach stopped suddenly. **Wia
you scold, my little one, if I go
in for a minute to the priest's
house? Or perhaps you would
like to visit the Blessed Sacrament
while I am gone ?"
Yes, that was what Elizabeth
would like indeed ; and there she
knelt and prayed, never dreaming
how much was being said aboct
her only next door.
''Father!" madame exclaimed
impetuously to the gray-haired
priest who rose to greet her, **I
must have Mass said for my ioten-
tion every morning for a week.
See, here is a part only of ny
offering." And she laid a heavy
purse upon the table. " If God
grant my prayer, it shall be doab-
led, tripled."
*' God s answers cannot be
bought, madame/' the priest said
sadly, "nor can they be forced."
*' They must be this time, then,
father. You must make my inten-
tion your own. Will you not?
Will you not for this once, fa-
ther?"
'• What is it, then, my daughter?"
" Father, do not be angry. It is
the old hunger wrought up to dcs-
l>eration. I cannot give my boy
to be a monk !"
The priest's face darkened. *
'* Xo ! no !" madame hu'ried on.
** It is too much to ask of me.
And now I have found a bride for
him at last. She waits for me in
the chapel, fair and pure as the
lilies. L am taking her home in
triumph."
«
** Does Heinrich know of ibis?"
** Not one word. He cannot
fail to love her when he sees her.
It is for this I ask your prayers."
Madame s Experiment.
641
The priest pushed away the
[>urse. *'I will have none of this,"
ic said. " It is far better to see
»y poor suffer than that this un-
righteous deed should be done.
ITou call yourself a Catholic, and
pride yourself because your house
ras always Catholic ; and yet you
3are say that anything is too much
for God to ask of you ! I am an
^Id man, madame, and have had
many souls to deal with, but I
never yet saw one whose vocation
was more plain than Heinrich*s to
Lhe entire service of God's church.
Will you dare run counter to God's
Rrill?"
** Nay, father, it cannot be his
will. Our very name would die
out — our heritage pass from us!'*
'* And suppose it does ! AVho
shall promise you that if Heinrich
marries there shall ever be child
of his to fill his place .^ And what
are place, and name, and heri-
tage, madame.^ That which death,
or war, or a king's caprice may
snatch away in a moment. But
your spiritual heritage shall never
die. What mother on earth but
miglu envy you if you give your
three sons — your all — to God !
Many are the children* of the deso-
late, more than of her that hath
an iiusband, saith the Lord. lie
maketh a barren woman to dwell
in a house the joyful mother of
children. There is a place and a
name within his walls better than
sons and daughters. Do you dre^m
what risk you run, what part you
play, when you would tempt from
his calling one who, if you leave
(lod to work his own pleasure,
shall hereafter shine as the stars
through all eternity .?"
She did not answer back with
piide. Insto.ul, her whole face
Rrcw soft, and the large tears filled
her eyes and ran slowly down her
VOL. XXII. — 41
cheeks. " I want to do right," she
said humbly; "but I cannot feel
that it is right. Father, see: I will
not ask you to make my intention
yours. But I promise you one
thing : I must ask God to grant
me this blessing, but it shall be the
last time. If I fail now, let his will
be done. And do you, father, ask
him to make it plain to e what
his will is."
"God bless you, daughter!" the
old priest answered, much moved
by her humility. " I will pray that
indeed. But still I warn you that
I think you are doing wrong in so
much as trying such an experiment
as this which you have under-
taken."
" No, no," she cried again.
" No, no, father. This once I must
try, or my heart will break."
Again in the carriage, she press-
ed Elizabeth to her closely, and
kissed her, and said words of pas-
sionate love, finding relief thus for
the pent-up feelings of her heart ;
but Elizabeth knew not how to
reply. It troubled and perplexed
her — this lavish affection ; for she
could not repay it in kind. It only
served to waken a suffering which
she had known from childhood, a
strange, unsatisfied yearning within
her, which came at the sight of a
lovely landscape, or the sound of
exquisite music, or the caresses of
some friend. She wanted more ;
and where and what was that
" more," which seemed to lie be-
yond everything, and which she
could never grasp ?
She felt it often during her visit
— that visit where attention was
constantly 'bestowed on her, and
she lived in the midst of such lux-
ury as she had never known before.
Somctliing in Heinrich's face seem-
ed to her to promise an answer to
her questionings — it was so at rest.
642
Madafne*s Experinunt.
so settled ; and this, more than any-
thing else about him, interested and
attracted her. Madame saw the in-
terest, without guessing the cause.
She felt also that Heinrich was not
wholly insensible to Elizajbeth's
presence; and though she asked
i)iiu no direct questions, she con-
trived to turn conversation into the
ci)annels which could not fail to
engage him, and which the young
I nnvert also cared for most.
Klizabeth decided that Heinrich
knew more than any one else, but
Lven he tired her sometimes. " He
kdows too much," she thought,
*• and he is so cold and indiffer-
ent. Yet he would not be himself
it* he were more like madame; and
she IS too tender. Oh ! what does
it all mean ? There is nothing
that makes one content except
church, and one cannot be always
there."
So passed the time till S. Agnes*
Eve. That night, when the young
people entered the dining-hall,
madame was absent. She sent a
message that they must dine with-
out her, as she had a severe head-
ache, and Elizabeth might come
to her an hour after dinner.
The meal was a silent one. When
it was over, and they went into the
library, Heinrich seated himself at
the organ. Grand chorals, funer-
al marches full of mourning and
awe and hope. Mass music wel-
cominjT the cominc; of the Lord of
Sahaoih, filled the lofty room.
When he ceased, Elizabeth was
sohoing irrepressibly.
" l\)rj::ive me, forgive me!" she
said. ** I cannot help it. O mon-
sieur ! I know not wiiat it means.
Love and hate, beauty and det'orm-
ity, joy and siuToring — I cannot un-
derstand. Nothing satieties, and
to be a Catholic makes the craving
worse. Is it because I am only
just beginning, and that I shall
understand better by and by?"
He stood at a little distance froa
her, looking not at her at all, birt
upward and far away.
" I will tell mademoiselle a jtory,
if she will permit it," he said.
** Many years ago there was a prith,
cess, very beautiful, very wise, ani
very wealthy. Her councillors bef:
ged that she would marry, and at
last she told them that she woqM
do so, if they would find for b«r
the prince she should describe^
He should be so rich that he sbouH
esteem all the treasures of the !»•
dies as a little dust ; so wise thaS
no man could ever mention in hii
presence aught that he did not at
ready know ; so fair that no cliiM
of man should compare with hia
in beauty ; so spotless in his sod
that the very heavens should not
be pure in his sight. They knew
not where to find that prince, but
their lady knew."
He paused, though not as for an
answer. He had guessed well his
mother's plans and hopes; he fath-
omed as truly Elizabeth's nature;
and when he spoke again, it was as
no one except the priest of God
had ever heard him speak :
"There are some souls whoia
no one and nothing on earth as
possibly satisfy. Beauty, and leirn-
ing, and friendship, and home, and
love, each alike wearies them. God
only can content them, and he is
enough — God alone. To such so-ls
he gives himself, if they sincerei)
desire it. It is a love bevond rJI
imaginable earthly love. Ir sati^
fies, yet leav.^s a constant cravir:
which we have no wish should \
cease. He understands everj'thin^
even those things which wccanna:
explain to ourselves. It ishefiad* ;
ing whom tiie soul loveth him, and ,
will not let him go."
Madamis ExperinunL
643
while. And is
and good, ray
After saying this, he sat down
once more at the organ, and play-
ed again till the hour named by
nadanie arrived. Elizabeth found
ber pale and suffering, but with a
plad look in her eyes.
'* You have Ijad talk together,
Ihen/* she cried. " I heard the
music cease for a
he not charming
Heinrich ?"
" Yes," Elizabeth said dreamily.
'•He made me understand a little
lo-nig)U — better than any one has
ever done before."
'* Is that so, my little one } And
how then ?"
" Here," Elizabeth said innocent-
ly, laying her hand on her heart,
and with no suspicion of the mean-
ing which the countess attached to
the act. ** If I could only under-
stand more — more."
** You will in time, most dear one
— in time, in time." And oh ! the
exulting ring in madame*s voice.
'* But see, my precious, what I have
to show you."
A chest was drawn up beside
madanie's easy-chair. She opened
it, and before Elizabeth's dazzled
eyes lay jewels of wondrous lustre
and value — long strings of pearls,
changing opals with the fire-spark
trembling in them, sapphires blue
as the sky, emeralds green as the
sea, and glittering diamonds. Mad-
ame drew out the costly things,
and adorned Elizabeth with one set
after another by turn, watching the
effect. Last of all, she touched a
spring, and took from a secret
drawer a set of pearls, large and
round, with a soft amber tint in
thrm. These she held caressingly
and sighed.
" Look, Elizabeth," she said.
"Forty years ago this very night I
wore them, when I was a girl like
you. There was a great ball here.
Some one — ah ! but how grand and
beautiful he looked; my poor
heart remembers well, and is sore
with the memory now — some one
begged me to try the charm of S.
Agnes' Eve. Dost know it, dear.'
Nay } Then you shall try it too.
Go supperless to rest ; look not to
left or right, nor yet behind you,
but pray God to show you that
which shall satisfy your heart of
hearts."
" Did he show you, madame .'"
Madame sighed heavily. " Alas !
love, alas ! What contents us here }
I had it for a time, and then God
took it from me. No prouder wife
than I, no prouder mother; but
husband and sons are gone, all ex-
cept my Heinrich. Pray God to
keep him for me, Elizabeth, Eliza-
beth."
" And who, then, was S. Agnes,
madame 1 And shall I pray to her
that prayer ?"
Madame looked aghast, then
smiled an amused yet troubled
smile. " Nay, child, I thought not
of that. S. Agnes was one who
loved our blessed Lord alone,
not man. She died rather than
yield to earthly love and joy."
** But why, madame ?"
'* O child, child ! But I forget.
You have only just begun the Cath-
olic life, my sweet. God's love,
then, is enough for some people ;
but they are monks and nuns, not
common Christians like you and
me and Heinrich. We could not
live in that way, could we, Eliza-
beth — you and Heinrich and I ?"
** And God would never grow tir-
ed of us, madame 1 Nor ever die !
Nor ever misunderstand ! O mad-
ame ! I think we could not live
with less." And Elizabeth stood up
suddenly, as if too agitated to re-
main quiet
'* Ah ! love, you are only just ft
644
Madame s Experiment,
convert. In one's first excitement
one fancies many things. You are.
meant to serve God in the world,
my dear, for many years to come —
you and my Heinrich. Pray for
him to-night."
But hurrying along the hall to
lier own room, Elizabeth whispered
passionately in her heart : " I do
not want to pray for him. Let him
pray for himself. His saints pray
for him too, and God loves him,
and he does not need me. Does
uuidame, then, suppose that he
could ever care for me, or I for
him } I want more than he can
give — more — more ! Shotv me my
lieart's desire, O God, my God!"
In her excitement and in the
darkness she laid her hand on the
wrong door, and, opening it, found
herself in an old gallery, at the end
of which a light was glimmering.
Scarcely heeding what slie did, she
moved toward it, and found that
she was in the choir of the castle
(Impel. The door fell gently to be-
liind lier, but did not close, and
Klizabcth was alone. Alone? The
aisles were empty, tiic organ was
still, the priest was gone; but before
liie sacred shrine tlie steady ray of
the lamp lold that He who filleth
the heaven of lieavens was dwelling
in his earthly temple, and that un-
seen angels guarded :ill the phce.
lUit of angels or men Elizabeth
thought not. Silently, slowly she
nmved onward, her hands ])ressed
upon her heart, whose i)assionate
beatinc; i^rew still as slie came near-
er to the Sacred He irt which alone
could fullv comfort, t"ullv streniith-
en, fully understand. Slowly she
moved, as one wlio knows that
some great jc'V is coming surely,
and who lenuthcns willinglv the
bliss of expectation.
And so she reached a narrow
flight of steps, and made her way
gently down, and &nelt. Ou
in the clear night, a great wind
and rocked the castle-towei
Elizabeth knew it not. Sh<
conscious only of the intense
ness of that unseen Presence
peace flooding her whole sou
a river ; of the nearness of On
is strength and love and truth
nite and eternal.
" Show me my heart's desi
God, my God !" she sighed.
God, my God ! She lifted u
eyes, and there, above the si
beheld the great crucifix of H(
stein, brought from the far-off
by a Crusader knight. She
up her eyes, and saw the ha|
face full of unceasing prayei
sunken cheeks, the pierced 1
and feet, the bones, easy to nui
in the worn and tortured bod)
side with its deep wound whi
spear had passed.*
Yet, looking upward steadil
her excitement gone, a sacred
upon her inmost soul, Eliz
knew that her prayer was ansM
her lifelong hunger satisfied,
had given her her heart's desi
(lod, mv (iod ! No love bi
could satisfy ; and his coiik
an eternal content. To that 1
pierced for her, broken for he
could offer no less than her
heart; and that she /////5/ offc
by coi^straint, but simply bt
she loved him beyond all,
all, and knew that in him, a
him only, she was sure of a
failing, an everlastinif love.
Madame, seeking her in liie
morning, found her room ur
pied, then noticed the gallcr}
ajar, and, trembling, soui'ji
there. Elizabeth had koj)t S. .'
Eve indeed, but it was 'Djfor
shrine of S. Agnes' Spoux
Lord.
*' My daughter," the coi
Madame s Experiment.
645
said, using the word for the first
time, and with oh ! how sad a tone —
*• "what have you done this night,
my daughter?"
Elizabeth lifted hand and face
toward the shrine. " Madame,*'
sbe answered slowly, as one who
speaks unconsciously in sleep, " I
have found Him whom my soul
loveth. I hold him, and I will not
let him go."
God himself had made his way
plain indeed before Madame the
Countess of Hohenstein in this her
last struggle with his will. The
very plan which she had chosen to
gain her cherished hopes had crush-
ed them. Not priest or son, but
the girl whom she herself had nam-
ed for her final trial, had shown her
that God's purposes were far aside
from hers.
" Take all, O Lord !" she cried,
while her tears fell like rain. " Take
all I have. I dare not struggle
longer."
One son gave up his life a mar-
tyr in the blood-stained church in
Japan. Another endured a life-
long martyrdom among the lepers
of the Levant, winning souls yet
more tainted than the bodies home
again to God. And one, the young-
est, and the fairest, and the dearest,
was seen in China and in India, in
Peru and in Mexico, going without
question wherever he was sent, for
the greater glory of God ; but he
was never seen in his German
home again. After they once left
her, their mother never beheld their
faces. And she who had been
taken to her heart as a daughter
entered an order in a distant land.
Yet none ever heard madame
the last Countess of Hohenstein
murmur against her lot. Clearly,
tenderly, patiently, more and more
did God vouchsafe to make his way
plain to her. In chapel, day by
day, she watched the decaying ban-
ners which told of the fields her fa-
thers won ; saw the monuments to
men of her race who had fought
and died for their king and their
land; read the names once proud-
ly vaunted, now almost forgotten.
What was fame like this to the
honor God had showered on her }
Souls east and west brought safe
to him ; life laid down for the Lord
of lords ; a seed not to be reckoned ;
a lineage which could never fail;
sons and daughters to stand at last
in that multitude which no one
can number, who have come out
of great tribulation, with fadeless
palms of victory in their hands —
such was her place and name in the
house of God.
The quaint German text upon
her tombstone puzzled travellers
greatly, and those who could deci-
pher it wondered but the more. It
ran thus :
Requiescat in Pace,
GERTRUDE,
Tioenty-nlnth and Last Countess of Ho^
hen stein.
The children of thy barrenness shall
still say in thy ears : The place is too
strait for xne ; make me room to dwell
in. And thou shalt say in thy heart :
Who hath begotten me these? I was
barren, and brought not forth, led away,
and captive ; and who hath brought up
these ? I was destitute and alone ; and
these, where were they ?
Thus saith the Lord God : Behold, I
will lift up my hand to the Gentiles, and
will set up my standard to the' people.
And they shall bring thy sons in their
arms, and carr>'thy daughters upon their
shoulders. And thou shalt know that I
am the Lord ; for they shall not be con-
founded that wait for him.
646
The Basques.
THE BASQUES.
We are all Basques. Nay, reader,
be not startled at having your sup-
posed nationality thus suddenly set
aside. An author of far more learn-
ing than we can lay claim to — Sefior
Erro, a Spanish Basque — gravely
asserts that all the inhabitants of
Europe and Asia, if not of Ameri-
ca also, sprang from the Basques.
In short, tliey — that is, 7ve — are the
primitive race. And this fearless
writer, with a due sense of national
superiority, goes boldly on to prove
that Adam and Eve spoke the
Basque language in the terrestrial
Paradise, of which he gives a de-
tailed description according to the
Biscayan interpretation of the Bib-
lical account.
We remember how, in search of
Adain — great progenitor ! — whose
said-to-bc-fine statue is among the
army of saints on the glorious roof
of Milan cathedral, we got bewil-
dered on that celestial hciglit, so
that we do not to this day feel
sure of having discovered the true
Adam, and might never have found
our way down to earth again had it
not been for tiie kind offices of one
of Victor Knianuel's soldiers. So
it is with manv a savant in tracinc:
the origin of the human species.
Lost in threading the way back to
our first parents, they need some
rough, uncultured soul to lead tiiem
out of the bewildering maze — back
to the i)oint whence they started.
But let us ho[)e in this instance
filial instinct has not mistaken the
genuine Adam — the first speaker, it
is possible, of Basque. Senor Erro
finds in this language the origin of
all civilization and science. It
must be confessed we have ^
forgotten our mother-tongue;
is said to be impossible to le;
speak it unless one goes very
among the Basques. It is a
mon saying of theirs that th(
once came into their conn
learn the language, but gave
in despair after three hu
years' application ! It may
ferred he had lost the knoi
he had made such successfi
of a few thousand years bef
the Garden of Eden.
M. Astarloa, likewise a Bis4
maintains that the extraor(
perfection of this language
proof it is the only one that
have been conferred on the
man by his Creator, but in ai
place says it was formed by
himself at the confusion of to
in the tower of Babel — whit
scrtions rather lack harmonv.
Max Miiller, the eminent
lologist, pretends a serious d
sion took fjlace about two hu
years ago in the metropolitan
ter of Pampeluna as to the U
ing knotty points :
First, Was Basque the piii
language of mankind ? The
ed members confessed liial,
ever strong might be their p
convictions, they did not dan
an affirmative reply.
Scco)uny, Was Basque tlie
language spoken by Adam anc
in the garden of Eden ?
As to this, the whole chapte
clared there could be no (:
wliatever that it was " impossib
bring a reasonable objection ag
such an opinion."
The Basques.
647
This is extremely amusing ; but,
of course, too absurd to be true.
Besides, the archives of Pampeluna
do not afford the slightest hint of
so singular a record.
South western France, however,
has many traditions of the Oriental
origin of its inhabitants. Tarbes
a^ Lourdes are said to have been
fcmnded by Abyssinian princesses.
fielleforest, in his Cosmography^
says Japhet himself came into
Gaul and built the city of P^ri-
gueux, which for several ages bore
his name. P^re Bajole, of Condom,
a Jesuit of the XVIIth century,
is less precise in his suppositions,
but tbinks the country was peopled
soon after the Deluge, and there-
fore by those who had correct no-
tions of the true God. Moreover
as Noah, of course, would not have
allowed his descendants to depart
without suitable advice as to the
way of salvation, especially to the
head of the colony, he concludes
that many of the ancient Aquita-
nians were saved. The Sire Du-
pleix cites the epistle of S. Martial
to show they had retained some
proper notions of theology, which
accounts for the rapid success of
the first Christian apostles of the
country.
But to return to the Basques in
particular: In \\i^ Leyenda Penda-
dola — an old book of the Xlth
century — we read that "the first
settlement in Spain was made by
the patriarch Tubal, whose peoi)le
spoke the language still used in
the provinces of Biscay" — thjxt is,
the Basque. William von Hum-
holdt likewise attributed to the
Basques an Asiatic origin, and was
d.'cidcdly of the school of MM.
Krro and Astarloa, though he re-
jected their exaggerations. The
Basque language, so rich, harmoni-
ous, and expressive, is now generally
believed to be one of the Turanian
tongues. Prince Lucian Bonaparte
shows the analogy between it and
the Hungarian, Georgian, etc.
The word Basque is derived
from the Latin Vasdo ; for in South-
western France it is quite common
to pronounce the letter v like b — a
habit which made Scaliger wittily
say : Felices populiy quibus Vivere
est Bibere.
The Basque country consists of
several provinceson both sides of the
Pyrenees bordering on the Bay of
Biscay. Labourd, Soule, and Low-
er Navarre are now in the depart-
ment of the Basses-Pyrenees, on' the
French side. The two provinces of
Biscay and Guipuzcoa — a part of
Alava and of Upper Navarre — be-
long to Spain. The whole Basque
population cannot be more than
500,000. The people, as we have
had a proof of, are proud of their
ancient nationality ; and though
there is a difference of manners,
physiognomy, and even of idiom in
these sections, they all recognize
each other as brethren. They are
a noble race, and have accom-
plished great deeds in ^their day.
Entrenched behind their moun-
tains, they long kept the Romans at
bay, drove back the Moors, and
crushed the rear-guard of Charle-
magne.
The Basques have always been
famous navigators. The first sug-
gestion that led to the discovery
of America is said to have been
given Christopher Columbus by
Sanchez de Huelva, a Basqite pilot.
The Basques of Labourd certainly
discovered Cape Breton. They
were the first to go on whaie-fish-
eries, which, in 1412, extended as
far as Iceland. And Newfoundland
seems to have been knov/n to them
in the middle of the XVth century.
The first nan^p of Cape Breton —
648
The Basques.
isle des Bacaloas or Bacaloac — is a
Basque name.
In the middle ages the Basques
maintained a certain independence
by means of their /ueroSy or special
privileges, which had been handed
down from time immemorial and
confirmed by several of the kings
of France. The wood of Haitze is
still pointed out as the place where
the assemblies of the elders, or di/-
farSf were formerly held in the dis-
trict of Labourd. Here came to-
gether the proprietors of the differ-
ent communes to regulate their
administrative affairs. The most
of the assembly leaned on their
staves or against the venerable oaks
of the forest. But the presiding
member sat on a huge stone, the
secretary on another, while a third
was used for recording the decrees
of the assembly, to which the kings
of France and Navarre were often
forced to yield by virtue of their
fueros.
And this country was never over-
ruled by oppressive lords who held
it in subjection by means of their
fortified castles. The device of Bay-
on ne — Nunquam polluia — seems
to express the unstained indepen-
dence that had never been subject-
ed to feudal dominion. It doubt-
less had great families who distin-
guished themselves by their bravery
and military services, and were
noted for their wealth, like the
casas de parienies viajores — the twen-
ty-four families of great antiquity
— ^in Guypuzcoa, among which was
the faiTiily of Loyola of Aspeitia, to
which the immortal founder of the
Jesuits belonged, as well as that of
Balda, his mother's family ; but they
never pretended to the feudal au-
thority of the great nobles of France
and Spain. It was only in the
XVth century that several Basque
families, who had become wealthy,
ventured to erect some inoffensive
towers like those of Uturbi near Sl
Jean de Luz, occupied by Loois
XI. while on the frontier arranging
the ireaty between the kings of Cas-
tile and Arragon.
It is said of the Basques of Spain:
As many Basques, as many noblfs.
Many of their villages have coi^tt
of arms on all the houses, which
contrast with the decayed lattices
and crumbling roofs. The owners
point to their emblazonry with the .
air of a Montmorency. When the
Moors invaded the North of Spain,
thousands of mountaineers rose to
drive them out. As they made
war at their own expense, those
who returned alive to their cottages
received the reward of gentlenoen—
the right of assuming some heraldic
sign and graving it on their walls
as a perpetual memorial of their
deeds. In the valley of Roncal
the inhabitants were all ennobled
for having distinguished themselves
at the battle of Olaso, in the reign
of Fortunio Garcia. In the village
of Santa Lucia, not far from Toledo,
an old house of the Xlllth century
is still to be seen with double lan-
cet windows, which has its record
over the door proving the part a
former owner had taken at the
bridge of Olaso — an azure field
traversed by a river, which is span-
ned by a bridge with three golden
arches surmounted by the bleeding
head of a Moor.
In a faubourg of Tolosa is a
modest house stating that Juan
Perez having borne arms for more
than fifty years in Italy, Spain.
Portugal, Flanders, etc., and taken
part in the great naval victory over
the Turks at Lepanto under \>^
Juan of Austria, the emperor c^^
ated him knight and gave him for
his arms the imperial eagJe.
But most of these armorial bca^
The Basques.
649
ngH have reference to the chase, to
vhich the people were so addicted.
The trophies they brought home,
ikstead of being nailed up over the
loor, were now graven there in
rtone — sometimes a wolf, or a hare,
*r even a favorite hound. Two
dogs are on the arms inherited by
tlic Prince of Viana, the donor of
&e line bells to the basilica of
Notre Dame de Lourdes.
In the commune of Bardos is a
chateau which bears the name of
Salla frqm the founder of the fam-
ily. It was he who, fighting under
Alphonse the Chaste, King of Na-
varre, had his legs broken by the
explosion of a rock, from which
time the house of Salla has had for
its arms three chevrons bris/s, (Tor^
$ur un champ (fazur. The most il-
lustrions member of this family is
Jean Baptiste de la Salle, who
founded the admirable order of the
Brothers of the Christian Schools,
with a special mission for instruct-
ing the poor.
Mgr. de Belsunce, the celebrated
bishop of Marseilles, was also of
Basque origin. The Chiteau de
Belsunce is still to be seen — an
old manor-house with Gothic tur-
rets bespeaking the antiquity of
the family. The name is associ-
ated with the legends of the coun-
try. Tradition relates that a wing-
ed monster having terrified the
whole region, a knight of this
house armed himself with a lance
and went forth to attack the
monster in his den. The dragon,
having received a mortal wound,
sprang with a dying effort upon his
enemy, seized him, and rolled with
him into the Nive. From that
time the family of Belsunce bore
on its shield a dragon sable on a
field gules.
The arms of Fontarabia is a
siren on the waves bearing a mir-
ror and a comb — symbol of this
enchanting region. This historic
place, once the rival of St. Jean de
Luz, now wears a touching aspect
of desolation and mourning which
only adds to its attractions. Its
ruins have a hue of antiquity that
must delight a painter's eye. The
long street that leads to the princi-
pal square carries one back three
hundred years, most of the houses
being in the Spanish style of the
XVIth century. There are coats
of arms over every door, and bal-
conies projecting from every story,
with complicated trellises or lat-
tices that must almost madden the
moon-struck serenader. Nothing
could be more picturesque than
this truly Spanish place. Many of
the houses bear the imposing name
o{ palacioSj which testify to the an-
cient splendor of this ciudad mtiy
nobie, muy Ualy y muy imkrosa.
Overlooking the whole place is the
chateau of Jeanne la Folle, mas-
sive, heavy, its walls three yards
thick, its towers round — a genuine
fortress founded in the Xth cen-
tury, but mostly rebuilt by Charles
V. Its chronicles are full of his-
toric interest. Here took place
the interview between Louis XI.
and Henri IV. of Castille, whose
arrogant favorite, Bel tram de la
Cueva, in his mantle broidered
with gold and pearls and dia-
monds, and his boat with its awn-
ing of cloth of gold, must have of-
fered a striking contrast to the ex-
treme simplicity of the King of
France.
The fine, imposing church of
Fontarabia, in the transition style,
is a marked exception to the Basque
churches generally, which are of
simple primitive architecture, with
but few ornaments; and these, at
least on the French side of the fron-
tier, mostly confined to the sanctu-
650
TIti Basqtus.
ary, which is rich in color and gild-
ing. Perhaps over the main altar
is a painting, but by no means by
Miirillo or Velasquez. If on the
Spanish side, it may be a S. lago
on a white steed, sword in hand,
with a red mantle over his pilgrim's
dress, looking like a genuine inaia"
morCy breathing destruction against
the Moors. The Madonna, too, is
always there, perhaps with a wheel
of silver swords, as if in her bosom
were centred all the sorrows of tiie
human race.
The galleries around the nave in
the Basque churches gives them the
appearance of a salU de spectacle;
but the clergy think the separation
of the sexes promotes the respect
due in the sanctuary, and the peo-
ple themselves cling to the practice.
The men occupy the galleries.
They all have rosaries in their
hands. From time to time you
can see them kiss their thumbs,
placed in the form of a cross, per-
haps to set a seal on their vows to
God, as people in tlie middle ages
used lo seal their letters with their
thuml)s to give tliem a sacred in-
violability. Licking the thumb
was, we know, an ancient form of
giving a solemn pledge ; and, till a
recent period, the legal form of
completing a bargain in Scotland
was to join the thumbs and lick
tliem. " What say ye, man ? There's
my thumb ; I'll ne'er beguile ye,"
said Rob Roy to Bailie Nicol
Jarvie.
When Mass is over, every man in
the galleries respectfully salutes his
.next neiiihbor. This is considered
' obliiratorv. W^^re it even his dead-
best enemy, lie must bow his head
before him. Mass heard with de-
votion l)rings the Truce of God to
the heart.
The women occupy the nave, sit-
ting or kneeling on the black,
funereal-looking carpet that c
the stone above the tomb of
beloved dead. For every f;
has a slab of wood or marble
an inscription in large chara
which covers the family vauhl
and their notions of pious w
oblige the living to kneel 0:
stone that covers the bones oi
forefathers. Or this awj the
for of late years burial in clii
has been forbidden, and these
now only serve to designate t
alienable right of the families
cupy them during the divine s<
It is curious and interesting
amine these sepulchral slabs
they are like the archives of j
inscribed with the names (
principal inhabitants, with
rank and occupation. In
places the women, by turns,
every morning an offering foi
pastor, which they deposit or
stones like an expiatory lil
Several of them are daily gar
with fruit, wine, eggs, bee
yarn, and linen thread, ar
curi\ accompanied by his s
or the sacristan, goes arounc
Mass to collect this tribute
piety in a basket, and give \\v.
ing to the families. These oj
of the first-fiuits of the ear
still Qontinued, though the d(
buried elsewhere.
The seat of that miehtv
tate, the village mayor, is
choir, as befits his dignity,
he fully sustains by his maje-
portment in sight of the who
gregation. Sometimes he
at the lectern, like Charle
The square ])eristyle of the
is often divided between hi
the village school-master io
respective functions, as if tc
them with a kind of sanclitv.
In Soule the belfry is fori:
extending upwards the ^
The Basques
651
all of the church in the form of
iree gables, looking like three
belisks! The bell is hung in the
rntral one. The origin of this
iistom is thus explained by M.
!^nac Montaut :
*' In former times, when the
tasques had some difficulty about
cccpting all the truths of the Gos-«
cl, the clergy were unable to make
iciii comprehend the docrine of
be Holy Trinity. One of the
♦riests, like S. Patrick with the
Kanirock, saw he must appeal to
be senses in order to reach the
nind and heart. Entering his
iide pulpit one day, he addressed
lis Aock something after the fol-
owing manner: * Some of you,
ny dear brethren, recently object-
id that the God of the Old Tes-
ament, in the tables of the law,
A'ished to be worshipped as one
Clod, and that to add now the
Son and Holy Spirit to the Deity
is to overthrow the law of Sinai
and affect the divine Essence itself.
. . . . My dear brethren, hitherto
we have had but one gable on our
belfr)', directing towards heaven the
innermost prayer of the heart, and
bearing the bell by which God
seems to speak to us in return. If,
now, two other gables were added
to this, would not this triple t(ywer,
standing on one base, and pointing
to the same heaven, still constitute
one belfry V "
This appeal was effective. Those
who had been unable to accept the
abstract doctrine of the Trinity
)»erfectly comprehended this mate-
rial unity. The other priests of
Soule hastened to make use of so
kippy an oratorical figure, and all
Oirough the valley of the Gave
rose the three-gabled, dogmatic
belfries, such as we see at the pre-
sent day.
Near the church is often a mod-
est white house with a small garden
containing a few trees and flowers,
where the Daughters of the Cross
devote themselves to the instruction
of children, planting the seeds of
piety in their youthful hearts.
The Basque houses, with their
triangular, tile-covered roofs, often
project like a chdlet^ and are paint-
ed white, green, and even pink.
The casements are made in the
form of fi cross, and stained red.
The doorway is arched like a
church-portal, and has over it a
Virgin, or crucifix, or some pious
inscription. There is no bolt on
the door ; for a Basque roof is too
inviolable to need a fastening. At
the entrance is a binitier (for holy
water), as if the house were to the
owner a kind of sanctuary to.be
entered with purification and a
holy thought. You enter a large
hall that divides the house into two
parts, and contains all the farming
utensils. It is here the husband-
man husks his corn and thrashes
his wheat. The uncolored walls
of the rooms are hung with a few
rude pictures, as of the Last Judg-
ment, the Wandering*Jew, or Na-
poleon. There are some large
presses, a few wooden chairs, a
shelf in the corner with a lace-
edged covering for the statue of
the Virgin, who wears a crown
of immortelles on her head and a
rosary around her neck. At one
end of the room is a bed large
enough for a whole family, and so
high as almost to need a ladder to
ascend it. The open pink cur-
tains show the holy-water font, the
crucifix, and faded palm branch an-
nually renewed. There is no house
without some religious symbol.
The Basque has great faith in pray-
er. He stops his plough or wild
native dance to say the Angelus.
He never forgets to arm himself
652
The Basques,
with the sign of the cross in a
moment of danger. He makes" it
ever the loaf of bread before he
divides it among the family. The
mother makes it on the foreheads of
her children at night. At Candle-
mas a blessed candle burns under
every roof in honor of the true
Light which lighteth every man
that Cometh into the world. It is
the boast of the country that
Protestantism never found entrance
therein, even during its prevalence
in Beam at the lime of Joan of
Navarre, though that princess took
pains to have the Huguenot version
of the New Testament translated
into Basque and published at La
Rochelle in 1591 for their benefit.
The wliole Bible is now translated,
M.. Duvoisin having devoted six
years to the work, and Prince Lu-
cian Bonaparte a still longer time
in settling the orthography and
superintending the edition.
It must not be supposed, how-
ever, that the Basques are an aus-
tere race. They are very fond of
their national dances, and excel in
the jcu lie paume. Among their
other anuiseiflcnts is the pastorale^
acted in the open air with a c/iirula
(a kind of flute) and a tambourine
for the orchestra. The subject is
borrowed from the Bible, the le-
gend of Roland, the wars with the
Moors, etc. They are composed
by native poets, and have a certain
antique simplicity not without its
charin. The peoi)le flock to tliese
re])rcsentations, as to their Canta-
brian dances, in their gayest attire.
Tlie old man wears a beret drawn
over his forehead, while his long
hair floats l)chind in token of the
nobility of liis ancient race. He
wears sliort breeches, long woollen
stockings, and leather shoes with
handsome silver buckles.
The young Basque, straight, well
formed, and proud in his be
wears his blue b^ret jauntily \
ed on one side of his head,
jacket is short. Silver clasf
ten his collar and wristbands
wears sandals on his feet, wi
bars across the instep. A
red sash girdles his waist— as
mountaineers, enabling them
dure fatigue the better, Hi
surcingle of a horse. " Bew
that young man with tiie
girdle," said Sulla, speaki
Caesar. For among the R
the word discinctus was appi
the indolent, cowardly sold
alte cinctus (high-girdled) m
prompt, courageous man.
The girls, slender in fom
regular, expressive features, a
ed in a black mantilla, or ds(
it on their arms. A gay k€
is wound around the back
heads like a turban, leaving
the shining bands of their Ik
black hair.
The old women wear whit
lin kerchiefs on their head
one corner falling on the sh
On the breast is suspended
en heart or Saint- Esprit,
times they are enveloped fro:
to foot in a great black
which is absolutely requisiti
they attend a funeral. Thi
tie forms part of the trous,
every bride of any substan
she wears it on her woddii
as if to show herself prep;
pay due honor to all the
who should depart this life
her. It must be a great <
for them to see this mourni
nient prepared in advance, ;i
sight of tile bride veiled
long black capuchin must di
ratiier subdued gayety over tl
ding party.
The Basques pay great
to the dead. When a mai
The Basques.
653
lis next neighbor on the right car-
ies the crucifix before his bier in the
Uneral procession, and his nearest
leighbor on the left walks at its
ide. And the whole neighborhood
isseiiibles around it in church, with
Sghted candles in their hands, to
bear the Mass for the Dead. They
|dom their graveyards with shrubs
pAid flowers. And they never omit
the month's-mind, or anniversary
service.
Of course no one goes to the
Basque country without visiting the
famous Pas de Roland. The whole
region is singularly wild and
picturesque. We pass through a
deep gorge encumbered with rocks,
ever which the Nive plunges and
foams in the maddest possible
way. Twin mountains of granite
rise to the very heavens, their sides
covered with the golden broom, or
furrowed with deep gullies that tell
of mountain torrents. The over-
hanging cliffs, and the dizzy, wind-
ing road along the edge of the abyss,
create a feeling of awe ; and by the
lime we arrive, breathless and fa-
tigued, at the Pas de Roland, we
arc quite prepared to believe any-
thing marvellous.
" I lie reclined
A^nst some trunk the husbandman has felled ;
Old legendary pccras fill my mind,
And Parables of Eld :
I wander wiih OrUndo through the wood,
Or mu&e with Jaques in his solitude."
Til is archway was produced by a
mere blow from the heel of the
great Paladin, who did not consi-
der the mountain worthv the use of
)iis mighty sword. Everything is
halhed in the golden light of tlie
wondrous legend, which harmo-
nizes with the spot. We even
fancy we can hear the powerful
horn of Orlando — the greatest
trumpeter on record. We can sec
Carloman, with his black plumes
and red mantle — opera-like — as he
is described in the Chant (TAlia^
bisfar I The natives, pur sang^
do not call this pass by the name
of Roland, but Utheca gaiz — a bad,
dangerous passage, as in truth it
is. It is the only means of com-
munication with the opposite side
of the mountain. After going
through it, the mountains recede,
the horizon expands, a country full
of bucolic delights is revealed to
the eye, the exaltation of the soul
subsides, and the mind settles down
to its normal state of incredulity.
Just below the Pas de Roland,
on the French side, are the thermal
springs of Cambo, in a lovely little
valley watered by the Nive. The
air here is pure, the climate mild,
the meadows fresh and sprinkled
with flowers, the encircling hills
are crowned with verdure. Never
did Nature put on an aspect of
more grace and beauty than in
this delicious spot. One of tlic
springs is sulphurous, the otiier
ferruginous. They became popular
among the Spanish and Basques dur-
ing the last century when patroniz-
ed by Queen Marie Anne de Neu-
berg, the second wift^f Den Carlos
II. of Spain. Some of her royal
gifts to the church of Cambo are
still shown with pride. These
springs were visited as early as
1585, among others, by Fran9ois de
Nouailles, Bishop of Dax, who is
often referred to in proof of their
efncacy ; but as that eminent diplo-
matist died a few weeks after he
tried the waters, the less said of his
cure the better for their reputation.
Niipoleon I., however, had faith in
their virtues. He visited Cambo,
and was only prevented by his
downfall from building a hiilitary
hosjiital here.
Not two miles from Cambo is the
busy town of Hasparrcn. The way
thither is through a delightful coun-
6S4
The Basques,
try, with some fresh beauty bursting
on the eye at every step. On all
sides are to be seen the neat white
cottages of the laborers in the midst
of orcliards, meadows, and vine-
yards; sometimes in the hollows of
u valley like a nest among the green
leaves; sometimes on the hills com-
manding the most delicious of land-
scapes. Hasparren has about six
thousand inhabitants, mostly farm-
ers, but who try to increase their
income by some trade. Twelve
hundred of them are shoemakers ;
seven or eight hundred are weavers,
curriers, or chocolate-makers. The
spacious church is hardly able to
contain the crowd of worshippers
on festivals. A curious history is
connected with the belfry.
The government having imposed
a tax on salt in 1784, th^e people
around Hasparren, who had hitherto
been exempted, resolved to resist
so heavy an impost. They rang the
bell with violence to call together
the inhabitants. Even the women
assembled in bands with spits,
pitchforks, and sickles, to the sound
of a drum, which one of their num-
ber beat bef^e them. The mob,
amounting to two thousand, en-
trenched themselves in the public
cemetery, where they received with
howls of rage the ^wq brigades the
governor of Bayonne was obliged to
send for the enforcement of the
law. Bloodshed was prevented by
the venerable curd, who rose from
his sick-bed and appeared in their
midst. By his mild, persuasive
words he calmed the excited crowd,
induced the troops to retire and the
mob to disperse. The leaders be-
ing afterwards arrested, he also ef-
fected their pardon — on humiliating
conditions, however, to the town.
The hardest was, perhaps, the de-
struction of the belfry, from which
they had rung the alarm ; and it was
not till some time in the preser
century they were allowed to ii
build it.
It is remarkable that the anc'cd
Basques left no poems, no wni
songs to celebrate their valonji
deeds, no epic in w^hich some ai
venturous mariner recites his vjt
derings ; for the language is flcxib|
and easily bends to rhythiu.
the people seem better musici:!
than poets. There arc, to be s«t
some rude plaints of love, a i^
smugglers' or fishermen's songs, sw
to bold airs full of wild harino!
that perhaps used to animate tfa(
forefathers to fight against til
Moors; but these songs have noil
erary merit. Only two poems i|
the language have acquired a cen
tain celebrity, because puhlishedbf
prominent men who ascribed t»
them a great antiquity. One ot
these is the Chant des Cantahm^
published by Wilhelm von Hum-
boldt in 181 7 in connection with
an essay on the Basque language.
Ushered into the world by so dis-
tinguished a linguist, it was eagerly
welcomed by German sax>anis, and
regarded as a precious memorial
of past ages. M. von Humboldt
took it from the MSS. of a Span-
iard employed in 1590 to explnre
the archives of Simancas and Bis-
cay. He pretended to have found
it written on an old, worm-eaten
parchment, as- well it might l)e it
done soon after the invasion of the
country by the Romans. We won-
der he did not also find the hislonr
of the conquest of Cantabria in five
books composed by the Emperor
Augustus himself, said to have
been in existence in the XVlIth
century !
The Chant {TAttabisfar is said to
have been discovered by M. Li
Tour d'Auvergne in an old con-
vent at St. Sebastian, in 1821, yivA-
The Basques.
f>ii
en on parchment in characters
if the Xlllth or XlVth century.
1 is unfortunate so valuable a MS.,
ike tlie original poems of Ossian,
hoTtld have been lost ! The con-
sents, however, were preserved and
wblished in 1835, and, though now
considered spurious, merit a cer-
ain attention because formerly re-
tarded as genuine by such men as
ITictor tiugo, who, in his Ligende
ies SiecIeSy speaks of CharKemagne
Is *' plein de douleur " to think
* Qa*on fera des chaztsons dans toutet ces mon-
taji^es
Sar ses gucrriers tomb^ deyant des paysAns,
£t qu*oo en parlera plus que quatre cents aos !"'
M. Olivier, in his Dictionnaire de
la Conversation^ enthusiastically ex-
claims: "What shall I say of the
Basque chants, and where did this
people, on their inaccessible heights,
obtain such boldness of rhythm and
intonation ? Every Basque air I
know is grand and decided in tone,
but none more strikingly so than
the national chant of the Escualdu-
nacs, as they call themselves in
their lang^iage. And yet this fine
poem hiis for some of its lines only
the cardinal numbers up to twenty,
and then repeated in reverse order.
Often, while listening to the pure,
fresh melody of this air, I have
wondered what meaning was con-
cealed beneath these singular lines.
From one hypothesis to another I
have gone back to the time when
the Vascon race, hedged in at the
foot of the Pyrenees by the Celtic
invaders, sought refuge among the
inaccessible mountains. Then, it
seemed to me, this Chant was com-
posed as a war-song in which, after
recounting, one by one, their years
of exile, they numbered with the
same regularity, but in a contra-
ry direction, their deeds of ven-
geance !"
Such is the power of imagination.
It is the
" Pire Tournamlne
Qui croit tout ce qu'il s*imagine.*'
Let US give the literal translation
of \\\Q lines in which M. Olivier
finds such an expression of sublime
vengeance :
" They come ! they come ! What a forest of
lances !
With many-colored banners floating in the midst.
How the lightning flashes from their arms !
How many arc there ? Boy, count them wcU !
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine,
ten, eleven, twelve.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seveulecn,
eighteen, nineteen, twenty.
• • » • . .
They fly ! they fly ! Where, then, is the forest of
lances ?
Where the many-colored banners floating in the
midst ?
The lightning no longer flashes from their blood-
stained arms.
How many left ? Boy, count them well 1
Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen,
fifteen, fourteen, thirteen,
Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, Mven, six, five,
four, three, two, one."
The first book in the Basque lan-
guage was printed in the XVIth cen-
tury, in the same year Rabelais pub-
lished his Panta^ruely in which he
makes Panurge ask in the Basque lan-
guage for an erremedio against pover-
ty, that he might escape the penalty
of Adam which brought sweat to his
brow — a question mafly are still ask-
ing in far more intelligible language.
The most ancient specimens of
genuine Basque literature show
what changes the language has un-
dergone within four or five centu-
ries, which is a proof against the
aathenticity of these Chants. M.
Blade, a French critic, says his but-
ter-man readily translated every
word of the Chant des CantabreSy so
admired by the Baron von Hum-
boldt. Fortunately, it is not needed
to prove the valor of the Canta-
brians when their country was in-
vaded by the Romans, nor that of
Altabisfar to show the part they
took in Roncesvalles* fearful fight.
6s6
The Eternal Years.
THE ETERNAL YEARS.
BY TinB AUTHOK OP "THB DIVINB SEQUENCB.
** TianquQ Hope »till trims her lamp
At the Eternal Yeaxs."— /«*rr.
M
CHAPTER I.
OUR IMPRESSIONS.
It is probable that most of us
have been, at some time in our
intellectual and spiritual life, con-
scious of a divergence between our
mental impressions and our receiv-
ed belief respecting the nature and
characteristics of the divine Being.
Outside the closed-in boundaries
of our faith there has been, as it
were, a margin of waste land which
we seldom explore, but the undefin-
ed, uncultivated products of which
flit athwart our imagination with
something like an uncomfortable
misgi^ving. We do not go far into it,
because we have our certain land-
marks to stand by; and while the
sun of fiiitli shines bright on these,
we can say ^ ourselves that we
have notliing really to do with the
sort of fog-land which surrounds
our own happy enclosure. Our
alh)tment is one of peace within
the true fold of the church.
We know where we are ; we
know what we have got to do; and
we refuse to be seriouslv troubled
by the dubious questions which
may possibly never disturb us, un-
less we deliberately turn to them.
To us. as Catholics, this is a safe
resolve. We know the Church
cannot err. We believe, and are
ready, absolutely and unreservedly
ready, to believe, all she puts be-
fore us as claimino; our belief.
And tliis is no childish superstition.
It is no unmanly laying down of
our inalienable right to knov good
from evil; it is no wilful deafness
or deliberate closing of our eyei
It is the absolutely necessary and
perfectly inevitable result of ihc
one primary foundation of all oor
belief — namely, that the church is
the organ of the Holy Ghost, the
infallible utterance of an infallible
voice, which voice is none other
and no less than the voice of God,
speaking through and by the di-
vinely-instituted kingdom which
comprises the church of God.
With this once firmly fixed in our
hearts and intellects, nothing can
disturb us. Even supposing some-
thing to be defined by the church
for which we were unprepared— as
was the case with some on the de-
finition of the Infallibility of tl-t
Sovereign Pontiff — still these sur-
prises, if surprises they be, can be
no otherwise than sweet and wel-
come. To us there cannot be a
jarring note in that voice which \^
the voice of the Holy Ghost. The
trumpet cannot give a false so^rd.
It is our fault — either intellectiuli}
our fiiult (which is rather a mis-
fortune than a fault) or spiriuiallj
(which is from our negligence and
lukewarmness) — if the blast of liut
trumpet painfully startle us from
our slumbers. To all who 3^^'
waking and watching the sound
can only be cheering and encourac
ing. The good soldier is ev^r
The Eternal Years.
657
ady to hear it and prompt to
obey. The slumberer is among
those to whom our Lord says:
** You know how to discern the face
of the sky, and can you not know
the signs of the times ?" *
He evidently expects us to know
tlic signs of the times. The Lord
is not in the strong wind, nor is lie
in the earthquake or the fire. He
IS in the gentle air. \ But the wind
and the earthquake and the fire are
liis precursors, and those who have
experienced, and heard, and wit-
nessed these warnings should be
all attention for the softer sound
which is the utterance of the divine
Voice in the church.
There should be no surprise save
the surprise of a great joy, the ad-
miring astonishment of finding out
how good our God is, and what
marvellous treasures of things new
and old our great mother, the
church, lays before us from time to
lime, as the Spirit of God moves
over the ocean of divine love, as
it were incubating the creations of
the world of grace. We lie down
in our certainly as the infant lies
down in its mother's lap, and we
rise on the wings of hope and faith
as the lark rises in the morning
hght, without the shadow of a
doubt that the lambient air will up-
hold the little fluttering wings with
which it carries its joyous song to
the gates of heaven. Underneath
tis are the " everlasting arms," J and
therefore we " dwell in safety and
alone" — alone as reiiards those out-
side the churcii, who cannot under-
stand our security, because they
have never grasped the idea that,
the voice of the ciuirch being the
voice of the third Person of the
ever-blessed Trinity to doubt the
♦ S. Matthew xvi. 4.
t3 Kia;;<; xix. 11, 12.
% Deutcrunom) xxxiii. vj,
VOL. XXII —42
church is the same as to say that
God is a liar.
If we have dwelt thus at length
upon our certitude, and upon the
intellectual and spiritual repose it
gives us, we have done so for the
purpose of making it absolutely
impossible for our readers to sup-
pose that when we speak of a di-
vergence between some of our men-
tal impressions and our received
belief, we are in any degree insinu-
ating that we have not got all we
require in the absolute and definite
teaching of the church ; or that we
have any cause to feel troubled
about any question which the
church has left as an open ques-
tion, and respecting which any one
of us individually may have been
unable to arrive at a conclusion.
All we mean is this: that there are
certain feelings, impressions, and
imaginings which we find it hard to
silence and extinguish, difficult to
classify in accordance with our
substantial belief, and which hang
about us like a sail on the mast of
a vessel which the unwary crew
have left flapping in a dangerous
gale.
The points in question may be
various as the minds that contem-
plate them. They may embrace a
variety of subjects, and may as-
sume different shapes and aspects,
according to the external circum-
stances under which they present
themselves, or to the color of our
own thoughts and feelings at the
moment they are before us. Their
field is so vast and their possible
variety so great that it would be
vain for us to attempt to give even
a glance at them all. Indeed, the
doing so is beyond our capacity,
and would be beyond the capacity
of any one man. For who shall
tell what is fermenting in the
thoughts of one even of his feU
6s8
The Eternal Years.
low-])eings ? He can merely guess
blindly at the souls of others from
having dwelt in the depths of his
own, and knowing, as the one great
fact, that all men are brothers.
We arc f:xr, therefore, from intend-
ing to take up all the possible ques-
tions not hedged in and limited
and defined by dogmatic teaching,
or to try and help others to come
to a conclusion on each. We
might as well attempt to count the
sands of the sea-shore. All we are
proposing to ourselves for our own
consolation, and, if possible, for that
of our readers, is to lay hold of
certain facts which will give a clew
to other less certain facts, and, in
short — if we may be allowed to re-
sort to a chemical term — to indicate
certain solvents which will hold in
solution the little pebbles that lie
in our path, and which might grow
into great stumbling-blocks had we
not a strong dissolving power al-
ways at our command.
It is self-evident that there is one
kno\vle(ii:j:o which contains all other
kno\vlo(]u.e, nnd that is the know-
ledge of God. As all ihinc^s flow
from liim, therefore all things are in
hin^ ; and if we could see or know
him, we should know all the rest.
That knowledge, that seeing, is the
** light of glory." lis pertection
is only compatible with the l^eatific
Vision, which vision is inii)ossil)le lo
mere man in his condition oi viator^
or ])ilgrini.* It is the conclusion of
faith, just as ' broad noon is the
tcrn^jnation of darkness. But as
faith is the leading up to tiie
♦ In ihc r/.V .l/'r., //./.•/€- of the F.Icsscd Marie
d'Agrctla liierc are opo or two pa";a;j;c-i which indi-
cate a belief thai tlic Tl'-'^^rd Vifj^iu was more than
once admitted to ih'j I'.oatifi: V:\icMi hcKTC her
As.siimpti(.':i. Oi' c >iir>c the asscrLion is uit offaitli.
Possibly it may admit of a liiorc m-'diiled cx;<lana-
tion. On th » oth-.T haad. Our Lady bcin;:: ciiually
free from ori.i^inal as from artiial sin. it is m^rc ra.sh
to attempt to Umit her privileges than to suppose
them absolutely exceptional.
Beatific Vision, to the li^li
glory, and to the knowledge (
things, theretbre in its dccre-
the best substitute for siulit-
dawning of a more perfect day
the beginning of knowledj;e.
sequently, " faith is the evideni
things that appear not.*' Ar.
it is some of the things'
appear not " which are piizziini
bewildering many of us, let i
hold of our faith and go whitl
shall lead us.
We can in this life only \
God mediately and obscure!
reason and faith. But as tii
rect and clear intuition of G
the Beatific Vision will in
the knowledge of all else, so
our present imperfect know
of him comprises in a o
sense all other and lesser sci
and is necessary to the hi
knowledge of created things.
To do this thoroughly wc w
vestigate the occasional diver
between our mental imjircs
as we sometimes experience
and our received belief ol
]J)ivine Nature and characteri-
In a burst of Iioly exiihai;
Paul asks, " Wiio hatii knowr
mind of the L()r<l ?"*^ — not a«» \\
regretting his ignorance, bar :
witii the feelings of one wiio, 1;
suddenly conu: upon an eval
priceless treasure, exclaims.
can tell what wealth now lies 1
us?
Yc3, indeed ! we know him
while we know him but imperf
Tliere is more to know than u
guess at, but our hearts ar
narrow to holil it. And ve: :
times how full to oveiflowiiii
tliat knowleilge seemed I ILr
not followed him from tiie c
to the grave, in tiiai swee: bro
* Romans zi. 34.
The Eternal Years.
659
>od "which he has established
ith each one of us ? Have we
>t lost ourselves in far-reaching
oughts of how, and where he
IS %vhen his brotherhood with
\ was not an accomplished fact,
It only an ever-enduring divine
tent ion co-equal with his own
ernal existence — a phase of that
^^y existence, for ever present to
e Divine Idea, though not yet
ibjected to the conditions of time ?
'e have thought of him as in the
>soni of the Father in a way in
hicli, wonderful to relate, he never
Lii be again in the bosom of the
ather. A something has passed in
ispect to the existence of God
imself, and actually made a differ-
nce in the extrinsic relations of
le divine Being.
There was an eternity in which
ftc Son of God — ^he whom we most
ecm to know of the three Persons
tf the ever-blessed Trinity — dwelt
n the bosom of the Father uncon-
lected with his sacred humanity,
fhere was an eternity when his
lame was not Jesus, when he was
ihe Son of God only, and not the
Son of man.
We are expressing what every-
body knows who is a Christian —
1 platitude almost, and yet so full
of wonder that, unless we have thor-
oughly gone into it and sifted it,
we- have not ransacked half the
riches of what we can and may
know of the " mind of the Lord."
In truth, we are very apt to be
Tcpelled by this contemplation.
There is something dreary to us in
the eternity when the Brother of
our race and the Spouse of our
souls was only the everlasting Be-
Rotten of the Father, dwelling in
that inscrutable eternity to which
^Ci as the creatures of time, seem
to have no link. Our thoughts
*nd imaginations are shackled by
the conditions of our own being.
Yesterday we were not. And so
all before yesterday seems like a
blank to us. To-morrow we know
will be — if not for us in this identi-
cal state, yet certainly for us in
some other state. But that dim
yesterday, which never began and
of which no history can be written,
no details given, only the great,
grand, inarticulated statement made
that the Qui Est, the " I am," filled
it — this appalls us. Can nothing be
done to mitigate this stupendous
though beautiful horror ? Is there
no corner into which our insignifi-
cance can creep, that so we may
look out upon those unknown
depths without feeling that we are
plunging into a fathomless ocean,
there to sink in blank darkness and
inanition } Surely the God of the
past (as from our point of view wc
reckon the past) should not be so
appallingly unknown to us who
have our beloved Jesus in the pre-
sent, and who look forward to the
Beatific Vision of the whole blessed
Trinity with trembling hope in the
future. But before we can in any
degree overcome the stupor with
which we think of the backward-
flowing ages of eternity, we must en-
deavor more fully to realize the na-
ture of time.
We are all apt to speak of time
as a period ; whereas it is more
properly a state.
The generality of. persons, in
thinking of time in relation to eter-
nity, represent to themselves a long,
long ago, blind past, and then an
interminable but partially appreci-
able future, and time lying as a
sort of sliced-out period between
the two, which slice is attached to
the eternity behind and the eternity
in front, and about which we have
the comfort and satisfaction of be-
ing able to write history and chro-
66o
The Eternal Years.
nicle events, either on a large or a
small scale. We treat it as we
should do a mountain of gold,
which we coin into money, and we
conveniently cut it up into ages,
years, months, days, and hours. It
is our nature so to do, and we can-
not do otherwise. It is the condi-
tion of our being. But as it will
not be always the condition of our
being, there are few things we are
more constantly exhorted to than
the attempt to raise our imagina-
tion, or rather our faith, as much
as possible out of these conven-
tional and arbitrary trammels, and
dispose ourselves for that other
state which is our ultimate end,
and where there are no years and
no days.
In point of fact, time is only an
imperfection of our being — an ab-
solutely necessary imperfection, be-
cause our being is finite, and our
state is a probationary state ; and
probation implies not only that
succession which is necessary in
every finite being, but change and
movement in respect to things
which are permanent in a more per-
fect state. Our condition in time
has not inaptly been compared to
that of a man looking through the
small aperture of a camera-obscura,
which only permits him to behold
a section of what is passing. The
figures appear and vanish. But
the window is thrown wide open in
eternity, and he sees the whole at
once. He is, therefore, under a
disadvantage so long as he is in the
camera-obscura, viewing the land-
scape througli a small hole. And
this is our position, judging of
eternity through the aperture of
time. Even now we have a won-
derful power of adding to our time,
or of shortening it, without any ref-
erence to clocks or sun-dials, and
which, if we think about it, will
help to show us that time is a plas-
tic accident of our being.
Wiien we have been ver)' noack
absorbed, we have taken no note
of time, and the hours have flown
like minutes. During that interval
we have, as it were, made our own
time, and modified our condiiioi
with reference to time by onr o
act. Time, therefore, is plastiOij
Were we bv some extraordin
and exceptional power to accoi
plish in one day all that actu
we now take a year to effect, but
the same time intellectuallv to
lain our present perception of ll
succession of events, our life woul
not really have been shorter for t
want of those three hundred a
sixty-four days which we had be
able to do v/ithout. Life is shorttf
now than it was in the days of il»e
patriarchs. But possibly the per
ception of life is not shortened.
Nay, rather, from the rapidity with
which events are now permitted to
succeed each other, partially owing
to the progress of science and to
man's increased dominion over ma-
terial force, the probability is thst
our lives are not abstractedly muc\
if at all, more brief than .Vdaic's
nine hundred and thirty years. A'l
things now are hastening to the
end. They have always been liss-
tening. But there is the ndJed
impetus of the past; and that io-
creases with every age in the worlds
history. -
Now, let us imagine life, or a
portion of life, without Ihouiii't—
that is, without the act of thinkin:
Immediately we find that it is next
door to no things to no time, and
Ao life. We can onlv measure M'
with any accuracy by the amount
of thoudit which has filled it— tiiit
is, by the quantity of our intelk-c-
tual and spiritual power which «<?
have been able to bring to tb<
The Eternal Years,
661
nail aperture in the camera-ob-
:ura, by which to contemplate the
^er-flowing eternity which lies be-
and, and cut it up into the sec-
ons we call time.
Another example will show us
ow plastic is the nature of time.
'akc the life of an animal. We are
iclined to give the largest reason-
ble and possible importance to the
rute creation. It is an open ques-
ion, in which we see great seeds of
uture development, all tending to
(icreased glory to the Creator and
o farther elucidation of creative
ove. Nevertheless, it is obvious
bat brutes perceive only or chiefly
)y moments. There is, as compar-
ed with ourselves, little or no se-
ijuencein their perceptions. There
is no cumulative knowledge. They
are without deliberate reflection,
even where they are not without
perception of relations and circum-
stances, past or future. Conse-
quently, they are more rigorously
subjects to time than ourselves.
Therefore, when we deprive an ani-
mal of life, we deprive him of a re-
mainder of time that is equal to lit-
tle more than no time, in proportion
to the degree in which his power of
filling time with perception is less
than our own.* All we have said
tends to prove that the existence of
time is a relative existence; it is
the form or phase of our own finite
being. It is an aspect of eternity —
the aspect which is consistent with
our present condition. For time is
the measure of successive existence
in created and finite beings. As
finite spirits we cannot escape from
this limit of successive existence,
any more than a body can escape
* In other words, theirs is a more imperfect being
dtta oars ; though \k'hether its imperfection is to ez-
dttde all idea of their having a fuller development
whereby and in which they will be indemnified for
their sinless share in fallea man's punishment is still
*B open question.
from the limit of locality and finite
movement in grace. Eternal exis-
tence is the entire possession of life,
which is illimitable, in such a per-
fect manner that all succession in
duration is excluded. This is pos-
sible only in God himself, who is
alone most pure and perfect act,
and therefore is at once all he can
be, without change or movement.
But the created spirit must ever
live by a perpetual movement of in-
crease in its duration, because it is
on every side finite. Time, there-
fore, will continue to exist while
creatures continue to exist.
Having arrived at this conclusion
we cannot refuse ourselves the sat-
isfaction of pointing out one obvi-
ous deduction — namely, that if
time has, in itself, only a relative
existence, it is impossible it can
ever put an end to the existence
of anytliing else. It is inconceiv-
able that the tion est can absorb, ex-
terminate, annihilate, or obliterate
any one single thing that has ever
had one second of real existence,
of permitted being, of sentient, or
even of insentient, life. God can
annihilate, if he so will (and we do
not think he will), but time cannot.
Time can hide and put away. It
can slip between us and the only
reality, which is eternity ; that is
the condition of God, the Qui Est.
Wait awhile, and time will have, as
it were, spread or overflowed into
eternity. It will hide nothing from
our view. It will be " rent in two
from the top to the bottom," from
the beginning to the end, like the
veil of the Temple, which is its sym-
bol. And then will appear all that
it has hitherto seemed, but only
seemed, to distinguish. We shall
find it all in the inner recesses of
eternity. What cause, in point of
fact, have we for supposing that
anything which is shall cease to
663
TJu Eternal Years.
exist ? Why, because we no longer
beliold certain objects, do we im-
agine them to be really lost for ever ?
Is this a reasonable supposition on
the part of beings who are con-
scious that once they themselves
were not, and yet believe that they
always shall be ? Why should tlie
mere diversity in other existences
make us apprehend that the miss-
ing is also the lost, and that we
have any substantial cause for
doubting that all which exists will go
on existing ? Do we anywhere see
symptoms of anniliilation ? It is
true we see endless mutations, but
those very mutations are a guaran-
tee to us of the continuousne^s of
being. All material things change :
but they only change. They do
not ever in any case go out and
cease to be. If this be true of
merely material things, how abso-
lutely true must it be of the im-
material ; and how more than pro-
bable of that which is partly one
and partly the other, of that far
lower nature of the brutes, which
have a principle of life- in them in-
ferior to ours and superior to the
plants, and of which, S4nce we do
not believe their sensations to be
the result of certain fortuitous
atoms that have fashioned them-
selves blindly after an inexorable
law, and independently of an in-
telligent Lawgiver, we may reason-
ably predicate that they too will
have a future and, in its proper
inferior order, an advanced exist-
ence. Everywhere there is growth
— through the phases of time into
the portals of eternity.
The idea in the eternal Mind, of
all essences, the least as well as the
greatest, was, like the Mind that
held it, eternal — that is, exempt from
all limit of succession. The past,
present, and future are the pro-
gressive modes of existence and of
our own perceptions rather than
the properties of the essences them-
selves. Those essences had a place
in the Eternal Idea ; they occupy an
actual place as an actual existence
in the phases of time, and they go
on in all probability — may we nol
say in all certainty } — in the endless-
ness of the Creator's inlentiai.
Let no one misunderstand this a
implying that matter was eternal ia
any other sense than its essence
being an object of the idea of tlie
eternal God, it was always ckarif
present to the eternal Mind. I
actuality, as we know it, dates fn
this creation of the crude, chaoi
mass. But once formed, and t
fashioned, and finally animated,
can have no pretence for siippo*-
ing that ,any part of it will ever
cease to be. Nor can we have aDf
solid reason for supposing tliat vhai
has once been endowed with sen-
tient life will ever be condemned to
fail back into the all but infiniteir
lower form of mere organic matter,
any more than we have reason to
suppose that at some future period
organic matter will be reduced to
inorganic matter, and that out 0/
this beautiful creation it will piease
God to resolve chaos back again.
either the Avhole or in anv one the
smallest part. We have nothing to
do with tlie difficulties of the ques-
tion. They are difficulties entirely
of detail, and not of princi|>ic;
and they concern us no more thac
it concerns us to be able to staie
how many animalcula it took to
heave up the vast sierras of if»<
western hemisphere. The detaJs
may well puzzle us, and we cannot
venture on the merest suggestion.
But the principle is full of hope,
joy, and security, which in itself
is a presumption in its favor. Ii
we would but believe how God
values the work of his own hands;
The Eternal Years.
«3
if we would but try to realize liow
intense is creative love, wbnt much
larger and deeper views we should
have of the future of all creation,
and of the glory that is prejiared
for us ! Even the old heathen re-
ligions began by taking larger and
more accurate measure of these
questions (though they necessarily
ended in error) than too many of
us do with all the light of the Gos-
pel thrown upon them. Tlie ani-
mism of the heathens, which makes
no distinction between animate and
iaaniniate existence, but lends a
soul to each alike, liad in it a sort
of loving and hopeful reverence
lor creation which is often wanting
lo us who alone truly know the
Creator. In their blind groping
nfter faith it led them t« feticliism,
and further on, as a fuller develop-
ment of the same notion, to pan-
tlieism, and then to the ever-renew-
ed and quite endless incarnations
tif Huddlia. But these errors took
tlieir rise originally from a respect-
ful and tender love of that beauti-
ful though awful nature which man
found lying all around him; exter-
nal to himself, yet linked to liim-
self, and beneath the folds of
wliich be hoped to find the hidden
deity.
K these reflections have at all
enabled us to understand tlie na-
ture of lime, and to shake off some
of the unreasonable importance we
lend to it in our imaginations — mak-
ing of it a sort of lesser rival to
eternity, fashioning it into an uc-
iiial, existing thing, as if it were an
.-iiiribute of God himself, instead
»f being, what it is, a state or
piia.se imposed upon us, and not
m any way affecting him — we shall
have done much to facilitate the
considerations we wish to enlarge
upon. Eternity is "perpetually
It is the nuttc starts
of theology. Time, on the con-
trary, is the past, present, and fu-
ture of our human condition — the
mine fluent of theology.
With this truth well rooted in
our minds, we will now turn to the
investigation of some of those im-
pressions to which we referred at
the beginning of this section, and
endeavor to throw light upon them
from out of the additional know-
ledge we acquire of the nature and
characteristics of the divine Being
through liie simple process of clear-
ing away some of our false impres-
■ioiis with respect to time. We had
in our modes of thought more or
less hemmed in the Eternal with
our human sense of lime, and sub-
jected even him to the narrowing
process of a past, present, and fu-
ture. Now we an
of ourselves only
and to conlempla
nity, dealing with
medium of time, b
a reference to et<
apparently imposin
conditions of lime
himself, as it were, on a level with
us in his dealings with us.
Strange as it may appear, out of
the depths of our stupidity we have
fabricated a difficulty to ourselves
in his very condescensions, and,
looking back from our present to
the past, we find ourselves puzzled
at certain divers revelations of God
made to mankind in gone-by times ;
just as, in the weakness of our faith,
we are sometimes troubled with
doubts about our own condition,
and that of those about us, in that
future wliich must come, and which
may not be far off to any one of us.
The God of .\braham, and Isaac,
and Jacob — is he really quite the
same as our own God.' our God'
of the womb of Mary, of the man-
ger, of the wayside places in Pales-:-
664
The Eternal Years.
tine, and Mount Calvary, and now,
of tlie silken-curtained Tabernacle,
and the Blessed Eucharist, and the
dear, ineffable moments of silent
prayer — is he the same ?
Of course we know that, literally
and absolutely, he is the same yes-
terday, to-day, and for ever. Nev-
ertheless, he appears to us under
sucli different aspects that we find
ourselves unintentionallv contem-
plating the Old Testament as a
revelation of the divine Being with
very different emotions from those
with which we contemplate him in
the New Testament, and this, again,
differing widely from our view of
him in the church. It may be a mere
matter of feeling, perhaps ; but it is
nevertheless a feeling which materi-
ally influences our form of devo-
tion, the vigor of our faith, and the
power of our hope and love.
If we could take in all these dif-
ferent impressions and amalgamate
them ; if we could group them to-
gether, or make them like the sever-
al rays of light directed into one
focus, we should obtain a more
complete and a more influential
knowledge of God than we can do
while we seem rather to be wander-
ing out of one view of him into an-
other, as if we walked from chanr*
ber to chamber and closed each
door behind us.
Now, the only way we can arrive
at this is by bearing in mind that
the acts of God in governing the
world are not momentary and soli-
tary facts, but continuous acts, or
rather one continuous act.
Our difficulty lies in producing a
visibly satisfactory harmony in our
•own minds as regards tlie^ acts of
God, and thus (though for our
own appreciation of them, they are
to us broken up into fragments, or,
in other terms, into separate facts)
arriving at the same mental attitude
towards them as though we sav
them as one continuous act.
It will aid us in our search if we,
first of all, endeavor to qualify ilui
act.
Its very continuity, its pcrpelnai
instantaneousness, must essenlialiy
affect its character and make lae
definition no complex matter. It
is an act of love, and it is revealed
as such in the whole creation, ind
in the way God has let himself down
to us and is drawing us up unto
himself. There have been canj
apparent modifications, but that
have been no actual contradictions,
in this characteristic; for even the
existence of evil works round to
greater good, to a degree sufficient-
ly obvious to us for us to know thai
where it h less obvious it rausi ;
nevertheless follow the same law.
For law is everywhere; because
God is law, tliougii law is not God
Modern unbelief substitutes law
for God, and then thinks it b*-
done away with him. To us who
believe it makes no difference bow •
far back in the long continuous line
of active forces we mav find the
original and divine Author of all
force. It is nothing but the weak-
ness of our imagination which
makes it more difficult to count by
millions than by units.
What does it matter to our faith
through how many developments
the condition of creation, as «
now see it all around us, nuy
have passed, when we know that
the first idea sprang from the great
Source of all law, and that with bin
the present state is as miicii one
continuous act as the past state
and the future state } You mar
trace back the whole material uni-
verse, if you will, to the one firs'
molecule of chaotic matter; bat
so long as I find that first molecule
in the hand of my Creator (and I
The Eternal Years.
665
Lefy you to put it anywliere else),
t is enough for my faith.
You do not make him one whit
he less my Creator and my God
>ecause an initial law or force,
riih which he then stamped it, has
worked it out to what I now see it.
^ou may increase the apparent dis-
ance between the world as it is
LCtuallv and the divine Fount from
vhence it sprang; you may seem
o remove the creative love which
railed the universe into existence
urther off, by thus lengtliening the
rhaxn of what you call develop-
inents ; but, after all, these develop-
ments are for ever bridged over by
the ulterior intentions of the Triune
Deity when he said, "Let us make
man in our image," and by the fact
that space and time are mere acci-
dents as viewed in relation to the
Qui Est. They are, so to speak,
divinely-constituted conventionali-
ties, through which the Divinity
touches upon our human condition,
but which in no way affect the
Divine Essence as it is in itself. On
the contrary, in the broken-up de-
velopments and evolutions which
you believe you trace, and which
vou want to make into a blind law
which shall supersede a divine
Creator, I see only the pulsations
of time breaking up the perpetually
instantaneous act of God, just as I
see the pulsations of light in the
one unbroken ray. The act of
God passes through the medium of
time before it reaches our ken ;
and the ray of liglit passes through
the medium of air before it strikes
our senses; but both are contin-
uous and instantaneous.
If we have in any degree suc-
ceeded in establishing this to our
satisfaction, it will become easier
for us to estimate the acts of God
as they come to us through the
pulsations of Time; because we
shall be able to bear in mind that
they must be in a measure inter-
preted to us by the time through
which they reach us. They were
modified by the time in which they
were revealed, much as the ray is
modified by the substance through
which it forces its way to us.
Now, we arrive at the causes of
the different impressions we receive
of the nature and characteristics of
the divine Being. They are a con-
sequence of the different epochs in
which we contemplate him. They
ar^ the pulsations appropriate to
that epoch. Other pulsations be-
long to our portion of time, and 10
out consequent view of the divine
Being; and so on and on, till
time shall be swallowed up in Eter-
nity, and the Beatific Vision burst
upon us.
TO BB CONTINUBD.
666
Missions in Maine from 161^ to 1854.
MISSIONS IN MAINE FROM 1613 TO 1854.
** TRB BLOOD OP THE MARTYRS IS THB ftSZD OP TRB CUDRCB.**
To the historical student the fol-
lowing paper can have but trifling
value, as the writer makes no pre-
tension to originality of matter,
and seeks but to bring within the
grasp of the general reader, in a
condensed form, the gist of many
books, a large number of which are
rare, and almost inaccessible.
It is hoped, however, that there
are many persons who will read
with interest a paper thus compiled
from undoubted authorities, who
have neither the time nor the inclina-
tion to consult these authorities for
themselves. These persons will
learn with wonder of the self-abne-
gation of the French priests who
went forth among the savages with
their lives in their hands, with but
one thought in their brains, one
wish in their hearts, one prayer on
their lips — the evangelization of the
Indians.
As Shea says : " The word Chris-
tianity was, in those days, identical
with Catholicity. The religion to
be offered to the New World was
that of the Church of Rome, which
church was free from any distinct
national feeling, and in extending
her boundaries carried her own lan-
guage and rites, not those of any
particuhar state."
The Franciscan, Dominican, and
Jesuit bore the heat and burden of
the day, and reaped the most boun-
tiful harvest in that part of North
America now known as the State of
Maine; and the first mission in that
neighborhood was planted at Mt.
Desert, and called St. Sauveur.
A hotel at Bar Harbor is so named,
but not one in a hundred of the na-
me rous guests who cross its thres-
hold know^s the reason of the French
name of their temporary abidinf-
place.
This reason, and the facts coo-
nected therewith, we shall now pro-
ceed to give to our readers. 1b
16 10 Marie de M^dicis was Re-
gent of France. The king had been
assassinated in the streets of Paris
in the previous month of May.
Sully was dismissed from court
All was confusion and dissension.
Twelve years of i)eace and the ju-
dicious rule of the king had paid
the national debt and filled the
treasury.
The famous Father Cotton, con-,
fessor of the late king, was still
powerful at court. He laid before
the queen the facts that Henri IF.
had been deeply interested in ihe
establishment of the Jesuit order in
Acadia, and had evinced 2 tangi-
ble proof of that interest in the
bestowal of a grant of two thousand
livres per annum.
The ambitious queen listened in-
dulgently, with a heart softened, *
possibly, by recent sorrows, and
consented to receive the son of li'f
Baron Poutrincourt, who had j«5J
returned from the New World, where
he had left his father with Cham-
plain. Father Cotton ushered ihf
handsome stripling into the pres-
ence of tlie stately queen and her
attendant ladies. Young Biencourt
at first stood silent and abashed.
but, as the ladies gathered
' Missions in Maine from iCi^'to 1854.
667
him and plied him with questions,
soon forgot himself and told won-
drous tales of the dusky savages —
f>f their strange customs and of their
eagerness for instruction in the true
Uitii. He displayed tlie baptismal
register of the converts of Fatljer
Flee he, and implored the sympatjiy
and aid of these glittering dames,
and not in vain ; for, fired with
pious emulation, they tore the flash-
ing jewels from their ears and
throats* Among these ladies was
one whose history and influence
were so remarkable that we must
translate for our readers some ac-
count of her from the Abbe de
Choisy.
Antoinette de Pons, Marquise de
(iuercheville had been famed
throughout France, not only for
her grace and beauty, but for qual-
ities more rare at the court where
her youth had been passed.
When Antoinette was La Ducli-
essede Rochefoucauld, the king beg-
j;ed her to accept a position near the
queen. " Madame," he said, as he
presented her to Marie de Medicis,
** I give you a Lady of Honor who is
a lady of honor indeed."
Twenty years had come and gone.
The youthful beauty of the f/iar^
quise had faded, but she was fair
and stately still, and one of the
most brilliant ornaments of the
brilliant court ; and yet she was not
altogether v^rorldly. Again a widow
and without children, she had be-
come sincerely religious, and threw
Herself heart and soul into the
American missions, and was re-
strained only by the positive com-
mands of her mistress the queen
from herself seeking the New
World.
Day and night she thought of
these perishing souls. On her knees
in her oratory she prayed for the
Indians, and contented herself
not with this alone. From the
queen and from the ladies of the
court she obtained money, and
jewels that could be converted
into money. Charlevoix tells us
that the only difficulty was to re-
strain her ardor within reasonable
bounds.
Two French priests, Paul Biard
and Enemond Mass^, were sent to
Dieppe, there to take passage for
the colonics. The vessel was en-
gaged by Poutrincourt and his asso-
ciates, and was partially owned by
two Huguenot merchants, who per-
sistently and with indignation re-
fused to permit the embarkation
of 'the priests. No entreaties or
representations availed, and finally
La Marquise bought out the inter-
est of the two merchants in the
vessel and cargo, and transferred
it to the priests as a fund for their
support.
At last the fathers set sail, on
the 26th of January, 1611. Their
troubles, however, were by no means
over ; for Biencourt, a mere lad,
clothed in a little brief authority
— manly, it is true, beyond his years
— hampered them at every turn.
They arrived at Port Royal in June,
after a hazardous and tempestuous
voyage, having seen, as Father Bi-
ard writes, icebergs taller and lar-
ger than the Church of Notre Dame.
The fathers became discouraged
by the constant interference of
young Biencourt, and determined
to return to Europe, unless they
could, with Mme. de Guercheville's
aid, found a mission colony in some
other spot.
Their zealous protectress ob-
tained from De Monts — who, though
a Protestant, had erected six years
before the first cross in Maine at the
mouth of the Kennebec — a trans-
fer of all his claims to the lands of
Acadia, and soon sent out a small
668
Missums in Maine from 1613 to 1854.
vessel with forty c%)lonist$, com-
manded by La Saussaye, a nobleman,
and having on board two Jesuit
priests, Fathers du lUiet and Quen-
tin.
It was on the ist of March, 1613,
that this vessel left Honfleur, laden
with supplies, and followed by
prayers and benedictions.
On the 1 6th of May La Saus-
saye reached Port Royal, and there
took on board Fathers Mass6 and
Biard, and then set sail for the
Penobscot. A heavy fog arose and
encompassed them about ; if it lift-
ed for a moment, it was but to
show them a white gleam of distant
breakers or a dark, overhanging
cliff.
" Our prayers were heard," wrote
Biard, '*and at night the stars
came out, and the morning sun
devoured the fogs, and we found
ourselves lying in Frenchman's
Bay opposite Mt. Desert."
L'Isle des Monts D6serts had
been visited and so named by
Champlain in 1604, and French-
man's Bay gained its title from a
singular incident that had there
taken place in the same spring.
De Monts liad broken up his
winter encampment at St. Croix.
Among his company was a young
French ecclesiastic, Nicholas d'Au-
bri, who, to gratify his curiosity in
regard to the products of the soil
in this new and strange country,
insisted on being set ashore for a
ramble of a few hours. He lost his
way, and the boatmen, after an
anxious search, were compelled to
leave him. For eiii'hteen davs the
young student wandered through
woods, subsisting on berries and
the roots of the plant known as
Solomon's Seal. He, however,
kept carefully near the shore, and
at the end of this time he distin-
guished a sail in the distance. Sig-
nalling this, he was fortunateei
to be taken off by the same
that had landed him. On
bleak shores the colonists dt
to make their future home, an<
singular infelicity, selected ti
the site of the new colony,
inconceivable how Father
who hflM already spent som
in the New World, could ha^
ed to suggest to La Saussa]
to their patroness that a coii
be a success, must be not c
a spot easily accessible to 1
but that a small force of
men was imperative ; for, to !
own knowledge, the English ]
ready seized several French
in that vicinity.
On these frowning shot
Saussaye landed, and erec
cross, and displayed the escu
of Mme. de Guercheville
fathers offered the Holy Si
of the Mass, and gave to th
settlement the name of St. S:
Four tents-«-the gift of the
— shone white in the so.^t
sunshine. The largest of tli
used as a chapel, the deco
of which, with the silver ves
the celebration of the Ma
the rich vestments, were pr<
by Henriette d'Entraigues
quise de Verneuil.
The colonists labored nis
day to raise their little fort
land their supplies. The
was nearly over, the vessel
for sea, rode at anchor, whei
den and violent storm arose
This storm had been felt
four hours earlier off the I
Shoals by a fishing vessel cor
ed by one Samuel Argall.
fogs bewildered him, and a
wind drove him to the nor
and when the weather (
Argall found himself off th<
of Maine. Canoes came c
Missions in Maine from 1613 to 1854.
669
locks of birds from each small bay.
pile Indians climbed the ship's
ide, and greeted the new-comers
itli such amazing bows and flour-
lies that Argall, with liis native
iiteness, felt certain that they
uld have learned them only from
e French, who could not be far
way. Argall plied tlie Indians
p'ith cunning questions, and soon
learned of the new settlement. He
resolved to investic^ate farther, and
set sail for the wild heights of Mt.
Desert. With infinite patience he
crept along through the many
islands, and, rounding the Porcu-
pines, saw a small ship anchored in
the bay. At the same moment the
French saw the English ship bear-
ing down upon them "swifter than
an arrow," writes Father Biard,
** with every sail set, and the Eng-
lish flags streaming from mastiiead
and stern."
La Saussaye was within the fort,
Lieut, la Motte on board with Fa-
ther du Thct, an ensign, and a
sergeant. Argall bore down amid
a bewildering din of drums and
trumpets. "Fire !" cried La Motte.
Alas ! the gunner was on shore.
Father da Thet seized and applied
the match.
Another scathing discharge of
musketry, and the brave priest lay
dead. He had his wish ; for the
day before he left France he pray-
ed with uplifted hands that he
might not return, but perish on that
holy enterprise. He was buried
the following day at the foot of the
rougli cross he had hcli)cd to erect.
La Motte, clear-sighted enough
to see the utter usc-lessness of any
farther attempt at defence, surren-
dered, and Argall took possession
of the vessel and of La Saussaye's
papers, from among wliich he al)-
stKicted the royal commission. On
La Saussaye's return from the
woods, where he had retreated with
the colonists, he was met by Argall,
who informed him that the country
belonged to his master, King James,
and finally asked to see his com-
mission. In vain did the P>ench
nobleman search for it. ArgalKs
courtesy changed to wrath ; he ac-
cused the officer of piracy, and or-
dered the settlement to be given up
to pillage, but offered tp take any
of the settlers who had a trade back
to Virginia with him, promising them
protection. Argall counted, how-
ever, without his host ; for on reach-
ing Jamestown the governor swore
that the French priests should be
hung. Useless were Argall's re-
monstrances, and finally, seeing no
other way to save the lives of the
fiuhers, he produced the commis-
sion and acknowledged his strata-
gem.
The wrath of Sir Thomds Dale
was unappeased, but the lives of
the priests were, of course, safe.
He despatched Argiill with two ad-
ditional ships back to Mt. Desert,
with orders to cut down the cross
and level the defences.
Father Biard was on board, as
well as Father Mass^; they, with re-
fined cruelty, being sent to witness
the destruction of their hopes.
This work of destruction com-
pleted, Argall set sail for Virginia.
Again a storm arose, and the vessel
on which were the ecclesiastics was
driven to the Azores. Here the
Jesuits, who had been so grossly
ill-treated, had but a few words to
say to be avenged. The captain
of the vessel was not without un-
easiness, and entreated the priests
to remain in concealment when the
vessel was visited by the authori-*
ties. This visit over, the English
purchased all they needed, and
weii^hed anchor for Endand. Ar-
rived there, a new difficulty occur-
670
Missions in Maine from 161 ^ to 1854.
red; for there was no commission
to show. The captain was treated
as a pirate, thrown into prison, and
released only on the testimony of
the Jesuit Fathers, who thus re-
turned good for evil.
Father Biard hastened to France,
where he became professor of theo-
logy at Lyons, and died at Avig-
non on the 17th of November,
1622. Father Mass^ returned to
Canada, where he labored without
ceasing until his death, in 1646.
With the destruction of St. Sau-
veur, the pious designs of Mrae. de
Guercheville seem to have perish-
ed. At any rate, the most diligent
research fails to find her name
again in the annals of that time.
Probably the troubled state of
France made it impossible for her
to provide the sinews of war, or of
evangelization. Nevertheless, the
good sfeed was planted, and zeal
for the mission cause again revived
in Europe, particularly in the So-
ciety of Jesus. Young men left
court and camp to share the priva-
tions and life of self-denial of the
missionaries. Even the convents
partook of the general enthusiasm,
and Ursuline Nuns came to show
the Indians Christianity in daily
life, ministering to the sick and
instructing the young.
Many years after the melancholy
failure of the mission at Mt, Des-
ert, an apparent accident recall-
ed the Jesuit Fathers to the coast
of Maine.
In 1642 there was a mission at
Sillery, on the St. Lawrence, where
had been gathered together a large
number of Indian converts, wiio
lived, with theirfamilies about them,
in peace and harmony under the
watchful care of the kind fathers.
Among these converts was a chief
who, to rescue some of his tribe
who had been taken prisoners, start-
ed off through the pathless wilder-
ness, and finally reached the Eng-
lish at Coussinoe, now known as
Augusta, on the Kennebec.
There the Indian convert so ex-
tolled the Christian faith and its
mighty promises that he took back
with him several of the trbc.
These w%re baptized at Sillery, ind
became faithful servants of our
Lord Jesus Christ. In cons*?-
quence of the entreaties of these
converts, Father Gabriel Drouil-
lettes was sent to the lonely Kenne-
bec.
Here he built a chapel of fir-
trees in a place now known a>
Norridgewock, a lovely, secluded
spot. Some years before Father
Biard had been there for a few
weeks, so that the Indians were not
totally unprepared to receive re-
ligious instruction. Father Drou-
illettes was greatly blessed in his
teaching, and converted a large
number, inspiring them with a pro-
found love for the Catholic faith,
which the English, twenty years
before, had fiiiled to do for the Pro-
testant religion. He taught them
simple prayers, and translated for
their use, into their own dialect,
several hymns. The savages even
learned to sing, and it was not long
before the solemn strains of the
Z>i^s Ira awakened strange echoes
in the primeval forests.
Even the English, biassed as they
were against the Catholics, watched
the good accomplished by the faith-
ful servant of the great Master,
and learned to regard his coming
as a great blessing, though at this
very titne the stern Puritans at
Plymouth were enacting cruel kws
against his order.
When the Indians went to Moose-
head Lake to hunt and fish, Father
Drouillettes went with them, watch-
ing over his flock with unswerving
Missions in Maine from 1613 /^? 1854.
671
;o1icituae. But the day of his
iummons to Quebec came, and a
feneral feeling of despair over-
vhelined his converts. He went,
md the Assumption Mission was
ieserted ; for by that name, as it
ras asked for on that day, was
his mission always designated.
Year after year the Abllakis —
"or so were called the aborigines of
Ikfaine — sent deputations to Quebec
o entreat the return of their belov-
ed priest, but in vain ; for the
lumber of missionaries was at that
jme very limited. Finally, in 1650,
Father Drouillettes set out with a
[)arty on the last day of August for
the tiresome eiglit days' march
through the wilderness ; the party
lost their way, their provisions were
gone, and it was not until twenty-
four days afterwards that they reach-
ed Norridgewock.
From a letter written at this time
by Father Drouillettes we transcribe
the following : *' In spite of all that
is painful and crucifying to nature
in these missions, there are also
great joys and consolations. More
plenteous than I can describe are
those I feel, to see that the seed of
the Gospel I scattered here four
years ago, in land which for so
many centuries has lain fallow, or
produced only thorns and brambles,
already bears fruit so worthy of the
Lord." Nothing could exceed the
veneration and affection of the
Indians for their missionary; and
when an Englishman vehemently
accused the French priest of slan-
dering his nation, the chiefs hurried
lo Augusta, and warned the autho-
rities to take heed and not attack
their father even in words.
The following spring Father
Drouillettes was sent to a far-distant
station, and years elapsed before he
returned to Quebec, where he died
in i68i| at the age of eighty-eight.
About this time two brothers,
Vincent and Jacques Bigot, men
of rank and fortune, left their homes
in sunny France to share the toil
and privations of life in the New
World. They placed themselves
and their fortunes in the hands of
the superior at Quebec, and were
sent to labor in the footprints of
Father Drouillettes. During their
faithful ministrations at Norridge-
wock, the chapel built by their pre-
decessor was burned by the Eng-
lish, but was rebuilt in 1687 by Eng-
lish workmen sent from Boston,
according to treaty stipulations.
And now appears upon the scene
the stately form of one of the great-
est men of that age ; but before we
attempt to bring before our readers
the character and acts of Sebastian
Rale, we must beg them to turn from
Norridgewock, the scene of lus
labors and martyrdom, to the- little
village of Castine. For in 1688
Father Thury, a priest of the
diocese of Quebec, a man. of tact
and ability, Ijad gathered about
him a band of converts at Pana-
wauski, on the Penobscot. This
settlement was protected by the
Baron Saint-Castine. This Saint-
Castine was a French nobleman
and a soldier who originally went to
Canada in command of a regiment.
The regiment was disbanded, and
Saint-Castine's disappointed ambi-
tion and a heart sore from do-
mestic trials decided him, rather
than return to France, to plunge
into the wilderness, and there, far
from kindred and nation, create for
himself a new home.
After a while the baron married a
daughterofoneofthe sachems of the
Penobscot Indians, and became him-
self a sagamore of the tribe. The
descendants of this marriage hold at
the present day some portion of the
Saint-Castine lands in Normandy.
672
Missions in Maine from 1613 /£? 1854.
Twice was the French baron
driven from his home by the
Dutch ; twice was the simple chapel
burned by them. In 1687 Sir
Edmund Andros was appointed
governor of New England, and in
the following year, sailing eastward
in tiie frigate Rose, he anchored
opposite the little fort and primi-
tive home of Saint-Castine. The
baron retreated with the small
band of settlers to the woods.
Andros, being a Catholic, touched
nothing in the chapel, but carried
off everything else in tlie village.
In 1703 the war known as Queen
Anne's war broke out. Again
Saint-Castine was attacked by the
English, and his wife and children
carried off as prisoners, but were
soon after exchanged. From this
time the name of Baron Saint-Cas-
tine appears in all the annals of the
time, as tiie courageous defender of
his faith and of its priests. Father
Rdle, at Norridgewock, turned to
him for counsel and aid, and never
turned in vain. From Castine on
to Mt. Desert the shores are full of
historical interest; for there were
manv French settlements there-
abouts, the attention of that nation
having been drawn to that especial
locality by a grant of land which
M. Cardillac obtained of Louis
XiV. in April, 169 1. This grant
was evidently made to confirm pos-
session. A certain Mme. de Gr6-
goire proved herself to be a lineal
descendant of Cardillac, and in
1787 acquired a partial jconfirma-
tion of the original grant.
Relics of the French settlers are
constantly turned up by the plough
in the vi(Mnity of Castine, and in
1840 a quantity of French gold
pieces were found ; but of infinitely
more interest was the discovery
there, in 1863, of a copper plate
ten inches in length and eight in
width. The finder, knowing no-
thing of the value of this piece of
metal, cut off a portion to repair h»
boat. This fragment was, hoAcveiv
subsequently recovered. The let-
ters on the plate are unqiiestioa-
ably abbreviations of the following
inscription: " 1648, 8 Junii, S. Pra-
ter LeoParisiensis, in Capuccinonia
Missione, posuit hoc fundam-ntus
in honorem nostras Dominsp. Sanct*
Spei" — 1648, 8th of June, Holy Friar
Leo of Paris, Capuchin misaionaiy^
laid this foundation in honor of
Our Lady of Holy Hope.
In regard to this Father Leo tlie
most diligent research fails to fi
any other trace. The plate, hoi
ever, was without douht placed
the foundation of a Catholic cnapel
— probably the one within the Ntalb
of the old French fort. Fallwr
Sebastian Rale sailed in 1689 for
America. After remaining for near*
ly two years in Quebec, he went
thence to Norridgewock. He fo«D<i
the Abnakis -nearly all converted,
and at once applied himself to
learning their dialect. To this
work he brought his marvellous pa-
tience and energy, and all his won-
drous insight into human naiare.
He began his dictionary, and erect-
ed a chapel on the spot known not
as Indian Old Point, Thiscii-ipel
he supplied with all the decorations
calculated to engage the irangina-
tion and fix the wandering attention
of the untutored savage. The wo-
men contended with holy ennilanon
in the embellishment of the sancti>
ary. They made mats of the w'f
and brightly-tinted plumage of the
forest birds and of the white-ureas'*
cd sea-2;ulls. Thev broui^ht oStr-
ings of huge candle??, manii!3ct'irc(l
from the fragrant wax of the bjy-
berry, with which tlie chapel vij
illuminated. A couple of nui^s
from Montreal made a brief sojoa^
Missions in Maine from 1613 to 1854.
^73
NoTTidgewock, that they might
sch the Indian women to sew and
• make a kind of lace with which
adorn the altar. Busied with his
ctionary and with his flock, Fa-
er Rale thus passed the most
raceful days of his life; but this
essed quiet ended only too soon.
In 1705 a party of Englisif, under
ic command of a Capt. Hilton,
irst from out the forest, attack-
g the little village from all sides
once, finishing by burning the
lapel and every hut.
About the same time the gover-
ar-general of New England sent
\ the lower part of the Kennebec
ic ablest of the Boston divines to
^struct the Indian children. As
laxter*s(the missionary) salary de-
ended on his success, he neglect-
d no means that could attract.
For two months he labored in
ain. His caresses and little gifts
fere thrown away; for he made not
•ne convert.
Father Rale wrote to Baxter that
is neophytes were good Chris-
ians, but far from able in disputes.
This same letter, which was of some
ength, challenged the Protestant
lergyman to a discussion. Baxter,
fter a long delay, sent a brief reply,
n Latin so bad that the learned
>riest says it was impossible to un-
lerstand it.
In 1717 the Indian chiefs held a
ouncil. The governor of New
England offered them an English
ind an Indian Bible, and Mr. Bax-
er as their expounder.
The Abnakis refused them one
CI all, and elected to adhere to
ir Cgtholic faith, saying : " All
pie love their own ]>riests !
ur Bibles we do not care for, and
ci has already sent us teachers."
Thus years passed on in mono-
^ous Inbor. The only relaxation
Tmittcd to himself by Father Rale
VOL. XXII.— 43
was the work on his dictionary.
The converts venerated their priest;
their keen eyes and quick instincts
saw the sincerity of his life, the
reality of his affection for them,
and recognized his self-denial and
generosity. They went to him
with their cares and their sorrows,
with their simple griefs and simpler
pleasures. He listened with unaf-
fected sympathy and interest. No
envious rival, no jealous competi-
tor, no heretical teacher, disturbed
the relations between pastor and
flock. So, too, was it but natural
that they should look to him for
advice when they gathered about
their council-fires.
The wrongs which the Eastern
Indians were constantly enduring
at the hands of the English settlers
kindled to a living flame the smoul-
dering hatred in their hearts, which
they sought every opportunity of
wreaking in vengeance on their
foe. Thus, like lightning on the
edge of the horizon, they hovered
on the frontier, making daring
forays on the farms of the settlers.
It was not unnatural that the
English, bristling with prejudices
against the French, and still more
against Catholics, should have seen
fit to look on Father Rale as the
instigator of all these attacks, for-
getting — what is undeniably true —
that Father Rale's converts were
milder and kinder and more Chris-
tian-like than any of their Indian
neighbors. The good father was
full of concern when he heard that
a fierce and warlike tribe, who had
steadily resisted all elevating influ-
ences, were about settling within a
day's journey of Norridgewock.
He feared lest his children should
be led away by pernicious exam-
ples ; so he with difficulty persuad-
ed some of the strangers to enter
the chapel, and to be present at
V
674
Missions in Maim from i6i^ to 1854.
some of the imiwsing ceremonies
of the mother church. At the
close of the service he addressed
them in simple words, and thus con-
cluded :
** Let us not separate, that some
may go one way and some another.
Let us all go to heaven. It is our
country, and the place to which
we are invited by the sole Master
of life, of whom I am but the in-
terpreter.'* The reply of the In-
dians was evasive; but it was evi-
dent that an impression was made,
and in the autumn they sent to
him to say that if he would come
to them they would receive his
teachings.
Father Rale gladly went at this
bidding, erected a cross and a
chapel, and finally baptized nearly
the whole tribe.
At this time Father Rale wrote
to his nephew a letter, in which he
says : ** My new church is neat, and
its elegantly-ornamented vestments,
chasubles, copes, and holy vessels
would be esteemed highly appro-
priate in almost any church in Eu-
rope. A choir of young Indians,
forty in number, assist at the Holy
Sacrifice of the Mass, and chant the
divine Offices for the consecration
of the Holy Sacrament ; and you
would be edified by tlie beautiful
order they perserve and the devo-
tion they manifest. After the Mass
I teach the young children, and the
remainder of the morning is devoted
to seeing those who come to con-
sult me on affairs of importance.
Thus, you see, I teach some, console
others, seek to re-establish peace in
families at variance, and to calm
troubled consciences."
Another letter still later, jn speak-
ing of the attachment of the con-
verts to their faith, says : ** And
when they go to the sea-shore in
summer to fishp I .apipQ^ipany them ;
and when they reach tUe place
where they intend to pass the nigiiL
they erect stakes at intervals in tk
form of a chapel, and spread a t^fnt
made of ticking. All is complete
in fifteen minutes, I always earn
with me a beautiful board of ctdar,
with the necessary supports. Thi^
serves for an altar, and I orname«
the interior with silken hangings^
A huge bear-skin serves as a carpet,
and divine service is held within an
hour."
While away on one of the excur-
sions which Father Rale thus de-
scribes, the village was attacked b;
the English ; and again, in 1722. b|
a party of two hundred under Col
Westbrook. New England M
passed a law imposing imprisonmeoc
for life on Catholic priests, and a
reward was offered for the bead of
Father Rale. The party wassctn.
as they entered the valley of the
Kennebec, by two braves, who hur-
ried on to give the alarm ; the
priest having barely time to escape
to the woods with the altar vcsseh
and vestments, leaving behind him
all his papers and his precious Ab-
naki dictionary, which was enclosnl
in a strong box of peculiar construc-
tion. It had two rude pictures on
the lid, one of the scourging of our
Blessed Lord, and the other of tlie
Crowning of Thorns. This hoi i*
now in the possession of the M.i>x-
cluisetts Historical Society, while
the dictionary itself is at Harvard.
Father Rale saved himself by
taking refuge in a hollow tree,
where he remained for thirtv-six
hours, suffering from hunger and .t
broken leg.
With wonderful courage Fathe-
Rale built up another chapel, aod
writes thus, after recounting the
efforts of the English to take him
prisoner : "In the words of tt'*
apostle, I conclude : I do not fea:
Missions in Maine from 1613 to 1854.
675
:1ie threats of those wiio hate me
rtthout a cause, and I count not
Dy life dear unto myself, so that I
night fmish my course and the
oinistrv which I have received of
he Lord Jesus."
Again, over the council-fires, the
Indian chiefs assembled. They
lecided to send an embassy to Bos-
on, to demand that their chapel,
rhich had been destroyed by the
Snglish, should be rebuilt.
The governor, anxious to secure
he alliance of the tribe, listened
Atiently, and told them in reply
hat it belonged properly to the
pDvernor of Canada to rebuild their
shurcli ; still, that he would do it,
Kovided they would agfee to re-
jcive the clergy he would choose,
md would send back to Quebec
ke French priest who was then
fith them. We cannot forbear re-
seating here the unequalled satire
ft" the Indian's reply :
** When you came here," answer-
id the chief, " we were unknown to
he French governor, but no one
)f you spoke of prayer or of the
jrcat Spirit. You thought only
>f my skins and furs. But one day
[ met a French black-coat in the
orest. He did not look at the
(kins with which I was loaded, but
ic said words to me of the Great
Spirit, of Paradise and of hell,
ind of prayer, by which is the only
[>alh to heaven.
"I listened with pleasure, and at
last begged him to teach and tQ
t>apti2e me.
'* If, when you saw me, you had
tpokcn to me of prayer, I should
l»ave had the misfortune to pray as
you do ; for I was not then able to
know if your prayers were good.
iJo, I tell you, I will hold fast to
the prayers of the French. I will
keep them until the earth burn up
Md perish."
At last the final and fatal effort
on the life of Father Rale was
made, in 1724.
All was quiet in the little village.
The tall corn lay yellow in the
slanting rays of an August sun,
when suddenly from the adjacent
woods burst forth a band of Eng-
lish with their Mohawk allies. The
devoted priest, knowing that they
were in hot pursuit of him, sallied
forth to meet them, hoping, by the
sacrifice of his own life, to save his
flock. Hardly had he reached the
mission cross in the centre of the
village than he fell at its foot,
pierced by a dozen bullets. Seven
Indians, who had sought to shield
him with their bodies, lay dead be-
side him.
Then followed a scene that beg-
gars description. Women and chil-
dren were killed indiscriminately ;
and it ill became those who shot
women as they swam across tlie
river to bring a charge of cruelty
against the French fathers.
The chapel was robbed and then
fired ; the bell was not melted, but
was probably afterward buried by
the Indians, for it was revealed
only a few years since by the blow-
ing down of a huge oak-tree, and
was presented to Bowdoin College.
The soft, dewy night closed on
the scene of devastation, and in
the morning, as one by one the sur-
vivors crept back to their ruined
homes with their hearts full of con-
sternation and sorrow, they found
the body of their beloved priest,
not only pierced by a hundred
balls, but with the skull crushed by
hatchets, arms and legs broken,
and mouth and eyes filled with dirt.
They buried him where the day
before had stood the altar of the
little chapel, and sent his tattered
habits to Quebec.
It was by so precious a death
676
Missions in Maine from 161 3 to 1854.
tliat this apostolical man closed a
( arcer of nearly forty years of pain-
ful missionary toil. His fasts and
vigils had greatly enfeebled his con-
stitution, and, when entreated to
take precautions for his safety, he
answered : " My measures are taken,
(lod has committed this flock to
my charge, and I will share their
fate, being too happy if permitted
to sacrifice mvself for them.*'
Well did his superior in Canada,
M. de Bellemont, reply, when re-
(jucsted to offer Masses for his
soul : " In the words of S. Augus-
tine, I say it would be wronging a
martyr to pray for him."
There can be no question that
Sebastian Rale was one of the most
remarkable men of his day. A
devoted Christian and finished
scholar, commanding in manners
and elegant in address, of persua-
sive eloquence and great adminis-
trative abilitv, he courted death
and starvation, for the sole end of
salvation for the Indian.
From the death of Father Rale
until 1730 the mission at Noriidge-
wock was without a priest. In
that year, however, the superior at
(Quebec sent Fatlier James de
Sirenne to that station, 'i'he ac-
( ount ''iven bv this father, of the
warmth with wliich he was receiv-
ed, and of tiie manner in which the
Indians had sought to keep tlieir
t'aith, is very touching. Tiie women
with tears and sobs hastened with
their unbaptized babes to the
priest.
In all these years no Protestant
clergyman had visited them, for
F^liot was almost the only one who
devoted himself to the conversion
of tlie Indians, though even ho, as
afiirmed by Bancroft, had never
approached the Indian tribe lliat
dwelt within six miles of Boston
Harbor until five years after the
cross had been borne, by t'
ligious zeal of the French,
Lake Superior to the valley
Mississippi.
But Father Sirenne cou
be permitted to remain any
of time with the Abnakis.
were they deserted, having :
with them only at long inter
Then came the peace of :
which France surrendered (
This step struck a most
blow at the missions; for a!
the English government giia
to the Canadians absolute r<
freedom, they yet took quic
to rid themselves of the
Fathers.
A short t>reathing space, :
other war swept over the lai
with this perished the last ;
in Maine. In 1775 depiuic
the various tribes in Mair
Nova Scotia met the Massac
council, rhe Indians ann
their intention of adhering
Americans, but begged, at tl
time, for a French priest
council e.xpressed their regre
being able to find one.
" Strange indeed was i
Shea, ** that the very body
less than a century befo
made it felony for a Catholi
to visit the Abnakis, now re
their inability to send these
tian Indians a missionarv
same faith and nation."
Years after, when perice '
clared, and the few Cath<
Maryland had chosen th
John Carroll — a member of t
scribed Society of Jesus — as
the Abnakis of Maine sent j
tation bearing the crucifix of
Rale. This they presented
bishop, with earnest suj)pli(
tor a priest.
Bishop Carroll promised ih
should be sent, and Father C
Missions in Maine from 1613 to 1854.
677
urns speedily despatched to Nor-
radgewock, where he remained for
ren years. Then ensued another
Bterval during which the fiock was
prithout a shepherd.
At last a missionary priest at Bos-
ion, Father (afterward Cardinal)
Cheverus, turned his attention to
[be study of the Abnaki dialect, and
fticn visited the Penobscot tribe.
Desolate, jwor, and forsaken as
they had been, the Indians still
^ung to their faith. The old
[aught the young, and all gathered
bn Sundays to chant the music of
the Mass and Vespers, though their
titar had no priest and no sacrifice.
Father Cheverus, after a few
Dionths, was succeeded by Father
Romagne, who for twenty years
consecrated every moment and
every thought to the evangeliza-
tion of the Penobscot and Passa-
maquoddy tribes. In July, 1827,
Bishop Fen\vick visited tins por-
tion of his diocese, and in 1831
sent them a resident missionary.
A beautiful church stood at last in
the place of Romagn^'s hut, and
two years later Bishop Fenwick,
once a father in the Society of
Jesus, erected a monument to Fa-
ther Rale on the spot where he
was slain a hundred and nine years
before. From far and near gather-
ed the crowd, Protestant as well as
Catholic, to witness the ceremony.
The monument stands in a green,
secluded spot, a simple shaft of
granite surmounted by a cross, and
an inscription in Latin tells the
traveller that there died a faithful
priest and servant of the Lord.
Bishop Fenwick became extremely
anxious to induce some French
priest to go to that ancient mission,
and a year lateV the Society of. Pic-
pus, in Switzerland, sent out Fathers
Demilier and Petithomme to re-
store the Franciscan missions in
Maine. They conquered the diffi-
culties of the Abnaki dialect with
the aid of a prayer-book which the *
bishop had caused to be printed,
and in this small and insignificant
mission Father Demilier toiled un-
til his death, in 1843.
The successor of Bishop Fen-
wick resolved to restore the Ab-
naki mission to the Fathers of the
Society of Jesus, by whom it had
been originally founded. There-
fore, since 1848, the Penobscots and
Passamaquoddys have been under
the care of the Jesuits, who in that
year sent out from Switzerland Fa-
ther John Bapst to Old Town, on
the Penobscot — a short distance
from Bangor — where he ministered
faithfully to the Abnakis until he
nearly lost his life in a disgraceful
Know-Nothing riot in 1854.
As we find ourselves thus at the
conclusion of our narration, inci-
dents crowd upon our memory of
the wondrous sacrifices made by the
Catholic clergy in the old missions
of Maine ; but we are admonished
that our space is limited.
Little attention, however, has been
paid to the fact that to these Cath-
olic priests alone under God is due
the evangelization of the many In-
dian tribes which formerly haunted
our grand old forests. Of these
tribes, only a few of the Penob-
scots are left, and these cling
still to the cross as the blessed
symbol of the faith first brought to
them, "as a voice crying in the
wilderness," by Fathers Biard and
Du Thet at St. Sauveur in 1613.
678
Prussia and the Church.
PRUSSIA AND THE CHURCH.
The first attempts to introduce
the Christian religion into Prussia
were unsuccessful. S. Adalbert, in
997, and S. Bruno, in 1009, suffer-
ed martyrdom whilst preaching the
Gospel there, and the efforts of Po-
land to force the conquered Prus-
sians to receive the faith only in-
creased the bitterness of their anti-
Christian prejudices. Early in the
Xllth century Bishop Otto, of Bam-
berg, made many conversions in
Pomerania ; and finally, in the be-
ginning of the XlIIth,the Cistercian
monk Christian, w^ith the approval
and encouragement of Pope Inno-
t ont III., set to work to convert the
IVussians, and met with such suc-
cess that in 1 215 he was made bi-
shop of the country. The greater
pan of the people, however, still
remained heathens, and the pro-
gress of Christianitv aroused in
I hem such indijinaiion that they
doLei mined to op}»ose its farther
ad\ance with the sword. To
protect his livxk B;s>.op Christian
1 allod to his aid the knights oi the
Teiitv^nic Order ; in furtherance
of his desij;r,s, the Em;^ror Fre-
lieric 11. tur.ied ihe wi.ole cmnlry
oxer t*> I'leau and Fo^^ Orep.^r)
IX, tvX^k measures to :r.orea<e lae;r
raralvr, Sv> ;>a: ll.cy might l>e jy.e
iv^ ^v'^.vi jv^s<e>s.vXi o: : ::s ne'.i. rj^w
r.s: vwnevi :o :>.e Gcs-^!- F.^-.-e
I 'NVt:;: IW a.so n^ar usieo s,^
.- » » - ^ C.'* l"*» -^c • * *»-» *' ^ -- .* "^''-"^K
convents throughout Germaisj to
contribute books for the educatioa
of the people. But circunutanccs.
were not wanting which made the
position of the church in Prus^a
very unsatisfactory. The p«»pie
had for the most part been brought
under the church's influence bvdw
power of arms, and consequcQtlf
to a great extent remained strao^dS
to her true spirit. The TeutoiiK
Order, moreover, gave ecclesiasiical
positions only to German priests, so
as to hold out inducements to t.)e
people to learn German ; though, xs
a consequence, the priests were un-
able to communicate with their
flocks, except by the aid of interpre-
ters.
The grand master, too, had almost
unlimited control over the elcclion
of bishops, which was the cause of
many evils, especially as the OrJcr
gradually grew lax in the obscpi'ance
of the rule, and lost much of its
Christian character. Unwortbj
men were thrust into ecclesiastical
offices, the standard of moraJiiT
among the clergy was lowered, aai^
the people lost respect for the priesi-
h:>od. It is not surprising, in vic«
of all this, that tne religious secta-
ries of lie Xlikh and XlVih cen-
turies s-.^-^'ali ha\c found favor in
FrassM, a-^.d made converts amoD^
her s:i.* ra>"-: a^an populations-
1.7 14: D t'.'.e Feutocic Order i>c-
c.'.r.^e a ctpcndencT of the cro»n
o:" pji-r.d, T.^ere w:i5 no hopcot
its free -'^ i:seJ' from this humils?t
" 'ecti.-^n w::*.:-*;:: foreign iid:
:"*. a view :o olr.-'n tnis-^f
and c.fScuV.ie^s ami c\>.one>i ti:« kr j:\:s rcsclred to choose then
T" ' <
^••■^ -»»-»J *'»
J - » • '
. V « . «
Prussia and tlu Church.
679
grand roaster from one or other of
the most powerful German families.
First, irt 1498, they elected Fred-
eric, Duke of Saxony; and upon
his death, in 15 10, Albrecht, Mar-
grave of Brandenburg, was chosen
to succeed him.
Albrecht refused the oath of su-
premacy to Sigismund, King of
Poland, who thereupon, in i^ip, de-
iclared war upon him.
To meet the expenses of the war,
Albrecht had the sacred vessels of
the church melted down and mint-
ed ; but he was unable to stand
against the arms of Poland, and
therefore sought the mediation of
the Emperor of Germany, through
whose good offices he was able to
.conclude, in 1521, a four years*
truce. Jle now went into Ger-
many, where Luther was already
preaching the Protestant rebellion,
and asked aid from the Imperial
Parliament, which was holding its
sessions at Nuremberg; and its this
was denied him, he turned with fa-
vor to the teachers of the new doc-
trines. The Teutonic Order had
become thoroughly corrupt, and
Leo X. urge^ Albrecht to begin a
reformation in capite et membris ;
but the grand master sought the
advice of Luther, from whom he
received the not unwelcome coun-
sel to throw away the " stupid, un-
natural rule of his Order, take a
wife, and turn Prussia into a tem-
poral hereditary principality." Al-
brecht at:cordingly asked for preach-
ers of thfc new doctrines, and in
1526 announced his abandonment of
the Order and the Catholic Church
by his marriage with the daughter
of the King of Denmark. Acting
^ipon the Protestant principle, cujus
reqio illius relish — tlie ruler of the
land makes its religion — he forced
the Prussians to quit the church
from which they had received what-
ever culture and civilization they
had.
At his death, in 1568, Lutheranism
had gained complete possession of
the country.
A few Catholics, however, remain-
ed, for whom, early in ihe XVIIth
century, KingSigismund of Poland
succeeded, in obtaining liberty
of conscience, which, however, was
denied to those of Brandenburg
Frederic William, the second
king of Prussia, and the first to
form the design of placing her
among the great powers of Europe
by the aid of a strong military
organization, in giving directions
in 17 18 for the education of his
son, afterwards Frederic the Great,
insisted that the boy should be in-
spired with a horror of the Catholic
Church, "the groundlessness and
absurdity of whose teachings should
be placed before his eyes and well
impressed upon his mind."
Frederic William was a rigid
Calvinist ; and if he tolerated a few
Catholics in his dominions, it was
only that he might vent his ill-
humor or exercise his proselytizing
zeal upon them. He indeed grant-
ed Father Raymundus Bruns per-
mission to say Mass in the garri-
sons at Berlin and Potsdam, but
only after he had been assured that
it would tend to prevent desertions
among his Catholic soldiers, and
that, as Raymundus was a monk,
bound by a vow of poverty, he
would ask no pay from his majesty.
In 1746 permission was granted
the Catholics to hold public wor-
ship in Berlin, and the S. Hedwig's
church was built; in Pomerania,
however, this privilege was denied
them, except in the Polish districts..
During the XVIIIth century
congregations were formed at Stet-
tin and Stralsund. In the princi-
pality of Halberstadt the Catholics
680
Prussia and the Church,
were allowed to retain possession
of a church and several monasteries,
in which public worship was per-
mitted; ana in what had been
the archbishopric of Magdeburg
there were left to them one Benedic-
tine monastery and four convents
of Cistercian Nuns. These latter,
however, were placed under the
supervision of Protestant ministers.
Frederic the Great early in life
fell under the influence of Voltaire
and his disciples, from whom he
learned to despise all religion, and
especially* the rigid Calvinism of
his father. He became a religious
sceptic, and, satisfied with his con-'
tem|)t for all forms of faith, did
not t»Tkc the trouble to persecute
any. He asked of his subjects,
whether Protestant or Catholic, no-
thing but money and recruits; for
the rest, he allowed every one in
his dominions ** to save his soul af-
ter his own fashion." He provided
chaplains for his Catholic soldiers,
and forbade the Calvinist and Lu-
theran ministers to interfere with
their religious freedom, for rea-
sons similar to those wliich had in-
duced his father to ])ermit Ray-
mundus Bruns to sav Mass in the
garrison at Berlin. He had cer-
tainly no thought of showing any
favor to the church, except so far
as it might promote his own ambi-
tious projects. His great need of
soldiers made him throw every ob-
stacle in the way of those who
wished to enter the priesthood, and
his fear of foreign influence caused
him to forbid priests to leave the
country. His mistrust of j)riesls
was so great that he gave instruc-
tions to Count Hoyni, his Minister
of State, to place them under a sys-
tem of espionage. (Catholics were
carefully excluded from all influen-
tial and lucrative positions. Tiiey
were taxed more heavily than Pro-
testants, and professors in tli
versities were required to la
oath to uphold the Reformati
Notwithstanding, it was i
reign of Frederic the Greal
the Catholic Church in Prussi
be said to have entered upon
life. For more than two hu
years tl had liad no recoi
status there ; but through th
quest of Silesia and the d
of Poland, a large Catholic (
tion was incorporated into th
dom of Prussia, and thus a n
ment, which was formally
nized in the constitution p
gated by Frederic's imniedi:i
cessor, was introduced in
Prussian state. Together ij
toleration of all who belie
God and were loyal to th
the law of the land plac
Catholic and Protestant c!
on an equal footing. To
stand how far this was favo
the church we must go ba
consider the relations of Pi
Protestantism.
What is known as the Tc
System, by which the taith
peo|)lc is delivered into th
of the temporal rufcr, has
in Prussia from the time Alb
Brandenburii went over to
formers. Protestantism an
hitism triumphed simultr
throughout Europe, and il
undoubtedly be in a great
attributed to the fact that
testants, whether willingly
yielded up their faith into il
ing of kings and princes, a
practically abandoned the
tion of the spiritual and t
powers which lies at the foi
of Christian civilization, an
the strongest bulwark aga
encroachments of governm<
on the rights of citizens.
Albrecht had hardly becom
Prussia and tlu Church.
681
testant when he felt that it was his
duty (^^ coacti sumus" are liis words)
to take upon himself the episcopal
office. This was in 1530 ; in 1550
he treated the urgent request of
the Assembly to have the bishopric
of Samland restored as an attack
upon his princely prerogative.
His successor diverted to other
uses the fund destined for the
maintenance of the bishops, and
instituted two consistories, to which
he entrusted the ecclesiastical af-
fairs of the duchy.
During the XVIIth century
Calvinism gained a firm foothold
in Prussia. It became the religion
of tlie ruling family, and Frederic
William, called the Great Elector,
to whose policy his successors
have agreed to ascribe their great-
ness, sought in every way to pro-
mote its interests, though he stren-
uously exercised his jus episcopaU^
his spiritual supremacy over both
the Lutherans and the Calvinists.
His son, Frederic, who first took
the title of King of Prussia (1700),
continued the policy of his father
with regard to ecclesiastical affairs.
**To us alone," he declared to the
Landstand, '^belongs \\\^ jus supre-
mum episcopate^ tlie highest and
sovereign right in ecclesiastical
matters."
The Lutherans wished to retain
the exorcism as a part of the cere-
mony of baptism ; but Frederic
published an edict by v.'hich he
forbade the appointment of any
minister who would refuse to con-
fer the sacrament without mak-
ing use of this ceremony. In the
same way he meddled with the
Lutheran practice of auricular con-
fession ; and by an order issued in
1703 prohibited the publication of
theological writings which had not
received his imprimatur.
His successor, Frederic William,
the father of Frederic the Great,
looked upon himself as the absolute
and irresponsible master of the
subjects whom God had given him.
** I am king and master/' he was
wont to say, ** and can do what I
please." He was a rigid Calvin ist,
and made his absolutism felt more
especially in r.eligious matters. It
seems that preachers then, as since,
were sometimes in the habit of
preaching long sermons ; so King
Frederic William put a fine of two
thalers upon any one who should
preach longer than one hour. He
required his preachers to insist in
all their sermons upon the duty of
obedience and loyalty to the king,
and the government officials were
charged to report any failure to
make special mention of this duty.
Both Lutherans and Calvinists were
forbidden to touch in their sermons
upon any points controverted be-
tween the two confessions. No
detail of religious worship was in-
significant enough to escape his
meddlesome tyranny. The length
of the service, the altar, the vest-
ments of the minister, the sign of
the cross, the giving or singing the
blessing, all fell under his 'Miigh
episcopal supervision."
This unlovely old king was
followed by Frederic the Great,
who, though an infidel and a scoffer,
held as firmly as his father to his
sovereign episcopal prerogatives,
and who, if less meddlesome, was
not less arbitrary. And now we
have got back to the constitution
which, after Silesia and a part of
Poland had been united to the
crown of Prussia, was partially
drawn up under Frederic tlie
Great, and completed and promul-
gated during the reign of his suc-
cessor; and which, as we have
already said, placed the three prin-
cipal confessions of, the Christian
582
Prussia and the Church.
faith in the Prussian states — viz.,
the Lutheran, the Reformed, and
the Catholic — on a footing of equal-
ity before the law. Now, it must
be noticed, this constitution left
intact tl»e absolute authority of the
king over the Reformed and Luth-
eran churches, and therefore what
might seem to be a. great gain for
the Catholic Church was really
none at all, since it was simply
placed under the supreme jurisdic-
tion of the king. There was no
express jjccogniiion of the organic
union of the church in Prussia with
the pope, nor of the right of the
bishops to govern their dioceses
according to the ecclesiastical ca-
nons, but rather the tacit assump-
tion that the king was head of
the Catholic as of the Protestant
churches in Prussia. The constitu-
tion was drawn up by Suarez, a
bitter enemy of the church, and in
many of its details was character-
ized by an anti-Catholic spirit.
It an mil led, for instance, the con-
tract maiie by parents of different
faith concernintij the religious cdn-
cation of their children, and mani-
fested in many other ways that
petty and tyrannical spirit which
lias led Prussia to interfere habitu-
ally with the internal discipline
and working of the church.
As the Catholic poi)ulation of
Prussia increased tlirou^h the an-
nexation of different (ierman states,
this constitution, which gave the
king sni)reme control of spiritual
matters, was extended to the new-
ly-ae(piire(l territories. Thus all
through the XVlllth century the
church in Prussia, thouiiii not
openly persecuted, was fettered.
No progress was made, abuses
could not be reformed, the appoint-
ment of bishops was not free, the
training of the i)riesthoo(l was very
imperfect; and it is not surprising
that this slavery should havt
productive of many and \
evils.
The French Revolution a
wars of Napoleon, which
social and political up!
throughout Europe, toppled
thrones, overthrew empire
broke up and reformed thel
ries of nations, mark a nei
in the history of Prussia, ;
deed of all Germany, whose
had been taught by these di*
wars that they had comn
terests which could not be
ed without national unity, t
of which had never bcfo
made so painfully manifest.
After tlie downfall of N
the ambassadors of the
Powers met in Vienna to s
affairs of all Europe,
provinces, and cities we
away in the most reckless
without any tliought of the
or wishes of the people
kings and rulers who coi
mand the greatest influen
congress or whose di^plea
most feared. Gernianv d
the restoration of Als,
Lorraine, but was thwarte
designs by Great Brit:
Russia, who feared the re
of her ancient power.
Prussia received from
gress, as some compensatii
sufferings and sacrilices d
Napoleonic wars, the duch
lich and Berg, the forme
sions of the episcopal sec
logne and Treves, and sevt
territories, which were for
the Rhine province. On
hand, it lost a portion of
vonic population which it
on the east ; so that, thoug
ed nothing in territon*, it
more strictly a German s
was consequently better fit
Prussia and iJte Church.
683
ually to take the lead in the irre-
pressible movement toward tke
unification of Germany.
In the Congress of Vienna it was
stipulated that Catholics and Pro-
testants should have equal rights
before the law. The constitutional
law of Prussia was extended to the
newly-acquired provinces and " all
ecclesiastical matters, whether of
Roman Catholics or of Protestants,
together with the supervision and
administration of all charitable
funds, the confirming of all per-
sons appointed to spiritual offices,
and the supervision over the admin-
istration of ecclesiastics as far as it
may have any relation to civil af-
fairs, were reserved to the govern-
ment."
In 1817, upon the occasion of
the reorganization of the govern-
nrent, we perceive to what practical
purposes these principles were to
he applied. The church was de-
based to a function of the state, her
interests were placed in the hands
of the ministry for spiritual affairs,
and the education of even clerical
students was put under the control
of government.
It was in this same year, 181 7,
that the tercentennial anniversary
of the birth of Protestantism was
celebrated. For two centuries Pro-
testant faith in Germany had been
dying out. Eager and bitter con-
troversies, the religious wars and
the plunder of church properly
during the XVIth and early part
of the XVI Ith centuries, had given
it an unnatural and artificial vigor.
It was a mighty and radical revolu-
tion, social, political, and religious,
and therefore gave birth to fanati-
cism and intense partisan zeal, and
was in turn helped on by them.
There is a natural strength in a
new faith, and when it is tried by
wpj and persecution it seems to rise
to a divine power. Protestantism
burst upon Europe with irresistible
force. Fifty years had not passed
since Luther had burned the bull
of Pope Leo, and the Ciitholic
Church, beaten almost everywhere
in the North of Europe, seemed
hardly able to hold her own on the
shores of the -Mediterranean; fifty
years later, and Protestantism was
saved in Germany itself only by the
arms of Catholic France. The
peace of Westphalia, in 1648, put an
end to the religious wap of Ger-
many, and from that date the decay
of the Protestant faith was rapid.
Many causes helped on the work
of ruin ; the inherent weakness of
the Protestant system from its pure-
ly negative character, the growing
and bitter dissensions among Pro-
testants, the hopeless slavery to
which the sects had been reduced
by the civil power, all tended to un-
dermine faith. In the Palatinate,
within a period of sixty years, the
rulers had forced the people to
change their religion four times.
In Prussia, whose king, as we have
seen, was supreme head of the
church, the ruling house till 1539
was Catholic; then, till 1613, Luth-
eran ; from that date to 1740, Cal-
vinistic; from 174010 1786, infidel,
the avowed ally of Voltaire and
D'Alembert; then, till 1817, Cal-
vinistic ; and finally again evangeli-
cal.
During the long reign of Frede-
ric the Great unbelief made steady
progress. Men no longer attacked
this or that article of faith, but
Christianity itself. The quickest
way, it was openly said by many, to
get rid of superstition and priest-
craft, would be to abolish preach-
ing altogether, and thus remove the
ghost of religion from the eyes of
the people. It seems strange that
such license of thought and expres-
634
Prussia and the Church.
sion should have been tolerated,
and even encouraged, in a coun-
try where religion itself has never
been free ; but it is a peculiarity
of tiie Prussian system of govern-
ment that while it hampers and
fetters the church and all religious
organizations, it leaves the widest
liberty of conscience to the indi-
vidual. Its policy appears to be to
foster indifference and infidelity, in
order to use them against what it
considers religious fanaticism. An-
other circumstance which favored
infidelity may be found in the po-
litical thraldom in which Prussia
held her people. As men were for-
bidden to speak or write on sub-
jects relating to the government
or the public welfare, they took re-
fuge in theological and philosophi-
cal discussions, which in Protestant
lands have never fiiiled to lead to
unbelief. This same state of things
tended to promote the introduction
and increase of secret societies,
wliich, in the latter half of ti)e
XVIIlth century, sprang up in
great numbers throughout (Ger-
many, bearing a lumdred differ-
ent names, but always having anti-
Cliristian tendencies.
To stop the spread of infidelity,
Frederic William 11., the successor
of Frederic the Great, issued, in
1788, an *' edict., embracing the
constitution of rclii^ion in tlie
Prussian states." The kinir de-
dared that he could no longer suf-
fer in his dominions that men
siioiild openly seek to undermine
religion, to make the Bible ridicu-
lous in the eyes of the people, and
to raise in public the banner of un-
belief, deism, and naturalism. He
would in future permit no farther
change in the creed, wliether of the
Lutheran or the Reformed Ciuirch.
This was the more necessary as he
had himself noticed with sorrow.
years before he ascended the tl
that the Protestant ministers
ed themselves boundless 1
with regard to the articles of
and indeed altogether rejecte
eral essential parts and fund
tal verities of the Protestant C
and the Christian religion,
blushed not to revive the long
refuted errors of the Sociniai
deists, and the naturalists, ;
scatter them among the peo|
der the false name of enli
m e n t ( Atifkidrutig) , w li i 1 s t
treated God's Word with d
and strove to throw suspicio;
the mysteries of revelation,
this was intolerable, he, there
ruler of the land and only la
in his states, commanded and
ed that in future no cler
preacher, or school-teacher
Protestant religion should pi
under pain of perpetual losi
fice and of even severer
ment, to disseminate the er
ready named ; for, as it ^
duty to preserve intact the
the land, so was it incumbei
him to see that religion she
kept free from taint; and h
not, consequently, allow its m
to substitute their whims a
cics for the truths of Chrib
'J'hey must teach wiiat ha
agreed upon in the symbuls
of the denomination to whi<
belonged ; to this they were
by their office and the conli
der which they had receive
positions. Nevertheless, ou
great love for freedom of com'
the king was willing that tlu
were known to disbelieve
articles of faith might retai
ofiices, provided they consci
tea( h their flocfcs what the
themselves unable to believe
In this royal edict we h
once the fullest confession
Prussia and the Church.
685
pcncral unbelief that was destroying
Protestantism in Prussia, and of the
bopcrlessness of any attempt to ar-
Pest its progress. What could be
More pitiable than the condition
:>f a cluirch powerless to control its
Aitnisters, and publicly recognizing
iheir right to be hypocrites ? How
roil Id men who had no faith teach
others to believe ? Moreover, what
Lzoiiid be more absurd, from a Pro-
testant point of view, than to seelc
to force the acceptance of symbols
(»f faith when the whole Reformation
rested upon the assumed right of
tlie individual to decide for himself
what should or should not be be-
lieved ? Or was it to be supposed
that men could invest the conflict-
ing creeds of the sects with a sa-
r redness which they had denied to
that of the universal church ? It is
not surprising, therefore, that the
\yK\\y effect of the edict should have
hcen to increase the energy and ac-
tivity of the infidels and free-think-
ers.
Frederic William III., who as-
cended the throne in 1797, recog-
nizing the futility of his father's at-
tempt to keep alive faith in Protest-
antism, stopped the enforcement of
the edict, with the express declara-
tion that its effect had been to les-
sen religion and increase hypocrisy.
Abandoning all hope of controllin c;
llie fiiith of the preachers, he turn-
ed his attention to their morals. A
decree of the Oberconsistorium of
Herlin, in 1798, ordered that the
ronduct of the ministers should
h*: closely watched and every
means employed to stop the daily-
increasing immorality of the ser-
vants of the church, which was hav-
ing the most injurious effects upon
their congregations. Parents had
almost ceased having their children
baptized, or had them christened in
the ** name of Frederic the Great,"
or in the "name of the good and
the fair," sometimes with rose-
water.
But the calamities which befell
Germany during the wars of the
French Revolution and the empire
seemed to have turned the thoughts
of many to religion. The frightful
humiliations of the fatherland were
looked upon as a visitation from
heaven upon the people for their
sins and unbelief; and therefore,
when the tercentennial anniversary
of Protestantism came around (in
181 7), they were prepare(f to enter
upon its celebration with earnest
enthusiasm. The celebration took
the form of an anti-Catholic' de-
monstration. For many years con-
troversy between Protestants and
Catholics had ceased; but now a
wholly unprovoked but bitter and
grossly insulting attack was made
upon the church from all the Pro-
testant pulpits of Germany and in
numberless writings. The result
of this wanton aggression was a
reawakening of Catholic faith and
life ; whilst the attempt to take ad-
vantage of the Protestant enthusi-
asm to bring about a union be-
tween the Lutheran and Reformed
churches in Prussia ended in caus-
ing fresh dissensions and divisions.
The sect of the Old Lutherans was
formed, which, in spite of persecu-
tion, finally succeeded in obtaining
toleration, though not till many of
its adherents had been driven
across the ocean into exile.
As the Congress of Vienna had
decided that Catholics and Protes
tants should be placed, upon a foot-
ing of equality, and as Prussia had
received a large portion of the s^cn- i
larized lands of the church, with the '
stipulation that she should provide
for the maintenance of Catholic
worship, the government, in 1816,
sent Niebuhr, the historian, to
686
Prussia and t/ie Church.
Rome, to treat with the Pope con-
cerning the reorganization of the
Catholic religion in the Priissinn
stales. Finally, in 182 1, an agree-
ment was signed, which received
the sanction of the king, and was
])ublished as a fundamental law
of the state.
In this Concordat with the Holy
See there is at least a tacit recogni-
tion of the true nature of the
church, of her organic unitv — a be-
ginning of respect for her freedom,
and a seeming promise of a better
future. Irt point of fact, however,
in spite of Niebuhr's assurance to
the Holy Father that he might rely
upon' the honest intentions of the
government, Prussia began almost
at once to meddle with the rights of
Catholics. A silent and slow per-
secution was inaugurated, by which
it was hoped their patience would
be exhausted and their strength
wasted. And now we shall examine
more closely the artful and heartless
l)olicy by which, with but slight va-
riations, for more tlian two centu-
ries Prussia has sought to undermine
tlie Catliolic reliiijion. In 1827 the
Prut'-^stanls of all communions in
Prussia amounted to 6,370,380, and
the ('atholics to 4,023,513. These
po})ulations are, to only a very lim-
ited extent, intermingled; certain
l^rovinces being almost entirely
(!ntlu)lic, and others nearly wholly
Protestant. l»v law tlie same rights
nre granted to both Catholics and
Proti'>>t:ints ; and both, therefore,
sliould receive like treatment at the
hands of the irovcrnmcnt.
This is tlie iheorv ; wliat are the
farts ? We will take the religious
policy of Prussia from the reorga-
nization (;f tlie cluirch after the
(.'ongrcss of Vienna down to the
revolulion of 1848, and we will be-
gin with the suljject of education.
For the six millions of Protes-
tants there were four cxck
Protestant universities, at \
Halle, K6nigsberg,andGreifsi
for the four millions of Cat
there were but two half univt^
at Bonn and Breslau, in ea
which there was a double ti-
the one Protestant, the other
olic ; though the professors in
faculties, except that of the
were for the most part Prote
Thus, out of six universities,
Catholics was left only a litt
ner in two, though they were
to bear nearly one-half of tl
lie burdens bv which all si
supported. But this is r
worst. The bishops had n
in the nomination of the pre
not even those of theology,
were simply asked whether t'
any objections to make, oi
The candidate might be a s
he might be wholly unfitted
theology, he might be free fri
immorality or heresy; and
fore, because the bishops coi
nothing against him, he was ;
od to instruct the aspirant
priesthood.
At Breslau a foreign |'
was appointed, who beuan t
the most scandalous and 1
doctrines. Comi^laints we
less. During manv vear> h
drank in the poison, and at
after he had done his worl
struction, he was, as in mf)ci
moved. Nor is this an
instance of the ruin to (
faitii wroui^ht by this svsier
bishops had hardly any i;
over the education of thei
who, vouni2j and i ignorant
world, were thrown almost
restraint into the pagan con
of a Cerman university, '\n <
ac(|uire a knowledge of tl
At Coloiine a Catholic
was made over to the Prol
Prussia and tlu Church.
687
t Erfurt and DUsseldorf Catlio-
o gyuuujsia were turned into niix-
dl estabiislniients with all the pro-
sssors, save one, Protestants.
£lementary education was under
le control of provincial boards
onsisting of a Protestant president
nd three councillors, on^ of whom
light be a Catholic in Catholic
istricts. In the Catholic pro*
inces of the Rhine and Westphalia,
lie place of Catholic councillor
ras left vacant for several years
ill the schools were all reorganiz-
d. Indeed, the real superintend
lent of Catholic elementary edu->
Ation was generally a Protestant
uinister.
There was a government Censur
for books of religious instruction,
:he headquarters of which were
in Berlin, but its agents were scat-
tered throughout all the provinces.
Alt who were employed in this de-
partment, to which even the pastor-
als of the bishops had to be submit-
ted before being read to their
flocks, were Protestants. The wid-
est liberty was given to Protes-
tants to attack the church ; but
when the Catholics sought to defend
themselves, their writings were sup-
pressed. Professor Freudenfeld was
obliged to quit Bonn because he had
spoken of Luther without becom-
ing respect.
Permission to start religious
journals was denied to Catholics,
but j;ranted to Protestants; and in
the pulpit the priests were put
under btrict restraint, while the
preachers were given full liberty
of speech. Whenever a commu-
nity of Protestants was found in
a Catholic district, a church, a
clergyman, and a school were im-
tnediately provided for them ; in-
deed, richer provision for the
Protestant worship was made in
the Catholic provinces than else-
where; but when a congregation of
Catholics grew up amongst Protes-
tants, the government almost in-
variably rejected their application
for ))ermission to have a place of
worship. At various tiines and
places churches and schools were
taken from the Catholics and turn-
ed over to the Protestants ; and
though Prussia had received an
enormous amount of the coniiscated
property of the church, she^did not
provide for the support of the
priests as for that of the ministers.
At court there was not a single
Catholic who held office ; the
heads of ail the departments of
government were Protestants ; the
Post-Office department, down to
the local postmasters, was exclu-
sively Protestant ; all ambassadors
and other representatives of the
government, though sent to Catho-
lic courts, were Protestants.
In Prussia the state is divided
into provinces, and at the head of
each province is a high-president
(Ober-Prasident). This official, to
whom the religious interests of the
Catholics were committed, was al-
ways a Protestant. The provinces
are divided into districts, and at
the head of each district was a
Protestant president, and almost
all the inferior officers, even in Ca-
tholic provinces, were Protestants.
Again, in the courts of justice
and in the army all ti)e principal
positions were given to Protestants.
In the two corps darmees of Prus-
sia and Silesia, one-half was Catho-
lic ; in the army division of Posen,
two-thirds; in that of Westphalia
and Cleves, three-fifths* and, finally,
in that of the.Rhine, seven-eighths;
yet there was not one Catholic
field-officer, not a general or major.
In 1832 a royal order was issued
to provide for the religious wants
of the army, and every care was
688
Prussia and tJu Church.
taken for the spirittial needs of the
Protestant soldiers ; but not even
one Catholic chaplain was appoint-
ed. All persons in active service,
from superior officers down to pri-
vate soldiers, were declared to be
members of the military parish, and
were placed under the authority
of the Protestant chapluins. If a
Catholic soldier wished to get mar-
ried or to have his child baptized
by a prjest, he had first to obtain
the permission of his Protestant
curate. What was still more intol-
erable, the law regulating military
worship was so contrived as to
force the Catholic soldiers to be
present at Protestant service.
Let us now turn to the relations
of the church in Prussia with the
Holy See. All direct communica-
tions between the Catimlics and
the Pope were expressly forbidden.
Whenever the bishops wished to
consult the Holy Father concerning
the administration of their dio-
ceses, tlieir inquiries had to pass
through the hands of the Protest-
ant ministry, to be forwarded or
not at its discretion, and the an-
swer of the Pope had to pass
through the same channel. It was
not safe to write; for the govern-
ment luid no respect for the mails,
and letters were habitually opened
1))' order of Von Nagler, the ])ost-
niaster-general, who boasted tliat
he had never had any idiotic scru-
])les about sucli matters ; thnt
Prince Constantine was iiis model,
who had once entertained him witli
narrating how he had managed to
'j;et the choicest i:election of inter-
cepted letters" in existence; he had
h.ui them bound in morocco, and
they formed thirty-three volumes
ot the most inlercstinu; pjadiuLT in
his private library. Thus the
church was ruled by a system of
es[)i()nage and bureaucracy whith
hesitated not to violate all the
sanctities of life to accompli
ends. The bishops were re
to a state of abject depenc
not being allowed to piibli:
new regulation or to make a
pointment without the pern
and approval of the Pro
high-president, from whom
constantly received the mo
noying and vexatious despat<
The election of bishops v
duced to a mere form. \^
see became vacant, the roya
missary visited the chapte
announced the person whc
king had selected to fill the
declaring at the same time t
other would receive his appr
The minutest details of C
worship were placed und<
supervision and control of
tant laymen, who had to
how much wine and hov
hosts might be used duri
year in the different churche
We come now to a matter,
and often discussed, in whi
trials of the church in 1
prior to the recent j.^ersec
finally culminated; we alli
the subject of marriages L
Catholics and Protestants.
When, in 1803, Prussia g
session of the greater part
Catholic provinces, the fo
order was at once issued
majesty enacts that childre
in wedlock shall all be c<.
in the religion of the fath
that, in opposition to th
neither party shall bind the
Apart from the odious m
of the state with the rii^hti
dividuals and the ajjreenic
parties so closely and sacre
hitcd as man and wite, the
in this enactment a special ir
to Catholics, from the fact in.
ly all the mixed m:\rriages ii
sia were contracted bv Pro
government officials and C
Prussia and the Church.
689
tr«men of tlie provinces to which
these agents had been sent. As
these men held hicrative offices,
they found no difficulty in making
matrimonial alliances ; and as the
children had to be brought up in
the religion of the father, the gov-
ernment was by this means gradually
establishing Protestant congrega-
tions throughout its Catholic prov-
inces. In 1825 this law was ex-
tended to the Rhenish province, and
in 1831 a document was brought to
light which explained the object of
the extension- yjz., that it might
prove an effectual measure against
the proselyting system of Catholics.
The condition of tlie church was
indeed deplorable. With the name
of being free, she was, in truth, en-
slaved ; and while the state profess-
ed to respyct her rights, it was using
all the power of the most thor-
oughly organized and most heartless
system of bureaucracy and espion-
age to weaken and fetter her action,
and even to destroy her life. This
was the state of afiairs when, in the
end of 1835, Von ^^roste Vischering,
one of the greatest and noblest men
of tliis century, worthy to be named
with Athanasius and with Ambrose,
was made archbishop of Cologne.
'i'he Catholic people of Prussia
had long since lost all faith in the
good intentions of the government,
of whose acts and aims they had full
knowledge ; and it was in order to
restore confidence that a man so
trusted and loved by them as Von
I)roste Vischering was promoted to
ihf see of Cologne. The doctrines
<'f Hermes, professor of theology in
lite University of Bonn, had just
I'fen condemned at Rome, but the
Savernment ignored the papal brief,
and continued to give its support
lo the Hermesians; the archbishop,
ncvcrtheles», condemned their wiit-
ings, and especially their organ, the
VOL. XXll. — 44
Bonner Theologische Zeiischri/t, for-
bade his students to attend their
lectures at the university, and final-
ly withdrew his approbation alto-
gether from the Hermesian profes-
sors, refusing to ordain students un-
less they formally renounced the
proscribed doctrines.
By a ministerial order issued in
1825, priests were forbidden, under
pain of deposition from office, to
exact in mixed marriages any
l)romise concerning the education
of the offspring. A like penalty was
threatened for refusing to marry
parties who were unwilling to make
such promises,or for withholding ab-
solution from those who were bring-
ing up their children in the Protes-
tant religion. To avert as far as
possible any conflict between the
church and the government, Pius
VIII., in 1830, addressed a brief to
the bishops of Cologne, Treves,
Mtinster, and Paderborn, in which
he made every allowable concession
to the authority of the state in the
matter of mixed marriages. The
court of Berlin withheld the papal
brief, and, taking advantage of the
yielding disposition of Arclibishop
Spiegel of Cologne, entered, with-
out the knowledge of the Holy See,
into a secret agreement with him,
in which still farther concessions
were made, and in violation of
Catholic principle. Von Droste
Vischering took as his guide the
papal brief, and paid no attention to
such provisions of the secret agree-
ment as conflicted with the instruc-
tions of the Holy Father.
The government took alarm, and
offered to let fall the Hermesians, if
the archbishop would yield in the
affair of mixed marriages ; and as
this expedient failed, measures of
violence were threatened, which
were soon carried into effect ; for
on the evening of the 20th of No-
i
6go
Prussia and the Church.
vember, 1837, the archbishop was se-
cretly arrested and carried off to
tlie fortress of Minden, where he
was placed in close confinement, all
communication with him being cut
off. 'I'he next morning the govern-
ment issued a " Publicandum," in
which it entered its accusations
against the archbishop, in order to
justify its arbitrary act and to ap-
pease tlie anger of the people.
Notwithstanding, a cry of indigna-
tion and grief was heard in all the
Catholic provinces of Prussia, which
was re-echoed throughout Germany
and extended to all Europe. Luke-
warm Catholics grew fervent, and
the very Hermesians gathered with
tlieir sympathies to uphold the
cause of the archbisliop.
The Archbishop of Posen and the
Bishops of Paderborn and Mtinster
announced their withdrawal from
the secret convention, which the
Bishop of Treves had already done
upon his death-bed ; and hencefor-
ward tlic priests throughout the
kingdom held firm to the ecc:le:sias-
tical hnv on mixctl marriac;os, so
that in 1S38 l*'rcdcric William III.
was forced to make a declaration
recoiinizinii the rights for which
thev contended. IJut the Arch-
bishop of Cologne was still a j)ris-
oner in the fortress oi Minden.
Early, however, in 1839, his health
began to fail ; and as the govern-
ment feared lest his death in prison
might produce unfavorable com-
ment, he received permission to
withdraw to Miinster. The next
year tlie king dieil, and his succes-
sor, Frederic William IV., sliowed
himself ready to settle the dis]nitc
amicably, and in other ways to do
justice to the Catholics. A great
victory had been gained — the se-
cret convention was destroyed —
a certain liberty of communication
with the Pope was granted to the
bishops. The election of bi
was made comparatively fret
control of the schools of liie
was restored to them, the H
sians either submitted or we
moved, and the Catholics ol
many awoke from a deathlike
to new and vigorous life.
An evidence of the awal;
of faith was given in the f*
1844, when a million and a h
German Catholics went in pi
age, with song and prayer, to 1
Nevertheless, manygrievan
mained unredressed. The I
was still used against the cl
and when the Catl}olics askei
mission to publish journ:
which they could defend
selves and their religious int
they were told that such pi
tions were not needed; but
Ronge, the suspended priest,!
to found his sect of " German
olics," he received every enco
ment from the government, ai
earnest support of the otiic!:
nearly the entire ])ress ^.-^i I'r
though, at this very time, ev
fort was being made to trii:
"Old Lutherans."
The government coniin!;
find ])retexts fr)r meddlin;^ w
affairs of the bishops, and the
papers attacked tiie churn;
most insulting manner, U'>ing
as to demand lliat the rchg:*-
ercises for priests siiould be
under police supervision- \\
now reached a memorable cp
the hi^toiv of the Catlu;lic l
in Prussia — the revolution oi
which convulsed Germany
centre, sjjread dismay ami
classes, and fdled its cities wi
and bloodshed. When orJ"
re-established, the libv^rtics
church were recognized nior
than they had been for ihre
turies.
Garcia Moreno.
691
GARCIA MORENO.
FROM THE CIVILTA CATTOLICA.
Tk£ %t|;ocious assassination of
jrarcia Moreno, the President of
he rep iblic of Ecuador, has filled
;be minds of all good people with
he deepest grief and horror. The
iberals are the only ones who have
nentioned it in their journals with
ndifference. One of them headed
lis announcement of it, " A victim
rf the Sacred Heart" — alluding,
rilh blasphemous irony, to the act
»f consecration of his people to the
/Adorable Heart of our Lord which
this truly pious ruler had made.
But with the exception of these
reprobates — wlio, hating God, can-
not love mankind — no one who has
any admiration of moral greatness
can help deploring the death of
this extraordinary man — a death the
more deplorable on account of its
coming, not from a natural cause,
but from a detestable conspiracy
concocted by the enemies of all
that is good, who abhorred equally
the wisdom of his government and
ihe soundness of his faith. The
London Times has a despatch from
Paris of October 5 with the follow-
ing communication : "It appears,
from authentic information which
we have received, that Garcia Mo-
reno, lately President of the repub-
lic of Ecuador, has been assassinat-
ed by a secret society which extends
through all South America, as well
as Europe. The assassin was se-
lected bv lot, and obtained admis-
fiion to the palace at Quito. One
of his accomplices, an official, who
was arrested after the murder, was
assured by the president of the
court-martial, before his trial, that
he would be pardoned if he turned
state's evidence. * Be pardoned.'*
said he, * That would be of no use
to me ; if you pardon me, my com-
rades wmU not. I would rather be
shot than stabbed/ " This decision
of the society to kill him was known
to Moreno, and he informed the
Pope of it in a letter, which we
will shortly give.
This illustrious man had gov-
erned the republic of Ecuador for
about fifteen years — first as dic-
tator, and afterwards, for two con-
secutive terms, as president; and to
this office he had just been re-
elected for a third term by an
unanimous vote. He had taken
charge of the state when it was in
an exceedingly miserable condition,
and by his lofty genius, practical
tact, and perseverance, but above
all by his piety and confidence in
God, had completely renovated
and restored not only the morals
of the people, but also the whole
political administration, and made
the country a perfect model of a
Christian nation. He was intend-
ing to complete the work which he
had begun, and was able to rely
confidently on the co-operation of
his people, whose reverence and
love for him were unbounded. But
all this was intolerable to the
liberals of our day; they could ifct
bear that in a corner of the New
World the problem should be
solved, which they are trying to
make so perplexing, of harmony
between the state and the church ;
692
Garcia Moreno.
of the combination of temporal
prosperity and Catliolic piety ; of
obedience to tiie civil law and per-
fect submission to ecclesiastical au-
tliority. This was an insufferable
scandal for modern liberalism,*
especially because such a good
example might do much to frus-
trate the plans of this perverse sect
in other countries.
The Masons, therefore, resolved
to murder this man, whom they had
found to be too brave and deter-
mined to be checked in any other
way ; for all the attempts they had
made to intimidate him or to di-
minish his popularity had been en-
tirely without effect. Moreno an-
ticij)ated the blow, but, far from
fearing it, was only the more per-
suaded to persevere in his under-
taking, regarding it as the greatest
liappiness to be able to give his life
for so holy a cause. In the last
letter which he wrote to the Su-
])rcme Pontiff before his assassina-
tion are these words : ** I implore
your apostolic benediction. Most
Holy Father, having been re-elect-
ed (though I did not deserve it) to
the office of president of this Catli-
olic republic for anotlier six years.
Although the new term does not
begin till the 30th of August, the
day on wliich I take the oath re-
quired by the constitution, so that
tlien only shall I need to give your
Holiness an official notification of
my re-election, nevertheless I wish
not to delay in informing you of it,
in order that I may obtain from
Heaven the strength and light
which I more than any other one
shall need, to keep me a child of
our Redeemer and loval and obedi-
cut to his infallible Vicar. And
now that the lodges of neighboring
"* Wc sny libcmlism, but we might say Freema-
sonry ; for, as wc all know, Masonry is merely or-
ganixed liberalism.
countries, inspired by GermanT,
vomit out against me all sorts of
atrocious insults and horrible cal-
umnies, and even secretly lay plans
for my assassination, I reqairt
more than ever the divine assisiincc
and protection to live and die n.
defence of our holy religion and of
this beloved republic which Gol.
has given me to govern. HorJ
fortunate I am, Most Holy Falb
to be hated and calumniated for
sake of our divine Saviour;
what unspeakable happiness vo
it be for me if your benedlcli
should obtain for me the grace
shed my blood for hira w
though he was God, yet shed
own on the cross for us ! "
heroic desire of the fervent Christi
was granted. He was murdered b]
the enemies of Christ, in hatred rf
his zeal for the restoration of the'
Christian state and of his fervcitt
love for the church. He is truly a
martyr of Christ. Arc not S. Wen-
ceslaus of Bohemia and S. Canott
of Denmark numbered among the
holy martyrs, for the same cause?
Both of them were killed in the
precincts of the temple of God;
and Moreno was carried back »
the church from which he had onlf
just departed, to breathe out his
noble soul into the bosom of his
Creator.
II.
The object of Masonic civiliMtioo
is society without God. The r^
suits which it has succeeded w
achieving, and which it deems oJ
such importance, are the separaiii)P
of the state from the church, libff^*
of worship, the withdrawal of pub^
charities from religious objects, t^'C
exclusion of the clergy from the
work of education, the suppressio."
of religious orders, the supremic?
of the civil law, and the setting
Garcia Mornio,
693
isidc of the law of the Gospel.
IDnly by these means, according to
he Masons, can the happiness of
he people, the prosperity of the
ftate, and the increase of morality
Ind learning be attained. These
ire their fundamental maxims.
Now, the difficulty was that Moreno
lad practically shown, and was
:ontinuing to show more completely
:very day, that the peace, prosper-
ty, and greatness of a nation will
i)c in proportion to its devotion to
Rod and its obedience to the
church; that subjection to God
md his church, far from diminish-
ing, ensures and increases, the true
liberty of man ; that the influence
of the clergy promotes not only the
Cause of morality, but also that of
letters and science ; that man's
temporal interests are never better
cared for than when they are sub-
ordinated to those which are eter-
nal ; and that love of country is
never so powerful as when it is
consecrated by love of the church.
'A man of the most distinguished
talents, which had been most fully
Cultivated at the University of
Paris, Moreno had in his own
country occupied the most con-
spicuous positions. He had been
a professor of the natural sciences,
Ttctor of the university, representa-
tive, senator, commander-in-chief
of the army, dictator, and presi-
dent of the republic. In this last
office, in which he would probably
have been retained by the nation
ihrough life, he shotted what ge-
nius sanctified by religion can ac-
complish. His first care was to es-
tablish peace throughout the coun-
try, without which there can be no
civil progress; and he succeeded
in doing so, not by compromises,
as is now the fashion — not by mak-
ing a monstrous and abnormal
amalgamation of parties and prin-
ciples — but by the consistent and
firm assertion of the principles of
morality and justice, and by the
open and unhesitating profession
of Catholicity. His success was
so marked that Ecuador very soon
arrived at such a perfect state of
tranquillity and concord as to seem
a prodigy among the agitated and
tuibulent republics in its neighbor-
hood.
With the exception of some local
and ineffectual attempts at revolu-
tion during his first presidency,
which were quelled by placing
some of the southern provinces in
a state of siege for fifty days, Ecua-
dor was undisturbed by sedition
during the wjiole of his long gov-
ernment. This was partly due to
the splendor of his private and
public virtues, which dissipated the
cloiids of envy and hatred, and
gained for him the esteem even of
his political opponents. He was
chaste, magnanimous, just, impar-
tial, and so well known for clear-
headedness that the people often
stopped him on the streets to de-
cide their disputes on the spot, and
accepted his opinion as final. His
disinterestedness seems fabulous
when we think of the immoderate
cupidity prevailing among modem
politicians. In his first six years
he would not even draw his salary,
being content to live on the income
of his own moderate fortune. In
his second term he accepted it, but
spent it almost entirely in works of
public utility. And in such works
he employed the whole of his time.
When any one endeavored to per-
suade him not to shorten his life
by such continual labor, he used to
say : " If God wants me to rest, he
will send me illness or death."
Owing to this unwea-rying assi-
duity and his ardent love for the
good of his people, he was able to
694
Garcia Moreno.
undertake and finish an amount of
business that would appe«ir incredi-
ble, were not the evidence too
strong to admit of doubt. In No.
1*875 of ^^^^ Univers there is a cata-
logue of the principal enterprises
which he carried through in a brief
period. They are as follows :
A revision of the constitution.
The paying of the customs to
the national treasury, instead of to
the provincial ones, as formerly.
National* representation for the
country as well as the cities.
The establishment of a fiscal
court, and the organization of the
courts of justice.
The foundation of a great poly-
technic school, which was partially
entrusted to the Jesuits.
The construction and equipment
of an astronomical observatory,
whicfi was built and directed* by
the Jesuits. On account of the
equatorial position of Quito, Garcia
Moreno, who was well versed in
the mathematical sciences, wished
to make this observatory equal to
any in the world. He bought most
of the instruments with his own
private funds.
Roads connecting different parts
of the country. Garcia Moreno
laid out and nearly completed five
great national roads. The principal
one, that from Guayaquil to Quito,
is eighty leagues in lengtlu It is
paved, and has one hundred and
twenty bridges. It is a solid and
stupendous work, constructed in
the face of ahnost insuperable dif-
ficulties.
The establisljment of four new
dioceses.
A concordat with the Holy See.
The reformation of the res;ular
clergy ; the restoration among tliem
of a common and monastic life.
The reconstruction of the army.
'1 he army had been a mere horde,
without organization, discipline, or
uniform ; the men hardly had shoes.
Moreno organized them on the
French system, clothed, shod, aoi
disciplined them ; now they are
the model as well as the defence
of the people.
The building of a light-house at
Guayaquil. Previously there had
been none on the whole coast.
Reforms in the collection of thc^
customs. Frauds put an end uv.|
and the revenues trebled.
Colleges in all the cities; sch(
in even the smallest villages-
conducted by the Christian Bro-j
thers.
Schools for girls; Sisters of Q
ity, Ladies of the Sacred Heai
Sisters of the Good Shepherd, of
Providence, and Little Sisten of
the Poor.
Public hospitals. During his first
presidency Moreno turned out the
director of the hospital at Quito,
who had refused to receive a poor
man and was very negligent of his
duties, and made himself director
in his stead. He visited the hospi-
tal every day, improved its arrange-
ments, and put it in good working
order. He performed in it maoy
acts of heroic charity.
The maintenance and increase
of lay congregations and orders.
He was an active member of the
Congregation of the Poor.
The establishment of four mu-
seums-
The Catholic Protectory, a «5t
and mngnifioent school of arts and
trades, on the i)lan of S. Michele
at Rome, and conducted by ihf
Christian Brothers.
Postal conventions with virious
foreign slates.
The embellishment and restora-
tion of the cities. Guayaquil, aB<i
especially Quito, seemed as if tlicy
had been rebuilt*
Garcia Moreno.
<59S
And he accomplished all this,
not only without increasing the
taxes, but even diminishing some
of tlieni. This is the reason why
he i»vas so much beloved by the
people ; why they called him father
of his country and saviour of the
republic. But it was also this
which was his unpardonable sin,
which had to promptly receive a
chastisement which should serve as
a warning for his successors, that
ihey might not dare to imitate his
manner of government. For such
. a course as his was sure to ruin the
credit of Masonry in the popular
mind.
III.
t Moreno loved his country, and
worked so hard for its good, be-
cause he was truly and thoroughly
rehgious. Every one who really
loves God loves his neighbor also ;
and he who loves God intensely
loves his neighbor in the same way,
because he sees in him the image
<»f God and the price of his blood.
When he was a student in Paris
he was admired for his piety, hi
his own country, amid the contin-
ual cares and heavy responsibilities
of his office, he always found time
to hear Mass every morning and
say the rosary every night. In his
familiar conversation he spoke fre-
quently of God, of religion, of vir-
tue, and with such fervor that all
who heard felt their hearts touched
und moved by his words. Before
beginning the business of the day,
he always made a visit to the church
to implore light from the Source
of all wisdom ; and lie had just left
It. as we have said, when he met the
ambuscade which was prepared for
ium. This religious spirit produc*
ed in him a great zeal for the glory
of God, and that devotion to the
Vicar of Christ which in him so
much resembled the affection of a
child for his father. Let it suffice
to say that when he had to arrange
the concordat with the Holy See,
he sent his ambassador to Rome
with a blank sheet signed by him-
self, telling him to ask his Holiness
to write on it whatever seemed to
him right and conducive to the
good of the church and the true
welfare of the nation. Such was
the confidence which he reposed in
the Pope, with whom politicians
are accustomed to treat as if he
were an ambitious and designing
foreign prince, instead of being the
father of all the faithful. When the
revolution entered Rome in triumph
tlirough the breach of Porta Pia.
Garcia Moreno was the only ruler
in the world who dared to enter a
solemn protest against that sacrile-
gious invasion ; and he obtained
from his Congress a considerable
sum as a monthly subsidy and tri-
bute of affection to his Holiness.
But his piety toward God and
his filial love to the church can
best be seen from the message to
Congress which he finished a few
hours before his death, and which
was found on his dead body, steep-
ed in his blood. Although it is
somewhat long for the limits of an
article, we think that we ougiit td
present it to our readers as an im-
perishable monument of true piety
and enlightened policy, and as a
lesson for the false politicians of
the present day and of days to
come.
The message is as follows :
"Senators and Deputies: 1
count among the greatest of the
great blessings which God has, in
the inexhaustible abundance of his
mercy, granted to our republic, that
of seeing you here assembled under
his protection, in the shadow of his
peace, which he has granted and
696
Garcia Moreno.
still grants to us, while we are
nothing and can do nothing, and
only give in return for his paternal
goodness inexcusable and shameful
in^raliuide.
** It is only a few years since
Kcu:idor had to repeat daily these
sul words which the liberator Boli-
var addressed in his last message to
the Congress of 1830: ' I blush to
have to acknowledge that indepen-
dence is the only good which we
liave acquired, and tliat we have
lost all the rest in acquiring it.*
" But since the time when, plac-
ing all our hope in God, we escap-
ed from the torrent of impiety and
apostasy which* overwhelms the
world in this age of blindness;
since 1869, when we reformed our-
selves into a truly Catholic nation,
evervlhini^ has been on a course of
steady iind daily improvement, and
the ])rosperity of our dear country
has been continually increasing.
" Ecuador was not long ago a
bodv from which the life blood was
ebbing, and which was even» like
a corpse, already a l)rey to a horri-
ble swarm of vermin whicli the lib-
erty of ])utrefat lion engendered in
the darkness of the tomb. But
to-day, at tlie command of that sov-
ereign voice which called Lazarus
from tlie sepulchre, it has returned
to life, though itstill has not entire-
Iv ("ast off the winding-sheet and
bandages — that is to say, the remains
and effects of tlie misery and corrup-
lir)n in whi( h it had been buried.
*''Vo justify wliat I have said, it
will suffice f(M- me to give a short
sketch of the ])rogress which h:is
been made in these last two vears,
relerriu'' vou to the various (iei)art-
menls of the liovernn^'nt for docu-
mentary and detailed information.
And that vou niav see exacilv how
far we have advanced in this ])eriod
of regeneration, 1 shall comi)are
our present condition wiih
from which we started ; not for
own glory and self-gratulaii<»a,
to glorify Him to whom we
everything, and whom we adoi
our Redeemer and our Faiiier,
Protector and our God."
Here follows an enumeratio
all the improvements whicli
been made. He continues :
'* We owe to the perfect iii
which the church has amoni
and to the apostolic zeal of it
cellent prelates, the reformatio
the clergy, the amendmenl
morals, and the reductior
crimes; which is so great th;
our population of a million t
are not enough criminals to fill
penitentiary.
'* To the church also we
those religious corporations u
produce, such an abundance ol
cellent results by the instructic
childhood and youth, and b)
succor which they give so litx
to the sick and to the desii
We are also debtors to liuse
gious for the renewal c»f ti)e s
of i)iety in ti)is year of jubile:;
of sanctification, and for tiie
version to Christianilv and civi
tion of nine thousand savaifesi
eastern province, in which, on
count of its vast extent, there
good reasons for establishii
second vicariate. If you aiilh;
me to ask the Holy Sje tor
foundation, we will tlien comni;
to what measures to lake to
mote the commerce of this
vince, and to put an end to
selfish speculations and the vi(
exactions to which its ])oor inl
tants have been a prey by r.-
of the cruelty of in Iranian
chants. The laborers, bowcve
this field are not now to be
and that those wbic h we sh.ili
may be properly trained, it is
Garcia Moreno.
697
tnat you should give a yearlv
subsidy to our venerable and
Eealous archbishop, to assist him in
L>ailding tlie great seminary which
lie has not hesitated to begin, trust-
ing in the protection of Heaven and
in our co-operation.
** Do not forget, legislators, that
our little successes would be ephem-
;:ral and without fruit if we had not
founded the social order of our re-
public upon the rock, always resist-
ed and always victorious, of the
Catiiolic Church. Its divine teach-
ing, which neither men nor nations
can neglect and be saved, is the
rule of our institutions, the law of
our laws. Docile and faithful
children of our venerable, august,
and infallible Pontiff, whom all the
great ones of the earth are abandon-
ing, and who is being oppressed by
vile, cowardly, and impious men, we
have continued to send him month-
ly the little contribution which you
voted in 1873. Though our weak-
ness obliges us to remain passive
spectators of his slow martyrdom,
let us hope that this poor gift may
at least be a proof of our sympathy
and affection, and a pledge of our
obedience and fidelitv.
•* In a few days the term for
which I was elected in 1869 will ex-
pire. The republic has enjoyed
six years of peace, interrupted only
by a revolt of a few days in 1872 at
Riobamba, of the natives against
the whites; and in these six years
it has advanced rapidly on the path
of true progress under the visible
Vroiection of divine Providence.
I'he results achieved would certain-
ly have been greater if I had pos-
^trssed the abilities for government
which unfortunately I lack, or if
all that was needed to accomplish
good was ardently to desire it.
" If I have committed faults, I
ask pardon for them a thousand
times, and beg it with tears from
all my countrymen, feeling confi-
dent that thev have been uninten-
tional. If, on the contrary, you
think that in any respect I have
succeeded, give the honor of the
success, in the first place, to God
and to his Immaculate Mother, to
whom are committed the inexhaus-
tible treasures of his mercy ; and, in
the second place, to yourselves, to
the people, to the army, and to all
those who, in the different branches
of the government, have assisted me
with intelligence and fidelity in the
fulfilment of my difficult duties.
" Gabriel Garcia Moreno.
•• Qurro, August. 1875."
That is tne way that a really
Catholic ruler can speak, even in
this XlXth century. It seems,
while we read his words, as if we
were listening to Ferdinand of Cas-
tile or some other one of the saintly
kings of the most prosperous days
of Christianity. With great justice,
then, did the government of Ecua-
dor, when it published this message
— which was found, as we have said,
on Moreno's dead body — append
to it the following note :
** The message which we nave just
given is the solemn voice of one who
is dead ; or, better, it is his last will
and testament actually sealed with
his own blood; for our noble presi-
dent had just w^tten it with his own
hand when he was assailed bv his
murderers. Its last words are
those of a dying father who, bless-
ing his children, turns for the last
time toward them his eyes, darken-
ed by the shadow of death, and
asks pardon of them, as if he had
been doing anything during all
their lives but loading lliem with
benefits. Deeply moved and dis-
tressed by grief, we seek in vain for
words adequate to express our love
698
Garcia Moreno.
and veneration for him. Posterity
no doubt will honor the undying
memory of the great ruler, the wise
politician, the noble patriot, and
the saintly defender of the faith
who has been so basely assassinated.
His country, worthily represented
by their present legislators, will
shed tears over this tomb which
contains such great virtues and such
great hopes, and will gratefully re-
cord on imperishable tablets the
glorious name of this her son, who,
regardless of his own blood and
life, lived and died only for her."
This splendid eulogy is an echo
of the eternal benediction and a re-
flection of the brilliant crown which
we cannot doubt that God has given
to this his latest martyr.
IV.
The reader will see that this mes-
sage of Garcia Moreno contains a
true and genuine scheme of Chris-
tian government Avhich he applied
in the republic of Ecuador, in di-
rect opposition to the ideas and
aspirations of modern liberalism.
Every point of it is in most mark-
ed contrast to the liberal ist pro-
gramme. At some risk of repeti-
tion, we will here make a short
comparison between the tjvo, on
account of the importance of the
conclusions which all prudent men
can draw from it.
Moreno begins with God, and
puts him at the head of the gov-
ernment of his people; liberalism
would have the state atheistic, and
is ashamed even to mention the
, name of God in its ])ublic docu-
' ments. Moreno desires an inti-
mate union between the state and
the Catholic Church, declaring that
the social order must be founded
on the church, and that her divine
teaching must be the rule of human
institutions and the law of civil
laws ; liberalism, on the other hand,
not only separates the state froa
the church, but even raises it above
her, and makes the civil laws the
standard in harmony with wiiich
the er<:U*siastical laws must be
framed. It even would subject the
most essential institutions of the
church to tlie caprice of mm.
Moreno desires full liberty for the
bisiiops, and ascribes to this libertf
the reform of the clergy and tiie
good morals of the people : liberal*
ism wants to fetter episcopal ac*
tion, excites the inferior clergy t»
rebellion against their prelates, an
endeavors to withdraw the people
from the influence of either. Mo-
reno not only supports but multi-
plies religious communities; liberal-
ism suppresses them. Moreno re-
spects* ecclesi;istical property, and
promotes by the resources of the
state the foundation of new semioi-
ries, saying that without them it will
not be possible worthily to fill the
ranks of the sacred ministry; liih
eralism conflscates the goods of the
church, closes the seminaries, and
sends the young Leviles to the bar-
racks, to be educated in the dissi-
pation and license of military life.
Moreno confides to the clergy and
to the religious orders the trainiog
and instruction of youth; liberal-
ism secularizes education, and in-
sists on the entire exclusion of the
religious element. Moreno removes
from his Catholic nation the wiles
and scandals of false religion ; lii>-
eralism promulgates freedom of
worship, and opens the door to
every heresy in faith and to even
corruption in morals. Moreno,
finally, sees in himself the weaknesN
inherent in man, and gives God
credit for all the good which he ac-
complishes; while liberalism, f«l^
of Satanic pride, believes itself ca-
pable of everything, and places ali
A Revival in Frogt(nvn.
<S99
its confidence in the natural powers
of man. The antagonism between
the two systems is, in short, univer-
sal nnd absolute.
>Iow, what is the verdict of ex-
fierience ? It is that the applica-
tion of Moreno's system has result-
ed in peace, prosperity, the moral
and material welfare of the people —
in a Avord, social happiness. On
the contrary, the application of the
liberalist system has produced dis-
cord, general misery, enormous tax-
ation, immorality among the peo-
ple, and public scandals, and has
driven society to the verge of de-
struction and dissolution. Tlie lib-
erty wliich it has given has been
well defined by Moreno ; it is the
liberty of a corpse, the liberty to
rot.
And at this juncture the infa-
mous wickedness and the despica-
ble logic of the liberalist party can
no longer be concealed. It has
laid it down as certain that the
jjrinciples of the middle ages, as it
rails them — which are the true Ca-
tholic principles, the principles af-
firmed by our Holy Father Pius
IX. in his Syllabus — are not appli-
cable to modern times, and can no
longer give happiness to nations.
But here is a ruler, Garcia Moreno
by name, who gives the lie to this
grovelling falsehood, and shows, by
the irresistible evidence of facts,
that the liappiness of his peoi)le
has actually come simply from the
application of these principles.
What is the answer of the liberal-
ist sect to this manifest confuta-
tion of their theory.? First, it en-
deavofs to cry down its formidable
adversary by invective and calum-
ny; and then, finding that this does
not suffice to remove him from
public life, it murders him. This
is the only means it has to prove
its thesis.; and, having made use
of it, it begins to shriek louder
than before that Catholic princi-
ples cannot be adapted to the pro-
gress of this age. No, we agree
that they cannot, if you are going
to kill every one who adapts them.
What use is it to argue with a sect
so malicious and perverse } O pa-
tience of God and of men, how
basely are you abused I
A REVIVAL IN FROGTOWN.
There was quite an excitement
in Frogtown. The Rev. Eliphalet
Notext, " The Great Revivalist,
who had made more converts than
any otlier man in England, Ireland,
Scotland, Wales, the United States
:nid Territories, and tlie British
Provinces of North America,** was
to ** open a three weeks* campaign *'
in the town.
Now, Frogtown prided itself on
being the wickedest little town in
the West. Its inhabitants claimed
for it the enviable distinction of
being " the fastest little village of
its size in the United States '* — a
weakness common to most small
towns. This pride in vice is a wide-
spread weakness. The lean and
slippered pantaloon will wag his
fallen chaps and give evident signs
of pleasant titillation when some
shank-shrunken contemporary tells
" what a rascal the dog was in his
youth."
Well, the Frogtowners flattered
TOO
A Revival in Frogtawn.
themselves that Brother Notext
would find their burgh a very hard
nut to crack. Brother Notext was
not a tlieologian. He was not a
scholar. He was not a preacher.
In truth, he was ahnost illiterate.
But he understood the *' business "
of getting up revivals. He knew
how to create a sensation. He
could, at least, achieve a success of
curiosity, as the French say.
He began with the newspapers,
of course. He contrived to^ have
them say something about hi'm and
his ** work " in every issue. He
was not particular whether what
they said of him was favorable or
unfavorable. Indeed, he rather
preferred that some of them should
abuse him roundly. Abuse some-
times helped him more than praise.
It made soir \ people his friends
through a spirit of contradiction.
It appealed to the pugnacious in-
stincts of some ** professors of reli-
gion." It enabled him to hint that
the inimical editors were papal
myrmidons, Jesuit emissaries, etc.,
etc.
The Rev. Eliphalet was really
an excellent organizer. He had
been originally the business mana-
ger of a circus. His advertise-
ments, his posters, his hand-bills, in
his old occupation, were prepared
with all the gorgeous imagery of
the East. He did not forget his
old tactics in his new profession.
Immediately on his arrival in Frog-
town he grappled the newspapers.
He begged, bullied, or badgered the
editors until they noticed him. He
set the Christian Juveniles and the
kindred societies to work, with
whom, of course, there was no diffi-
culty. In a couple of days he suc-
ceeded in drawing around him the
clergymen of every denomination,
except the Episcopalian and Uni-
tarian. Some of the.se, however.
went much against their will. The
Episcopalian minister — a gentle,
amiable man — was very loath at
first ; but the pressure brought to
bear upon him was too strong. He
finally succumbed and joined in
what was called a Union Christian
Meeting of all the Protestant con-
gregations. This important point
achieved, Mr. Notext had three of
the " best workers " in each con-
gregation selected. These he sent
rimong the people to raise the
sinews of war, withouc which no
campaign, whether sacred or pitK
fane, can be conducted to a success-
ful issue. Mr. Notext's terms were
reasonable — only tliree hundred
dollars a week and found. A roan
must live ; and when a man works
hard — as Mr. Notext undoubted!?
did — he must live well, or he can-
not stand the strain on his phyM-
cal and mental strength. Then,
there were blank weeks when he
had no revival in hand,dnd proba-
bly a hotel bill to pay. Taking
these things into consideration, any
reasonable person will allow that
three hundred dollars a week and
found was not an exorbitant price.
Mr. Notext had a large tent
which the profane said had been
formerly used in his old business.
It was pitched in a vacant lot with-
in the city limits, and could ac-
commodate about fifteen hundred
persons. Mr. Notext prevailed on
the clergymen who united with liitB
to close their churches on the first
Sunday of his revival. On the pre-
vious Friday he gathered around
him a number of male and female
enthusiasts. Accompanied by these
l)eople, organized in squads and
led by the regular revival prac-
titioners who did what is pro-
fanely termed the "side-show"
business in all Mr. Notext's tours,
he sang hymns in front of every
'
A Revival in Frogiown.
701
Irinking-saloon in the town. The
istru mental accompaniment to
he singing was furnished by a
lelodeon, which was carried about
a one-horse cart.
On Sunday the union meetings
egan, and, notwithstanding a heavy
lin , the tent was full. A large plat-
>rin had been erected inside, and
?ar the door was a table on which
^cre exposed for sale a great vari-
[ty of contributions to religious
iterature, all by one author, who
lad evidently tried every string of
|he religious lyre. There were col-
xtions of hymns by the Rev. Mr.
^'otext ; tracts by the Rev. Mr.
'otcxt ; sermons by the Rev. Mr.
otext ; tales for the young by the
.ev. Mr. Notext ; appeals to the
lid bv the Rev. Mr. Notext; rea-
>ons for the middle-aged by the
Rev. Mr. Notext, etc., etc. There
were photoc^raphs, in every style, of
the Rev. Mr. Notext, as well as
likenesses of remarkable converts
wlio had been remarkal)le rascals
until they **got religion" through
the efforts of the Rev. Mr. Notext.
On the platform were seated the
shepherds of most of the flocks in
Frogtown. Some among them, it
is true, did not seem quite at home
in that situation, but they had to be
there. In the centre of the platform
was an organ, which furnished the
instrumental music. On each side
of the organ seats were arranged
for a volunteer choir. Fully half
those present were children.
The Rev. Eliphalet Notext was
introduced to the audience by the
minister of the Methodist church.
The revivalist w:is a stout, fair-
haired, fresh-colored, rather pleas-
ant-lookinf]; man, inclined to cor-
pulenry, evidently not an ascetic,
and gifted with no inconsiderable
share of physical energy and mag-
netism.
" I wish all persons who can sing
to come on the platform and oc-
cupy the seats to the right and left
of the organ,'* he began.
No movement was made in re-
sponse to this call. It was repeat-
ed with a better result. A dozen
young ladies summoned up enough '
courage to mount the platform.
" This will never do !" cried Mr.
Notext. "I want every person
present who can sing right here on
this stand. We can't get along
without music and plenty of it."
" Brethren," he continued, turn-
ing toward the clergymen on the
platform, " you know the singers
in your congregations ; go among
them and send them up here.
Everybody must put his shoulder
to the wheel in the great work of
bringing souls to Jesus."
The brethren meekly did as they
were bid. They soon succeeded
in filling the seats reserved for the
singers. These numbered about
one hundred.
"That's more like it," said Mr.
Notext approvingly. ** Now, my
friends, we will begin by singing a
hymn. I want everybody to join
in." (A nod to the organist, who
began to play.)
The singing was rather timid at
first, but, led by Mr. Notext, the
singers rapidly gained confidence,
and soon rolled forth in full chorus.
Having fairly launched them, their
leader, after the first verse, left
them to take care of themselves.
The singing was really good. The
rich volume of hnrrnony drowned
the commonplace melody and the
vulgar words. Thus Brother No-
text was successful in the pro-
duction of his first cfFoct. It was
evident that he depended much on
the singing. There is nolliing like
a grand mass of choral music to
excite the sensibilities. After two
7n2
A Revival m Frogtown,
or three bvmns, the revivalist had
his audience in a highly emotional
condition. " 1 want all the children
together in front !" shouted Mr.
Notext. " ^'/iilts [the accent on
the first syllable] will retire to the
back seats. Doh*t stop the music !
Keep up the singing! Goon! go
on !" Then he ran to the organ,
whisiKTed something to the organ-
ist, and led off with
** Oh ! yoM nust be a lover of the Lord,
Or you won^c go to heaven when you die,"
leaving the singers to sing it out
for tliemselves after the first two or
three lines.
It took some time to get all the
children to the front. If the mu-
sic flagged, Mr. Notext shouted to
the singers to " keep it up." From
time to time he would rush to the
organ, pick up a hymn-book in a
frantic manner, and lead off with a
new hymn, waving his hands in ca-
dence, but, with a due regard for
his lungs, not singing a note more
than was absoliitelv necessary to
start the otlicr singers afresh.
Tlic fathers and mothers of the
little ones, softened by tlie music,
looked with moistened eyes on tlieir
cliihiren as tlie latter took their
seats. The .American peo])le are
very fond of chihlren when thev
are ohl enough to walk and talk
and be inteiestini^. Mr. Notext
was alive to this fact. Even the
worst criminal or the most cvnical
man of the world cannot help be-
inir touched while nuisic charn^s
his ears and his eyes look on the
beautiful sjK'Ctac le ol childish in-
nocence. Mr. Xoti'xt evidently
knew the more amiable weakness-
es of human nature, llti ap])ealed
to the senses ar.d the affCv'tions,
and won over the fathers and mo-
thers throuifh the children.
" Now, my little friends," said
Mr. Notext, *' 1 wish you all to
keep perfectly silent while 1
talking to you. This first mc
is especially for you."
There was considerable bu
among the little ones.
** I must have silence, if 1 :
do anything with these chil*
said Mr. Notext rather testil
in a tone which showed ll
would not scruple to apply th<
to his little friends if they d
keep quiet. " The slightest
distracts their attention. Th
some boys to the right there \
still talking ! I wish som
would stop them."
A softly-stepping gentlem?
long hair and green goggle
to the designated group, i
strated with, and finally sue
in silencing, them. Then M
text began his sermon to th
dren. He told the story of tl
sion in a manner which, the
inexpressibly shocked Christi
the old-fashioned kind whi
pened to be present, was e
ingly dramatic — ** realistic"
highest degree, to borrow ;
from the niodern play-bill,
denly he broke off and said
excitedly :
*' There is a boy on the
bench who persists in talk
must have absolute siienct
cannot hold tiie attention c
children. The slii^iitesi n(j;
tracts them and takes their
away from the picture I ;
deavorini; to present to ths
is that red-haired boy! Wil
bodv please to take him aw:
Several lious i^entleinei
down on the poor little red
nrchii^ and all chance of "
relii^ior." was taken away frc
(or the non(^e by bis summar
val. When silence was restor
Notext resumed t'ne story,
describing how the divine
'
A Revival in Frogtawn,
703
buffeted and spat upon, he ad-
listercd to himself sounding
ips on the face, now with the
ft hand, now with the right,
placed an imaginary crown of
korns on his head, pressed the
jarp points into his forehead, and,
tsstng the open fingers of both
nds over his closed eyes and
►wn his face, traced the streams
blood trickling from the cruel
Hinds. Tears already rolled
»wn the clieeks of the little ones,
'h^n he reached the nailing to the
loss, he produced a large spike,
:hibited it to the children, and
:nt through the semblance of
fiving it into his flesh. An out-
irst of sobs interrupted him.
►me of the children screamed in
:rv terror. The desired effect
Tas produced. Many fathers and
lothers, touched by the emotion
id terror of their children, wept
in sympathy with them.
" Now the music !" shouted Mr.
Notext, stamping with impatience,
as if he wanted a tardy patient to
swallow a Sedlitz-powder in the
l)ro\)er moment of effervescence,
" Now the music !" And -lie led
off with
** Oh ! you must b« a lover of the Lord,
Or you won't go to heaven when you die !"
He shouted to the ** workers " to
go among the people and ask them
come to Jesus." A crowd of
workers," some professional, some
et)t!uisiastic volunteers, broke loose
upon the audience. They seiz-
ed people by the hands. They
embraced them. They inquired :
**How do you feel now ? Do you
not feci that Jesus is calling you ?"
They begged them to come to Jesus
at once. They asked them if they
to
ii
were ** Ker-istian-."
One of the workers met two gen-
tlemen who entered together and
were evidently present through
curiosity. Of the first, who seemed
to be a cool, keen, self-poised busi-
ness man, the worker* asked the
stereotyped question :
" Are you a Ker*istian T*
"Of course, of course," said the
self-possessed business man.
The worker passed on, perfectly
satisfied with the off-hand declara-
tion. He repeated the question lo
the gentleman's companion, who,
possessed of less assurance, hesitat-
ed and humbly replied :
" I trust so."
The worker immediately grappled
the sensitive gentleman, much to
his mortification, and it was some
time before he succeeded in effect-
ing his escape, regretting, doubtless,
that he had not made as prompt
and satisfactory a profession of
faith as that of his companion.
The "inquiry meeting," as the
exercises toward the close were
named, was continued until late in
the afternoon. When the children
were dismissed, they were instruct-
ed, to beg their parents to come to
Jesus — to entreat them, with tears
if necessary, until they consented.
A Presbyterian gentleman of the
old school, describing his sensations
after the meeting was over, said :
** I cannot deny that I was affect-
ed. I felt tears coming to my eyes
— why, I could not tell. The effect,
however, was entirely physical.
My reason had nothing to do with
it. It condemned the whole thing
as merely calculated to get up an
unhealthy excitement, ivliich, even
if not injurious, would be fleeting
in its effect. I noticed some ner-
vous women almost worked up into
spasms. As to the children, they
were goaded into a state of ner-
vousness and terror which was piti-
able to see. I can only compare
my own condition to that of a man
who had drunk freely. While the ef-
704
A Revival in Frogtown.
feet lasted I was capable of making
a fool of myself, being all the while
aware that I was doing so. Sun-
light and air have dispelled the in-
toxication, and now nothing remains
but nausea.
" I am disgusted with such clap-
trap, and ashamed of myself for
having been affected by it, however
temporarily and slightly/*
The progress made on the first
Sunday of the revival was duly
chronicled in the newspapers of
the day following. It was an-
nounced that hundreds of children
had been awakened to a sense of
their sinful condition. A little
girl — four years old — had recog-
nized that she was thoroughly
steeped in sin. She had had no
idea of the condition of her soul
until she was roused to it by Mr.
Notext's preaching. She was now
perfectly happy. She had experi-
enced religion. She knew she was
forgiven. She had gone to Jesus,
and Jesus had come to her. She
had sought Mr. Notext's lodgings,
leading her father with one hand
and her mother with the other.
Charley Biggs — the well-known
drunken alderman — was among the
converted. He had " got religion,"
and was resolved henceforth to
touch the time- honored toddy
nevermore.
A belated "local" of one of
the newspapers, while returning to
his lodgings on the previous even-
ing, had his coat-tail pulled, much
to his surprise, by a little girl
about six years old.
** Please, sir," she asked, *' do
you know Jesus V*
The *' local " was struck dumb.
"Osir!" she continued, '* won't
you please come to Jesus .'^"
This was enough. The hard
heart of the " local " was touched.
He sobbed, he wept, he cried
aloud' He fell upon his knees. I
The little girl fell on hers. Thej|
sang:
** Come to Jests,
Come to Jesui,
Come to Jesus just now," etc
When the " local " rose, after the
conclusion of the singing, he look
the little girl's hand and went
whither she led him. He, loo, had
*'got religion " — somewliat as oae
gets a coup dc soldi or a stroke of
paralysis.
The opposition dailies mildly 1
called attention to the purely enio*l
tional character of the effects pro*!
duced. They expressed their ten
that the moral and physical resultl
of factitious excitement on mindsl
of tender years might be the rc-l
verse of healthy. Ti:c next day thcl
raelodeon was carted about agiinj
and the singing continued on thcj
sidewalks and in front of the drink-
in g-saloons. Mr. Notext's ma-i
chinery was in full biibt. The|
meeting on the second evening^
was devoted principally to grotrn.
people. The tent was full. The
choir was strengthened by addi-
tional voices, and the music was
good of its kind.
After half a dozen hymns had
been sung, Mr. Notext began his
sermon — by courtesy so-called.
He first spoke of the number of
persons he had converted at home
and abroad. For he had been
''abroad," as he took care to let
his audience know. He had been
the guest and the favored com-
panion of the Duchess of Skipping-
ton, of the Earl of Wiiitefriarsof
Lord This and Lady That, and liic
Countess of Thingumy. In Scot-
land and in Ireland inunense
crowds followed him and **got
religion." He converted three
thousand people in a single town in
Ireland. Since the meeting on the
A Revival in Frogtown.
705
previous day, many children, and
many adults as well, had visited him
at his lodgings. Some who came to
the tent " to make fun '* went away
full of reliiiion. He would now
let a dear little friend of his tell
his own story in his own way.
A red-haired youngster, about
thirteen, was introduced to the au-
dience as the nephew of a promi-
nent and well-known official in a
neighboring town. (It was after-
wards stated, by the way, that the
ofiicial in question had not a neph-
ew in the world. No doubt the
youngster imposed on Mr, Notext.)
if ever there were a thoroughly
** had boy," this youngster was one,
or — as may be very possible — his
fare belied him atrociously. Mr.
Notext placed his arm dramatically
— affectionately, rather — around tlie
young rogue's neck, and led him to
the front of the platform. The boy
looked at the audience with a leer,
iulf- impudent, half- jocular, and
llien gave his experiences glibly in
a very harsh treble :
"When first I heard that Rev.
Mr. Notext was going to get up a
revival, I joked about it with otlicr
hoys, and said he couldn't convert
me ; and the night of the first meet-
ing I said to the other boys — who
were bad boys, too — for us to go
alont; and make fun. And so wc
dul. And I came to laugh at Mr.
Notext and to make fun. And
somehow — I don't know how it was
— I got religion, and I was co.iverl-
rd ; and now 1 am very ha])i))', and
i love Mr. Notext, and I am is-ii g
with him to Smithcrsvilie w lu n he
•t;i.'ls ihrougii here. And I am very
li.ippy since I was converted and
bt:(;;ime a good boy." (Scnsnlion
.uiiojj;^ the audience, and niu:;ic by
the rhoir in response to Mr. No-
Icxt's t a.i.)
Another juvenile convert was
VOL. XXII, — 45
brought forward. He repeated
substantially the same story as his
predecessor, though more diffident-
ly. (More music by the choir.)
Mr. Notext now told the affecting
story of "little Jimmy." Little
Jimmy was a native of Hindostan.
He lived in some town endinsj in an.
There was in ihiit town a mission-
ary school. Jimmy's master was
a very bad man — cruel, tyrannical.
He forbade Jimmy to go to the
mission-school. But Jimmy went,
nevertheless, whenever he could.
The master was a true believer in
the national religion of Hindostan.
He believed that Jimmy would go
to perdition if he left his ancestral
faith to embrace the national reli-
gion — or rather the governmental
religion — of Great Britain. Jimmy
would return from his visits to the
mission-school in a very happy
mood, singing as he went :
'* Yes, I love Jesus,
Yes, I love Je«;us,
I know, I know I do," etc.
Mr. Notext gave an operatic ren-
dering of the scene of Jimmy going
home singing the above words.
One day the master heard Jimmy,
and was roused to a state of fury.
He forbade the boy to sing the song.
But Jimmy would sing it (Mr. No-
text did not say wliether Jimmy
sang the hymn in Englisli or
Ilindostanee). Then the brutal
master took an enormous cowhide —
or the Hindostanee punitive equiva-
lent thereto — and belabored ]ioor
Jimmy. But Jimmy continued to
sing, though tlie tears rolled down
his ciieeks from ])ain. And the mas-
ter flogged ; and Jimmy sang. And
siill tlie master flo2:!:'ed and floGr^ed.
And SI ill Jimmy sang and sang and
saJi<:. It w:^s like the famous fl^ht
in Ark::nsas, wherein the combat-
ants " fit and fit and fit." But
there must be an end of everything
7o6
A Revival in Frogtown.
1 ;
t.1
— even of an Arkansas fight. The
struggle lasted for hours. Exhaust-
ed nature finally gave way, and poor
little Jimmy died under the lash,
singing with his last breath :
" Yes, I love Jesus,
Yes. I love Jesus,
I know, I know I do."
** Now, my friends," said Mr.
Notext, " I want you all to stand
up for Jesus and sing poor little
Jimmy's song." And Mr. Notext
led off. The choir followed his ex-
ample ; but the audience remained
seated.
** I want to know," said Mr. No-
/text rather testily, " how many
Christians there arc in this assem-
bly. I want every one of them to
stand up !"
Several persons now stood up,
and gradually the action began to
spread, like yawning in a lecture-
room. Til ere were still manv,
however, who had not hearkened
to Mr. Notexl's summons to stand
up. He called attention to tliem,
and bade some of the brethren lto
to tliem and talk them into an erect
l)osilion. Some of tlie rec.ilci-
tranls, evidently to avoid ini])orlnn-
ity, stood up. The rest also sIoikI
up, and hurriedly left the tent, fol-
lowed by an an^ry scowl from Mr.
Notext. After a little hesitation,
he said : " W'c will now once more
sini; little Jimmy's hymn." And
when the hvmn was sun'', the n"»eet-
ing dis[)erse(l.
Next mornijii: the friendlv news-
pa])ers cliionicled the wonderful
suc(n*ss ot Mr. Notext's efforts.
The nuniber of converts was mi-
raculously lar^e. Two thousand
persons had stood up for Jesus.
The meetings were continued dur-
ing the week. The vioihis oprraniii
was ab;)Ut the same. Mr. Notext
repeated himself so often that in-
terest began to languish and his
coups de th^dtre to grow flj
stale. When he was at a k
words to continue one of 1.
jointed discourses, he took
in music and hymns.
"Brethren, let us sing:
" Come to Jesus !
Come to Jesus !
Come to Jesus just ocw," eti
When his vulgar and oft
intentionally blasphemous e:
tions failed to hold the at
of his hearers, and Morj)he
making fight against him in
corners of the tent, he woul
denly call in his loudest to
all present to stand up for
In cases of very marked ii
tion, he would summon his li
and particularly the childi
write down their names foi
in a large book kept for th
pose by the great revivalist,
stroke generally roused th«
cnce pretty thoroughly. Bu
the children had written theii
in the book three or fi)ur
thev beL^an to \i\o\\ timl
pra.clice, thinking that, if tlic
ini;" lessons were con:ini!-j<
niii'ht as well be at school.
In the be^inninif of the
week there were nnmistukak
of iinpendinij: colla]')se. '11
val received a momenta rv i
however, from liie oi^^'v^s-:
another '' Reverend Docto:
challeni^ed Mr. Notext to
versy. Tiiis aroused tlie
desire to witness a '* il^ht '
lives in the human hear:,
desire w :s not gratilled. o-
Mr. Notuxt's refusal to ar.
challenL;e. His f:\iliire t(»
a proper polemical ]mi::n:ici'
very threat detriment to );.:
deed, the end of the seen:
showed a marked failing o:
number of persens ])re;>i:nt
nii^htly meetin.gs. Tlien the
Tlu Presidents Message.
707
of war began to fail. The weekly
wage of the great revivalist could
not be raised, though he thrice sent
back ** the best workers" in all the
congregations to make additional
efiforls to raise the stipulated sum.
Tile Rev. Dr. Notext did not
tarry very much longer in Frog-
town. He had barely turned his
back upon tlie little town before
every trace of tiie " great tidal way
of the revival " (as the journals
Called ir) had disappeared. Tlie
youthful converts had gone back to
their pegttops, their kites, and their
china alleys, and Alderman Charley
Biggs was again taking his whiskey-
toddies in the time-honored way.
THE PRESIDENT'S MESSAGE.
The President's message, so far
as it deals with the school question
and the taxation of church ])rop-
crty, is the sequel to the speech
which he delivered at Des Moines.
The article on that oration which
appeared in our last number was, to
some extent, an exposition of our
views on the school question.
We are sure that those views,
when carefully examined, Avill be
found to contain the only solu-
tion in harmony witli the spirit of
Irce institutions^ We are willing to
submit to the fairness of our fel-
low-citizens, and to wait until time
and thought have matured their
judgment on the following ques-
tions :
1. Who has a right to direct the
education of children — tlieir pa-
rents or the government?
2. Whether, in a republic whose
t'oim of government depends more
tlnn any other upon tlie virtue of its
citizens, it is better to liave moral
instruction given in abundance, or
to have this species of instruction
restricted to the narrowest limits?
3. Whellier it is the design of a
free government to legislate for
all, or whether jyiblic institutions —
the common schools, for instance —
are to be directed only for the
benefit of certain classes?
4. Whether moneys raised by
taxation for the common good
sliould not be so applied as to
satisfy the conscientious demancls
of all citizens ?
5. Whetlier taxation otherwise
directed tlian for the good of all
is not a violation of the maxim,
** Taxation without representation
is tyranny " ?
6. Whether Catholics have or
have not shown zeal for education,
both i)rimary and scientific ?
7. Whether they have or have
not shed their blood in defence of
the nation, or furnished any of its
great leaders in peace and war ?
8. Whether any instance can be
sliown in which they liave entered
or iniiabited any country on equal
terms with Protestants and infidels,
and have abused their power to
hamper or persecute their fellow-
citizens ?
9. Wjietlicr, in paying tfieir taxes
and sui)porting their own schools
to the best of their power, peace-
fully discussing the question of
l)ublic welfare and their own rights.
Catholics are acting as loyal citi-
zens or as factious disturbers of
fiA
good-1
neigh b
TKk-mMm^-^ttha^.
We
when I
of on
ponde:
shall f
ate rei
Att
count r
tics hi
the ai
And ar
with I
pcrfcc
underl
gen II in
this ra
bigotr
hatred
to awi
religio
onsider.ilion of
appeal from
Oitliolic claims, ive
I'hilii> drunk to Phiii
In tiiemeaniime.wc shall assimie
that thertf are those ivho ivish to
iioar nioru with regard to our jirin-
ciples and convictions. We shall
endeavor to rctnove all ohscnritv on
the questions now nnder discussion,
and to re[>ly to whatever reasonahle
objections may he made against our
jirinciples.
With regard to the taxation of
church property, we mvnit the ac-
tion of the political world. Some
])oliticians, whose " vaulting anihi-
ilon " i; of that kind which "o'er-
itself,"
ndd i
iidvice Ihi!
(juestion into political discussion in
orJcr to draw off the attention of
the American people from the real,
present issues in theirpolitics. We
ask for no innovations ; but if such
be made, let there be no discrimina-
cise reasons against the taxat
church properly, as recomm
by ihe President in his mi
will have the more weighl
non-Catholic readers on ih
count. It is singular, yet n
to see hoiv his argument sit
ens our own position on tin
tion in a number of wavs. p
larly as regards the suicidal
of many who, through hat
fear of the Catholic Cluirel
be induced to commit then
lo a measure which would
an irreparable mischief to tlit
church or churches. Passi
ilie many able and suggestive
in Mr. Andrt
such as moi
the ihonghtf
vs" letters,'
: immediutely t
thrown out b
By the census of iS;o the
of all kinds of <4turch prop
the United Slates belonging
The President's Message. jog
leading denominations was placed act in concert, and to give effect to
as follows : a common spirit of hostility to Ro-
man Catholic doctrine, to Roman
Methodist, $69,854,191 ^ , ,. , . V. ,,
Roman catholic 60,935,556 Catholic exclusiveness, Roman Ca-
iv«bytcr.an. . . . . . . . sj.^5.j56 ^j^^jj^ aggression, and Roman Ca-
Epi*co^iAn, J^^il'IS tholic influence, by placing a tax
C^srs^rt'i^ptt tonal, .•••.• 25,069,098 ^ J l o
Reformed i6,i>i.47o upon Roman Catholic Church pro-
Lutheran, I4t9'7i747 . • «• • • • ^
UnitarUn 6,28a,67s perty — m effect, arousmg a spirit
vnuc^ahst. . . . . . . . ^6^ ^^ persecution, qualified by the
5354,3,4,555 condition imposed by the Consti-
tution, that the would-be persecu-
•'From these it appears," says tor must share in the penalty he
Mr. Andrews, " that the relative may succeed in imposing upon the
proportion of each denomination object of his dislike." Which is
to the whole is substantially as fol- precisely what we have character-
lows : ized as " cutting off one's nose to
" Methodist, one-fifth of the ag- %pite a neighbor."
gregate; Roman Catholic, one-sixth May we presume to ask whether
of the aggregate ; Presbyterian, the taxation of church property
one-seventli of the aggregate ; Bap- will reduce the expenses of the
list, one-ninth of the aggregate, general government, render its offi-
Episcopalian, one-tenth of the ag- cials more honest, and purify our
gregate; Congregational, one-four- legislative halls .^ These are the
teentU of the aggregate ; Reformed, duties of tlie hour. Here are the
one-twenly-secondof the aggregate; issues of our politics. But a pro-
Lutheran, one-twenty-third of the found silence regarding them reigns
aggregate; Unitarian, one-fifty- in the official utterance. Are the
ninth of the aggregate ; Universa- projectors of the new policy afraid
list, one-sixtieth of the aggregate." to face them ? Does their con-
And here is the case in a nut- science make cowards of them ?
shell : " To me it seems obvious," Or is it that they are playing the
comments Mr. Andrews, on review- part of the cuttle-fish ?
ing his figures, " that the expecta- Up to this period the state and
tion is that those who belong or all religious denominations have
are allied to other sects will, from advanced peaceably to prosperity,
dislike to or fear of the Roman and there have been no real
Catholic Church, impose a burdea grounds of complaint on any side,
upon it, even if in doing so they At least we have heard of none pub-
are obliged to assume an equal licly. What, then, has brought
burden themselves ; or, in other about this sudden change ? Who
words, that the owners of $294,- has called for it ? Why should it
000,000 of church property will be sprung upon us at this moment ?
subject it to taxation in order to No danger threatens from this quar-
impose a similar tax iipon the own- ter. There is not visible on our
ers of $60,000,000 of church pro- political horizon even the *' cloud
perty. So that the adherents of no bigger than a man's hand."
every other sect, at variance among Catholics, when only a handful,
themselves about sundry matters of never dreamed of objecting to the
doctrine and practice, essential and exemption from taxation of the
non-essential, can be brought to property of other religious denom-
or Slate, amounted to about eighty-
three million dollars. In i860 the
amount had doubled. In 1875 it
is about one thousand million dol-
lars."
Mr. Andrews questions the esti-
mate for 1875 on the ground that
it is too high. But let that pass.
The following table, given by Mr.
Andrews, shows the increase in va-
lue, according to the census, of the
property of tlie ten principal ciiurch-
cs for the last twenty years :
K!i«, . .
S(,,a.s.iiN
$3}.MJ-J7'
:i59.«S<,...
» Cidwik.
>4,)«,M9
^m-xfi
.IwilB, .
H.}43!;*>
%^*i.'*
...tmsss
i^JSSs
H-,t«*iS8
4.Jjfi.3i4 6.ja",SM
bottom fact, which is that wh:
euphemistic phrases may be 1
ed to, a desire to obstruc
growth and circumscribe tl
fluence of the Roman O
Church gives whatever vita!
may possess to the proposit
tax church propcrtj'.'*
But supposing this change
made, is it lo be imagined
moment that the progress (
church will be stopped b
That is fiilile. If, though so
numbers and at a great (lis:
lage, the ch urch was able to rai
present position ; if
the t
mptio
were all i
The gradation, it will be f
of other denominations, Cal
were able lo make .so great
gress, is it to be supposed ti
these changes, and by placing
denominations on "an eqiialit
Catholics, the advancemet
The President's Message.
711
the Catholic Church is to be re-
tarded ?
We have been trained in the
stern school of poverty. We are
accustomed to sacrifice. Our cler-
gy do not receive high salaries.
The personal expenses of his Emi-
nence the Cardinal-Archbishop are
much less than those of many a
clerical family in New York City.
Wherever we have arms to work
with, the church of God shall not
lack all that is necessary to give it
dignity, even if we have to pay
taxes for it besides. In Ireland
the priests and people have shared
their crust in the midst of the fam-
ine, and in fear of death, until
within a few years. In Germany
we are now about to part with our
property, under the wicked injus-
tice of the state, rather than sub-
mit to its interference in the affairs
of conscience. Is any person fool-
ish enough to imagine that a few
dollars, more or less, of taxation is
ijoing to dishearten or frighten us }
If you want to make our people
more liberal, if you want to see
grand Catholic churches and the
cross overtopping roof and spire in
every city, just put us on our met-
tle. Persecution is our legacy. Ma-
ty rdom is our life. The cross on
our brows is no empty symbol.
These are our feelings. We have
no alarm whatever.
These proposed innovations are
only the entrance of a wedge that,
driven home, will disturb the foun-
dations of our government ; will
create religious strife, and blast
the hopes of freedom, not only in
this countrv, but all the world over.
They count, however, without their
host who think that the American
people are prepared to enter on
such a career ; and the politicians
who hope to ride into power by
Iwakening the spirit of fanaticism
and religious bigotry among us, if
their names be held in memory at
all, will at no remote period be
pointed out with the finger of scorn
and contumely as the disturbers
of that peace and harmony which
ought always to reign in a just
people, and which it is the true
policy of all government and the
duty of all citizens to foster and
maintain. We say nothing at the
present regarding the unconsti-
tutionality of these proposed in-
novations, and of the secret band-
ing together of men to carry them
out.
H*
A N^wiik^miMt amtnuui
iTi;
in my
guide
&ho in
officei
III!
to und
iiigthi
from t
then ]
lookec
Cloiste
carryii
It
"PI
. Soi
Ihado
a few low.spoken words, , . .
bells which answered each other;
then, little by little, everything is
extinguished and silent. > .
There is not another sound, an-
other breath; . . . but stiil I listen,
and cannot cease to listen.
Is it indeed myself who am in
tliis monastery ? Was I, only to-
day, yet in the midst of the living ?
Can one single day comprise so
many things? This which ii just
ending has been so full, so strange,
that 1 cannot well recount all that
has ha|)pened in it.
And yet it was but this morning
that I was at Atx, in the midst of
light and noise and gayety. , . ,
The children were gambolling
around me ! All at once some one
said ; " Suppose we go to the
Grande Clianrcuse!" It was said
just as one would say anything else.
We set out, as if for an ordinary ex-
at the foot of the Dtwt,
perceiving the entrance
gorge, that one begins found
something more; . . ,
then that jesting is silence
gayety grows grave.
Tlien, on arriving at the
Mort, we become altogether
Already we had ceased lo
we now ceased to speak,]
garded with a sort of stujit
this road without issue,
seemed to end in chaoi
mountains rose defiantly be
overlapping and niinglin;
each other, and here and tht
ring the way with huge ma:
precipitous rock; the gigant
seem to rise to the clouds, a
rents from unknown lieighis
if from heaven, while the
crowd upon, before, aroun
seem to say, " No. farther sh
go." As we come to a t
A Night at the Grande Chartreuse.
713
as if all progress were indeed
at an end; two immense blocks
fallen across each other completely
close the horizon. . . . Weapproach
them, Iiowever, and it opens again,
the rocks forming a sort of Titanic
i-aulted roof overhead, and falling
again in the form of three bridges,
one above the other, the horses
continuing to climb a road which
the eye cannot take in.
And whilst one is lost in these
abysses, what a perfect dream of
splendor begins to break overhead !
Meadows of the most exquisite
green seem as if suspended far
above us, silvery rocks jutting out
from among their black firs, gigan-
tic oaks grasping the heights of the
precipices, their crowns of verdure
glittering in the wind. ... It is a
fantastic apparition. One has vis-
ions in one's cliildhood of unknown
regions, of enchanted forests guard-
ed by genii, but one never thought
Xo contemplate these marvels in
reality.
Then, all at once, the mountains
separate, the torrents disappear,
and in the midst of a gorge rise
battlements and spires. ... It is
the monastery. There it stands,
guarded by these lofty sentinels, in
this sombre amphitheatre, which
would be desolation itself if God
had not scattered there all the magi-
cal beauties of his creation.
There is not a village, not a
cottage, not a wayfiirer — nothing;
there is La Chartreuse. No soli-
tude can be compared to that !
On the summit of St. Bernard and
of the Simplon monasteries destin-
ed for the relief of travellers present
themselves to the passage of the
nations. In the sandy deserts the
most isolated convents find them-
selves in the road of the caravans;
hut here this road conducts to no-
tlung-i-it is a silent gorge ; it is the
Valley of Contemplation ; it is the
greatest solitude that one can im-
agine.
And when from those heights
one has seen the gradual approach
of night; seen these masses of rock
and of verdure enfolded in the vast
shadows; and, at .the summons of
the monastery bell, has seen the
last of the white robes descend from
the mountain, he feels that it is one
of those moments in a life which
will never be forgotten. Then,
after having stayed awhile to con-
template this scene, I rose and
came to knock at this door, which
4ias been to so many others as the
gate of the tomb. . . . ACarthusian
monk brought rac to my cell, went
his way in silence, and since then I
have been. left to my reflections.
There are, then, men who in the
morning were in their homes, in
the midst of their friends, in life,
and stir, and the noise of the ou-
teik world. . . . They have climbed
this mountain, they have sought
this Desert^ have knocked at this
gate; it has closed upon them, . . .
and for ever.
They have, as I, sat down at this
table ; they have gazed at the walls
of their cell, and have said to them-
selves : " Behold henceforth my
horizon.'* Then they have heard*
the sound of these bells, the echo
of these litanies, and they have
said to themselves: *' We shall
henceforth hear no other voice."
You see, one reads these things
in the works of poets, one sees
them represented in the drama; but
one must find one's self actually in
a real cell, and one must sleep there,
to conceive anything of the reality
of a monastic life.
To awake here in the morning;
to rise and eat, alone, the food
which comes to vou through a lit-
tie wicket, like that of a prisoner ;
7H
A Night at the Grande Chartreuse.
to meet, when one traverses the
cloister, other shadows who salute
you in silence ; to go from the
church to the cell, from the cell to
the church, and to say to one's self
that it is always and always to be
the same !
Always ! ... All through life ;
or rather, there is no more life, no
more space, no more time. It is
the beginning of eternity. One is
on the threshold of the infinite,
and it seems as if all this nature
had only been created to give these
men a beginning of eternal repose.
Always alone! The thought crush-
es one. No more to receive any*
thing from without ; to nourish
one's self with spiritualities alone;
to meditate, contemplate, and pray.
To pray always: ... to pray for
those who never pray themselves ;
to pray for those who have shatter-
ed your life, and who, may be, have
led you hither; ... to pray for
those who have despoiled y«ur
monastery and outraged your habit
— even for the impious ones who
come to- insult you in your very
hospitality ! And for all this one
thing alone suffices: faith.
A bell has rung ; it is the hour
of Matins. Some one knocks at
my door. I open, and they con-
duct me to the little stall reserved
for travellers. At first the obscu-
rity is so great tiiat it is difficult to
distinguish anything. The church
is empty, and none of the tapers
are lighted. Then a door opens in
the distance, and the monks enter
in procession, each holding a long
, dark-lantern, of which the slanting
' gleams dimly lessen the darkness
of the chapel. They repair to their
stalls, and the Office begins.
It consists principally of a mo-
notonous psalmody of an implaca-
ble rhythm, of which one scarcely
perceives the first murmurs, and
which seems as if it would never
end. I gaze at these tall white fig-
ures, these motionless heads. . . .
What has been the drama of lii'e to
each one? What changes, without
and within, have led them tl.cre?
What have thev suffered } .\nd do
they suffer still } What has the
rule of their order done for them?
— and still the psalmody goes on.
At times they rise, utterini; what
seems to be a sort of lamentation;
then they fall prostrate, with ilicir
arms stretched out before them:
all the lights disappear ; there is
nothing but darkness and silence; j|
it seems as if man himself were ex-
tinguished. After whicii the lights
reappear, the psalmody recommen-
ces, and thus it continues.
• • . ■ .
When the rising sun shone upon
the summits of the rocks, I rose
from my pallet, exclaiming: "The
light at last ! Hail to the light i" I
open my window and look out. • . .
There is no other place like this;
such as it was in the night, such is
it in the day. In vain may the sun
mount above the horizon to bring
warmth into this gorge — the monas-
tery remains cold and, as it were,
insensible; in vain his rays dart up-
on the walls, glitter on the spires,
and set the rocks on fire. . . .
There are living men, but one docs
not see them, one does not hear
them; only a wagon drawn by ox-
en crosses the meadow, followed bj
a monk, and some "beggars arc ap-
proaching the monastery gate.
Then, without guide or direction,
I plunge into the forest in search
of the Chapel of S. Bruno. This
forest is of incomparable beauty:
neither Switzerland nor the Pvrc-
nees contain anything like it. Pro-
digious trees rise to an immense
height, wrapping their gigantic
roots about the rocks. In the mi<U
A Night at the Grande Cltartreuse.
7»5
f the waters which niurinur on
very side unknown vec;etations
jxuriiite, sheltering at their feet a
rorld of ferns, tall grass, and
losses, every dewy feather and
pray being hung, as it were, with
precious stones, upon which the
un darts here and there rays of
jold and touches of fire. There is
lere a wild enchantment which
leicher pen nor pencil ever can de-
>ict ; and in the midst of lliese
ajnrvels rises, from a rock, the
Chapel of S. Bruno. Tiiere it was
that the visions appeared to him,
and there he caused a spring of wa-
ter to flow forth ; but to me the
most wonderful of all the miracles
of his legend was that of his getting
there at all — the fact of his reach-
ing the foot of this desert, hatchet
in hand, cutting down the trees
which barred his entrance, wrest-
hng with wild animals, the masters
of this forest, and having no other
pAlhway than the torrent's bed;
ever mounting upwards, in spite of
the streams, in spite of the rocks, in
Npite of everything; never finding
hiirtself lost enough, but ever strug-
gling higher and higher still. The
miracle is, too, that of his having fix-
ed himself at last upon that spot,
and to have called companions
luound him, who constructed each
his little hermitage about his own ;
that of having, in God's name, taken
possession of these inaccessible
mountains, all of which are sur-
mounted by a cross, and to have
founded an orderwhich spread itself
over the whole Christian world, and
which is still existing.
But the hour of departure has
arrived. At the moment of quit-
ling this solitude we again reflect.
France and Italy lie spread out
hcneath our feet; . . . that is to
say, passions, hatred, strife. . . .
Why should we descend again }
Why resume the burden of ambi-
tions, rivalries, the harness of social
conventionalities.^ To what pur-
pose is it, since the end at last
must come alike to all?
We look around, we reflect, and
then, after having well meditated^
we all descend.
At the foot of the desert we find
again huts, then cottages, by and
by a village. With movement and
life we find our speech again, and
with speech discussion. Overwhelm-
ed until then by the wild beauty of
all around us and by the majesty
of its silence, the sceptics only now
recommence the criticisms which
were cut short the evening before :
'* What services do these monks
render to mankind } To what pur-
pose do they bury themselves upon
those heights, when there is so
much to be done below.?"
I answer nothing. These are
difficult questions. Later we shall
kno^v which has chosen the better
part, those who act or those who
pray ; only I remember that whilst
thirty thousand Israelites, were
fighting in the plain, Moses, alone
on the mountain, with his arms
stretched out towards heaven, im-
plored the God of armies. When
his arms fell through weariness, the
Amalekites prevailed ; and when he
raised them, Israel was victorious;
and seeing this, he caused his arms
to be supported, until the enemies
of Israel were overcome.
While we are debating we cross
Saint Laurent, Les Echelles, and
the Valley du Guiers. Here is
Chambery en fete^ with its flags, its
concourse of francs -tireurSy and
bands of music; but although we
have returned to outer life, we
have brought away with us some-
thing of the solitude we have left,
where it seems as if the earth
ended.
of vrhich he treats. His book, indeed,
must have cost him jears of assiduous
M. Jannct gives a just and impartial
eiposilionofthe laws and political princi-
ples of our country, as also of its present
social condition. Rarely, if ever, has a
foreigner displayed so conscientious a
study of all that goes to make up Ameii
can civiliiation. He professes to have
entered upon his study and his work
without any preconceived theory — a pro-
fession not unusual with authors, and for
the most part, ]irobabiy, honestly made.
It is one thing, however, to profess, an-
other thing to adhere to the profession.
Were it possible for authors to adhere
strictly to 'he profession made by M.
Jannet, literature and all of which it
treats would certainly not suffer there-
from. But he who imagines he has at-
tained to so_jusl and fair a position is
the least free from illusion, Tlic posi-
tion is simply unattainable, and M.
Jannet is scarcely to be blamed if he has
not quite reached his ideal.
Iwo classes of authors have written
too great a preponderance in
and influence its present tr
state too powerfully in the din
the United Slates. Whether or
was called for is not a question
consider. The boot, regarded i
partial exposition of the preset
tion of the United States, rcscn
picture of an artist, the backgi
which is painted with a Pien
esactness. while the foregroun
unfinished, and the whole wor!
quently, incomplete. Had the
purpose of the book been proci
the beginning, wc should havi
with a more favorable eye.
In his last chapter, however,
net holds out some hope for tl
of the American Republic. In
sent commercial depression, ii
cent success of the Democratic
the number of families who b
served the primitive virtues and
of our forefathers, and in the prt
CalholicifT he sees a ground
ho;>c, and concludeshls work b)
" Men are eveiywherc prospcioi
New Publications.
7if
fortunate, according as they observe or
<iespisc the divine law. All their free
will consists in choosing between these
two terms of the problem of life, and all
Ihc offorts of the spirit of innovation only
1>roa.k against, witliout ever being able to
fiestroy, the eternal bounds set by God to
tlic ambitious feebleness of the creature.
T'iiercin lies the lesson that the young
republic of the New World sends from
beyond the ocean and across the mirage
of its rapid prosperity to the old nations
of Kurope, too inclined to believe in the
sophisms of the great modern error, and
to mistrust their own traditions."
>I. Jannet's work is worthy of a more
extended notice, which will be given it at
a later oale. The book may be ordered
directly from the publisher in France.
The Pcblic Life of Our Lord. IL
Preaching of the Beatitudes. By H.
J. Coleridge, S.J. London: Burns &
Oates. 1875. (New York : Sold by
The Catholic Publication Society.)
This is a new volume in the scries
which is intended, when complete, to
include the entire life of Jesus Christ.
Wc have already commended the pre-
ceding volume, and can only, at pre-
sent, renew the expression of our con-
currence in the unanimous verdict of
competent iud2:cs, which awards a very
high meed of praise to Father Coleridge's
work, so far as it is as yet given to the
piujlic.
It is likely to become extensive when
fully comple:cd, since the present volume
is filled up with the author's introduc-
tory remarks on the missionary life of
Our Lord, and the exposition of one por-
tion of the Scrniv)n on the Mount — to
wit, the Bc.itiludes. It is a work which is,
strictly speaking, sui ^^ctu'ris in our lan-
guage, and indeed in all modern litera-
ture, and one hard to describe in such a
wav as to .';ive an accurate notion of its
quality a'ld scope to a person who has
not re;.(i some portion of its contents.
The author has drawn from tlie most
v.irious and from the piircf^t sources,
u.id has himself nieilitaied in a very at-
untive and minute manner upon the
rich materials lurni'Oied liim by the sa-
cred lore of his sIimIIcs. lie proceeds
leisurely, <iuietiy, carefully, like tlie pa-
tient illumin.itur of a nknuisrrii)t text,
fillinL'i: his p i:.C( s \,'il!i Ku -c and small
figures, all daSoratoIv lini-ihed. Tlie
present volume gives us a sketch of
Galilee, the scene of the preaching and
miracles of our divine Redeemer during
his first year of public ministry, which
makes at once the idea of that ministry,
of its extraordinary laboriousness, its ex-
tent, and the multitude oC wonderful
works comprehended within its brief
period, ten times more vivid than it can
be made by a mere peru^l of the Gospel
narrative. In this respect it is espe-
cially interesting and instructive for those
who are themselves engaged in mission-
ary labors. Wc have a picture placed
before our minds of the real nature of
Our Lord's public life and ministry, and
grouped around it are other pictures, as
illustrations, from the lives of the great
missionary saints. When the autltor ap
proaches to his principal theme in this
volume — the Sermon on the Mount — he
makes the whole scene and ail its cir-
cumstances appear before us like a fine
dioramic view. He is not, however, of
that meretricious school to which Rcnan
and Boccher have given a false and mo-
mentary Oilaty as unworthy of the divine
subject as the homage of another class
of witnesses on whom Our Lord fre-
quently imposed silence. The poetic,
literary, and picturesque charms of Father
Coleridge's style are subservient to his
theological, doctrinal, and moral exposi-
tion of sacred truths. It is the pure doc-
trine of the Scriptures, and of the fathers,
doctors, and saints of the church, which
we arc invited and allured to drink from
the ornamented chalice.
Tun IIoLV Ways of tut: Cross; or, A
Shout Tre vtise on the Variois Tri-
als AND Afi'lictions. Intkridr and
extkrk^r, to which iiw. sphutiai.
Life is Schject, and the Milans of
Makin(1 a Good Use THEui:r>F. Tians-
lated from the Fiench of i leiiri-Maric
Boudon, Archdeacon of Kvreux. By
Edward Healy Thom[)son, M.A. Lon-
don : Burns, Oates & Co. 1S7:;. (Xev.-
York : Sold by The Catholic i^ublica-
tion Society.)
Whoever, after reading the title of
this book, thinks that a treatise of this
kind would be useful and helj'ful.and
v/ishes to find such a book as may really
do the service pro!ni.:ed by the title, will
j)robal)ly be satisfied with the hook it-
si^lf. It is s:andaid and apjMoved. and
has been v/ell translaictl by Mr. Thomp-
son, wliose preface contains some excel-
lent and timely remarks of his own.
■yrt
sources of Information regarding il. "nic
present work is serviceable as an intro-
'luclion to a real treatise on the position
»nd office of S. Peler. it is nothing
more : and wc arc sorry that it is not.
LEimnuci! dbs katholischen und Pro-
testant ischf."! Ktrchesrechts. Von
Dr. FricdrlchH, Vcring. Herder, Frei-
burg. 1875.
A number of the most learned Catho-
lic (heologiaus of Germany have com-
bined together to prepare a complete
theolonical librarj'. The present volume
on canon law makes the fifth thus far
issiietl. Tills library is one which will
be v(.T>- valuablt
ri^ad I
Tlic r
llergcnt
r, Schcobcn, and other wrt-
r rank mho are contributors
sufficiently guarantee its excellence.
Acta ft ni'nv.TV Concilii Vaticani.
Collcctio Laccnsi;, torn. iii. Herder,
Freiburg. It*75.
These and other publications o' t e
Herder pubMshin?; hon-ie arc imported
byihc enterprising lirm of the Benzigcrs.
short pieces which must be very;
for children and others who tit
terlain themselves with curiouso
ends of this E^orl.
The SACRiFtcB of the E(;cnAt
OTHER Doctrines op the C
CniiRcif Explained AND Vim
By the Rev. Charles B. Gatsidi
don: Burns & Gates, 1B75
York : Sold by The Catholic i
lion Society.)
This is a very thougliirul and
treatise on the Sacrifice of the M;
though not directly conlrovei»3
very lucid and satisfactory vin
ot the Catholic doctrine on th
Eucliarisl considered as a sacri&c
The volui
also
Definitions of the Catholic la
stcnce of the church in relation t
Lire. Ir-vJilion as a vehicle of C
oclrine Tiic Atonement and
[>rv.'' and other subjects, all 1
fell written, and some, such as
in ■' Dcfmiiions of the Catholic Fa
iipiud with discussion cS qi
.■hich :re frequently talked «f
• Nnv Publications.
719
present, and upon which it is important
to have clear and accurate notions.
TiTE Persecutions of Annam : A His-
tory of Christianity in Cochin China
and. Ton king. By J. R. Shortland,
M.A. London: Burns & Oates. 1875.
(N c\v York : Sold by The Catholic Pub-
lication Society.)
We read an account a few days since
of four hundred Catholic priests who
four years ago were transported from
Poland to Siberia by the Russian gov-
ernment; three hundred have died, and
the others can survive but a little while.
It was only a paragraph in a newspaper.
The martyrs die as of old, and we scarcely
hear of their sufTcrings. The missionary
vroik of the church, too, is almost forgot-
ten by her children who are living at
case and in comfort ; and yet it is carried
on in all quarters of the globe. Our
brothers, if we be worthy to call them by
this name, are toiling, suffering, dying
for Christ and the souls of men in far-off
countries of wliich we seem not to care
even, to know anything. Here is a book,
most interesting and consoling, full of
edifying facts and heroic examples, writ-
ten clearly and simply. It is a historj'
of Christianity in Cochin China and
Tonking ; and as these two countries form
the Empire of Annam, and the history of
the church is alv/ays one of persecution,
of triumph through suffering, the book
is bn titled The l\'i seditious of Annam.
For centuries Europeans have been ex-
cluded from this country, into the interior
of which the only strangers who have
penetrated have been Catholic mission-
aries, and they have gone at the risk of
their lives. For two hundred and fifty
years the apostles of the church* have
bcca laboring in Annam, and whoever
will read this book will be struck v/ith
wonder at the work they have done
and the sufTcrings they have endured.
Never anywhere have there been more
birbarous or cruel persecutions, and
never have they been borne with more
heroic fortitude and simple trust in God.
And then what a wealth of instruction
in the lives of these Annamite converts !
From 1O15 down to our own day thou-
sands and hundreds of thousands have
received the faith, and, rather than forfeit
it, hundreds and tl^ousnnds have endur-
ed every torment, death itself. Their
warm piety, their intelligent faith, their
dauntless courage, put us to shame.
The last persecution broke out in
1858, and raged until the Christians were
relieved by the arms of France, in con-
sequence of which a treaty of peace was
signed in June, 1862. which was soon fol-
lowed by a decree granting religious
worship ; and we may hope that the soil
which has drunk the blood of so many
martyrs will yet become the vineyard of
Christ.
But we must refer our readers to the
book itself, and close this brief notice
with the wish that some one of our Catho-
lic houses in this country may republish
this most interesting chapter of Catholic
history. •
The American State and American
Statesmen. By William Giles Dix.
I vol. i2mo, pp. 171. Boston : £stes
& Lauriat. 1S76.
It is refreshing in these days to meet
with a non-Catholic writer like Mr. Dix,
who takes his stand on Christianity and
the law of Christ as the foundation of
all light law and government. There is
a class, and a large class, of patriots
among us who seem, unconsciously in-
deed, to resent the idea that Almighty
God had anything at all to do with the
growth and development of this country.
To this class of men Mr. Dix's book will
be a sharp reminder that there is a God
above us who rules all things, and that
religion and governments did actually
exist in the world at large — and in the
New World, for the matter of that — before
the Mayfloiver touched these shores.
The book deals with just what its title
indicates : the American state and Ame-
rican statesmen. Among the statesmen
dealt with are Abraham Lincoln, Charles
Sumner, and several of the historic names
that have lent a lustre to Congress. But
the larger and graver portion of the book
deals with the constitution of the States
in themselves and their relation to the
States as a v/!iole or nation. Mr. Dix is
a strong and earnest advocate for his
views ; but his views in the present mat-
ter are almost diametrically op[)osed to
the general feeling ol Americans. '* Are
the United States a nation?" he boldly
asks in the final cliapter of the book, and
his answer is "yes" and "no." In a
word, he is strongly in favor of the cen-
tralization of sovereignty as opposed to
the hical i;Klc;jcndence ot Stales. As
long as federalism exists, says Mr. Dix,
practically, so long is the nation exposed
720
New Pubiicaiums.
to disorder and a renewal of the dTil
war.
S^ important a question, it is needless
to rcmaric, is scarcely to be settled in a
book-notice; is, indeed, beyond books
altogether. It is a growth. The coun-
tf}' and governiQcnt alike are a growth,
and a growth that will not be forced.
They are just entering on the hundredth
year of a life that has been seriously
threatened, and, notwithstanding the
theatrical thunder which is being heard
just now of politicians resolved to make
" a hit." we cannot but look to the de-
velopment of this growth with hope and
confitcncc. At the same time, it is the
part of all who arc concerned to guard
that growth well, to see that no weeds
spring up around it, to let in light and
air and freedom, and to keep off all noj|-
ious influences that would threaten the
life of the parent stem. In the desire to
do this, such chapters as " Christianity
the Inspircr of Nations," "Materialism
the Curse of America," and '* America
a Christian Power," which seem J|| us
the strongest chapters in Mr. Dix's oBok,
will be found full of eloquent suggestion
and sound, even solemn, advice. The
book, as a whole, will bo found a very
interesting one. The writer is a bold
man. who certainly has the courage of
Ills convictions, wliich he never hesitates
to express openly. The book overruns
with apt illusiriUion*'«nd an extraordi-
nary eloquence. Inch^ed, there is a fault
in parts of tto j^reat cloiiuence, compen-
sated lor over and over again by pas-
sages full of terseness, purity, lind
strength.
Pep.sonal Rkminiscf.ncks by Const a-
I'.Li: AND GiLT.ir.s. (Hric i-Hrac Series.)
Edited by Richard Henry Stoddard.
New Yoik: Scribncr, Armstrong &
Co. 1S76.
This vi)Iu:nc completes the first I3ric-a-
Rrac Series. Tlic publisheVs announce
an extensive sale — proof only of iss
beiM^r suiied to certain litcrarv tastes.
We have nnt been able to prouoiincaa
verv favorable oiiinion upon the merits
•.»f ill'.' sL'rles. I 1 iurnl:).'( over the leaves
of a coll: .,c s'le-. t '.he other day. v/e c.nne
ii;j():i Ml e.Ll-..;l Iron the letUrcf.; \ ouiig
ladv at one (;i' o'.ir iV.frhioarible senniiavie?,
in whic'i, C'.)ii!ir.cllir..:j: h.n- si.Ucrs to \\v^\\
le.stdvvs a»i 1 iiolde aims, r,".ie says
stead of geitinic ii ncv/ hat thi;i
let us buy a liric-a-Urac." Wc thin'.
9
" in-
ter m,
this is good evidence cTAi
of these volnmcs as. litecu)
They are admirably suited for b
■chool misses. But what the
and scholars who are gosstpe
would say ai.beia9 brougbi dim
level is anoAer qitestien. Ond
wd would advise this young lad
a new hat instead. The hat will
uaefal if not a very exalted ps
covering her head; the "Brie.
wilh fill it wit|i frivolous and
worthy chit-chat.
This volume tceats, and^
heads, of forty-six persons-jid
majority of the poets, nuiiflu
ans, linguistic scholars, and ctt
Scotland at the beginning of 1
tury, with a spiinkling A ta%
German smvtmtt^ Indnding Goe^
little over three hundred sod]
cimo pages. That is to nj»it
average of seven pages to od
These seven pages are defote
exclusively in each instance 1
personal anecdotes. From tfai
inventory, therefoiab It will hi
form an accurate notion of 1
young lady gains mentally as ai
lent for the loss of her new hat
Considerable space is given,
to one or two worthies. Of these,
Godwin, the revolutionary prop
holds the first place, and with I
dentally his first wife, Mary W
craft, the author of the VintiicUi
Ki-J:ts of H'*3/fian, This prcci
arc handled with great tender
unction.
The rest of the volume isi
chiclly of reminiscences of the s
rary- stars who twinkled round S
Scott in Edinburgh at the bi*g:
the century, and stole something
rellection of his brightness, bui
now for ibe most part forgotten.
I.N- Doors and Out ; or. Views 1
CiiiMNnv CoRNKR. Bv Olivi
Borion : Lee & Shcpard. iS;
Excellent stories, all of wXd
have been drawn from actual li
bo found in this volume. Lili
Oliver Optic's books, it may I
placvd in the hands of yojng
S ime of the sketches, such as *'C
Nothin;;5." nii^ht be read with
pro lit as ami:sonienl by grown
sons, especially those who arci
ally complaining; about scn-art-g
ITERARY
ULLETIN.
•♦♦4-
STECIAL NOTICE.
his department was specially opened to keep the readers of The Catholic
B1.D acquamted from month to month with all the new Catholic books published
lis country and in England, a list of which is given at the end of this Bulletin.
eonsuUing this list every month, much time and trouble will be saved by our
(ers and the publisher; for it will save the fogner the trouble of writing about the
e of certain bookstand the latter the time lost in answering such letters. It If
pnbllslier's intention to make the list as correct as possible.
-♦♦♦-
be Idfe of the Apostle 8. John Is
iced as follows by the Avt Maria :
td write a life of 8. Jofan was evldeotly a
kr of love for the anthor of the present
lae, and he appears to have spared no pains
iake H a flrat-class biography in every re-|
eti and one wbich woald be equally pleasing
Utlaaeee of readers. 'It is a book of doc-
•,* he remarks in bis pref^co, * and I address
» all those who desire to instmct themselves
ks truth of God. Trath has no school supe-
to the Gospel, and nowhere does i^e show
lelf raoro profound and more beautif&l than
be Qoepel of S. John. It is a book of piety,
edlcaie it to Christians ; to priests— the
sthood has no higher person ideation than
John ; to virgins— John was a virgin; to
;hfrfr->hc merited to be given as son to the
ha of Odd ; to youth— he was the youngest
he apostles ; to old men— it is the name he
« biffltelf in his letters. I offer it to snfler-
lonls—he was at the cross; to contcmpla-
a— he was ou Mount Thabor; to all souls
» wish to devote themselves to their brethren
to love them in Ood—charity can have no
K Ideal than the friend of Jesus/ We hope
; this bcaitiful biography vrill make the Be-
4 Diiiciple better known among us, and have
cflTi^ct of reviving devotion to a saint so
!h loved by the Christians of other days."
br Ci(hollc Stand jrd also gives its praise to
Tac motives which impelled M. Baunard to
^^Ttakp a history of 8. John, and the end he
had in view, are well set forth in his preface.
' It seemed to mo/ he says, * that there could be
in onr days of darkness no more present history
than that of that great heart and of that bril-
liant genius. It responds to the most vital ques-
tions of these times, as well as t<f the most reli-
gious need of souls — the question of truth and
the need of charity. . . . Who does not per-
ceive that, since the lnc|iiiation of the Word,
there Is but one sovereign question here below—
that of Jesus Christ, Ood living, God present,
and flllfng the world, which eadeavors, but
vainly, to dispense with him ? *
**The author then shows that S. John is re-
cognized by those who deny the divinity of our
Lord as the clearest and most weighty of all the
Evangelists in his testimony on this point.
Strauss wl'ote of S. John : * One and Indivisible,
protected, so to say, by its originality as by an
armor, the Gospel of S. John seemed to chal-
lenge criticism to a deadly doe!. Either it must
shatter its arms and lay the remnants at tlie
feet of the Gospel, or it must despoil it of all
historical authority.*
*^ The author's method of meeting the attacks
of atheistic critics is purely historical and posi-
tive. He never goes out of his way to notice
their sceptical doubts ; but continuing without
interruption or digression the course of his nar-
ration, he shatters the false foundation of thosr
doubts, and d^perscs the clouds of uncertainty
which sceptics have tried to throw Over the Gos-
pel history as Hght dlopcls darkness.
*^Tbe work shows marks of laborious and
learned research on every page. It abounds in •
f
Literary Bulletin.
beantlf al deecripUous of the localities in wb'ch
B. John labored, and of the ifmee in which he
lived. The care and the fkill with whicb the
anihor has arranged in tbelr chronological buc-
cession the diflTerent events of our Saviour's life
which S. Jobn records, and those also of S.
John himself, constitate not the least merit of
the work. The occoonts of the early heresies
which afflicted the church, and of 8. John's war
against them, are clear and distinct. So, too, are
the analyses of S. John> writings— his Gospel,
his letters, and the Apocalypse.
"We congratulate the Catholic Publication
Society on its brioging out this work. We re-
gard it as a most Important addition to Catholic
.'literature in this country. It is rarely that we
imeet with a book so replete with learning, so
4>eautifnl in style, so lucid yet profound, so at-
tractive, and so instructive both to the general
reader and also to the scholar."
We take pleasure in publishing the following
able critique from the Catholie TtUgraph of a
book too liitle known among Catholics, with the
hope that it will draw attention to its merits.
It is one of the very best works of the kind pnb'
lished, and is most suitable e»pociaHy for this
ago and country, and should be wide|| circu-
lated:
"The Spirit of Faith; or. What muBt
I do to Believe P By Bishop Uedley, O.8.B.—
It has never been our lot, throughout a life of
some serious study, to read so much profound
theology and sp much invaluable Christian
teaching in so small a space as is con-
tained in these one hundred and forty*six
pages of small octavo. And the style is equal
to the matter. The Writer has evidently so
clear a perception of the profoundest thoughts,
and expresses them in a style to lucid, that even
those who are the leapt practised in sustained
efforts of thought are able to eclse them without
difficulty*. It is no exaggeration to say that,
even in stylo alone. Bishop Hedley has com-
pletely distanced all his contemporaries. In
wealth of imagery it surpasses the most brilliant
of the Elizabethan writers, as it does in the re-
finement, picturesqueness, and aptness of the
illustrative application. At the same time,
there is no pomp of words or gushing affectation.
Metaphor after metaphor summons up (ruth after
truth from their deepest depths, as by the wand
of a magician. It is one stream ofsymbolism as
vivid as it is varied. It is poetry of the highest
order, conveying truth of the most exalted^ind.
Nor is the rH'h profusion of Its imsgery more re-
. markable than its polished diction, tfcan the
purity of its English, and its elegant simplicity
of pbraiic. Altogether, this small antLunpretend-
ing volume contains the most remancablc work
that has ever come under our notice.
*' It t rests of the subject of faith in precisely that
way th:it Is wanted in the present day. It sup-
plies a void whidi we had been loos sailo^v u
see filled up. Aod we do not think
another pen in the BogliBh-speakiBg
which could have supplied the needwitk
extraordinary effect as the right reverfvd
has done.
** The work consists of five instructiow.
subject of the first is, 'Belief a Xece»ky/
this he shows how all men must, in noet t
live and act and know on trait ; that ikfy
believe all through life. He then arfics tfetl
a subject of the highest moment to w, bst
attainable by human reaFon, it ia probsfcls fll^
Ood would make a reflation to turn. J^
that it is certainly possible for himtodss^j
And this being admitted, be inftfs froB tbe>
temal testimony of the New Tcmmeat tlA Hi
has done so. The following sentence maj taj
taken as the summary of his argnmett; M\ioil|||
assert that no man who opens the NevTrtftN
ihent, or seriously admits the probability «■
possibility of revelation, will hesitate to vea^
the facts which the New Tesitameni reiato. ill
if he does not admit the probability sod pssrl*
billty of revelation— tl^t i«, oC God's spoldiv
to man In a way beyond the infcHimtiaa gi««i
by mere natural reason— he caunoCadslti^
is an infinitely wise, good, and powerfslGsi,
and therefore he cannot admit a Ood at all'
**Of the second instruction the sahject 1«4
' The New Testament tracfalDg as to vbst Fti*
is.* And here the bishop shows how 6«fl
revelation is an instruction msgisierisl^ ds>
livered, and not a subject proposed for Saeoh
sloB. Fo^ its reception , cocseqnentlr , it reqihM
a spirit of docility, freedom Cram pnjatfe^
freedom from passions— in short, the ^qxstfia
of little children. Then, how that fiitth & ■■
obodience. *A man who comes t^ rcvekdes
with the idea that he will please hioueirla
he accepts and what he rejects bss not
the very elemenury notion of whst ii fShlL Bs
must come prepared to bow to revdadfli ^
moment he sees it.' Next he shows bo* £i^
is. a captivity : * Faith is no moie vacac (n^
or pious sentiment ; it is informattos. td s^
information limits the free^t/m of thosgbt.sii
ought, if right were always done, to Unit Ik*
freedom of action.* And lastly, he tlbttm IM
the ' Catholic Church professes to be ss mai*
of what men call progress in rcligioas ittOttt
To the spirit of faith novelties %ifi dttgenv
prl\'ate crotchets are distasteful, snjtMof «kri
does not grow on the old tree is rotteo fniH-*
*' The third instruction s howa bow 'prrjeAM'
is au obstacle to faith ; the fonrth toslriea tb
obstacle * wilfulness * presents to faitft : is' <^
last explains with the nWnoet c)<sn«M k*
* faith is the gift of Jesus Christ.*
*'We had marked for quotation flosfftvs
passages of special beanty and powfr, bsl«
spsce does not admit of our giving thjtm. ^
conclude with earnestly urging e^crjCit^*'
Literary Bulletin.
a cop^ of thete lingalarly beftntifal In-
Craetlont ; and, If be hi* any friends whota
IM version he deeires, many copies. We
C«0W no work, great or email, so calcnlated to
MBr«rt to ihe faith those who, outside of ihe
hSTCb, are in earnest, and are honest in their
NBTCh for tmth. The Catholic pabllc owe a
tM9« debt of gratitnde to ihe enter prising and
lldldotta publishers for placing it so completely
mtMn Uieir reach.'*
TIm book la Tecy neatly got ap« asd sells for
liccntf.
•
Of I>eliarbe*s Fall Oateehlrai the same
^It ie notionllkely that this Catechism will
Mcontie the lext-book of instrnction in Christian
(ffctrine In Catholic schools and colleges. It
iams really to be compIeCb as a work of the
ttnd. By the way, we should prefer it to be en-
Itted * A Complete * rather than * A Foil Catc-
(Usio,* which is ngly to the car, even if it be
tfilcUy correct. The Catechism itcclf is pro-
^•dad by a compendious history of religion
from the fall of man to Popo Plus IX., aocom
panied throughout by examination qneftions to
the form of foot-notes. There is then a list of
popes in chronological succession. The "Cate-
chism itself, after an Introduction on 'The Bnd
of Han,* is ranged under three headings : 1. * On
Faith* ; 2. *0n the Commandmenta * ; 8w *On
the Meana of Grace.* There is a sequel *cii
religions practices and ceremonies in general,
and on some in particular/ and a ' recapitula-
tion.' The anbjecta are exhaustlvtly treated,
the questions are clear and precise, and the'
answers terse and pregnant. Any person tho>
roughly versed in this Catechism, besides having
a light to guide his will amongst the snares and
pitfalls of his earthly life, and a strong shield
against the assaults of demons, would, besides,
have hia understanding tarnished with a store of
Christian knowledge, out of which he would be
able to give good and sufficient reason for the
faith that is in him to all comers. This edition
has the Imprimatur of Cardinal McCloakey, and
* haa been corrected by his direction.'*
This Oatecbism ia now in use as a class-book
in most of oar best colleges and academies.
NEW AMERICA!^ BOOKS.
PUBLISHED BY THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY.
SSfJris^ l?aes in ike Ta$iaMdiA€ Treteni, Geniilhm :
By the Rev. Aug. J. Thrfbaud. S.J. For sale By Rev. I
by The Catholic Publication Society. Catholic PiiblicaUon Society.
Religion Previous to ChristlaoJtT.
By Rcv.J. ThAaud, SJ. For sale by Toe
FOREIGN BOOKa
!»• f^btie Zi/e ofOmr LordJt$U9 CMrUi.
By the Kcv. H. J. Coleridge, S.J. Part I.
SS 2S
Qmr ZsuO^f J>09nyf or. How England Gained
and Loai this Title. A Compilation by the
Her. T. E. Bridgett, C.SS.R. Crown 8vo,
- 486 psget. With four illustrations. By H. W.
Brewer, Bsq #4 6Q
i4m€9 o/ikt Iritk Saimii. By Rev. J. 0*Han-
Ipa. Nos. I, a, 3,4. « 6,7,8,9, 10,11, 11, 13 now
ready. Price per No 00
IHreciofy for ^Torices cferery Seliaious
Order, particularfy iho»t Iftyoied to ik€
Jfdueaiion of Ihufk Sf ^5
Wkc U J€tU9 Ckriti? Five Lectures deliv-
ered at the Catholic Church, Swansea. By the
Right Rev. Dr. Hedlev. O.S.B., Bishop Auail-
iaiy of Netvport and Mene via. 05 eit.
Zdfe of 9inne Catherine JPmmeriek, By
ifclen Kam. 1 vol. ismo $J9 50
^Vaee tAroufyk ike fruik / or, Essays on
SubjecM connected wiih Dr. Pusey's Eireni-
con. By Rev. T. Harper. S.J. Second Series.
— i»art f.— Dr. Pusey's First Suppoafcd Papal
Contradiction; or, Ihe Levitical Krohibiiions
or Marriage in their Relation to the Dispens-
iof Power of thci'ope. i. The Prologue, a.
Kun'Jatnental Principles. 3. The Issue, con-
taining a detailed examination of Dr. Pusey's
evidence respecting Marriage with a l5e»
eeased Wife's Sister. 4. Doctrinal Po^til. 5.
The Epilogue. 1 vol. 8 vo ^/O 00
First
.S7 60
JStiqyt on Caikoiieism, LiberatiMm ^and
doeiatiem. By Johp Doooso Cortes. Trans-
lated by Rev. W. McDonald, i voL lamo,
^s 00
Tke Seate of TierfeeUon . By Walter Hilton.
DV ith an Essay on the Spiritual Life of Mcdia*-
val England. By Rev. J. B. Dalgairns.
S^ 00
Caitekitm Made JSatv* Being a Familiar
Explanation of the Christian Doctrine. In a
vols. By Rev. Henry Gibson SA 00
Ike Ckronicie of Si. stniof^of Todua^ the
Eldest Son of S'.. Francis. By* Rev. Henry
James Coleridge, S.J ^a To
J Ae Siofy of Si. f^er. By W. D. S. $1 75
Tke Sacrifice of ike Euekariti, and other
Doctrines of the Catholic Church Explained
and Vindicated. By<^ev. Charles B. Garside.
M.A $2 75
Tke Ttibtie Life of Our Lord. Vol. H.
Preaching of the Beatitudes. By Rev. Henrv
James Coleridge, S.J $3 »5
»t Jfibio and ike Huie of Faiik. By
Abb« Louis Nszaire Begin 4f 75
Bermone bp tt^ JFathero of the Society of
MeuM. Vol. HI $3 00
Tfte Holy Waye of the Croee, From the
French of Bourdon. By Edward Healy Thomp-
son, M.A $1 75
The JPer^eutiono of Anatn, A History of
Christianity in Cochtn China and Tonlctng.
By John R. ShorUand,M.A $3 OO
Meditations for the Vee of the Cleroy, for
Every Day in the Yesr, on the Gospels for the
Sundays. From the Italian of Mgr. ScoUi.
Vol. IV ,,,$9 00
i
Literary Bulletin.
f
beaatif al detcriptioue of the localities In wh'ch
S. John labored, aud of the times in which he
lived. The care and the skill with which the
author has arranged in their chronological suc-
cession the diflTcrent events of our Saviour*! life
which 8. John records, and those also of 8.
John himself, constitute not the least merit of
the work. The accounts of the early heresies
which afllictcd the church, and of 8. John's war
agaiust them, are cleiir and distinct. So, too, are
the analyses of S. John^s writings— his Gospel,
his letters, and the Apocalypse.
"We congratulate the Catholic Publication
iSociety on its bringing out thin work. We re-
gard it as a most important addition to Catholic
literature in this couutry. It is rarely that we
>Deet with a book so replete with learning, so
beautiful iu style, so lucid yet profound, so at-
tractive, and so instructive both to the general
reader and also to the scholar.**
We take pleasure in publishing the followiog
able critique from the Catholic Telegrajih of a
book too liitic known among Catholics, with the
hope that it will draw attention to its merits.
It is one of the very best works of the kind pub-
lished, and is most suitable especially for this
ago aud country, and should be widotar circu-
lated :
"The Spirit of Faith; or, What must
I do to Believe P By Bishop Ilediey, O.8.B.—
It has never been our lot, throughout a life of
some serious study, to read so much profound
theology and so much invaluable Christian
TeAchin? in so small a space as is con-
tained in thei^c one hundred and forty-six
pages of small octavOy^And the style Is equal
to the matter. The writer has evidently so
clear a p'rception of the profoundept thoughts,
and exprL'0f^e» them in a style so lucid, that even
those who arc tho Ica^t practised in sustained
cffjrts of thnijffht arc able to f eize them without
difficulty. Il is no exaggeration to pay that,
even in style alone, Bl&hop Ilediey has com-
pletely distanced all his cuutemporaries. In
wealth of imafjcry it surpasses the most brilliant
of the Elizabethan writers, as it docs in the re-
flncinent, picturot-queness, and aptnes^s of the
illustrative application. At the same time,
there is no pomp of words or gushing affectation.
-Metaphor after metaphor summons up truth after
truth from their deepest depths, as by the wand
of a mn^^ician. It is one stream ofsymboiism a«»
vivid at! it is varied. It is poetry of thchighcnt
order, conveyinK truth of the moat cxalted^ind.
Nor \n the rich i)rofusirn of Its Imagery more rc-
. markiible tlian its polihhcd diction, than the
purity of i:s Er.pHsh. audits elegant simplicity
of phra^e, Allopi-Uier, this small ancLuni-retend-
ing voliinu' contains the most rcniafKablc work
that hiH ever come under our notice.
'• It treat«»ol the subject of faith iu precisely that
way that i? wunted lu the present day. It sup-
infcn
rJk
plies a void which we had besa Iws
see filled up. And wc do not ibi
another pen iu the En!;1i»hspet
which could have supplied the q?i
extraordinary effect as the right re«<
has done.
** The work cnasists of five inttn
lubject of th« first is, * Belief a N>
this he shows how ail men muM, io
live and act aud know od tmit; ll
believe all through life. Ke then m
a subject of the highest moment i
attainable by human reai'ou. ii is ]
God would make a lewlation to
that it is certainly pap»ible for 1
And this being admitted, he inf^
temal testimony of the Hew
has done so. The fol lowing seal
taken as the summary of his ar^m4
assert that no man who opens th
Aent, or seriously admits the pr
possibility of revelation, will hail
the facts \i hich the New Te>tammi
If be does not admit the probabili
biiity of revelation— tlpt is, of Gi
to man Id a way beyond the infor
by mere natural reason— he cunnt
is an infinitely wise, good, and p
and therefore he cannot admit a &
**Of the second Inctruction th
' The New Testament tcachlsg as t
is.* And here the bishop shuwi
revelation Is an instruction mai
livered, and not a subject propoH
sion. For its reception. corsw|npTi
a spirit of docility, Ireedi^ia (m
freedom from passion?*— in *liit, i
of littlo children. Then, how ili-
obcdience. 'A man who cnu:c»
with the Idea that ho will pk-be l;i
he accept'* and what he rejvc:s hu
the very elementary notion of »lw
must come prepared to b»w lo ;
moment he sees it.' Mexi he^b(
is. a captivity ; * Faith i-* vm m- re
or pious sentiment ; ir is informal
information limits the fioc«l.>in oi
ought, if right were slwayii dorr
freedom of action.* Ai;d iaMly. 1
the * Catholic Church profestc* :«»
of what men call pr.>>:n sj» i-. rJt-;
To the spirit of fallh novcM e;* s
private crotchets are distaM* fi:l. fci
docs not grow on the »»ld tr- c i^ ro;
" The third instruction ►hows ho
Is au obstacle to faith ; the fourth
obstacle ' wilfulness ' pn-sent* ;o U
last explains with tlic uUno^tt r
* faith \x the gift of Jesns ( hr.^l.'
'•We had marked for q-ml-itro;
pa'isuiros of h;>ecial beauty z\A i/«
space does not admit of rur ;:\ii:
co:icludo with carueslly ur^iry r,c
JANVARY 10, 1876.
Tfiis supersedes ail previous Cataiosfues.
BOOKS PUBLISHED
BY
The Catholic Publication Society,
9 WAEEEN STREET, NEW TOEK.
-• ^ »■
In consequence of the increase of postage on books, which took
effect in March this year^ we must request all persons ordering
books by mail to accompany the order fy the retail price of the
No books will be sent by mail to booksellers, or others entitled to
a discount, unless at least the money to cover postage accom-
panies the order;
All the publications of the several Catholic Publishers, both in
this country and in England, kept in stock.
X. B. — This list contains all the books published by the Catholic Pub-
lication Society.
• m •
•' A wonderful book."— ^«w/<;» Pilot,
■Cv Clorical Friendfl, and their Rela-
uons to Modern Thoug^ht. Contents : Chap.
I. The Vocation of the Clergy.— II. The
Clergy at Home.— III. The Clergy Abroad.
— IVT The Clergy and Modern Thought
I Tol. xamo 1 80
By the same author.
dhnrch Defence 1 Report of a Conference
on the Present Dangers of the Church.
By Ae author of " My Clerical Friends."
The Comedy ef Convocatloii in the
English Church. In Two Scenes. Edited
by Archdeacon Chasuble, D.D., and dedi-
cated to the Pan-Anglican Synod. 8vo,
cloth . . 1 00
Bihlieyraphia Cathelica Americana.
A List uf American Catholic Books published
up to the ^ar xSas. By Rev. J. M. Finotti.
I vol. 8vo, 5 00
IffeUie Nettervillei oTy One of the
Transplanted. A Tale of the Times of Crom-
well in Ireland. By Miss Caddell. x vol.
tamo, cloth, extra, .... 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
Vinid Times. A Tale of the Days of ^ueen
KlixAbeth. Dy Cecilia Mary Caddell. First
American edition, i vol. lamo, . X 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
The Proffrevienisti and Anflr^U.
From the German of Bolanden. x vol. 8vo,
U°
I
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
The NeeUtS ) or, A Mother's lAst Request,
and Other Tales, x vol. xamo, . . 1 25
Kan^^". Boeary, and Other Tales.
(Contents : By the author of '* Marion How-
ard." Magiple*8 Rosary— The White Angel
—Mabel— Old Morgan's Rose-Tree. From
the French of Sou vcstre, translated.by Emilv
Bowles : The Sawyer of the Vosges— A Meet-
ing on the Alps— The Godson.) x vol. xamo,
1 00
The Sense ef Torkei A Sterv of
American Life. Cloth, extra, . . 2 00
Cloth, fuU gilt, 6 00
Little Pierre^ the Pedlar of Alsace.
Translsled from the Frcnchjand illustrated
taf 37 first-class woodcuts. (This malces one
of the handsomest premium books ever
issued in this country.) Cloth, extra, 1 50
Cloth, full gilt, 2 00
Peter's Journey and Other Tales,
and Wilfulness and its Consequences, x vol.
xsmo, frontispiece, .... 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
The Threshold of t|ie Catholic
Church. A course of plain instructions tor
those enterinflr her communion. By Fr.
Bagshaw. WitL preface by Mgr. Capcl.
X vol. xamo, .*^ .... 1 50
Sermons on ficclesiastical Snljects.
Vol. I.* By Archbishop Manning. Cloth,
extra 2 00
The same, Vol. II 2 00
The Intemal Missien of .the
Ghost. By Archbisnop Manning, x vo
xamo, 1 00
A Wing'ed Word, and Other Stories.
By the author of "The House of Yorkc,"
etc 1 50
Cloth gilt, ... 2 00
The Lift ef Saint John of the Cross, of
the Order of our Lad}' of Mouni Carmel. i
vol. x6mo, 1 25
Life and Docteine ef .Saint Catherine
of Genoa. Translated Irom the Italian.
X vol. xamo, 2 00
Catherine Bamilton. A Tale for Little
Girls. z8mo, OO cts.
^he Farm of OSnicerony and Madame
^^ Agnes. Translated from the French, i vj)l.
8vo, cloth, extra.
Cloth, gilt,
The Prench Prisoner in
Translated from the French by P. S. One
illustration, x vol. x6mo, cloth, extra, 1 00
Cloth, gilt, 1 50
The Spirit of Paith; or. What mnst I
do to Believe. By Bishop Headley. Cloth
50 cts
The Three Pearls ) or, Virgini^ ud
diMry mad Starrvw, aad Selim the
PmsbA of Saloniquc. Trantlated from the
French by P. S. x toL x6ino, cloth extra,
with two iUttttrmtioDi,* ' % 9Q
Cloth, gilt, I 50
Only a Pin. Traadatad fr«m the
French bv a Graduate of St. Joseph's Aca-
demy, Smmlttaburg. z toU x6mo» cloth
extra, . .1 00
Cloth, ^It, . .... S 00
The Oladitono Coutrgreny* Masp
nine a «^nd Piewrman a Reply, xamo, ciom,
160
The Gladstone Ce nt r o vewy . Vangh-
an*sand Ullalhornc's Keply,ai4d Fcss>lct on
Infallibility, with Syllabus, xamo, cloth,
Blvrrha Lakef mr, lalo the Ligrht of
Catholicity. By Minnie Mary Lee. x vol.
i6mo, 1 00
Oonstaace Sherwood i Am Aatoh&e-
KTaphy of the Sixteenth Century. By Lady
Georgiana Kullerton. M/ith four Ulustra-
tions. X TOl. 870, extra cloth, . . 2 00
Cloth, silt, 3 00
The Betrothed. FromthelUllanofMan-
xoni. z vol. xamo, .... 1 50
Qoth, gUt, 2 00
Two Thonaaiid Wlei onBonehack.
A Summer Tour to the Plains, tne Kockr
Mountains, and New Mexico. By James'F.
Meline. z toL xamo, • . • 1 50
Kary Queea of Scoti aad Ber Lat-
est lingiish Historian. A Narrative of the
Principal Events in the Life af Mary Stuart.
With some Kemarlcs on Mr. Froude's His-
torv of England. By Jamea F. Meline. x
vol. xamo, ..... 1 75
The Lift and Timei of'Siztiu the
Fifth. Translated from the French by Tames
F. Meline. z vol. x6mo,'% X 00
AU-Ballow Btoi or The Test of
Futurity, and Other Stories. 1 vol. 8vo,
2 00
CIoth,.gilt, 8 00
faqprewieaa of Spain. By Lady Herbert
X vol. xamo, fifteen llluatrationa, cloth extra,
£00
Cradle Lands. Egypt. Syria, Palestine,
Jerusalem, etc. By Lady Herbert Illus-
trated by eiglit full-page Illustrations, x vol.
xamo, vellum cloth, .... 2 00
Cloth, full gilt, 2 50
Half-calf, 4 00
Lift of J. Theophane Venard, Martyr in
Tonquin. Translated from the Freneh by
L«dy Herbert z voL x6mo, . . 1 QO
Three Phaeee of Christian Love.
The Mother, the Maiden, and the Religlousji
By Lady Herbert One vol. xamo, . 1 5o
Gilt, extra, 2 00
A Sister's Story. By Madame Augustus
Craven. Translated from the French by
Bmily Bowles. One vol. crown 8vo, pp.
^SeSi cloth, extra, 2 50
Cloth..riU. • • . • . 3 00
TIm Lift efBcorjr ]>orle» MartTv
lated from the French by Lady He
voL, x6mo, 75 <^
Anne Severin. By the Author of ** A s»
ter*s Story." x vol. xamo, cloth, . 1 80 ^
Cloth, ffilt, 200 *
Flenran^e^ By Madame Augustus Ciavca-
X vol. Svo, 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 06
Tisits to the Pleawd Sacnwsnt sai
to the Bleaaed Virgin, for every day is the
Month. By 8t Alpbonsua Liguori sfBa.
cloth, new edition, .... 60 c&
Way of SalTOden, in Meditattai
for Every Day in the Year. TianaSntsd twm
the Italian of St Alpfaonsos Lignoii bj Scv.
* James Jonea. a4mo, cloth, . 75 ca*-
Boars of tlie Passiemf oTi^Pattelk
Reflections on the Sofl^erings and Death ef
our Blessed Redeemer. By St. Liguaii
New edition. Translated by- Right Rev. W.
Walsh, Bishop of Halifax, with a akelch at
the Life of St- Alphonins Liguort xf
doth,
of Our Lord Ji
duoed to Practioe. By St AlplioBStt li-
gaori. Translated bv the Riirht Rev. W.
Walsh, Bishop of HaU&x. New edWao.
x8mo. cloth.
Short Treatise en Prayer. Adapted i*
all Claases of Christians. By St AlphoesM
Liguori. The holy author of this
says : ^^ Were it in my power. I would p«b>
lisn as many copies of this woxii as there are
Cbristians on earth, and would give each a
copy, that each might be convinced of tke
absol ute necessity of prayer.'* New editioa
a4mo, cloth, 40 ***>
Spirit of St AlahensMi do t^mrnmL
A Selection from his Shorter SptntiuuTrea^
tises. Translated from the Italian by tht
Rev. J. Jones. With a Memoir of the author
a4mo, cloth, — -
The CHofles of Mary.
from the Italian of St. Alphonsus Maria de
Liguori. Second edition. Revised by Rev.
Robert A. Coi&n, C.SS.R* x voL xamo.
129
Lift and Letters of sg^**y
chine. Trttnslated from the French of the
Count Falloux. One vol. xamo, . 2 id
The Writiiurs of MadaaM
Bdlted by Count de Falloox. x voL
190
Oakeley on Catholic Wonhip i A!
nual of Popular Instruction on the Cercaie-
nies and Devotions of the Church. Br Fr»
derick Canon Oakeley, M.A;, Missiooary
Rector of St John's, Idincton. x vol. xtee.
00 a»
Oakeley en the Bbss. TheOrdersai
Ceremonial of the most Holy and Adorshle
Sacrifiib of the Mass explained in a Dkbgat
between a Priest and a Catechumtn. wicfe
an Appendix on Solemn Maas, Vcscn
Compline, and ttie Benediction ot the Most
Holy Sacrament. By Canon Frederick
Oakeley. x vol. x8mo, . . 09 cB
abnresai or, The Sjpiritoal
of St Ignatius. For General use. New
Rdltioo. X VOL xaiBo. . . . 1 M
r
P. Wawmaii^s Amwr t» Dr. PoMy'i
Xirenicoa. Paper, 75 ctS'
Bany in ^Aid of m 6rsiiiiii«r of
AssenL Ky John Henry Newman, D.D.. of
tiM Oratory, x vol. ssmo, cloth, . 2 SO
Sua I BeiBir * B^
pl|r to a Pamphlet entitled '* What, then,
Does Dr. Newman Mean ? ** - ■ '
'o'Nttwman, D.
By John Henry
New edition, i vol. lamo,
of Oo«ii€il of
Published by com to and of Pope Piua V.
Translated by Ker. J. Donovan, Professor
Royftl College, Maynooth. 8vo, . 2 00
of fiiigvoio do Gnoria*
Edited by G. S. Ti^butien. i vol. xamo,
i«loth, .... . . 2 00
of tho Doctrino of tho
Catholic Church in Matters o( Controver«v.
Hv tb« RiKht Rev. J. B. Bossuet. A new
edition, with copious notes, by Rev. J.
Fletcher, D.D. i8mo, 00 cts*
of fla^onio do CKioriii.
Sdited by G. S. Tr6butien. i vol. lamo.,
2 00
to a Pi 'yto ofa urt Frioad on tho
Holy Scriptures. By Rev. D. A. Gsllitsln.
h iBmo, clots, 00 cts.
itaal Oirootor ol Dovoat and Ro-
ious Souls. By St. Francis de Sales,
50 cts!
:tion to a Dovont Uft. From
the French of St. Francis of Sales, Bishop and
Prince ot Geneva. To which is prefixed an
Abstract of his Life. i8mo, cloth, 75 cts
Well Oat I or, Beflecttoaa on
tbe Great Truths ot the Christian Relifrion,
forerttry day in the Month. By Right Rov.
R. CUUio
loner, jsmo, cloth,
30 cts.
ilie Ohristiaii Instractod in tho
Sseraments, Sacri6ces, Ceremonies, and Ob-
servaooes of the Church, by way or question
sad answer. By the Right Rev. Dr. Cbal-
loner. a4mo, cloth, flexible, 25 cts.
Oa tiwi i c Ohrislian Inatmetod. >aBio
edition. Cloth,
50 cts.
Ohgiat and tho Ofacarch. Lectures deli-
vered in St. Aon^s Church, New York, dur-
ing Advent, 1869. By Rev. Thos. S. Pres-
ion. I vol. lamo, .... 1 50
and Rovelation. I.actures De-
livered in St. Ann's Church, New York, dur-
ing Advent, 1867, by Rev. T. S. Prestoci.
One vol. xsmo, \
Ottlo TreatiM oa tho Uttlo Virtaoo.
Written originally in Italian by Father Ro-
berti, of the Society of Jesus. To which are
added, A Letter on Fervor by Father Vallois,
S.J., and Maxims from an unpublished
maiMiBcript of Father Segnsri, S.J. ; also, De-
votions to the Sacred Heart of Jesui. |amo,
cloth, . #45 cu.
KsiSierSei
Vol
8onnoa%.
legneri, S.J.
Fresi the Italian of
Vol. L xamo,
A New and Enlarged Edition, with Maps, etc.
Aa ninotratod flUatorf of bolaadf
from the Earliest Period^ to the Present
with several first-clsss fiiU-page ca-
rravinn of Historical Scenes designed by
Henry uoyle, and engraved by George Ha»>
Ion and Georre Pearson ; ^gether with up-
ward of One Hundred Woodcuts, by eminent
Artists, illustrating Antiquities, Scenery, and
Sites of Remarkable Events ; and three large
Maps— one of Ireland, and the others ot
Family Homes, Statistics, etc. x voL 8vo,
' nearly 700 pageSt extra cloth, • . 5 00
Half-mor. 7 00
Tho Lift of 8t Patricks Apostle of Ire-
land. Br M. F. Cttsack, author of '* The 11-
lustrated History of Ireland," etc Illus-
trated, one voU, ..... 5 00
Tho Worka of tho Most Boverend
John Hughes, first Archbishop of New York,
containing Biography. Sermons, Lectures,
Speeches, etc. Carefully compiled from the
Best Sources, and edited by Lawrence
Kehoe. s vols. 8vo, cloth, 8 00
s vols., half-calf, extra, . 12 00
Poor Bbn's OatochUmi or, Tho
Christian Doctrine Explained, with Short
Admonitions. By John Mannock, O.S.B.
a4mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Poor Maa'a Coatroromy. By j. Man-
nock, author of ** Poor Mao*8 Catechism.**
x8mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Catholic Tractai Fifty Catholic Tracts of
' ''The Csdiolic Publteation Society," 00
various'subjects. i vol. xsmo, cloth extra.
125
txiah Odoiy and Othor Poomi. By Au-
brey de Vere. t vot tamo, toned paper.
2 00
Cloth, gilt, . . ... 2 50
By Aubrey de Vere. Blue and gold, 1 25
Tho Liiaoftctioa of tho Blood of 9t.
Januarius: Cloth 1 00
Biitory of tho Old and New Toirta^
ments. By J. Reeve. 8vo, half-bound, em-
bossed roan 1 00
CompondloaaAhstractof the Bistory
of the Church of ChrisL By Rev. Wm.
Gahan,O.S.A. With continuation down to the
present time, by John G. Shea, LL.D. lamo .
125
Tho Lift of Wothor lalla, Poandroas
of the Sisters of Notre Dame, i vol. ismo.
cloth, extra, with Portrait of Mother Julia.
150
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
Biitory of Barlaad, ftr tho Uio of
Schools. By W. F. Mylius. Continued
down to the present time by John G. Shea_
LL.O. xsmo, .... 1
UA of Mother Marnrot Mary Biil-
lahan, founder of the English Congrention
of St Catherine of Siena, of the Third Order
O'ofSt. Dominick. By her Religious Children
• With a Preface by the Right Rev. Bishop
Ullaihome. x vol. 8vo, ... 4 Ov
Barly Blatery of tto Catholic Oharch
la tne Island of New York. By the Right
Rev. J. R. Bayley, D.D. With four Steel
Plates of the four first Bishops and a wood-
out of old Sl Peter's, x vol. xsmo, doth.
1 50
8
Hiitory of the Society of JcmuL
Daurignac a vols., .... 3 00
Th« Lift of Fathor Baviiriuuiy BJ.
By Father Ponlevoy, S.J. Translated from
the Freach. z vol. crowa 8to, toned paper,
4 00
Life of St. Tincent do Paul lamo,
cloth, 45 eta.
LUb of Bleosed lllargfarot Mary
Alacoque. With some Account of the Devo-
tion to the Sacred Heart By the Rev. George
Tickell, S.J. zvoUSto, . . .2 50
Owe Lady of Litanies. By Rer. x. D.
McLeod, 1 00
Tlio SacjrmniiBtale of tbo Boly Cath-
olic Church. By the Rev. W. J. Barry,
1 00
Loaten BKonitory or Moral Beflec-
tiona and Devout Aspirations on the Gospel
for each day, from Ash- Wednesday till Raster
Sunday. By Rev. P. Baker, O.S.P. «4mo,
cicth, new edition, .... 60cts.
The find of Beliffions Controversy.
By Rt. Rev. John Milner, D.D. z vol. lamo.
75ct8.
FATHER FOBMBT'S WOBSS.
Pictorial Bible and Chnrch History
Stories. An easy, continuous narrative for
the Younfi^, from Adam and Eve in Paradise
down to ihe Middle of the Reign of Pope
Pius IX. Profusely illustrated by over 500
Woodcuts from original designs by the most
eminent artists. Crown 8vo.
I. The Old Testament Stories. ConUining
90O illustraiions and 6 maps, 520
PP 3 00
II. The Life of Christ. Containing 100
illustrations, 186 pp., • . .1 00
III. The iiistory of the Church. Con-
taining 900 illustrations, 540 pp., 3 00
The above beautiful books can be had in
sets, put up in boxes, suitable tor presents, as
follows:
In three vo^., cloth extra, . 7 00
In five vols., cloth extra, . . 9 00
In five vols., cloth gilt, 12 00
In five vols, half calf, 20 00
In uve vols, full calf antique, 30 00
The Pictorial Bihle and Ckarch
History Stories, Abridged and Complete, x
vol. With a view of Solomon's Temple, a
bird's-eye view of Jerusalem, and upwards
• of one hundred beautiful Engravings. Crown
8vo, 390 pp. By Rev. HeniyFormby. Cloth,
• extra, X 50
Cleth, gilt, 2 00
Half-calf, 3 50
Full-calf, 6 00
This is an abridgment of the larger work
described above.
The Book of the Boly Bosary. A Full,
Popular, Doctrinal Exposition of Its Fifteen
Mysteries, and of their Corresponding Types
in the Old Testament. Illustrated with thirty-
six full-page engravings, printed in the best
manner on toned paper, extra ornamental
binding, and gilt edees. By Rev. H. Form-
by. I vol. quarto, lull giU» . 4 00
Uftp PassioB, Dentil, and
tio-! of Our Lord Jeset ChrisL Being a>
Abridged Harmony of the Four Geapdas
the words of the Sacred Text. Edited by ^
Rev. Henry Formby. With oversixSyee-
gravings from original deagns^ i roL lasso. .
1 00 "
Cloth gilt, 150
The Life of & Gatfaeziiie eT
Siena, z vol. ismo, . . 1 75
An Epieae of Jems ChrM te Ike
Faithful Soul that is devoutly affected t>
ward Him. x voL i6mo, . . 1 00
History of tiie Church firon its &»•
tablishment to the Reformation. By the late
Rev. C. C. Pise, D.D. 5 toIs. Svo, . 7 50
Another edition. 5 vols, xamo, doth, 5 00
Fletcher's Spirit of ControverqTy ^
The nivstrated Catholic Sawiay-
School Library. First Series. The h>ao«*
ingare the titles of the different vetoes :
Madeleine the Rosi^re. Crusade of tkc
Children. Tales of the Affections. Adrea-
turcs of TravcL Truth and TrusL Selea
Popular Tales. Handsomely boood avd pv:
up in a box. Cloth, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt, 4 00
The ninstrated Catholic SoaAay-
School Library. Second Seriesi The Ibllew.
ing are the titles of the diffeftnt volancs :
The Rivals. The Battle of Lepanto, eu
Scenes and Incidents at Sea. Tbe Scaool-
■ boys, and the Boy and the Man. Beautifi:)
Little Rose. FloresUne. Handsomely bouad,
and put up in a box, cloth, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt 4 00
The XUastrated Catholic Sonisy-
School Library. Third Scries. Tteioaow
ing are the titles of tbe different VoliuBes :
Nettlethorpe the Miser. Tales of Naval aad
MiliUry Life. Harry O'Brien, sod Othei
Tales. The Hermit of Mount Atlas. Leo;
or. The Choice of a> Friend. Antonio; cf.
The Orphan of Florence. Haadsoeieiy
bound, and put up in a box. Cloth, esaa.
Cloth, g«t, 400
The ninstrated Catholic Snadsy^
School Library. Fourth Series. The foliov-
ing are the titles of the different voluoei:
Tales of ^le Soutli of France. Storks ^
Other Lands. Eroma^s Crusa, and Other
Tales. Uncle Edward's Stories. Joe Baj0-
The Two Painters. Handsomely b<*aari,
and put up in a box. Clotli, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gnt 4 00
The Clnstrated Catholic Smiidai^
School Library. Fiah Series. The loUow^
ing are the titles of the different volumes:
Bad Example. May-Day, and Other TalA
James Chapmaii. The Vouog Ascroooaer.
and Other Tales. Angel Dreams. EUcitoe
Priory. Handsomely Donnd, and patnpis
box. Cloth, extra, . 3 00
Cloth,eKilt, 4 00
The ni us tr a leA CaUioUe SoaOaf'
School Library. Sixth Senes. The foUev-
ing are the titles of the different volumes:
Idleness and Industry. The Hope of tbe
Katzekopfs. St. Maurice. The Vo'ine £!s»
grants. Angels' Visits. Scrivener's Dacgh-
tcr, and Orange Girl. HanUsomely bt^agd.
and put up in a box. Clotb^ extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt 4 00
School Library. Seventh Series. Thefollow-
teir are the titles of the different volumes :
.Tues of Catholic Artists. Honor 0*More's
Three Homes. Sir iElfric, and Other Tales.
Select Tales for the Young. Tales for the
i tiAny. Frederick Wilmot. In a box. illus-
amted. Cloth extra, . . 3 00
Clotb, silt, 4 00
Vhs ww i^^ ^r^ f j im GftthoHc SniidaT"
School Library. Biffhth Series. The follow-
tez are the titles of the different volumes:
The Apprentice, and other Sketches. Mary
Benedicta, and Other Stories. Faith and
Loyalty, and The Chip Gatherers. Agnes,
aad Other Sketches. Lame Millie. The
Chapel of the Angels. Handsomely boynd,
and put up in box. Cloth extra, . 3 00
Cloth silt, .... . 4 00
Mm Mid th« SibjrUi A CUuMdc, Chris-
tian Novel. By Miles Gerald Keon. One
▼ol. 8vo, cloth, extra, .... 1 50
niaitrmtvd Catholic FamllT Almanac
for 1869, 1870, 1871, 1873, and 1873, each,
25 cU.
Tbm Twc Schoohii ▲ moral Talo.
B7 Mrs. Hughes, xamo, cloth, . 1 00
Uvea at tho Fathon of tho Daaert,
and of many Holy Men and Women who
dwelt in Solitude. Translated from the
French. Embellished with eighteen engrav-
ings. z8mo; clotlt, 50 eta.
mwumm j OTt Tho ViTtaoiu Tlllaff OT.
A Catholic Tale. New edition. i8mo, cloth,
50 cts.
BmBS of tho Loot Child. Tliis story
Is founded on fact, and records in a most in-
teresting manner a singular instance of God's
merey. iSmo, cloth, . 50 cts.
(lauawifyo 1 A Talo of Aatiqnity,
•howinff the Wonderful Ways of Providence
in the Protection of Innocence. From the
Gemutn of Schmid. t8mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Ohristmoy and Cthor Poonu. By
George H. Miles. Cloth, . . 2 00
Gilt, extra, 2 50
Tho '^ OUUCathoUco " at CologM. A
Sketch l^JThree Scenes. By the author of
'* Comedy of Convocation." 1 vol. x8mo,
75 cts.
A North American
Tale, itaio, cloth, .. 50 cts.
Tho Bovono of tho BfltodaL A Drama
• for Oirls, 20 cts.
HaU. A Drama for Girls, 20 cts.
A Drama for Boys,
cts.
■ttaf or, Spain Fifty Years Ago. From
the Spanish of Feman Caballero. s vol.
i«mo, .1 50
■Usa Doopato o i or, Tho Bflbeti of
Reeding Bad Boolcs, . . ,00 cts.
Olia^aoo of Ploaoant Btomoo. By the
author of '" The Lite of Mother McCaufey."
Itluatntted with four full-page Illustrations.
I vol. lamo, cloth extra, • > . % 50
V Cloth, gat, 2 00
Mlit of Faithi or. WhT Do I B^iorow
^Bishop Hedley 50 cts.
Hbyivalof 81 AognstfaMH . 50 cts.
Lotion on tho Soman Chanoorrv Bv
Bishop SagUnd, 1 00
Bff^hi of fr tfi l T W hu ! ty rfc
of those who Suffered for the Catholic Faith
in Ireland during the Sixteenth, Seventeenth,
and Eighteenth Centuries. Collected and
edited by Myles O'Reilly, B.A., LL.D. 1
vol. crown 8 vo, vellum cloth, . 2 50
Diary of a Sitlar of Mercy- Tales
from the Diary of a Sister of Mercy. By C.
M. Brame. x vol. xamo, extra cloth, 1 50
Extra gilt, 2 00
Gropuiffl After Tmth. A Life-Joumey
from New England Congregationalism to
the One Catholic Apostolic Church. By
Joshua Huntington. One volume vellun/
cloth, 75 cts.
The Clersry and tho Pnlpit and
their Relations to the People. By M. TAbbtf
Isidore Mullois, Chaplain to Napoleon III.
One vol. xamo, extra cloth, . 1 50
Half-calf, extra, ... 3 50
Shnnbolinnf or, BxpoidtioB of tho
Doctrinal Difference^etween Catholics and
Protestants, as evidenced by their Symbolic
Writings. By John A. Mochicr, D.D. Trans-
lated from the German, with a Memoir of the
Author, preceded by an Historical Sketch of
the State of Protestantism and Catholietftis
in Germany for the last Hundred Years, ov
J. B. Robertson, Esq., 4 00
^ Amicable Discnsnoa on the
' Church of England, and on the Reformation
in general, dedicated to the Clergy of every
Protestant Communion, and reduced into
the form of letters, by the Right Rev. J. F.
n, 1^*D.. Bishop of Strasbourg.
Translated by the Rev. William Richmond.
M. Trevern,
X vol. xamo, 580 pages.
2 00
Anima Divotaj or, Devont 8011L
^ Translated from the Italian of Very Rev. J.
B. Pagani, Provincial of the Order of Char-
ity in England. This is one of the mflm
instructive and useful books that enrich our
spiritual literature. It is a series of excellent
considerations relative to the Eucharist as a
Sacrifice and sacrament, and will be found by
the pious Catholic to be a valuable manual
in tne preparation for Holy Communion,
aimo, cloth, 50 cts.
Bona Mors 1 A Pions Anociation of
the Devout Servants of our Lord Jesus
Christ, dyinff on the Cross, in order to ootaln
a good death. a4mo, cloth, 25 eta.
Why Men do not Believe j or The
Principal Causes of Infidelity. Translated
from the French of Mgr. Laforet. Cloth,
1 00
In Boaven we &now Onr t/wn.
Translated from the French of Pfcre Blot. i\
vol. x8mo 50 eta.
The See of Peter, the Rock of the
Church, the Source of Jurisdiction, and the
Centre of Unity. By Tho urns William Allies
X vol., cloth, 75 cts.
Groonds of the Catholic Doctrine,
* contained in the Profession of Faith publish-
ed by Pope Pius IV. ; to which are added.
Reasons why a Catholic cannot Conform
to the Protestant Religion, sano, cloth,
20 cts.
The Gentle Skeptic or BoiayB and
Conversations of a Country Justice on the
Authenticity and Truthfulness of the Old
TesUment Records. Edited by the Rev. C.
A. Walworth, s vol. lame, . 1 50
Uagard't Traeti^ • . X 00
10
Thm DttctriiM of Belli wntilatod in a
Discussion between Rev. C. A. Walworth
and Wm. Henry Burr, i vol. i8mo, 60 cts.
The l>evont Commiiiiicaiil By &•▼•
p. Balcer. 34010, .... 50 cU.
Thm Visible Unity ^ the Catholic
Church maiiiuined agaiut Opposite Theo-
ries ; wilh an Kxi>lanalion of Certain Pas-
sages in Ecclesiastical History erroneously
appealed to in their support. By M. J.
Rhodes, M.A. a vols, in i, 8vo. cloth extra,
500
Lotten to a Prebendary. BemR an An-
^swer to Reflections on Popery by Rev. J.
Sturgis, LL.D. By Right Rev. J. Milner,
D.D. a4mo, cloth 75 cts.
A Tindication of Italy and the Papal
Sutes 40 cts.
The OoTemment of the Papal
Sutes, 50 cLs.
Fifty Beaeoni why the Catholic Be-
licion oujciii tu be Preferred. . 40 cts.
Lift of St. John the Svan|roli>t 2 00
Lift of Father Bernard) . 1 50
The Mietreee of Novices Enlightened
upun her Duties. Translated by a Sister
of Mercy. Net, .1 50
Catechism of Christian Boligion.
Translated from the GermHn ot Ueiaibe,
by Fander, S.J., . 75 cts.
The Veil Withdrawn. From the Kiench
ot Mme. Craven. . • • • 1 50
The Holy Communion. Its Philoso-
phy, Theology, and Practice. By John Ber-
nard Dalgairns, Priest of the Oratory ot St.
Philip Neri. i vol. lamo, . .2 00
Familiar Discourses to the Tonn^ ,
Preceded by an Address to Parents. By A
Catholic Priest, i vol. i2mo, cloth, 75 cts.
Homihold on the Commandments^
etc. The Commaiidments and bacramcnts
explained in Kilty-two Discouibcs; By the
Right Rev. Dr. Ilornihold, nuihoi of " Real
Principles ot Cathulick.'* 1.2010, cloth, 2 00
Spiritual Combat. Tu which is added,
The Peace of the Soul ami the Happiness ol
the Heart which Dies to iiselt in order to Live
to God. 32mo 40 cts.
Practical Discourses on the Perfec-
tions and Works of C»u<i, a-id the Divinity
aad Works of Jesus Chrut. Hy Kev. J.
R€eve. 8vo, cloth, 2 50
Triumph of Religion; or, A Choice
Selection ot EdifvitiK. Narratives. Compiled
from various authorb. i8nio, cloth, 50 cts
Sjpiritual Consoler; or. Instructions
to Unli^nten Pious Souls in their Doubts ano
allay tlier 1 ears. U ritten iifi^inally in Latin
by Kather ^uadrupuni. ibino, 50 cts.
Stories on the Seven Virtues, uy A); ne s
M. Stewart, auihoressj ot 'hesiivaloi the
Rosary." ^This is a scries of moral and in-
lercstinK talcs told with an ele^unt sim-
plicity, each illustiutin^ the tiiuniph ot one
ot toe seven virtues.) i8mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Exposition of the Lord's Prayer. By
tiic Al>i»c l»ion 30 tts.
Portraiture of True Devotion. By
Abbe ('ton, 30 CIS.
Oratory ol* the Faithiul Soul or, De-
▼otieua to the Mogt iiuly Sacraujeut and to
our BlcHed Ladv. TranalatedfrMithm
of Venerable Abbot Bloaias. By M
Attoo Coffin, Priest of the Ontocr. ili
cloth Ml
Ifovofa ModitatioBs on the Ufti
Passion of Our Lord Jesus Chrm, tor Iv
Day in the Year. Ry Rev. J. Nosel, !
To which are added, M ediutioni os At
cred Heart of Jesus Christ, beinf thoiiel
from a Novena in preparation tor a FcM
the same. By Father C. Borfe, SJ. C
vol. lamo, 88* pages, . . . 2 i
Familiar LurtnwtioBs ea Wmt
Prayer. By the AbM Courbon. Truih
from the French, and edited by Rcr.W.
Gordon, of the Oratory, London, ivol.rfi
cloth, n<
Ahridirmont of the Okriatianllectai
Hy the Right Rev.- Bishop Haj. w
cloth, 3|
Confidence im the norcj ef
Reflections on the Conhdence la ibtSli
of God. By the Right Rev. Joseph Last
i8mo. cloth, • • • . M
memorial of a ChriatiaB I
Containing all that a soul newly coofeiti
God ought to do that it may attain the
fection to which it ought to aspire. By I
Lewis de Granada, O.S.D. Revised aad
rected by Rev. K. J. L'Estrance. 0:
i8mo, cloth ^
A d he m ai: de Bolcasteli or, Be.
Haatjr in Judi^uiff i • • 1
Mar7, Star of the Seas a StKvafC
olic Devotion, . • ' • 1
Lift of Christ: Translated from the Ft
of Louis Veuilloi by Rev. A. Parley, i
lamo, • • • 9
A M emoir of Thonojui Ewiaf if C
I vol quarto, net, . . • . 3
Sacred Heart of Jesus aad ^
cred Heart ot Marv. Translated tro^
Italian oi Kather I^nzi, author of *' Hi:
ot I'ainting," etc. Witli an iuTrodiulic
Rev. C P. Meehan. a4mQ, cloth, 61
month ef Mary. c:ontaining a Serii
Meditations, etc., in Hunor or the B. >
Arranged lor each day of the Mooita.
cloth, v>m ^
Peter Claver: A Sketch of Bis
and Labors in bchall^of the African S
. I vol. i6ino, 71
Homiues on the Book of Tobias )
A Kaiuiliar Kxplanation ot the i*ra
Duties of Don^estic Lift-. Bv Rcr. T.
tyn. (Only a few copies of' this book
i2mo, cloth J
Counsels of a Christiaa Bbther. 61
Shadows of the Rood. Eight u
Lectures, • • • . I
The Divinity of C'lrist.. By Right
S. H. Kosccnins. l>. . . . ^
Legrends of Holy ••A.ury . 5fl
Lenten Lectores. Ky the Kev. T
Guirc, 7f
Price of a Sonl. .51
The Progress of the A^e, ■ 09
A Treatise on the Catechism, 50
Marriage and Family Duties. BvA
bishop Purcell, ... ■ 25
The Land of the Cid. By Obsii
Uluatratvd, , . -^ . Ji
II
IdlvUttoB, 30 •f.
Uttto Manniil ef Dttvotion to tfao
. Sacred Heart of Jet'^s, aod Spiritual Bou-
4oet, 50 cu.
testatiMi 9f Sacnd Bewrt of ImMb
,From tbo Latin of Arnoudt. . 2 50
^TIm HMdfin Treasnro ; or, Tbo Talno
^ Holy Mass, . . • . 50 cts.
iBltatioB of tho Bloioed Tlrgin, ia
Four BooIks. x8mo, cloih, 60 cts.
Interior Ghristiaii, in Bi^ht Booki.
irith a Supolement. Extracted frem the
WrttioKs of M. Bemier de Louvigoy. x8mo,
dotli, - 60 cts.
BOOKS BY THE PAULIST
no
olic <;hurch the Only Waj of Salvation as
SlBf's Bighwmj) or, Tho Goth-
Revealed hi the Holy Scriptures. By Rev.
A. F. Hewit. i vol. xamo, 1 50
Qvostioiifl of tbo SouL
Hecker. New edition.
Cloth, gilt, .
By Rev.
I. T.
150
2 00
Anirmtloiii of Notnro. By Rev. I. T.
Hecker. Fourth Bdition, revised, cloth,
extra, 1 50
■omoiui of tbo Panliot Fatber% for
tS64. New Edition. Cloth, extra, . 1 50
of tbo Pauliot Fatberi, Ibr
1865 and x866. Cloth, extra. 1 50
Qvido to Catholic Young' Womon.
Especially for those who earn tneir own liv-
log. By Rev. George Deshon, Missionar?
tleat ' '^
Pfleat X vol. xamo.
1 00
tm of Fatbor Bakor. Tho Lift and
Sermona^f the Rev. Francis A. Baker,
Priest or the Congregation of St. Paul.
Edited by Rev. A. F. Hewit. One vol.
crown 8vo, pp. 504, .... 2 50
Half-calf or morocco extras . 4 00
lOTino u a of the Pavliot Fathers. .Vol.
VI. xamo, 336 pages, cloih, . 1 50
A New aad Enlarged Edition of Father Young's
Oatholic Byinna and Cantidoo. This
edition contains twenty-one new Hymns ;
among which are five Christmas Carols, s
charming carol » for Easter, entitled " Tne
Alleluia Belli " ; seversl new and original
Songs for Catachism ; the popular Congrega-
tional Hymns sunff in the Paulist Church by
the Rosary and Christian Doctrine Societies,
and at the Way of the Cross, etc., the whole
forming the most complete Catholic Hymn-
Book ever published. One vol. xamo, 1 00
ProUonu of tbo Age. With Stndioo
in 9t Augu>tine on Kindred Subjects. By
A. ¥. llewit.
Rev.
Banday Monitor. By
I vol. xamo, extra cloth,
2 00
Rev. P. Baker.
50 cts.
New aad Enlarged B4l«leo ef
The Ofllco of Tenon. Containing the
order of the Vesper Service ; the Gregorian
Psalm Tones, harmonized, with the Psahns
for all the Vespen during the year pointed
for chanting. &>mmon melocTies for the
Anttphons, and'tne Four Anthems of the
B. V. Mary. By Rev. Alfred Young. With
the Imprimatur of the Most Rev. Arcnbisbop
of New York. (The Gregorian Tones, and
the words of the Psalms, by a new and
^ original division, are so arranged that but
one pointing of the Psalms, as given, la
needed for lUl the Tones, with their vkrious
endings.) jingle copies, . ... 75 cts
Par dozen, 6 00
Bvmno and Songw Ibr Oatholic Obi&-
oren. Containing the most popular CathoHc
Hymns for everv season of the Christian
Year, together with May Songs, Christmas
and Easter Carols, for the use of Sunday-
Schools, Sodalities, and Confraternities.
Paper covers, 15 cts.
Cloth, flexible, 25 cts.
Liffht in DarknoM 1 A Troattoo on tbo
Obscure Night of the Soul. By Rev. A. F.
Hewit. i6mo, cloth, extra, . 75 cts.
The Invitation Beeded 1 Reasons for a
Return to Catholic Unity. By James Kent
Stone, late President of Kenyon and Hobart
Colleges. I vol. xamo, . . 1 50
Tho Lift of the Most Bev. M. J. Spa^
dingri>-I>-} Archbishop of BalUmore. By
Rev. J. L. Spalding. S.T.L. x vol. 8vo, 180
pp., with portrait on steel, bevelled
cloth,
Half-mor.,
400
6<0
A Miscellany ofCi
_ Catholic Beaden
Catholic Biography, His
lorv. Travels etc. Containing Pictures and
Sketches of Eminent Persons, representing
the Church and Cloister, the State and Home,
Remarkable Places connected with Relijj^ion,
Famous Events in all Lands and Times.
With 108 illustrations. Being a compilation
from the first five years of '^The Illustrated
Catholic Family Almanac" i vol. xamo,
2 00
Pleadinn of tAo Sacred^ Heart of
Jesus. From the French. By Rev. M.
Comerford. Cloth,
60 CU.
Orapoo and Tbomi. By the author of
" The House of Yorke." x vol. 8vo, 2 00
Imimition to Uio Uni
vYhat It Cas Been, and~What It Is. Facts
and Reflections especially Addressed to the
Irish People intending to Emigrate from
their Native land, and to those living in the
Large Cities of Great Briuin and of the
United States. By Rev. Stephen B^
Q.S.D. X vol. lamo, cloth,
Paper 6(
Byrne.
so ots.
Sacnun Soptenarinmi or, Tho Sotod
Gifts of the Holy Ghost, as Exemplified in the
Life and Person of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
for the Guidance and Instruction of Children.
By Rev. Henry Formby. i vol. x6mo, 1
18
BOOKS nf PAPBB OOTBBS.
t
Br. Nttwmaa'i B«ply u Glmistone.
5#cts.
ArekUiliop Maiming^* H*pl7 1« Oladp
■tone, . . . . ^ . . 5# cts.
TlM Ttm mad tlM Falss IwflilliWlity.
By Bishop Feasler, .... 50 cis.
Th# SjUmkwfl ftr tiM P«#pla. By a
Monk of SL Augustine's, . 25cU.
Bl B«v. Biihop ya«|rlutt'e Bmlj !•
Mr. Gladstone, 25 eta.
BUImp IJIlath«rm«'t B«ply to Mr.
Gladstone, 25 cts.
The Catbolic Cliristiaii laitmcted-
By Bishop Challener. . 20 cts.
BMmefs Bzpositi«B of tlM DoctriiiM
of the Catholic Church on Matters of C«n-
troversy. With Notes. Lai^e edition.
25 cts.
BoMmeVs Bzpoiiti«n of th« BoctriaM
of the Catholic Church on Matters of Con-
troversy. Without Notes. Small edition,
20 cts.
Thm Poor Nbuai'i CatecUm § mr, Thm
Christian Doctrine ExplaiLed. . 25 cts.
The Poor Man's OontroTeny, 25 cu.
Bud of Religiens OoBtroTonj, 50 cts.
ChSlitziB on tlio Holj Scriptare%
25 cu.
Oatholic Tractik Vol. I.. . . .60 cts.
Oakeleir on tho MbuM, 25 cts.
Oakeloy on Oa1|iolic Wonhip, 25 cts
Tho Comedy of Convocation in tke
Bnglish Church, .... 25 cts.
Net 4br tho Fiahoro of Men, . 6 cu.
FATHBB FORMBT'S BOOKS.
Tho Parables of Onr Lord Jeono Chriot
With twenty-one illustrations, . 25 cts.
Formhy's School Songa. The junior and
Semor School Song-Book, complete in one.
. 20 cu.
The SoTon Sacramont& With Sixteea
Illustrations, 25 cts
The SoTon Dolors of the Blessed Vir-
f^in Mary. With Seven lllustrMtions, 15 cU.
The School Keepsake, with Four Illus-
trations 12 cts.
LiHl of Chrilrt. Abridged. With several
illustrations 25 cts.
BOstoricml^ Oiltschifln. By u, fAbM
Fleury. Continued down to tli« rreee^
Day, by Father Formby, itmo, p«fi« cf*«-
10 eta
Pocket editlMi, emboesed, pUim -O} M
Embossed, gilt, 1 70
Calf, red or gilt edge 6 00
Morocco, extra, reo edges or gilt, • * fS
Morocco or cau, extra, full gilt, . - O oO
Tooled edge, O 00
Morocco Turkey, be veiled, 9 00.
l2ino editiom embossed, pUia, 1 M
Bmbossed, gilt. " S
Morocco, *S
Morocco, extra, 6 00
Full calf, • O fB
*'' or morocco, tooled edge, . 7 80
■ *
Ore edition printed on the finest quality vt
paper, wjth Illustrated Family Record, etc
Arabesque, gilt, ^d CO
Roan, gilt, 5 00
Morocco, extra, bevelled, . . 7 5"^
Full calf, bevelled 8 00
or morocco, tooled edge, . 9 80
12ino cloth, 90 78
Embossed, gilt, 1 88
Roan, gilt 8 50
Morocco, extra, bevelled, . . 4 80
32mo cloth, embossed, . 80 40
Arab, gilt, 78
Roan, full gilt, 100
Turkey morocco, 8 Bd
Full calf. 8 00
poLLownffa OP ujbjubi.
In Four Books. By Thomas k Kenr>iaL wiO
Reflect'ons at the conclusion of each chapter
Translated from the French for this rdittco
iSmo, cloth $0 80
Arabesque, gilt, I 00
ninstrated 12mo edition.
Roan 1 BO
Turkey morocco, super extra, . . 4 00
Full calf, 5 00
Withont tho BefloctieiM. n^mo.
Cloth, extra, 40
Roan, gilt edge, 1 00
Turkey morocco, super extra, . . 9 80
FullcalC 9 00
OPPIOB OP BOLT WBBK.
According to the Roman Missal and Breriaiy.
in Latin and English. New and reviMd edi-
tion. rSmo, cloth, $0 78
Arabes(;^ue, gilt, 1 ~
Roan, gilt, 9
Morocco, gilt, ... 9
'3
PRAYER-BOOKS.
^ WV, KST1SS0, AMP mvUAMQWM BVITIMt 99
vrnrn BOsnoN book.
i MuubI of Instructions and Prayen* adapted
«» premtrw ths Fbuits of tmb Mission.
I>rawii chieilT from tht Works of St. Al-
^ pll Dsu« Ltfuori Naw. iMPROvaa, anb Kn-
Uim^mm Bdttion. Tk4 hmndt»m*at Prmytr-
90mk puhlithtd, Bdited by tb« Paulisl
Vatkera. 69» paires. illustrated with new
Stael BoirraTinfs, rot up expressly for tUs
•dtitioB. It contains a complete Vesperal,
■Hh a«tM and other additions, malimf it iso
pac** tari^or tkaa formor editions.
fimm Bdaiim, -Arabesque plain, .. %\ 00
Arabesque, silt, 1 OO
Roaii,lQll gilt, 1 76
*»aB, fiill gilt, clasps, . . 8 00
orocco, extra, bevelled, ... 4 00
Morocco, extra, bevelled, clasps. . 4 60
Mot., extra, be v. tooled edges, etc., . 6 60
Morc»cco, rims and tooled edges, . 7 00
Pun calf, 4 60
Full calf, icxible 6 00
Full calf, berelled 6 00
Fall calr, tooled edges, etc.. . 6 60
Full calf, rims aad tooled edges, 7 60
Ohsa* atftlnL-ArabeBque. plain, . $0 76
AraSesque, embossed, silt eages, 1 86
Arab., embossed, gilt eoges and dps. 1 60
Roan, gilt 1 66
Roan, gilt aad clasps, . . 1 76
Morocco 8 86
Morocco, full gilt^ .... 8 60
Morocco, extra, . . 8 60
Morocco, extia, bsTelled clasps, . 4 60
This edition is printed on clear white paper
from the same type, and contains the same
matter as the fine edition, making it tlie eheap
sat Prayer- Rook ever published.
dJOlt oomt anion.
ttontaioing a Selection of Prayers and Devo-
tional Exercises for the use of Children.
Kmbellished with thirty-six very neat illus-
trAive Engravings. 3amo, cloth, . $0 86
Arabesque, plain, 60
Arabesoue, gilt, 60
Roan, gilt, 76
Roan, full Bilt 1 00
Morocco, gflt, • 8 00
Full calf, antique, . 8 60
Kull calf, rimmed and clasp. . 4 00
This book is printed on the finest quality of
paper, and is a most appropriate present for
children.
•.%*i.
iTIAVra CKJDB TO
BBAVNN.
isno, arabesque, $0 60
Arabesque, ffilt, 76
Roan, full gilt, 1 86
Morocco, extra, 8 00
Full calfl antique, . 8 00
Full t^pd^ fimmed and clasp, . 4 00
OATBOUO MANUAIfc
Containing a Selection of Prayers and Devo-
tional Bxereises. i8mo, doth, . . $0 76
\ 1 86
860
. 8 60
. 4 60
. 6 00
Arabesque, plain,
Aral>e8que, gilt, .
Am. mor. gilt, .
Morocco, extra, I
Full calf antique,
Full calf, rimmed and clasp.
OARDBN OF TBB SOUL)
Or, A Manual of Spiritual Exercises and in-
structions for Christians who, liviilg in the
world, aspire to devotion. By Rignt Rev.
Dr. Challonbb. a4mo, doth, . . $0 60
. 1 00
. 1 66
. 8 60
. 800
. 6 00
Arabesque, gilt.
Roan, full gilt,
Morocco, gilt.
Full calf, antique.
Full calf, rimmed and clasp
TBB XBT or HaATBN)
Or, Devout Christian's Daily Companion. To
which is added. Dafly Devotion ; or. Profit*
able Manner of Hearing Mass. Illustrated.
t4mo, doth • 9^ 60
Arabesque, gilt, 1 00
Roan, full gilt, 1 60
Morocco, gilt, 8 60
Full call, antique 8 00
Full calr, rimmed and clasp, . 5 00
I
Or, The Day Well Spent. A Manual of Fer-
vent Prayers, Pious Reflections, aad Selid
Instructions for Catholics. iSmo. ^
Arabesque and doth $0 t6
Arabesque gilt 1 86
Roan, red edge, 8 00
American morocco, gilt, . .^ . 8 86
American morocco, mil gilt, ." . 8 ISO
Morocco, gilt, 8 60
Full calf, antique, .... 4 60
Full calt, rimmed aad clasp, . 6 00
I. TO
DBTOnON
Containing various Practices of Piety calcu-
lated to answer the demands or the devout
members of the Catholic Church. iSmo,
Arabesque ^0 76
Arabesque, gi\t 1 86
Am. mor., gilt edge, .... 8 86
Am. mer., full gilt, .... 8 60
Turkey mor., super extra, I plates, . $8 oO
. Full calf, antique, .... 4 60
Full calf, rimmed and clasp, . 6 00
This Prayer-Book contains the Profession ol
Faith, Bona Mors Festivals explained, as well
as other important things not generally fouad
in prayer-books.
PlOini OUIDN.
■4mo, cloth.
Arabesque, gilt, .
Roan, full gilt,
Morocco, gik.
Full calf, antique.
Full calf, rimmed and ela^i.
$0 60
1 00
1 60
860
800
660
14
s.
PATH TO PABADISB.
Selection of Prayera and Devotions for Ca-
iholics. 48mo. cloth, . . $0 2C
Arabesque, rilt, .
Roan, full frut,
Morocco, gilt,
Full calf, antique.
Full calf, rimmed and clasp.
40
76
1 26
176
8 00
The Morr compi.btb Pravbx>Book
PUBLISH BD.
THa OATHOUO'S TAM fSMCVM.
K Select Manual of Prayers for Daily Use.
Compiled from approred sources New and
improved edition, reprinted from the last
LoniAon edition, containing Epistles and
iyospels. 500 pages, a4mo.
Arabesque, plain, $0 76
Arabe9que, gilt, 1 00
Roan, full gilt, I 60
Full morocco, 8 00
Full calf. . ^. . 4 00
KBT OF PABADXSBi
Opening the Gate to Sternal Salvation, lauio
arabesque,
Arabeaque. gilt, .
Am. mor. full gilt.
Morocco, gilt,
Full calf, antique.
Fall calf, rimmed and clasp,
$0 76
1 26
2 60
8 60
4 60
6 00
TBM POOKBT PRATIK-SOOK.
•
A Prayer-Book for Men This book is printed
from beautiful large type, on extra fine
French paper, and, althougn containing 65*
pages, is only % inch thick, 3K Inches long,
ana ai^ inches wide. It contains, besides
Festival Days, etc., A Summary of Christian
Doctrine— Morning and Evening Prayers—
The Three Liunies— The Complete Mass, ia
L4ttin and English— Vespers— and the Epis-
tles and Gospels-
Arabesque, $# 60
Arabesque, gilt edge, .... 76
Roan, gilt 1 26
Morocco, extra, . . < . . 2 60
Full calf« . 8 00
Morocco, tuck, 8 00
The Pocket Prayer- Rook, without Epistles
and Gospels. Suitable for Che Vbtt Pockkt.
Arabesque, $0 40
Embossed, gilt, 69
Roan, gilt 1 00
Morocco, 1 60
F^ll calf, limp, 2 00
Morocco, tucic 2 00,
The " N^M^areii^ 0/ Frmytr-
PSATaR-BOOX FOB
Containing Epistlbs anb G
Arat>e8que, gilt edge.
Roan, full gilt, ....
Morocco, extra, .
Full calf, ....
<1«
800
401
mANUAI. OF CAT HOMO Ufl-
NITY.
With Shistlbs and Gospbls.
Arabesque, plain, $0 75
Arabesque, eilt, I 29
Roan, full gilt I 80
Morocco, extra, S 80
Full calf, extra 4 00
Slanval of Um Blnaed SacriiiHit
Published with the Approbation of ha fiav
nence Cardinal McC-loskey.
Arabesque, ^L
Roan, gilt, ^
Morocco, extra 3
Calf, extra, 4
1».
inta. S<mptuTal and^lstorlca]. Abndcci
for the most part, &om those of the late Rer.
Alban Butler. In packages of i« each. Osi
packet now ready, containing the lifts tk
twelve different saints. Per packet. 25 en
These are got upexproaly for Sunday •edm'
presents. ^
Packeti of Scrivtmrs niitoatiMi
Containing Fifty Engravings ot Sabfecfi
from the Old and New Testameaia. liter
•ririnal designs by Elsier Price. lo«c
packaees of titty 75cb.
Treaty Dlvs^tiMM «f tM B*^
Gospels. Done m colors after original itt
signs. With appropriate texta«.«» 25 cii^
niiMBUiataJL 8pBdi9«8
Ten Cards in each Pacaet.
•SckMl 0»iK
First series, net.
Second series, net,
Third series, net.
Fourth senes, net.
SUNBAT-SCHOOI. O&ASft«00l&
The Catholic Teacher's Sunday-school Q»
Book. No. I, paper, per doxen, . 101
The Sunday-school Claas-books. Cloth, Ko. ^
perdoz. . . . 2ii
The Catholic Publication Society,
LATTBENCE KEHOE, Gen. A«eiit,
9 Warren Street, New York.
Foreign Books.
BoQk$ ordered from this list will not be taken back or exchanged,
A. discount from prices not marked net is allowed to clergymen,
libraries, aiid religious instittitions.
A^y of the follovn7ig books not on handy will be ordered if so desired.
-♦♦♦■
00
50
50
00
00
00
▲ Coxnpsriaon between the Hie*
torj of ihe Church and the
Propheciea of the Apocalypse, $1
▲ Devoat Paraphrase on the Seven
Penitential Psalms ; or, Practi-
ced Quide to Repentance. Rev.
F. Blyth, ....
A I>ialofnie of Comfort against
•n^ribulation. Sir Thomas More, 1
A, Directory for Novices ol every
Relig^ious Order, .1
Adventures of a Watch, . 1
IL Few Flowers from the Garden, 1
Afternoons with the SainM. W.
H. Anderdon, D.D. First and
Second Series, ,. 1 20
A Hundred Meditations on the
Love of God. Robert Southwell,
of the Society of Jesus, Priest
and Martyr. With Portrait.
1 vol. X3mo 3 00
AUiee' St. Peter^is Name and his
Office, as set forth in Holy Scrip-
ture, 2 50
AUiee, T. W. The Formation of
Christendom. 2 vols., . 18 00
An Kflsay on the Druids, Ancient
Churches, and Round Towers
of Ireland. Rev. R. Smiddy.
18mo, 2 00
An Introduction to History of
France 1 50
Aate-Nicene Christian Library.
Translations of the Writinprs of
the Fathers down to A.D. 825. 24
vols. out. Per vol., . . 8 00
Apostolic Fathers. 1 vol.
Jumin Martyr and Athenagoraa. 1
vol.
Tatian, Theophllus, and the Cle-
mentines. 1 vol.
Clement of Alexandria. Vol. 1.
Iremsus. Vol. 1.
HippolytuB. Vol. 1.
TertuUian against MarcioUj 1 vol.
Cyprian. Vol. 1,
The Completion of IrenaBUS and
Hippolytus. 1 vol.
The Writings of Origen. Vol. 1.
Clement of Alexandria. Vol. 2.
TertoUiaa. Vel. 1.
1 00
1 00
The Writings of Methodius. 1 vol.
Cyprian. Vol. 2.
Apocryphal Wh tings. 1 vol.
TertuUian. Vol. 2.
The Clementines and Apostolie
Constitutions. 1 vol.
TertuUian. Vol. 3.
Arnobius. 1 vol.
Dionysius, Gregory Thaumaturgus.
etc.
Lactantius. 2 vols.
Origen. Vol. 2 (completion).
Early Liturgies and Remaining
Fragments.
Anti-Janus. Dr. Hergenr5ther, |2 50
Arbitration Instead of War. Rt.
Hon. Lord Montagu, ft. P.
Paper, ....
A Remembrance for the Living to
Pray for the Dead. Rev. James
Mumford, S.J., . . .
A Reply to Faber's " Difficulties
of Romanism." Rev. F. C. Hu- .
senbeth, 2 00
A Series of Papers in Vindication
of Catholicism. £. W. Atwood,
^3»AJL»y • • ■ • • •
A Spiritual Compendium, In
which the Principal Difficulties
in the Way of Perfection are ex-
plained. F&ther Gaspar de la
Figuera, of the Society of Je-
sus, .....
A Theory of the Fine Arts, .
Atwood 's Stromata Procatlfolica.
A Series of Papers principally
Procatholic or Antidotal to Anti-
christianism, ....
Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury,
Life of. Mrs. Hope, .
Bellarmine, Cardinal. Commen-
tary on the Psalms. Cloth,
Book of Moses; or, The Penta-
teuch, in its Authorship, Credi-
bility, and Civilization. Rev.
W. Smith. Ph.D. Vol. 1, .
British and Irish History, a Manu-
al of. Rev. ThoB. Flanagan, .
Butler's (Rev. Alban) Meditations
and Discourses on the Sublime
Truths and Important Duties of
2 50
2 00
2 00
1 50
200
2 50
7 50
5 00
i6
Ohristiaaitj. t toIb. poet 8yo,
cloth $4 00
Calderon, Dramas of. Tragic,
Comic, and LegeDdanr. TraoB-
lated from the Spanish by D. F.
McCarthy. 2 vols., . . (J 00
Campion, Edmond : a Biography.
Richard Simpson, . . . 5 25
Cardinal Mezzofanti, the Life of.
C. W. Ru88«ll, D.D 4 00
Cassian's Conferences. Father Ro-
bert, of Mount St. Bernard's Ab-
bey. 2 vols., . 2 50
Oaawairs Hymns and Poems, . 2 50
Catechetical Reading-Book — His-
tory and Doctrine, ... 75
Catholic Doctrine of the Atone-
ment. Henry Nutcombe Oben-
ham, M.A., . . 5 00
Ceremonial according to the Ro-
man Rite. Translated from the
Italian of Joseph Baldeechi. Rev.
J. D. Hilarius Dale. New «d., . 3 25
Challoner's Memoirs of Missionary
Priests, and other Catholics of
both sexes, that have sufiered
Death in England on Religious
Accounts from 1557 to 1684, . 1 50
Ckristian Counsels, Selected from
the Devotional Works of F<^n-
elon, 2 50
Chronicles and Memorials of Great
Britain and Ireland during the
Middle Ages. Henry Thomas
Riley, M.A. 2 vols., . 12 00
Companion of the Sick. A. F.
Ozanam. Large type, . . 1 50
Compendium of the Art of Always
Rejoicing. F. AlphonsuB de
Sarasa, 1 00
Contemporary Annals of Rome, . 2 50
Conversion of the Teutonic Race,
Mrs. Hope. 2 vols. 12mo, . 6 00
Count de Montalembert's Letters
to a Schoolfellow— 1827-30.
Translated from the French by
C. F. Audloy, . . . 2 50
Count Lucalior ; or, Fifty Pleasant
Stories of Patronio. Don Juan
Manual, 2 00
Creation, The Simplicity of ; or.
The Astronomical Monument
to the Blessed Virgin. W.
Adolph, 2 50
Daily Manual of the Third Order
of St. Dominic, in Latin and
English, 1 00
Demon of Gold. Hendrik Con-
science, 1 50
De Joinville's Life of St. Louis,
King of France, . 1 25
De Vere's Infant Bridal, and other
Poems, 8 00
De Vere's Sisters Inisfail, and other
Poems, 2 50
De Vere's Legends of St. Patiid
Diana: The Sonnets and oUk
Poems of Henry Constable, wii
Notes. Thomas Park,
Diffby's Children's Bower; <
VVhat Yon Like. 2 vols., .
Digby's Compitum ; or. The Mei
ing of the Ways of the Cithol
Chorch. 4 vols.,
Digby's Evenings on the Thimi
2 vols.
Directory for Novices of evti
Religions Order, particular
those Devoted to the Edncau
of Youth, ....
Divinity of Jesus Christ. Aiigi
te Nicolas, ....
Dublin, Gilbert's History of, fn
the earliest period to the press
time. 8 vols.,
Ecclesiastical Antiquities of Ix
don and Suburbs. Alexand
Wood, M.A.,
Echoes of the Vatican, .
England, Dodd's Church Histc
of. 5 vols. 8vo, .
Essay on Beatification, Canonu
tion, and Ihe Processes of t
Congregation of Kites. Fabei
Extracts from the Fathers, His
nans, and other Writers of t
Church. Literally Translated
Faber's Hymns,
Faber's Poems,
Faber's Notes on Doq^rinsl a
Spiritual Subjects. 2 vols.,
Fabei's Spirit and Genius of I
Philip Neri,
Faith and Reason. Abbe Martin
Father Ignatius, Life of.
Fathers of the Desert, Lives
the,
Florine. Princess of Burgand
A Tale of the First Craaad
William Bernard McCabe. Ne
edition, ....
Flowers of Mary ; or. Devotions f(
each Month in the Year, .
Fullerton (Lady Georgiana), Sevi
Stories, ....
(^od in his Works. Father Raws
Gold Digger, and other Pot-m
Lady Fullerton, .
Good Deeds. Sketches of Holy to
Devoted Lives, .
Gospel Harmony of the Life o
Our Lord, ....
Gosselin. The Power of the Pop
during the Middle Ages. 2 vols
Great Truths in Little Words. Be^
Father Rawes, O.S.C,
Heart to Heart with Jesus.
Henry Suso, The Life of. By bis
self,
Henry VIII.. The Life of, .
»7
of the Church in England.
Rey. Canon Flanigan. 2
» . ^Ib., |9 00
kcr Paths in Spiritual Life, . 50
>Tyof the Yiceroysof Ireland.
I T. QUbert, . . 8 50
^ Confidence. Father Rogacci, 1 00
^jr Isle. The, ... 50
_ JMkeward: A Tale of Redemp-
*--fwi. Rev. Father Ra wee, O.S.C., 1 50
*rard.- The Life of Philip Tho-
" tfias Howard, O.P., Cardinal of
TTorfolk. 3 75
~-i[ttina of the Church, . . 2 25
nentions for Maae and Holy Com-
- jfeonloD, for every Day in the
_ jTmlt, 75-
* t the Snow. Rev. W. H. Ander-
Ion, 1 00
land, A History of. Martin
- ttaverty 4 00
wand and her Churches. ' James
l&odkin, 8 00
> l^nd. A Selection from the
: family Archives of The Mc-
Oni^cuddy of the Reeks, with
■ An Introductory Memoir. W.
- ■Maziere Brady, D.D. 4to, cloth, 10 50
mland. Eeclesiaatical History of
Ireland, from the Introduction of
Christianity Into that Country to
the Year 1829. Rev. M. J. Bren-
nan, O.S.F., . 5 00
eeland. Prof. O'Curry's Lectures
. on the MS. Materials for Irish
■ History, . . . ' . 5 00
Ireland. Rise and Fall of the Irish
Franciscan Monasteries in the
17th Century. Father Meehan, 75
Ireland. The Life and Letters of
.Florence McCarthy Resgh, Ta-
nist of Carbery, McCarthy Mor.
Daniel McCarthy, of Glean-a-
Cbroim. 1 vol. 8vd; . . . 8 50
, Ireland. The Towers and Tem-
ples of Ancient Ireland. Marcus
Keane, M.R.IA., . 8 00
Ireland. The Irish Reformation ;
or, The Alleged Conversion of
the Irish Bishops at the Acces-
sion of Queen £)lizabeth, and the
Assumed Descent of the Present
Eatablkbed Hierarchy in Ireland
from the Ancient Irish Chnrch,
ExiM)sed. W. Mazlere Brady,
D.D., 1 00
Ireland under English Rule. Rev.
Father Perraud,* . . 4 00
Jesus Christ: A Reply to M.
Renan. Pdre Qratry, . . 75
Jwuits in Conflict ; or, Historic
Facts Illustrative of the Times
of Queen Elizabeth. 1 vol.
Wmo, 2 50
Jmus, the Son of Mary ; or, The
Doctrine of the Catholic Church
upon the Incarnation of Qod the
Bon. Rev. John Brande Morris,
A.M. 2 vols. 8vo, '. $0 00
Julian Watts Russell,' Pontifical
Zouave. A Memoir, . . . 1 00
Lady May: A Pastoral. Lady
' Chatterton, 1 r.O
Lectures on Certain Portions of
the Earlier Old Testament His-
tory. Rev. Philip tt. Munro.
1 vol. 12rao, . . . 1 75
Lectures on Catholic Faith and
Practice^ Sweeney,. . . . 4 50
Lectures on the Lite, Writings,
and Times of Edmund Burke.
J. B. Robertson, Esq., . . 3 0(i
Lectures on the (EJcumenical Coun-
cil, flev. J. N. Sweeney. O.S.B. 2 50
Legends of Our Lady and the
Saints ; or. Our Children's Book
of Stories in Verse, . . 1 25
Letters of the Most Rev. John
MacHale, D.D., Archbishop of
Tuam, 5 a5
Life and Death of the Most Rev.
Francis Kirwan, Bishop of Kil-
lala, 2 51)
Life and Spirit of Father Angus-
tine Baker, 1 25
Life of Beato Angelico da Fiesole,
Of the Order of Friars-Preach-
ers, 4 fX)
Life of Blessed Alphonsus Rodri-
guez, Lay-Brother of the Society
of Jesus. With engraved por-
trait. 1 vol. crown 8vo, . . 2 50
Life of Blessed Margaret Marv.
Rev. George Tickell. 1 yol.
8vo, .... . 2 60
Life of Blessed Peter Favre, of the
Society of Jesus, first companion
of St. Ignatius Loyola. From
the Italian of Father Ouisoppe
Boero, . . . 3 25
Life of Louis Marie Grignou de
Montfort, . .» . 2 50
lAie of St. Bernardine of Siena. 1
vol, 12mo, 2 50
Life of St. Dominick and other
Saints. Illustrated, . . . 5 50
Life of St. Francis of Assisium.
Rev. Father Murphy, O.S.F., . 1 00
Life of St. Francois de Sales.
1 vol., 2 0^>
Life of St. German, Bishop of Aux-
erre, 1 75
life of St. Philip Neri, Apostle of
Rome. Mrs. Hope, . . .1 50
Life of St. Walburge. Rev.
Thomas Meyrick, . . 1 00
Life of Vincent Palloti, Founder
of the Pious Society of Missions.
Melta, 2 00
Life of Father Henry Touug, . 1 75
i8
Life of Stephen Lan^jfton, A.rcli-
biihop of CaDterburj, $1 25
liife of Anne Catherine Emme-
rich, 3 50'
lui^uori on the Relii^ious State, . 50
Lin^ard. The Uidtory and An-
tiquity of the Anglo-Saxon
Church. 2 vols., . . . 5 00
Lin(i:ard's True Account of the
Gunpowder Plot, . . . 1 25
Little Book of the Love of God, . 1 00
Lives of the most Eminent Paint-
ers, Sculptors, and Architects
of the Order of St. Dominic.
Translated hy Rev. C. P. Mee-
han. 2 vols., . . . . 5 00
Ijord Dacre of Gilsland ; or, The
Risin/ac in the North. An His-
torical Romance. E. M. Stewart, 2 50
Ix)retto and Nazareth. William
Antony Hutchison, . . 2 50
Love of Holy Church. From the
French of M. V AbbS Petit. Ed-
ward Caswall, . . . 1 00
liove for the Holy Eucharist, . 1 00
Luther, History of the Life, Writ-
ings, and Doctrines of. M. Au-
din. 2 vols., . . . . 5 00
Mahometanism in its Relation to
Prophecy. Andrew Lisle Phil-
lips 2 25
Manning's Celebrated Answer to
the Rt^v. C. Leslie's Case Stated,
between the Church of Rome and
the Church of England, . . 1 75
Manning's England and Christen-
dom 6 00
Manning's Essays on Religion and
Literature. Various Writers.
, Edited by Archbp. Manning.
Vol. 1 5 25
Manning. The same. Vol. II., . 7 00
Manning. The same. Vol. HI., 6 25
Manning's Love of Jesus to Peni- *
tents 1 00
Manning's Moral Entertainments, 2 00
Manning's St. Francis Assisi, the
Little Flowers of, . . . 1 50
Manning's Temporal Power of the
Pope, 2 50
Manual of Devotions to Our Holy
Father Saint Benedict, . . 1 50
Manual of Devotion to the Sacred
Heartof Jesus. Father Gautrelet, 1 25
Manual of Instruction in the Chris-
tian Doctrine, . . . . 1 50
Manual of the Third Order of St.
Francis of Assisi. 2 vols., . 3 00
Marguerite Ilibbert. A Memoir, 50
Margaret Verliassen : A picture
from the Catholic Church, . 1 50
Martyrs Omitted by. Foxe. Being
Records of Religious Persecu-
tions in the IGth and 17th Cen-
turies 1 25
1
Mary MaflfnifytDg God. Bef.
Humphrey, O.S.C., .
May Papers ; or, Thonghts ont]
Litanies of Loretto, .
Ifeyneirs Short Sermons, chiel
on Doctrinal Subjects,
Meditations for Every Day Ut
Year. 2 vols., .
Meditations for lh« Use of \
Clergy. From the Italiai
Sooti. 4 vols., .
Meditations of St. Anselm, .
Meditations of St Thomas on 1
Purgative, lllumiiimtive,and C
tive Ways, for a Retreat of 1
Days,
Meditations on Divine Lo
Father Vincent Haby, SJ.,
Meditations on the Veni Sancti £
ritus,
Meditations for Every Day in
Year and' the Principal Feai
F. Lancicius, SJ., .
Meditations on the Life and £
trine oi Jesus Christ,
Memoir and Correepondenoe
Viscount Oastlereagh. 4 vol
Milner, Life of the Rii^fat I
John, D.D. F. C. Husenb
D.D.,V.G.
Month of March, St. Joseph, I
tector of the Church and Mc
of Christians. Madame de G
telles. Paper,
Month of 14ary of Our Ladj
Lourdes. Henry Lasserre,
Moran's Essays on the Orif
Doctrines, and Discipline of
Early Irish Church, .
Moran's Life of Oliver Plunl
Archbishop of Armagh,
Moran's History of the Catb<
Archbishops of Dublin since
Reformation,
Nature and Grace. William G
Ward
Nazareth. Mrs. Cashel Hoey,
Newman, V. Rev. John Hen
D.D., Works of. N
Editions :
Theological Tracts,
Lectures on the Present Pc
tion of Catholics in £i
land, ....
Sermons on Various Oe
sions, ....
Difficulties of Anglicanism,
An Essav on thik Miraclf^,
The Office and Work of U
versities.
The Scope and Nature
University Exiucation,
Parochial and Plain Sermn
Complete in 8 voIp. I
vol
19
6
8
Sermomi on Subjects of the
Day $2
SermooB before the Unlver-
aitj of Oxford, . .2
SssMiys, Critical and Historical.
2 vols., . . . G
The History of the Arians, . 4
HiBtorical Bketches. 8 yols., 9
L«ectares on Justification, . 2
Callista, 2
Church of the Fathers, . .2
IMscussions and Ar|;ament«, . 8
ffaver Fori^otten ; or. The Home
of the Lost Child, .1
!¥ine Considerations on Eternity, 1
>f Adoration in Spirit and Truth.
Written in Four Books. John
Kasebius Nierember/BT, S.J.,
>IiTer'0 Collections Illustrating
the History of the Catholic Re-
lierlon in the CountiBS of Corn-
wall, Devon, Dorset, Somerset,
W^ilts, and Qloucester,
Oiirer's Collections toward lllus-
timtlDg the Biography of the
Scotch, English, and Irish Mem-
. bers of tbe Society of Jesus,
On Justification: What Saith the
Scripture ? Canon S. Eccles,
On some Popular Errors Concern-
Inir Politics and Religion,
Origin and Progress of Religious
Orders, and Happiness of a Re-
ll^ons State. Patrick Man-
nock, . • « • - 1
Oar Lady's Month, .1
Oar Lady's Dowry, . .4
Paganism in Education. Ahh6
Qanme, . 1
Papal Sovereignty, Tbe, Viewed in
iM Relations to the Catholic Re-
liirion. Mgr. Dupanloup, . . 3
Particalar Examen of Conscience
according to the Method of St.
Ignatius. ^ Father Luis de la
Palma, * 1
Peace through the Truth. Father
Harper, S. J. Part I., .7
Peace through the Truth. Pah
II 10
Perry's Practical Sermons for all
the Sundays of the Year. First
Series, 2
The Same. Second series, . . 2
Pietares of Youthful Holiness.
.Rev. R. Cook, O.M.I. 1 vol.
lOnso, .1
Plxarro, Life of. i#thur Helps, . 3
Plnnket, Life, Letters, and
Speeches of. His grandson, Hon.
David Plunket. 2 vols., . .14
Protestant Journalism, . .6
Purgatory Surveyed, . . 1
RealiUee of Irish Life. W. Steuart
Tfench, 5
25
25
00
00
00
25
25
50
00
75 '
25
3 00
4 00
00
50
00
60
00
50
00
00
25
00
60
00
00
25^
00
00
00
50
00
Reflections and Prayers for Holy
Communion, . $2 25
Remarkable Conversions. . 1 25
Revelations of Rome. Rev. J. H.
Turner, M.A 2 00
Rise and Fall of the Franciscan
Monasteries in Ireland, . 75
Robertson's Lectures on Ancient
History 2 00
Ritual of the New* Testament.
An Essay on the Character and
Origin of the Catboiic Ritual.
Being the second edition of In
Spirit and in Truth." Rev. T.
E. Bridgett. 1 vol. 12mo, . 2 50
Rohertson's Lectures on Modern
History, Biography, and Mason-
ry, 8 00
Rock's Church of our Fathers,
niustrated with many Engrav-
ings on Wood and Copper. 4
vols. 8vo, . 24. 00
Rock's Letter to Lord Manners, . 1 50
Saint Mary and her Times. The
author of Qeraldine, .
Selections from %he Poets. De
vere .
Septem ; or, Seven Ways of Hear-
ing Mass, ....
Sermons — Liguori's,
McCarthy's, ....
Massi lion's, ....
Bourdaloue's, ....
Murray's (Archbishop), .
Meynell's, ....
Moroney's, ....
Murphy's
By the Fathers of the Society
of Jesus 8 00
By Father Harper, S.J., . 8 00
Rossi's, 1 75
Newman's Parochial: 8
vols., 18 00
Newman's Subjects of the
Day,- . . ' .
Newman's Various Subjects, .
Newman's University Ser-
mons, . ...
Sketches of Religious Life on the
Continent, .
Spirit of St. Qertrude, .
Spirit of St. Teresa,
Spirit of the Cure of Ars,
Spiritual Retreat of the Rev.
Father Colombi^re, of the So-
* ciety of J(*sus,
Spiritual Worlts of Louis of
Blois
St. Augustine on Christian Doc-
trine, etc., .....
St. John of the Cross, The Com-
plete Works of. 2 vols., * 14 00
St. Peter's Day in the Vatican.
Canon Pope, . . . .2
St. Teresa, Life of. David Lewis, 5
1 00
2 00
1 00
3 00
8 00
8 00
8 00
10 60
2 00
800
8 00
2 25
8 00
2 25
1
1
1
1
1
75
76
00
50
00
76
8 00
20
6t. Teresa ■ Interior Castle, $1
St. Teresa's Book of Foundations, 5
75
00
75
75
00
00
St. Teresa's Letters, . . .1
St. Teresa's Way of Perfection, .1
Suema, the Little African Slave, . 1
Summer Talks about Lourdes, . 1
Sursum; or, Sparks Flying Up-
wards. Rev. H. A. Rawes, . 1 50
SuBo, Blessed Henry. Little Book
of Eternal Wisdom, . . 1 75
Sweeney's Lecture on the Nature,
the Grounds, and the Home of
Faith. 1 75
Tales and Sketches for Fireside
ReadinfTS, . . . . 1 50
Testimonies to the Most High,
drawn from the Books of Na-
ture and Revelation, . . . 1 00
Tbe Abbe Zouave ; or, The Life of
Joseph Louis Gnerin, . . 1 50
The Abbots of St. Albans. A
Chronicle, .... 35
The Art of Dying well, . . 1 00
The Blessed Cornelius, Archbishop
of Armagh. Dr. Dixon, . . 1 00
The Blessed Virgin's Root traced
in the Tribe of Ephraim. . 5 00
The Catholic Church in Scotland.
Rev. J. F. S. Gordon. 1 vol.
quarto, ... 12 50
The Choice of a State of Life, . 1 50
The Christian iBsop. Edited by
Dr. Anderdon, . . . . 2 00
The Condition of Catholics under
James I. Father Gerard's Nar-
rative of the Gunpowder Plot.
Edited, with his Life, by John
Morris, S.J., . 6 00
The Corean Martyrs. Canon
Shortland, . . . 1 00
The Crown Hymn-Book, . " . 3 00
The Day Sanctified ; being: Medi-
tations and SpirituiQ Readings
for Daily Use, . . . 1 75
The Devout Client of Mary In-
structed in the Motives and
• Means of Serving her Well.
Father Segneri, S.J.. . . 1 00
The Dialogues of S. Gregory the
Great 3 00
The Directoritim A^ceticum; or.
Guide to the Spiritual Life.
John Baptist Scaramelli, S.J.
4 vnlp 12 00
The Divine Cloud. Father ilu-
gustiu Baker. O.S.B.. . . 2 00
The Eternal Happiness of the
Saints, 1 50 }
The l>)lorouB Passion of our Lord j
Jesus Christ. From the Medi-
tations of Catharine Emme-
rich.' 1 75
The Eccleeiastical Choir-Book. A
SeVction of Motets, Hymns, and
Masses, from the Great Masters
of the Sixteenth Century. 1
vol. quarto, ... IS
The Evidence for the Papacy.
Hon. Colin Lindsay, . . .6
The Hidden Life of Jesus, . . 1
The History of the Christian Com-
cils, from Original Documents to
the close of the Council of Niea^
A.D. 825. Bishop Hefele, . <
The History of Irish Periodical
Literature. Richard Hobeit
Madden, M.RLA. 2 vols.. 10
The History of the Sacred Paalan.
Palma, S
The King and the Cloister: or.
Legends of .the Disaolatlon. 1
vol. 12mo, . . . . 1
The Legends of Monnt LeinMer, 1
The Letters of Placidas on Educa-
tion, 1 A
The Life and Labors in Art and
ArchDBology of George Petrie.
William Stokes, M.D., . .69
The Life of Father Balthasar Al-
varez, Religious of the Society of
Jesus. F. Louis Du Ponk S
vols., 3 3)
The Life of John Banim, the Irish
Novelist. Patrick J. Murray, . 1 W
The Life of M. Olier, . . .3«
The Life of Loisa De CarvajaL
Lady Fullerion, . . 2 oC
The Life of Monseigneur Vernenx,
Vic. Apostolic of Cores. With
a Preface by Lady Herbert. 1
vol. 16mo, .....
The Lifeof Paul Seigneretof Saiot
Sulpicie. 1 vol. IQmo,
The Life of St. Ignatius of Loy-
ola. Father Gennelli. 1 vol
12mo,
The Life of St. Jane Frances da
Chantal. Emily BowleSw ItoL
12mo, . . . . •
The Li f e of St. Philip NerK . 2 ^
The Life of the Baron de Reotj.
Edited by Edward Healy Thomp-
son,. M.A., 3 0i»
The Life of Luisa De Carvajal. . 2 »
The Life of the Blesf>ed Joha
Berchmans. Francis Ooldie. 1
vol. 12mo,
The Literary Workman ; or, Lif«
and Leisure. A M&gazme of
Amu(»ing Literature and Geser
al Information, ....
The Liturgical Yt»r. Very Rff.
Dom Prosper wueranger, Ab-
bot of Solesmes, Translaoted
from the French by the Rev.
Dom Laurence Shepherd, Monk
of the English Bene^lictiue C<)0-
gregation. Tbe volumes no*
oat are :
Advent, . , .
13.1
00
3 *"*
2 5fl
2(^
30V
21
2
3
1
1
2
2
ChrkitiiiscB. Vol. I., $3
CbristmaB. Vol. II., . 8
Septuagesima, .2
lient, 8
Pttasion-tide and Holy Week. 8
Paacbal Time. Vol. I., . 8
Paacbal Time. Vol. 11., . 8
Paach&l Time. Vol. III., . 3
i Mystic Vine. From St. Ber-
tWvl, .....
B Ordinal of Kiopr Edward VI. :
tm History, Theology, Liturgy.
Xwn Wilfrid Raynal, O.8.B., .
e Origin, Persecution, and Doc-
Tines of the Waldenaea. Pius
iCelia, D.D. 1 vol. 4to, .
e Passion Flower : A Novel. I
roL 12ino, ....
a People's Martyr : A Legend
>f Canterbury,
le Perfect Lay Brother,
le Philosopher's Stone. F. Cros-
bie, 2ft. A., ....
le Pope and the Emperor,
IS Pope and the Church. Rev.
Paul BotUlla, ....
le Priest on the Mission. Canon
Omkeley. 1 vol. 12mo,
le Prisoner of the Temple,
be Prophet of Carmel. A Series
of Practical Considerations upon
tk# History of Elias in the Old
Testament. Rev. C. B. Qarside.
I vol. 12mo, ....
he Pablic Life of Our Lord Jesus
Christ. Rev. H. J. Coleridge, S.J.
Part I.,
he Reign of Law. The Duke
of Argyll, ....
he Rosary: A Legend of Wilton
Abbey,
lie Question of Anglican Ordina-
tions Discussed. £. E. Estcourt,
M.A. 1 vol. Bvo,
'he Religious and Social Position
of Catholics in England. Wise-
man,
lie Russian Clergy. Translated
from the French of Father Gaga-
rin, S.J.,
*he Scale of Perfection, by Wal-
^ ter Hilton,
'he Sonnets and other Poems of
Henry Constable, •
*he Spirit of St. Gertrude, .
*he Spiritual Doctrine of Father
lx>nis Lallemant, of the Society
of Jesus, > s .
i*he Spiritual Retreat of Father
Bourd%loue, S.J.,
The Treasure of Superiors ; or, Let-
00
00
50
00
00
00
00
00
75
2 00
5 00
2 00
00
25
00
00
5 25
00
25
2.50
2 50
1 50
7 00
50
2 60
2 50
3 00
60
2 00
75
I
1
2
ters upon the Manner of Govern-
ing Religious Houses. From the
French of Pdre Beauflls,
S.J., . ^1 25
The Troubles of our Catholic
Forefathers Related by Them-
selves. Edited from hitherto
unpublished manuscripts by
Rev. John Morris, S.J. 1vol. Bvo, 5 00
The Unforgiven Sister, . . 50
The Truth. By the Duke of Sal-
dana, . . . 1 25
The Vatican Council, . . . 1 25
The Virtues of Mary, Mother of
God. Father Francis Arias, S.J.
1 vol. 16mo, . . . . 1 25
Thoughts on Some Passages of
Holy Scripture. By a Layman, 1 25
The Year uf Preparation for the
Vatican Council, . . . 1 25
Tradition, Principally with Refe-
rence to Mythology and the
Law of Nations. Lord Arundoll
of Wardour. 1 vol. Bvo, . . 5 00
True to Trust ; or. The Story of a
Portrait,
Union with Rome,
Versicles and Tales,
Vesper-Book, ....
Visions and Instructions of Blessed
Angela of Foligno, .
Visits to the Altar of Mary,
Walsingham's Search Made in
Matters of Religion, .
Waterworth's Origin and Develop-
ments of Anglicanism, . . 2 50
Waterworth's England 8 nd Rome, 2 50
Waterworth's The Fathers on St.
Peter 5 00
When Does the Church speak In-
fallibly ? Knox, . 1 25
Who is Jesus Christ ? . . . 05
Why do we believe ? Henry John
Pye, M.A., . . .1 75
Works of St. Augustine :
Writings in Connection with
the Donatist Controversy, . 8 00
St. John. Vol. 1, . . . 3 00
Do. Vol. 2, . .3 00
Christian Doctrine, . 8 00
City of God 2vol8., . 6 00
The Anti-Pelagian Writings.
Vol. 1, . . 3 00
The same. Vol. 2. . . 8 00
The Manichean Heresy, . 3 00
Letters, 8 00
On the Trinity, . . 8 00
On Harmony ofjhe Gospels, . 3|A0
00
50
75
00
00
50
3 00
Ximenes, Cardinal, The Life of, . 5
Zeal in the Ministry. Dubois. 1
▼oL Bvo, 6
00
Address,
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY,
UWRENCE KEHOE, General Agent, No. 9 Warren Street, N. Y.
«LDER'S CATHOLIC AGENCY,
NEW ORLEANS, LA.,
IkaoDtoa promptly All klDda of commlHloniror the CATHOLIC rLEBQY.RBLIOIOUMlNSTITL'
K«B,Bl)'J.iTroNALESiABLI?F " '■"
indecstgnfd is
BmON B1L1.S A14D OXlieR ACCO0n'i B due Id tbia MctloD.
GHAS. D. ELDER,
134 Camp Stteet— Labyette Square.
p. O. BoxgJW. WKff OBLBAKS. l.A
.0 the American public for upnarcf
qvaHers of a eenlury, willi yearly iiicrcHH-
ingpopulsrity.
TI1B7 ipeak their own pralia whcrsTrr planted.
kLaadreth's Rural Renter and Almanac
18TQ will be mailed without charge (o all
who apply, eDclosing il etamp to prcpui
postage.
DAVID LANDRETH & SON,
Sua. B1 uid sa Booth Blith St . f hllulelphla.
Sexton <& Underfaker,
CHURCn OP ST. PAUL THE APOSTLE,
e91b Street and 9th Ave., New Tork.
Residence, 921 Eiglitli Avenue,
BotwiSD Mth *nd Kth Slraota.
METALLIC AND OTHER CASKETS.
Punerals furnished with everything requisite.
STANOMO AMfiBICM fillllllfill TABLES.
H. W. OOLLENDER,
Successor to PHELAy £ VOLLICNI>EJi,
738 Broadway,
p. O. BOX 1,847. ' ' NEW TORS.
doth. Ball!, Cats, tod OTorTthlDg appartalnlne to BllUardist lomtt price*. lUuBlrated Csti-
losues wot br mail.
DRADDT BROTHERS,
Monumental Sculptor^,
1440 AND 1448 BROADWAY,
Niar rortr-Seaond street, ItEW XOHK.
Honamciita. Toubi, AlUii. Baita. •(«., vteated In FreNtoiM, OraBlte, and BracM.
MISFIT CARPETS
English P;u".::els, Three-Ply r.nd Xugrain, also Etair-Carpets, Velvet Bqpi
Ciunili-Clcths, Oll-C'cths. etc., very cheap at the Old Place,
1 12 FULTGI^ STREET, »iEW YORK
C..ir;.c:.'i cai'ofiiUy packed And sent to aiiy pait of the Usitcd
States frc3 of charge.
r ■ SEISD FOR PRICE LIST.
a*, j^, TiiFiisny.A.xjLM.
• --— •- ■-
Thosaipson^s Copy Books.
siiiijtllt'ifi/ <\ini'isrnrMs—l^Irtjattrr', Tfi** f'/trftprMt ami HUfft iScautifMi S^attu
Wrlthif/ vv V isftur*!.
ThoinpNoirN <'oni|>1ctc System ol* Practlcul IIiisIiickm PoiiniaiB»!ilp* A
j»n»ssivo Srrii'S in nine books.
Tho Author h:i'; Im-'ii ii t«'ui'hor of ppninanyhip for s^V'Tnl yoRr-», and befuf? ttraunfiitf^ ^
s!)r» muny sy.-t«'iii:j <»f wriiiajriio^^ in use, ho hun bad vi\ •••/•port unity of f^xnniiDins; fh^:r instil
11 fi^Tiidf t*;i i'Im* pupil in lonuiin;; V:i^ nri of writinj;. ftn-l li • hnsinruriably oli»<'rT«>(1 tLat ih^l
ripNiri of tbosM svsti-nis an; s-i coiuplicntod n& Vj ciutfiib'* the rapil, by leadioi; him intoai
rinth of Jist'lcss iUi tri.-^'i •?*. unnviroK.Hary I'lirvi-s, and sup.«-lluou» rul-.-s. To remedy thii eti
iirovalrnt in our s«'!im'»I.s. Mr. « Ijomps.ui «;on«*c'iv»'.l th'* itbvi of proso- llnff a system combii
'. ■'.•'i.'.i.;- wiLfi />'.•'•.'.'•■'/. anil ombraeinff all tbuiso pn-rofid. easy movcmonta the furmatia
wlili'b ij-.t-ri- :i:n! i;'-«.i fa-.ti» wor.ld <«iij:;rr-.'-t.
ijouk 1 <Mint;i:. .- tin* ••iin)t-nl:iry prifsfiii!.^? of tlio Munll U'ttPrs (the looped ones exoffM
.-:.«1 .«.lniw.- Ui" 1 r If «M" niot?;-'*! ••' copilii!.:;:::.
• { 'OU 2 .■4!i<v. s iiiw ibf loopf'l Ktt'U's rvr** ftmniMl,
Hi.ok 3 «M* '" > ^•■'••' tli«' r'i':'i«'!!ts of 1>M ritpU-al.-, «":i.:VIt!T'.!rr.t a plarr'c. on flrict page, the t)
•jiinv-*' p'''i'ipl''? i;]«i.i \ Ir-'h nil lii-' rapital letters nf thcTvlphibrt are toiinod; Ike rcmaicdl
!|JM book r'l5<«'\ -1 1 'if «'a} M.-l-f in ;!•»- ordi-r of their pari js on first pagi-.
UoojC 4 Kivi'M I" .> kiii'i's (^f (MjiltjiJ:' in alpbaJ)('tlenl orrb r.
j).;v»k 5 rri'! s- r.i"n>'os ulj>U.il>.-li^i>llv aria:i^od,'\."ith K-ttcrs and vrords on the rt^tt &a4
lian'i miruii s.
15 o'k t5 i. :••• "Jii'! ! ' !■' nti-ni'.'.i. nil.] fru-.- wrlfinL- :lnn i.ny of thr- ;en-;:o;u.Tf n :ii.'Hrj
It (sk 7 • -'i'" I ■ ' :• ■ ••■■■' f'-.-.'-i-.. .l«-^ii.:!«'«l f.>r . !a U.ia,^.
!»«.•.«:; f? l':- • t «\ I « •»»•! ••!;'• Tn'-s on I'!"''!! I ■•■■"•'. *
il'-ok 9 '•■ -■ I • • ■ '■ *' *■ !■" Ji ''i- . t ::.'t}"-r v I'li u-'"'f"l f -rru.' suila!'!-'' f'-r huTie.-.
I iw. : tyl" <•'' '".• . ■■ :•;» 1 .NiN». i - "T .* !■<• •. .t;, f'l >-:i v- rit i'l ,'. b 'vw-'i on ti:*- rr.cul'ir priiicixic-,
'.. M'-ra-l'; •.•:'• ■ ■• ■' = •• t'-nn .:•!•. b':i.!».- « ■» t?-- lii.«! i> i!i!i-h«*i3.
IJ ' ••: 1. 2. C', 1-. tJ. ""l 6 .«'-.''i-»r »;'»y. :i".! 'Mr:-.: 7 f.»r bi-yi; rnd 8 -■Tid 9 f'r iad-" •« ^^nlj
!. i •!! b-i >\ ■■■»• t J ■ ■■: ■ : iif tlj... lost ipi:ilit V (-i f!.f.lyilnish'jd paii«"r. with ••aj-'I -it prj
r i: ~ r>'- ; •.,- ;" .i ..i : = *;■.• ' tt'-r-s. ():i tin- tfiji nij./.Tin of I'ai'h roj.y if t?!:- !:r.-t liittv t"
•ir • 1- .riiji! I.- :i '. -ly •■ «.. : ;. • v uii.u ; form?" «»f >;mi-.Il :;!:'l « -apital h'ltcr:.
!' i'!"^ •:. . " 90 eta
Ail:l:—<
TilE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY.
9 Warren Street, New Tot
r*''-"'-T'-***~' •'■ --'.rjraai ■■■•■(* mt
SILEMT SEWING MACHINE.
NoYv' Pateni; Automatic Tension --!Mc\v Patent Feed- -and other Zntin
New Features.
I»er»«»r* '\'i'» !:;;\e ji<-^er l>eroro u<«e«l any Sc\v£ii2-;TI'io?if ri'» will be a!
iv»»?i.'dliif i' J to <!'» »•• ::o<irl and «'\eii beSlrr tv<»i*k iiixtii \Ztv •*>"•*«• ll"l
( •^ »^ ii'.l.' "h'* ('i;4ii (Tie irtoKt Hkitl'iil txinl «-x'i><'rIenced o|«c*r»torK iipcixi a
i»: h\" >.-\. ;«:. -.*!ii<Jil?i«-.
i;ia;;; O.'fi&e, 658 Bicaiivva/, cor. Eo:i'i S:.. [Jew \crk.
iirriui L-- j'l J ;:<iii:;/ eiil'"- ci-J'ti'vir?. Call 3L(] examine 0? seud for prospeci
DEVLIN d CO.,
CXiOTl3:i3S3"GJ-
AND
sntlemen's Furnishing Goods,
BROADWAY, cor. GRAND 8TREE1 .
BROADWAY, cor. WARREN STREET.
NEW YORK.
IN AJ>DrnON TO OUR USUAL GREAT VARIETY OF
KEASOITABLE AlTD FASHIONABLE GARMENTS
IN THE DEPARTMENT OF
READY-MADE CLOTHING,
Our Custom Rooms are supplied with the
rest and Best Fabrics of the Home & Foreign Markets
TORE
MADE TO ORDER.
WX ABK ALSO PREPABXD TO RECEtVIC AND EXECUTE ORDEB8 FOtt
UBSocks & other Clerical Clothing
a PAttems and Colors. whiCh have the approval of the Bishops and Clergy of the Church.
PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD,
"TSBDRG, FORT WAYffi. Al CHICAGO RAILWA]
AND PAN-HANDLE ROUTE.
BTE8T, QUICKEST, AND BEST LINE TO CINCINNATI, LOUISVILLE.
ST. LOUIS, CHICAGO, AND ALL PARTS OF THE
West, Northwest, and Southwest.
Throngh Tickets for sale in New York at No. 526 Broadway; No. 485 Broadwaj ;
871 Broadway ; No. 1 Aetor House ; No. 8 Battery Place ; Depot, foot of Cortland t
91 ; Depot, foqt of DesbroBses Street. Ticket Offices in Principal Hotels.
A. J. CA8SATT, SAMUEL CARPENTER, D. M. BOYD, Jr.,
Qen. Manager. Qen. Eastern Pass. Agent. Gen. Pass. Agent.
ialtimore and Ohio Railroad.
THREE FAST EXPRESS TRAINS.
Leave New York, via Desbrosses and Cortlsndt St. Ferries:
jUHm Dally, except Sundays, Washinprton, 'Lynchbarg, and the Southwest, Cincinnati, Chi-^
emgo, the went and Northwest, Louisville, New Orlf^uns, etc.
r.M., Daily, except Sundays, Washington, Richmund, and the South, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati,
Limlsville. St. Louis. Chicago, the West and Northwest.
yjL, liaily, Washington, Richmond, and the South Lynchburg and the Southwest, New Or-
Iftana. tnrouKh sleepers BHitimore to Now Orleans, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Louisville, Indian-
ipullA, St. Louis, Chicago, the Wewt and Northwest,
^through tickets and gononil Informiition oalh at Company's offices, 261 and 316 Broadway.
at ticket offices foot ox Desbrosses and Cortlandt Sts.
Ask for Tickets via Baltimore and Ohio Bailroad.
Through cam, Jersey City to Wa-nhlngton.
Through oars, Baltimore to Chicago, Cincinnati, eto.
^
^
THE
C ATHOUG WORLD
VOL. XXII., No. 132.— MARCH, 1876.
A SEQUEL OF THE GLADSTONE CONTROVERSY.
II
One of the most mischievous
^prejudices of our day is the popu-
lar theory that the cure for all evils
'is to be sought in the intellectual
^(education of the masses. . Those
[cations, we are told by every de-
^latmer, in which the education of
the people is most universal, are
the most moral, the richest, the
strongest, the freest, and their pros-
perity rests upon the most solid
L^nd lasting foundation. Make ig-
hiorancc a crime, teach all to read
I and write, and war will smooth its
trtigged front, armies will be dis-
banded, crime will disappear, and
mankind will have found the secret
I of uninterrupted progress, the finiil
p outcome of which will surpass even
our fondest dreams.
This fallacy, which has not even
the merit of being plausible, is, of
' course, made to do service in M.
■ de T,aveleye*s pamphlet on the
ron larative bearing of Protestant-
ism and Catholicism on the pros-
\ per r of nations.
*' is now universally admit-
ted he informs us (p. 22), " that
the diffusion of enlightenment is
the first condition of progress. . . .
The general spread of education
is also indispensable to the exercise
of constitutional liberty. ... In
short, education is the basis of na-
tional liberty and prosperity."
He then goes on to declare that'
in this matter of popular education
Protestant countries are far in ad-
vance of those that are Catholic ;
that this is necessarily so, since
** the Reformed religion rests on a
book — the Bible; the Protestant,
therefore, must know how to read.
Catholic worship, on the contrary,
rests upon sacraments and certain
practices — such as confession, Mass-
es, sermons — which do not neces-
sarily involve reading. It is, there-
fore, unnecessary to know how to
read ; indeed, it is dangerous, for
it inevitably shakes the principle
of passive obenience on whicli
the whole Catholic edifice reposes :
reading is the road that leads to
heresy."
We will first consider the theory,
m
and then take up the facts.
Cmc <xordlD( to Act of Coogrefli, in the year T875. by Rer. I. T. HscKSB, in the Offic« of the
Libtarimn of Congrew, at Washington, D. C.
722
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
" The diffusion of enlightenment
is the first condition of progress.
Education is indispensable to the
exercise^of constitutional liberty.
Education is the basis, of national
liberty and prosperity."
Enlightenment is, of course, of
the mind, and means tlie develop-
ment, more or less perfect, of the
inte:llectual faculties; and educa-
tion, since it is here considered as
synonymous with enlightenment,
must be taken in this narrow sense.
Progress is material, moral, intel-
lectual, social, political, artistic, re-
ligious, scientific, literary, and in-
definitely manifold. Now, it is as-
sumed that the diffusion of enlight-
enment is not merely promotive,
but that it is an essential condition
of progress in its widest and fullest
meaning. This is the new faith —
the goddess of culture, holding the
torch of science and leading man-
kind into the palace of pleasure,
the only true heaven.
By conduct, we have already
said, both individuals and nations
are saved or perish ; and we spoke
of the civilized. Barbarous states
are destroyed by catastrophes —
they die a violent death ; but the
civilized are wasted by internal
maladies — suis ct ipsa Roma viribus
ruit. They grow and they decay,
they progress and tliey decline.
At first poverty, virtue, industry,
faith, hopefulness, strong charac-
ters and heroic natures ; at last
wealth, corrpi)tion, indolence, un-
belief, despair, children too weak
even to admire the streni^th of
their fathers, too base to believe
that tliey were noble. Public
spirit dies out ; y)atrioti5m is in the
mouths of politicians, but, like the
augurs of Rome, they cannot speak
tlie word and look one another in
the face. The country is to each
one what he can make out of it.
and the bond of union is the dcs»rc
oi each citizen to secure his otth
interests. The bondholders love
their country, and the sanscul^ui
are disloval: class rises a^ams:
class, civil discord unsettles ev<rrr-
thing, revolution succeeds revolu-
tion, and when the barbarian comes
he holds an inquest over the corpse,
It generally happens, too, that those
civilizations which spring up quick-
est and promise most fair are talcd
to die earliest ; as precocious cliil-
dren disappoint fond mothers. If
the teaching of history is a inisl-
worthy guide, we are certainly safe
in affirming that civilized states
and empires perish, not from hcl
of knowledge, but of virtue; not
because the people are ignorant,
but because they are corrupt.
The assumption, however, i^
that men become immoral becauci
they are ignorant ; that if they irer*
enlightened, they would be virtu-
ous.
"The superstition," says Her-
bert Spencer {Study of SBciolcg*
p. I2i), " that good behavior is to
be forthwith produced by lessens
learned out of books, which wis
long ago statistically disproved,
would, but for preconception?, be
utterly dissipated by observing ti
what a slight extent knowlelij^eaf-
fectsconduct ; by observing that the
dishonesty implied in the adultera-
tions of tradesmen and nianufjc-
turers, in fraudulent bankruptcies,
in bubble-companies, in 'cooklog'
of railway accounts and fin;.»,c»il
pros[)ectuscs, differs only in f^ia.
and not in amount, from the li.^"
honesty of the uneducated: Iiyt-^
serving how amazingly little tb:;
teachings given to medical jtudei^ts
affect their lives, and how even th;
most experienced medical tiK'i
have their prudence scarcely at w
increased by their information."
A Sequel of the GUidstone Controversy,
y^i
It is not knowledge, but charan-
?r, that is important ; and cbarac-
?r is formed more bv faith, bv
ope, by love, admiration, entbu-
lasm, reverence, than by any palch-
rork of al])habetical and arithnieti-
al symbols. Fhe young know but
ittle ; but they believe firmly, they
lope nobly, and love generously ;
Tid it is while knowledge is feeble
ind these spontaneous acts of the
;oul are strong that character is
Moulded. The curse of our age is
hat men will believe that, in educa-
tion, to spell, to read, to v*Tite, is
.vhat signifies, and they cast aside
ihe eternal faith, the infinite hope,
;he divine love, that more than all
else make us men.
** The true test of civilization,"
says Emerson, ** is not the census,
nor the size of cities, nor the crops
— no, but the kind of man the coun-
try turns out." Is there some mys-
tic virtue in printed words that to
be able to read them should make
us men ? And even in the most
enlightened countries what do the
masses of men know } Next to no-
thing ; and tiieir reading, for the
most part, stupefies them. The
newspaper, with its murders, sui-
cides, hangings, startlingdisclosures,
defalcations, embezzlements, bur-
glaries, forgeries, adulteries, adver-
tisements of nostrums, quack medi-
cines, and secrets of working death
in ilie very source of life, with all
manner of hasty generalizations,
crude theories, and half-truths jum-
bled into intellectual pot-pourris ;
Ihe circulatino; librarv, with its
Slories, tales, romances of love, de-
|spair, death, of harrowing acci-
jdents, of hair-breadth escapes, of
lucccssful crime, and all the com-
monplaces of wild, reckless, and
Unnatural life — these are the sour-
ftis of their knowledge. Or, if they
irc ambitious, they read " How to
get on in the world," " The art of
making money," *' The secret of
growing rich," "The road to wealth,*
** Successful men," ** The* million-
aires of America," and the Mam-
mon-worship, and the superstition
of matter, and the idolatrv of sue-
cess become their religion ; their
souls die within them, and what
wretched slaves they grow to be !
In the newspaper and circulating
library (}od and man, heaven and
earth — all things — are discussed,
flippantly, in snatches, generally ; all
possible conflicting and contradic-
tory views are taken ; and these ig-
norant masses, who, in the common
schools, have been throucfh tlie
Fourth Reader, and who know no-
thing, not even their own ignorance,
are confused. They doubt, they lose
faith, and are enliglitened by the
discovery that God, the soul, truth,
justice, honor, are only nominal —
they do not concern positivists.
Can anything be more pitiful tlian
the state of these poor wretches } —
neither knowing nor believing ;
without knowledge, yet having nei-
ther faith nor love. God pity them
that they are communists, interna-
tionalists, soiidaires ; for what else
could they be } No enthusiasm is
l)Ossible for them but that of de-
struction.
Religion is the cliief element in
civilization, and consequently in
progress. For the masses of men,
even though the whole enerG[v of
mankind should spend itself upon
some or any ])Ossible common-
srliool system, the eternal princi-
ples which mould character, sup-
port manhood, and consecrate hu-
manity will always remain of faith,
and can never be held scientifically.
If it were j)ossible that science
should |)rove religion false, it would
none the less remain true, or there
would be no truth.
72^
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
Wliat children knotv when they
leave school is mechanical, exter-
nal to tiieir minds, fitted on them
like clolhej on the body; and it is
soon worn threadbare, and hangs
in shreds and patches. Take the
first boy whom you meet, fourteen
or fifteen years old, fresh from the
common school, and his ignorance
of all real knowledge will surprise
you. What he knows is little and
of small value ; what is of moment
is whether he believes firmly, hopes
strongly, and loves truly. Not the
diffusion of enlightenment do we
want so much, but the diffusion of
character, of honest faith, and man-
ly courage.
Man is more than his knowledge.
Simple faith is better than reading
and writing. And yet the educa-
tional quacks treat the child as
though he were mere mind, and
his sole business to use it, and
chiefly for low ends, shrewdly and
sharply, with a view to profit ; as
though life were a thing of barter,
and wisdom the art of making the
most of it.
Poor child ! who Avouldst live
by admiration, hope, and love, how
they dwarf thy being, stunt thy
growth, and fiatten all thy soaring
thoughts witli their dull common-
places — thrift, honesty is the best
policy, time is money, knowledge
is wealth, and all the vocabulary of
a shop-keeping and trading phi-
losophy. Poor child ! who wouldst
look out into the universe as God's
great temple, and behold in all its
glories the effulgence of heaven ; to
whom morning, noon, and night,
and change of season, golden fiood
of day and star-lit gloom, all
speak of some diviner life, how
they stun thy poetic soul, full of
high dreams and noble purposes,
with their cold teaching that man
lives on bread alone — ^put money
in thy purse! And when thoo
wouldst look back with awe and
reverence to the sacred ages past,
to the heroes, sages, saints of the
olden times, they come with their
gabble and tell thee there were no
railroads and common schools in
those days. .
Is it strange that this education
should hurt the nation's highest
interests by driving in crowds, like
cattle to the shambles, our youths
from God and nature and tilling
of the soil to town and city, or,
worse, into professions to which
only their conceit or distaste for hard
labor calls them } What place for
morality is there in this Poor Rich-
ard's Catechism — education of thrift
and best policy } We grow in like-
ness to what we love, not to what
we know. With low aims and
selfish loves only narrow and im-
perfect characters are compatible.
Science, when cherished for it-
self — which it seldom is and in vciy
exceptional cases — refines and pur-
ifies its lovers, and chastens the
force of passion ; though even here
we must admit that the wisest
of mankind may be the meanest,
morally the most unworthy. Bui
for the great mass of men, even oi
those who are called educated, the
possession of such knowledge 2S
they have or can have has no ne-
cessary relation with higher raorul
life. Their learning may refine,
smooth over, or conceal their sin ;
it will not destroy it. The furred
gown and intertissued robe hide
the faults that peep through beg-
gars' rags, but they are there all the
same. There may be a substitu-
tion of pride for sensuality, or a
skilful blending or alternation ol
the finer with the coarser. Vice
may lose its grossnesa, but not \\i
evil. And herein we detect the
wretched sophistry of criminal sta-
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
725
tistics, which deal, imperfectly and
rougbly enough, with what is open,
sboclting, and repulsive. The hid-
den sins that ** like pitted speck in
garnered fruit," slowly eating to the
core of a people's life, moulder all ;
ttie sapping of faith, the weakening
of character, the disbelief in good-
ness ; the luxury, the indulgence, the
heartlessness and narrowness of the
ricVi ; the cunning devices through
■which **the spirit of murder"
works in the very means of life,
*^ While rank corruption, mining all within,
InfectA uoMea "
cannot be appreciated by the
gross tests of numbers and averages.
'l*he poor,'' by statistics as by the
world, are handled without gloves.
In the large crties of civilized coun-
tries, both in ancient and in modern
times, we have unmistakable proof
of what knowledge can do to form
character and produce even the
social virtues. These populations
have had the advantage of the best
schools in the most favorable cir-
cumstances, and yet in character
and morality they are far beneath
the less educated peasantry. Sen-
sual indulgence, contempt of au-
thority, hatred and jealousy of those
above them, make these the danger-
ous classes, eager for socialistic
reforms, radical upheavals of the
whole existing order ; and were it
not for the more religious tillers of
the soil, chaos and misrule would
already prevail. In Greece and
Rome it was in the cities that civi-
lization first perished, as it was
there it began — began with men
who had great faith and strong
character, but little knowledge ;
perished among men who were
learned and refined, but who in
indulgence and debauch had lost
all strength and honesty of purpose.
In the last report of the Com-
missioner of Education some inter-
esting facts, bearing on the relation
of ignorance to crime, are taken
from the Forty-fifth Annual Report
of the inspector of the State peni-
tentiary for the Eastern District of
Pennsvlvania.
** It is doubted if in any State, or
indeed in any country," says the
commissioner, ** forty-four volumes
containing the annual statistical ta-
bles relating to the populations of
a penal institution, covering nearly
half a century, can, on examination,
be regarded as more complete."
The number of prisoners received
into the institution from 1850 to
i860 was 1,605, o^ whom 15 per
cent, were illiterate, 15 per cent,
were able to read, and 70 per cent.,
or more than two-thirds, )cnew how
to read and write; from i860 to
1870, 2,383 prisoners were received
into the penitentiary, and of these
17 per cent, were illiterate, 12 per
cent, could read, and about 71 per
cent, could read and write.
Of the 627 convicts who were in
the penitentiary during the year
1867, 62 per cent., or five-eighths
of the whole number, had attended
the public schools of the State,
25 per cent., or two-eighths, had
gone to private institutions, and 12
per cent., or one-eighth, had never
gone to school.
But, as we have said, statistics
deal with crime, and chiefly with
the more open and discoverable
sort, not with morality; whereas
nations are destroyed not so much
by crime as by immorality.
The thief is caught and sent to
the penitentiary ; but the trader
who adulterates or gives short
measure, the banker who puts forth
a false or exaggerated statement,
the merchant who fails with full
hands, the stock-gambler who robs
thousands, Credit-Mobilier men and
ring ** men generally who plunder
(i
726
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
scientifically, Congressmen who take
money for helping to swindle the
government, getters-up of ** bubble
companies " — salted diamond-fields
and Emma Mines — compared with
wiiom pickpockets and burglars
are respectable gentlemen — these
know not of penitentiaries ; prisons
were not built for such as they.
The poor man abandons his wife,
without divorce marriesanother,and
is very properly sent to State prison.
His rich and educated fellow-citi-
zen gets a divorce, or is a free-lover,
or keeps a harem, and for him laws
were not made. Even that respec-
table old dame Society only gently
shakes her head. We must not ex-
pect too much of gentlemen, you
know. The ignorant girl falls,
commits infanticide, and is incarcer-
ated or hanged — heaven forbid that
we should attempt to tell what she
would have done had shebeen edu-
cated ! — at any rate, she would not
have gone to prison, though her
guilt would not have been less.
Has the very great diffusion of
enlightenment among our people
during the hundred vears that we
have been an independent nation
made them more moral and more
worthy }
" The true test of civilization is
not the census, nor the size of cit-
ies, nor the crops — no, but the kind
of man the country turns out."
The Yankee is smarter than the
Puritan — is he as true a man.? Is
the inventor of a sewing-machine
or a ])atent bedstead as worthy as
he who believes in God and in lib-
erty against the whole earth with
all his heart and soul, even tliough
the lieart be hard and the soul nar-
row ? What compensation is there
in nil our philanthropies, transcen-
dentalisms, sentimentalities, patent
remedies for social evils, for the
loss of the strong convictions, rever-
ent belief, and simple dignity of
character that made our father?
men } Do we believe in 'the good-
ness and honesty of men as ther
did, or is it possible that we should ?
What can come of beliefs in over-
souls, whims, tendencies, abstrac-
tions, developments t If we were
shadows in a shadow-landfthis might
do.
Look at a famous trial where
the very aroma and fine essence
of our civilization was gathered:
What bright minds, keen intellects!
Poetry, eloquence, romance ; the
culture, the knowledge, the scieniifK:
theories, of the age — all are there.
And vet, when the veil is liftt:d» tve
simply turn away heart-sick and
nauseated. Not a hundred statis-
tical prison reports would reveal
the festering corruption and der]j
depravity, the coarse vulgarity and
utter heartlessness that is x\\txty
whatever the truth may be, if in
such surroundings it can be found
at all.
In Laing's Notes of a Trorcdkr
(p. 221) we find a most striking ex-
ample of almost incredible corrup-
tion united with great intellectiiaJ
culture. " In this way," he says.
" we must account for the singular
fact that the only positively immo-
ral religious sect of the present
times in the Christian world arose
and has spread itself in the roost
educated part of the most educaid
country in Europe — in and about
Konigsberg, the capital of the pro-
vince of Old Prussia. The Muck-
ers are a sect who combine lewd-
ness with religion. The conven-
ticles of this sect are frequented by
men and women in a state of nudi-
ty ; and to excite the animal pas-
sion, but to restrain its indulgence,
is said to constitute their rcliaiixis
exercise. Many of the highest no-
bility of the province, and two d
A Scqttcl of the Gladstone Controller sy.
727
the established clergy of the city,
besides citizens, artificers, and la-
dies, old and young, belong to this
sect; and two young ladies are
stated to have died from the conse-
quences of excessive libidinous ex-
citement. It is no secret associa-
tion of profligacy shunning the
light. It is a sect — according to
the declarations of Von Tippels-
kirch and of several persons of
consideration in Konigsberg who
had been followers of it them-
selves — existing very extensively
under the leadership of the estab-
lished ministers of the Gospel, Ebel
and Diestel, of a Count von Kaniz,
of a Lady von S , and of other
noble persons. . . . The system
and theory of this dreadful combi-
nation of vice with religion are, of
ccniTse, very properly suppressed.
. . . The sect itself appears, by Dr.
Bretscheider's account of it, to
have been so generally diffused
that he says * it cannot be be-
lieved that the public functionaries
were in ignorance of its existence;
but they were afraid to do their
duty from the influence of the
many principal people who were in-
volved in it.' "
But we are not the advocates of
ignorance. We will praise with
any man the true wortli and ines-
timable value of education. Even
mere mental training is, to our
thinking, of rare price. Water is
good, but without bread it will not
sustain life. Wine warms and glad-
dens the heart of man ; but if used
without care, it maddens and drives
to destruction. We are crying out
against the folly of the age which
would make the school-room its
church, education its sacrament,
and culture its religion. It is the
road to ruin. Culture is for the
few ; and what a trumpery patch-
work of frippery and fmery and
paste diamonds it must ever re-
main for the most of these ! For
the millions it means the pagan
debauch, the bacchanal orgy, and
mere animalism.
" The characters," wrote Goethe
— who was pagan of ti)e pagans and
" decidirter NiciU-Christ" — " whicli
we can truly respect have become
rarer. We can sincerely esteem
only that which is not self-seeking.
... I must confess to have found
through my whole life unselfisli
characters of the kind of which I
speak only there where I found a
firmly-grounded religious life; a
creed, which liad an unchangeable
basis, resting upon itself — not de-
pendent upon the time, its spirit, or
its science."
This foundation of a positive
religious faith is as indispensable
to national as to individual cliar-
acter, and without it the diffusion
of enlightenment cannot create a
great or lasting civilization. Re-
ligion ought to constitute the very
essence of all primary education.
It alone can touch the heart, raise
the mind, and evoke from their
brutish apathy the elements of
humanity, especially the reason;
and it is therefore the one indis-
pensable element in any right
system of national education. A
population unable to read or
write, but with a religious faith
and discipline, has before now con-
stituted, and may again constitute,
a great nation ; but a people with-
out religious earnestness has no
solid political character. Religion
is the widest and deepest of all
the elements of civilization ; it
reaches those whom nothing else
can touch ; but for the masses of
men there can be no religion with-
out thg authoritative teaching of a
church.
And now let us return to M. dc
728
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy,
Laveleye. " The general spread
of education/* lie says (p. 23), " is
indispensable to the exercTise eft" con-
stitutional liberty. . . . Ed-
ucation is the basis of national
liberty and prosperity."
In view of the facts that con-
stitutional liberty has existed, and
for centuries, in states in which
there was no " general spread of
education,'* and that '* the diffusion
of enlightenment " is found in our
own day to co-exist with the most
hateful despotisms, we might pass
on, without stopping to examine
more closely these loose and popular
])h rases ; but since tlie fallacies
which they contain form a part of
the culture-creed of modem pagan-
ism, and are accepted as indispu-
table truths by the multitude, they
have a claim upon our attention
which their assertion by Mr. Glad-
stone's friend could not give them.
There is no necessary connec-
tion between popular education
and civil liberty, as there is none
between the enlightenment and the
morality of a people. This is a
subject full of import — one which,
in this age and country, ought to
be discussed with perfect freedom
and courage. Courage indeed is
needed precisely here ; for to deny
that there is a God, to treat Christ
as a myth or a common man, to de-
claim against religion as supersti-
tion, to make the Bible a butt for
witticisms and fine points, to deny
future life and the soul's immor-
tality, to denounce marriage, to
preach communism, and to ridicule
whatever things mankind have
liitherto held sacred — this is not
only tolerable, it is praiseworthy
and runs with the free thought of
an enlightened and inquiring age.
But to raise a doubt as to, the su-
preme and paramount value of in-
tellectual training ; of its sovereign
efficacy in the cure of human ills :
of its inseparable alliance with free-
dom, with progress, with man'>
best interests, is pernicious heresy,
and ought not to be borne vitli
patiently. In our civilization,
through the action of majorities,
there is special difficulty in such
discussions, since with us nothing
is true except what is popular.
Majorities rule, and are therefore
right. With rare eloquence we de-
nounce tyrant kings and turn to
lick the hands of the tyrant people.
Whoever questions the wisdom
of the American people is not to
be argued with — he is to be pitied;
and therefore both press and pa^
pit, though they flaunt the banner
of freedom, are the servants of the
tyrant. To have no principles
but to write and speak what will
please the most and offend the fen-
est — this is the philosophy of free
speech. We therefore have no
independent, and consequently no
great, thinkers. It is dangerous not
to think with majorities and par-
ties ; for those who attempt to
break their bonds generally suc-
ceed, like Emerson, only in becom-
ing whimsical, weak, and incon-
clusive. It is not surprising, then,
that the Catholics, because they do
not accept as true or ultimate what
is supposed to be the final thought
and definite will of American ma-
jorities on the subject of educa-
tion, should be denounced, tlireal-
ened, and made a Trojan Horse of
to carry political adventurers into
the White House.
Nevertheless, the observant are
losing confidence in the theory,
full of inspiration to demagog]
and declaimers, that superstiii
and despotism must be founded
ignorance. In Prussia at this ni -
ment universal education co-exis »
with despotism. Where tyranuic I
"J
s
1
A Sequel of th e Gladstone Controversy.
729
governments take control of edu-
cation they easily make it their
allv.
Let us hear what Laing says of
the practical results of the Prussian
systen> of education, which it is so
much the fashion to praise.
•' If the ultimate object," he says, " of
all education and knowledge be to raise
man to the feeling of his own moral
-vroith, to a sense of his responsibility
Xo his Creator and to his conscience for
^▼ery act, to the dignity of a reflecting,
self-guiding, virtuous, religious member
of society, then the Prussian education-
al system is a failure. It is only a train-
ing from childhood in the conventional
<liscipline and submission of mind which
the state exacts from its subjects. It is
not a training or education which has
raised, but which has lowered, the human
character. . . . The social value or im-
portance of the Prussian arrangements for
diffusing national scholastic education
lias been evidently overrated ; for now
chat the whole system has been in the
fullest operation in society upon a whole
generation, we see morals and religion
In a more unsatisfactory state in this very
country than in almost any other in the
north of Europe ; we sec nowhere a
people in a more abject political and
^ivil condition) or with less free agency
in their social economy. A national edu-
cation which gives a nation neither reli-
gion, nor morality, nor civil liberty, nor
political liberty is an education not worth
having. ... If to read, write, cipher,
and sing be education, the Prussian
subject is an educated man. If to rea*
•on, judge, and act as an independent
free agent, in the religious, moral, and
social relations of man^to his Creator
and to his fellow-men, be the exercise of
the mental powers which alone deserves
the name of education, then is the Prus-
sian subject a mere drumboy in edu-
cation, in the cultivation and use of all
that regards the moral and intellectual
endowments of man, compared to one
of the unlettered population of a free
country. The dormant state of the pub-
lic mind on all affairs of public interest,
the acquiescence in a total want of po-
litical influence or existence, the intel-
lectual dependence upon the govern-
ment or its functionary in all the affairs
cf the community, the abject submission
to the want of freedom or free agency in
thoughts, words, or acts, the religious
thraldom of the people to forms which
they despise, the want of influence of re-
ligious and social principle in society,
justify the conclusion that the moral, re'
ligious, and social condition of the peo-
ple was never looked at or estimated by
those writers who were so enthusiastic
in their praises of the national education
of Prussia."
In spite of the continued pro-
gress of education, there is even
less liberty, religious, civil, and po-
litical, in Prussia to-day than when
these words were written, thirtv
years ago.
Nothing more dazzles the eyes
of men than great military success ;
and this, together with the habit
which belongs to our race of ap-
plauding whoever wins, has produc-
ed, especially in England and the
United States, where Bismarck is
looked upon, ignorantly enough, as
the champion of Protestantism, a
kind of blind admiration and awe
for whatever is Prussian. " Protes-
tant Prussia," boasts M. de Lave-
leye, " has defeated two empires,
each containing twice her own pop-
ulation, the one in seven weeks, the
other in seven months " ; and in the
new edition of Appleton*s Encyclo-
padia we are informed that these
victories are attributed to the supe-
rior education of her people. As
well might the tyranny of the gov-
ernment and the notorious unchas-
tity and dishonesty of the Prussians
be ascribed to their superior educa-
tion. Not to the general intelli-
gence of the people, but to the fact
that the whole country has been
turned into a military camp, and
that to the one purj^ose of war all
interests have been made subser-
vient, must we seek for an expla-
nation of the victories of Sadowa
and Sedan.
Who would pretend that the
'730
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
Spartans were in war superior to
the Athenians because they had a
more perfect system of education
and were more intelligent or had a
truer religion ? Or who would
think 01 accounting in tliis way for
the marvellous exploits of Attila
with his Huns, of Zingis Khan with
his Moguls, of 'i'amerlane with his
Tartars, of Mahniood, Togrul-Beg,
and Malek-Shah with their Turkish
hordes ?
In fact, it mny be said, speaking
Inrgcly and in general, that the his-
tory of war is that of the triumph
of stroll g and ignorant races over
those which have become cultivat-
ed, refined, and corrupt. Tl^e
Romans learned from their con-
quered slaves letters and the vices
of a more ])olished paganism. Bar-
barism is ever impending over the
civilized world. The wild and
rugged north is ever rushing down
upon the soft and cultured south:
ilie Scyihian upon the Mede, the
Persian, and the Egyptian ; the Ma-
cedonian upon (Greece, and thtn
uiK)n Asia and Africa; the Roman
Ujion (.'anhr.ge, and in turn falling
l.)cfore llu! men of the North — (loth,
Vandal, Hiin, Frank, and Gaul ; the
Mogul and the Tartar ui>on China
and India; the Turk upon South-
ern Kuro])e, Asia, and Africa; and
to-(lav. like black clouds of destinv,
the Russian hordes hancj over the
troubled governments of more edu-
cated P^ur^)]H\ Look at Italy dur-
iuLT the middle aires — the focus of
learnin-j; and the arts for all Chris-
tendom, and yet an easy prey for
.every barbaronsajiventurer ; and in
I'jigland the Ibiton yields to the
Saxon, who in turn falls before the
Norman. It woidd be truer to say
that Piussi I owes her military suc-
cesses tv) the ignorar.ce of !ier[)eople,
thouLih iliev nearlvall can read and
w;ite. Had she had to deal with
intelligent, enlightened, and
ing populations, she could \v.
made the country a camp
diers.
The Prussian policy of
and iron " has been carried
defiance of the wishes of tl
pie as expressed through th
resentatives, who were snuhl
scolded and sent back iu
though they were a j)ack of
boys; yet the people loo
in stolid indifference, and
the tax to be levied after ti
refused to grant it.
We will now follow M. dt
I eye a step farther.
** With regard to elemen
struction," he says, " the Pn
states are incomparably m
vanced than the Catholic,
land alone is no more thai
level with the latter, proba
cause the Anglican Churti
the reformed forms of worsl
most in common with the
of Rome."
If any one has gocni re.
j)raise education, and above
education of the peoi'le, c
we Catholics have. The I
C'hurch created tlie peoj/j
first preaclied the divine c
of the brotherhood and ev]'.:
all men before (iod, wiii
wrought and nuist continue
upon society until all men r
recognized as etpials bv t
She drew around woman lie
circle; from tiie slave sin
fetters and bade him be ii
lifted to her bosom the chil.
tized all humanity into the i
ble sacredness of Ciirist's di
she api)ealed, and still a})pea]
the tyranny of brute force a;
cess, in the name of the eten
erties of tlie soul, to Cioii.
martyrs were and .. i-: ilic n
of liberty ; and if she were r
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy,
731
day, all men would accept accom-
plished facts and bow before what-
ever succeeds.
The barbarians, who have devel-
*>ped into the civihzed peoples of
Kiirope, despised learning as they
contemned labor. War was their
business. The knight signed his
name with his sword, in blood ; the
pen, 1 ike the spade, was made for ser-
vile hands. 'J'o destroy this igno-
rant, idle life of pillage and feud, the
church organized an army, ui\^e
any the world had ever seen, unlike
any it will ever see outside her
pale — an army of monks, who, with
faith in Christ and the higher life,
believed in knowledge and in work.
'i'laey became the cultivators of the
mind and soil of Europe.
** The praise," says Hallam,
speaking of the middle ages, " of
h jvinaj oriciinaiiv established schools
belongs to some bishops and abbots
of the Villi century."
Ireland is converted and at once
becomes a kind of university for all
Europe. In England tlie episco-
pal sees became centres of learning.
Wherever a cathedral was built a
school with a library grew up under
its shadow. Pope Eugenius II., in
a council held in Rome in 826, or-
dered that schools should be estab-
lished throughout Christendom at
cathedral and parochial churches
and othersuitable places. The Coun-
cil of Mayence, in 81^, admonishes
parents that theyare in duty bound to
send their children to school. The
Synod of Orleans, in 800, enjoins
the erection in towns and villages
of schools for elementary instruc-
tion, and adds that no remunera-
tion shall be received except such
:is the parents voluntarily ofler.
Tl^e Third General Council of
Lateran, in 1 179, commanded that
in all cathedral churches a fund
should be set aside for the founda-
tion and support of schools for the
poor. Free schools were' thus first
established bv the Catholic Church.
The monasteries were the libraries
where the arts and letters of a civ-
ilization that had perished weie
carefully treasured up for the re-
kindling of a briglUer and belter
day.
i?s early as the Xlllh century
many of the universities of Europe
were fully organized. Italy look
the lead, with universities at Rome
Bologna, Padua, Naples, Pavia, and
Perugia — the sources
** Whence many rivulets have since beea turned.
O'er the garden Catholic to lead •
Their living watcn, and have fed its plants.'*
The schools founded at Oxford
and Cambrid<;e in the IXth and
Xth centuries had in the Xllth
grown to be universities. At Ox-
ford there were thirty thousand, at
Paris twentv-five thousand, and at
Padua twenty thousand students.
Scattered over Europe at the time
Luther raised his voice against the
church were sixty six universities.
"Time went on," says Dr. Newman,
speaking of the mcdixval universities;
*• a new state of things, intellectual and
social, came in ; the church was girlwi^h
temporal power ; the preachers of S.
Dominic were in the ascendant : now, at
length, wc may ask with curious interest,
did the church alter her ancient rule of
action, and proscribe intellccta:»l activity?
Just the contrary ; this is the very age of
universities ; it is the classical peiiod
of the schoolmen ; it is the splendid and
palmary instance of the wise policy and
large liberality of the church, as regards
philosophical inquiry. If there ever was
a lime when the intellect went wild, and
had a licentious revel, it was at the date
I speak of. When was there ever a more
curious, more meddling, bolder, keener,
more penetrating, more rationalistic ex-
ercise of tlie reason than at that time?
What class of questions did that subtle
metaphysical spirit not scrutiniac? What
premise was allowed without examina-
tion ? What principle was not traced to
its first origin, and exhibited in its most
732
A Sequel of the Gladstone Contrauersy.
naked shape? . . . Well, I repeat, here
was something which came somewhat
nearer to theology than physical research
comes ; Aristotle was a somewhat more
serious foe then, beyond all mistake, than
Bacon has been since. Did the church
take a high hand with philosophy then ?
No, not though that philosophy was me-
taphysical. It was a time when she had
temporal power, and could have extermi-
nated the spirit of inquiry with fir^ and
swcrd ; but she determined to put it
down \iy argument ; she said: *Two can
play at that, and my argument is the bet-
ter.' She sent her controversialists into
the philosophical arena. It was the Do-
minican and Franciscan doctors, the
greatest of them being S. Thomas, who
in those mediaeval universities fought the
battle of revelation with the weapons of
heathenism."*
To find fault with the church
because popular education in the
middle ages was not organized and
general as it has since become
would be as wise as to pick a quar-
rel with the ancient Greeks for not
having railroads, or with the Ro-
mans because they had no steam-
ships. Reading and writing were
not taught then universally as they
are now because it was physically
and morally impossible that they
should have been. Without steam
and the printing-press, common-
school systems would not now be
practicable, nor would the want of
them be felt. We have great reason
to be thankful that the art of print-
ing was invented and America dis-
covered before Luther burned the
Pope's bull, else we should be con-
tinually bothered with refuting the
cause-and- effect historians who
would have infallibly traced both
these events to the Wittenberg con-
flagration.
All Europe was still Catholic
when gunpowder drove old Father
Schwarz*s pestle througli the ceil-
ing, when Gutenberg made his
♦ TktItUa of a University^ p. 469.
printing-press, when Columba^
landed in the New World; and
these are the forces which have
battered down the castles of feu-
dalism, have brought knowledge
within the reach of all, and some
measure of redress to the masses
of the Old World, by affording
them the jx)ssibility and opportn-
nity of liberty in the New. These
forces would have wrought to even
better purpose had Protestantism
n^ broken the continnity and
homogeneity of Christian civiliza-
tion. The Turk would not rest
like a blight from heaven upon
the fairest lands of Europe and
Asia, nor the darkness of bo
thenism upon India and China, bad
the civilized nations remained of
one faith ; and thus, though our
own train might have rushed les^
rapidly down the ringing gToovcs
of change, the whole human race
would have advanced to a Icvd
which there now seems but little
reason to hope it will ever reach.
But to come more nearly to M.
de Laveleye's assertion that the
Protestant states are incompara-
bly more advanced than the Ca-
tholic, with the exception of Eng-
land, which in this matter is at
least up to the standard of Catho-
lic countries. In the report of
the Commissioner of Education for
1874 there is a statistical account
of the state of education in for-
eign countries which throws some
light upon this .subject.
The school attendance, compared
with the population, is in Austria ;is
I to 10; in Belgium, as r to lo'-;
in Ireland, as i to i6 ; in Catl> li<
Switzerland, as i to i6 ; in Eng-
land, as I to 17. In Bavaria it t^
as I to 7, upon the authority of
Kay, in his Social Condition of tki
People in England and Eurofe
Catholic Austria, Bavaria, Belgium,
A Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy.
733
and Ireland have proportionately a
larger school attendance than Pro-
testa.nt England. England and
Wales (report of 1874), with a
population of 22,712,266, had a
school population of 5,374,700, of
^irliotn only about half were regis-
tered, and not half of these at-
tended with sufficient regularity
to bring grants to their schools.
Ireland, with a population of
5,41 1,416, had on register 1,006,5^1,
or nearly half as many as EnglAd
and Wales, though her population
is not a fourth of that of these two
countries. *' The statistical fact,"
says Laing, speaking of Rome as it
was under the popes, *' that Rome
has above a hundred schools more
than Berlin, for a population little
more than half that of Berlin, puts
to flight a world of humbug about
systems of national education car-
Tied on by governments and their
moral effects on society. ... In
Catholic Germany, in France, Italy,
and even Spain, the education of
the common people in reading,
writing, arithmetic, music, manners,
and morals, is at least as generally
diffused and as faithfully promoted
by the clerical body as in Scotland.
Il is, by their own advance, and not
by keeping back the advance of the
people, that the popish {sic) priest-
hood of the present day seek to
keep ahead of the intellectual pro-
gress of the community in Catholic
lands ; and they might, perhaps, re-
tort on our Presbyterian clergy,
and ask if they, too, are in their
countries at the head of the intel-
lectual movement of the age. Edu-
cation is in reality not only not re-
pressed, but is encouraged, by the
popish church, and is a mighty in-
strument in its hands, and ably
used."*
Professor Huxley s testimony is
confirmatory of this admission of
Laing. "It was my fortune," he says,
"some time ago to pay a visit to
one of the most important of the
institutions in which the clergy of
the Roman Catholic Church in these
islands are trained ; and it seemed
to me that the difference between
these men and the comfortable
champions of Anglicanism and Dis-
sent was comparable to tlie differ-
ence between our gallant Volun-
teers and the trained veterans of
Napoleon's Old Guard. The Ca-
tholic priest is trained to know his
business and do it effectually. The
professors of the college in ques-
tion, learned, zealous, and determin-
ed men, permitted me to speak
frankly with them. We talked like
outposts of opposed armies during
a truce — as friendly enemies; and
when I ventured to point out the
difficulties their students would
have to encounter from scientific
thought, they replied : * Our church
has lasted many ages, and has pass-
ed safely through many storms.
The present is but a new gust of
the old tempest, and we do not
turn out our young men less fitted
to weather it than they have been
in former times to cope with the
difficulties of those times.' " *
" It is a common remark," says
Kay, " of the operatives of Lanca-
shire, and one which is only too
true : * Your church is a church for
the rich, but not for the poor. It
was not intended for such people
as we are.' The Roman church is
much wiser than the English in this
respect. ... It is singular to ob-
serve how the priests of Romanist
{sic) countries abroad associate
with the poor. I have often seen
them riding with the peasants in
* Notu 9/ a TrmvtlUr. ^. foa, 403.
*Lay Sfrm^tu, p. 6t.
734
The Seven Fridays in Lent,
their carts along the roads, eating
with them in their houses, sitting
with them in the village inns, min-
gling with them in their village fes-
tivals, and yet always preserving
their authority."*
With us, too, the masses of the
people are fast abandoning Protes-
tantism. There is no Catholic
country in Europe in which the so-
cial condition of the masses is so
wretched as in England, the repre-
sentative Protestant country. For
three hundred years, it may be said,
the Catholic Church had no exist-
ence there. The nation was exclu-
sively under Protestant influence ;
and vet the lower classes were suffer-
ed to remain in stolid ignorance,
until they became the most degrad-
ed population in Christendom.
* The Social Condition, etc^ vol. i. p. 49(X
(i
It has been calculated," says
Kay, writing in 1850, ** that there
are at the present day, in England
and Witles, nearly 8,000,000 persons
who cannot read and write." ITiii
was more than half of the whole:
population at that time. But this
is not the worst. A population
ignorant of reading and writing may
nevertheless, to a certain extent, be
educated through religious teaching
ai^ influence ; but these unhaj>py
ctWtures were left, helpless and
hopeless, to sink deeper and deeper
beneath the weight of their degrada-
tion, without being brought intocon-
tact with any power that could re-
fine or elevate them; and iftheircon-
dition has somewhat improved in the
last quarter of a century, this is no
more to be attributed to Protestant-
ism than the Catholic Emancipation
Act or the Atlantic cable.
THE SEVEN FRIDAYS IN LENT.
First, thy most holy Passion, dearest Lord,
Doth set the keynote of our love and tears ;
And then thy holy Crown of Thorns appears —
Strange diadem for thee, of lords the Lord !
The holy Lance and Nails we ,clasp and hoard :
What pierced thee sore heals sin-sick souls to-day ;
Then 'thy Five Wounds we glorify for aye —
Hands, feet, and broken Heart, beloved, adored.
Now tears of bitter grief flow fast like rain :
Our Lord's most Precious Blood for us flows fast.
Alas ! what tears of ours, what love, what pain.
Can match that tide of blood and love and woe ?
Mother, we turn to thy Seven Griefs at last ;
Teach us to stand, with thee, the cross below.
Are You My Wife t
735
ARE YOU MY WIFE?
BY TKF AUTHOR OF " F AMS BSFORS THE WAR," "NUMBER THIRTEEN/' " PIUS VI.," KTC.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SEARCH NEARLY OVER.
It was one of those exquisitely
lovely mornings that we sometimes
see in early spring. The night liad
been frosty, and had liurried to
ttieet the dawn, leaving her moon-
light raantle behind her, frozen to
silver, on every field or hill-side.
The sky was of a heavenly blue —
liquid turquoise, swept with feath-
ery dashes of pink, that set off
the glistening landscape like a vel-
vet curtain spread for the purpose.
The sun was shining through a
pearly mist that hung, a silver
gauze veil, in the air and made
everything look dreamy and vision-
like. The meadows were silvered
with frost ; so were the hedges —
every twig and thorn finished like
a jewel. The trees stood up like
immense bouquets of filigree against
the pink and blue curtain. No
wonder Franceline, who had been
awake and watching the sunrise
from her window, stole a march on
Angelique, and hastened out- to
enjoy the beauty of the morning.
It was impossible it could hurt her ;
it was too lovely to be unkind. Jhit
besides tliis outward incentive,
there was another one that impel-
led her to tlie daring escapade.
She felt an irresistible longing to
^o to church this morning — one of
ihose longings that she called pre-
sentiments, and seldom rejected
without having reason to regret it.
It was not that she was uneasy, or
alarmed, or unhappy about any-
thing. Nothing had occurred to
awake the dormant fires that were
still smouldering — though she
thought them dead — and impel her
to seek for strength in a threatened
renewal of the combat. Sir Simon's
disappearance the morning after
the dinner-party, some few d.jys
ago, had not surprised her ; that
was his way, and this time she had
been prepared for it. It was true
that ever since then her fiuhcr b.ad
been more preoccupied, more in-
separable from his work. It was a
perfect mania with him for the last
three or four days. He scarcely let
the pen out of his hand from morn-
ingtill night. He seemed, moreover,
to have got to a point where he
could no longer use her as an
amanuensis, but must write himself.
Franceline was distressed at the
change; it deprived her of the
pleasure of helping him and of tlieir
daily walk together, which had of
late become ih^ principal enjoy-
ment of her life. But he could not
be persuaded to go beyond the gar-
den gate, and tiien only for ten
minutes to take a breath of air.
He was in a hurry to get back to
his studv, as if tlie minutes were so
much iT;old wasted. Franceline wa.s
obliged to accept this sudden alter-
ation in his habits, with the assur-
ance that it would not be for long;
that the great work was drawing to
i
736
Are You My Wifef
a close ; and that, when it was finish-
ed, he would be free to walk with
her as much as she liked, and in
more beautiful places than Duller-
ton. This last she did not believe.
No place could ever be so beauti-
ful as tliis familiar one, because
none would ever be hallowed by
the same sweet early memories, or
sanctified by the same sufferings
and regrets. There was a spirit
brooding over these quiet sylvan
slopes that could never dwell, for
her, else wli ere. She looked around
her at the leafless woods that lay
white and silent in the near dis-
tance, and at the river winding
slowly towards them like an azure
anil encircling the silver fields, and
she sighed at the thought of ever
leaving them. The sigh escaped
from her lips in a little column of
sapphire smoke ; for the air was as
clear as crystal, but it was cold too,
and the bell was already ringing ;
so slie drew her shawl closer and
luirried on. What was that fly do-
ing before the presbytery door.^
Who could have business with Fa-
ther Henwick at such an unearthly
hour as seven a.m. ? When people
live in a small place where every-
body's life is a routine as well
known as their own to everybody
else, the smallest trifle out of the
usual way is magnified into a'.i
event. Franceline was not very
curious by nature ; she passed the
mysterious fly with a momentary
glance of interest, and then dismiss-
ed it from her thoughts. The
little white-washed church was
never full on week-days, its congre-
gation being mostly of the class
who can only afford the luxury of
going to church on Sundays. A
few kindly glances greeted her as
she walked up to her place near the
sanctuary. Since her health had
become delicate, it was a rare oc-
currence to see her there daring the
week, so her presence was looked
on as of good omen. She ansirered
the welcoming eyes with a sweet,
grateful smile, and then knelt dov&
and soon forgot them.
We talk of magnetic atmospheres
where instinct warns us of a pres-
ence without any indication from
our senses. I don't know whether
Franceline believed in such infla-
ences ; but her attitude of rapt de-
votion as she knelt before the altar,
seemingly unconscious of anything
earthly near her, her soul drawn
upwards through her eyes and fil-
ed on the Unseen, did not suggest
that there was any human pre-
sence within reach which had power
to move her. When Father Hen-
wick had left the altar, she rose
and went to the sacristy door to
ask if she could see him. She
wanted to speak to him about a
poor woman in the village. It was
not the clerk, but Father Henwick
himself, who came to answer her
message. He did not welcome bis
young penitent in his 'jsual gra-
cious, affectionate manner, but ask-
ed sharply " who gave her leave to
be out at that hour ?"
"The morning was so sunny I
thought it would do me no harm to
come," replied the culprit, with a
sudden sense of having done some-
thing very wicked.
" You had no business to think
about it at all ; you should not
have come witliout your fathers
permission. Go home as fast as
you can."
Franceline was turning away,
when he called her back.
" Come this way ; you can go
out through the house," Then he
added in a mollified tone : ** Yoo
foolish child ! I hope you are
warmly clad.' Keep your chest
well covered, and hold your muf
Are You My Wife f
717
up to your month. Be off, now, as
quick as you can, and let me have
no more of these tricks !,"
He shook hands with her, half-
smiling, half-frowning, and, opening
the s:icristy door that led into
the presbytery, hurried her away.
Franceline was too much discom-
fited by the abrupt dismissal to
conjecture why she was hustled out
through the house instead of being
allowed to go back through the
church, the natural way, and quite
as short. She could not under-
stiind why Father Hen wick should
have shown such annoyance and
surprise at the sight of her. This
was not the first time she had play-
td the trick on them at home of
roniing out to church on a sunny
morning, and it had never done her
any harm. Slic was turning the
riddle in her mind, as she passed
through the little sitting-room into
the entry, when she saw the front
door standing wide open, and a
^enileraan outside speaking to the
t\y-man. The moment he per-
ceived Franceline he raised his hat
and remained uncovered while he
spoke.
** Good-morning, mademoiselle!
Mow is M. de la Bourbonais ?"
" Thank you, my father is quite
well."
She and Glide looked at each
other as they exchanged this com-
monplace greeting; but they did.
not shake liands. Neither could
probably have explained what the
feelins: was that held them back.
Franceline went on her way, and
Clide de Winton entered the pres-
bytery, each bearing away the sound
<»f the other's voice and the sweet-
^ic?s of that rapid glance with a
terrible sense of joy.
IVanceline's heart beat high with-
in her as she walked on. What
rii'ht had it to do so ? How dared
VOL. XXIT. — 47 •
it .? Poor, fluttering heart ! No bit-
ter upbraidings of indignant con-
science, no taunts of womanly pride,
could make it stop. The more she
tried to silence it, the louder it
cried. She was close by The Lilies,
and it was crying out and throb-
bing wildly still. She could not
go in and face her fiitlier in this
state ; she must gain a few minutes
to collect and calm herself. The
snow-drops grew in great profusion
on a bank in the park at tiie back
of the cottage. RaymoVid was
fond of wild flowers ; she would go
and gather him some : this would
account for her delay. She laid
her muff on the grass. It was wet
with the hoar-frost melting in the
sun ; but Franceline did not see
this. She stooped down and began
to pluck the snow-drops. It was a
congenial task in her present frame
of mind. Snow-drops had always
been favorites with her. In her
childish days of innocent panthe-
ism she used to fancy that flowers
had spirits, or some instinct that en-
abled them to enjoy and to suffer,
to be glad in the sunshine and un-
happy in the cold and the rain. She
fancied that perfume was their lan-
guage, and that they conversed in
it as birds do in ^ongs and chirp-
ings. She used to be sorry for the
flowers that had no perfume, and
called them "the dumb ones," con-
necting their fate in some vague,
pitying way with tliat of two deaf
and dumb little children in the vil-
lage. But the snow-drops she pit-
ied most of all. They came in the
winter-time, when everything was
cold and dreary and there were no
kindred flowers to keep them com-
pany ; no roses ; no bees and but-
terflies to make music for them;
no nightingales to sing them to
sleep in the scented summer nights ;
no liquid, starry skies and sweet,
738
Are You My Wife?
warm dews to kiss them as they
slept; their pale, ascetic little slum-
bers were attuned to none of these
fragrant melodies, and Franceline
loved them all the more for their
loveless, lonely life. But she was
not pitying them now, as, one by
one, she plucked the drooping bells
and the bright green leaves under
the silver hedge ; she was envying
them and listening to them.
Every flower and blade of grass
has a message for us, if we could
;but hear it ; the woods and fields
are all tablets on which the primi-
tive scriptures of creative love are
written for us. " Your life is to be
like ours," the snow-drops were
whispering to Franceline. *' We
^dwell alone in cold and silence — so
must you ; we have no sister flow-
ers to make life joyous, no roses to
gladden us with their perfume and
their beauty — neither shall you ;
roses are emblems of love, and
love is not for you. You must be
content with us. We are the em-
blems of purity and hope ; take us
to your heart. We are the heralds
of the spring; we bring the prom-
ise, but we do not wait for its ful-
filment. You are happier than we ;
you will not have the summer here,
but you know that it will come
hereafter, and thai the flowers and
fruits will be only the more beauti-
ful for the waiting being prolonged.
Look upwards, sister snow-drop,
and take courage." Franceline lis-
tened to the mystic voice, and, as
she did so, large tears fell from her
eyes on the white bells of the mes-
sengers, as4)ure as the crystal dew
that stood in frozen tears upon
their leaves.
M. de la Bourbonais had not
heard her go out; and when she
came in and lianded him her bou-
quet, fresh-gathered, he took for
granted she had gone out for
the purpose, and did not chide her
for the slight imprudence. Ange-
lique was not so lenient ; she wa$
full of wrath against the truant, 2 nij
threatened to go at once and in-
form on her, which Franceline re-
marked she might have done aa
hour ago, if she had any such inten-
tion ; and then, with a kiss and two
arms thrown around the old wo-
man's mahogany neck, it was all
made right between them.
Fra-nceline did not venture out
again that day. She was afraid of
meeting Glide. She strove hard to
forget the morning's incident, to
stifle the emotions it had given rise
to, and to turn away her thoughts
from even conjecturing the possible
cause of Mr. de Winton's presence
at Dullerton and at Father Hen-
wick's. But strive as she might,
the thoughts would return, and her
mind would dwell on them. She
was horrified to see the effect thai
Glide's presence had had on her; to
find how potent his memory was
with her still, how it had stirred
the slumbering depths and broken
up the stagnant surface-calm of her
heart, filling it once more with wild
hopes and ardent longings that sbe
had fondly imagined crushed and
buried for ever. Was her hard-
earned self-conquest a sham after
all } She could not help fearing it
when she saw how persistently the
idea kept returning again and again
to her, banish it as she would:
" Had he come to tell Father Hen-
wick that he was free }'* Then sbe
wondered, if 't wore so, what Father
Henwick would do ; whether he
would come and see her immediate-
ly, or let things take their course
through Sir Simon and her father.
Then again she would discard this
notion as impossible, and see ah
sorts of evidence in the circum-
stances of the morning's episode to
Are You My Wife?
739
prove that it could not be. Why
should Father Henwick have tried
so hard to prevent their meeting, if
the one obstacle to it were remov-
ed ? and why should Glide have
been so restrained and distant when
she came upon him suddenly ? If
only she could ask this one ques-
tion and have it answered, France-
line thought she could go back
again to her state of stagnation, and
trample down her rebellious heart
into submission once more.
She slept very little that night,
and the next morning she deter-
mined that she would go out at
any risk. Sitting still all day in
this state of mind was unbearable ;
so about eleven o'clock, when the
sun was high and the frost melted,
she put on her bonnet and said she
was going for a walk to see Miss
Merrywig. As the day vstis fine and
she had not taken cold yesterday,
Angelique made no difficulty. Fran-
celine started off to the wood, and
was soon crushing the snow-drops
and the budding lemon-colored
primroses as she threaded her way
along the foot-paths.
For some mysterious reason which
no one could fathom, but which the
oldest inhabitant of the place re-
membered always to have existed,
you were kept an hour waiting at
Miss^Merrywig's before the door
was opened. You rang three times,
waited an age between each ring,
and then Keziah, the antediluvian
factotum of the establishment, came
limping along the passage, and, after
another never-ending interval of
unbarring and unbolting, you were
let in. It was not Keziah who
opened the door for Franceline this
morning; it was Miss Merrywig her-
self, shawled and bonneted, ready
to go out.
**0 my dear child! is it you?
I am so delighted to see you ! Do
come in ! No, no, I am not going
out. That is to say, I am going out.
It's the luckiest thing that you did
not come two minutes later, or you
would not have found me. I am
so glad ! No, no, you are not put-
ting me about the least bit in the
world. Come and sit down, and I'll
explain all about it. I cannot im-
agine what is keeping Keziah, and
she knows I am waiting to be off,
and that the negus will be getting
cold, though it was boiling mad, and
I haveovXs this moment put it into
the flask. But what can be keeping
her 1 It didn't so much matter; in
fact, it didn't matter at all, only I
have promised little Jemmy Torrens
— you know Mary Torrens' boy on
the green.? — well, \ promised him I
would make the negus for him my-
self and take it to him myself. He
won't take anything except from
me, poor little fellow ! You see he's
known me since I was a baby — I
mean since he was — and that's why,
I suppose ; and Keziah knows it,
and why she dallies so long I can-
not conceive ! She knows I can't
leave the house unprotected and
go off before she comes in — there
are so many tramps about, you see,
my dear. It is provoking of
Keziah!" .
" Let me take the negus to
Jemmy," said Franceline, when
there was a break in the stream
and she was able to edge in a word.
" I will explain why you could not
go.
"Oil! that's ///x/ like you to be
so kind, my dear ; but I promised^
you see, and I really must go my-
self. What can Keziah be about ?"
" Then go, and I will wait and
keep the house until either of you
comes back," suggested Franceline.
" Oh ! that is a bright idea. That
is as witty as it is kind. Well, then,
I will just run off. I shall find you
740
Are You My Wifet
here when I return. I won't be
twenty minutes away, and you can
amuse yourself looking over Robinr
son Crusoe till I come back ; here it
is !" And the old lady rooted out
a book from under a pile of all sorts
of odds and ends on the table,
and handed it to Franceline. ** Sit
down, now, and read that ; there's
nothing I enjoyed like that book
when I was your age, and, indeed, I
make a point of reading it at least
once every year regularly."
With this she took up her wine-
flask, well wrapped in flannel to
protect her from the scalding-hot
contents, and bustled away.
" If any one rings, am I to let them
in?" inquired Franceline, running
into the hall after her.
" Oh ! no, certainly not, unless
it happens to be Mr. Langrove ;
you would not mind opening the
door to //;///, would you .'"
"Not the least ; but how shall I
know it is he .?"
**You will be sure to hear the
footsteps first and the click of the
gate outside, and then run out and
peep through ////V," pointing to the
narrow latticed window in the en-
try'; "but you must be quick, or
else they will be close to the door
and see you."
Franceline promised to keep a
sharp lookout for the warning steps,
closed the door on Miss Merrywig,
and went back to Robinson Crusoe;
but she was not in a mood to enjoy
Friday's philosophy, so she sat
down and be2;an to look about her
in the queer little apartment. It
was much more like a lumber-room
than a sitting-room ; the large
roVind table in the middle was litter-
ed witli every description of rubbish
— the letters of two generations of
Miss Merrywig's correspondents,
old pamphlets, odds and ends of
ribbon and lace, little boxes, bags
of stale biscuits that were kept for
the pet dogs of her friends when
tliey came to visit her, quantities
cf china cats and worsted monkeys,
samplers made for her by great-
grandnieces, newspapers of the
year one, tracts and books of
hymns, all huddled pell-mell togeth-
er. Fifty years' smoke and lamp-
light had painted the ceiling all
over in dense black clouds, and the
cobwebs of innumerable defunct
spiders festooned the cornices.
The carpet had half a century ago
been bright with poppies and blue-
bells and ferns ; but these vanities,
like the memory of the unrighteous
man, had been blotted out, and had
left no trace behind them. France-
line was considering how singular it
was that anything so bright and sim-
ple and happy as Miss Merrywig
should be the presiding genius of
this abode of incongruous rubbish,
and wishing she could make a clean
sweep of it all, and tidy the place a
little, when her attention was rous-
ed by a sound of footsteps. She
ran out at once to look through the
lattice ; but she had waited too
long. There was only time to shrink
behind the door when the visitors
had come up and the bell was
sounding through the cottage.
There were two persons, if not
more ; she knew this by the foot-
steps. Presently some one spoke;
it was Mr. Charlton. He was
continuing, in a low voice, a con-
versation already begun. Then an-
other voice answered, speaking in
a still lower key ; but every word
was distinctly audible through the
open casement, which was so cov-
ered bv an outer iron bar and the
straggling stem of a japonica that
no one from the outside would ^^ee
that it was open, unless they looked
very close. The words Franceline
overheard had nothing in tbcm to
Are You My Wife t
741
make her turn pale; but the voice
was Chde de Winton's. What fatal-
ity was this that brought them so
near again, and yet kept them apart,
and condemned her to hide and
listen to him like an eavesdropper?
There was a pause after the first
ring. Mr. Charlton knew the ways
of the house; he said something
laughingly, and rang again. Then
they reverted to the conversation
that had been interrupted. Good
God ! did Franceline's ears de-
ceive her, or what were these words
she heard coupled with her father's
name } She put her hand to her
lips with a sudden movement to
stifle the cry that leaped up from
her heart of hearts. She heard
Glide giving an emphatic denial :
" I don't believe it. I tell you it is
Fonie mistake — one of those unac-
countable mistakes that we can't
explain or understand, but which
we know must be mistakes."
She could not catch what Mr.
Charlton said ; but he was evidently
dissenting from Glide, and muttered
something about "being convicted
on his own showing," v/hich the
other answered with an impatient
exclamation the drift of wliich
Franceline could not seize; nei-
ther could she make sense out of
the short comments that followed.
They referred to some facts or cir-
cumstances that were clear to the
speakers, but only bewildered her
more and more.
"It strikes me the old lady does
not mean to let us in at all this
time," said Mr. Charlton ; and he
gave another violent pull to the
bell.
" There can't be any one in the
house," said Clide, after a pause
that exhausted the patience of
both. ** We may as well come
away. I will call later. I must see
her before ..."
The rest of the sentence was
lost, as the two speakers walked
down the gravel-walk, conversing
in the same low tones.
Franceline did not move even
when the sound of their steps had
long died away. She seemed turn-
ed to stone, and did not stir from
the spot until Keziah came back.
She gave her a message for Miss
Merrywig, left the cottage, and wen't
home.
She found her father just as she
had left him — busy at his desk, with
books and papers strewn on tire
table beside him. She saw this
through the window, but did not
go in to him. She could not go at
once and speak to him as if no-
thing had ha])pened m the interval.
She went to her room, and remain-
ed there until dinner-time, and
then came down, half-dreading to
see some alteration in him corre-
sponding with what had taken place
in her own mind. But he was gen-
tle and serene as usual. No mental
disturbance was visible on his fea-
tures ; at least, she did not see it.
Looking at him, nevertlieless, with
perceptions quickened by what she
had heard since they parted, it
struck her that his eyes were sunk
and dim, as if from overwork and
want of sleep combined ; but there
was no cloud of shame or humilia-
tion on his brow. Never had that
dear head seemed so venerable,
never had such a halo of nobleness
and goodness encircled it, in his
daughter's eyes, as at this moment.
She did not tease him to come
out to walk with her, but asked
him to read aloud to her for an
hour while she worked. It was a
long lime — more than a week — since
they had had any reading aloud.
Raymond complied with the re-
quest, but soon returned to his
work
742
Are You My Wifef
Franceline expected that Father
Henwick would call, and kept ner-
vously looking out of the window
from time to time; but the day
wore on, and the evening, and he
did not come. She did not know
whether to be glad or sorry. She
was in that frame of feeling when
the gentlest touch of sympathy
would have stung her like the bite
of a snake. It was not sympathy
she wanted, but a voice to join
with her in passionate contempt for
the liars who had dared to slander
her fatiier, and in indignant denun-
ciation of the lie. She wanted to
fling it in the teeth of those who
had uttered it. If Fatlier Hen-
wick would help her to do this, let
him come ; if not, let him leave her
alone. Let no one come near her
with words of^ pity ; pity for her
now meant contempt for her father.
• She would resent it as a lioness
miglit resent the food that was
thrown to her in place of the cubs
she had been robbed of. No love
— no, not the best and noblest she
had ever dreamed of — would com-
pensate her for the absence of rev-
erence and respect for her father.
But Glide did not suspect him.
She had heard him indignantly
spurn the idea. "He no more
stole it than you did," he had
said. Stolen what? Would no
one come to tell her what it all
meant.? Would not Glide come.?
Was he still at Dullerton } Was
there any fear^-or hope } — of her
meeting him again if she went out.?
She might have gone with impunity.
Glide was far enough away, on a
very different errand from that
which had brought him yesterday
across her path.
On coming back to the Gourt
from his abortive attempt to see
Miss Merrywig, Glide found Stan-
ton in great excitement with a tele-
gram that had arrived for his mas-
ter that instant. It was from Sir
Simon, summoning him back by
the first train that started. Some
important news awaited him. He
did not wait to see Miss Merrywig,
but took the next train to London,
and arrived there in the early after
noon. The news that awaited him
was startling enough to justify
Sir Simon's peremptory summons
One of the detectives, whose saga-
city and coolness fitted him for deli-
cate missions of the kind, had been
despatched to gather information
in the principal lunatic asylums of
England and Scotland. He had
come that morning to tell Sir Si-
mon Harness that he thought he
had found Mrs. de Win ton in one
of them. Sir Simon went straight
to the place, and, after an interview
with the superintendent, telegraph-
ed for Glide, as we have seen.
It was an old-fashioned Eliza-
bethan manor-house in the suburbs
of London, situated in the midst of
grounds almost large enough to be
called a park. There was nothing
in the outward aspect of the place
to suggest its real character. Every-
thing was bright and peaceful and
well ordered as in the abode of a
wealthy private family. The gar-
dens were beautifully kept ; the
shrubbery was trim and neat;
summer-houses with pretty climb-
ing plants rose in shady places, in-
viting ti)e inmates of the fine old
mansion to sit out of doors and en-
joy the sunshine unmolested; for
there was sunshine in this early
spring-time, and here in this shel-
tered spot some bits of red and
gold and blue were peeping through
the tips of closed flower-cups. No-
thing externally hinted at the dis-
cord and disorder that reigned in so
many human lives within the walls.
Are You My Wife?
743
The sight of the place was soothing
to Glide. He had so often pictur-
ed to himself another sort of dwell-
ing for his unhappy Isabel that it
was a great relief to him to see this
well-ordered, calm abode, and to
think of her being a resident there.
A lady-like matron received him,
and conversed with him kindly and
sensibly while they were waiting
for the doctor to come in. The
latter accosted him with the same
reassuring frankness of manner.
"I hope," he said, "that your
informant has not exaggerated mat-
ters, as that class of people are so
apt to do, and that you are expecting
to see the right person. All I dare
say to you is that you may hope;
the points of coincidence are strik-
ing enough to warrant hope, but by
no means such as to establish a cer-
tainty."
" I am too much taken by sur-
prise to have arrived at any conclu-
sion," replied Glide ; " and I have
been too often disappointed to do
so in a hurry. Until I see and
speak to the patient I can say no-
thing."
** You can see her at once. As
to speaking to her, that is not so
easy. The sun is clouding over.
That is unlucky at this moment."
His visitor looked surprised.
" Oh 1 I forgot that I had not ex-
plained to you the nature of the
delusion which this lady is suffer-
ing from," continued the medical
man. ** It is one of the most poetic
fancies that madness ever engen-
dered in a human brain. She is
enamored of the sun, and fancies
herself beloved of hiili ; she be-
lieves him to be a benign deity
whose love she has been privileged
to win, and which she passionately
responds to. But there is more
suffering than joy in this belieT.
She fancies that when the sun shines
he is pleased with her, and that
when he ceases to shine he is angry ;
the sunbeams are his smiles and
the warmth his kisses. At such
times she will deck herself out with
flowers and gay colors, and sit and
sing to her lover by the hour, pre-
tending to turn away her face and
hide from him, and going through
all the pretty coyness of love. Then
suddenly, when the sun draws be-
hind a cloud, she will burst into
tears, fling aside her wreath, and
give way to every expression of
grief and despair. It is at such
moments, when they are prolonged,
that the crisis is liable to become
dangerous. She flings herself on
the ground, and cries out to her
lover to forgive her and look on
her kindly again, or she will die.
Very often she cries herself to sleep
in this way. I fear you have come
at an unfortunate moment, for the
sun seems quite clouded ; however,
he may come out again, and then
you will get a glimpse of the patient
at her best."
He rose and led the Avay up-
stairs along a softly-carpeted cor-
ridor with doors opening on either
side. Pointing to one, he motioned
Glide to advance. One of the
panels was perforated so as to admit
of the keeper's seeing what went'
on inside when it was necessary to
watch the patient, without irritat-
ing her by seeming to do so or re-
maining in the room. At first the
occupant was standing up at the
window, her hands clasped, while
she conversed with herself or some
invisible companion in low tones
of entreaty. Then, uttering a
feeble cry, she turned mournfully
away, laid aside the flowers that
decked her long black hair, and»
taking a large black cloak, drew it
over her dress, and sat down in a
dark corner of the room, with her
744
An You My Wife f
face to the wall, crying to herself
like a child. Glide watched her go
through all this with growing emo-
tion. He had not yet been able
to catch a glimpse of her face, but
the small, light figure, the wayward
movements, the streaming black
hair, all reminded him strikingly
of Isabel. The voice was too in-
articulate, so far, for him to pro-
nounce on its resemblance with
any certainty ; but the low, plain-
tive tones fell on his ear like the
broken bars of an unforgotten
melody. He strained every nerve to
see the features. But, stay ! She is
moving. She has drawn away her
hands from her face, and has turned
it towards him. The movement
did not, however, dispel his doubts;
it increased them. It was almost
impossible to discover any trace
of beauty in that worn, haggard
face, with its sharp features, its
eyes faded and sunk, and from
which the tears streamed in torrents,
as if they were melting away in
brine. The skin was shrivelled
like an old woman's — one, at least,
double the a<j;e that Isabel would
be now. Was it possible that this
wreck could be the bright, beauti-
ful girl of ten years a.i^o?
"Arc_)w/my wife?" was Glide's
mental exclamation, as he looked
at the sad spectacle, and then, with
a shudder, turned away.
*' I see you are unable to arrive
at anv conclusion," said the doctor
when thev were out of ear-shot in
an adjoining room.
" I will sav nothinii till I have
spoken to her," replied the young
man evasively. " When can I do
this.^"
"I cannot possibly fix a time.
She is not in a mood to be ap-
proached now ; any violent shock
in her present state might have a
fatal result. It would, in all pro-
bability, quench for ever the fe
spark of light that still rem;
and might bring on a crisis w
no skill could alleviate. On
other hand, if we could apply
test at the right nioment, the e
might be unexpectedly benef
I say unexpectedly, because
my own part, I have not the si
est hope of any such result."
" Has her memory quite i
or does she recall any passage
her past life accurately ?"
"Not accurately, I fancy;
seems to have some very vivid
pressions of the past, but win
they be clear or not I cannot
The balance of the mind is, 1
lieve, too deeply shaken for c
ness, even on isolated point
survive in any of the faci
She talks frequently of going
a great waterfall with her r
and describes scenery in a waj
rather gave me a hope ona
spoke to her guardian, how
and he said she had never
near a waterfall in her life; tl
was some picture which had ;
rentlv dwelt in her imnc:inatior
*' He might have his own re;
for deceiving you in that resp
observed Glide. **His name,
sav, is Par . , . }
'" Percival— Mr. Percival."
" Humph ! When people ch
their names, they sometimes fi
convenient to retain the ini
remarked Glide.
He went home and desired !
ton to look out for a lodgir
near as possible to the asylum
tolerably habitable one was f
without delav, and he and his
installed themselves there at <
The very next day he receiv
letter from Sir Simon Harnes!
forming him that Lady Reb
seemed this time in earnest a
betaking herself to a better wi
Are You My Wife?
745
and had desired him, Sir Simon,
to be sent for immediately. The
French dame de compagnie who
wrote to him said they hardly ex-
pected her to get through the week.
M. de la Bourbonais had never
been a social man since he lived at
Dullerton. He said he did not
care for society, and in one sense
this was true. He did not care for
it unless it was composed of sympa-
thetic individuals; otherwise he pre-
ferred being without it. He did
not want to meet and talk with his
fellow-creatures simply because they
were his fellow-creatures ; there
must be some common bond of in-
terest or sympathy between them
and him, or else he did not want to
see them. When, in the early days
at Tlie Lilies, Sir Simon used to
remonstrate with him on being
so "sauvage," and wonder how he
could beJir the dulness, Raymond
would reply that no dulness op-
pressed him like uncongenial com-
pan3\ Pie had no sympathies in
common with the people about the
neighborhood, and so he would
have no pleasure in associating
with them. Theje was truth in
this; but Sir Simon knew that the
count's susceptible pride had in-
fluenced him also. He did not want
rich people to see his poverty, if
they were not refined and intelli-
gent enough 19 respect it and value
what went along with it. He had
studiously avoided cultivating any
intimacies beyond the few we know, '
and had so persistently kept aloof'
from the big houses round about
that they had accepted his deter-
mination not to go beyond mere
acquaintanceship, and never stop-
l^ed to speak when they met him
out walking, but bowed and passed
on. But of late Raymond began
to feel quite differently about all
this. He longed to see these dis-
tant acquaintances as if they had
been so many near friends ; to meet
their glance of kindly, if not cor-
dial, recognition ; to receive the
homage of their passing salutation.
It was the dread of seeing these
hitherto valueless greetings refused
that prevented him stirring beyond
his own gate. He marvelled him-
self at the void that the^ absence of
them was making in his life. He
did not dream they had filled such
a space in it ; that the reflection of
his own self-respect in the respect
of others had been such a strength
and such a need to him. Up to
this time Franceline had more than
satisfied all his need of society at
home, with the pleasant periodical
addition of Sir Simon's presence,
while his work had amply supplied
his intellectual wants; but suddenly
he was made aware of a new need —
something undefined, but that he
hungered for with a downright phy-
sical hunger.
Franceline's spirit and heart were
too closely bound up in her father's
not to feel the counter-pang of this
mental hunger. She could not
help watching him, though she
strove not to do it, and, above all,
not to let him see that she was
watching him. She might as well
have tried not to draw her brcnth
or to stop tlie pulsations of her
heart. Her eyes would f^isten on
him when he was not looking, and
she could not but see that the ex-
pression of his face was changed.
A hard, resolved look had come
over it ; his eye-brows were always
protruded now, and his lips drawn
tight together under the gray fringe
of his mustache. She knew every
turn of his features, and saw that
what had once been a passing
freak under some sudden thought
or puzzling speculation in his work
746
Are You My IVifef
had now become a settled habit.
She longed to speak ; to invite him
to speak. It would have been so
imich easier for both ; it would light-
en the burden to them so much if
tliey could bear it together, instead
of toiling under it apart. But Ray-
mond was silent. It never crossed
his mind for a moment that France-
line knew his secret. If he had
known it, would he have spoken ?
Sometimes the poor child felt the si-
lence was unbearable; that at any
cost she must break it and know the
truth of the story which had reach-
ed her in so monstrous a form.
But the idea that her father knew
possibly nothing of it kept her
back. But supposing he was silent
only to spare her } Perhaps he
was debating in his own mind what
the effect of tiie revelation would
be on her ; wondering if she, too,
woulxd join with his accusers, or,
even if slie did not do this, whether
she might not be ashamed of a
father who was branded as a thief.
When these thoughts coursed
through her mind, Franceline felt
an almost irresistible impulse to
rush and fling her arms around his
neck and tell him how she venerat-
ed him, and how she scorned with
all her might and main the envious,
malignant fools who dared to so
misjudge him. But she never
yielded to the impulse ; the inward
conflict of longings and shrinkings
and passionate, tender cries of her
heart to his made no outward sicn.
Raymond sat writing away at his
desk, and Franceline sat by the fire
) or at tlie window reading and work-
ing, day after day. The idea occur-
red to her more than once that she
would write to Sir Simon ; but she
never did. She did not dare open
her heart to Father Henwick. How
could she bring herself to tell him
that her father was accused Of theft }
It was most probable — she hoped
certain — that the abominable sus-
picion had not travelled to his cars;
and if so, she could not speak of it.
This was not her secret ; it was no
breach of confidence towards hei
spiritual father to be silent, and the
selfish longing to pour out her filial
anger and oiltraged love into a
sympathizing ear should not hurry
her into a betrayal of what was,
even in its falsity, humiliating to
Raymond. It was hard to refrain
from speech when speech would
have been a solace ; but Franceline
knew that the sacrifice of the cup
of cold water has its reward, jusi
as the bestowal has. Peace cones
to us on surer and swifter wing
when we go straight to God for
it, without putting the sympath?
of creatures between us and his
touch.
Mr. Lan grove had never been a
frequent visitor at The Lilies; but
Franceline never remembered him
to have been so long absent as now,
and she could not but see a striking
coincidence in the fact. She kneir
he had been one of the party at
Dullerton that night; and if, as she
felt certain, that had been the oc-
casion of the extraordinary mistake
she had heard of, the vicar, of
course, knew all about it. He be-
lieved her father had committed a
theft, and was keeping aloof from
him. Did everybody at Dullerton
know this.^ Mr. Langrove was
not a man to spread evil reports in
any shape. Franceline knew him
well enough to be sure of that ; but
her father's reputation was evident-
ly at the mercy of less charitable
tongues. She did not know that
the six witnesses had promised Sir
Simon to keep silence for his sake :
but if she had known it, it would
not have much reassured her. A
secret that is known to six people
Are You My Wife t
747
can scarcely be considered safe.
The six may mean to guard it, and
may only speak of it among them-
selves and in whispers; but it is
astonishing how far a whisper will
travel sometimes, especially when
it is malignant. A vague impres-
sion had in some inexplicable
way got abroad that the count had
done something which threw him
under a cloud. The gentlemen of
the neighborhood were very discreet
about it, and had said nothing posi-
tively to be taken hold of, but it
had leaked out that there was a
screw loose in that direction.
Young Charlton had laughed at the
notion of his friend Anwyll think-
ing of Mile, de la Bourbonais naws
and the emphasis and smile which
accompanied the assurance express-
ed pretty clearly that there was
something amiss which had not
been amiss a little while ago.
Franceline had gone out for her
usual mid-day walk in tlie park. It
was the most secluded spot where
she could t<ake it, as well as warm
and sheltered. She was walking
near the pond ; the milk-white swans
were sailing towards her in tfie sun-
light, expecting the bits of bread
she had taken a fancy to bring
them every day at this hour, when
she saw Mr. Lan grove emerge from
behind a large rockery and step
out into the avenue. She trembled
as if the familiar form of her old
friend had been a wild animal
creeping out of the jungle to
pounce upon her. What would he
do? Would he pass her by, or
stop and just say a few cold words
of politeness? The vicar did not
keep her long in suspense.
** Well ! here you are enjoying
the sunshine, I see. And how are
you ?'* he said, extending his h7.nd
in the mild, affectionate way that
Franceline was accustomed to, but
had never thought so sweet before.
" Is the cough quite gone ?"
" Not quite ; but I am better,
thank you. Ang^lique says I am,
and she knows more about it than
I do," replied the invalid playfully.
" How is everybody at the vicar-
age?"
** So-so. Arabella has one of
her bad colds, and Godiva is suffer-
ing from a toothache. It's the spring
weather, no doubt; we will all be
brisker by and by. Are you going
my w^ay?"
" Any way ; I only came for a
walk."
They walked on together.
" And how is M. de la Bour-
bonais ?" said the vicar presently.
" I've not met him for a long time ;
we used to come across each other
pretty often on the road to Duller-
ton. He's not poorly, I hope ?"
"No, only busy — so dreadfully
busy! He hardly lets the pen out
of his hand now ; but he promises
me there will soon be an end of it,
and that the book will soon be fin-
ished."
" Bravo ! And you have been
such a capital little secretary to
him!" said Mr. Langrove. "The
next thing will be that we shall
have you writing a book on your
own account."
Franceline laughed merrily at
this conceit ; her fears were, if not
banished by his cordial manner,
sufficiently allayed to rid her
of her momentary awkwardness.
They were soon chatting away
about village gossip as if nothing
were amiss with either.
"Ang^lique brought home news
from the market a few days ago
that Mr. Tobes was going to marry
Miss Bulpit; is it true?" inquired
the young girl.
" Far too good to be true I" said
the vicar, shaking his head. " The
748
AnYMMyWif^t
report has been spread so often
that this time I very nearly be-
lieved in it. However, I saw Miss
Bulpit, and she dispelled the illu-
sion at once, and, I fear, for ever."
''But would it have been such
a good thing if they got married ?"
'* It would be a very desirable
event in some ways," said Mr.
Langrove, with a, peculiar smile;
'*it would give her something to
do and some one to look after
her."
*' And it would have been a good
thing for Mr. Tobes, too', would it
not ? He is so poor!"
'* That's just why she won't have
him, poor fellow! When he pro-
posed — she told me the story her-
self, and I find she is telling it right
and left, so there is no breach of
confidence in repeating it — when
he proposed. Miss Bulpit asked
him point-blank how much money
he had ; * because,' she said, ' I
have only just enough for one !' "
*' Oh ! but that was a shame.
She has plenty for two ; and, besides,
it was unfeeling. Don't you think
it was ?" inquired Franceline, look-
ing up at the vicar. But he evi-
dently did not share either her in-
dignation against Miss Bulpit or her
pity for the discarded lover. He
was laughing quietly, as if he en-
joyed the joke.
They reached the gate going
out on the high-road while thus
pleasantly chatting.
** Now I suppose we must say
good-by,"said Mr. Langrove. "This
is my way ; I am going to pay a
sick visit down in the valley."
They shook hands, and France-
line turned back.
" Mind you give my compliments
to the count!" said the vicar, call-
ingafterher. " Tell him I don't dare
go near him, as he is so busy ; but if
he likes me to drop intPf an even-
ing, let htm send me word bj
and I'll be delighted. By-by.
He nodded to her and dosi
gate behind him.
^He did not dare becav
is so busy !" repeated Frav
as she walked on. " How i
know papa was busy? It
who told him so a few minuti
That was an excuse."
She gave the message, nei
lesS| on coming home, scarce!
ing to look at her father wh
did so.
^ May I tell him to come
of these evenings, petit \kxt \
^ No ; I cannot be distar
present," was the peremptc
swer, and Franceline's hear
again.
She told him the gossip
Miss Bulpit and Mr. Tobes,
ing it would amuse him; li
to listen complacently to tl
bits of gossip she brought ir
their neighbors. Raymond I
charming faculty, common t
men and learned men, of
easily and innocently amuse
he seemed to have lost it c
He listened to Franceline s y
to-day with an absent air, a
hardly took it in ; and befc
had done, he made some \xx<
remark that proved he ha
been attending to what she w
ing. Then he had#got into
of repeating himself — of
the same thing two or three
over at an interval of an h
so, sometimes even less. F
line attributed these things
concentration of his thoiigl
his work, and to his being so <
ly absorbed in it as not to \
tention to anything that d
directly concern it. She w;
inexperienced to see therein
toms of a more alarming natu
M. de la Bourbonais had
Are You My Wi/i t
749
^e complained of being a bad
eeper ; but Ang^lique, who siiffer-
1 from the same infirmity, always
iclared that he only imagined he
wi not sleep ; that she was tossing
a Her pillow, listening to him
I o ring, when he said he had been
ide ziwake. The count, on his
de, i^^as sceptical about Ang^lique's
white nights," and privately con-
ded Id Franceline that he knew
Dr a fact she was fast asleep often
f^^en she fancied in the morning
he had been awake. Some people
.re very touchy at being doubted
vhen they say they have not "clos-
ed an eye all night." Ang^lique
resented a doubt on her "white
lights " bitterly, and Franceline,
who from childhood had been the
confidant of both parties, found an*
early exercise for tact and discre-
tion in keeping the peace between
tiieni. The discrepancies in the
two accounts of their respective
vigils often gave rise to little tiffs
between herself and Ang^lique, who
would insist upon knowing what
M. le Comte had said about her
night ; so that Franceline was com-
pelled to aggravate her whether she
would or not. She " knew her
place " better than to have words
with M. le Comte, but she had it
out with Franceline. " Monsieur
says he didn't get to sleep till past
two o'clock this morning, does he?
Humph ! I only wish 1 had slept
half as well, I know. Pauvre, cher
liomme ! He drops off the minute
his head is on the pillow, and then
dreams that he's wide awake.
Thai's how it is. Why, this morn-
ing I was up and lighted my candle
iit ten minutes to two, and he was
sleeping as sound as a wooden
shoe ! I heard him." Franceline
would sootlie her by saying she
quite believed her; but as she said
the same thing to M. le Comte, and
as Angeliquc generally overheard
her saying so, this seeming credulity
only aggravated her the more. La.-
terly Raymond had taken up a
small celestial globe to his room,
for the purpose, he said, of utilizing
his long vigils by studying the face
of the heavens during the clear,
starry nights; and he would give
the result of his nocturnal contem-
plations to Franceline at breakfast
next morning — Ang^lique being
either in the room pouring out the
hot milk for her master's coffee, or
in the kitchen with the door ajar,
so that she had the benefit of the
conversation. The pantomimes
that were performed at these times
were a severe trial to Franceline's
gravity : Angdlique would stand
behind Raymond's chair, holding
up her hands aghast or stuffing her
apron into her mouth, so as not to
explode in disrespectful laughter.
Sometimes she would shake her
flaps at him with an air of despond-
ency too deep for words, and then
walk out of the room.
" I heard M. le Comte telling
mam'selle that he saw the Three
Kings (the popular name for Orion's
belt in French) shining so bright
this morning at three o'clock. I
believe you ; he saw them in his
sleep ! I was up and walking about
my room at that hour, and it so hap-
pened that I opened my door to
let in the air just as the clock in
the salon was striking three !"
As ill-luck would have it, Ray-
mond overheard this confidential
comment which Angelique was
making to Franceline under the
porch, not seeing that the sitting-
room window was open.
" My good Angelique," said the
count, putting liis head out of the
window, " you must have opened
the door two seconds too late ; it
was striking 4ve, most likely, and
750
Are You My Wifef
you only heard the last three
stiokes. I suspect you were sound
asleep at the hour I was looking at
the Three Kings."
*' La ! as if I were an infant not
to know when I wake and when I
sleep !" said Ang^lique with a shrug.
''It was M. le Comte that was
asleep and dreaming that he saw
the Three Kings."
'* Nay, but I lighted my candle ;
it was pitch-dark when I got up to
set the globe," argued M. de la
Bourbonais.
•* When M. le Comte dreamt that
he got up and lighted his can-
dle," corrected the incorrigible
sceptic. Raymond laughed and
gave it up. fiut it was true, not-
withstanding Ang^lique's obstinate
incredulity, that he did pass many
white nights now, and the wakeful-
ness was insensibly and impercep-
tibly telling on his health. It was
a curious fact, too, that the more the
want of sleep was injuring him, the
less he was conscious of suffering
from it. He had been passionately
fond of astronomy in his youth,
and he had resumed the long-
neglected study with something of
youthful zest, enjoying the obser-
vation of the starry constellations
in the bright midnight silence with
a sense of repose and communion
with those brilliant, far-off worlds
that surprised and delighted him-
self. Perhaps the feeling that he
was now cut off. from possible com-
munion with his fellow-men threw
him more on nature for compan-
ionship, urging him to seek on her
glorious brow for the smiles that
human faces denied him, and to
accept her loving fellowship in lieu
of the sympathy that his brothers
refused him.
But rich and inexhaustible as the
treasures of the great mother are,
they are at best buUl^ compensa-
tion ; nothing bat humin loic
human intercoane can satii^
cravings of a human heart
mond was beginning to realixc
His forced isolation was b<
ing poignantly oppressive to
He longed to see Sir Simon, t»
his voice, to feel the warn
of his hand ; he longed, abw
to get back his old feeling of
tude to him. Raymond littl
pected what a moral beni
hi^ light-hearted, worldly-i
friend had been to him all
years when he was perp
offering services that were
dom accepted. Sir Simon
the time feeding his heart i
milk of human kindness,
a l^ond between the proui
brother and the rest of t
and happy brotherhood wi
strangers to him. Raymon
them all for the sake of tl
Nothing nourishes oar hea
gratitude. It widens our s]
love, and enlarges our cap:
kindness ; it creates a want
send the same happy thrills
other hearts that are stirr
own. We overflow with 1
all in thankfulness for tl
of one. This is often o
way of giving thanks, a
good it does us is somet
more abiding gain than the
that has called it forth. It
this that Raymond missed
Simon. In losing his lovin
of gratefulness he seemed
lost some vital warmth in 1
life. Now that the source
had fed this gratitude was d
all that was tender and ki
good in him seemed to be i
dry or turning to bitternes
estrangement of one had
ed him from all; he wa»at i
all humanity. Would any \
of pride be too great to w
f
Are You My Wife f
751
le old sweet life, with its trust,
id really sympathy, and indulgent
ndness ? Why should he not
rite to Sir Simon ? He had ask-
1 himself this many times, and had
ritten many letters in imagination,
nd some even in reality ; but An-
elique had found them torn up in
le waste-paper basket next morn-
ig, and had been surprised to see
Ke fresh sheets of note-paper,
rhicli she recognized as her
ftaster's, wasted in that manner
ind thrown away. He knew what
re was doing, probably ; it was not
'or her to lecture him on such mat-
ters, but she could not help setting
iown the unnatural extravagance
as a part of the general something
l\iat was amiss with her master.
One morning, however, after one
of those white nights that gave rise
to so much discussion in the family,
Raymond came down with his mind
made up to write a letter and send
it. He could stand it no longer;
he must go to his friend and lay
bare his heart to him, so that they
might come together again. If Sir
Simon's silence was an offence,
Raymond's was not free from blame.
He sat down and wrote. It was a
long letter — several sheets closely
filled. When it was finished, and
Raymond was folding it and put-
ting it into the envelope, he re-
membered that he did not know
where the baronet was. If he sent
it to the Court, the servants would
recognize the handwriting and
think it odd his addressing a
letter there in tlieir master's ab-
sence. He thought of forwarding
it to Sir Simon's bankers; but then,
again, how did matters stand at
present between him and them }
He might have gone abroad and
not left them his address, and the
letter might remain there indefi-
nitely. While Raymond was de-
bating what he should do he closed
up and stamped the blank envelope,
making it ready to be addressed ;
then he laid it on the top of his writ-
ing desk, and wrote a few lines to
the bankers, requesting them to
forward Sir Simon's address, if .
they had it or could inform him
how a letter would reach him.
He seemed relieved when this
was done, and, for the first time for
nearly a month, called Franceline
to come and write for him. She
did so for a couple of hours, and
noticed with thankfulness that her
father was in very good, almost in
high, spirits, laughing and talking
a great deal, as if elated by some
inward purpose. Her glad sur-
prise was increased when he said
abruptly :
" Now, my little one, run and put
on thy bonnet, and we will go for a
walk in the park together."
The day was cold, and there was
a sharp wind blowing; but the sun
was very bright, and the park look-
ed green and fresh and beautiful as
they entered it, she leaning on him
with a fond little movement from
time to time and an exclamation
of pleasure. He smiled on her
very tenderly, and chatted about
all sorts of things as in the old days
of a month ago before the strange
cloud had drawn a curtain between
their lives. He talked with great
animation of his work, and the
excitement it would be to them
both when it was published.
" We shall go to Paris for the pub-
lication, and then I will show thee
the wonderful sights of the great
city: the Louvre, and the Museum
of Cluny, and many antiquities
that will interest thee mightily;
and we will go to some fine modiste
and get thee a smart French bon-
net, and thou wilt be quite a little
iiSganter
752
Are You My Wife?
" Oh ! how nice it will be, petit
p^re," cried Franceline, squeezing
his aFm in childish glee ; " and many
learned men will be coming to see
you, will they not, and writing
articles in praise of your great
work?" .
"Ha! Praise! I know not if it
will all be praise," said the author,
with a dubious smile. " Some will
not approve of my views on certain
historical pets. I have torn the
masks off many soi-disani heroes,
and replaced others in the position
that bigotry or ignorance has
hitherto denied them. I wonder
what Simon will say to it all?"
Raymond smiled complacently
as he said this. It was the first
time he had mentioned the baro-
net. Franceline felt as if a load
were lifted off her, and that all tlie
mists were clearing away.
** He is sure to be delighted with
it !" she exclaimed. ** He a4\vays is,
even v/hen he quarrels with you,
petit p^re. I think he quarrels for
the pleasure of it ; and then he is
so proud of you I"
They walked as far as the house,
and then Raymond said it was time
to turn back; it was too cold for
Franceline to stay out more than
half an hour.
An event had taken place at The
Lilies in their absence. The post-
man had been there and had
brought a letter. Raymond start-
ed when Angdlique met him at the
door with this announcement, add-
mg that she liad left it on the chim-
ney-piece.
Pie went straight in and opened
it. It was from Sir Simon. After
explaining in two lines how Glide
de Win ton had arrived in time to
save him at the last hour, the wri-
ter turned at once to Raymond's
troubles. Nothing could be gen-
tl.r than the way he* approached
the delicate subject. ** Why sboold
we be estranged from one another,
Raymond ? Do you suppose 1 sus-
pect you? And what if I did? I
defy even that to part us. Tlic
friendship that can change was
never genuine; ours can know no
change. I have tried in every pos-
sible way to account sati^sfactorily
for your strange, your suicidal be-
havior on that night, and I have
not succeeded. I can only con-
clude that vou were beside vour-
self with anxiety, and over-excited,
and incapable of measuring the ef-
fect of your refusal and yoiir coc-
duct altogether. But admitting, for
argument's sake, that you did take
it ; what then ? There is such a
thing as momentary insanity from
despair, as the delirium of a sick
and fevered heart. At such mo-
ments the noblest men have been
driven to commit acts that v^ould
be criminal if they .were not road-
It would ill become me to cast a
stone at jw/ — I, who have been no
better than a swindler these twenty
years past I Raymond, there can
be no true friendship without full
confidence. We may give our con-
fidence sometimes without our lore
following ; but when we give oi/r
love, our confidence must of neces-
sity follow. When we have once
given the key of our heart to i
friend, we have given him the right
to enter into it at all times, to read
its secrets, to open every door, even
that, and above that, behind whic/i
the skeleton stands concealed.
You and I gave each other l)J«
right when we were boys, Ray-
mond ; we have used it loyally
one towards the other ever since,
and I have done nothing to forfeit
the privilege now. All things arc
arranged by an overruling Provi-
dence, and God is wise as he i'
merciful ; yet I cannot forbear ask-
Are You My Wife f
7S3
ing how it is that I should have
been saved from myself, and that
you should not have been delivered
from temptation — you, whose life
has been one long triumph of vir-
tue over adversity ! It will be all
made square one day ; meantime, I
bless God that the weaker brother
has been mercifully dealt with and
permitted to rescue the nobler and
the worthier one- The moment I
hear from you I will come to Dul-
lerton, and you and Franceline
must come away with me to the
south. I will explain when we
meet why this letter has been so
long delayed." Then came a post-
script quite at the bottom of the
page : " Send that wretched bauble
to me in a box, addressed to my
bankers. Rest assured of one
thing : you shall be cleared before
men as you already are before a
higher and a more merciful tribu-
nal."
Many changes passed over Ray-
mond's countenance as he read this
letter ; but when his eye fell on the
postscript, the smile that had ho-
vered between sadness, tenderness,
and scorn subsided into one of al-
most saturnine bitterness, and a
light gathered in his eyes that
was not goodly to see. But the
feelings which these signs betrayed
found no other outward vent. M.
de la Bourbonais quietly and de-
liberately tore up the letter into
very small pieces, and then, instead
of throwing tliem into the waste-
paper basket, he dropped them into
the grate. The fire was low; he
took the poker and stirred it to
nuke a blaze, and then watched
the flame catching the bits one by
one and consuming them.
^* It is fortunate I did not send
mine !" was his mental congratula-
tion as he turned to his desk, in-
tending to feed the dying flame with
VOL. XX il. — 4iJ
two more offerings. But where
were they } Raymond pushed
about his papers, but could not find
either of the letters. Ang^liquo
was called. Had she seen them }
" Oh ! yes ; I gave them both to
the postman," she explained, with
a nod of her flaps that implied mys-
tery.
** How both ? There was only one
to go. The other had no address.
on it," said Raymond.
"I saw it, M. le Comte." An-
other mysterious nod.
" And yet you gave it to the post-
man r
" Yes. I am a discreet woman,
as M. le Comte knows, and he
might have trusted me to keep a
quiet tongue in my head ; but mon-
sieur knows his own af^iirs best,"
added Angdlique in an aggrieved
tone.
" My good Ang^lique, explain
yourself a little more lucidly," said
M. de la Bourbonais with slight im-
patience. " What could induce you
to give the postman a letter that
had neither name nor address on
it r
"Bless me! I thought M. le
Comte did not wish me to know
who he was writing to !"
"Good gracious!" exclaimeJ
Raymond, too annoyed to notice
the absurdity of the reply. " But
how could the postman take it
when he saw it was a blank envel-
ope
?"
" I did not let him see it ; I slip-
ped the two with my own hands
into the bag," said Ang^lique.
M. de la Bourbonais moved his
spectacles, and shrugged his shoul-
ders in a way that was expressive
of anything but gratitude for this
zeal. He hesitated a moment cr
two, debating what he should do.
The only way to ensure getting
back his letter immediately was
754
Are You My Wife?
to go off himself to the post-of-
fice, .ind claim it before it was
taken out to be stamped with the
post- mark, when it would be open-
ed in order to be returned to the
writer. There might be no harm
in its being opened; the postmas-
ter was not a French scholar that
Raymond knew of, but he might
have a friend at hand who was, and
who would be glad to gratify his
curiosity, as well as exhibit his
learning, by reading the count's
Jetter.
Raymond set off at once, so as to
prevent this. It was the first time
ifor some weeks that he had
•shown himself in or near the town ;
.and if his mind had not been so
fuU of his errand, he would have
been painfully conscious and shy at
.•finding himself abroad in open day-
light in his old haunts and within
the observation of many eyes that
. knew him. But he did not give this
a thought ; he was calculating the
^chances for and against his arriving
at the post-office before the post-
• man had come back from his rounds
and handed in the out-going letters
to be marked, and his imagination
was running on to the wildest con-
clusions in the event of his being
too late. He walked as if for a
wager ; not running, but as near to
it as possible. The pace and his
intense look of preoccupation at-
tracted many glances that he would
have escaped had he walked on
quietly at his ordinary pace. He
was not a minute too soon, however,
just coming up as the postman ap-
peared with his replenished bag.
M. de la Bourbonais hastened to
describe the shape and color of his
blank envelope, and to explain how
it had come to be where it was, and
was most emphatic in protesting
that he did not mean the letter to
go, and that he was prepared to
take any steps to prevent il$ goin^
There was no need to be so eariKst
about it. The postmaster assured
him at once that the letter touM
be forthcoming in a moment, and
that his word would be quite enorgb
to identify it and ensure its beraf
returned to him. It seemed an age
to Raymond while the letters were
being turned out and sorted^ bat it
last the man held up the blank en-
velope, with its queen's head intlic
corner, and exclaimed jtibilantlv:
" Here it is !"
The count seized it with zxi^xtf
and hurried away, leaving the post-
master half-amuaed, half-mystified
at his excited volubility and van
expressions of thanks. There was
no necessity to rush home at the
same pace that he had rushed oat,
but Ravmond felt like a macbioe
wound up to a pitch of velocity that
must be kept up until the wheel sto|^
ped of its own accord. His hat was
drawn over his eyes, and his head
bent like a person walking on m^
chanically, neither seeing nor hear-
ing what might be going on around
him. He was soon beyond the
streets and shop-windows, and
back amidst the fields and hedges.
There was a clatter of horses com-
ing down the road. M. de la Bour-
bonais saw two gentlemen on bo^s^
back approaching. He recognized
them, even in the distance, at i
glance : Sir Ponsonby Anwyll and
Mr. Charlton. Raymonds heart
leaped up to bis throat. H^^'
would they do,^ Stop and speak,
or cut him dead } A few second*
would decide. They were close on
him now, but showed no sign ot
reining in to speak. Ponsonbj
Anwyll raised his hat in a fomul
salutation ; Mr. Charlton looked
straiglit before him and rode on.
All the blood in his bodyseemej/
to rush at tlie instant to Raymonds
Are You My Wife?
755
EaCe. He put his hand to his fore-
bead and stood to steady himself;
Ihen he walked home, never look-
ing to the right or the left until he
reached The Lilies.
Ang^lique called out from the
kitchen window to know if he had
made it right about the letter ; but
he took no heed of her, only walk-
ed in and went straight up to his
room. She heard him close the
door. There certainly was some-
thing queer come to him of late.
What did he want, going to shut
himself in his bedroom this time
of day, and then passing her with-
out answering ?
Franceline was in the study, busy
arranging some primroses sfnd wild
violets that she had been gathering
under the hedge while her father
was out. A noise as of a body fall-
ing heavily tj the ground in the
Toom overhead made her drop the
flowers and fly up the stairs. An-
g^lique had hastened from the
kitchen to ask what was the mat-
ter; but a loud shriek rang through
the house in answer to her ques-
tion.
'* Angelique, come ! O my God !
Father! father!"
Raymond was lying prostrate on
the floor, insensible, while France
line lifted his head in her arms,
and kissed him and called to
him. " Oh ! What has happened
to him } Father ! father ! speak
to me. O my God ! is he dead ?'*
she cried, raising her pale, agonized
face to the old servant with a de-
spairing appeal.
"No! no! Calm thyself! He
has but fainted ; he is not dead,"
said Angelique, feeling her master's
pulse and heart. " See, put thy
hand here and feel ! If he were
dead, it would not beat."
Franceline laid her finger on the
pulse. She felt the feeble beat ; it
was scarcely perceptible, but she
could feel it.
** We must lift him on to the
bed," said Angelique, and she grasp-
ed the slight form of her master
with those long, brown arms of hers,
and laid it gently on the bed, Fran-
celine assisting as she miglit.
** Now, my petite, thou wilt be
brave," said the faithful creature,
forgetting herself in her anxiety
to spare and support Franceline.
" Thou wilt stay here and do what
is necessary whilst I run and fetch
the doctor."
She poured some eau-de-cologne
into a basin of water, and desired
her to keep bathing her father's
forehead and chafing his hands
until she returned. This, after loos-
ing his cravat and letting in as much
air as possible, was all her expe-
rience suggested.
Franceline sat down and did as
she was told ; but the perfect still-
ness, the death-like immobility of
the face and the form, terrified her.
She suspended the bathing to
breathe on it, as if her warm breath
might bring back consciousness
and prove more potent than the
cold water. But Raymond remain-
ed insensible to all. The silence
began to oppress Franceline like a
ghastly presence ; the cooing of her
doves outside sounded like a dirge.
Could this be death.' His pulse
beat so faintly she hardly knew
wliether it was his or the pulse of
her own trembling fingers that she
felt. A chill of horror came over
her; the first vague dread was
gradvially shaping itself in her mind
to the most horrible of certainties.
If he should never awake, never
speak again, never open those clos-
ed eves on her with the old tender
glance of love that had been as
familiar and unfailing as the sun-
light to her! Oh! what a fearful
/
756
Are You My Wife f
awakening came with this first reali-
zation of that awful possibility.
What vain shadows, what trivial
empty things, were those that she
had until now called sorrows!
What a joy it would be to take them
all back again, and bear them, in-
creased tenfold in bitterness, to the
end of her life, if this great, this real
sorrow might be averted I France-
line dropped on her knees beside the
bed, and, clasping her hands, sent
up one of those cries that we all of
us find in our utmost need, when
there is only God who can help us :
"O Father! thy will be done.
But if it be possible, . . . if it
be possible, ... let this cup
pass from me I"
There were steps on the stairs.
It was Ang^lique come back. She
had only been ten minutes away —
the longest ten minutes that ever a
trembling heart watched through —
but Franceline knew she could not
have been to the doctor's and back
so quickly. " I met M. le Vicaire
just at the end of the lane, and he
is gone for the doctor; he was rid-
ing, so he will be there in no time."
Then she made Franceline go
and fetch hot water from the kitch-
en, and busied her in many little
ways, under pretence of being use-
ful, until Dr. Blink's carriage was
heard approaching. The medical
man was not alone; Mr. Langrovc
and Father Henwick accompanied
liim.
Angelique drew the young girl out
of her father's room, and sent her
10 stay with Father Henwick, while
the doctor, assisted by Mr. Lan-
grove and herself, attended to M.
de la Bourbonais.
** Oh ! what is it ? Did the doctor
tell you ?" she wliispered, her dark
eyes preternaturally dilated in their
tearless glance, as she raised it to
Father Henwick's face. •
'* He could say nothing un^
had seen him. Tell me, my
child, did your father ever
anything of this sort happei
before V inquired Father Hci
as unconcernedly as he could
" Never, never that I hea
unless it may have been
I was too little to remember
Franceline ; and then adde
vously, " Why .>"
"Thank God! It is safe, th
to be so serious," was the [
hearty exclamation. " Pleas<
you will see him all right
soon ; he has been overdoing <
working too hard, and not
air or exercise enough. The
has been wearing out the sh
that's what it is ; but £lii
pull him through with
help."
** Father," said Franceline,
both hands on his arm with
conscious movement that W2
expressive, " do you know it
to me as if I were only waki
only beginning to live now.
thing has been unreal like a
until this. Is it a punishm*
being so ungrateful, so rebt
so blind to the blessings i
had ?"
"If it were, my child* p
nient with God is only anothe
for mercy," said Father He
" Our best blessings come
mostly in the shape of c
Perhaps you were not th
enough for the great blessi
your father's love, for his heal
his delight in you ; perhaps ]
your heart long too much foi
things ; and if so, God hat
mindful of his foolish little oi
has sent this touch of fear tc
her to value more the mercu
were vouchsafed to her, an
to pine for those that were d
We seldom see thin^ in
Are You My Wife?
717
tnie proportions until the sha-
dow of death falls on them."
" The shadow of death !" echoed
Franceline, her white lips growing
still whiter. " Oh ! if it be but the
shadow, my life will be too short
for thanksgiving, were I to live to
the end of the world."
*■* Ha ! here they come," said
Father Henwick, opening the study-
door as he heard the doctor's steps,
followed by Mr. Langrove's, on the
stair.
Franceline went forward to meet
them ; she did not speak, but Dr.
Blink held out his hand in answer
to her questioning face, and said
cheerfully: "The count is -much
better ; he has recovered conscious-
ness, and is doing very nicely, very
nicely indeed for the present.
Come ! there is nothing to be
frightened at, my dear young lady."
Franceline could not utter a word,
not even to murmur " Thank God !'*
But the dead weight that had been
pressing on her heart was lifted,
she gasped for breath, and then the
blessed relief of tears came.
" My poor little thing ! My poor
Francehne !" said the vicar, leading
her gently to a chair, and smooth-
ing the dark gold hair witli pater-
nal kindness.
** Let her cry; it will do her good,"
said Dr. Blink kindly; and then he
turned to speak in a low voice to
Father Henwick and Mr. Langrove.
He had concluded, from the in-
coherent account which Mr. Lan-
grove had gathered from Angdlique,
that he should come prepared for a
case of apoplexy, and had brought
all that was necessary to afford im-
mediate relief. He had recourse
to bleeding in the first instance,
and it had proved effective. M. de
la Bourbonais was, as he said,
doing very well for the present.
Consciousness had returned, and
he was calm and free from suffering.
Franceline was too inexperienced
to understand where the real danger
of the attack lay. She fancied that,
since her father had regained con-
sciousness, there coula be nothing
much worse than a bad fainting fit,
brought on by fatigue of mind and
body, and, now that the Rubicon
was past, he would soon be well,
and she would take extra care of
him, so as to prevent a relapse.
Her 'passionate burst of tears soon
calmed down, and she rose up to
thank her visitors with that queenly
self-command that formed so strik-
ing a part of her character.
'* I am very grateful to you for
coming so quickly; it was very
good of you," she said, extending
her hand to Dr. Blink. " May I
go to him now V^
** No, no, not just yet," he replied
promptly. " I would rather h*
were left perfectly quiet for a few
hours. We will look in on him
later ; not that it is necessary, but
we shall be in the neighborhood,
and may as well turn in for a mo-
ment." He wished them good-af-
ternoon, and was gone.
" And how did you happen to
come in just at the right moment.^"
said Franceline, turning to Father
Henwick. ** It did not occur to
me before how strange it was. Was
it some good angel that told you to
come to me, I wonder ?"
** The very thing 1 You have
hit it to a nicety I" said Mr. Lan-
grove. " It was an angel that did
it."
** Yes," said Father Henwick,
falling into the vicar's playful vein,
" and the odd thing was that he
came riding up to my house on a
fat Cumberland pony ! Now, we all
know S. Michael has been seen on a
white charger, but this is the first
time, to my knowledge, that an
758
The Friends of Education.
angel was ever seen mounted on a
Cumberland pony."
" Dear Mr. Langrove, how good
of you!" said Franceline, with
moistened eyes, and she pressed his
hand.
** Had you not better come out
witli me now for a short walk .^" said
the vicar. " I sha'n't be more than
half an hour, and it will do you
good. Come and have early tea at
the vicarage, and we will walk
home with you before Blink comes
back. What do you say ?"
"Oh! I think I had better r
out, I feel so shaken and \
and then papa might ask fo
you know. I shall not go nca
unless he does, after what
Blink said."
" Well, perhaps it is as wc
you to keep quiet. Good-by,
I will look in on you this
ning."
" And so will I, ray child,
Father Henwick, laying his
hand on her head ; and th(
gentlemen left the cottage tog
TO BE CONTINUID.
THE FRIENDS OF EDUCATION.
To pass from the discussion of
arguments to the question of mo-
tives is a most common yet most
unjustifiable manoeuvre of popular
debate. This is usually done when
the field of calm and loi:'ical rea-
soning has become tolerably clear.
The flank movement is attempted
as a final struggle against defeat
otherwise inevitable. If the mo-
tive thus impugned be really inde-
fensible ; if it be, at the same time,
glaring or manifest, a positive ad-
vantage is sometimes gained by a
vigorous diversion from the real
object of contention. But if such
a motive has to be alleged — or, still
worse, invented — the demonstration
agair.st it, however violent, is but a
reluctant and ungracious acknow-
ledgment of defeat and a flight
from the real point at issue. The
most recent instance of this sort is
taking place before the American
public, and has been afforded by
those who endeavor to represent
Catholics as opposed to free and
liberal education, thereby attaint-
ing the motives of the p(
which Catholics have been I
to assume with regard to wh
falsely called " common" schc
This attitude of our oppo
however, we regard not w
complacency. Our object i
war, but peace -and goo
among citizens. We hail tlx
sent violent misrepresentatior
sign that the enemy is close t
*' last ditch," and that the d
sion approaches its concl
When this final eflfort to c
the Catholic object and to a
the Catholic character has ex!
ed itself and been held up t
inspection of the .American p
we shall have seen the end <
" school question." We insi
on an improvement in our e
tional system which is necess
perfect its character and to \
the requirements of the
The present system does not
the wishes of a very large pi
of the community, is unfa
others besides Catholics, and
The Friends of Educatunu
759
of harmony with the spirit of free
institutions. A system is wanted
which shall at least be equal to
that of monarchical countries, fair
to all citizens alike, and which will
reiieve Catholics from the double
burden of educating their own
children, besides paying for a sys-
tem of education of which they
cannot conscientiously avail them-
selves.
The correctness of the Catholic
position is so manifest, and is so
rapidly g lining the recognition of
ail thoughtful classes, that those
who are unwilling to allow Catho-
lics equal rights as citizens are
forced, in order to hide the truth,
not only to maintain that the pres-
ent system is absolutely perfect and
incapable of any improvement, but
to accuse Catholics of harboring
ideas of which they are not only
innocent, but which it would be
wholly impossible for them to en-
tertain — such as that they are
afraid of the light; that they at-
tack the present system because
they are inimical to all education ;
and tliat their object is, if possible,
to do away with it altogether. Ac-
cusations similar to these are daily
repeated, garnished with rhetoric,
and sent forth to alarm our fellow-
citizens and to encourage them to
turn a deaf ear to whatever Catho-
lics may say. The weak point of
this movement ascainst us is that
the people will notice that it does
not deal at all with the validity of
Catholic claims, and that it shirks
the only question at issue. They
will be led to suspect that it is em-
phatically a "dodge"; and the
mere suspicion of this will awak-
en curiosity as to what Catholics
really have to say — a curiosity fatal
to the success of the flank attack.
In liie language of those who
advance the charge with which we
propose to deal, education means
either primary instruction in the
elements of knowledge, or else
higher academic culture, such as
is to be furnished by colleges and
universities. If, therefore. Catho-
lics are hostile to education, in this
sense of the word, they must be
opposed either to the general
spread of such information as is
aimed at in elementary and normal
schools, or to the existence and
growth of the higher institutions
of science and art. •
We are perfectly aware that there
is another meaning given to the
word education, to which reference
is made, simply in order to avoid
obscurity.
Philosophers of the class to
which Mr. Huxley belongs under-
stand by education a certain speci-
fic course of moral and intellectual
training, the aim of which is to en-
sure its pupils against ever being
affected by " theological tenden-
cies." Such impressions are to
be made upon childhood, and ma-
tured in more advanced stages, as
will rid men of that natural 'but
awkward habit of reasoning from
cause to effect; which will free
them from all hope of any life but
the present, and any fear of future
responsrbrlity, in order that they
may be impelled to devote them-
selves solely to the analysis and
classification of material phenom-
ena, since this is the only purpose
of man's existence — such a course
of spiritual defloration as was practis-
ed upon the tender and noble genius
of the late John Stuart Mill, the
results of which, as manifested by
the revelation of his biography, af-
ford, in the words of an ingenuous
critic, "a most unpleasant spec-
tacle." A process of this kind is.
not education ; it is a heartrend-
ing and lamentable destruction of
760
714^ Friends of Education.
that which is noblest and most es-
sential in man, and as a definition
has not yet obtained a place in the
English language.
If any of our readers would care
to know our own ultimate defini-
tion of education, we should de-
scribe it as the complete and har-
monious development of all the
powers of man in reference to his
true end. But for present pur-
poses it is sufficient to adopt the
ordinary sense of the word, as
i^eaning the diffusion of knowledge
by scholastic exercises in academies
and colleges.
If it appears singular to enlight-
ened Protestants to hear a demand
for circumscription and discourage-
ment of Catholics, and, if possible,
the suppression of religious educa-
tion, from that faction whose motto
is " Liberty and Light," we trust
that it will seem none the less para-
doxical to hear the charge of favor-
ing ignorance urged with most ve-
hemence against us by those whose
boast, up to within a few years, has
been *'a ministry without educa-
tion, and a way to heaven without
grammar."
The first demand does not in the
least surprise us, coming, as it does,
from a crude and undigested as-
sumption of the principles of Eu-
ropean radicalism. We have seen
its consistency illustrated by mad-
men chasing, robbing, and killing
one another to the cry of "liberty,
equality, fraternity." We under-
stand what it is to be assaulted by
this party, which knows not how to
act except in the way of destruction,
which is never at rest except in the
midst of agitation, and never at
peace, so to speak, except when at
war.
Nor is it strange to see an at-
tempt against Catholics made out-
side the field of theological contro-
versy, inasmuch as the result of
controversy for the past two centn-
ries has tended rather to the disin-
tegration of Protestantism than to
the conversion of Catholics to the
new faith. Nor is it surprising 10
find this assault directed agairst
the equal rights of Catholics in
education ; for here some earnest
but short-sighted men imagine that
there is not simply ground to be
gained, but that the present system
is a stronghold not to be given up.
It is a stronghold, truly, but rather
of infidelity than of Protestantism.
But educated Protestants and
heathen will marvel with us that
the attack has been made on the
theory that Protestantism is the
born friend, and Catholicity the
natural enemy of education, know-
ing as well as we the fatal evidence
of history.
The contempt for education
which, until more recent times
has always existed, to a certain
extent, among the orthodox Pro-
testants, was founded upon their
erroneous doctrines oi the total
depravity of human nature, the
consequent invalidity of human
reason, and the principle of private
illumination.
When Lu titer said," The god Mo-
loch, to whom the Jews immolated
their children, is to-day represent-
ed by the universities "( /F/W^r den
Missbrauch der Messe)^ it was not
simply on the ground of the uni-
versities being centres of associ-
ation for boisterous and disorderly
youth, or fortresses of the ancient
faith, but because of that " pagan
and impious science" which was
taught in them.
In his furious onslaught against
them Luther was sustained by his
well-known hatred of anything
which tended to assert the pre-
rogatives of human nature or the
Thi Friends of Education.
761
dignity of reason. No man was
ever more intemperate in denuncia-
tion than this so-called *' liberator
of humanity and emancipator of
human reason." " True believers
strangle reason," said he ; and he
never alluded to it except in terms
of most outrageous abuse. The
last sermon of his at Wittenberg*
is monumental in this respect ;
and his well-known reply to the
Anabaptists is one of the most
startling examples of his intensely
idiomatic style.f
The feelings of the master were
fully communicated to the disciples.
The results were fearful. The free
schools which existed in every city
were overturned by the very men
whom they had educated ; the gym^
nasia were in many places wholly de-
stroyed, in others so reduced as never
to recover their former position.
At Wittenberg itself the two
preachers, Spohr and Gabriel Didy-
mus, announced from the pulpit that
the study of science was not simply
useless but noxious, and that it was
best to do away with the colleges and
schools. The upshot was to change
the academy of that city into a bak-
ery. Similar measures were carried
into effect throughout the entire
duchy of Anspach. The history
of the Reformation by Dr. DoUinger
gives a long list of the numerous
scholars, rectors of high schools and
colleges, who were driven into ex-
ile, and also details a minute account
of many of the institutions which
were destroyed.
* The following language amply suntains our aner^
tion : *' De« Teufels Hraut» Ratio die schOne Metze,
eine verfluchte Hure, eine xchabigc aussiitzige
Hure, die hiichste Hure des Teufels, die man mit
ihrer Weisheic mit FQszen trcten, die man todtichla^
gen, der man, auf dass sie hasslich werde. cincn
Dreck in'a Angeticht werfcn •ol)c, auf das heimliche
Gemach solle sic sich troUen, die verfluchte Hure,
mit ihrcm Diinkel. etc , etc.".
t " Aber die WiedenaUfer machen aut der Ver-
nuaft clo Licht des Glaubens. dass die Vemunft
dem Glauben leuchten soil. Ja, ich meine, ste
Ina chtet gleich wie eia Dreck in emer Lateme."
The statements of Erasmus, as to
the disastrous results of the Refor-
mation on studies, are constant and
numberless. They may be formu-
lated in a sentence of one of l)is
letters to Pirkheimer (1538): " Uln-
cumque regnai Luther anismus^ ibi
litter arum est inter itus — " Wherever
Lutheranism reigns, there is the de-
struction of letters."
The testimony of Sturm, Schick-
fuss, Bucer, and otncrs is no ic»s
forcible. Luther and Melancthon
in later days seem to have oeen ap-
palled by their own work, and
George Major thus sums up the
melancholy condition of things in
his own day : ** Thanks to the wick-
edness of men and the contempt
which we ourselves have shown for
studies, the schools have more than
ever need of patrons and protectors
to save them from ruin, and to pre-
vent us from falling into a stale of
barbarism worse than that of Turks
and Muscovites."
The interesting works of the Bene-
dictines of St. Maur of the XVlIIth
century, the Bullandists, and the
collections of a few other Catholic
scholars have preserved nearly all
the material that is left from which
to construct the history of the mid-
dle ages, so thorough was the work
of destruction done on libraries
by the Calvinists and Huguenots.
The Bodleian library is but a frag-
ment — a few torn leaves of the lit-
erature which was weeded out of
England by the enlightened zeal of
the much-married father of Angli-
canism.
" What mad work this Dr. Co.xe
did in Oxon, while he sat chancel-
lor, by being the chief man that
worked a reformation there, I have
elsewhere told you," says Anthony
Wood "To return at length to
the royal delegates, some of whom
yet remained in Oxford, doing such
762
The Friends of Education.
things as did not at all become
those who professed to be learned
and Oiristian men. For the prin-
cipal ornaments, and at the same
time supports, of the universitjr —
that is, the libraries, filled with innu*
mer:ible works, both native and for-
eign — they permitted or directed to
be despoiled. . . . Works of
scholastic theology were sold off
among those exercising the lowest
description of arts ; and those
which contained circles or diagrams
it was thought good to mutilate or
burn, as containing certain proof
of the magical nature of their con-
tents."
What was left undone by the
royal delegates was thoroughly at-
tended to by the Puritans, who nev-
er did their work by halves, and
whose views with regard to the
Bible and literature bore a close
rest^mblance to those of the early
Molianimedans in their comparative^
cstiniLiic ot the Koran and secular
wntiniis.
For a full account of the effect
of the revolution of the XVIth cen-
tury on learning, people who may
suspect Catholic writers of exagger-
ation can compare their statements
with those of the learned Protestant
Huber, in his exhaustive history of
the universities. Even " honest
Latimer,** who certainly was not a
Zealot for pro fane learning, lifted up
his voice in complaint : " It would
])ity a man's heart to hear that
that I hear of the state of Cam-
bridge ; what it is in Oxford I can-
not tell." How it was at Oxford
, we have already seen. Throughout
the length and breadth of the land
the monastic schools, which were
asylums bothof mercy and learning,
were destroyed; the mere list of
their names, as given by the Protes-
tant historian Cobbett, occupies one
hundred and forty-five pages of his
work. The present condition of the
lower classes in England, which is
due to their being thus deprived of
means of education and assistance
in distress, is the Nemesis of the Re-
formation. In listening to the de-
mand that the government shall dis-
possess the present landlords as it
despoiled the churchmen of old, we
hear arguments of fearful power as
to the extent of eminent domain.
When it is asked why the crown and
people shall not exercise for the
common good the prerogative which
was conceded and exercised former-
ly for the benefit of the crown alone,
the present holders of property ac-
quired by sacrilege may well take
alarm at the progress of revolution-
ary ideas. And the question as to
how far the people were forcibly
deprived of the benefits of a trust
vested for them in the church, may
be decided *' without constitution-
al authority and through blood."
God avert such a calamity from Eng-
land ! May the prayers of Catholic
martyrs, of More and Fisher, inter-
cede in her behalf, and save her from
the consequences of that act, to pre-
vent which, these, her truest sons, did
not hesitate to offer up their lives!
However, with these tacts in view,
it is scarcely wise for English Pro-
testantism to assume the position
of a necessary and perpetual friend
of popular education. It is best to
wait until the ink has become dry
which has scored from the statute-
book of that realm the law making
it felony to teach the alphabet to
Catholics.
It would be gratifying to us to con-
trast with the conduct of the authors
of Protestantism that of the great
educators of Europe who laid the
foundations of our civilization. \
fierce and violent revolution has
turned that civilization aside, and
introduced into it principles of an
The Friaids of EiUication,
763
a.rchy and death. A shallow and
ungrateful era has failed to perceive
and to acknowledge its debts. It
is only in the pages of scholars such
ii*> Monlalembert, the Protestants
XIaiiland and Huber, and the au-
ilior of that recent modest but
most charming book entitled Chris-
iiun Schools and Scholars^ that we
l^egin to notice a thoughtful inquiry
into the history of our intellectual
development. The masters slum-
l>er in forgeifulness and oblivion.
We know not the builders of the
great structures of the middle ages ;
and people generally know almost
us little of its great intellectual and
social system. The history of the
human race for a thousand years
o^niost intense activity is summed
up in a few unmeaning words.
Time and space fail for such a
c:omparison. But the fact that the
\\x>l Protestants found themselves
educated, the fact that they found
^choois to denounce and to destroy,
in the XVIth century, is sufficient
to justify us with regard tq history
prior to that date.
It would also be a pleasure to
describe the progress of those mag-
nificent bodies of Catholic educa-
tors which rose, under divine inspira-
tion, as a check to the wave of rev-
olution, and whose successes first
stimulated the action of Protestants
by the wholesome influence of fear.
But this also is beyond our com-
])ass. We are ready to discuss the
charge that Catholics are opposed
to education, independently of all
reference to Protestantism, by the
test of positive facts, and to stand
or fail by the Catholic record in
modern times.
It is not necessary to cross the
ocean or to visit countries where
the munificence of ages has endowed
the universities of Catholic lands ;
as, for instance, the seven great
universities of the Papal States —
Ferrara, Bologna, Urbino, Macer-
ata, Camerino, Perugia, and Rome,
each containing thousands of stu-
dents. Nor is it necessary to re-
mind the reader that the great Pro-
testant universities, and notably
those of England, aie, to use the
expression of a distinguished An-
glican prelate, '* a legacy of Catho-
licism." The charge that Catholics
are opposed to university education
is simply laughable, considering
that the university is essentially a
Catholic idea, and has never, even
in Europe, been successfully coun-
terfeited.
It is not necessary, although it
may be instructive, to refer to the
free schools of the city of Rome,
which, according to the testimony
of a Protestant traveller, tliirty
years ago surpassed even iliose of
Berlin in efficiency and relative
number. They were, before the re-
cent seizure by the Piedmontese
government, the most numerous in
proportion to the population and
the most varied in character of any
city in the world. They presented
to their scholars the choice of day
or night with regard to time, and
prepared them for every profession,
art, and trade. This matchless
variety was doubtless the result of
centuries of growth ; but it was
also the spontaneous outcome of
zeal for education, and laid not a
penny of taxation upon the peo-
ple. So high was the standard of
gratuitous education that private
schools, at the beginning of the
reign of our Ploly Father Pius IX.,
had to struggle hard in order to
retain the pitronage of the wealthy
classes. At that time there were
in Rome 27 institutions and 387
schools for free education. Of
these last, 180 were for little chil-
dren of both sexes. Of the remain-
764
The Friends of Education,
der, 94 were devoted to males and
113 to females. The total number
of pupils in elementary schools
amounted to I4»i57> of which
number 3,790 were of the infant
class. Of those more advanced,
5,544 were males and 4,823 females.
In elementary schools, ///r^/v gra-
iuiioiiSy 7,579 received education —
viz., 3,952 boys and 3,627 girls.
There appears, however, in Car-
dinal Morichini's report, a feature
which has never yet been introduc-
ed into the American system — to
wit, in schools paying a small pen^
sion there were 1,592 boys and
1,196 girls; making a total in such
schools of 2,788. This last item
may furnish a hint to those who are
anxious to secure the attendance
of poorchildren in our own schools;
although it is scarcely practicable
where common education has to
be provided by taxation alone. Of
these 387 schools to which we have
referred, 26 belonged to religious
communities of men, and 23 to re-
ligious communities of women.
The rest belonged to, or were con-
ducted by, seculars. Besides these,
2,213 children of both sexes receiv-
ed free instruction in special con-
servatories.
In addition to this system of free
primary education, there was the
vast system of colleges and acade-
mies connected with the university,
the advantages of which were at the
command of tlie most limited and
humble means.
It would be interestincj to ask
some of the high-school graduates
in this country the simple histori-
cal question, " Who, in modern
times, have done most for free edu-
cation ?" General Orant has doubt-
less! v contributed liberallv towards
it; s;), it is to be presumed, has Mr.
Blaine ; so have many other distin-
guished lecturers on the subject of
education. But if the question i
rightly answered, the date will hav
to be assigned much earlier, ao
St. Joseph Calasanctius, Venerabl
de la Salle, Catherine Mc.\ule;
and a hundred thousand othi
" Papists" will have to take preci
dence of our illustrious fellow-cii
zens. The spectacle of one Chri
tian Brother, or Ursuline Nun, <
Sister of Mercy whose life is devo
ed to the instruction of the poo
with no recompense but the s*e<
privilege of being worn out in th
service of fellow-men for the sak
of Jesus Christ — such a spectacl
as was afforded by the gifted Gci
aid Griffin, or by Mother Seton i
our own country, and is daij
shown among us by thousands
calm, intelligent men and amiah
women, in the various religious
ders — this is a testimony to edi
cation which none but Catbolit
can produce. And yet these nic
and women, these bright marty
of charity, are they whom it
thought good to attack by evei
means within the reach of calunin
Let it be understood that we c
not overlook the efforts made L
noble men and women in the rani
of Protestantism. Thougli fe
and insignificant in intensity c
zeal when compared with tl
daily and common sacrifices mn(
by Catholics, nevertheless it mu
be borne in mind that these isoln
ed attempts have been ineffectu;
save only in so far as they lia
])roduced imperfect copies of t'
great works of Catholicity. Pr
testantism, as such, has nev
prompted or organized any gre
attempt at general free prima
education. Indeed, it mii^ht I
safely challenged to produce ar
instance of the kind. And '\i tl
American people to-day were io t
seized with remorse for its injusiic
The Friends of Education.
76s
towards Catholics, and to propose
immediately to do away with all
public schools, we should object
inost strongly on the ground that
110 adequate means would then ex-
ist for the education of Protestant
children. The problem oT general
education has never been faced by
Protestantism. The system of god-
less education is an extremely mod-
ern and thoroughly pagan idea.
If it has found favor among the
leaders of Protestantism, this has
been because they have accepted it
as a solution of the educational
problem ; not having given the
matter sufficient attention to ob-
serve the ruinous effect which it is
producing on themselves.
From similar thoughtlessness
conies their maintenance of the
present system. It is a compara-
tively cheap solution, as far as in-
dividuals are concerned. It calls
for no sacrifices. It is supposed to
be sufficiently Protestant as long
as the Bible is read in the schools.
But if the present movement of
the infidel party succeeds, and the
** common" schools are reduced to
purely irreligious institutions, the
matter will soon force itself upon
Protestant attention. We are con-
vinced that they will perceive that
Catholics have given the subject
much more consideration than
they supposed, and have been
right throughout. Many of them
will regret having misunderstood
cur views, and will be prepared
to endorse the proposition that
such schools are subversive of
Christianity and demoralizing in
their tendency. They will then en-
deavor to repair the evils which
may still result from their ill-judged
neglect of Catholic remonstrance.
They will demand to be put upon
at least an equal footing with infi-
dels, probably with as much vehe-
mence as Catholics have demanded
an equal footing for all citizens
alike. If they find themselves
hopelessly debarred from this by
the radical changes in the consti-
tution t\rhich some of their num-
ber are even now proposing, they
will impeach these amendments.
This failing, they will find them-
selves in the position in which Ca-
tholics now are. Then, for the
first time in history, will Protest-
antism have a fair chance to show
how much it cares for education.
But, as already intimated, it is not
necessary to cross the seas to dis-
cover testimony in rebuttal of the
gratuitous slander which is urged
against Catholics. Nor is there
need to summon from the tomb the
teachers of those who founded the
so-called Reformation, nor to insti-
tute an historic comparison be-
tween the labors of Catholics and
Protestants. Still less need is there
to attempt to penetrate the future
as to what Catholics may do for
education when they are relieved
of one-half of' their present twofold
burden.
We live in the XlXth century
and in America; and in this very
age and country Catholics are doing
more for education than is actually
done by any other denomination,
and, in proportion to their numbers
and means, more than is done by
all other denominations put to-
gether, which outnumber Catholics
by at least four to one — Catholics,
forsooth, who are impudently charg-
ed with being opposed to primary
schools and collegiate training !
This assertion will doubtless
sound strangely in the ears of those
who have allowed themselves to
remain in ignorance of the facts
which we shall presently adduce.
But, in view of them, it will be ac-
knowledged that our statement is
766
The Friaids of Educatum.
the most modest that can be made,
and that, if disposed to be boastful,
we could increase it many fold with-
out fear of exaggeration. Catholics
in this country have, it is true, no
great university such as titose pro-
duced by the efforts and endow-
ments of generations. Besides the
lack of time necessary for such a
development, two other causes have
thus far prevented its origin. The
first is the poverty of Catholics
here — not simply their lack of
means — but the fact that the ex-
tent of the country and the com-
paratively small number of very
wealthy families require that edu-
cational institutions of the higher
class should be plentifully distribut-
ed. Secondly, Catholic resources
have actually been applied to satisfy
this condition of things. We feel
quite sanguine that, before the
and, as a class, the convent schoofa
for girls are without even a rivil
and contain a very large propoitioi
of Protestant children.
Nor are Catholics lacking ii
efforts to provide primary edua
tion for'Catholic children, althoagi
their efforts in this direction art
sadly out of proportion to thei
necessities. In higher intellectua
culture the wealthy are natursill
interested. They must provid
suitable education for their chi
dren. To do this in every plac
is a most severe tax upon then
Nevertheless, it has been their dot
to accomplish this, and, at the sam
time, to subscribe liberallv towar
the education of the children a
their poorer brethren.
/ The poorer classes, also, wit
less natural impulse to make sac
rifices for education, exposed t
close of the century, In spite of all the temptation of hundreds of pro!
disadvantages, a Catholic university
of the very highest character will
be established here; but, without
it, there exist at present, in every
city of importance throughout the
Union, colleges which, for scholar-
ship, will fairly compete with the
chartered universities of tliis coun-
try, and which, in certain localities
and in special dej)artments, will
surpass their older and more pre-
tentious rivals. Although these
colleges do not a p[) roach the ideal
of a university — i.e.^ a great city of
learning, which can no more be
built in a day than a great com-
mercial metropolis — nevertheless
there is no reason to be ashamed
of our colleges. Scarcely one of
them can he found which does not
contain the children of non-Catho-
lics, sent thither by the j)reference
of i)arents and guardians. Our
great academies for young ladies
are recognized as i)ossessing advan-
tages which are without a parallel;
elytizing institutions, forced to pa
also for the lavish expenditure o
the public schools, have had to b«
the burden of procuring liie nece:
sary instruction for their chiliire
without exposing them to secta
ianism and the scorn of their rel
gion too often openly manifested i
the "common" schools. How f;
they have done their duty will pr
sently be shown. Honorable m-j
shall judge whether they have (
have not valued education. Bi
if it be suddenly discovered in,
they have valued it, let it beacknov
ledged also that they have ac
ed as Catholics and from the dec]
est religious motives.
The general statistics of ir
Catholic Church in America a;
very imperfect. Nevertheless, froi
the Catholic Directory of 1S75
few figures may be gleaned wliic
will abundantly sustain tlie state
ments here advanced. It is t
be regretted that the statistics a
The Friends of Education.
767
given in the Directory are not more
complete, those of some dioceses
being quite minute and exact, those
of others very imperfect.
With regard to colleges and
aca.ciemies for higher education,
there are, under Catholic direction,
in the United States, at least 540,
witH an attendance of not less than
4.S»ooo pupils. In dioceses of
"which both the numbers of insti-
tutions and their attendance have
V>een given there are 270 institu-
tions, with an attendance of 24,-
000, A mathematical computation
gives for the attendance in the
others the amount which we have
allowed as a safe estimate — viz., a
total attendance of no less than
48,000 souls. How does this ap-
pear to those who have listened
hitherto to the revilers of Catholics ?
Are we right in repelling their
charge, or are they right, who have
nothing but their angry feelings
with which to sustain it }
If Catholics are wanting in zeal
for education, the spirit of obstruc-
tion is not apparent in their higher
institutions. But, as we have said,
tlie mass bf* our people are poor.
What provision have they made for
themselves, besides paying for the
education of others ?
^The Catholic parochial schools
are principally designed to supply
the peed of Catholic education for
the masses. It would be wrong,
however, to consider them as mere-
ly primary schools. Many of the
parochial schools are really high
schools, and have a course of
studies equal to the best normal
schools. Nevertheless, under the
head of parish schools are not in-
cluded any of those already men-
tioned as colleges or academies.
In the Archdiocese of Cincinnati
there arc 140 parish schools, in
which are educated about 35,000
children free of cost to the State.
In the Archdiocese of New York
there are 93 parish schools, with not
less than 37,600 children. In the
Diocese of Cleveland there are 100
parish schools and 16,000 children.
In some places the attendance of
the Catholic schools is fully equal
to that of the public schools. So that
in these districts Catholics not only
pay for the education of their own
children, but half the expenses of
the public schools, and — supposing
both systen\s to be conducted with
equal economy — enough to pay for
the education of all the other chil-
dren as well as their own^free of
cost to Protestants, Jews, and infi-
dels. And yet Catholics are charg-
ed wihli being hostile to education !
In the United States w3 have
statistics of 1,400 parochial schools,
the given attendance at which
amounts to 320,000 pupils. The
entire number of parish schools
foots up 1,700, and the totaf figure
of attendance may be set down at
400,000 scholars. Add to this the
number of 48,000 who are being
educated in colleges and academies,
and farther increase the sum by the
probable number of children in
asylums, reformatories, and indus-
trial schools, and there will appear
something very like half a million
of scholars who are reccivinaj their
education at the expense of Catho-
lics.
Taking into account Catholic
numbers. Catholic means, and the
time in which Catholics have made
these provisions for education, we
can safely challenge, not only every
denomination singly, but all of
them put together, to show any
corresponding interest in the matter
of education, whether elementary
or scientific. This challenge is
made, not in the spirit of pride
(though certainly without shame),
768
The Friends of Education.
but in the name of truth and of
generous rivalry to outstrip all
others in the service of humanity
and our country. Let it stand as
the fittest reply to the disingenuous
charge tliat Catholics are opposed
to education.
The candid reader to »whora
these facts are new will use his
own language in characterizing the
" flank movement" against Catho-
lics, and will be disposed to credit
us with honesty and consistency in
our open criticism of «the present
hastily-adopted system of educa-
tion. But we are persuaded that
he will also be led, if not to make,
at least to concur in, farther reflec-
tions on the facts which are here
adduced. If Catholics are actual-
ly providing instruction for so vast
a number of the people of the
United States, is not this a very
considerable saving to the public }
\Ve til ink it is. The average cost
of education in New York Citv is
$13 60 per child; in the State of
New York, $11; in the United
States and Tcrritortes, $9 26. The
saving represented by such a num-
ber in our schools amounts, at the
rale of New York City, to $»6,8oo,ooo;
at the rate of the State of New York,
to $5,500,000, and at the lowest
rate, to $4,630,000 per annum. In
addition to tliis direct saving, we
must be credited witli the amount
of our taxes for the ])ublic schools.
When Catholics stand before the
American ])eople, and state the rea-
sons why they do not consider the
present educational system tliat pre-
vails lierc to be either wise or just,
they are not begcjars in any sense,
riiey ask for no fcivor. They demand
an equitable system of disbursing
the funds raised for education, so
that no class of citizens shall be
deprived of tliat for which they are
forced to contribute. They would
arrange it so that none could
ly complain. As Catholic
must have religion and m(
(which, whatever others may
are to us inseparable) taught
schools to which we send ou
dren. No time or place wil
alter our convictions on this
What we demand for ourselv
gladly concede to others. V
ready to consult with them
common and just basis of
ment. Nothing is wanting
harmonious settlement excep
ness on the part of our oppo
There is no flaw in our positi<
evil design in our heart, noi
we the slightest disposition to
a close bargain. Let the wc
spoken. Let any of the Prot
denominations make a ste|
ward, intimate a desire for
ment on the basis of equal j
to all, and Catholics are with
But while we thus maintain o
mand as strictly just, whethci
received or rejected, we ar
debtors but creditors of the
We not only ask our felloi
zens, Will you stand by an
us taxed for a system of edu<
of which we cannot conscien
ly avail ourselves } but we fi
ask, Can you, as honest mei
regard what Catholics are
for education } Do vou wani
not only to educate their owr
dren, thereby saving you this
but to educate yours also.^
What kind of a soul has th
or the nation who would d<
ately resist such an appeal }
time will come when peopl
ask — as, indeed, many do ask \
sent — " Why is not a louder i
made for the Catholics i
school question V And th
swer is that we feel a ceri
which nothing can shake, th,
American people are inte!
The Friends of Education,
769
enough to understand Catholics af-
ler a time ; and when they do un-
derstand them, they will be fair
enough to do them justice.
In the meantime let the Catholic
laborer pay not only for the edu-
cation of his own children at the
parish school, and save this ex-
pense to his rich neighbor ; let him
also pay for the same neighbor's
children, not merely in primary
schools, but in high schools, wliere
ladies and gentlemen (whom pov-
erty does not drive to labor at the
age when the poor man's children
have to be apprenticed) may learn
French and German and music,
and to declaim on the glorious
principles of American liberty and
of the Constitution, under which*
all men are (supposed to be) free
and equal. We love to hear their
young voices and hearty eloquence.
Let these institutions be costly in
structure and furnished with every
improvement. Let the teachers
have high salaries. Let gushing edi-
tors issue forth, to manifest to the
astonished world the wisdom and
deep thought which they have ac-
qv:ired at the expense of their
humbler and self-sacrificing neigh-
bor. * But let honest and thouglit-
ful men ponder on the meaning of
American equality, and judge who
are the true friends of education,
'i'he wanes of the laborers will be
spent, if the shallowness and crude
imperfection of the present system
are learned, and the spirit of equal
rights among citizens peacefully
preserved ; though the credit will
belong to those who have kept
their calmness of mind and made
the greatest sacrifices.
Tiie candid reader to wliom we
have alluded will readily admit
that Catholics are true friends of
education, and arc do^g most for
it proportionately to their means;
VOL. XXII. — 49
that, instead of suspicion and
abuse, they deserve respect, honor,
and acknowledgment of their ser-
vices.
We think, however, that our fel-
low-citizens will go much fartiier,
and will, in time, endorse our state-
ment when we affirm that Catholics
at present, and as a body, are the
only true friends of popular edu-
cation. By this is not meant simply
to say that they have not been back-
ward in obtaining, by their intel-
ligence and integrity, the highest
positions in the country ; that they
count as representatives such men
as Chief-Justice Taney, Charles
0*Conor, a Barry at the head of
the navy, a Sheridan and a Rose-
crans in the army, and others of
the highest national and local
reputation; or that, when the Ro-
man'purple fell upon the shoulders
of the Archbishop of New Yoik,
it suffered no loss of dignity in
touching a true and patriotic
American, well fitted to wear it in
any court or academy of Europe.
But we do mean that, outside of
the Catholic Church ahd those who
sympathize with our views on tin's
subject, there is no body wiiose
representatives are not biassed in
their plan for common education
by pr^udice or hostility toward
some other body.
With what utter disregard for
the rights of conscience the infidel
and atheistic faction coolly avows
its purpose to enforce a secular
and irreligious education upon all
the people — a system known to be
no less antagonistic to the spirit of
our democratic institutions than
hostile to the religious convictionji
of Catholics as well as Protestants I
What loud outcries and stormy de-
nunciations echo from certain pop-
ular pulpits when this faction de-
mands the expulsion of the Bible
770
The Friends of Education.
from the public schools ! Is any
person cool in the midst of this con-
fusion ? Is there any class of citi-
zens which looks to the common
good and adheres to the principle
of equal regard for religious rights
and education free for all ? There
are such persons. There i^such a
class. Those are they who never
shrink from avowing their prin-
ciples, and whose principles are al-
ways right, in spite of temporary
unpopularity — the representatives
of the Catholic Church of America.
When the excitement of the hour
has died away, and the schemes of
politicians to gain power by fasten-
ing upon the country a system fatal
to liberty, and radical in its assault
upon the spirit of our government,
have met their just fate, then we
shall receive the honor due to Uiose
who have defended the country
from the danger of adopting parti-
san measures aimed against a cer-
tain class of citizens.
We hope to live to see the day
when there will not be a child in
the whole land capable of instruc-
tion who shall not receive a
thorough education, fitting him
to be a patriotic citizen of our
country, and, at the same time, in
nowise interfering with his reli-
gious duties. The presenUsystem
signally fails to accomplish this.
Those who so strenuously uphold
its organization and attempt to make
it compulsory upon all are hostile
to the genius of our institutions
and fanatical in their zeal. That
they are not lovers of education is
evident from their own ignorance
of facts. That they are in earnest
when they charge Catholics with
hostility to education we can
scarcely believe ; for we hear from
the same lips hints and warnings
against Catholic success in educa-
tion. We hear also that the Cath-
olic Church is growing, and, unless
something is done to stop her, she
will convert all the Protestants in
the country ; and, still at other
times, that she is an effete and
worn-out thing which cannot live
through the -century in a free re-
public. At one time Catholics ire
derided as idiots ; at another repre-
sented as deep and insidious con-
spirators. There is scarcely any-
thing which is not affirmed or de-
nied of them, according as it suits
the mood of their revilers- If our
people were cooler and more dis-
passionate, we should find all those
calumnies answering one another.
As it is, we are constrained to
pay them more or less attention,
'though the nature of the testimony
against us scarcely allows us to
take up more than one point at a
time.
If Catholics or Methodists or
Episcopalians or Baptists can give a
better and a cheaper education, we
see no reason why the state should
interfere with those who choose to
avail themselves of it. Let the
state set up any standard it may
choose, or make it obligatory; Ca-
tholics will cheerfully come up to
it, no matter how high it may be.
provided equal rights are allowed
to all. The government has a rfght
to demand that its voters shall pos-
sess knowledge. It has no right to
say how or w^here they shall ac-
quire knowledge. The government
is bound by public policy to pro-
mote education. This is to be
done by stimulating in this depart-
ment the same activity which has
made Americans famous in other
branches of social econoniy, by en-
couraging spontaneous action, and
not by an ill-judged system of
" protection " of one kind of edu-
cation against another, or by creat-
ing a state monopoly. Bespeaking
Suggested by a Cascade at Lake George
771
candor and due respect on the part
of those who may differ from us,
ive take our stand on what we con-
ceive to be the true American
ground, and are willing to abide by
the consequences — fair play, uni-
versal culture, obligatory know-
ledge, non-interference of the state
in religion, and free trade in edu-
cation.
SUGGESTED BY A CASCADE AT LAKE GEORGE.
Not idly could I watch this torrent fall
Hour after hour ; not vainly day by day
Visit the spot to meditate and pray.
The charm that holds me in its giant thrall
Has too much of the infinite to pall.
For though, like time, the waters pass away,
They fling a freshness, a baptismal spray,
Which brcatlies of the Eternal Fount of all.
And so, my. God, does thy revealed word,
In living dogma or on sacred page,
Flow to us ever new ; though read and h^ard
Immutably the same from age to age.
And thither Nature sends us to assuage
The higher longings by her voices stirred*
772
Sir Thomas More
SIR THOMAS MORE.
A HISTORICAL ROMANCE.
rSOM THE FItBKCH OP THE PEINCESSS DB CSAOV.
V.
TfME glides rapidly by, leaving
Tio footprints on the dreary road
over which it has passed, as the
wild billows, rolling back into the
fathomless depths whence the tem-
pest has called them forth, leave no
traces behind them. And so passes
life ~* fleeting rapidly, noiselessly
away; while man, weary with striv-
ing, tortured by cares and unceas-
ing anxieties, is born, suffers, weeps,
and in a day has withered, and,
like a fragile flower of the field,
perishes from the earth.
Wolsey, fallen from the summit of
prosperity, continued to experience
a succession of reverses. Unceas-
ingly exposed to the malice of his
enemies, he struggled in vain against
their constantly-increasing influ-
ence ; and if they failed in bringing
about his death, they succeeded, at
.least, in poisoning every moment
of his existence. Thus, at the time
even when Henry VHI. had sent
him a valuable ring as a token of
amity, they forced the king to despoil
the wretched man of the valuable
possessions which they pretended
to wish restored to him. He re-
ceived one day from his master a
new assurance of his royal solici-
tude ; the next, his resources failing,
he was obliged, for want of money,
to dismiss his old servants and re-
main alone in his exile.
Cromwell, with an incredible
adroitness, had succeeded by de-
grees in disengaging himself from
the obligations he owed the cardi-
nal, and in making the downfall
and misfortunes of his master sene
to advance his own interests. He
had made numerous friends among
the throng of courtiers surrounding
the king, in obtaining from the un-
happy Wolsey his recognition of
the distribution which the king had
made of his effects, by adding the
sanction of his own seal. After
repeated refusals on the part of the
cardinal, he was at last successful
in convincing him of the urgent
necessity for making this conces-
sion, in order to try, he said with
apparent sincerity, to lessen the
animosity and remove the preju-
dices they entertained against liini.
But, in reajity, the intention of
Cromwell had been, by that manoeu-
vre, to strip him of his entire pos-
sessions ; for the courtiers, being
well aware their titles were not va-
lid under the law, were ever)' mo-
ment afraid they might be called on
to surrender the gifts they had re-
ceived, and consequently desired
nothinsj so much as to have the
cardinal confirm them in their un-
just possessions.
It was by means of this monstrous
ingratitude that Cromwell purchas-
ed the favor of the court, began to
elevate himself near the king in re-
ceiving new dignities and honors,
and at length found himself sr»ved
from the fate he had so greatly aj)-
prehended at the moment of his
benefactor's downfall. Of what
consequence was Wolsey to him
Sir Thomas More.
773
now? Banished from his archbi-
shopric of York, he was but a bro-
ken footstool which Cromwell no
longer cared to remember. He
scarcely deigned to employ his new
friends in having Wolsey (reduced
to the condition of an invalid) re-
moved from the miserable abode
at Asher to the better situated cas-
tle of Richmond ; and later, when
the heads of the council, always ap-
prehensive and uneasy because of
his existence, obtained his peremp-
tory exile, he considered tliis de-
parture as completely liberating
him from every obligation to his old
benefactor.
Events were thus following each
other in rapid succession, when,
toward the middle of the day,
the door of the king's cabinet
opened, and Sir Thomas More,
in the grand costume of lord
chancellor, entered as had been his
custom.
The king turned slightly around
on his chair, and fixed upon him a
searching glance, as if he sought to
read the inmost soul of More.
The countenance of the chancel-
lor was tranquil, respectful, and as-
sured, such as it had always been.
In vain Henry sought to discover
the indications of fear, the impetu-
ous desires and ambitions which he
was accustomed to excite or con-
tradict in the agitated heart of Wol-
sey, and by which, in his turn master
of his favorite, of his future, and of
his great talents, he made him pay so
dearly for the honors at intervals
heaped upon him.
Nothing of all this could he dis-
rover ! More seated himself when
invited by the king, and entered
upon the discussion of a multitude
of affairs to which he had been de-
voting himself with unremitting at-
tention day and night.
Sire," he would urge, " this
<i
measure will be most useful to
your kingdom; sire, justice, it
seems to me, requires you to give
such a decision in that case."
Never were any other con-
siderations brought to bear nor
other demands made ; nothing for
himself, nothing for his family, but
all for the good of the state, the in-
terests of the people ; silence upon
all subjects his conscience did not
oblige him to reveal, though the
king perceived only too clearly the
inmost depths of the pure and ele-
vated soul of his chancellor.
By dazzling this man of rare vir-
tues with a fortune to which a sim-
ple gentleman could never aspire,
Henry had hoped to allure him to
his own party and induce him to
sustain the divorce bill. Thus, by
a monstrous contradiction, in cor-
rupting him by avarice and ambi-
tion, he would have destroyed the
very virtues on which he wished to
lean. He perceived with indigna-
tion that all his artifices had been
unsuccessful in influencing a will
accustomed to yield only to convic-
tions of duty, and he feared his
ability to move him by any of
the indirect and abstract arguments
which he felt and acknowledged to
himself were weak and insufficient.
Revolving all these reflections in
his mind, the king eagerly opened
the conversation with More, but in
a quiet tone and with an air of as-
sumed indifference.
"Well! Sir Thomas," hp said,
" have you reflected on what I ask-
ed you ? Do you not find now that
my marriage with my brother's
wife was in opposition to all laws
human and divine, and that I
cannot do otherwise than have it
pronounced null and void, after be-
ing thus advised by so many learned
men, and ecclesiastics also ?"
" Sire," replied More, " I have
774
Sir Thomas Mare.
done what your majesty requested
me ; but it occurs to my mind that,
in an affair of so much importance,
it will not be sufficient to ask sim-
ply the advice of those immediately
around you ; for it might be feared
that, influenced by the affection
they bear for you, they would not
decide as impartially as your ma-
jesty would desire. Perhaps, also,
some of them might be afraid of
offending you. I have, therefore,
concluded that it would be better
for your majesty to consult advisers
who are entirely removed from all
such suspicions. Tliat is why I
have endeavored to collect together
in this manuscript I have here the
various passages of Holy Scripture
bearing on this subject. I have
added also the opinions of S. Au-
gustine and several other fathers
of the church, with whose eminent
learning and high authority among
the faithful your majesty is familiar,"
"Ah!" said the king, with a
slightly-marked movement of impa-
tience, " tliat was right. Leave it
there ; I will read it."
Sir Thomas deposited the manu-
script on the king's table.
** My lord chancellor," he contin-
ued, ** the House of Commons has
taken some steps toward discharg-
ing my debts. What do they think
of this in the citv ?"
** Sire," replied More, " I must
tell you candidly they complain
oi:)enly and loudly. They say if the
ministers had not taken care to in-
troduce into the house members
who had received their positions
from themselves, the bill would
never have passed ; for it is alto-
gether unjust and iniquitous for
Parliament to dispose in this man-
ner of private property. They say
still farther that it has been insert-
ed in the preamble of the bill that
the prosperity of th.e kingdom un-
der the king's paternal administn
tion had induced them to testify
their gratitude by discharging hi
debts. If this pretext is sincere,!
reflects the greatest honor on Cu
dinal Wolsey ; and if, on the coa
trary,it is false, it covers his succes
sors with shame."
"What!" exclaimed the kioj
" do they dare express themschesi
this manner ?"
" Yes," replied Sir Thomas; "an
I will frankly say to the king th;
it would have been far better 1
have imposed a new tax suppor
ed equally by all than thus 1
despoil individuals of their pati
mony."
" 1 ney are never contented !"c
claimed the king impatiently. "
have sacrificed Wolsey to their li
tred, whom there is no person
the kingdom now able to replac
This Dr. Gardiner torments ii
with questions which are far fro
satisfactory to his dull ccnnprehe
sion. Everything goes wrong, w
less I take the trouble of raanagii
it myself; while with the cardin
the slightest suggestion was suf
cient. I constantly feel inclined
recall him ! Then we will see wh
they will say ! But no !" he conti
ued, with an expression of gloon
sullenness, " they gave me no re
until I had banished him from li
archbishopric of York. It was,th<
said, the sole means of preventii
Parliament from pronouncing I:
condemnation. By this time he
doubtless already reconciled ; he
so vain a creature that the tlin
or four words I have said in h
favor to my nobles of the non
will have been worth more to hi"
than the homage and adulation c-
a court, without which he cannr
exist. He is pious now, they sjv
occupying himself only with goo<
works and in doing penance fo
Sir TJtopnas More,
77S
his many sins of the past. In fact,
he is entirely reconciled ! He has
already forgotten all that I have
done for him ! I shall devote my-
self, then, to those who now serve
me!"
««
I doubt very much if your
majesty has been correctly inform-
ed with regard to the latter fact,*'
replied More. " Indeed, I know
that the order compelling him to
be entirely removed from your
majesty's nresence is the one that
caused him the deepest grief."
•' Ah ! More," interrupted the
king very suddenly, as if to take
him by surprise, ** you are opposed
to my divorce. I have known it
perfectly well for a long time ; and
these extracts from the fathers of
the church to which you refer me
are simply the expression of your
own opin ions, which you wish to con-
vey to me in this indirect manner."
'* Sire," replied More, slightly em-
harrassed, " I had hoped your ma-
jesty would not force me to give my
opinion on a subject of such grave
importance, and one, as I have al-
ready explained, on which I possess
neither the authority nor the ability
to decide."
"Ah ! well, Sir Thomas," replied
the king in a confident manner,
wishing to discover what effect his
words would produce on More,
"being entirely convinced of the
justice of my cause, and that no-
thing can prevent me from availing
myself of it, I am determined, if
the pope refuses what I have a
right to demand, to withdraw from
the tyrannical yoke of his authoi-
ity. I will appoint a patriarch
in my kingdom, and the bishops
shall no longer submit to his juris-
diction."
" A schism !" exclaimed More,
** a schism I Dismember the church
of Jesus Christ for a woman!"
And he paused, appalled at what
Henry had said and astonished at
his own energetic denunciation.
The king felt, as by a violent
shock, all the force of that excla-
mation, and, dropping his head on
his breast, he remained stupefied,
like one who had just been aroused
from a painful and terrible dream.
Just at that moment the cabinet
door was thrown violently open,
and Lady Anne Boleyn entered pre-
cipitately. She was drowned in
tears, and carried in her arms a
hunting spaniel that belonged to
the king.
She threw it into the centre of
the apartment, evidently in a fright-
ful rage.
" Here," she cried, looking at the
king — " here is your wretched dog,
that has tried to strangle my favor-
ite bird ! You never do anything
but try to annoy me, make me mis-
erable, and cause me all kinds of
intolerable vexations. I have told
you already that I did not want
that horrid animal in my chamber."
In the meantime the dog, which
she had thrown on the floor, set up
a lamentable howl.
The king felt deeply humiliated
by this ridiculous scene, and es-
pecially on account of the angry
familiarity exhibited by Anne Bo-
leyn in presence of Sir Thomas
More ; for she either forgot herself
in her extreme excitement and in-
dignation, or she believed her em-
pire so securely established that
she did not hesitate to give these
proofs of it. She continued her
complaints and reproaches with in-
creasing haughtiness, until she was
interrupted by Dr. Stephen Gardi-
ner, who came to bring some newly-
arrived despatches to the king.
Henry arose immediately, and,
motioning Sir Thomas to open the
door, without saying a word, he
n^
Sir Thomas More.
took Anne Boleyn by the hand, and,
leading her from the room, ordered
lier to retire to her own apartment.
He then returned, and, seating
himself near the chancellor, con-
cealed, as far as he was able, his ex-
citement and mortification.
Sir Thomas, still more excited,
could not avoid, as they went over
the despatches, indignantly reflect-
ing on the manner in which Anne
Boleyn had treated the king, on
his deplorable infatuation, and the
terrible consequences to which that
infatuation must inevitably lead.
The king, divining the nature of
his reflections, experienced a de-
gree of humiliation that made him
inexpressibly miserable.
" What say these despatches ?" he
asked, endeavoring to assume com-
posure. " What does More think of
me?" he said to himself — "he so
liiave, so pious, so dignified ! He
despises me
f
That silly girl !
" They give an account of the
emperor's reception of the Earl of
Wiltshire,'* answered More. " I
will read it aloud, if your majesty
wishes."
** No, no," said the king, whom
the name of Wiltshire confused
still more ; " give them to me. I
am perfectly familiar with the ci-
pher." He did not intend that
More should yet be apprised of
the base intrigues he had ordered
to be practised at Rome to assist
the father of his mistress in obtain-
ing the divorce.
Having taken the letters, he
found the emperor had treated his
ambassador with the utmost con-
tempt, remarking to Wiltshire that
he was an interested party, since he
was father of the queen's rival, and
he would have to inform Henry
VIII. that the emperor was not a
merchant to sell the honor of his
aunt for three hundred thousand
crowns, even if he proposed to
abandon her cause, but, on the
contrary, he should defend it to
the last extremity; and after sav-
ing this, the emperor had delil>er-
ately turned his back on the am-
bassador and forbidden him to be
again admitted to his presence.
Henry grew red and white alter-
nately.
" I am, then, the laugh in g-s^ock
of Europe," he murmured through
his firmly-set teeth.
Numerous other explanations fol-
lowed, in which the Earl of Wilt-
shire gave an exact and circum-
stantial account of the oflfer he ha J
made to the Holy Father of the
treatise composed by Cromwell on
the subject of the divorce, s^yln^
that he had brought the author
with him, who was prepared to sus-
tain the opinions advanced against
all opposition. He ended by in-
forming the king that, in spite of
his utmost efforts, he had not been
able to prevent the pope from ac-
cording the emperor a brief forbid-
ding Henry to celebrate another
marriage before the queen's case
had been entirely decided, and en-
joining him to treat her in the
meantime as his legitimate wife.
Wiltshire sent with his letter an
especial copy of that document,
adding that he feared the informa-
tion the Holy Father had received
of the violence exercised bv the
English universities toward those
doctors who had voted against the
divorce, together with the money
and promises distributed among
those of France, especially the
University of Paris, to obtain favor-
able decisions, had not contributed
toward influencinsj him.
The king read and re-read seve-
ral times all these statements, and
was entirely overwhelmed with in-
dignation and disappointment.
Sir Tliomoi More.
777
c<
And why," he anp;rily exclaim-
i, dashing the earl's letter as far
possible from him — "why have
tUese flatterers surrounding me al-
ways assured me I would succeed
in my undertaking? Why could
tliev not foresee that it would be im-
possible ? and why have I not found
a. sincere friend who might have ad-
YTionished me? More!" he cried
after a moment's silence — " More, I
am most miserable ! What could be
more unjust ? I am devoted to Lady
Anne Boleyn as my future wife;
and now they wish to make me re-
nounce her. The emperor's in-
trigues prevail, and against all laws,
human and divine, they condemn
iTie to eternal celibacy !"
** Ah !" replied Sir Thomas in a
firm but sadly respectful manner,
** yes, ii is indeed distressing to see
your majesty thus voluntarily de-
stroy your own peace, that of your
kingdom, the happiness of your
subjects, the regard for your own
honor, so many benefits, in fact,
and all for the foolish love of a girl
who possesses neither worth nor
reputation."
'* More," exclaimed the king,
**do not speak of her in this man-
ner ! She is young and thoughtless,
but in her heart she is devoted to
me.
>»
"That is," replied More, "she
is entirely devoted to the crown ;
she loves dearly the honors of roy-
ally, and her pride is doubly flat-
tered."
" More," said the king, " I for-
give you for speaking thus to me ;
vour severe morals, your austere
\irtuifS, have not permitted you to
experience the torments of love,
nnd that is why," he added gloomily,
** you cannot comprehend its irre-
sistible impulses and true senti-
ments."
** Nothing that is known to one
man is unknown to another," re-
plied More. " Love, in itself, is a
sublime sentiment that comes from
God ; but, alas ! men drag it in the
dust, like all else they touch, and too
often mistake the appearance for the
reality. Tolove anyone, Omyking!"
continued More, ** is it not to pre-
fer them in all things above your-
self, to consider yourself as no-
thing, and be willing to sacrifice
without regret all that you would
wish to possess ?"
" Yes," said Henry VIII. ; " and
that is the way I love Anne — more
than my life, more than the entire
world !"
" No, no, sire !" exclaimed More,
" don't tell me that. No, don't say
you love her ; say you love the plea-
sure she affords you, the attractions
she possesses, which have charmed
your senses — in a word, acknow-
ledge that you love yourself in her,
and consider well that the day
when nature deprives her of her
gifts and graces your memory will
no longer represent her to you but
as an insipid image, worthy only of
a scornful oblivion! Ah! if you
loved her truly, you would act in
a different manner. You would
never have considered aught but
her happiness and her interests ;
you would blush for her, and you
would not be able to endure the
thought of the shame with which
you have not hesitated to cover
her yourself in the eyes of all your
court !"
** Perhaps," . . . replied Henry
in a low and altered voice. " But
she — she loves me ; I cannot doubt
that."
" She loves the King of Eng-
land !" replied More excitedly,
" but not Henry ; she loves the
mighty prince who ignominiously
bends his neck beneath the yoke
which she pleases to impose on
778
Sir Tliomas Mare,
him. But poor and destitute, her
glance would never have fallen
upon you. Proud of her beauty,
vain of her charms, she holds you
like a conquered vassal whom she
governs by a gesture or a word.
She loves riches, honors, and the
pleasures with which you surround
her. She is dazzled by the Mat of
the high rank you occupy, and, to
attain it, she fears not to purchase
it at the price of your soul and all
that you possess. What matters
to her the care of your honor or
the love of your subjects? Has
she ever said to you : ' Henry, I
love you, but your duty separates
you from me; be great, be virtu-
ous ' ? Has she said : * Catherine,
your wife, is my sovereign, and I
recognize no other ' ? Do you not
hear the voice ol your people saying
to your children : * You shall reign
over us '? But what am I saying ?
No, of course she has not spoken
thus ; because she seeks to elevate
herself, she thinks of her own ag-
grandizement — to see at her feet
men whom she would never other-
wise be able to command."
" What shall I do, then, what
shall 1 do.^" cried Henry dolor*
ously.
" Marry Anne Boleyn," replied
Thomas More coolly ; " you should
do it, since you have broken off her
marriage with the Earl of North-
umberland. If not, send her away
from court."
" I will do it ! ... No, I will
not do it !" he exclaimed, almost in
the same breath. " I shall never
be able to do it."
" That is to say, you never intend
to do it," replied More. " We can
always accomplish what we re-
solve."
" No, no," replied Henry ; " we
cannot always do what we wish.
Everything conspires against me.
Tired of willing, I can make no-
thing bend to my will ! Of what*
use is my royal power? To be
happy is a thing impossible !"
*' Yes, of all things in this life
most impossible," answered More;
"and he who aspires to attain it
finds his miseries redoubled at the
very moment he thinks they will
terminate. The possession of un-
lawful pleasures is poisoned by the
remorse that follows in their train;
and, frightened by their insecurity
and short duration, we are prevent-
ed from enjoying them in quietness
and peace."
•'Then," cried Henry VIII.,
stamping his foot violently on the
floor, " we had better be dead."
"Yes," replied Thomas More,
"and to-morrow perhaps we may
be!"
" To-morrow !" repeated the king,
as if struck with terror. " No, no.
More, not to-morrow. ... I would
not be willing now to appear in the
presence of God."
" Then," replied More, " how can
you expect to live peaceably in a
condition in which you are afraid
to die ? In a few hours, or at least
in a few years (that is as certain
as the light of day which shines
this moment), your life and mine
will have to end, leaving nothing
more than regrets for the past and
fears for the future."
" You say truly, More," replied
the king; "but life appears so long
to us, the future so far removed !
Is it necessary, then, that we be al-
ways thinking of it and sacrificing
our pleasures ? . . . Later — well,
we will change. Will we not have
more time then to think of it ?"
"Ah !" replied More sadly, " there
remains very little time to him
who is always putting off until to-
morrow."
As he heard the last words, the
Sir Tliomas More.
779
king's face grew instantly crimson.
*He kept More with him, entertain-
ing him with his trials and vexa-
tions, and the night was far ad*
vanced before he permitted him to
retire.
Ouring four entire days the king
remained shut up in his apartment,
and Anne Boleyn vainly attempted
to gain admittance.
Meanwhile, a rumor of her down-
fall spread rapidly through the
palace. The courtiers who were
accustomed to attend her levSes in
greater numbers and much more
scrupulously than those of Queen
Catherine, suddenly discontinued,
and on the last occasion scarcely
one of them made his appearance.
They also took great care to pre-
serve a frigid reserve and doubtful
politeness, which excited to the
last degree her alarm and that of
her ambitious family.
The latter were every moment
in dread of the blow that seemed
ready to fall upon them. In this
state of gloomy disquiet every
circumstance was anxiously noted
and served to excite their appre-
hensions. They continually dis-
cussed among themselves the arri-
val of the despatches from Rome,
the nature of which they suspected
from the very long time Sir Thomas
More had remained with the king.
Then they refreshed their memo-
ries with reflections on the inflexi-
ble severity of the lord chancellor,
his old attachment for Queen Cath-
erine — an attachment which the
elevation of More had never inter-
rupted, as they had hoped would be
the case. Finally, the sincerity of
his nature and the estimation in
which he was held by the king
made them, with great reason, ap-
prehend the influence of his coun-
sel. Already they found them-
selves abandoned by almost all of
those upon whose support they
had relied. Suffolk, leagued with
them heretofore, in order to secure
the downfall of Cardinal Wolsev,
now regarded them in their dis-
grace as of little consequence to
one so closely related as himself
to his majesty by the princess, his
wife. The Duke of Norfolk, justly
proud of his birth, his wealth, and
his reputation, could not believe
the power with which the influence
of his niece had clothed him in the
council by any means bound him
to engage in or compromise him-
self in her cause. In the mean-
time they realized that they would
inevitably be compelled to suc-
cumb or make a last and desperate
effort, and they resolved with one
accord to address themselves to
Cromwell, whose shrewdness and
cunning, joined to the motivet: of
self-interest that could be bro»(ght
to bear on him, seemed to offer them
a last resort.
Cromwell immediately under-
stood all the benefit he would be
likely to derive from the situation
whether he succeeded or failed in
the cause of Anne Boleyn, and
determined, according to his own
expression, to "make or unmake."
He wrote to the king, demanding
an audience. " He fully realized,"
he wrote, with his characteristic
adroitness, 'Miis entire incapacity
for giving advice, but neither his
devoted affection nor his sense of
duty would permit him to remain
silent when he knew the anxiety
his sovereign was suffering. It
might be deemed presumptuous in
him to say it, but he believed all
the difficulties embarrassing the
king arose from the timidity of his
advisers, who were misled by exte-
rior appearances or deceived by
the opinions of the vulgar."
78c
Sir T/iowas More.
The king immediately granted
him an audience, although his usual
custom was to remain entirely se-
cluded and alone while laboring
under these violent transports of
passion. He hoped that Cromwell
might be able to present his opin-
ions with such ability as would at
least be sufficient to divert him
from the wretchedness he experi-
enced.
Cromwell appeared before him
with eyes cast down and affecting
an air of sadness and constraint.
" Sire," he said, as he approached
the king, " yesterday, even yester-
day, I was happy — yes, happy in
the thought of being permitted to
present myself before your majesty;
because it seemed to me I might
be able to offer some consolation
for the anxieties you experience
by reminding you that nothing
shcuilcl induce you to pause in your
efforts to advance the interests of
the kingdom and the state. But
to day, in appearing before you, I
know not what to say. This morn-
ing Lady Boleyn, being informed
that I was to have the happiness
of seeing your majesty, sent for me
and charged me with the commis-
sion of asking your majesty's per-
mission for her to withdraw from
court."
"What!" exclaimed Henry, ris-
ing hastily to his feet, "she wishes
to leave me } — she, my only happi-
)icss, my only joy.? Never!"
" I have found her," continued
Cromwell, seeming not to remark
the painful uneasiness he had arous-
>ed in the king's mind — "I have
found her plunged in a state of
indescribable grief. She was almost
deprived of consciousness; her
beautiful eyes were weighed down
with tears, her long hair hanging
neglected around her shoulders ;
and her pale, transparent cheek
made her resemble a delicate white
rose bowed on its ^lender stem be-
fore the violence of the tempest .
*Go, my dear Cromwell,' she said
to me with a tremulous voice, bat
sweet as the soft expiring notes
of an aeolian lyre — * go, say to my
king, to my lord, I ask his permis-
sion to retire this day to my father's
country-seat. I know that I am
surrounded by enemies, but, while
favored by his protection, I have
not feared their malice. But noir
I feel, and cannot doubt it, I shall
become their victim, since they
have succeeded in prejudicing my
sovereign against me to such an
extent that he refuses to hear mv
defence.' "
**What can she be afraid of
here .>" cried the king. " Who
would dare offend her in ray
palace ?"
" Who will be able to defend her
if your majesty abandons her ?" re-
plied Cromwell in a haughty tone,
feigning to forget the humble de-
meanor he had assumed, and men-
tally applauding the success of his
stratagem. " Has she not given
up all for you 1 Every day she
has wounded bv her refusals the
greatest lords of the realm, who
have earnestly sued for her heart
and hand; but she has constantly
refused to listen to them because
of the love she bears for you — ^al-
ways preferring the uncertain hope
of one day becoming yours to all
the brilliant advantages of the
wealthiest suitors she has been
urged to accept. But to-day, when
her honor is attacked, when you
banish her from your presence, she
feels she will not have the courage
to endure near you such wretched-
ness, and she asks to be permitted
to withdraw from court at once
and for ever !"
For ever V repeated the king.
«« 'V.
Sir TAof^as More.
781
" Cromwell, has she said that ?
Have you heai;(j[ her right? No,
Cromwell, you are mistaken ! I
know her better than you." And
he turned on Cromwell a keen,
scrutinizing glance.
But nothing could daunt this
audacious man.
" She said all I have told you,"
replied the hypocrite, with the cool-
est assurance, raising his head
haughtily. " Would I dare to repeat
what I have not heard .^ And your
majesty can imagine that my de-
votion has alone induced me to
become the bearer of so painful a
message ; for I could not believe
your majesty had ceased to love
her."
"Never!" cried the king.
" Never have I for one moment
ceased to adore her ! But listen,
dear Cromwell, and be convinced
of how wretched I am ! Yesterday
I received from Rome the most dis-
tressing intelligence. I had writ-
ten the pope a letter, signed by a
great number of lords of my court
and bishops of the kingdom, in
which they expressed the fears
they entertained of one day seeing
the flames of civil war break out
in this country if I should die with-
out male heirs,- as there would be
grounds for contesting the right of
my daughter Mary to the throne
on the score of her legitimacy. But
nothing can move him."
■ . • * . .
Here tlie king rose, furiously in-
dignant. " He has answered this
petition," he cried, walking with
hurried strides up and down the
floor; " and how ? ... By my faith,
i can scarcely repeat it. . . . That
he pardons the terms they have
used in their letter, attributing
them to the affection they bear for
me; that he is under still greater
obligations to mc than they Iiave
mentioned ; that it is not his fault
if the affair of the divorce remains
undecided; that he has sent legates
to England ; that the queen has re-
fused to recognize them, and appeal-
ed from all they have done ; that
he has tried vainly in every possi-
ble way to terminate the affair ami-
cably ; and, furthermore, * You will,
perhaps, be ready to say,' he writes,
* that, being under so many obliga-
tions to the king as I am, I should
waive all other considerations and
accord him absolutely everything
he asks.* Although that would be
sovereignly unjust, yet he can con-
clude nothing else from their letter;
that they reflect not on the queen
having represented to him, that all
Christendom is scandalized because
they would attempt to annul a mar-
riage contracted sp many years ago,
at the request of two great kings
and under a dispensation from the
pope — a marriage confirmed by the
birth of several children ! And
what else.? Let me see : . . . That
if I rely on the opinion of several
doctors and universities, he refers,
on his part, to the law of God upon
the sanctity and unity of marriage,
and the highest authorities taken
from the Hebrew and Latin writers ;
that the decisions of the universities
which I bring forward are support-
ed by no proofs; he cannot de-
cide finally upon that, and, if he
should precipitate his judgment,
they would no longer be able to
avert the evils with which it is
said England is threatened; that
he desires as much as they that I
may have male heirs, but he is not
God to give them to me ; he has
no greater wish than to please me
as far as lies in his power, without
at the same time violating all the
laws of justice and equity ; and,
finally, he conjures them to cease
demanding of him things that are
782
Sir Tkonuts Mare*
opposed to his conscience, in order
that he may be spared the pain of
refusing ! Mark that well, Crom-
well — the pain of refusing ! Thus,
you see, after having tried every-
thing, spent everything, and used
every possible means, what remains
now for me to hope ?"
"All that you wish," replied
Cromwell ; " everything without
exception ! Why permit yourself
to be governed by those who ought
to be your slaves ? Among all the
clergy who surround you, and whom
you are able to reduce, if you
choose, to mendicity, can you not
find a priest who will marry you ?
If I were King of England, I would
very soon convince them that the
happiness of their lives depended
entirely upon mine ! Threaten to
withdraw from the authority of
Rome, and you will very soon see
them yielding, on their knees, to all
vour demands."
"Cromwell," said Henry VIII.,
*' I admire your spirit and the bold-
ness of the measures you advocate.
From this moment I open to you
the door of my council. Remem-
ber the kindness and the signal
favor with which I have honored
you. However, your inexperienc-
ed zeal carries you too far ; you for-
get that the day I would determine
really to separate myself from the
Church of Rome, I would become
schismatic, and the people would
refuse to obey me. Moreover I
am a Catholic, and I wish to die
one.
If
" What of that .>" replied Crom-
welU '* Am I not also a Catholic ?
Because your majesty frightens the
pope, will he cease to exist ? De-
clare to him that from this day you
no longer recognize his authority;
that you forbid the clergy paying
their tithes to, or receiving from
him their nominations. You will
see, then, if tne next day your pres-
ent marriage is nj^t annulled and
the one you wish to contract ap-
proved and ratified."
" Do you really believe it ?" said
the king.
" I am sure of it," replied Ciom-
wella
" No," said the king. " It is a
thing utterly impossible; the bi-
shops would refuse to accede to any
such requirements, and they would
be right. They know too well that
it is essential for the church to
have a head in order to maintain
her unity, and without it nothing
would follow but confusion and dis-
order."
" Well ! who can prevent your
majesty from becoming yourself
that head V* exclaimed Cromwell.
" Is England not actually a monster
now with two heads, one of them
wanting a thing, and the other not }
Follow the example given you by
those German princes who are free-
ing themselves from the yoke which
has humbled them for so many
years before the throne of a pontiff
who is a stranger alike to their af-
fections and their interests ! Then
everything anomalous will rectify
itself, and your subjects cease to
believe that any other than your-
self is entitled to their homage or
submission."
"You are right, little Crom-
well!" cried Henry VIII., this
seductive and perfidious discourse
flattering at the same time bis
guilty passion and the ambition
that divided his soul. "But hov
would you proceed about executing
this marvellous project, of which a
thought had already crossed my
own mind t — for, as I have just told
you, the clergy will refuse to obey
me, and I shall then have no means
of compelling them."
*' Your consideration and kind-
Sir Thomas More,
783
ness make you forget,** replied
Cromwell adroitly, afraid of wound-
ing the king's pride, " the statutes
of prxmunire offer you means both
sure and easy. Is it not by those
laws they have tried Wolsey before
the Parliament? In condemning
him they have condemned them-
selves, and have made themselves
amenable to the same penalties.
Y^u have them all in your power.
Threaten to punish them in their
turn, if they refuse to take the oath
acknowledging you as head of the
church ; and do it fearlessly if they
dare attempt to resist you."
**Well, little Cromwell," said
Henry VIII., slapping him fami-
liarly on the shoulder, " I observe
with great satisfaction your cool-
ness and the variety of resources
you have at command. You see
everything at a glance and fear no-
thing. I have made all these ob-
jections only to hear how you
would meet them. Here, take
these Roman documents, read them
for yourself, and you will be better
able to appreciate their contents;
while I go and beg Anne to forget
the wrongs I so cruelly reproach
myself with having inflicted on her."
Saying this, Henry VIII. went
out, and Cromwell followed him
with his eyes as he walked through
the long gallery.
An ironical smile hovered over
his thin and bloodless lips as he
watched him. ** Go, go," he mur-
mured to himself, " throw yourself
at the feet of your silly mistress, and
ask her pardon for wishing her to
be queen of England. They are
grand, very grand, these kings, and
yet they find themselves very often
held in the hollow of the hand of
some low and crafty flatterer!
* Despicable creature !' they will
say. Yes, I am despicable in the
eyes of many; and yet they prc-
piare, by my advice, to overthrow
the pillars of the church, in order
to enrich me with its consecrated
spoils."
He laughed a diabolical laugh ;
then suddenly his face grew dark,
and a fierce, malignant gleam shot
from his eyes. "Go," he contin-
ued — " go, prince as false as you are
wicked. I, at least, am your equal
in cunning and duplicity. You
were not created for good, and the
odious voice of More will call you
in vain to the path of virtue. My
tongue — ay, mine — is to you far
sweeter! It carries a poison that
you will suck with eager lips. The
son of the poor fuller will make
you his partner in crime. He will
recline with you on your velvet
throne, and perfidious cruelty will
unite us heart and soul ! . . . Go,
seek that fool whom you adore and
who will weary you yery soon, and
the vile, ambitious father who has
begotten her. But, for me ! . . .
destroy your kingdom, profane the
sanctuary, light the funeral pyre,
and compel all those to mount it
who shall oppose the laws Cromwell
will dictate to you ! Two ferocious
beasts to-day share the throne of
England ! You will surfeit me with
gold, and I will make you drunk
with blood ! You shalU proclaim
aloud what I shall have whispered
in your ear ! Ha ! who of the two
will be really king — Henry VIII.
or Cromwell? Why, Cromwell,
without doubt; because he was
born in the mire. He has learned
how to fly while the other was be-
ing fledged beneath the shadow of
the crown ! You have been reared
within these walls of gold," contin-
ued Cromwell, surveying the mag-
nificent adornings of the royal
chamber; "these exquisite per-
fumes, escaping from fountains and
flowers, have always surround you.
784
Sir Thomas More.^
You have never known, like me,
abandonment and want, suffered
from cold and hunger in a thatched
cottage, and imbibed the hatred,
fostered in those abodes of wretch-
edness, against the rich ; but I have
cherished that rage in my inmost
soul ! There it burns like a con-
suming fire I I will have a palace.
I will have power and be feared.
Servile courtiers shall fawn at my
feet, adulation shall surround me.
I would grasp the entire world, and
yet the cry of my soul would be,
More, still more !"
Saying this, Cromwell threw him-
self into the king's arm-chair, and,
pushing contemptuously from him
the papers he had taken to read,
abandoned himself entirely to the
furious thirst of avarice and ambi-
tion that devoured him.
The curfew had already sounded
many hours, and profound silence
reigned over the city. Not a
sound was heard throughout the
dark and winding streets, save the
boisterous shouts of some midnight
revellers returning from a party of
pleasure, or the dreary and mono-
tonous song of a besotted inebriate
as he staggered toward his home.
In the mansion of the French
ambassador, however, no one had
retired ; and young De Vaux, im-
y)atiently waiting the return of M.
du Bellay, paced with measured
tread up and down the large hall
where for many hours supper had
been served.
Weary with listening for the
sound of footsteps, and hearing
only the nioamful sighing of the
night-wind, he at length seated him-
self before the fire in a great tapes-
tried arm-chair whose back, rising
high above his head, turned over
in the form of a canopy, and gave
him the appearance of a saint re-
posing in the depths of his shrine.
For a long timg he watched the
sparks as they flew upward from
the fire, then, taking a book from
his pocket, he opened it at random ;
but before reaching the bottom of
the first page his eyes closed, the
book fell from his hands, and he
sank into a profound sleep, from
which he was aroused only by the
noise made by the ambassador's
servants on the arrival of ibeir
master.
M. de Vaux, being suddenly
aroused from sleep, arose hastily to
his feet on seeing the ambassador
enter.
'* I have waited for you with the
greatest imp^ience," he exclaimed
with a suppressed yawn.
'*Say, rather, you have been
sleeping soundly in your chair,"
replied M. du Bellay, smiling.
** Here !" he continued, tuminc
toward the valets who followtd
him, " take my cloak and hat, and
then leave us ; you can remove the
table in the morning."
Obedient to their master's orders,
they lighted several more lamps
and retired, not without regret,
however, at losing the opportu-
nity of catching, during the re-
past, a word that might have satis-
fied their curiosity as to the cause
of M. du Bellay having remaine<i
at the king's palace until so late an
hour.
" Well, monsieur ! what has
been done at last .?" eagerly in-
quired young De Vaux as soon as
they had left.
** In truth, I cannot yet compre-
hend it myself," replied Du Bella}.
" In spite of all my efforts, it ha*^
been impossible to clearly unravel
the knot of intrigue. This morn-
ing, as you know, nothing was talk-
ed of but the downfall of Aftne
Boleyn. I was delighted ; her
Sir Tliomas More.
;83
overthrow would have disju'nsed
us from all obligations. Now the
king is a greater fool about her
than ever, and, unless God himself
strikes a blow to sever them. I be-
lieve nothing will cure him of his
infatuation. As I entered, his first
word was to demand why I had
been so long in presenting myself.
* Sire,* I replied, * I have come with
\\\^ utmost haste, 1 assure you, and
am here ready to execute any or-
ders it may please you to give !* '*
** ' Listen,* he then said to me. * I
have several things to tell you ;
but the first of all is to warn you
of ray determination to arrest Car-
dinal Wolsey. I am aware that
you have manifested a great deal
of interest in him; . . . that you
have even gone to see him when
he was sick ; . . . but that is of no
consequence. I am far from be-
lieving that you are in any manner
concerned in the treason he has
meditated against me. Therefore
I have wished to advise you, that
you may feel no apprehension on
that account.* I was struck with
astonishment. * What ! sire,' I at
last answered, * the cardinal betray
you 1 Why, he is virtually banished
from England, where he occupies
himself, they say, only in doing
works of charity and mercy.' * I
know what I say to you,' replied
the king ; * his own servants accuse
liim of conspiring against the state.
IiUt I shall myself examine into
the depths of this accusation. In
the meantime he shall be removed
to the Tower, and I will send Sir
Walsh witli instructions to join the
Karl of Northumberland, in order
to arrest Wolsey at Cawood Castle,
v.herc he is now established.*"
** Is it possible ?" cried De Vaux,
intern.pting M. du Bcllay. " That
unfortunate cardinal ! Who could
have brought down this new storm
VOL XXII. — 50
on his head } M. du Bel I ay, do
you believe him capable of com-
mitting this crime, even if it were
in his power?"
** I do not believe a word of it,*'
replied M. du Bellay, " and I know
not who has excited this new storm
of persecution. I have tried every
possible means to ascertain from
the king, but he constantly evaded
my questions by answering in a
vague and obscure manner. I
have been informed in the palace
that he had seen no person during
the day, except Cromwell, Lady
Boleyn, and the Duke of .Suffolk.
Might this not be the result of a
plot concocted between them ?
This is only a conjecture, and we
may never get at the bottom of the
affair. But let us pass on to mat-
ters of more importance. The
mistress is in high favor again.
The king is determined to marry
her, and has proclaimed in a threat-
ening manner that he will separate
himself from the communion of
Rome, and no more permit the su-
premacy of the Sovereign Pontiff
to be recognized in his kingdom.
He demands that the King of
France shall do the same, and
rely on his authority in following
his example.**
"What!" cried De Vaux, as-
tounded by this intelligence. "And
how have you answered him, my
lord r
" I said all that I felt authoriz-
ed or could say,*' replied Du Bel-
lay ; " but what means shall we use
to persuade a man so far trans-
ported and subjugated by his pas-
sions that he seems to be a fool — no
longer capable of reasoning, of com-
prehending either his duty, the
laws, or the future ? I have held
up to him the disruption of his
kingdom, the horrors that give
birth to a war of religion, the
786
Sir Thomas More,
blood that it would cause him to
spill."
** * I shall spill as much of it as
may be necessary,' he replied, * to
make them yield. They will have
their choice. Already the repre-
sentatives of the clergy have been
ordered to assemble. Well ! they
shall decide among themselves
which is preferable — death, exile,
or obedience to my will.'
" Whilst saying this," continued
M. du Bellay, with a gloomy ex-
pression, ..." he played with
a bunch of roses, carelessly plucking
off the leaves with his fingers."
"But what has been able to
bring the king, in so short a time,
to such an extremity .^" asked De
Vaux, whose eyes, full of astonish-
ment and anxiety, interrogated
those of M. du Bellay.
" His base passions, without
doubt ; and, still more, the vile fiat
tery coming from some one of those
he has taken into favor," replied
Du Bellay impatiently.
" I tried in vain to discover who
the arch-hypocrite could be, but the
king was never for a moment thrown
off his guard ; he constantly repeat-
ed : */ have resolved on this; /
will do that!' . . . I shall find
out, however, hereafter," continued
Du Bellay ; " but at present I am
in ignorance."
" Has he said anything to you
about the grand master .^" asked
De Vaux.
" No ; but it seems he has been
very much exercised on account
of the cordial reception Chancellor
Duprat gave Campeggio whea he
passed through France. 'That
man has behaved very badly toward
nie,' he said sharply. * I was so
lenient as to let him leave my kJDg-
doro unmolested, after having hesi-
tated a long time* whether I should
not punish him severely for his cob-
duct; and, behold, one of your
ministers receives and treats 1^^
with the utmost magnificence !'
f "I assured him no consequence
should be attached to that circum>
stance, and pretended that Chancel-
lor Duprat was so fond of good
cheer and grand display he had
doubtless been too happy to have
an opportunity of parading his
wealth and luxury before the eyes
of a stranger.
" He then renewed the attack
against Wolsey. * If that be the
case,* he exclaimed, * this must be
a malady common to all these chan-
cellors ; for my lord cardinal was
also preparing to give a royal recep-
tion in the capital of his realm of
York; but, unfortunately,' he added
with an ironical sneer, * I happen
to be his master, and we have some-
what interfered with his plans,' He
then attacked the pope, then our
king; and finally, while the hour
of midnight was striking, exhausted
with anger and excitement, to my
great relief, he permitted me to re-
tire. Now," added M. du Bellay,
" we will have to spend the rest of
the night in writing, and to-morrov
the courier must be despatched"
TO BB CONTINUKD.
Prussia and the Church.
7i7
PRUSSIA AND THE CHURCH.
II.
In February, 1848, Louis Phi-
lippe was driven from his throne by
tl%e people of Paris, and tlie Repub-
lic was proclaimed. This revolu-
tion rapidly spread over the whole
of Europe. The shock was most
violent in Germany, where every-
thing was in readiness for a general
outburst. Most of the govern-
ments were compelled to yield to the
popular will and to make impor-
tant concessions. New cabinets
were formed in WUrtemberg, Darm-
stadt, Nassau, and Hesse. Lewis
of JBavaria was forced to abdicate.
Hanover and Saxony held out until
Berlin and Vienna were invaded by
the revolutionary party,, when they
too succumbed. On the 13th of
March the Vienna mob overthrew
the Austrian ministry, and Met-
ternich fled to England. Italy
and Hungary revolted. Berlin was
held all summer by an ignorant
revolutionary faction. In Sep-
tember fierce and bloody riots
broke out in Frankfort.
Popular meetings, secret socie-
ties, revolutionary clubs, violent
declamations, and inflammatory ap-
peals through the press kept all
(lermany in a state of agitation.
Occasional outbreaks among tlie
peasantry, followed by pillage and
incendiariijm, increased the general
confusion.
It was during this time of wild
excitement that the elections for
the Imperial Parliament were held.
To this assembly many avowed
atheists, pantheists, communists,
and Jacobinr, were chosen — men
who fully agreed with Hecker
when he declared that " there
were six plagues in Germany — the
princes, the nobles, the bureau-
crats, the capitalists, the parsons,
and the soldiers." The parties in the
Parliament took their -names from
their positions in the assembly hall,
and were called the extreme left,
the left, the left centre, the right
centre, the right, and the extreme
right. The first three were com-
posed of red republicans, Jacobins,
and liberals. To the right centre
belonged the constitutional libe-
rals; and on the right and right
•centre sat the Catholic members,
the predecessors of the party of the
Centrum of the present day. The
extreme right was occupied by
functionaries and bureaucrats,
chiefly from Prussia. The Parlia-
ment of Frankfort, in the Grund-
rechiCy or Fundamental Rights^
which it proclaimed, decreed uni-
versal suffrage, abolished all the po-
litical rights of the aristocracy, the
hereditary chambers in all the
states of Germany, set aside the
existing family entails, and, though
nominally it retained the imperial
power, degraded the emperor to a
republican president by giving him
merely a suspensive veto.
While this Parliament was sitting
the Catholic bishops of Germany
assembled in council at WUrzburg,
and, at the conclusion of their de-
liberations, drew up a Memorial as
firm in tone as it was clear and pre-
cise in expression, in which they .
set forth the claims of the church.
788
Prussia and the Church,
*' To bring about," they said, " a
separation from the state — that is
to say, from public order, which
necessarily reposes on a moral
and religious foundation — is not ac-
cording to the will of the church.
If the state will perforce separate
from the church, so will the
church, without approving, tolerate
what it cannot avoid ; and when
not compelled by the duty of self-
preservation, she will not break the
bonds of union made fast by mu-
tual understanding,
" The church, entrusted with the
solemn and holy mission, * As my
Father hath sent me, so send I ye,'
requires for the accomplishment of
this mission, whatever the form of
government of the state may be,
the fullest freedom and indepen-
dence. Her holy popes, prelates,
and confessors have in all ages will-
ingly and courageously given up
their life and blood for the preser-
vation of this inalienable freedom."
In virtue of these principles the
bishops, in this Memorial, claimed
the right of directing, without any
interference on the part of the state,
theological seminaries, andof found-
ing schools, colleges, and all kinds
of educational establishments ; of
exerting canonical control, unfet-
tered by state meddling, over the
conduct of their clergy, as well, as,
that of i-ntroducing into their dio-
ceses religious orders, congregations,
and pious confraternities, for which
they demanded the same rights
which the new political constitution
had granted to secular associations.
Finally, they asserted their right to
free and untrammelled communica-
tion with the Holy See ; and, as in-
cluded in this, that of receiving and
publishing all papal bulls, briefs,
and other documents without the
Royal Placet, which they declar-
ed to be repugnant to the honor
and dignity of the ministers of re-
ligion.
The Frankfort Parliament de-
creed the total separation of church
and state, and was therefore com-
pelled to guarantee the. freedom of
all religions. This separation was
sanctioned by the Catholic mem-
bers of the Assembly, who looked
upon it as less dangerous to the
cause of religion and morality th^n
ecclesiastical Josephism. In the
present conflict between the church
and the German Empire the Ca-
tholic party has again demanded,
and in vain, the separation of
church and state. In rejecting
their urgent request, Dr. Falk de-
clared that the leading minds in
England and America are already
beginning to regret that tiieir gov-
ernments have so little control
over the ecclesiastical organizations
within their limits.
Whilst the representatives of the
German people at Frankfort were
abolishing the privileges of the no-
bles, decreeing the separation of
church and state, and forgetiing
the standing^ armies, the siovem-
ments were (juietly gathering the;:
forces. Marshal Radetzky put
down the Italian rebellion, Prince
Windischgratz quelled the demo-
cracy of Vienn.a, and General Wran-
gel took possession of Berlin, with-
out a battle. Russia, at ti:e request
of Austria, sent an army into Hun-
gary to destroy the rebellion in
that country, and the disturbances
in Bavaria and in the PaUlin.it:
were suppressed by Prussian troops
under the present Emperor of Ger-
many. The representatives of tbe
larger states withdrew from i^c
Frankfort Parliament, which dwin-
dled, and finally, amidst univeni'
contempt and neglect, came to ar.
end at Stuttgart, June 18, 1849.
But the liberties of the churc\
Prussia and the Church.
789
were not lost. In Prussia, as we
liave seen, a better state of things
had begun with the imprisonment
of the heroic Archbishop of Cologne
in 1837. In the face of the men-
acing attitude of the German dem-
ocrats and republicans, Frederick
William IV. confirmed the liberties
of the Catholic Church by the let-
ters-patent of 1847.
The constitutions of December
5, 1848, and January 31, 1850, were
drawn up in the lurid light of
the revolution, which had beaten
fiercest upon the house of Holien-
zollern. The king had capitulated
to the insurgents, withdrawn his
soldi'jrs from the capital, and aban-
doned Berlin, and with it the whole
slate, for nine months to the ten-
der mercies of the mob. He was
forced to witness the most revolt-
ing spectacles. The dead bodies
of the rioters were borne in pro-
cession under the windows of his
palace, while the rlbble shout-
ed to him: ** Fritz, off with your
hat.'*
It is not surprising, in view of
this experience, that we should find
in the constitution of 1850 (articles
15 to 18 inclusive) a very satisfac-
tory recognition of the rights of
tiie church. Why these paragraphs
granting the church freedom to
regulate and administer its own
affairs; to keep possession of its
own revenues, endowments, and es-
tablishments, whether devoted to
worship, education, or beneficence ;
and freely to communicate witli the
Pope, were inserted in the constitu-
tion, we know from Prince Bis-
marck himself. In his speech in
the Prussian Upper House, March
10, i«''3 lie affirmed that ** they
were introduced at a time when the
state needed, or tliought it needed,
help, and believed that it would
find this help by leaning on the
Catholic Church. It was prot^a-
bly led to this belief by the fact
that in the National Assemblv of
1848 all the electoral districts with
a preponderant Catholic poi)ula-
tion returned — I will not say roy-
alist representatives, but certainly
men who were the friends of order,
which was not the case in the Pro-
testant districts."
The provisions of the constitu-
tion of 1850 with regard to the
church were honorably and faith-
fully carried out down to the be-
ginning of the present conflict.
Never since the Reformation had
the church in Prussia been so free,
never had she made such rapid pro-
gress, whether in completing her
internal organization or in extend-
ing her influence. The Prussian
liberals and atheists, wlio had
fully persuaded themselves tiiat
without the wealth and aid of the
state the Catholic religion would
have no force, were amazed. The
influence of the priests over the
people grew in proportion as they
were educated more thoroughly in
the spirit and discipline of the
church under the immediate su-
pervision of the bishops, unfettered
by state interference; the number
of convents, both of men and wo-
men, rapidly increased ; associa-
•tions of all kinds, scientific, benevo-
lent, and religious, spread over the
land; religious journals and re-
views were founded in which Ca-
tholic interests were ably advocat-
ed and defended ; and all the
forces of the church were unified
and guided by the harmonious ac-
tion of a most enlightened and
zealous episcopate.
This was the more astonish in 11
as the Evangelical Church, whose
liberties had also been guaranteed
by the constitution of 1850, had
shown itself unable to profit by the
790
Prussia and tlu Church.
greater freedom of action which it
had received. In fact, the Evangeli-
cal Church was lifeless, and it need-
ed only this test to prove its want
of vitality. It was a state creation,
and in an acfe when the world had
ceased to recognize the divine
right of kings to create religions.
It was only in 1817 that the Luth-
eran and Calvinistic churches of
Prussia, together with the very
name of Protestant, were abolished
!)y royal edict, and a new Prussian
establishment, under the title of
*' evangelical," was imj)osed by the
'civil power upon a Protestant pop-
ulation of nearly eight millions,
whose religious and moral sense
was so dead that they seemed to
regard with stolid indifference this
interference of government with all
that freemen deem most sacred
in life. Acts of parliament may
make " establishments," but they
cannot insj)ire religious faith and
life ; and it was therefore not sur-
prising that, when the mummy of
evangelicalism was ])ut out into
the open air of freedom by the con-
slituli(;n of 1850, it should have
boon revealed to all that the. thing
was (lead.
Nevertheless, the Prussian gov-
ernment continued to art toward
tlie Catholic Church with great jus-
tice, and even friendliness, and th^
waraiiainst Catholic Austria in 1866
wrouiiht no cluini;e in its ecclesi-
nstiral policy, l^ven the opening
of the Vatican Council caused no
alarm in Prussia ; on the contrary,
King \\'illiain, as it was generally
believed at least, was most civil to
th(^ Holy Father; and Printx' His-
marck himself at that time saw no
reason fur apprehension, though lie
had been the head of the ministrv
already eight years. To what, then,
are we to attribute Prussia's sud-
den chancre of attitude toward tlie
church ? Who began the p
confiict, and what was its \
cation ?
This is a question irhic
been much discussed in the
sian House of Deputies and
where. Prince Bismarck has <
asserted in the House of Dc
within the past year that the
cation was the definition of
infallibility by the Vatican C
on the 1 8th of June, 187
subsequently the hostile attit
the party of the Centrum towa
German Empire.
Herr von Kirchniann, a m
of the German Parliament a
the Prussian House of Depi
national liberal, and not a O
but in the main a sympathizi
the spirit of the Falk legislati(
recently discussed this whol
ject with great ability, and-
as it is possible for one whob
in the Hegelian doctrine iha
state is the present god ** — al
fairness.*
To Prince Bismarck's first
tion, that tiie definition of
infallibility was the unjjaro
offence, which has been so >;
emphasized by Mr. Gladstoi
re-echoed witli parrot-like 1
by the anti-Catholic press (
rope and America, Herr von
niann makes tb.e followiuij re
" It is dilBcult to understand
experienced a statcsmnn as Prin
marck can ascribe to this decree
council such pn.at import:incc
states of Europe, and pariicul.
Prussia and Germany. To a t!
sitting behind his books such
crce, it may be allowed, mis
pear to be something portentou?
taken from a purely theoretical
point and according to the letter,
fallibility of the Pope in all quesi
♦ D<rr Culiurkatn^f tu Prfus^en un.i
dfnkcH — ^^ Considerations on the ("uliarc
in Prussia " — von J. II. voa K;r«;}ijr...i:u.
1875.
Prussia and the Church.
791
religion and morals gives him unlimited
control over all human action ; and
many'a Catholic, when called upon to re-
ceive this infallibility as part of his faith,
may have found that he was unable to
follow so far; but a statesman ought to
know how to distinguish, especially
where there is question of the Catholic
Church, between the literal import of
dogmas and their use in practical life.
In the Catholic Church as a whole, this
infallibility, as is well known, has existed
from the earliest times ; its organ hither-
to has been ihe Ecumenical Council in
union with the Pope ; but already before
1870 it was disputed whether the Pope
might not alone act as the organ of in-
fallibility. In 1870 the question was de-
cided ki favor of the Pope ; but we must
consider that the ecumenical councils
have, as history shows, nearly always
framed their decrees in accordance with
the views of the court of Rome ; and this,
of itself, proves that the change made in
1870 is rather one of form than of es-
sence. Especially false is it to maintain
that by this decree a complete revolution
in the constitution of the church has
been made. To the theorizcr we might
grant the abstract possibility that some-
thing of this kind might some day or
other happen ; but such possibilities of
the abuse of a right are found in all the
relations of public life, in the state and
its representatives as well as in the
church. Even in constitutions the most
carefully drawn up such possibilities are
found in all directions. What a states-
man has to consider is not mere possi-
bilities, but the question whether the
possessor of such right is not compelled,
from the very nature of things, to make
of it only the most moderate and pru-
dent use. So long, therefore, as the Pop%
docs not alter the constitution of the
church, that constitution remains, pre-
cisely in its ancient form, such as it has
been recognized and tolerated by the
state for centuries ; and wherever the re-
lations between particular states and the
court of Rome have "been arranged by
concordats, these too remain unchanged,
unless the states themselves find it con-
venient to depart from them. We see, in
fact, that this infallibility of the Pope has
in no country of Europe or America al-
tered one jot or tittle in the constitution
of the Catholic Church ; and where in
particular countries such changes have
taken place, they have not been made by
the ecclesiastical government, but by the
state and in its interest. In Germany
even, and in Prussia itself, the Pope has,
since 1870, made no change in the church
constitution, as determined by the Canon
Law ; and when, in some of his encycli
cals and other utterances, he has taken
up a hostile attitude towards the German
Empire and the Prussian state, he has
done this only in defence against the ag-
gressive legislation of the civil govern-
ment. He has never hesitated to express
his disapprobation of the new church
laws, but he has in no instance touched
the constitution of the Catholic Church
or the rights of the bishops."*
It seems almost needless to re-
mark that there is no necessary con-
nection between the doctrine of
Papal infallibility and that of the es-
sential organization of the church;
that the jurisdiction of the Pope
was as great, and universally recog-
nized as such by Catholics, be-
fore the Vatican Council as since ;
and consequently that it is not
even possible that the definition ofj
1870 should make any change in
his authoritative relation to, or pow-
er over, the cluirch. His jurisdic-
tion is wider than his infallibility,
and independent of it ; and the
duty of obedience to his commands
existed before the dogma was de-
fined precisely as it exists now ;
and therefore it is clearly mani-
fest that the Vatican decree cannot
give, even a plausible pretext for
such legislation as the Falk Laws.
"Not less singular," continues Herr
von Kirchmann, " does it sound to hear
the party of the Centrum in the Reich-
stag and Prussian Landtag denounced
as the occasion of the new regulations
between church and state. The mem-
bers of this party notoriously represent
the views and wishes of the majority of
their constituents, and just as faithfully
as the members of the parties who side
with the government. ITie reproach
• CuUurkntnp/y pp. 5-7. For an account of the
Falk I^aws and persecution of the church in Ger-
many, sec Catholic World for Dec, 1874, and
Jan., 1875.
792
Prussia and the Church.
that they receive thcii instructions from
Rome is not borne out by the facts ; and
if tlicrc were an understanding with
Rome of the kind which their adversaries
:ii;.rm, this could only be the result of a
: imilar under^itaiiding on the part of
t!:eir constituents. Nothing could more
•;irikingly prove that the Catholic party
faithfully rcprcf cnl the great majority in
liieir electoral dihtricts than the repeated
re-election of the same representatives or
of men of similar views. To this we must
:uld that the Centrum, though strong in
numbers, is yet in a decided minority
both in the Reichstag and the Prussian
Landtag, and has always been defeated
in its opi)Osition to the recent ccclesias-
tical legislation. If in other matters, by
uniting with opposition parties, it has
caused the government inconvenience,
wc have no right to ascribe this to
feelings of hobtility ; for on such occa-
sions its orators have given substantial
political reasons for their opposition,
and instances enough might be enume-
rated in which, precisely through the aid
of the Centrum^ many illiberal and dan-
gerous projects of law have fallen
through ; and for this the party deserves
the thanks of the country.
" The present action of the state against
the Catholic Church would be unjustifi-
able, it better ■»;rou3iis could not be adduc-
ed in its favtjf. For the attentive observer,
liowevcr, valivl reasons are not wanting,
riicy arc to be found, to put the whole
matter in a single word, in the great
;)OvvL'r to which tJic Catholic Church in
i*:ussia had attained by the aid of the
constitution and tlic favor of ilie govern-
ment — a povvcr whic'.i, if its growth had
been longer toh.Tati'cl. would have be-
'.onie, not indeed dangerous to tlie exis-
tence of the slate, but a hindrance to
I'.ie ri;;ht fultlnient of ilie ends of its
existence. *
Neither ilie Vaticnn Council,
then, nor llic (.'jitliolirs of Prussia
imve (lone anvlhiiiLf to ]>rovok<j the
picscnt i>c!s(:ciiiif):^ To fmi] k-iU
u-iih the (icrniau M^hops for ac-
('cptini; tl;o (Io.i;nia of irJallioility,
after i:.i\iii'^ siron-'lv onixvwMJ its
definition by the (:».)iincil, would be
as iir.rca.soiMbIc as lo blau^e a i.:ciu-
ber of Congress for admitting tbi
binding fon:e of a law tlic p:iss3gi
of which he bad done ever\:hin:i;
his power to prevent. Their cul^
beyond all question, was to ac: :
they have acted. This was not ih
offence : the unpardonable cria
was that tbe church, as soon as si
was unloosed from tlie fetters c
bureaucracy, had grown too pove
ful. We doubt whether anv mo
forcible argument in proof of tl
indestructible vitality of the chun
can be found than that wiiich ni
be deduced from tbe universal co
sent of her enemies, of wllatev
sliade of belief or unbelief, that t
only way in which she can be su
cessfully opposed is to array a^jic
her the strongest of luiman poff<
— that of the stale. A complete i
volution of thought upon this su
ject has taken place within liic L
half-century. Up to that lime
was confidently lield by Protes;;;r
as well as infidels that, to undenuii
and finally destroy the cinirch.
would be siini^ly necessary Xo ^u:
draw from her tbe siipi)ort of i
state; tliat to her freedom woe
necessarily prove fatal. The c\p
riment, as it vva., thoiii;ht, iiad ni
been salisfactorily trit-d. Irchin
indeed, had held iier t'aiih fur :hr(
JHindred years, in spite of all t:.
fiendish cruelty could invent :o li:
•
stroy it ; but persecution has nl\vr.>
been tlie life of the faith. In t*.
United States the ciuirch iiad hci
free since tiie war of indeijcniicnc
but of us little was known; and,:-:
sides, down to, say, 1S30 even tl
iiuhst thoui^luiul and f:ii-si.,!i?c
among us had serious doul-ts ;:s 1
liie future of the ciiurcii \\\ li.
country.
lUit witii the emancipation of lii
Calliolics in Great Britain, liie r.t
conslituiion of the kingdom '-•f Bci
gium, and the completer orgjr.:.;j
Prussia and the Churchl
793
lion of the church in the United
States, the test as to the action
of freedom upon the progress of
Cat hot ic faith began to be applied
over a wide and varied field and
linder not unfavorable circumstan-
ces. What the result has been we
may learn from our enemies. Mr.
Cxladstolie expostulates for Great
Britain, and reaches a hand of sym-
pathy to M. Emile de Laveleye in
Belgium. Dr. Falk, Dr. Friedberg,
and even the moderate Ilerr von
K-ircIimann, defend the lyrannicial
A£ay Imivs as necessary to stop the
growth of the cliurch in Germany;
and at home the most silent of Presi-
dents and tlie most garrulous of
bishops, forgetting that the cause
of temperance has prior claims upon
their attention, have raised the cry
of alarm to warn their fellow-citi-
zens of the dangerous progress of
[>oper3' in this great and free coun-
try. Time was when " the Free
Church in the Free State " was
tkought to be the proper word of
con"iHiand ; but now ic is " the
Fettt-*rcd Chitrch in the Enslaved
State," since no state that meddles
witli the consciences of its subjects
can be free.
If there is anything for which we
feel more especially thankful, it is
that henceforth the cause of the
church and the cause of freedom
are inseparably united. We have
heard to satiety that the Catholic
Churcii is the greatest conservative
force in the world, the most power-
ful element of order in society, the
noblest school of respect in which
mankind have ever been taught.
Praised be God that now, as in the
early days, he is making it impossible
that Catholics should not be on the
side of liberty, as the church has al-
ways been ; so that all men may see
that, if we love order the more, we
love not liberty the less!
** I will sing to my God as long a^
I shall be," wrote an inspired king;
" put not your trust in princes.'
No, nor in governments, nor in
states, but in God who is the Lord,
and in the poor whom Jesus loved.
From God out of the people came
the church; through God back to
the people is she going. We know
there are still manv Catholics who
trust in kings and believe in salva-
tion through them \ but God will
make them wiser. The Spirit that
sits at the roaring Loom of Time
will weave for them other gar-
ments. The irresistible charm of
the church, humanly speaking, lies
in the fact that she comes closer to
the hearts of the people than any
other power that has ever been
brought to bear upon mankind.
Having shown that the oppres-
sive ecclesiastical legislation of
Germany was not provoked by the
church, and that its only excuse
is the increasing power of the
church, Ilerr von Kirchmann re-
duces all farther discussion of this
subject to the two following heads:
ist. How far ought the state to
go in setting bounds to this power
of the Catholic Church.^ and 2d.
What means ought it to employ ?
In view of the dangers with which
every open breach of the peace be-
tween church and state is fraught
for the people, it would have been
advisable, he thinks, from political
motives, to have tried to settle the
difficulty by a mutual understand-
ing between the two powers; nor
would it, in his opinion, be deroga-
tory to the sovereignty of the state
to treat the church as an equal,
since she embraces in her fold all
the Catholics of the world, who
have their directing head in the
Pope, whose sovereign ecclesiasti-
cal power cannot, therefore, as a
,mattcrof fact, be called in question.
794
Prussia and tJte Church.
That Prussia did not make any
effort to see what could be effected
by this policy of conciliation may,
in the opinion of Herr von Kirch-
mann, find some justification in the
fact that the government did not
expect, and could not in 187 1 fore-
see, the determined opposition of
the Catholics to the May Laws of
1873. At any rate, as he thinks,
the high and majestatic right of the
state is supreme, and it alone must
determine, in the ultimate instance,
how far and how long it will ac-
knowledge any claim of the church.
Thus even this statesman, who is
of the more moderate school of
Prussian politicians, holds that the
church has no rights which the
state is bound to respect ; that
political interests are paramount,
and conscience, in the modern as
in the ancient pagan state, has no
claim upon the recognition of the
government. English and Ameri-
can Protestants, where their own
interests are concerned, would be
as little inclined to accept this
doctrine as Catholics ; in fact, this
country was born of a protest
against the assumption of state
supremacy over conscience ; and
yet so blinding and misleading is
prejudice that the Falk Laws re-
ceive their heart-felt sympathy.
Though Herr von Kirchmann
accepts without reservation the
principles which underlie the re-
cent Prussian anti-Catholic legisla-
tion, and thinks the May Laws
have been drawn up with great
wisdom and consummate know-
ledge of the precise points at
which the state should oppose the
growing power of the church, he
yet freely admits that there are
grave doubts whether the present
policy of Prussia on this subject
can be successfully carried out.
I'hat Prince Bismarck and Dr. Fall;
had but a very imperfect know-
ledge of the difficulties wliich lay
in their path, the numerous supple-
mentary bills which have been re-
peatedly introduced in order to
give effect to the May Laws plaink
show. AVhere there is question of
principle and of conscience Prince
Bismarck is not at home. He be-
lieves in force; like the first Napo-
leon, holds that Providence is al-
ways on the side of the biggest
cannons ; sneers about going to
Canossa, as Napoleon mockingly
asked the pope whether his excom-
munication would make the arms
fall from the hands of his veterans.
He knows the workings of courts,
and is a master in the devious
ways of diplomacy. He can esti-
mate with great precision the re-
sources of a country ; he has a
keen eye for the weak points of an
adversary. His tactics, like Napo-
leon's, are to bring to bear upon
each given point of attack a force
greater than the enemy's. He has,
in his public life, never knoun
what it is to respect right or prin-
ciple. With the army at his back
he has trampled upon the Prussian
constitution with the same daring
recklessness with which he now
violates the most sacred rights o\
conscience. Nothing, in his eyes, is
holy but success, and he has been
consecrated by it, so that the Bis-
marck-cultus has spread far beyond
the fatherland to England and
the United States. Carlvle has at
last found a living hero, the ver}-
impersonation of the brute force
which to him is ideal and admira-
ble ; and at eighty he offers in-
cense and homage to the idol. Wc
freely give Prince Bismarck credit
for his remarkable gifts — indomi-
table will, reckless courage, practi-
cal knowledge of men, considered
as intelligent automata whose move-
Prussia and the Church.
795
inents are directed by a kind of
bureaucratic and military niechan-
isiTi ; and this is the kind of men
with whom, for the most part, he
has had to deal. For your thor-
OLigli Prussian, though the wildest
of speculators and the boldest of
theorizers, is the tamest of animals.
No poor Russian soldier ever
crouched more submissively be-
neath the knout than do the Prus-
sian pantheists and culturists be-
neath the lash of a master. Like
Voltaire, tliey probably prefer the
rule of one fine Lion to that of a
hundred rats of their own sort.
Prince Bismarck knew his men, and
we give him credit for his sagacity.
Not every eye could have pierced
the mist, and froth, and sound, and
fury of German professordom, and
beheld the craven heart that was
beneath.
Only men who believe in God
:ind the soul are dangerous rebels.
Why should he who has no faith
make a martyr of himself.? Why,
since there is nothing but law, blind
and merciless force, throw yourself
beneath the wheels of the state
Juggernaut to be crushed } The
religion of culture is the religion of
indulgence, and no godlike rebel
against tyranny and brute force
ever sprang from such worship.
So long as Prince Bismarck had to
deal with men who were nourished
on ** philosophy's sweet milk,'* and
who worshipped at the altar of cul-
ture, who had science but not
faith, opinions but not convictions,
amongst whom, consequently, organ-
ic union was impossible, his policy
of making Germany " by blood and
iron " was successful enough. But,
like all great conquerors, he longed
for more kingdoms to subdue, and
finding right around him a large and
powerful body of German citizens
who did not accept the " new faith "
that the state — in other words.
Prince Bismarck — is " the present
god," just as a kind of diversion
between victories, he turned to give
a lesson to the Pfaffen and cledcal
Dummkopfe^ who burnt no incense
in honor of his divinity. Li taking
this step it is almost needless to
say that Prince Bismarck sought to
pass over a chasm which science
itself does not profess to have bridg-
ed — that, namely, which lies between
the worlds of matter and of spirit.
Of the new conflict upon which
he was entering he could have
only vague and inaccurate notions.
Nothing is so misleading as con-
tempt — a feeling in which the wise
never indulge, but which easily be-
comes habitual with men spoiled
by success. To the man who had
organized the armies and guided
the policy which had triumphed at
Sadowa and Sedan what opposition
could be made by a few poor priests
and beggar-monks } Would the
arms fall from the hands of the
proudest soldiers of Europe be-
cause the P faff en were displeased ?
Or why should not the model cul-
ture-state of the world make war
upon ignorance and superstition }
Of the real nature and strength
of the forces which would be mar-
shalled in this great battle of souls
a man of blood and iron could form
no just estimate. " To those who
believe," said Christ, ** all things are
possible"; but what meaning have
these words for Prince Bismarck ?
The soul, firm in its faith, appeal-
inp; from tyrant kings and states to
God, is invincible. Lifting itself to
the Lifinite, it draws thence a divine
power. Like liberty, it is bright-
est in dungeons, in fetters freest,
and conquers with its martyrdom.
Needle-guns cannot reach it, and
above the deadly roar of cannon it
rises godlike and supreme.
796
Prussia and the Church.
*' For tliough the si-nt Ages heave tlic hill
And bicak the shore, and evermore
Make and break and work their will ;
Though world on world in myriad myriads roll
Round lis, each with different powers
And other form-; of life than ours,
What know we greater than the soul ?
On God and godlike men we build our tnist."
Men who liave unwrapt them-
selves of the garb and vesture of
thought and sentiment with which
the world had dressed them out,
who have been born again into the
higher life, who have been clothed
in the charity and meekness of
Christ, who for liis dear sake have
put all things beneath their feet,
who love not the world, who vene-
rate more the rags of the beggar
than the purple of Caesar, who fear
as they love God alone, for whom
life is no blessing and death infi-
nite gain, form the invincible army
of Christ foredoomed to conquer.
" This is the victory which over-
cometh the world — our Faith."
Who has ever forgotten those
lines of 'J'acitus, inserted as an
alto«j;ether triflini^ circumstance in
tlie rciiin of Nero? — "So for the
(luietinLi; of this rumor [of his liaving
set fire to Rome] Nero judicially
cliargod with the crime, and punish-
ed witii most studied severities,
that class, hated for their general
wickedness, wiKjm the vulgar call
CJu isiiaus. Tlic ori'jinator of that
name was one C/irist^ who in the
reiiin of Ti'ocrius suffered death bv
sentence of the ijrocurator, Pontius
Pilate. The bauL'ful superstition,
thereby repressed for the time,
again broke out, not only over Ju-
dea, the native S(;il of the mihchief,
but in the ('ity also, where from
every side all atrocious and abom-
inable tliiu'^s collect and flourish."*
'* Tacitus," savs Carl vie, refer-
ing t(; this passage, " was the wisest,
most penetrating man of his gene-
* Tacit. Annal, xv. 44.
ration; and to such depth, and n
deeper, has he seen into this tnft
action, the most important thatb
occurred or can occur in the a
nals of mankind."
We doubt whether Prince E
marck to-day has any truer kna
ledge of the real worth and poi
of the living Catholic faith on whi
he is making war than had Tact
eighteen hundred years ago, wl
writiivg of the rude German bar-
rians who were hovering on i
confines of the Roman Emp;
and who were to have a history
the world only through the act
of that" baneful superstition "vfh
he considered as one of the m
abominable products of the frii
ful corruptions of his age.
That the Prussian governm
was altogether unprepared for
determined though passive opp
tion to the May Laws which
Catholics have made, Herr
Kirchmann freely confesses,
was not expected that there wo
be such perfect union between
clergy and the i>eople ; oil tbe c
trary, it was i;en'jrj.l!y suppo
that, with tlie aid of iIil- Dracon
penalties threattrned iox the vi;
tion of the Falk Laws, ir.e r':.s
ance of the priests tiiein-clv-i \V'.>
be easily overcome. 'I'hese n
love their own comt'ort to«^ mi:
said the culturists, to be willing
go to prison and live on bcansn
water for the sake of teciiiiicaii:i'
and so thev chuckled over ili
l^ipesand lager-beer at the ti'.-.)'i.
of their easy victory overtlie Pj
j'cn. They were mistaken. .\
Herr von Kirchmann admits tiiat:
courage of the bishops and i-ric
has not been broken but stre::g
ened by their sufferings for i
faith.
" So long as \vc were permitted
hcpe," he says, '* that we shouliJ li:
Prussia and the Church.
797
on I J the priests to deal with, there was
less reason for doubt as to the policy of
executing the laws in all their rigor ; but
the situation was wholly altered when it
became manifest that the congregations
held the same views as the bishops and
priests It is easy to see that all
violent, even though legal, proceedings
of the government against these convic-
tions of the Catholic people can only
weaken those proper, and in the last in»
stance alone effective, measures through
which the May Laws can successfully
put bounds to the growing power of the
cliurch. These measures — via., a better
education of the people and a higher
culture of the priests — can, from the ha-
turc of things, exert their influence only
by dejfrecs. Not till the next generation
can we hope to gather the fruit of this
seed ; and not then, indeed, if the reck-
less execution of the May Laws calls
forth an oppositipn in the Catholic popu-
lations which will shake confidence in
the just intentions of the government,
and beget in the congregations feelings
of hatred for evcrj'thing connected with
this legislation. Such feelings will un-
aruidably be communicated to the chil-
dren, and the teacher will inconsequence
be deprived of that authority without
winch his insiructions must lack the
jycrsuasivc force that is inherent in truth.
In such a state of warfare even the high-
er culture of the clergy must be useless.
Those who stand on the side of the gov-
ernment will, precisely on that account,
fail to win the confidence of llicir peo-
ple ; and the stronger the aged pastors
emphasize the Canon Law of the church,
the more energetically they extend the
realms of faith even to the hierarchical
constitution of the church, the more
readily and faithfully will their congre-
g:itions follow them.
"It cannot be dissembled that the
<^overnment, through the rigorous exe-
cution of the May Laws, is raging against
lis own flesh and blood, and is thereby
robbing itself of the only means by
which it can have any hope of finally
coming forth victorious from the present
conflict. It may be objected that the re-
sistance wliich is now so widespread
cannot be much longer maintained, and
that all that is needed to crush it and
hi\n% about peace with the church is to
increase the pressure of the law. Asser-
tions of this kind arc made with great
confidence by the liberals of both
Houses of the Landtag whenever the
government presents a new bill ; and the
liberal newspapers, which never grow
tired of this theme, declare that the re-
sult is certain and even near at hand.
" Now, even thougl- we should attach
no importance to the contrary assertions
of the Catholic party, it is yet cviden:.
from the declarations of the government
itself, that it is not all confident of reach-
ing this result with the aid of the means
which it has hitherto employed or of
those in preparation, but that it is mak-
ing ready for a prolonged resistance of
the clerg}', who are upheld and support-
ed by the great generosity of the Catho-
lic people. The ovations which the
priests receive from their congregations
when they come forth from prison are
not falling off, but are increasing ; .and
this is equally true of the pecuniary aid
given to them. It is possible that much
of this may have been gotten up by the
priests themselves as demonstration ;
but the displeasure of the still powerful
government officials which the partici-
pants incur, and the greatness of the
money-offerings, are evidence of earnest
convictions.
" Nothing, however, so strongly wit-
nesses to the existence of a perfect un-
dcrstanding betweep. the congregations
and the priests as the fact that, though
the law of May, 1874, gave to those con-
gregations whose pastors had been re-
moved or had not been legally appointed
by the bishops the right to elect a pas-
ti»r, yet not even one congregation has
up to the present moment made any use
of this privilege. "When we consider
that the number of parishes where (here
is no pastor must be at least a hundred ;
that in itself such right of choice corre-
sponds with the wishes of the congrega-
tions ; farther, that the law requires for
the validity of the election merely a ma-
jority of the members who put in an ap-
pearance ; that a proposition made to
the Landtnth by ten parishioners justi-
fies him in ordering an election ; and
that, on the part of the influentinl officials
and their organs, nothing has been left
undone to induce the congre^rations to
demand elections, not easily could a
more convincing proof of the perfect
agreement of the people with their
priests be found than the fact that to
this day in only two or three congrega-
tions has it been possible to hunt up ten
men who were willing to make such a
798
Prussia and the Church.
[
^
*
•i
proposal, and that not even in a single
congregation has an election of this kind
taken place."*
This is indeed admirable ; and it
may, we think, be fairly doubted
whether, in the whole history of the
churcli, so large a Catholic pop-
ulation has ever, under similar trials,
shown greater strength or con-
stancy. Of the peculiar nature of
these trials we shall speak hereafter ;
the present article we will bring
to a close with a few remarks upon
what we conceive to have been one
of the most important agencies in
bringing about the perfect una-
nimity and harmony of action be-
tween priests and people to which
the Catholics of Prussia must in
great measure ascribe their im-
movable firmness in the presence
of a most terrible foe. We refer
to those Catholic associations in
which cardinals, bishops, priests,
and people have been brought into
immediate contact, uniting their
wisdom and strength for the at-
tainment of definite ends.
Such unions Iiave nowhere been
more numerous or more thoroughly
organized tlian in Germany, though
their formation is of recent date.
It was during the revohition of
1848, of which we have already
.spoken, tliat the German Catholics
were roused to a more couiprchon-
sive knowledge of the situation, and
resolved to combine for the defence
of their riglits and the protection
of their religion. Popular unions
under ilie name and patronage of
Pius IX.(Pius-Vereine) were form-
ed throughout the fatherland, with
the primary object of bringing to-
gether once a week large numbers
of Catholic men of every condition
\\\ life. At these weekly meetings
the questions of the day, in so far
* CuiturkaviJ^/y pp. 16-19.
as they touched upon Cs
interests, were freely discusse
thus an intelligent and enligl
Catholic public opinion wasc
throughout the length and b
of the land, ^n refuting cah
against the church the sp
never failed to demand the
liberty for all Catholic i
tions.
On the occasion of beginn
restoration and completion
Cathedral of Cologne, the ni
ligious of churches, the p
tion that an annual Genei
sembly of all the unions she
held was made and receive^
boundless enthusiasm. Th
General Assembly took pi
Mayence in October, 1848
thither came delegates fron
tria, Prussia, Bavaria, Saxon)
over, and all the other sta
Germany, whose confidenc
earnestness were increased
presence of the Catholic m<
of the Parliament of Frai
For the first time since L
apostasy the Catholics of Ge
breathed the air of liberty,
bishops assembled at \\'ilr
gave their solemn aj)})roba:i
the great work, and Pius I>
his apostolic benediction,
that time General As.semlnie^
been held at IJre^lau, May,
Ratisbon, October, 1849;
1850; Mayence, 1851: Mi
1852 ; Vienna, 1853 ; I.inz,
Salzburg, 1857; Cologne.
Freyburg, 1S59; Prague, i860
nich, 1 86 1 ; Aix-la-Ciiapelle,
Frankfort, 1S63, and in other
down to the recent j)ersecutin
These assemblies represen
complete system of organizati
w'hich no Catholic interest wa
Gotten. Everv village and h
in the land was there, if not i
diately, through some centr.ilt
Prussia and the Church.
799
\Vo have had the honor of being
present at more than one of these
assemblies, and the impressions
'which we then received are abid-
ing. Side by side with cardinals,
bishops, princes, nobleipen, and the
most learned of professors sat me-
chanics, carpenters, shoemakers, and
blacksmiths — not as in the act of
^•orship, in which the presence of
the Most High God dwarfs our
universal human littlenesses to the
dead-level of an equal insignifi-
cance, but in active thought and
co-operation for the furtherance
of definite religious and social
ends. The brotherhood of the
race was there, an .accomplished
fixct, and one ^elt the breathing
as of a divine Spirit compared
\^ith whose irresistible force great
statesmen and mighty armies are
weak as the puppets of a child's
show.
We have not the space to de-
scribe more minutely the ends,
aims, and workings of the number-
less Catholic associations of Ger-
many ; but we must express our
deep conviction that no study could
be more replete with lessons of
practical wisdom for the Catholics
of the United States. Organiza-
tion is precisely what we most lack.
Our priests are laborious, our peo-
ple are devoted, but we have not
even an organized Catholic public
opinion — nay, no organ to serve as
its channel, and make itself heard
of the whole country. Many seem
to think that the very question of
the necessity of Catholic educa-
tion is still an open one for us ;
and this is not surprising, since
we have no system of Catholic
education. Catholic schools, in-
deed, in considerable number, there
are, but there is no organization.
The great need of the church in
this country is the organization of
priests and people for the promo-
tion of Catholic interests. Through
this we will learn to know one an-
other; our views will be enlarged,
our sympathies deepened, and the
truth will dawn upon us that, if we
wish to be true to the great mission
Avhich God has given us, the time
has come when American Catho-
lics must take up works which do
not specially concern any one dio-
cese more than another, but whose
significance will be as wide as the
nation's life*
A S:jrj- iviih Two Versions.
X ^
?/*■ WITH TWO VERSIONS.
X.
- - V
And
^.. ^
•.^ lo *
. 1"* r~.t wc-
'-- C::i:e in,
: " .. c? me the
: :? : rrch, sir,
- - 1 y:;: of her
i "■ . we be to
X : ". :\e Brent
•_ -. > A'^ • Mr
: never heard,
:>: hive lieard
S :re!y, surelr.
."i s::.!. li ^d pity him !
: i: ? V"i wjnt to hear
y c:::? WcU, sir, no man
- -' t.'.i you better than I,
^ z Mr. Jurats' St If. Settle
. : r: .; 1 '. y . M r. C ! a rk son ,
■ i :< Irtr.t'vo^d. *T\vas
> ; C"----v' '-.d>:re founded
J. - .- /I \ c .: rs b .'. c k , he and
. : — T ;. :;: c s r.r. d William.
.._*^ :.e T\.^:k vl.ich was
— .: .: ' . "v :r. : .i fou n d r i es
, - .<. .v^ i t'e b.ink that
' ' - ,"/:. l-.it I'm telling
,* ^rj' t :j' b.'izinning.
, \. : .^ I : :u'< built the
<;.' :" ere. sir, down
^ 1 :" e r.e\: two after
e : .\\r ,'.* d foujuled
^ » »•« • • »-»'"» /• tin*'
and one of them was an idiot, and
the other was and is the last of the
name.
I was tw'enty years older than
Mr. James, and, before ever he
came into business, had served with
his father. I watched him grow
up, and I loved him well. But frozi
the first I knew he was different
from the rest of his race. He wcs
his mother all over again — a tree
Mortimer, come of^nobles, not of
townsfolk ; all fire and sweetness
and great plans for people's good
and happiness, but with little of
the far-sighted Brent prudence.
He was just as tender of Mr. Wil-
liam as if he liad had all the wits
of himself, and used to spend part
of every day with him, and amuse
him part of many a nic:ht when the
])oor gentleman could not sleep.
Their father died just wl.en they
came of aire. Thev were twins, the
last Brent Brothers, sir; and 'iw;>
a great fortune and responiibility
to fall full and with no restraint
into such young hands. Mr. Jjmes
seemed like one heart-broken for
nigh a year after, and carried on
everything just as his fatlier had
done, till we all wondered at it:
then he saw Miss Rose Maurice,
and loved her — as well indeed he
might — and after that things chang-
ed. She was as simple in all her war$
as she was beautiful, and woui
have thought my cottage goD
enough, so long as he was in it wit
lier. But he ! — v»'ell, sir,'l know ;■
lias kissed the very ground s'-
trod on, and he didn't liunk
queen's palace too fine for he
A Story with Two Versions,
8oi
As soon as ever he saw her lie
loved her and set his soul to win
her ; and the very next day he
began a new home in Brentwood.
Where is it? Alack! alack! sir.
\\'ait till ye must hear. Let's think,
f«>r a bit, of only the glad days
now.
You could not call it extrava-
gance exactly. It set the whole
town alive. So far as he could, he
would have none but Brentwood
folk to work upon the place where
his bride was to dwell. And he
said it was time that so old a fami-
ly should have a home that would
last as long as they. Ah ! me, as
long as they !
Of course th^re was a city archi-
tect and a grand landscape garden*
cr ; but, oh ! the thoughtfulness of
him whom we were proud to call
our master. Tnere, in the very flush
of his youth and love and hope,
lie took care of the widows and the
iittle children; contrived to make
work for them ; was here and there
and everywhere ; and there was
not a beggar nor an idler in Brent-
wood — not one. The house rose
stately and tall ; he \^ad chosen a
fair spot for it, where great trees
grew and brooks were running, all
ready to his hand ; and that city
man — why, sir, 'twas marvellous
how he seemed to understand just
how to make use of it all, and to
prune a little here and add a little
there, with vines and arbors and
glades and a wilderness, till you
didn't know what God had done
and what he had given his creatures
wit to do. And in the sunniest
t orner of the house — Brent Hall,
as they called it — Mr. James chose
rooms for Mr. William, who was
pleased as a child with it all, and
used to sit day by day and watch
:he work go on.
All the time, too, the Brent iron-
VOL. xxii. — 51
foundries were being added to
and renovated, till there was none
like them round about; and the
town streets were made like city
streets, and the town itself set into
such order as never before; and
when all was ready — 'twas the work
of but three years, sir — when the
house was hung with pictures and
decked with the best ; in the spring,
when the grass and the trees were
green, and the flowers were bloom-
ing fair, then he brought her
home. And when I saw her — well,
sir, first I thought of the angels;
but next (if I may say it ; and I wot
it is not wrong) — next I thought
of our Blessed Lady. There was
a great painting in the Hall oratory
— by some Spanish painter, they
said. Murillo.' Yes, sir, that is the
name. It looked like Mrs. James
Brent, sir. Not an angel, but a
woman that could suffer and weep
and struggle sore; and, pure and
stainless, would still remember she
was of us poor humans, and so pity
and pray for us.
We had been used to have Mr.
Brent come into our houses, and to
see him in the poorest cottages and
the almshouses, with smiles and
cheery words and money; but Mrs.
James gave more than that, for she
gave herself. I've seen tliose soft
hands bind wounds I shrank from ;
and that delicate creature — I've
seen her kneeling by beds of dying
sinners, while her face grew white
at what she saw and heard, and
yet she praying over 'em, and, what's
more, loving *em, till she made the
way for the priest to come. And
she laid out dead whom few of us
would have touched for hire, and
she listened to the stories of tlic
sad and tiresome, and her smile
was sunshine, and the very sight
of her passing by lifted up our
minds to God. Her husband
803
A Story with Two Vtrsums.
thwarted her in nothing. What
was there to thwart her in ? He
loved her, and she should do what
she would in this work which was
her heart's joy.
Then we had been used to see
Mr. James in church regular, week-
day Mass and Sunday Mass; but
Mrs. James was there any time,
early mornings and noons and
nights. I fancy she loved it better
than the stately Hall. After she
came, her husband added the great
south transept window from Ger-
many, and the organ that people
came miles to hear; and he said it
was her ];ift, not his. The window
picture is a great Crucifixion and
Our Lady standing by. You'll un-
derstand better, Mr. Clarkson, ere
I finish, what it says to Brentwood
folk now.
The first year there was a daugh-
ter only ; but the next there came
a son. After that, for six long years
there were no more children, but
then another son saw the light.
What rejoicings, what bonfires,
what clanging of bells, there was!
But ere night the clanging changed
to tolling and the shouts to tears ;
for the child died. And when Mrs.
James came among us again, very
white and changed and feeble, we
all knew that with Mr. James and
Mr, William, we were seeing the
last Brent Brothers, whatever our
grandchildren might see.
However, s/i^ was spared, and
Mr. James took heart of such grace
as that, and said it would be Brent
and Son, which sounded quite as
well when one was used to it.
And to make himaelf used to it — or
to stifle the disappointment, as I
really tliink — he began the Brent
Bank, There had been a Brent
•Bank here for years past, and to it
all Brentwood and half the country
round trusted their earnings Only
a few really rich people had
to do with it, but men in m
circumstances, youn^ doct<
lawyers with growing familit
ows, orphans, seamstresses, '
tory people, laborers, thoug!
was no bank like that. Mr.
kind spirit showed itself t:
elsewhere* and nobody felt
too insignificant to come t
only with a penny.
Often and often I sit b<
wonder, Mr. Clarkson, wh;
was — why God ever let it 1
shame and the sorrow and
fering that came. I km
James was lavish, but, if h
much on himself, he spen
on others too ; and iie madi
house as beautiful as hi
For a time it looked as il
blessing was on him ; for he j
ed year by year, and, except
child's dying and his wift
health, his cup of joy seeing
ning over.
By and by came a yea
may just remember it. sir—
of very hard times for the
country. Banks broke, ai
houses went by the board, ar
were thrown out of work, am
was a cry of distress throu
the land. But Brentwooc
hadn't a thought of fear. S
that year, from the very first
something troubled me. I
was moody now and then;
up to the city oftener; had
which he did not show to im
had seen all his business
spondence and his father's for
years and more. Sometim
missed Mass, and presently I
with a pang that he did not r
the Blessed Sacrament regu
he used. And Mrs. Jame
pale, and her eyes, that once
as bright and clear as sun
grew heavy and dark, and she h
A Story with Two Versiofts,
803
more and more like the picture
in her oratory; but it made one
very sad somehow to see the like-
ness.
Xhe hard times began at mid-
summer. The Lent after there
was a mission of Dominican friars
here. I was special busy that
week, and kept at work till after
midnight. One evening, about
eight, Mr. James came hurriedly
into the office and asked for the let-
ters. He turned them over, looked
blank, then said the half-past eleven
niail^would surely bring the one he
wanted, and he should wait till
then and go for it himself. For
five minutes or so he tried to cast
up some accounts; then, too ner-
vous-like to be quiet longer, he
said : " Til go and hear the sermon,
Serle. It will serve to fill up the
time." And off he went.
The clock struck the hour and
the half-hour, and the hour and the
half-hour, and I heard the half-past
eleven mail come in, and, soon after,
Mr. James* step again, but slow now,
like one in deep thought. In he
came, and I caught a glimpse of
his face, pale and stern, with the
lips hard set. He shut himself in-
to his private room, and I heard
him pacing up and down; then
there came a pause, and he strode
out again. He seemed very odd to
me, but he tried to laugh, as he
put down two slips for telegrams
on my desk. " Which would you
send ?" said he.
One was, " (}o on. I consent to
all your terms." The other was,
" Stop. I will have nothing more
to do with it, no matter what hap-
pens."
Something told me in my heart
tliat, though he was trying to pass
this off in his old way like a joke,
my master — my dear master — was
in a great strait. I looked up and-
answered what he had not said at
all to get an answer, with words
which rose to my lips in spite of
myself. Says I : " Send what Mrs.
James would want you to send,
sir." And then his ruddy, kind
face bleached gray like ashes, and
he gave a groan, and the next min-
ute he was gone.
Though my work was done for
that night, I would not leave the
bank ; for I thought he might come
back. And back he did come, a
full hour after, steady and grave
and not like my master. For, Mr.
Clarkson, the bright boy-look I
had loved so, wliicli, with the boy-
nature too, had never seemed to
leave him, was all gone out of his
face, and I knew surely I never
should see it there again. He
wrote something quickly, then
handed it to me, bidding me send
telegrams to tlie bank trustees as
there ordered. The slip which
bore my direction bore also the
wprds, with just a pencil-line era-
sure through them, " Go on. I con-
sent to all your terms." So, for
good or for ill, whichever it might
be, the other was the one he must
have sent.
These telegrams notified the trus-
tees of a most important meeting
to which they were summoned, and
at that meeting I had, as usual, to
be present. Perhaps his colleagues
saw no change in him; but I, who
had served him long, saw much.
O Mr. Clarkson, Mr. Clarkson !
whatever you may be — and you are
young still — be honest. For, sir,
there's one thing of many terrible
to bear, and its got to be borne
here or hereafter by them as err
from ui)riglitness ; and that thing
is shame. I'd seen him kneel at
the altar that morning, and she be-
side him, bless her ! That's where
he got strength to endure the pen*
8o4
A Story with Two Versions.
ance he had brouglit upon himself;
else I don't know how he ever
could have borne it or have done it.
They sat there about him where
they had often sat before, those fif-
teen country gentlemen, some of
whom had been his father's and
his uncle's friends, and some hts
own schoolmates and companions.
And he stood up, and first he look-
ed them calm and fearless full in
their faces, and then his voice fal-
tered and stopped, and then they
all felt that it was indeed some-
thing beyond ordinary that was
coming.
Don't ask me to tell my master's
shame as he told it, without a gloss
or an excuse, plain and bald and to
the point. I knew and they knew
that there was excuse for his loving
and lavish nature, but he made
none for himself.
Well, there's no hiding what, all
the world knows now. He had let
himself be led away into specula-
tion and — God pity and forgive
him ! — into fraud, till only ruin or
added and greater sin stared him
in the face ; then, brought face to
face with that alternative, he had
chosen — ^just ruin, sir.
There was dead silence for a
space, till Sir Jasper Meredith,
the oldest man there, and the just-
est business man I ever met, said
gravely : " Do you realize, Mr.
Brent, that this implies ruin to
others than to you V*
lie was not thinking of himself,
though this trouble would straiten
him sorely; he was thinking, and
so was my master, and so was I, of
poor men, and lone women, and
children and babies, made penni-
less at a blow ; of the works stop-
ped ; of hunger and sickness and
cold. Mr. James bowed his head ;
he could not speak.
: Then I had to bring out the
books, and we went carefully over
them page by page. It was like
the Day of Judgment itself to turn
over those accounts, and to read
letters that had to be read, and to
find out, step by step, and in the
very presence of the man ire had
honored and trusted, that be had
really fallen from his high place.
He quivered under it, body and
soul, but answered steadily every
question Sir Jasper put to him;
spoke in such a way that I wai
sure he as well as I thought of the
last great day, and was answering
to One mightier than man. 'And
presently, when they had reached
the root of it — well, Mr. Clarkson,
it was sin and it was shame, and I
dare not call it less before God;
yet it was sin which many another
man does unblushingly, and had
he persisted in it — had he only the
night previous sent that message,
** Go on " — it was possible and prob-
able that he could have saved him-
self. Yet, if I could have had my
choice then or now, I would rather
have seen him stand there, disgrac-
ed and ruined by his own act and
will, than have had him live for an-
other day a hypocrite.
But Sir Jasper said never a word
of praise or blame till the whole
investigation was ended; listened
silently while Mr. James told his
plan to sell all he owned in Brent-
wood, pay what debts he could,
and then begin life over again
abroad, and work hard and steadily
to retrieve his fortunes, that he
might pay all and stand with a clear
conscience before he died. Then
Sir Jasper rose and came to him.
put his two hands on Mr. James'
shoulders, and looked him straiaii
in the eyes. ** James Brent," hi
said, " 1 knew your father before
you, and your father's father, but 1
never honored them more, and 1
A Story with Two Versions.
805
never honored you more, than on
this day when you confess to having
disgraced your name and theirs,
but have had the honesty and man-
liness to confess it. Disgrace is
disgrace ; but confession is the be-
ginning. of amendment."
That was all. There was no
offer of money help ; all Sir Jasper
could offer would have been but a
drop in the ocean of such utter
ruin. There was no advice to
spare himself before he spared his
nei«;hbor ; Sir Jasper was too just
fur that. But after those words I
saw my master's eyes grow moist
and bright, and a gleam of hope
come into his face. My poor mas-
ter! my poor master ! Thank God
we cannot see the whole of suffering
at the beginning!
The intention was not to let the
news get abroad that night. Mr.
James went home to tell his wife
and children — how terrible that
seemed to me ! — and I sat busy in
the office. It was the spring of
the year. Fifteen years ago the
coming month *he had brought his
bride home in the sunshine and the
flowers. This afternoon darkened
into clouds, and rain came and the
east wind. 1 lighted the lamps early
and went to my work again. Pre-
sently I heard a sound such as I
never heard before — a low growl, or
roar, or shout, that wasn't thunder
or wind or rain. It grew louder;
it was like the tramp of many feet,
hurrying fast, and in the direction
of the bank. Then cries — a name,
short, distinct, repeated again and
again : " Brent ! Brent ! James
Brent !"
I went to the window. There
they were, half Brentwood and
more, clamoring for the sight of the
man they trusted above all men. I
flung the window up and they saw
me.
"Halloo, there, Joseph Serle!"
cried the leader, a choleric Scot
who had not been many years
among us. ** Where's our master V"
" Not here," says I, with a sinking
at my heart.
" He knows," piped a woman's
shrill voice ; " make him tell us
true."
And then the Scot cries agam :
" Halloo, Joseph Serle, there ! Speak
us true, mon, or ye'll hang for't.
Is our money safe ?"
What could I say? Face after
face I saw by the glare of torches —
fiices of neighbors and friends and
kin — and not one but was a loser,
and few that were not well-nigh
ruined. And while I hesitated how
to speak again that woman spoke :
"Where's James Brent .^ Has he
run, the coward .^"
That was too much. " He's
home," cried I, " where you and
all decent folk should be."
" Home ! home !" They caught
the word and shouted it. " We'll
go home too. We'll find James
Brent." And the tide turned towards
the Hall.
I flew down the back-stairs to the
stable, mounted the fleetest horse,
and galloped him bareback to Brent
Hall ; but, fast as I rode, the east
wind bore an angry shoiU behind
me, and, if I turned my head, I saw
torches flaring, and the ground
seemed to tremble with the hurry-
ing tramp of feet.
I don't know how they bore it
or how 1 told 'em. I know I found
them together, him and her, and
she was as if she had not shed a
tear, and her eyes were glowing like
stars, bright, and tender,and sad, and
glad all at once. I had hardly time
to tell the news, when the sound
I had dreaded for 'em broke upon
us like the rush and the roar of an
awful storm. On they came, tramp-
\
806
A Story with Two Versions,
ling over the garden-beds, wav-
ing their torchlights, calling one
name hoarse and constant — "Brent!
Brent! James Brent !*'
" My love," he said, bending
down to her, " stay while I go to
them."
And then she looked at him with
a look that was more heavenly than
any smile, and said only : ** James,
my place is by your side, and I will
keep it."
He put his hand quick over his
eyes like one in great awe, smiled
with a smile more sad than tears,
then opened the hall door and
stood out before the crowd — there
where many a man and woman of
them liad seen him bring his young
bride home. And the sudden si-
lence which fell upon them liis own
voice broke. " My friends," he
said, " what would you have of
me?"
Straight and keen as a barbed
arrow, not from one voice, but from
many, the question rose, " Is our
money safe V* And after tliat some
one called : " We'll trust your word,
master, 'gainst all odds."
I had thought that scene in the
bank was like the Judgment Day ;
but what was this } He tried to
speak, but his lips clave together.
Then I saw her draw a little nearer
— not to touch him or to speak to
him ; she did not even look at him,
neither at the people, but out into
the darkness, and up and far away;
and hir very body, it seemed to
me, was praying.
"Is our money safe.^" It was
like a yell now, and James Brent
made answer : " My friends, I am a
ruined man."
" Is our money safe V* Little
children's voices joined in the cry.
My God, let Brentwood never hear
the like again !
My master held out hU hands
like any beggar; then he fell dovn
upon his knees. " I confess to yoa
and to God," he said, "there is
not one penny left."
Mr. Clarkson, I am Brentwood
born and bred. I love my roaster,
but I love my place and people
too. We are a simple folk and a
loving folk. It is an awful thing to
shake the trust of such. They had
deemed their honor and their pro-
perty for ever safe with this one man,
and in an hour and at a word their
trust was broken, their scanty all
was gone, their earthly hopes were
shattered. Mr. Clarkson, sir, it
drove them wild.
That day had set on Breni Hall
fair and statelv ; the morrow dawn-
ed on blackened ruins. Ti»c
grounds lay waste; the fountains
were dry ; pictures which nobles
had envied had fed the flames;
fabrics which would have graced a
queen stopped the babbling of the
brooks; and in front of Breni
Bank hung effigies of the last Brent
Brothers, with a halter £Lbout the
neck of each.
He had planned — my master,
my poor master! — to retrieve all.
Why could it not be ? God knows
best, but it is a mystery which 1
cannot fathom. That night's hor-
ror and exposure brought iiim to
the very gates of death ; and when
he rose up at last, it was as a mere
wreck of himself, never to work
again. His wife's dowry went to
the people whom he had ruined
and who had ruined him. They
lived until her death, as he hvcs
still, on charity.
And that is all } No, Mr. Clark-
son, not quite all. He was brave
enough, since he could not win
back his honor otherwise, to stay
among us and gain a place again
in the hearts he had wounded sore.
Sometimes I think he teaches us a
A Story with Two Versions,
807
better lesson, old, and alone, and
poor, than if he had come to build
his fallen home once more. I
think, sir, we have learned to pity
and forgive as we never should
have done otherwise, since we have
seen him suffering like any one of
us ; as low down as any one of us.
JAMES brent's version.
He has told you the story, then,
my boy, has he } And you are
the last of us, and you have my
name — James Brent Clarkson.
The last.? Then I will tell you
more than he could tell you. Do
not shrink or fancy it will pain me.
I would like to let you know all,
my boy — not for my sake ; but you
say you are only half a Catholic,
and I would have you learn some-
thing of the deep reality of the true
fLiith.
The night I waited for the half-
past eleven train I had been stop-
ped on my way to the bank by a
crowd at the church door, and
I heard one man say to another :
" They're dark times, neighbor — as
dark as our land's seen these hun-
dred years." And his mate an-
swered him : ** Maybe so, Collins ;
maybe so. But Brentwood don't
feel 'em much. I believe, and so
does most folks, that if all other
houses fell, and e'en the Bank of
England broke, Brent Brothers
would stand. It's been honest and
true for four generations back, and
so 'twull be to the end on't." Then
the crowd parted, the men went
into the church, and I passed down
the street.
** Honest and true for four gener-
ations back, and so 'twull be to the
end on't." The words haunted me.
At last, in desperation, to rid my-
self of the thought, I went to church
also. Going in by a side door, I
found myself in a corner by a con-
fessional, quite sheltered from view,
but with the pulpit in plain sight.
There, raised high above the heads
of the people, the preacher stood,
a man of middle age, who looked
as if he had been at some time of
his life in and of the world ; his
face that of one who has found it
almost a death-struggle to subdue
self to the obedience and the folly of
the cross. He seemed meant for
a ruler among his fellows. I won-^
dered idly what he was doing there
in the preacher's frock, speaking
to the crowd.
He was telling, simply and plain-
ly, of our Lord's agony in the gar-
den. But simple and plain as
were his words, there was some-
thing in the face and voice which
drew one into sympathetic union
with this man, who spoke as if he
were literally beholding the load
of our sin lying upon the Lord's
heart till his sweat of blood start-
ed. And when he had painted
the scene to us, he paused as hear-
ing the awful cry echo through the
stillness that reigned in the crowded
church, then bent forward as if his
eyes would scan oUr very hearts,
and spoke once more.
I cannot tell you what he said,
but before he ended I knew this :
my sin cost our Lord's agony ;
added sin of mine would be added
anguish of his. The choice lay be-
fore me. When I showed Serle
those two despatches, the one
" Stop," the other ** Go on," I held
there what would be my ruin for
time or for eternity.
There is a world unseen, and
mighty; its powers were round me
that nigfit like an army. Hitherto
I had been deceiving myself with
the plea of necessity of others* in-
terests to be considered, of my hon-
or to be sustained. That night
8o8
A Story with Two Versions.
another motive rose before me, but
it was of an honot put to dishonor
— the Lord of glory bowed down to
the earth by shame.
The letter must be answered be-
fore morning, so pressing was my
need. I decided to go to the tele-
graph office, and by the time I
reached it my mind must be made
up. But, in the street, I came face
to face with the preacher I had
heard that night. The moon was
near the full. We two looked
straight at each other, passed, then
turned as by one impulse, and
faced again. They who fight a
fight to its end, and conquer, but
only with wounds whose scars they
must bear to their graves, some-
times gain a great power of reading
the souls of those who are fighting
a like contest, and know not yet if
it will end in victory or defeat.
Some fight like mine I felt sure that
priest had fought. "What would
you have, my brother V* he asked.
*' Answers to two questions, fa-
ther," I rej)lied. " If a man has
done wrong to others, and can only
repair it by added wrong, shall he
disgrace his own good name for
ever by avowal, or shall he sin ?
And if his fall involves the suffer-
ing of his innocent wife and children,
may he not save himself from sliame
for their sake ? It is a matter
which may not wait now for confes-
sion even. Answer as best you may,
for the love of God."
I fancied that the stern face be-
fore me softened and grew pale, and
in the momentary stillness I un-
derstood that tlie Dominican was
praying. 'J'hen he answered, few
words and firm, as one who knciv :
"To choose disgrace is to choose
the i)atli our divine Lord chose.
To involve our dearest in suffering
IS to know his anguish wliose bless-
ed Mother stood beneath his cross."
Then, after one more sli^t, ii
tense silence, "My brother," 1
said earnestly, " I do not kot]
your life, but I know my own. 1
drink the Lord's cup of shame
its dregs — with him — is a blea
thing to do, if he gives a sini
grace to do it."
Tell me a thousand times tl
you have no faith yourself; that
love God passionately is a drcaix
delusion, unworthy of our ma
nature; that to choose shame
folly, to choose suffering is a n
mrstake—^what shame could at<
for my sins or give back to
poor the means of which my ft
had robbed them ? What can y
words count with those who b
once tasted the bitter sweetness
the Lord's own chalice .^ Suddei
standing there, I knew what
means to love God more tl
houses or lands, wife or childn
to have him more real to the s
than they to the heart ; to lie «
ing and glad to forsake all
him ; to know I had one m
chance left to do his will,
Satan's; and to make mv choi
Having brought his agony on h
there was notliing more I could
but bear it with him.
My boy, though you came on
invitation, you chose the twilighi
wliich to come to me, that I mil
hide my shame at meeting y<
Such shame tit ed dead in two aw
nights and days : First, confess
before the priest of God ; then
colleagues and friends ; then to
wife and to my son — oh ! i
stings yet ; then to an angry tlin)
whose trust I had betraved, wh
hopes I had blasted, whose I«
and reverence I had turned
hate and scorn. I have seen
home in ruins, my effigy hung
and hooted at in the public squ:
my name become a byword,
A Story ivith Tivo Versions,
809
race blotted out. I am an old man
now, and still they tell my story in
Brentwood; each child learns it;
strangers hear of it. Yet, if the
power were mine to alter these
twenty years of humiliation, I
would not lose one hour of suffer-
ing or shame.
You ask me why ? Thirty-five
years ago I stood here, the centre
and the favorite of this town, and
I set myself to work my own will,
to gain glory for me and mine.
My wife, my name, my home, were
my idols. It seemed an Tnnocent
ambition, but it was not for God,
and it led me into evil work. You
told me that since you came of age
you have been but once to confes-
sion. It is by the light of that
sacrament that what seems to you
the mystery of my life is read.
For a Catholic — whether striving
after perfection, or struggling up
from sin to lasting penitence-^has
for pattern the life of Jesus, the
doing all in union with him, after
his example. What is the sacra-
ment of penance but the bearing
of shame, though in the presence
of a compassionate priest, with
him who, when he could have
rescued us at the price of one drop
of his most precious blood, chose
to die in ignominy, bearing before
the world the entire world's dis-
grace.^ My boy, if in any way,
by the love of our common name,
I can influence you, go back to con^
fession. It is the very sacrament
for men who would be upright, and
loyal, and strong, and true; or
who, having fallen, would humbly
and bravely bear for Christ's sake
the disclosure and the penalty.
My penance — given by God, mark
you — was heavy, men think. Was
it heavier than my sin ? They do
not know everything. All my life
I had been helped, guarded, up-
held ; and for such to fall is a dead-
lier sin than for others. The infi-
nite love of God bore with me and
siived me. And as, day by day,
like the unremitted lashes of a
scourge, suffering fell to my por-
tion, I tell you that a strange, an
awful sweetness mingled with the
anguish. I knew it was the hand
of God that smote me, and that
he smote here to spare hereafter.
Oh ! do not look at me. Stop !
Turn your face away ! I thouglit
all such shame was dead, but there
are moments when it overwhelms
me with its sting. Did I say or
dare to think that God ioi*es me?
Wait, wait, till I can remember what
it means !
Yes, I know now. Through all
that night, while the torches glared,
and wrathful faces looked curses at
me, and lips shouted them, ever
through all I saw, as it were. One
sinless but reputed with the wicked ;
stripped of his garments as I of my
pride; made a spectacle to angels
and to men ; mocked, reviled,
scourged, crucified ; and through
the wild tumult I heard a voice
say, as of old to the repentant thief
on the cross : " This day thou shalt
be with me." And through all my
heart was answering to his most
Sacred Heart, " I, indeed, justly ;
for I receive the due reward of my
deeds : but this man hath done no
evil." How could I wish to be
spared a single pang or lose one
hour of shame with him.^ What
part could any Christian take but
to suffer with him, having made
him suffer.^ And when one has
said " with him," one has explained
all. But, somehow, people do not
always seem to understand.
Understand ? Ah ! no. It is a
story, not of two versions, but of
many. Some called James Brent a
8io
Anti-Catholic Movements in the United States.
f jol, and some a madman, and some
said he should have saved his honor
and his name at all hazards; and
some, that he had no right to entail
such suffering on liis household.
But there is one light by which such
stories should be read, that is truer
than these. When time is gone,
and wealth is dust, and earthly hon-
or vanishes like smoke, then, by
the standard of the cross of
wealth, and pomp, and pi
and business shall be dul\
Shun humiliation here as vi
there shall be after this lh<
ment, when the Prince of
who pronounces final senter
be he who, while on earth, c
his portion a life of suffering
death of shame.
ANTI-CATHOLIC MOVEMENTS IN THE UNITED ST
i
i'
Like commercial panics, periodi-
cal outbursts of irreligious fanati-
cism seem to have become regular
incidents in the history of the Unit-
ed States — occurrences to be look-
ed for with as much certainty as if
they were the natural outgrowth of
our civilization and the peculiarly-
constituted condition of American
society. 1 houL;h springing from
widely different causes, these inter-
mittent spasms have a marked re-
semblance in their deleterious effects
on our individual welfare and na-
tional reputation. Both are de-
moralizing and degrading in their
tendencies, and each, in its degree,
finally results in the tem})orary gain
of a few to the lasting injury and
debasement of the multitude. In
other respects they differ materially.
Great mercantile reverses and iso-
) lated acts of peculation, unfortu-
nately, arc not limited to one com-
munity or to the growth of any par-
ticular system of polity, but are as
common and as fre(iuent in despot-
ic Asia and monarcliical Europe
as in republican America. Popular
ebullitions of bigotry, on the con-
trary, are, or, more corrcctl
to be, confined to those c
where ignorance and int<
usurp the place of enlightei
lanthropy and wise govc
They are foreign to the s
American institutions, hosii
best interests of society, .ind
to those who tolerate or en
them. The briirhtest irlorv
fathers of the republic sprii
so much from the fact that tl
arated the colonies from the
country and founded a newn
for that is nothing strange
heard-of in the world's hist«>i
that they made its three niili
inhabitants free as well as ir
dent : free not only from unj
ation and arbitrary laws, I
ever free to worship their Cre.
cording to the dictates of tin
science, unawed by petty an
and unaffected bv tlie shiftin:
sels of subsequent legisIator>
From this point of view liit
lution appears as one of the
est moral events in the reco
human progress; and when
fleet on the numerous pains.
Anti Catholic Movements in the United States.
8il
tics, and restrictions prescribed by
Ihe charters and by-laws of the col-
onies from whence our Union has
sprung, it challenges our most pro-
found admiration and gratitude.
This complete religious equality,
guaranteed by our fundamental law,
has ever been the boast of every
true American citizen, at home and
abroad. From the hnlls of Con-
gress to the far Western stump-meet-
ing we hear it again and again enun-
ciated ; it is repeated by a thousand
eloquent tongues on each recurring
anniversary of our independence,
and is daily and weekly trumpeted
throughout the lengtli and breadth
of the land by the myriad- winged
Mercuries of the press. This free-
dom of worship, freedom of con-
science, and legal equality, as de-
clared and confirmed by our fore-
fathers, has become, in fact, not
only the written but also tlie. com-
mon law of the land — the birthriglit
of every native-born American, the
acquired, but no less sacred, privi-
lege of every citizen by adoption.
Whoever now attempts to disturb
or question it, by word or act, dis-
graces his country in the eyes of all
mankind, and defiles the memory
of our greatest and truest heroes
and statesmen.
So powerful, indeed, were the ex-
ample and teachings of those wise
men who laid broad and deep the
foundations of our happy country
that, during the first half-century
of our national existence, scarcely a
voice was raised in opposition or
protest against the principle of re-
ligious liberty as emphatically ex-
])rt!ssed in the first amendment to
ilie Constitution. A whole genera-
lion had to pass away ere fanati-
cism dared to raise its crest, until
the solemn guarantees of our feder-
al compact were assailed by incen-
diary mobs and scouted by so-call-
ed courts of justice. The first fla-
grant instance of this fell spirit of
bigotry happened in Massacluisetts,
and naturally was directed against
an institution of Catholic learning.
In 1820 four Ursuline nuns ar-
rived in Boston and established
there a house of their order. Six
years later they removed to the
neighboring village of Charlestov/n,
where they purchased a j)iece of
ground, and, calling it Ml. St. Bene-
dict, erected a suitable building and
reduced the hitherto barren hillside
to a state of beautiful cultivation.
In 1834 the community had in-
creased to ten, all ladies of thorough
education and refinement. From
the very beginning their success
as teachers was acknowledged and
applauded, and their average atten-
dance of pupils was computed at
from fifty to sixty. Of these, at
least four-fifths were Protestants,
the daughters of the best American
families, not only of New England,
but of the Middle and Southern
States. Though it was well known
that the nuns had ever been most
scrupulously careful not to meddle
with the religious opinions of their
scholars, and that not one conver-
sion to the church could be ascrib-
ed to their influence, the fiict that a
school conducted by Catholic reli-
gious should have acquired so bril-
liant a reputation, and that its pa-
trons were principally Protestants
of high social and political stand-
ing, was considered sufficient in the
eyes of the Puritan fanatics to con-
demn it.
Its destruction was therefore re-
solved on, and an incident, unim-
portant in itself, occurred in the
summer of 1834 wiiich was eagerly
seized upon by the clerical adven-
turers who then, as now, disgraced
so many sectarian pulpits. It ap-
pears that an inmate of the convent,
8l2
Anti' Catholic Movements in the United States,
a Miss Harrison, bad, from excessive
application to music, become par-
tially demented, and during one of
her moments of hallucination left
the house and sought refuge with
some friends. Her brother, a Pro-
testant, having heard of her flight,
accompanied by Bishop Fenwick,
brought her back to the nunnery,
to her own great satisfaction and
the delight of the sisterhood. This
trifling domestic aflair was eagerly
taken up by the leaders of the anti-
Catholic faction and magnified into
monstrous proportions. The nuns,
it was said, had not only driven an
American lady to madness, but had
immured her in a dungeon, and,
upon her attempting to escape, had,
with the connivance of the bishop
and priests, actually tortured her to
death. Falsehoods even more dia-
bolical were invented and circulat-
ed throughout Boston. The fol-
lowing Sunday the Methodist and
Congregational churches rang again
with denunciations against Popery
and nunneries, while one self-styled
divine, a Dr. Beecher, the father of
a numerous progeny of male and
female evangelists, some of whom
have since become famous in more
senses than one, preached no less
than three sermons in as many dif-
ferent churches on the abominations
of Rome. All the bigotry .of Boston
and the adjacent towns was aroused
to the highest pitch of frenzy, and
threats against the convent were
heard on every side.
To pacify the public mind the
selectmen of Charlestown, on the
following day, the memorable nth
of August, appointed a committee
to examine into the truth of the
charges. They waited on the nuns,
and were received by Miss Harri-
son, who was alleged to have been
foully murdered. Under her per-
sonal guidau.'c they searched every
part of the convent and its appur-
tenances, till, becoming thoroughly
satisfied with the falsitv of the re-
ports, they retired to draw up a
statement to that eflect for publica-
tion in the newspapers. This was
what the rabble dreaded, and, 2s
soon as the intention of the com
mi t tee became known, the leaders
resolved to forestall public senti-
ment by acting at once.
Accordingly, about nine o'clock
in, the evening, a mob began lo
collect in the neighborhood of Mt
St. Benedict. Bonfires were lit
and exciting harangues were made,
but still there were many persons
reluctant to believe that the rioters
were in earnest. They would not
admit that any great number of
Americans could be found base
and brutal enough to attack a
house filled with defenceless and
delicate women and children. They
were mistaken, however; they had
yet to learn to what lengths fanati-
cism can be carried when once the
evil passions of corrupt human
nature are aroused. Towards mid-
night a general alarm was rung,
calling out the engine companies
of Boston, not to quell any fire or
disturbance, but, as was proved
by their conduct, to reinforce ibe
rioters, if necessary. The first de-
monstration was made by firing
shot and stones against the win-
dows and doors of the main build-
ing, to ascertain if there were any
defenders inside; but, upon becom-
ing satisfied that there were none,
the cowardly mob burst open the
gates and doors, and rushed wildly
through the passages and rooms,
swearing vengeance against the
nuns.
Trusting to the protection of the
authorities, the gentle sisters were
taken by surprise. The shots o(
their assailants, however, awakened
Anti-Catholic Movements in the United States.
813
thcxn to a sense of danger. Hast-
«:ning from their beds, tliey rushed
to the dormitories, aroused the
sleeping children, and had barely
time to avoid the fury of the mob
L>y escaping through a back en-
t ranee in their night-clothes. Every-
rhing portable, including money and
Jewelry belonging to the pupils,
•was laid hold of by the intru-
ders, the furniture and valuable
musical instruments were hacked
in pieces, and then the convent
-wQiS given to the flames amid the
frantic cheers of assembled thou-
sands. ** Not content with all this,"
says the report of Mr. Loring's
committee, "they burst open the
tomb of the establishment, rifled it
of the sacred vessels there deposit-
ed, wrested the plates from the
coffins, and exposed to view the
mouldering remains of their ten-
ants. Nor is it the least humiliating
feature, in this scene of cowardly
and audacious violation of all that
man ought to hold sacred, that it
was perpetrated in the presence of
men vested with authority and of
multitudes of our fellow-citizens,
while not one arm was lifted in the
defence of helpless women and
children, or in vindication of the
violated laws of God and man.
The spirit of violence, sacrilege,
and plunder reigned triumphant."
The morning of the 12th of Au-
gust saw what for years had been the
quiet retreat of Christian learning
and feminine holiness a mass of
blackened ruins ; but the character
of Massachusetts had received even
a darker stain, a foul blot not yet
wiped from her escutcheon. It was
felt by the most respectable por-
tion of the citizens that some step
should be taken to vindicate the
reputation of the State, and to place
the odium of the outrage on those
who alone were guilty. Accord-
ingly, a committee of thirty-eight
leading Protestant gentlemen, with
Charles G. Loring as chairman,
was appointed to investigate and
report on the origin and results of
the disgraceful proceeding. It met
in Faneuil Hall from day to. day,
examined a great number of wit-
nesses, and made the most minute
inquiries from all sources. Its
final report was long, eloquent, and
convincing. After the most thor-
ough examination, it was found,
those Protestant gentlemen said,
that all the wild and malicious as-
sertions put forth in the sectarian
pulpits and repeated in the news-
papers, regarding the Ursulines,
were without a shadow of truth or
probability; they eulogized in the
most glowing language the conduct
of the nuns, their qualifications as
teachers, their Christian piety and
meekness, and their careful regard
for the morals as well as for the
religious scruples of their pupils.
They also attributed the wanton
attack upon the nunnery to the fell
spirit of bigotry evoked by -the false
reports of the New England press
and the unmitigated «slanders of the
anti-Catholic preachers, and called
upon the legislative authorities to
indemnify, in the most ample man-
ner, the victims of mob law and
official connivance.
But the most significant fact
brought to light by this committee
was that the fanatics, in their attack
on Mt. St. Benedict, were not a
mere heterogeneous crowd of igno-
rant meft acting upon momentary
impulse, but a regular band of law-
less miscreants directed and aided
by persons of influence and stand-
ing in society. ** There is no
doubt," says the report, " that a
conspiracy had been formed, ex-
tending into many of the neighbor-
ing towns ; but the committee are
S!4
Anf^Olliipli: M^ntemenU i» $lu UmUti Stmi£s.
of the Chulestown convent was
even more shameful than the crime
itself. Thirteen men had been' ar-
rested, eight of whom were charged
with arson. The first tried was
the rin|;leader, an ex-convict, nam-
ed Buz^ell. The scenes which
were enacted on that occasion arc
without a parallel in the annals of
our jurisprudence. The mother-su-
perior, several of the sisters, and
Bishop Fen wick, necessary wit-
nesses for the prosecution, were re-
ceived in court with half-suppressed
jibes and sneers, subjected to everj-
species of insult by the lawyers for
the defence, and were frowned upon
even by the judge who presided.
Though the evidence against the
prisoner was conclusive, the jurj',
without sliaine or hesitation, acquit-
ted him, and he walked out of
court amid the wildest cheers of the
bystanders. Similar dernonstralions
of popular sympathy attended llie
trials of the other rioters, who were
all, with the exception of a young
boy, permitted to escape the pen-
ally of their gross crimes.
Even the Stale legislature, though
urged to do so by many of the lead-
ing public men of the common-
wealth, refused to vote anything
like an adequate sum to indemnify
the nuns and pupils for their losses,
sand persons.
As there were no more co
to be plundered and burned
stronghold of Puritanism, tl
on those glories of religio
kept up in a different manm
with no less rancor and am
Taking advantage of the excii
created by such men as 1
Beecher and fiuzzell, a men
publisher issued a book ei
Si,x Months in a Convent,
was put together by .some cor
tible preacher in the name of
literate girl named Reed, wl
belter to mislead the public, i
ed the tilleof "Sister Mary A
"We earnestly hope and be
said the preface to this emboli
of falsehood, " that this little
if universally diffused, will do
by its unaffected simplicity,
terring Protestant parents fron;
Anti' Catholic Movements in the United States.
815
eating their daughters in Catholic
nunneries than could the most
labored and learned discourses on
the dangers of Popery." Though
the book was replete with stupid
fabrications and silly blunders, so
grossly had the popular taste been
perverted that fifty thousand copies
were sold within a year after its
publication. The demand was still
increasing, when another Contribu-
tion to Protestant literature appear-
ed, before the broad, disgusting, and
obscene fabrications of which the
mendacity of "Sister Mary Agnes **
paled its ineffectual fires. This
latter candidate for popular favor,
though it bore the name, destined
for an immortality of infamy, of
Maria Monk — a notoriously disso-
lute woman — was actually compil-
ed by a few needy and unscrupu-
lous adventurers, reverend and ir-
reverend, who found a distinguish-
ed Methodist publishing house, not
quite so needy, though still more
unscrupulous, to publish the work
for them, though very shame com-
pelled even them to withhold their
names from the publication. And
it was only owing to a legal suit
arising from tl)is infamous trans-
action many years after that the
fact was revealed that the publish-
ers of this vilest of assaults on one
of the holiest institutions of the
Catholic Church was the firm of
Harper Brothers. True to their
character, they saw that the times
were favorable for- an assault on
Catholicity, even so vile as this
one ; and true to their nature again,
they refused to their wretched ac-
complice her adequate share in the
wages of sin. Thougli bearing on
its face all the evidences of diabo-
lical malice and falsehood, condemn-
ed by the better portion of the
press and by all reputable Protes-
tants, the work had an unparalleled
sale for some time. The demand
might have continued to go on in-
creasing indefinitely, but, in an evil
hour for the speculators, its authors,
under the impression that the pru-
rient taste of the public was not
sufficiently satiated with imaginary
horrors, issued a continuation un-
der the title of Additional Awfid
Disclosures, Th is com position prov-
ed an efficient antidote to the malig-
nant poison of the first. Its impurity
and falsehoods were so palpable
that its originators were glad to
slink into obscurity and their pa-
trons into silence, followed by the
contempt of all honest men.
Just ten years after the Charles-
town outrage the spirit of Protest-
ant persecution began to revive.
Premonitory symptoms of political
proscription appeared in 1842, in
the constitutional conventions of
Rhode Island and Louisiana, and
in the local legislatures of other
States ; but it was not till the early
part of 1844 that it became evident
that secret measures were being
taken to arouse the dormant feel-
ing of antipathy to the rights of
Catholics, so rife in the hearts of
the ignorant Protestant masses.
New York, at first, was the princi-
pal seat of the disorder. Most
of the newspapers of that period
teemed with eulogistic reviews of
books written against the faith ;
cheap periodicals, such as the Rev.
Mr. S parry's American Anti-Pa-
pisi, were thrust into the hands of
all who would read them by the
agents of the Bible and prosely-
tizing societies; and a cohort of
what were called anti-papal lectu-
rers, of which a reverend individ-
ual named Cheever was the leader,
was employed to attack the Catho-
lic Ciuirch with every conceivable
weapon that the arsenal of Protes-
tantism afforded
8i6
Anti-Catholic Mcroetnents in tlie United States.
The popular mind being thus
prepared for a change, the various
elements of political and social life
opposed to Catholicity were crys-
tallized into the " American Repub-
lican" party, better known as the
Native Americans. On the 19th
of March, 1844, ^^^^ ^^"^ faction
nominated James Harper for may-
or of the city of New York, and
about the same time William Rock-
well was named for a similar
office in Brooklyn. The plat-
form upon which these gentlemen
stood was simple but comprehen-
sive : the retention of the Protes-
tant Bible and Protestant books in
the public schools; the exclusion
of Catholics of all nationalities
from office ; and the amendment
of the naturalization laws so as to
extend the probationary term of
citizenship to twenty-one years.
The canvass in New York was
conducted with some regard to
decency ; but in the sister city the
Nalivists threw off all respect for
l.iw, their processions invaded the
districts inhabited mainly by adopt-
ed citizens, assailed all who did not
sympathize with them, and riot and
bloodshed were the consequence.
In Brooklyn the Nativist candidate
was defeated, but Harper was elect-
ed triumphantly by about twenty-
four thousand votes. The ballots
that placed such a man at the head
of the municipality of the Ameri-
can metropolis were deposited by
both Whigs and Democrats, though
each party had a candidate in the
field. The former contributed up-
wards of fourteen thousand, or
three-fourths of their strength ; their
opponents somewhat less than ten
thousand.
But tlie action of the city politi-
cians was quickly repudiated and
condemned throughout the State.
On the 13th of April the Whigs as-
sembled in Albany and passed a
series of resolutions denouncing in
unequivocal terms the tenets of
the Native Americans ; and in two
days after, at the same place, and
in, if possible, a more forcible man-
ner, the Democracy entered their
protest against the heresies and evil
tendencies of the persecuting fac-
tion. Still, the " American Re-
publicans" showed such signs of
popular strength in various mu-
nicipal elections that year that the
lower classes of politicians, of all
shades of opinion, who dared not
openly support them, were suspect-
ed of secretly courting their friend-
ship. The nomination of Freling-
huysen with Henry CJay at the
Whig presidential convention o(
May I, 1844, ^v^s ^^^^ understood
at the time to be a bid for Nativist
support, and eventually defeated
the distinguished Kentucky orator.
It is difficult to imagine how far
the madness of the hour might
have carried ambitious political
leaders and timid conventions, had
not the scenes of sacrilege and
murder which soon after disgraced
the city of Philadelphia, and stain-
ed its streets with innocent blood*
sent a thrill of horror throughout
the entire country.
Philadelphia had followed, if not
anticipated, the example of New
York in sowing broadcast the seeds
of civil strife. Early in the year
secret Nativist societies were fomi-
ed ; sensational preacherslike Tyng,
in and out of place, harangued
congregations and meetings ; cheap
newspapers were started for the
sole purpose of vilifying Catholics
and working upon the baser pas-
sions of the sectarian population
of the country. The motives o(
those engineers of discord were the
same as those of their New York
brethren, and their method of at-
Anti-Catholic Movements in the United States.
817
tack equally treacherous and cow-
ardly. Oneof the principal charges
against their Catholic fellow-citi-
zens was that they were hostile to
{reG schools and education gene-
rally. To this unjust aspersion
Bibhop Kenricky on the T2th of
March, publicly replied in a short
but lucid letter, in which he said:
** Catholics have not asked that
the Bible be excluded from the
public schools. They have mere-
Ty desired for their children the
liberty of using the Catholic ver-
sion, in case the reading of the Bi-
ble be prescribed by the control-
lers or directors of the schools.
They only desire to enjoy the ben-
efit of the constitution of the
State cf Pennsylvania, which guar-
antees the rights of conscience and
precludes any preference of secta-
rian modes of worship. They ask
that the school laws be faithfully
executed, and' that the religious
predilections of the parents be re-
spected. . . . They desire that the
public schools be preserved from
all sectarian influence, and that
education be conducted in a way
that may enable all citizens equally
to sJiare its benefits, without any
violence being offered to their con-
scientious convictions."
So deliberate and emphatic a
denial had no effect on the wretch-
ed nien who tyrannized over the
second city in the Union, except
that it was resolved to substitute
brute force for reason, and to pre-
cipitate a collision with their com-
paratively weak victims. Accord-
ingly, on the 5th of May, a Nativ-
ist meeting was held in Kensington.
The design of the managers of the
meeting was evidently to provoke
an attack ; for, finding the place first
selected for the gathering unmo-
lested, they deliberately moved to
VOL. xxTi. — 52
the market-house, in the actual
presence of several adopted citi-
zens. This trick and the insult-
ing speeches that followed had the
desired effect. A riot took place,
several shots were fired on both
sides, and four or {\vt persons were
more or less seriously wounded.
The Nativists retreated, and made
an unsuccessful attempt to burn a
nunnery.
The most exaggerated reports
of this affair were immediately cir-
culated through Philadelphia. The
next day the Nativists, fully armed,,
assembled and passed a series of re-
solutions of the most violent char-
acter. Preceded by an Americaiv
flag, which bore an inscription as
malicious as it was untrue, they
attacked the Hibernian Hose Com-
pany, destroyed the apparatus, and
broke the fire-bell in pieces. Twen-
ty-nine dwellings were burned to the
ground, their hapless occupants,
mostly women and children, fleeing
in all directions amid the insults
and shots of their savage assail-
ants. The citizens were now
thoroughly aroused, the military,
under Gen. Cadwalader, was call-
ed out, and Bishop Kenrick ad-
dressed a public admonition to
his flock to preserve peace, and,
notwithstanding the provocation,
to exercise forbearance. But the
demon of fanaticism, once let loose,
could not be easily laid. Rioting
continued throughout the day and
far into the night. Early on Wed-
nesday morning S. Michael's
Church, the female seminary at-
tached to it, and a number of pri-
vate houses in the neighborhood
were ruthlessly plundered and de-
stroyed. " During the burning of
the church," said one of the Phila-
delphia papers, " the mob contin-
ued to shout ; and when the cross at
8i8
Anti-Catholic Movements in the United States.
the peak of the roof fell, they gave
three cheers and a drum and fife
played the * Boyne Water.' "
The burning of S* Augustine's
Church took place on the evening of
the same day. This building, one
of the finest in the city, was pecu-
liarly endeared to the Catholic in-
habitants as having been one of
tlieir oldest churclies in Philadel-
phia. Many of the contributors
10 its building fund were men of
historic fame, such as Washington,
Montgomery, Barry, Meade, Carey,
and Girard. It had adjoining it
extensive school-houses and a com-
modious parsonage, and the clock
in its tower was the one which had
struck the first tones of new-born
American liberty. But the sacred
character of the building itself, and
the patriotic memories which sur-
rounded it, could not save it from
the torch of the Philadelphia mob.
** The clock struck ten," wrote an
eye-witness, "while the fire was
raging with the greatest fury. At
twenty minutes past ten the cross
which surmounted the steeple, and
which remained unhurt, fell with a
loud crash, amid the plaudits of a
large portion of the spectators."
A very valuable library and several
splendid paintings shared the fate
of the church.
But bad as was the conduct of
■
the rioters, that of the authorities
was even worse. The militia, when
ordered out, did not muster for sev-
eral hours after the time appointed,
and when they did arrive they were
only passive, if not gratified, spec-
tators of the lawless scenes before
them. AVhen S. Michael's was
threatened, the pastor, Rev. Mr.
Donohue, placed it under the charge
of Capt. Fairlamb, giving him the
keys ; yet the mob was allowed to
wreak its vengeance on it undis-
turbed. The basement of S. An-
gustine's was occupied by some arm-
ed men who had resolved to defend
it at all hazards ; but on the assn-
ranee of Mayor Scott and the slierif
that they had troops and poiice
enough to protect it, it was agreed,
in the interests of peace, to evacaatc
it. This had scarcely been done
when the militia and civic guard fell
back before a thousand or more
armed ruffians and left the churcb
to its fate. For nearly sixty hours
the rioters were left in undisputed
possession of the city; everything
the Catholics held sacred was vio-
lated; men were dragged out of
their homes, half-hanged and bru-
tally maltreated, when not murder-
ed outright; the houses of adopted
citizens were everywhere plundered,
an immense amount of property
was destroyed, and over two hun-
dred families left desolate and
homeless, without the slightest it-
tempt being made to enforce the
law. How many fell victims to
Nativist hate and rage on this oc-
casion has never been known, but
the killed and wounded were count-
ed by scores.
An attempt to outrival Philadel-
phia in atrocity was made in New
York a few days after, but the pre-
cautionary steps of the authorities,
the firm attitude assumed bv the
late Archbishop Hughes, and the
resolute stand taken by the Catholic
population, headed by Eugene Cas-
seriy — who was at that time editor
of the Freeman's Journal — togetlier
with some young Irish-American
Catholic gentlemen, so impressed
the leaders of the Nativists tlut
all attempts of an incendiary nature,
and all public efforts to sympathize
with the Philadelphia mob, were
abandoned. Nativism staggered
under the blow given it by its adhc*
Anti-Catholic Movements in the United States.
819
Tits in Philadelphia, and soon sank
into utter insignificance as a politi-
co ^xl power.
Another decade, however, passed,
3.nd we find it again rejuvenated.
'X'his time it assumed the name of
tlie Know-nothing party, and ex-
tended its ramifications through
fcvery State in the Union. Its de-
claration of principles contained
sixteen clauses, as laid down by its
organs, of which the following were
regarded as the most vital : ist.
The repeal of all naturalization
laws. 2d. None but native Ameri-
cans for office. 3d. A Protestant
common-school system. 4th. Per-
petual war on " Romanism." 5th.
Opposition to the formation of mili-
tary companies composed of " for-
eigners.** 6th. Stringent laws
against immigration, 7th. Ample
protection to Protestant interests.
Though partly directed, apparently,
against all persons of foreign birth,
this new secret society was actually
only opposed to Catholics; for many
of the prominent members in its
lodges were Irish Orangemen and
Welsh, Scotch, and English unnat-
uralized adventurers who professed
no form of belief.
Like their predecessors of 1844,
the Know-nothings employed a
host of mendacious ministers and
subsidized a number of obscure
newspapers to circulate their slan-
ders against Catholics, native as
well as adopted citizens ; but they
also added a new feature to the cru-
sade against morality and civil
rights. This was street-preaching
— a device for creating riots and
bloodshed, for provoking quarrels
and setting neighbor against neigh-
bor, worthy the fiend of darkness
himself. Wretched creatures, drawn
from the very dregs of society, were
hired to travel from town to town,
to post themselves at conspicuous
street-corners, if possible before
Catholic churches, and to pour
forth, in ribald and blasphemous
language, the most unheard-of slan-
ders against the church. As those
outcasts generally attracted a
crowd of idle persons, and were
usually sustained by the presence
of the members of the local lodge,
the merest interruption of their
foul diatribes was the signal for a
riot, ending not unfrequently in
loss of life or limb.
The first outrage that marked tlie
career of the Know-nothings of
1854 was the attack on the Con-
vent of Mercy, Providence, R. I.,
in April of that year. Instigated
by the newspaper attacks of a no-
torious criminal, who then figured
as a Nativist leader, the rowdy ele-
ments of that usually quiet cily
surrounded the convent, pelted the
doors and windows with stones, to
the great alarm of the ladies and
pupils within, and would doubtless
have proceeded to e.xtremities were
it not that the Catholics, fearing
a repetition of the Charlestown af-
fair, rallied for its j^rotection and
repeatedly drove them off. In
June Brooklyn was the scene of
some street-preacliing riots, but in
the following August St. Louis,
founded by Catholics and up to
that time enjoying an enviable re-
putation for refinement and love
of order, acquired a pre-eminence
in the Southwest for ferocious big-
otry. For two days, August 7 and
8, riot reigned supreme in that city ;
ten persons were shot down in the
streets, many more were seriously
wounded, and a number of the
houses of Catholics were wrecked.
On the 3d of September of the
same year the American Protes-
tant Association of New York, an
820
Ant i- Catholic Movements in tlu United States.
auxiliary of the Know-nothings,
composed of Orangemen, went to
Newark, N. J., to join with similar
lodges of New Jersey in some cele-
bration. In marching through the
streets of that city they happened
to pass the German Catholic church,
and, being in a sportive mood, they
did not hesitate to attack it. A
viilee occurred, during which one
man, a Catholic, was killed and
several were seriously injured. The
evidence taken by the coroner's jury
showed that the admirers of King
William were well armed, generally
intoxicated, and that the assault
and partial destruction of the
church were altogether wanton and
improvoked. Early in the same
month news was received of a suc-
cession of riots in New Orleans,
the victims, as usual, being Catho-
lics.
But the spirit of terrorism was
not confined to one section or
particular State. The virus of big-
otry had inoculated the whole
body politic. In October people
of all shades of religious opinion
were astounded to hear from Maine
that the Rev. John Bapst, S. J., a cler-
gyman of exemplary piety and mild-
ness, had actually been dragged
forcibly from the house of a friend
by a drunken Ellsworth mob, rid-
den on a rail, stripped naked, tar-
red and feathered, and left' for
dead. His money and watch were
likewise stolen by the miscreants.
Father Bapst 's crime was that, when
a resident of Ellsworth some time
previously, he had entered into a
controversy about public schools.
Yet, in the face of all these law-
less proceedings, the Know-nothing
party increased with amazing ra-
pidity. " Without presses, v.'ithout
electioneering," said the New York
TimeSy " with no prestige or power,
it has completely overthrown and
swamped the two old historic pax
ties of the country." This was
certainly true of New England, and
notably so of Massachusetts, where
in the autumn of 1854, the Knotr-
nothings elected their candidate
for governor and nearly every mem-
ber of the legislature. In the State
of New York Ullman, the stan-
dard-bearer of the new army of
persecution, received over 122,000
votes, and, though defeated in the
city, it was more than suspected
that the Democrat who was chosen
as mayor had been a member of
the organization. In many other
States and cities the power of the
sworn secret combination was felt
and acknowledged.
Its influence and unseen grasp
on the passions and prejudices of
the lower classes of Protestants
were plainly perceptible in the
halls of Congress and in the ex-
ecutive cabinet. In the Senate
William H. Seward was the first
and foremost to denounce the so-
called American party- As early
as July, 1854, in a speech on the
Homestead Bill, he took occasion
to remark :
** It is sufficient for me to say
that, in my judgment, everything is
un-American which makes a dis-
tinction, of whatever kind, in this
country between the native-born
American and him whose lot is di-
rected to be cast here by an over-
ruling Providence, and who re-
nounces his allegiance to a foreign
land and swears fealty to the coun-
try which adopts him."
The example of the great states-
man was followed bv such mrn
as Douglas, Cass, Keitt, Chandler,
and Seymour, while Senators Day-
ton and Houston, Wilson, the laic
Vice-President, N. P. Banks, and
a number of other politicians cham-
pioned the cause of intolerance
Anti-Catlwlic Moicuunts in the United States*
821
as has since been confessed, for
their own selfish aggrandizement
as much as from inheffint littleness
of ?»oul.
Af ear. while, Massachusetts was
completely controlled by the Know-
notlungs. Their governor, Gardi-
r'^r. had not been well in the
chair of state when he disbanded all
the Irish military companies with-
in his jurisdiction. These were
t^ie Columbian, Webster, Shields,
and Sarsfield Guards of Boston,
the Jackson Musketeers of Lowell,
the Union Guard of Lawrence, and
the Jackson Guard of Worcester.
The General Court, too, not to be
outdone in bigotry by the execu-
tive, passed a lnw for the inspection
of nunneries, convents, and schools,
and appointed a committee to
carry out its provisions. The first —
and last'-^domiciliary visit of this
bodv was made to the school of tiie
Sisters of Notre Dame in Roxburv.
It is th'js graphically described
by the Boston Advertiser^ an emi-
nently Protestant authority: ** The
gentlemen — we presume we must
call members of the legislature by
this name — roamed over the whole
house trom attic to cellar. No
chamber, no passage, no closet,
no cupboard, escaped their vigilant
search. No part of the house was
enough protected by respect for
the common courtesies of civilized
life to be spared in the examina-
tion. The ladies' dresses hanging
in their wardrobes were tossed
over. The party invaded the cha-
]>el, and showed their respect — as
Protestants, we presume — for the
(^ne (iod whom all Christians wor-
ship by talking loudly with their
hats on ; while the ladies shrank in
terror at the desecration of a spot
which they believed hallowed."
Still, the work of proscription
and outra^'e went on in otlier di-
rections. Fifteen school-teachers
had been dismissed in Philadelphia
because they were Catholics ; the
Rev. F. Nachoii, of Mobile, was
assaulted and nearly killed wliile
pursuing his sacred avocations; a
military company in Cincinnati,
and another in Milwaukee, compos-
ed of adopted citizens, were dis-
banded, and on the 6th and 7th
of August, 1855, the streets of Louis-
ville ran red with the blood of
adopted citizens. In this last and
culminating Know-nothing outrage
eleven hundred voters were driven
from the polls, numbers of men,
and even women, were shot down
in the public thoroughfares, houses
were sacked and burned, and at
least five persons are known to have
been literally roasted alive.
A reaction, however, had already
set in. Men of moderate views and
unbiassed judgments began to tire
of the scenes of strife, murder, and
rapine that accompanied the victo-
ries of the Know-nothings. The
first to deal it a deadly blow, as a
political body, was Henry A. Wise,
of Virginia, in his noble canvass
of that State against the combined
Whig and Nativist elements in 1855;
and to the late Archbishop of New
York, in his utter discomfiture of
State Senator Brooks, is justly due
the merit of having first convinced
the American people that the so-
called American party was actual-
ly the most dangerous enemy of
American laws and institutions, the
advocate of spoliation and persecu-
tion under the guise of patriotism
and reform.
The decline of Nativism, though
not so rapid as its growth, was
equally significant, and its history
as instructive. In 1856 a national
convention was called by the wreck
of the party to nominate Fillmore
for the presidency, after overtures
822
Anti-Catholic Mcvancnts in the Untied States.
had been made in vain to the Re-
publicans and Democrats. Fillmore
was so badly defeated that he re-
tired into private life and lost what-
ever little fame he had acquired in
national affairs as Taylor's succes-
sor. Four years later Bell and
Everett appeared on the Know-
nothing ticket, but so far behind
were they in the race with their
presidential competitors that very
few persons cared to remember the
paucity of their votes. Gradually,
silently, but steadily, like vermin
from a sinking ship, the leaders
slunk away from the already doom-
ed faction, and, by a hypocritical
display of zeal, endeavored to ob-
tain recognition in one or other of
the great parties, but generally with-
out success. Disappointed ambi-
tion, impotent rage, and, let us
hope, remorse of conscience occa-
sionally seized upon them, and the
charity of silence became to them
the most desired of blessings. Per-
haps if the late civil war had not
occurred, to swallow in the immen-
sity of its operations all minor in-
terests, we might have beheld in
1864 the spectre of Nativism arising
from its uneasy slumber, to be again
subjected to its periodical blights
and curses.
From present appearances many
far-seeing persons apprehend the
recurrence in this year of the wild
exhibitions of anti-Catholic and
antij'American fanaticism which
have so often blotted and blurred
the otherwise stainless pages of our
short history; that the centennial
year of American independence
and republican liberty is to be sig-
nalized by a more concerted, bet-
ter organized, and more ramified
attack on the great principles of
civil and religious freedom which
underlie and sustain the fabric
of our government- We trust, sin-
cerely hope, that these men are
mistaken. But if such is to be
the case ; if we Catholics are dorim-
ed once more to be subjected to
the abuse of the vile, the slander
of the hireling, and the violence oi
an armed mob, the sooner we are
prepared for the contingency the
better. If the scenes which liavc
indelibly disgraced Boston and
Philadelphia, Ellsworth and Louis-
ville, are to be again rehearsed
by the half-dozen sworn secret so-
cieties whose cabalistic letter? dis-
fiirure the columns of so manv of
our newspapers, we must be pre-
pared to meet the danger with
firmness and composure. As Cath-
olics, demanding nothing but what
is justly our due under the laws,
our position will ever be one of
forbearance, charity, and concilia-
tion ; but as American citizens,
proud of our country and zealous
for the maintenance of her institu-
tions, our place shall be beside the
executors of those grand enact-
ments which have made this re-
public the paragon and exemplar
of all civil and natural virtues,
no matter how imminent the dan-
ger or how great the sacrifice. In
lands less fiivored Catholic rights
may be violated by prince or mob
with impunity, but, we would be
unworthy of our country and of
its founders were we to shrink for
a moment from the performance of
our trust as the custodians of the
fundamental ordinance which guar-
antees full and absolute religious lib-
erty to all citizens of the republic
Louise Lateau.
823
LOUISE LATEAU BEFORE THE BELGIAN ROYAL ACA-
DEMY OF MEDICINE,*
I.
How is the name of Louise La-
teau to be mentioned without im-
mediately calling up all the tumult
which that name has provoked?
Book^ of science and philosophy, of-
ficial reports, academic discourses,
reports of visits, feuillctom^ confer-
ences, pamphlets, articles in jour-
nals, every kind of literary produc-
tion has been placed under contri-
bution to keep the public inform-
ed about the stigmatisU of Bois
d'Haine. For a year, however,
these studies have betakeh them-
selves to a region that might be
called exclusively scientific, and
have even received a kind of offi-
cial consecration from the recent
vote of the Royal Academy of
Medicine.
It may be of service to the reader
who cannot occupy himself with
special studies to give a brief ex-
position of the affair of Bois d'Haine
in itself, to show the different in-
terpretations of it that have been
attempted, and to indicate clearly
the actual phase of the question
from a scientific point of view.
As early as about the middle of
1868 vague rumors were heard of
strange events which were taking
place in a little village of Hai-
^Tbe above article is a translation of one
f7hich appeared in the Rtvut Ciniralt of Brussels,
I. ccember, i875« and was written by Dr. Dorfel.
In The Catholic World, November, 1871, a
complete analysis of Dr. Lcfcbvrc's work on
Louise Lateau, quoted so larcdy in the discussion
before the Academy, was given. The article now
presented to our readers gives a calm, impartial
gutemcnt of the case of Louise Lateau as it stands
to<Kl«y before the scientific investigation of the
y^cademy.— Ed. Oath. World.
nault. Every Friday a young girl
showed on the different portions
of her body corresponding to the
wounds of our Saviour Jesus Christ;
red stains from which blood flowed
in greater or less abundance. It
was also said that on every Friday
this young girl, ravished in ecstasy,
remained for several hours com-
pletely unconscious of all that \tas
passing around her. Such were
the principal facts. Over and above
these rumor spread the story of
certain accessory incidents, some
of which, though true, were dis-
torted, while others were pure
fancy. Thanks. to the daily press,
the young girl soon became known
to the general" public, and the
name of Louise Lateau passed from
mouth to mouthy Here and there
one read among . " current events "
that large crowds rushed from
all sides, from Belgium and from
without, to assist every Friday
at the scenes which were being
enacted in the chamber at Bois
d'Haine. Some journals profited
by the occasion to deliver them-
selves anew of declamations against
"Catholic superstitions, the stupid-
ity of the masses, and the intrigu-
ing character of the clergy "; while
even many men of good faith were
of opinion that the story told of
Louise Lateau might indeed be
true, but ought to be attributed to«
some trickery or another of which
either the girl or her family was
culpable.
Happily for the public, a light
came to clear up this chaos of
versions, suppositions, and diverse
824
Louise Lateau before tlu
and contradictory opinions. The
Revue Catholique of Lou vain re-
produced by ' instalments, begin-
ning in 1869, a study by Prof.
Lefcbvre on these extraordinary
events. Some time after, this
study apj)eared in the form of a
vohime. Here is how the eminent
))hysician expresses himself on the
origin of his study :
" The story told by the first witnesses of
«hesc extraordinary events produced a
lively emotion in the public mind, and
soon crowds assembled every week
around the humble house which was their
theatre. The ecclesiastical authorities
took up the facts. This was their right
and duty. From the verj' beginning they
recognized that the different elements of
ih« question ought to pass through the
ciuciMe of science. The periodic hem-
orrhage and ihe suspension of the exer-
cise of thv» senses were within the com-
perci ce of physicians. I was asked to
stuclj' them, the desire being expressed
that vhe examination of these facts
should be of the most thorough descrip-
tion, and that they should not be allowed
to escape any one of the exigencies and
severities of modern science. ... I
deemed it right, therefore, to accept the
mission which was offered me. As a phy-
sician, I was only asked for what I could
give— that is to say, a purely medical
study of the facts." *
After having examined the events
of Kois d'Haine in all their phases ;
after having put to the proof the
sincerity of the young girl in a
thousand tiifferent ways and by
means of a variety of tests, the
eminent Lou vain professor pro-
nounced the facts of the stigmati-
zation and ecstasy to be real and
free from deception. Passing,
then, to the interpretation of the
events themselves, the author thus
-concludes :
" Studying first the question of hemor-
rhage, I have demonstrated that the peri-
odic bleedings of Louise Lateau belong
* Lonhe Lateau, Etude m^dirale. Par Le-
febvre. Louvaio : Peeten.
to no species of hemorrhage admitted in
the regular range of science ; that t) c;
cannot be assimilated to any of the
extraordinary cases recorded in the an-
nals of medicine ; that, in fine, the laws cf
physiology do not afford an explanatioi.
of their genesis. Coming next to the
question of ecstasy, I have carefullr
gone over the characters of the standirJ
nervous affections which could offer cer-
tain trails of a resemblance, however re-
mote, to the ecstasy of Louise Lateau.
and I believe I have demonstrated tkat
it is impossible to connect it with any
of the nervous affections known to-day-
I have penetrated the domain of occult
sciences ; those dark doctrines have
furnished us with no more data for an
interpretation of the events oi Bois
d'Haine than the free sciences which
expand in the full light of day."
I do not hesitate to say that the
appearance of this book was a veri-
table event, and that it marked an
important halting-place in the study
of the question of Louise Lateau.
Bv those who knew the calm and
reflective spirit of M. Lefebvre, and
the independence of his character
and convictions, the fact of the
real existence of the extraordinary
events taking place at Bois d'Haine
was no longer called in question;
and if some doubt still remained, it
regarded only the sense in which
those events were to be interpreted.
Was it, then, trufe that the union of
stigmata and ecstasies belonged to
no known malady } Was it true
that they could find no place in the
classification of diseases, under a
new title, with physiological proofs
to accompany them ?
Notwithstanding the immense
credit allowed to the science of M.
Lefebvre, doubt still hovered around
this question, and I make bold to
say, in the honor of the progress of
science, that such doubt was legiti-
mate. A loyal appeal was made to
the savants of the country and of
foreign countries, urging them to go
and study the facts at Bois d'Haine
Belgian Royal Academy of Medicine^
825
a.nd pablisli their opinion. Soon a
study on Louise Laiean, uuide i)y a
rrench physician,* cam;; to confirm
still further the medical study of M.
Lefebvre. Then a German savant^
M. V ire how, seemed to accept as
true the coi)clusions of the Belgian
doctor by that famous phrase that
the events of Bois d'Haine must be
considered either as a trick or as a
miracle.
Meanwhile, certain persons seem-
ed still reluctant to accept facts
ivhich a hundred different witnesses
affirmed in the face of the world.
Among the reluctant are to be
ranked, first of all, those wlio are
of bad faith — with whom there is no
reason to trouble ; others who, for
philosophic motives, seemed to
accuse the witnesses of tliose scenes
of sacrificing the interest of science
to that of their religious convic-
tions. Nevertheless, M. Lefebvre's
book continued to make headway.
I do not say that it did not meet
with some attacks here and there,
and certain objections- in detail ; but
throughout the country no publica-
tion of any pretension to serious-
ness affected either to deny the
facts or to give a natural ex-
planation of them. This state of
things continued up to July, 1874.
At this epoch Dr. Charbonnier,
a physician of Brussels, presented
to the Belgian Royal Academy of
Medicine a work entitled Maladies
et faculih diverses des mystiques.
Louise Laieau,
M. Boens, on his part, submitted
to the same learned body, in the
session of October 3, 1874, a new
production, entitled Louise Lateau^
ou les myst^res de Bois dHaine dS-
voiUs^
II.
The events of Bois d'Haine con-
* Dr. Imbert-Oourbeyre, in his work, Let Stig-
tinned to occupy public attention.
The scenes of the stigmatic flows
of blood ^nd of the ecstasies were
presented every Friday. It was
even stated that from the middle
of 187 1 Louise Lateau had taken
no sort of nourishment. The Bel-
gian Royal Academy of Medicine,
whether because it dreaded to en-
ter upon a question which involved,
beyond the scientific side, a side
purely philosophic, or whether also
because a fitting and favorable op-
portunity of taking up the question
of Louise Lateau was not presented,
remained mute as to the events of
Bois d'Haine.
The almost simultaneous presen-
tation of two works treating on the
very subject indicated clearly that
the question was ripe. Moreover,
in the session of October 3, 1874,
the chief medical body of the coun-
try, conformably with usage, ap-
pointed a special committee to
make a report on the works read in
its sessions. This committee con-
sisted of MM. Fossion, president;
Mascart and Warlomont, collea-
gues.
The important report of the com-
mittee was read in the session of
the 13th of Februaryby M. Warlo-
mont. That gentleman, to show
how tlie study of M. Charbonnier's
work necessitated an examination
into the affair at Bois d'Haine,
said :
*' Ought the committee to confine it-
self to examining the memorial placed be-
fore it from the simple point of view of
its absolute scientific value, without oc-
cupying itself with the fact which gives
occasion for the memorial ? It would be
cisier to do so, perhaps, but an opportu-
nity would thus be neglected of putting
the Academy in possession of an actual
medical observation, as complete as pos-
sible, relative to a fact of which, wli ether
we like it or not, the discussion can no
longer be eluded. It assumed, therefore
826
Louise Lateau before the
the task of inquiring into the afiair forth-
with ; resolved, however arduous might
be the mission thus undertaken, to ac-
cept it without regret, to pursue it with-
out weakness as without bias, and to
set before the society such elements as
its investigation — one altogether official —
should have procured. This is the trust
which, in its name, I this day fulfil."*
MM. Charbonnierand Boens were
the first in our country who under-
took to find fault with the conclu-
sions of M. Lefebvre*s book, and to
explain by scientific data the events
of Bois d'Haine. M. Boens, almost
immediately after the reading of a
portion of his work, withdrew it,
and was able by tliis means to es-
cape the report of the committee.
Was this disdain for the judgment
of his confreres on the part of the
distinguished pliysician of Charle-
roi, or was it want of confidence in
the solidity of his own arguments?
I know not. I state a fact and
continue.
There remained, then, for the
committee to examine the work of
M. Charbonnier. This memoir is
voluminous. The theory of the
author is substantially as follows :
The absence of aliment an^ the
concentration of the faculties of
the soul towards one object have
been the primary and indispensable
conditions of ecstasies and stigmata.
As far as abstinence is concerned,
it is perfectly compatible, if not
with a state of health, at least wfth
the maintenance of life. ** The
question of abstinence," says the
author, "is the most important, be-
cause without it nothing happens.
It being well explained, there is no
'longer anything supernatural in
any of the physiological and path-
ological phenomena of the mys-
tics." t
^ Bullet tH of tk* Academy for the year 1875.
Third series. Book tz.. No. 3, p. 145.
t Maladits et faCnltes diverses des myxtiqufS,
Par le Dr. Charbcanier, p. zo, ct siiiv.
But how is this abstinence com-
patible with life .^ By the law of
the substitution of functions and
organs.
" The organs," says the author,
" are conjointly associated (>W/-
daires) one with another, working
for the common health ; so that
when an organ, for one cause or
another, cannot adequately ful&l its
functions, another immediately sap-
plies its place."
Supposing all this admitted, here
is what the author says of stigmat:-
zation :
" Abstinence and contemplation are
the causes of stigmatization : x. Absti-
nence, in suppressing the vegetative
functions, frees both the nervous influx
and the blood which were disth bated
among the digestive organs. 2. Con-
templation gathers together the contin-
gent of pain dispersed through all the
body, to fix and concentrate it on certain
points which it sees, admires, loves, in
Jesus Christ. It suppresses all the func-
tions of the life of relation to devote it-
self exclusively to the object of its pas-
sion. The bloody flux, which has been
drawn to the surface of the skin by the
great functional activity, follows to the
end the nervous influx which is constant-
ly directed towards certain points, and
the stigmatization is effected." *
Of the ecstasy, according to M.
Charbonnier, '* abstinence is the
principal, contemplation the sec-
ondary, cause." We cannot, indeed,
enter into all the details furnished
by the author of this strange theory.
In order to arrive at a judgment
regarding it, we know of nothing
better than to cite the conclusions
of the reader of the report on the
work itself:
" All this," says M. Warlomonf, " fonas
a whole which must have cost the ?Uibor
long and laborious research. As fxr as
the inquiries of physiology are concern-
ed, the source, respectable though it maj
be, on which he has relied, must be a
cause for regret. His principal, almost
* The same work.
Belgian Royal Academy of Medicine.
827
his only, authority is that of Longet, who
is now many years dead. But the ques-
tions relative to nutrition — those precisely
which are at stake — ^have, since Longet,
been placed in an absolutely new light.
The work which we have just analyzed
is altogether a work of the imagination.
The demonstration of the h prion thesis
which the author has set up he has pur-
sued by every means, clearing out of his
road the obstacles of nature which em-
barrass it, and creating at will new func*
tions whereon to apply his organs ; all
this written in a lively, imaginative style,
and bearing the impress of conviction.
There is only one thing which is sadly
ivanting — experimental proof. A few
simple experiments on animals, logically
carried out, would have informed him
how they withstand a progressive absti-
nence, and what changes this abstinence
effects in their organs and functions. It is
to be regretted that he has not instituted
these experiments." •
If the theory advanced by M.
Charbonnier, based on such doubt-
ful ^ physiological facts, finds no
weight with the learned represen-
tative of the Academy of Medicine,
it is not because he himself admits
the conclusions arrived at in the
study of M. Lefebvre on Louise La-
teau. For him, indeed, the events
taking place at Bois d'Haine,
apart from the question of fast-
ing, which has not been positively
established, and which, on that ac-
count, rightly passes beyond scien-
tific discussion,! are exempt from
all fraud and deception. But let
M. Warlomont himself speak :
'* After having analyzed,'* he says, " the
memoir which the Academy has con-
fided to our examination, and having re-
futed it principally in the portions which
concern Louise Lateau, it remains for us
in our turn to give our own ideas relative
♦ Report of M. Warlomont, Mimoirei de FAca-
ttirnTt de Afidtcine. p. aia.
t I'rufessor Lefebvre had himself declared that,
to invest the matter with a rigorously scientific
character, the question of abstinence oug^ht to be
the object of an inquiry analogous to that which
hat established the reality of the ecstasy and of
the stjgmatiaatioo.
to a fact of such interest which has
formed the subject of the memoir.
" And first of all, are the facts cited
real ? According •o our thinking, the
simulation of the ecstasies is simply im-
possible, accompanied as they are by func-
tional troubles the provocation for which
would pass quite beyond the empire of
the will. As for the actual spontaneity
of the stigmata, we have demonstrated
this experimentally."
And now for the chief part of
the report. It is that in which the
learned academician attempts to
give a physiological explanation
of the facts. For him ecstasies
are a species of double life, of a
second condition, such as may be
presented in ordinary and extra-
ordinary nervous states, as well
as in others : {a) in consequence
of material injury to the brain ;
(^) during the existence of v/ell-
determined neurotic disorders ; (r)
under the influence of certain spe-
cial appliances (magnetism, hyp-
notism) ; (li) spontaneously, with-
out the intervention of any exter-
nal provocation (as somnambulism
or extraordinary neurotic affec-
tions).
After having examined each of
these points in detail, the author
thus continues :
" This point established, what of ec-
stasieis? Well, whatever we may do, it
is impossible for us not to class them in
the same order of facts, not to see in
th«m the influence of a neurotic pertur-
bation analogous to that which controls
neurotic diseases. It is in both cases
the passage of a human being into a
state of second condition, characterized
by the suspension, more or less complete,
of the exercise of the senses, with a special
concentration of all the cerebral powers
towards a limited object. Among the
ejsto tics, as among the hypnotics, there
prevails a perturbation, diminution, or
abolition of external sensibility. All is
concentrated in a new cerebral functional
department."
So far for the ecstasies. Passing
828
Louise Lateau before tite
next to the production of stigmata,
the report admits in principle the
theory of Alfred Maury. That is
to say, the imagination plays the
principal rdle in the production of
these phenomena. But to meet the
brilliant member of the Institute,
he calls to his aid the physio-
logical laws and most recent dis-
coveries, in order to show how the
imagination can, by the irritation of
certain given parts, provoke a veri-
table congestion of those parts, and
then a hemorrhage.
'* In virtue of what mechanism/' he
asks, "are blisters first produced, and
bleeding afterwards ? We have establish,
ed the genesis of stigmatic angiomata *
The attention has given place to pain, and
pain to repeated touchings ; from this
proceeds the congestion which has
brought on the arrest of the blood in the
capillaries, and, as a consequence, their
enlargement. Then comes the rush of
blood, giving place to congestive mo-
tions, determined by a hemorrhagic
diathesis, and the phenomena disclose
themselves in all their simplicity ; the
leucocytes f will pass across the capil-
laries, will discharge themselves under
the skin, and the blister is the result.
The accumulation of blood continuing in
proportion to the enlargement of the ca-
pillaries, the tieshly tegument will end
by bursting ; then the blood itself, whether
by traversing the channels created by the
previous passage of the leucocytes, or by
the rupture of the vessels, the likelihood
of which can be sustained, ends by an
external eruption, and the hemorrhage
follows."
But M. Warlomont goes still far-
ther. He says that not only are
stigmata and ecstasies capable of
explanation when taken apart from
one another, but that by their union
tliey constitute what in pathology
is called aggregate of symptoms. Ac-
cording to this, stigmata and ecsta-
sies would constitute an altogether
unique morbid state, to which the
• Vascular tumors.
t White blood corpuscles.
professor gives the following name
and definition: "Stigmatic neuro-
pathy is a nervous disease, having
its seat in the base of the metiulla
oblongatay ths first stage of which
consists in the paralysis of the vaso-
motor centre, and the second in
its excitation." Presented in this
way, the report of the distinguished
member of the Academy was not
only a report, but a veritable orig-
inal work. Thus this book, where-
in the author had joined loyalty
of procedure to elegance of style
and deep erudition, produced a pro-
found sensation. The theorv which
he advances might well kave cer-
tain doubts with the reader relative
to the solidity of the bases on which
it leans, but by its method it exer-
cised a real fascination on the
mind. M. Warlomont's conclu-
sions were, as far as the interpreta-
tion of the facts went, diametrically
opposed to those of the book which
M. Lefebvre had published several
years before, and it was not with-
out a very great curiosity that the
public awaited the reply of the lat-
ter. •
The reply was not long in com-
ing. M. Lefebvre's discourse occu-
pied, so to say, exclusively the ses-
sions of May 29 and June 26. Af-
ter having rendered due homage to
the courtesy and science of the
distinguished reader of the report,
the Louvain professor hesitated
not to sustain the first conclusions
advanced in his book, and to de-
monstrate the small foundation of
the theory of his adversary on this
question. It is to be regretted that
the limits at my disposal do not al-
low me to enter into all the physio-
logical details and pathological con-
siderations on which M. Lefebvre
builds his conclusions. I regret it
the more because the brilliant words
of the orator exercise a very si)e-
Belgian Royal Academy of Medicine.
829
cial impression by tlie clearness of
their exposition, the logic of their
reasoning, and the exquisite charm
which they give to even the driest
questions.
First, as to the stigmatic hemor-
rhages, we cannot be astonished, af-
ter having followed the proofs which
the learned orator gives -us, to find
him lay down the toilowing conclu-
sions :
•' I. M. Warlomont is driven to admit
a single vaso-motor centre ; the most
recent researches are against this local-
ization : the vaso-motor centres are sev-
eral and disseminated.
** 2. The distinguished reader of the
report constructs his doctrine of the ac-
tion of the imagination on a series of
hypotheses.
" The two chief ones are : that the im-
agination has the power, every Friday
morning, of completely paralyzing the
vaso-motor centre and the vaso-con-
strictor nerves ; and after midday, by a
contradictory action, to excite violently
tills centre, and consequently to close
up the vaso-constrictors — pure supposi-
tions which have not only not been
demonstrated by the author, but which
seem to me absolutely anti-physiological.
•• 3. Even admitting these hypotheses
OS well founded, it is an established fact
that the complete paralysis of the vaso-
motor centres, and of the vaso-constric-
tor nerves is never followed by bleed-
ing on the surface of the skin ; the expe-
rience of all physiologists agrees on this
point.
" 4. This experience proves, on the con-
trary, that in such cases there are some-
times produced suffusions of blood in
the mucous membranes ; such suflfusions
never show themselves in Louise Lateau.
** 5. A series of hypotheses still more
complicated than those laid down as pre-
mises by the distinguished reader of the
report might be conceded — to wit, the
paralysis of the arteries and the simulta-
neous constriction of the veins. Ex-
periment again proves that even under
these conditions bleeding on the surface
of the skin is not produced.
•• 6. M, Warlomont, in parting from
the hypotheses which I have just com-
bated, admits that the bleeding pro-
duced by the influence of the imagina*
tion is a bleeding by transudation. But
the characteristics of transudation, studied
in the light of modern physiology, are
completely opposed to those of the stig-
matic bleeding of Louise Lateau.
*• 7. Finally — and this argument alone
will suffice to overthrow the thesis of
the distinguished reader of the report —
clinical observation, in accordance with
physiological induction, proves that in
circumstances where the imagination ex-
ercises its greatest violence it never pro-
duces bleeding on the surface of the
skin."
Regarding ecstasies, the orator,
after having examined the different
states with which the reader of the
report to the Academy compared
the ecstasies of Louise Lateau, con-
cludes by saying :
" I believe I have demonstrated that
the analysis of second conditions, brought
out with so much skill by the distin-
guished gentleman, does net give the
key to the ecstasy of Louise Lateau.
But, setting aside these states of nervous
disease, should not the imagination be
made to bear all the burden of the ecsta-
sy, as it does of the stigmatization?"
After examining this question,
the orator concludes in the nega-
tive. In finishing his beautiful dis-
course he says :
" Our honorable colIea{2:ue, in studying
the causes of the stigmatization and ec-
stasy, has given to them a physiological
interpretation. On this ground I have
separated from him, and I believe I have
demonstrated that that interpretation is
not only insufficient, but also erroneous.
I believed for a moment that M. Warlo-
mont was about to ofler an acceptable
scientific theory. I do not say a theor>'
complete and adequate — I am not so ex-
acting ; I know too well that we do not
know the all of anything. If our eminent
colleague had proposed to us a physiolo-
gical interpretation, satisfying the most
moderate demands of science, I should
have accepted it, not with rcsij^nation,
but with joy and eagerness ; and believe
me, gentlemen, my relig^ious convictions
would have suffered no shock thereby.
" Our learned colleague, whom yoc
have charged with examining the events
830
Louise Lateau before the
I
of Bois d*Haine, has not, then, in my
opinion, given to them their physiological
interpretation. Other physicians have
attempted the same task ; I name two of
them, because their works have been
produced within these walls.
" First of all, Dr. Boens. In withdraw-
ing his memoir from the order of the
day of the Academy, he has withdrawn it
from our discussion. Nevertheless, I
believe I am not severe in affirming that
the considerations which claimed his at-
tention, and the irony of which he has
been so prodigal in my own regard, have
thrown but little light on the events of
Bois d'Haine. Dr. Charbonnier has sub-
mitted to your appreciation a work of a
more scientific character. M. Warlo-
mont has examined it with the attention
which it deserves, and has refuted it. I
am thus dispensed from returning to it.
** I maintain, then, purely and simply,
the conclusions of my study : The stig-
matization and the ecstasies of Louise
Lateau are real and true facts, and
science has not furnished their physiolo-
gical interpretation."
M. Crocq spoke after M. Lefe-
bvre. Like M. Warlomont, the
learned Brussels professor believes
that the interpretation of the facts
positively established about Louise
Lateau belongs to pathological phy-
siology. The theory of M. Crocq
differs but little from that of M. War-
lomont. He attaches more impor-
tarfce to'abstinence than the learned
reader of the report, and thus comes
nearer to M. Charbonnier ; he be-
lieves, also, that the bleeding is al-
together caused by a rupture of the
capillaries. Apart from these small
distinctions, it may be said of him,
as of AL Warlomont, that he is of
opinion thdt the imagination, by its
influence on the nervous system, is
the principal cause of the ecstasies
and stigmata. Here are the rest of
his conclusions :
*• I. The state of Louise Lateau is a
complex pathological state, character-
ized by the following facts :
" I. Anicmia and weakness of consti-
tution, arising from privatiotts end
since childhood.
"2. Nervous exaltation prodno
anaemia and directed in a deten
sense by the education and rel:
tendencies of Louise.
*' 3. Ecstasies constituting the su;
degree of this exaltation.
"4. Bleeding, having for its st
point anaemia and exaltation of the
motor nervous system.
** 5. Relative abstinence, consid
exaggerated by the sick girl, con
bly to what is observed among
persons who suffer from nervous
ders.
" IL This state offers nothing cc
to the laws of pathological phjsi
it is consequently useless to go c
of that in seVch of explanation.
"III. It has the same characteri!
all the analogous cases related b
sicians and historians ; mysticisi
gether, save cases of jugglery and
fication, ought to enter into the pi
of pathology, which is- vast eno
contain it; and all the phenonM
plain themselves perfectly bytal
starting point the principles wbicb
laid down."
If we had to advance ou
opinion on this important qm
we should say that, after the
in which M. Warlomont had
ed his subject with so much
od and science, there remainc
new arguments which could \
plied to the physiological t
of the phenomena of mystic
should be considered, howev
small advantage for the latter
sician to feel himself support
M. Crocq, who had brought 1
debates the weight of his proj
erudition and vast experience.
in.
By all impartial judges the
might be regarded as unders
It was so in effect. The difl
orators who succeeded each
in tlie tribune of the Acaderm
brought to their respective
courses the strongest possibl
Belgian Royal Academy of Medicine.
831
ray of facts and of arguments.
I shall astonish no one, then, by
saying that* M. Warlomont could
not allow the victorious discourse
of his colleague of Louvain to pass
without some observations. It is
impossible for us here to give a
rSsufn^ of his discourse. In the
main it added no new proof to the
substance of the debate, and con-
fined itself to the criticism of cer-
tain details.
It is enough for us to say that in
this discourse the learned reader
of the report to the Academy gave
new proof of the brilliancy of his
mind and the adroitness of his
gifts.
M. Lefebvre,on his side, felt him-
self to be too much master of
the situation to need emphasizing
his triumph any further. This is
what he did in the session of Octo-
ber 9, 1875. Without precisely
entering into the heart of the de-
bate, he brought out more strongly
certain of the arguments which he
had already used; he employed
them to refute some of the asser-
tions made in the discourses of his
adversaries, held up certain inac-
curacies, and concluded, as he had
the right fb do, by the following
words, which give an exact idea of
the state of the question :
"Let us resume. M. Warlonont has
studied with earnestness and candor
the events of Bois d'ilaine. He has
stated, as I have done, the reality of the
stigmatization and ecstasy; he has
demonstrated, as I have, that these phe-
nomena are free from any deception.
M. Crocq, after having examined the facts
on the spot, has arrived at the same con-
clusions.' The learned reader of the
committee's report has built up a scien-
tific theory of the stigmatization and
ecstasy ; the eminent Brussels professor
has, in his turn, formulated an interpre-
tation very nearly approaching to that of
M. Warlomont, but which differs from
it, nevertheless, on certain points. I
have sought, on my side, a physiological
-explanation of these extraordinary facts,
and I have arrived at the conclusion that
science could furnish no satisfactory in-
terpretation of them. I have expounded
at length before the Academy the reasons
which prerent me from accepting the
theories of my two honorable opponents ;
but my position is perfectly correct. I
confine myself to recognizing my pow-
erlessness to 'interpret the facts of Bois
d'Haine. M. Warlomont takes another
attitude. He pretends that we have a
scientific explanation of these phenome-
na. We have not one — we have had
three or four ; which is the true one ?
Is it that of M. Boc!ns ? Is it that of M.
Charbonnier, to which, beyond doubt,
you attach some importance, since you
have voted that it be printed ? Is it that
of the learned reader of your report?
Begin by choosing. As for me, I hold
fast to my first conclusions : The facts
of Bois d'Haine have not received a
scientific interpretation "
After certain remarks made at
the same session by MM. Vle-
minckx, Crocq, Lefebvre, Masoin,
Boens, the general discussion clos-
ed. The printing of M. Charbon-
nier's memoir was decided on and
a vote of thanks to the author pass-
ed. With this should have ended
the task of the Academy ; and those
who had hoped for a physiologi-
cal interpretation of the facts of
Bois d'Haine, as the outcome of
these discussions, were in a posi-
tion to felicitate themselves on the
result; for by its absolute silence
the Academy allowed a certain
freedom of choice.
But during the session of July
10, 1875, which a family affliction
prevented M. Lefebvre frpm assist-
ing at, two members proposed or-
ders of the day on the discussion
of Bois d'Haine. Nevertheless,
by a very proper sentiment, which
the distinguished president, M.
Vleminckx, was the first to ad-
vance, those orders of the day
were not carried at that date.
That of M. Kuborn was thus
conceived:
832
Louise Lateau.
"The Acaaemy, considering —
•* That the phenomena really establish*
cd about the young girl of Bois d'Haine
arc not new and are explicable by the
laws of pathological physiology ;
•• That the prolonged abstinence which
has been argued about has not been ob-
served by the committee ;
" That no supervision, therefore, having
been established, and there having been
no chance of establishing it, the proper
thing was not to pause on the considera-
tion of this fact, but to consider it as not
having come up —
"The Academy follows its order of the
day as far as concerns the question of
the stigmatization and exstasy."
Here is the order of the day pro-
posed by M. Crocq :
" The Academy, considering —
"That the phenomena established
about Louise Lateau are not beyond a
physiological explanation ;
** That those which are not established
ought no longer to occupy our attention —
" Declares the discussion closed, and
passes to the order of the day."
The same resolutions, the small
foundation for which, after the dis-
courses which had been made,
every impartial mind ought to re-
cognize, were again brought up in
tlie session of October 9.
M. Vleminckx, having induced
the authors of the orders of the
day to modify their wording in
such a manner as to render them
acceptable, M. Fossion proposed
the following form, more soothing
than ils predecessors:
•• Th3 Royal Academy of Medicine de-
clares that the case of Louise Lateau has
not been completely scrutinized and can-
not serve as a base for serious discus-
sion ; consequently, it closes the discus-
sion."
M. Laussedat, after some prelim-
inary remarks, finally proposed the
order of the day pure and simple,
^^h^ch was adopted.
The bearing of this vote will es-
cape the mind of no one. In set-
ting aside the orders of the day
which pretended that what had
been positively established in the
question of Bois d'Haine might k
solved by science, the Academy has
fully confirmed the conclusions of
M. Lefebvre s book.
Meanwhile, in ending, let us re-
turn to Bois d'Haine, to that young
girl who has become more than
ever the object of the 'veneration
of some, the study of others, aod
the wonder of all.
Since 1868 Louise Lateau pre-
sents the phenomena weekly of the
bloody stigmata and the ecstasies,
to which later on was added absti-
nence from food.
Her first and chief historian, M.
Lefebvre, after having watched the
young girl, affirms since 1S69: She,
whom a certain portion of the pub-
lic considers as a cheat or an inva-
lid, really presents the phenomena
which are reported of her. These
phenomena are exempt from trick-
ery, and it is impossible to explain
them by the laws of physiology and
pathology. We omit the question
of fasting, which remains to be
studied.
Seven years after the appearance
of the first phenomena, at the time
when the commotion which they
produced had, so to say, reached
its height, the leading learned body
in Belgium examined the mysteri-
ous scenes in the humble house of
Bois d'Haine, and, through MM.
Crocq and Warlomont, made an
inquiry into the reality and sin-
cerity of the facts, and brings in a
verdict that the facts are real and
free from all fraud.
Finally, this same Belgian Royal
Academy of Medicine, by its vote,
avows in the face of the world that,
if it ought not to recognize a super-
natural cause in the facts about
Louise Lateau, as little can it de-
monstrate their natural origin and
physiological genesis.
Such is the actual state of this
extraordinary question.
5/. yean de Lus.
833
ST. JEAN DE LUZ.
** n s*imagine voir, avec Louis le Grand,
Philip Quatre qui s'avance
Dans rile de la Conference."
•^La FontatM,
Few towns are set in so lovely a
frame as St. Jean de Liiz, with its
incomparable variety of sea, moun-
tain, river, and plain. In front is
the dark blue bay opening into the
boundless sea. On the north are
tlie cliffs of Sainte Barbe. At the
south are the Gothic donjon and
massive jetty of Socoa, behind
which rises gradually a chain of
mountains, one above the other, from
wooded or vine-covered hills, dot-
led here and there with the red-
and-white ftbuses of the Basque
peasantry and the summer resi-
dences of the wealthy merchants of
St. Jean de Luz, till we come to the
outer ramparts of La Rhune with
its granite cliffs and sliarp peaks,
the Trois Couronnes with their jag-
ged outline, and still fiirther on a
long, blue line of mountains fading
away into the azure sea. It is from
La Rhune you can best take in all
the features of the countrv. To
go to it you use one of the modest
harks that have rc|>laced the sump-
tuous galleys of Louis Quatorze,
and ascend to Ascain, a pretty ham-
let, from which the summit of La
Rhune is reached in two hours.
It is not one of the highest in the
Pyrcnean chain, being only three
liiousand feet above the sea, but it
IS an isolated peak, and affords a di-
versified view of vast extent. To
I lie north are the green valleys of
Labourd, witli the steeples of thirty
parishes around ; Bayonne, with the
towers of its noble cathedral ; and
VOL. XXII. — 53
the vast pine forests of the mysteri-
ous Landes. To the west is the
coast of Spain washed by the
ocean. East and south are the
mountains of Beam and Navarre,
showing peak after peak, like a sea
suddenly petrified in a storm.
Such is the magnificent frame in
which is set the historic town of St.
Jean de Luz. It is built on a tongue
of land washed by the encroaching
sea on one hand and the river Ni-
velle on the other. The situation
is picturesque, the sky brilliant, the
climate mild. It seems to need
nothing to make it attractive. The
very aspect of decay lends it an
additional charm which lencwed
prosperity would destroy. Tiie
houses run in long lines parallel
with the two shores, looking, when
the tide is high, like so many ships
at anchor. At the sight of this
floating town we are not surprised
at its past commercial importance,
or that its inhabitants are naviga-
tors /^r excellence. Its sailors were
the first to explore the unknown
seas of the west, and to fiali for the
cod and whale amoni; the iccberas
of the arctic zone. In the first
half of the XVlIth century thirty
ships, each manned by thirty-five
or forty sailors, left bt. Jean dc
Luz for the cod-fisheries of New-
foundland, and as many for Spilz-
bergen in search of whales. 'J'he
oaks of La Rhune were cut down
for vessels. The town was wealthy
and full of activity. Those were
834
St. Jean de Luz,
tlic best days of ancient Lohitzun.
But though once so renowned for
iis fleets, it has fallen from the
rank it then occupied. Ruined by
wiirs, and greatly depopulated by
ilie current of events, its houses
have decayed one after another, or
totally disappeared before the en-
croachments of the sea. Reduced
to a few quiet streets, it is the mere
shadow of what it once was. In-
stead of hundreds of vessels, only
a fishing-smack or two enliven its
harbor. And yet there is a certain
air of grandeur about the place
which bespeaks its past impor-
tance, and several houses which
harmonize with its historic memo-
ries. For St. Jean de Luz was not
only a place of commercial impor-
tance, but was visited by several of
the kings of France, and is associ-
ated with some of the most impor-
tant events of their reigns. Louis
XI. came here when mediating be-
tween the kings of Aragon and
Castile. The chateau of Urtubi,
which he occupied, is some dis-
tance beyond. Its fine park, wa-
tered by a beautiful stream, and
the picturesque environs, make it
an attractive residence quite worthy
of royalty. The ivy-covered wall
on the north side is a .part of the
old manor-house of the Xllth cen-
tury ; the remainder is of the
XVlIth. The two towers have a
feudal aspect, but are totally inno-
cent of feudal domination; for the
Basque lords, even of the middle
ages, never had any otl>er public
power than was temporarily con-
ferred on them by their national
assemblies.
It was at St. Jean de Luz that
Francis I., enthusiastically wel-
comed by the people after 'his
deliverance from captivity in Spain,
joyfully exclaimed: '' Je sitis en-
core rot de France — I am still King
of France !" It likewise witnessed
the exchange of the beautiful Eliza-
beth of France and Anne of .Aus-
tria — one given in marriage to Louis
XIII. and the other to Philip of
Spain amid the acclamations of the
people. '
Cardinal Mazarin also visited Sl
Jean de Luz in 1659 to confer with
the astute Don Luis de Haro, prime
minister of Philip IV., about the
interests of France and Spain. The
house he inhabited beside theseastill
has his cipher on the walls, as it h2s
also the old Gobelin tapestry with
which his apartments were huog.
He was accompanied by one hun-
dred and fifty gentlemen, some of
whom were the greatest lords in
France. With them were as many
attendants, a guard of one liundred
horsemen and three hundred foot-
soldiers, twenty- four mules covered
with rich housings, seven carriages
for his personal use, and several
horses to ride. He remained here
four months. His interviews with
the Spanish minister took place on
the little island in the Bidassoa
known ever since as the Isle of
Conference, which was never heard
of till the treaty of the Pyrenees.
All national interviews and ex-
changes of princesses had previous-
ly taken place in the middle of the
river by means of gabares^ ox a
bridge of boats.
It was this now famous isle which
Bossuet apostrophized in his oraiscu
funkbre at the burial of Queen
Marie Th^r^se :
** Pacific isle, in which terminated
the differences of the two sjreat cm-
pires of which you were the limit;
in which were displayed all the skill
ai>d diplomacy of different national
policies ; in which one statesman
secured preponderance by his de-
liberation, and the other ascenucn-
cy by means of his penetration!
St. Jean de Luz.
835
Memorable day, in which two
proud nations, so long at enmity,
but now reconciled by Marie The-
r^se, advanced to their borders
with their kings at their head, not
to engage in battle, but for a friend-
ly embrace ; in which two sov-
ereigns with their courts, each with
its peculiar grandeur and magnifi-
cence, as well as etiquette a()d
manners, presented to each other
and to the whole universe so au-
gust a spectacle — how can I now
mingle your pageants with these
funeral solemnities, or dwell on the
height of all human grandeur in
sight of its end ?"
The marriage of Louis XIV. with
the Spanish Infanta, to which the
great orator refers, is still the most
glorious remembrance of St. Jean
de Luz. The visits of Louis XI.,
Francis I., and Charles IX. have
left but few traces in the town
compared with that of the Grand
Afonarqtif. The majestic presence
of the young king surrounded by
his gay, magnificent following, here
brought in contrast with the dignity,
gloom, and splendor of the Spanish
court, impressed the imagination
of the people, who have never for-
gotten so glorious a memory.
I^ouis XIV. arrived at St. Jean
de Luz May 8, 1660, accompanied
by Anne of Austria, Cardinal Ma-
zarin, and a vast number of lords
and ladies, among whom was the
Grande Mademoiselle. They were
enthusiastically welcomed by the
ringing of bells, firing of cannon,
and shouts of joy. (iarlands of
flowers arched the highway, the
pavement was strewn with green
leaves, and Cantabrian dances were
])erformed around the cortege.
At the door of the parish church
stood the clergy in full canon-
icals, with the cur^ at their head
to bless the king as he went
past. He resided, while there, in
the chiteau of Lohobiague, the
fine towers of which are still to be
seen on the banks of the Nivelle.
It is now known as the House of
Louis XIV. Here he was enter-
tained by the widowed chdtelaine
with the sumptuous hospitality for
which the familv was noted. A
light gallery was put up to connect
the chateau with that of Joanocnia,
in which lodged Anne of Austria
and the Spanish Infanta. Here
took place the first interview be-
tween the king and his bride, de-
scribed by Mme. de Motteville in
her piquant manner. From the
gallery the Infanta, after her mar-
riage, took pleasure in throwing
handfuls of silver coin to the peo-
ple, called piices de largesses, struck
by the town expressly for the occa-
sion, with tl\e heads of the royal
pair on one side and on the other
St. Jean de Luz in a shower of
gold, with the motto : Non Icetior
alter.
The chdteau of Joanocnia, fre-
quently called since that time the
chdteau of the Infanta, was built by
Joannot de Haraneder, a merchant
of the place, who was ennobled for
his liberality when the island of
Rh^ was besieged by the English
in 1627, and about to surrender to
the Duke of Buckingham for want
of supplies and reinforcements.
The Comte de Grammont, governor
of Bayonne, being ordered by Rich-
elieu to organize an expedition at
once for the relief of the besieged,
issued a command for every port to
furnish its contingent. St. Jean de
Luz eagerly responded by sending
a large flotilla, and Joannot de
Haraneder voluntarily gave the
king two vessels, supplied with ar-
tillery, worthy of figuring in the
royal navy. For this and subse-
quent services he was ennobled*
836
St. yean de Liiz,
His arms are graven in marble
over the principal fireplace of the
chateau — a plum-tree on an an-
chor, with the motto :
** Dans Tsmcre Ic beau prunier
Est recdu un fort riche fructier."
This chateau, though somewhat
devoid of symmetry, has a certain
beauty and originality of its own,
with its alternate rows of brick and
cream-colored stone, after the
Basque fashion, its Renaissance
portico between two square towers
facing the harbor, and the light
arches of the two-story gallery in
the Venetian style. Over the prin-
cipal entrance is a marble tablet
with the following inscription in
letters of gold :
** L' Infante je re{us Tan mil six cent soixante.
On m'appelle depuis Ic chastcau de 1' Infante."
The letter L and the flcuv-de-lis
are to be seen as we ascend tlie
grand staircase, and two paintings
by G^rome after the style of the
XVIIth centurv, recallinc: the al-
liance of France and Spain and
the well-known inoi of Louis Xl\'. :
*' II n'y a plus de Pyrenees I"
All the details of llie residence
of the royal family here, as related
by Mme. de Motteville and Mile,
de Montpensier, are full of curious
interest. The former describes
the beautiful Isle of Conference
and the superb j)aviIion for the
reunion of the two courts, with two
s'alleries Icadint^ towards I'lance
and Spain. Tiiis building was
erected by the jxiinter Velasquez,
who, as aposcniador imiyo)\ accom-
])anied Philip I\'. to the frontier.
This I'ati^iiin^ vovacre had an un-
favorable effect on ttie already de-
(lininL; health of the i:reat i)ainter,
and he died a few weeks after his
return.
During the preliminary arrange-
ments for the marriage Louis led
a solemn, uniform life. Like the
queen- mother, who was a1wa\s pre-
sent at Mass, Vespers, and Benwiic-
tion, he daily attended public ser-
vices, sometimes at the Recollects'
and sometimes at the parish church
He always dined in public at lh<
chateau of Lohobiague, surroand
ed by crowds eager to witness th
pi^cess of royal mastication. Ii
the afternoon there were perform
ances by comedians who had fol
lowed the court from Paris; an
sometimes Spanish mysteries, t
which Queen Anne was partia
were represented, in which the at
tors were dressed as hermits an
nuns, and sacred events were d<
picted, to the downright scand
of the great mademoiselle. Tl
day ended with a ball, in which tl
king did not disdain to display tl
superior graces of his royal perse
in a ballet compiiqu^. Every thin
in short, was quite in the style o
the Grand Cyrus itself.
The marriage, which had t:jke
place at Fontarabiaby procuLitio;
was personally solemnized in lii
])arish church of St. Jean de Li
by the Bishop of Bayonne in tl
])resence of an attentive crow<
The door by which the nnal co
pie entered was afterwards wr.Il^
up, that it might never serve for ar
one else — a not uncommon mm
of respect in tiiose days. A joii
er's shop now stands agains: lb
Porta Regia. The king presentt
the church on this occasion wiili
complete set of sacred vessels ar
ecclesiastical vestments.
The church in which Louis XP
was married is exteriorly a nol
building with an octagonal loue
but of no architectural merit wiii
in. There are no side aisles, l»i
around the nave are ranges of 12.1
leries peculiar to the Risq:
churches, where the separation c
Si. jfean de Luz.
837
the men from the women is still
rigorously maintained. The only
piece of sculpture is a strange Fie-
id in which the Virgin, veiled in a
large cope, holds the dead Christ
on her knees. A rather diminu-
tive angel, in a flowing robe with
pointed sleeves of the time of
Charles VII., bears a scroll the in-
scription of which has become il-
legible.
Behind the organ, in the obscu-
rity of the lower gallery of iho
church, hangs a dark wooden frame
— short but broad — with white cor-
ners, wnich contains a curious paint-
ing of tlie XVI Ith century repre-
senting Christ before Pilate. It is
by no means remarkable as a work
of art; for it is deficient in perspec-
tive, there is no grace in the dra-
pery, no special excellence of color-
ing. The figures are generally
drawn with correctness, but the
faces seem rather taken from pic-
tures than from real life. But how-
ever poor the execution, this paint-
ing merits attention on account of
its dramatic character. The com-
position represents twenty-six per-
sons. At the left is Pontius Pilate,
governor of Juden, seated in a large
arm-cliair beneath a canopy, point-
ing with his left hand towards the
Saviour before him. In his right
hand he holds a kind of sceptre ;
his beard is trimmed in the style of
Henri Quatre ; he wears a large
mantle lined with ermine, and on
])is head a ioqu^^ such as the old
presidents of parliament used to
wear in France.
Below Pilate is the clerk record-
ing the votes in a large register,
and before him is the urn in which
they are deposited.
In front of the clerk, but separat-
ed from him by a long white scroll
on which is inscribed the sentence
pronounced by Pilate, is seated our
Saviour, his loins girded with a
strip of scarlet cloth, his bowed
head encircled by luminous rays,
his attitude expressive of humility
and submission, his bound hands
extended on his knees.
In the centre of the canvas,
above tiiis group, is the high-priest
Caiai)has standing under an arch,
his head thrown back, and his
hands extended in an imposing atti-
tude. He wears a cap something
like a mitre, a kind of stole is cross-
ed on his breast, his long robe is
adorned with three flounces of lace.
His face is that of a young man.
The slight black mustache he
wears is turned up in a way that
gives him a resemblance to Louis
XIII. It is evidently a portrait of
that age.
At the side of Pilate, and behind
Christ, are ranged the members of
the Jewish Sanhedrim, standing or
sitting, in various postures, with
white scrolls in their hands, which
they hold like screens, bearing their
names and the expression of their
sentiments respecting the divine
Victim. Their dress is black or
white, but varied in form. Most
of them wear a moseite^ or ermine
cape, and the collar of some order
of knighthood, as of S. Michael
and the S. Esprit. They are all
young, have mustaches, and logk
as if they belonged to the time of
Louis Treize. On their heads are
turbans, or toques.
Through ihe open window, at
the end of the pretorium, may be
seen the mob, armed with spears,
and expressing its sentiments by
means of a scroll at the side of the
window : "If thou let this man
go, thou art not Caesar's friend.
Crucify him! crucify him! His
blood be on us and on our chil-
dren."
The chief interest of the picture
838
St. yean de Luz.
centres in these inscriptions, which
are in queer old Frencli of marvel-
lous orthography. At the bottom
o[ the painting, to the left, is the
tollowing :
•* Sentence, or decree, of the sanguinary
Jews against Jesus Christ, the Saviour
of the world.''
Over Pilate we read :
"Pontius Pilate Judex."
The sentiments of the high-priests
and elders, whose names we give
in the original, are thus expressed:
•• I. Simon Lepros. For what cause
or reason is he held for mutiny or sedi-
tion ?
"2. Raban. Wherefore are laws
made, I pray, unless to be kept and ex-
ecuted?
•• 3. AcfiiAS. No one should be con-
demned to death whose cause is not
known and weighed.
*• 4. Sabath. There is no law or right
by which one not proved guilty is con-
demned ; wherefore we would know in
what way this man hath oifended.
"5. RosMOPHiN. For what doth the
law serve, if not executed ?
" 6. PuTEPHARES. A stirrcr-up of the
people is a scourge to the land ; therefore
he should be banished.
"7. RiPHAR. The penalty of the
law is prescribed only for malefactors
who should be made to confess their
misdeeds and then be condemned.
•• 8. Joseph d'Aramathea Truly, it
is a shameful thing, and detestable, there
be no one in this city who seeks to de-
fend the innocent.
"g. Joram. How can we condemn
him to death who is just?
*' 10. Ehieris. Though he be just,
yet shall he die, because by his preach-
ing he hath stirred up and excited the
people to sedition.
"II. NicoDEMUS. Our law condemns
and sentences to death no man for an
unknown cause.
" 12. Diarabias. He hath perverted
the people; therefore is he guilty and
worthy of death.
"13. SaReas. This seditious man
should be banished as one born for the
destruction of the land.
" 14. Rabinth. Whether he be just
or not, inasmuch as he will neither ob<^
nor submit to the precepts of our fore
fathers, he should not be tolerated in the
land.
**I5. JosAPHAT. Let him be bound
with chains and be perpetually im-
prisoned.
"16. Ptolomee. Though it be not
clear whether be is just or unjust, why
do we hesitate : why not at once con-
demn him to death or banish him?
'* 17. Teras. It is right he should be
banished or sent to the emperor.
*« 18. Mesa. If he is a just man, why
do we not yield to his teachings: if
wicked, why not send him away?
" 19. Samkch. Let us weigh the case.
so he have no cause to contradict us*
Whatever he does, let us chastise him.
"2Q. CaTphas Pontifex. Ye know
not well what ye would iTave. It is ex-
pedient for us that one man should die
for the people, and that the whole nation
perish not.
"21. The People TO Pilate. If thou
let this man go, thou art not the friend of
Cassar. Crucify him! crucify him! His
blood be on us and on our children !"
On the large scroll in the centre
of the picture is the sentence of
Pilate ;
" I, Pontius Pilate, pretor and judge ia
Jerusalem under the thrice powerful Em-
peror Tiberius, whose reign be etemalh
blessed and prospered, in this tribanal,
or judicial chair, in order to pronounce
and declare sentence for the synagogue
of the Jewish nation with respect to Jesus
Christ here present, by them led and ac-
cused before me, that, being bom of father
and mother of poor and base extraction,
ho made himself by lofty and blasphemous
words the Son of God and King of the
Jews, and boasted he could rebuild the
temple of Solomon, having heard and ex-
amined the case, do say and declare ob
my conscience he shall be crucified be-
tween two thieves."
This picture is analogous to the
old mysteries of the Passion onceso
popular in this region, in which the
author who respected the meaning
of the sacred text was at liberty to
draw freely on his imagination. Ii
was especially in the dialogue thai
S/. Jean de Luz.
839
lay the field for his genius. How-
ever naive these sacred dramas,
tUey greatly pleased the people. A
painting similar to this formerly ex-
isted in St. Roch's Church at Paris,
\x\ >vhich figured the undecided Pi-
late in judicial array, Caiaphas the
complacent flatterer of the people,
and the mob with its old rdle of
** Crucify him ! crucify him !"
AVe must not forget a work of art,
of very different character, associ-
ated with the history of St. Jean de
Luz. It is a curious piece of nee-
dle-work commemorating the con-
ferences of the two great statesmen.
Cardinal Mazarin and Don Luis de
1-Iaro, and evidently designed by
an able artist, perhaps by Velasquez
h imself. It is a kind ol courie-poinU
(it would never do to call it by the
ignoble name of coverlet !) of linen
of remarkable fineness, on which
are embroidered in purple silk the
eminent personages connected with
the treaty of the Pyrenees, as well
as various allegorical figures and
accessory ornaments, which make
it a genuine historic picture of
lively and interesting character.
This delicate piece of Spanish
needle-work was wrought by the
order of Don Luis de Haro as a
mark of homage to his royal master.
He presented it to the king on his
feast-day. May i, 1661, and it pro-
.bably adorned the royal couch.
But the better to comprehend this
work of art — for such it is, in spite
of its name — let us recall briefly
the events that suggested its de-
tails.
Philip IV. ascended the Spanish
throne in 162 1, when barely sixteen
years of age. His reign lasted till
1665. He had successively two
ministers of state, both of great
ability, but of very different politi-
cal views. In the first part of his
reign the young monarch gave his
whole confidence to the Count of
Olivares, whose authority was al-
most absolute till 1648. But his
ministry was far from fortunate.
On the contrary, it brought such
humiliating calamities qn the coun-
try that the king at length awoke
to the danger that menaced it.
He dismissed Olivares and ap-
pointed the count's nephew and
heir in his place, who proved one
of the ablest ministers ever known
in Spain. He was a descendant of
the brave Castilian lord to wliom
Alfonso VIL was indebted for the
capture of Zurita, but who would
accept no reward from the grateful
prince but the privilege of giving
the name of Haro to a town he had
built. It was another descendant
of this proud warrior who was
made archbishop of Mexico in the
latter part of the XVI Hth century,
and was so remarkable for his cha-
rity and eloquence as a preacher.
Don Luis not only had the
military genius of his ancestor, but
the prudence of a real statesman,
and he succeeded in partially re-
pairing the disasters of the preced-
ing ministry. He raised an anny
and equipped a powerful squadron,
by which he repulsed the French,
checked the Portuguese, brought
the rebellious provinces into sub-
jection, and effected the treaty of
Munster ; which energetic mea-
sures produced such an effect on
the French government as to lead
to amicable relations between tlie
two great ministers who, at this
time, held the destiny of Europe in
their hands, and to bring about a
general peace in 1659.
It was with this object Cardinal
Mazarin and Don Luis de Haro
agreed upon a meeting on the lie
des Faisans — as the Isle of Confer-
ence was then called — which led to
the treaty of the Pyrenees.
840
5/. yean de Luz.
As a reward for Don Luis* signal
services, jxirticularly the peace he
luid cemented by an alliance so hon-
orable to the nation, Philip IV., in
I he following year, conferred on him
tilt; title of duke, and gave him the
surname de ia Paz.
It was at this time Don Luis had
this curious couri€'f>oinU yfTO\\^\l as
a present to the king. He was
ihe declared patron of the fine arts,
and had established weekly reunions
to bring together the principal ar-
tists of Spain, some of whom prob-
ably desi2[ned this memorial of his
glory. It was preserved with evi-
dent care, and handed down from
cne sovereign to another, till it
finally fell into the possession of the
mother of Ferdinand VIL, who,
wishing to express her sense of the
fidelity of one of her ladies of
honor, gave her this valuable coun-
terpane. In this way it passed in-
to the hands of its present owner
at Bavonnc.
On the upper part of this cover-
ing* the power of Spain is repre-
sented by a woman holding a sub-
dued lion at her feet. In the cen-
tre are Nuestra Seilora del Pilar
and S. Ferdinand, patrons of the
kingdom, around whom are the
c:igles of Austria, so closely allied
to Spain. And by way of allusion
10 tlie lie (ffs Faisatis. where the re-
( cnt negotiations had taken place,
pheasants are to be seen in every
direction. Cardinal Mazarin and
Don Luis de Haro are more than
once represented. In one place
they are presenting an olive-branch
to the powers they serve ; in an-
other they are advancing, side by
side, towards Philip IV., to solicit
the hand of his daughter for Louis
XIV. Here Piiilip gives his con-
sent to the marriage, and, lower
down, Louis receives his bride in
the presence of two females who
{)ersonify France and Spain. The
intermediate spaces are filled up with
allusions to commerce with forei-jn
lands and the progress of civiliz.:-
tion at home. Not only -war, vic-
tory, and politics have their em-
blems, but literature, beneficence,
and wealth. But there arc mam
symbols the meaning of which ii
would require the sagacity of a
Champollion to fathom.
This is, perhaps, the only known
instance of a prime minister direct-
ing his energies to the fabrication
of a counterpane. Disraeli, to be
sure, has woven many an extrava-
gant web of romance with Oriental
profusion of ornament, but not, to
our knowledge, in purple and fine
linen, like Don Luis de Haro. We
have seen one of the gorgeous cov-
erlets of Louis XIV., but it was
wrought by the young ladies of Si.
Cyr under the direction of Mme.
de Maintenon ; and there is an-
other in the Hotel de Cluny thai
once belonged to Francis I. The
grand-daughter of Don Luis de
Haro, the sole heiress of the houst,
married the Duke of Alba, carrv-
ing with her as a dowry the vast
possessions of Olivares, Guzman,
and Del Carpi o. The brother-in-
law of the ex-Empress Eugenie is
a direct descendant of theirs.
Opposite St. Jean de Luz, on the
other side of the Nivelle, is Ci-
bourre, with its solemn, mysterious
church, and its widowed houses
built along the quay and straggling
up the hill of Bordagain. Prosper-
ous once like its neighbor, it also
participated in its misfortunes, and
now wears the same touching air
of melancholy. The men are all
sailors — the best sailors in Europe —
but they are absent a great part of
the year. Fearless wreckers live
along the shore, who brave the
greatest dangers to aid ships in dis-
The Eternal Years.
841
tress. In more prosperous days
its rivalry with St. Jean de Luz of-
ten led to quarrels, and the islet
which connects the two places was
ir^quently covered with the blood
shed in these encounters. The
eon vent of Recollects, now a cus-
tom-house, which we pass on our
way to Cibourre, was founded' in
expiation of this mutual hatred,
and very appropriately dedicated to
JVoire Dame de la Paix — Our Lady
of Peace. The cloister, with its
round arches, is still in good pre-
servation, and the cistern is to be
seen in the court, constructed by
Cardinal Mazarin, that the friars
might have a supply of soft water.
The Basques are famed for their
truthfulness and honesty, tlie result
perhaps of the severity of their an-
cient laws, one of which ordered a
tooth to be extracted every time a
person was convicted of lying I No
wonder the love of truth took such
deep root among them. But had this
stringent law been handed down
and extended to other lands, what
toothless communities there would
now be in the world!
THE ETERNAL YEARS.
mr THB AVTHOX OP "THB DIVINB SBQUBKCB.
II.
n
THE PULSATIONS OF TIME.
The deduction we arrive at from
the argument which we have laid
down is til at the history of the
world is a consistent one, and not
a series of loose incidents strung
together. It is as much this mor-
ally, it is as truly the evolution
and unwinding of a high moral law
and of a great spiritual truth, as
the life of the plant from the seed
to the ripe fruit is the develop-
ment of a natural growth. This last
is governed by laws with which
we are only partially acquainted ;
whereas the moral law and the
spiritual truth are revealed to us by
the divine scheme of creation and
redemption. There is nothing ex-
isting, eitlier in the natural or in
the spiritual law, and especially in
this last, whicli is not more or less,
in one way or in another, by asser-
tion or by negation, a revelation of
the divine Being.
He reveals himself directly by
his volitions and indirectly by his
permissions. And we can only be
one with him when we have learnt
to accept botn and to submit to
both ; not in the spirit of quietism
or fatalism, but as actively entering
into his intentions, accepting what
he wills, ^nd bearing what he per-
mits. There is no harmony possi-
ble between the soul and God un-
til we have arrived at this ; antl
the history of the world is the his-
tory of man's acquiescence in, or
resistance to, the supreme will of
God. The first disruption of the
will of man from the will of God,
in the fall of man, wove a dark
842
The Eternal Years.
woof into the web of time; and
every act of ours which is not ac-
cording to the will of God weaves
the same into our own lives, be-
cause it is a rupture of the law of
harmony which God has instituted
between himself as creator and us
as creatures. Were that harmony
unbroken, man would rest in God
as in his centre; for, being finite,
he has no sufficiency in himself, but
for ever seeks some good extrinsic
to himself. The same applies to
all creation, whose ultimate end and
highest good must always be some
object beyond and above itself;
and that object is none other than
God, " quod ignorantes colitis,*'* —
the finite striving after the Infinite.
Thus the whole divine government
of the world is a gradual unfold-
ing of the divine Will, according as
we are able to receive it. And the
degree of receptivity in mankind,
at various periods of the world's
history, and in different localities,
accounts for the variety in the di-
vine dispensations, and for the
imperfection of some as compared
with others. The " vet more ex-
celient way " f could not be received
by all at all times. The promise
was given to Abraham. But four
hundred and thirty years elapsed
before its fulfilment, for the express
purpose of being occupied and
spent in the institution of the law
as a less perfect disi:)ensation, and
wliich was given because of trans-
gressions — ** propter transgressio-
nes positaest " J — thus sl)pwing the
adaptive government of God : the
.gradual building up of the city of
the Lord, whose stones are the liv-
ing souls of men, whicli are "hew-
ed and made ready," § but so that
there shall be ** neither hammer,
nor axe, nor tool of iron heard "
♦ Acts xvii. 93,
t Gal. iii. 19.
1 1 Cor. xiL 3X.
§3 Kings vi. 7,
while it is building. For Goc
does not force his creature. Hi
pours not " new wine into old bot
ties," but waits in patience tb
growth of his poor creatures, an
the slow and gradual leavening o
the great mass. A time had bee
when God walked with roan **:
the" afternoon air " ; * and whi
ever may be the full meaning of tli
exquisitely-expressed intcrcoan
at least it must have been intinu
and tender. But when the bb
pall of evil fell on the face of en
tion, the light of God's intcrcoui
with man was let in by slow <
grees, like single stars coming c
in the dark firmament. The re^
lations, like the stars, varied
magnitude and glory, lay wideap
from each other, rose at differ
intervals of longer or shorter da
tion, and conveyed, like them
flickering and uncertain light, or
the " Sun of Justice arose w
health m his wings/' f and ^k.
tered the rear of darkness thii
The degree of light vouchsal
was limited by the capacity of I
recipient; and that capacity 1
not always been the same in
ages, any more than in any c
age it is the same in all the cc
temporary men, or in each man t
same at all periods of his life,
is thus that we arrive at theexphn
tion of an apparent difference (
tone, color, and texture, so tospe;
in the various manifestations i
God to man. The manifestation
limited to the capacity of the i
cipient; and not only is it limiu
but to a certain extent it becomi
as it were, tinged by the properti
of the medium through which it
transmitted to others. It assuni
characteristics that are not esse
tially its own. P'or so marveiio
is the respect with which the Cre
iii. 8. tMabchias ir.a.
The Eternal Years.
843
tor treats the freedom of his crea-
ture that he suffers us to give a
measure of our own color to what
he reveals to us, so that it may be
more our own, more on our level,
more within our grasp ; as though
he poured the white waters of sav-
ing truth into glasses of varied
colors, and thus hid from us a
pellucidity too perfect for our na-
ture. And thus it happens that to us
who dwell in the light of God's
church, with the seven lamps of
the seven sacraments burning in
the sanctuary, the God of Abraham
and of Isaac and of Jacob hard-
ly seems to us the same God as our
God. We see him through the
prism of the past, amid sur-
roundings that are strange to us,
in the old patriarchal life that
seems so impossible a mode of
existence to the denizens of great
cities in modern Europe.
This is equally true throughout
the history of the world. It is also
true of every individual soul ; .and
it is true of the same soul at differ-
ent periods of its existence. He is
the same God always and every-
where. But there is a difference
in the kind of reception which each
soul gives to that portion of divine
knowledge and grace which it is
capable of receiving and which it
actually does receive. For they
arc " divers kinds of vessels, every
little vessel, from the vessels of
cups even to every instrument of
music."* They differ in capacity
and they differ in material ; and
the great God, in revealing himself,
does so by degrees. He has de-
posited, as it were, the whole treas-
ure of himself in the bosom of his
spouse, the church ; but the births
of new grace and* further develop-
* Isaiai xxii. 14 ; or, as it may be translated :
" The vessels of small quality, from vessels of basins
even to all vessds of flagoxw.**
ed truth only come to us as we cah
bear them and when we can bear
them. The body of truth is all
there ; but the dispensing of that
truth varies in degree as time goes
on. God governs in his own world ;
but he does so behind and through
the human instruments whom he
condescends to employ. And as,
in the exercise of his own free-will,
man chose the evil and refused the
good, so has the Almighty accom-
modated himself to the conditions
which man has instituted. Were
he to do otherwise, he would force
the will of his creature, which he
never will do, bfecause the doing it
would have for result to deprive
that creature of all moral status
and reduce him to a machine.
From the moment that we lose the
power of refusing the good and
taking the evil, from the moment
that any force really superior to
that which has been put into the
arsenals of our own being robs us
of the faculty of selection, we lose
all merit and consequently all de-
merit. The Creator, when he made
man, surrounded him with tlie re-
spect due to a being who had the
power of disposing ^f his own
everlasting destiny. Nor has he
ever done, nor will he do, anything
which can entrench on this prero-
gative. The whole system of grace
is a system divinely devised to af-
ford man aid in the selection he
has to make. There lies an atmos-
phere of grace all around our souls,
as there, lies the air we breathe
around our senses. The one is as
frequently unperceived by us as the
other. * We are without conscious-
ness as regards its presence, as we
^ Suarez holds that grace is not always percepti-
ble. There are moments when we are conscious of
the distinct action of grace, by the direct percep-
tion of its effects in our soul. These are the ex-
ceptions, which are multiplied with increasing holi-
ness, until they become the rule, and heroic sanc-
tity is perfected in all its parts
844
The Eternal Years.
are without direct habitual con-
sciousness of the act of breathing
and of our own existence, except
as from time to time we make a re-
flective modification in our own
mind of the idea of the air and of
the fact of our inhaling it. We are
unconscious that it is the divine
Creator who is for ever sustaining
our physical existence. We are
oblivious of it for hours together,
unless we stop and think. It is
the same with the presence of
grace.
And though ** exciting" grace, as
theology calls it, begins with the il-
lustration of the intellect, it does
not follow that we are always by
any means conscious of this illus-
tration. It is needless to carry out
the theological statement in these
pages. What we have said is enough
to bring us round to our point, which
is that the action of grace on the
individual soul, and the long line
of direct and indirect revelations
of God's will from the creation to
the present hour, though always
the same grace and always the
same revelation, receive different
renderings according to the vehicle
in wiiich th^ are held — much as a
motive in music remains the same
air, though transposed from one key
to another. Not only, therefore,
does man, as it were, give a color
of his own to the revelation of
God, but he has the sad faculty of
limiting its flow and circumscrib-
ing its course, even where he can-
not altogether arrest it. We are
'* slow of heart to believe," and there-
fore is the time delayed when the
still unfulfilled promises may take ef-
fect. Our Lord declares that Moses
permitted the Hebrews to put away
their wives, because of the hard-
ness of their hearts ; " but from
the beginning it was not so."*
* S. Matthew xix. 8.
God's law had never in itself been
other than what the church has de-
clared it to be. The state of mat-
rimony, as God bad ordained it.
was always meant to be what the
church has now defined. But man
was not in a condition to receive
so perfect a law ; and thus the
condition of man — that is, the hard-
ness of his heart — had the effect ot
modifying the apparent will ot
God, as revealed in what we ncDr
know to be one of the seven sacra-
ments. The Hebrews were inca-
pable of anything more than*a mu-
tilated, or rather a truncated* ex-
pression of the divine will, as it
was represented to them in the law
of Moses on the married state.
Nor could we anywhere find a
more perfect illustration of our ar-
gument. In the first place, it is
given us by our Lord himself; and,
in the second, it occurs on a sub-
ject which, taken in its larger sense,
involves almost every other, lies at
the root of the whole world of
matter, and of being through mat-
ter, and may be called the repre-
sentative idea of the creation.
Now, if on such a question as this
mankind, at some period of their
existence, and that a period which
includes ages of time, and covers,
at one interval or another, the
whole vast globe, could only hear
an imperfect and utterly defective
rendering, how much more must
there exist to be still further devel-
oped out of the ** things new and
old" which lie in the womb of
time and in the treasures of the
church, but which are waiting for
the era when we shall be in a con-
dition to receive them ! The whole
system of our Lord's teaching wa<
based on this principle. He seeing,
if we may so express it, afraid of
overburdening his disciples by loo
great demands upon their capjcity.
The Eternal Years.
845
He says with reference to the mis-
sion of S. John the Baptist: "7/"
you will receive it, lie is Elias that
is to come," * and in the Sermon
on the Mount he points out to
them the imperfection of the old
moral code, as regarded the taking
of oaths and the law of talion.
Now, the moral law, as it existed in
the mind of God, could never have
varied. It must always have been
" perfect as our heavenly Father is
perfect." But it passed through an
imperfect medium — the one present-
ed by the then condition of man-
kind — and was modified accord-
ingly.
We hold, therefore, in what we
have now stated, a distinct view of
the way in which God governs the
world ; not absolutely, not -arbi-
trarily , hwXfidap lively . And where
we see imperfection, and at times
apparent retrogression, it is the free
will of man forcing the will of God
to his own destruction, " until he
who hindereth now, and will hinder,
be taken out of the way." f
If this be true of God's direct re-
velations of himself, and of his mo-
ral law as given from time to time
to mankind, according as, in their
fallen state, they could receive it —
if, in short, it be true of his direct
volitions — it is also true of his per-
missions. If it hold good of the
revelations of his antecedent will,
it holds good of the instances (so
far as we may trace them in the
history of the world) of his conse-
quent will ; that is, of his will which
takes into consideration the facts
induced by man in the exercise of
his own free will, which is so con-
stantly running counter to the
antecedent will of God. The
divine permissions form the nega-
*S. Matthew xi. 14.
t ** Tantum ut qui tenet nunc, tcneat, donee dc
medic fiat."— 2 Thcssalonians ii. 7.
tive side of the revelation of God.
They are his permissive govern-
ment of the world, not his direct
government. The direct govern-
ment is the stream of reVelation
given to our first parents, to the
patriarchs and lawgivers of Israel,
and now, in a more direct and im-
mediate way, through our Blessed
Lord in his birth, death, and resur-
rection, by the church in the sac-
raments, and through* her tanporal
head, the vicar of Christ.
Even now, when he has consum-
mated his union with his church,
and that she is the true organ of
the Holy Ghost, and thus the one
true and infallible medium and
interpreter of God's direct govern-
ment of the world, he also governs
it by the indirect way of his over-
ruling providence. The events
which occur in history have ever a
double character. They have their
mere human aspect, often appar-
ently for evil alone ; and they have
their ultimate result for good,
which is simply the undercurrent
of God's will working upwards, and
through the actions of mankind.
Events which, on the face of them,
bear the character of unmitigated
evils, like war, have a thousand
ultimate beneficial results. War is
the rude, cruel pioneer of the armies
of the Lord ; for where the soldier
has been the priest will follow.
Persecutions kindle new faith and
awake fresh ardor. Pestilence
quickens charity and leads to im-
provements in the condition of the
poor. Nor do we believe that it is
only in this large and general, un-
sympathetic, and sweeping manner
that God allows good to be worked
out of evil. We have faith in the
intercession of the Mother of
Mercy ; and as ultimate good may
arise to whole races of mankind
out of terrible calamities, so, we are
846
The Etevnal Years.
persuaded, there is a more inti-
mate, minute, and loving interfer-
ence to individual souls wherever
there is huge public calamity.
The field of battle, the burning
city, the flood, and the pestilence
are Mary's harvest fields, whither
she sends her angels, over whom
she is queen, with special and
extraordinary graces, to gather and
collect those who might otherwise
have perished, and, in the supreme
moment which is doubtless so
often God's hour, to win trophies
of mercy to the honor and glory of
the Precious Blood.
Unless we believe in God's es-
sential, actual, and unintermittent
government of the world, we can-
not solve the riddle of the Sphinx,
and her cruel, stony stare will freeze
our blood as we traverse the deserts
of life. If we believe only in his
direct government, we shall find it
chiefly, if not solely, in his church ;
and the area is sadly limited ! If
we acknowledge his essential provi-
dence in his permissions, if we make
sure of liis presence in what ap-
pears its very negation, then alone
do we arrive at the solution of life's
})roblems ; and even this, not as an
obvious thir.g, but as a constant
and ever-renewed act of faith in
the under-flowing gulf-stream of
divine love, which melts the ice
and softens the rigor of the wintry
ei)ochs in the world's history. If
we admit of this theory, which is
new to none of us, though dim to
some, we let in a flood of light upon
many of tiie incidents described in
the Old Testament, and specially
spoken of as done by the will of
(iod, but which, to our farther-ad-
vanced revelation of (lod, read to
us as unlike himself. The li^ht of
the later interpretation has been
thrown over the earlier fact; but
in the harmony of eternity, when
we are freed from the broken choi
of time, there will be no dissonai
notes.
There can be no more wonderf
proof of God's unutterable lo^
than the way in which he has ox
descended to make the very sinsc
mankind work to his own glory ai
to the farther revelation of hirose
From the first ^felix culpa " of a
first parents, as the church does n
hesitate to call it, down to the pi
sent hour — down even to the scci
depths of our own souls, where y
are conscious of the harvests 1
grace sprung from repentant tears
it is still the gi^eat alchemist tur
ing base metal in the crucible <
divine love into pure gold.
It is one of the most irrcfragal
proofs of the working of a perp
ual providence that can be adduce
Granted that there are no lu
creations, but that creation ii
act, evolving itself by its inna
force into all the phenomena whi(
we see, and into countless possili
others which future generations <
beings will see, nothing of this c;
prevent the fact that the moral d
velopment of the status of ma
kind, the revelations of cJivii
truth, and consequently of tl
Deity, through the flow of Jgc
has ever been a bringing of gu
out of evil which no blind, irrespoi
sible law could produce. There
no sort of reason why evil shou!
work into its contrary good, e
cept the reason that God is li
supreme good, and directs ail a
parent evil into increments of h
glory, thereby converting it in'
an ultimate good. We must r
member, however, that this du«
not diminish our cul[)ability, 1»<
cause it does not affect our frc(
will. It does not make evil ni
other form of good. It is no pa-
with the devil. It is war and \\<
The Eternal Years.
847
tory, opposition and conquest. It
is justice and retribution, and it be-
hooves us to see whether we are
among those who are keeping our-
selves in harmony with the eternal
God in his direct government of
the world ; in harmony (so far as
we know it) with his antecedent
will ; or whether we are allowing
ourselves to drift away into chan-
nels of our own, working out only
the things that he permits, but
which he also condemns, and lay-
ing up for ourselves that swift de-
vouring flame which will " try every
man's work of what sort it is."-
We have thus arrived at two dif-
ferent views of God's government
of the world — his direct govern-
ment and his indirect or permissive
government. We now come to
what we may call his inductive
teaching of the world — the way in
which truths are partially revealed
to us, and come to us percolating
through the sands of time, as man-
kind needs them and can receive
them.
Our Lord himself gives us an ex-
ample of this inductive process
when he speaks of ** the God of
Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob "
as being " not the God of the dead,
but of the living," thus showing
that the Jews held, and were bound
to hold, the doctrine of immortality
by an inductive process. The
teaching of the old law was symbolic
and inductive. The histories of
the Old Testament are of the same
character. They are written with
no apparent design. They are the
simple account of such incidents as
the historian thought himself bound
to record ; acting, as he did, under
the divine impulse, which underlay
his statements without fettering his
])en. He was not himself half con-
scious of the unspeakable impor-
tance of his work. Consequently,
there is no effort, hardly even com-
mon precaution and foresight, in his
mode of chronicling events. He
glances at incidents without ex-
plaining them, because while he
wrote they were present to his own
experience, and would be to that of
his readers. A writer in our day
would allude to a person having
performed a journey of fifty miles
in .an hour's time without thinking
it necessary to explain that people
travel by steam. In another part
he would advert to railroads, and
the rapidity of locomotion as their
result, equally without a direct re-
ference to the individual who effect-
ed fifty miles in an hour. To the
reader of three thousand years
hence the one incidental allusion
will explain and corroborate the
other, and thus, by internal evi-
dence, prove the authenticity and
consistency of the history. Unin-
tentional coincidences crop up as
the pages grow beneath his hand,
and to the careful student of Scrip-
ture throw light unlooked for on
the exactitude and veracity of the
narrative. And the substratum of
the whole of the Old Testament his-
tory is the gradual growth of one
family out of all the families of
mankind, into which, as into a care-
fully-prepared soil, the seed of di-
vine truth was to be sown. Through
all the variety of the Old Testament
writers the same underlying design
exists ; and though this was a spe-
cial stream of revelation unlike any
that now exists or that is now re-
quired (for reasons which are ob-
vious to every Catholic who knows
what the church is), yet they form
an indication of the way in which
the divine Creator is for ever gov-
erning the world and preparing it
with a divine foresight for his ulti-
mate purpose. The Holy Ghost
848
The Eternal Years,
speaks now through a direct organ,
•vhich organ is the church. For-
merly God spoke through historic
<:vents and multitudinous incidents
in connection with one race of peo-
ple. But this very fact authorizes
us to believe that the same c/iarac-
ter of government exists throughout
the whole universe in a greater or
less degree, and that God is prepar-
ing the way for the ultimate triumph
of the sacred Humanity and of Jiis
spouse the Church, on the far-off
shores of sultrv Africa, in the inner
recesses of silent China, among
the huge forests which skirt the
Blue Mountains, or amid the glit-
tering glories of the kingdoms of
ice.
There is nothing more depress-
in gly sad, more deeply to be re-
gretted, and more difficult to explain
than the almost hopeless narrow-
ness of most people in their appre-
ciation of divinely-ordained facts.
We live like moles. We throw up
a mound of dusky earth above and
around us, within which we grope
and are content. The treasures of
sacred lore, the depths of spirit-
ual science, the infinite variety of
Scriptural information, with the
tiivinely-pointed moral of every
tale, are things which most of us
are content to know exist, and
to think no more about. The very
lavishness with which God has
siven us all that we want for the
salvation of our souls seems to
have stifled in our ungenerous na-
tures the longing to know and to
do more. When the Evangelist
said that the world would not hold
tlie books that might be written on
tiie sacred Humanity alone, he must
have had an intuition, not so much
ot the material world and material
voiumes, as of the world of nar-
rowed minds and crippled hearts
who would be found stranded on
the shores of our much-vaunted
civilization and progress.
Few things are more remarkable
in the tone and character of mod-
ern Catholic writers than the small
amount of use they make of Scrip-
ture : so strangely in contrast with
the old writers, and with even the
great French spiritual authors of a
century and a half ago. Their
pages are rich with Scriptural lore.
Their style is a constant recogni-
tion of the government and de-
signs of God as shown to us in
our past and present, and as we
are bound to anticipate them in
the future. In our time this h::s
given place to emotional devotion;
a most excellent thing in its wav,
but only likely to have much influ-
ence over our lives when it is
grounded on solid theology !ind
directed by real knowledge. No
doubt it is so in the minds of the
authors themselves ; but we fear
it is rare in those of their ordinary
readers, who thus drink the froth
off the wine, but are not benefited
by the strengthening properties of
the generous liquid itself. Nor
will they be until they have made
up their minds to believe and un-
derstand that conversion is not an
isolated fact in their lives, but a
progressive act involving all the
intellect, all the faculties, be ther
great or small (for each one niujt
be full up to his capacity), and all
the heart, mind, and soul. Tne
whole man must work and be work-
ed upon in harmony; and ve
must remember that it is work, and
not merely feeling, consolation,
emotion, prettiness, and ornaracnl,
but an intellectual growth, going
on pari passu with a spiritual
growth, until the whole vessel is
fitted and prepared for the glory
of God.
We think we may venture to say
The Eternal Years.
849
thai few things will conduce more
to this than the studv of the
divine Scriptures under the liglu
and teaching of the Catholic Church.
In them we find a profound re-
velation of the character of God.
We are, as we read them interpret-
ed to us by the lamp of the sanc-
tuary, let down into awful depths
t>f the divine Eternal Mind. We
watch the whole world and all
r real ion working up for the su-
j>rtrn'.2 moment of the birth of
Jesus ; while in the life of our
iUessed Lord himself we find, con-
densed into those wonderful thirty-
three years, the whole system of the
church — the spiritual fabric which
is to fill eternity, the one God-re-
vealing system which is finally to
supersede all others.
Unhappily many persons are
under the delusion that narrowness
and ignorance are the same as
Christian simplicity, and that inno-
rence means ignorance of everv-
thing else, as well as of evil. These
are the people who are afraid to
look facts in t!.v- face, and to read
them off as part of the God-directed
Instory of the world. These are
they to whom science is a bugbear.
They hug their ignorance as being
their great safeguard, and wear
blinkers lest they should be startled
l)V the evewts which cross their
path. Grown men and women do
it for themselves and attempt it for
their children, and meanwhile those
to whom we ought to be superior
are rushing on with iieadlong dar-
ing, carrying intellectual eminence,
and originality, and investigation of
science, all before them ; while we,
who should be clad in the panoply
of the faith, and afraid of nothinsj.
are putting out the candles and
shading the lamps, that we may idly
enjoy a shadow too dense for real
work.
VOL. XXII. — 54
And yet is not the earth ours?
Is not all that exisfs our heritage }
To whom does anything belong if
not to us, the sons of the church,
the sole possessors of infallible
truth, the only invulnerable ones,
the only ever-enduring and ever-
increasing children of the light ?
The past is ours; the present
should be ours ; the future is all our
own. Our triumph may be slow
(and it is slower because we are
cowards), but it is certain. Are
we not tenfold .the children of the
covenant, tlic sons of the Father's
house, the heirs of all ^ We alone
are in possession of what all science
and art must ultimately fall back
upon and harmonize with. There
is no success possible but what is
obtained, and shall in the future be
obtained, in union with the church
of God. Have we forgotten, are
we ever for a moment permitted to
forget, that the church of God is
not an accident, nor a cunningly-
devised, tolerably able, partially
infirm organization, but that she is
the spouse of the (iod-Man, the one
revelation of God, perfect and en-
tire, though but gradually given
forth; that all the harmonies of
science are fragments of the har-
mony of God himself, of his pure
being, of the Qui Est ; and that
the harmony of the arts is simply
the human expression of the har-
mony of the Lofros^ the human
utterances of the articulations of
the divine Word, as tiiey come to
us in our far-off life-like echoes
from eternitv.?
Even the great false religions of
the past, and of the present in the
remote East, are but man's discord
breaking the harmony of truth
while retaining the key-note : the
immortality of the soul and the
perfection of a future state in the
deep thoughts of Egypt, the uni*
8 so
The Eternal Years.
versality of God's providential gov-
ernment of tltfe world in Greek
mythology, the union of the soul
with God in Brahminism, and the
One God of Mahometanism. Each
has its kernel of truth, its ideal
nucleus of supernatural belief,
which it had caught from the great
laarmony of God in broken frag-
ments, and enshrined in mystic
signs. Even now, as we look back
upon them all, we are bound to
confess that they stand on a totally
different ground from the multi-
tudinous sects of our day, which
break off from the one body of the
church and drift off into negation
or Protestantism. Far be it from
us to insinuate that any, the lowest
form of Christianity, the weakest
utterance of the dear name of Jesus,
is not ten thousand fold better than
the most abstruse of the old Indian
or Egyptian religions. Wherever
the name of Jesus is uttered, no
matter how imperfectly, tliere is
more hope of light and of salvation
than 'in the deepest symbols of
heathen or pagan creeds. It may
be but one ray of light, but still it
is light — the real warming, invigo-
rating light of the sun, and not the
cold and deleterious light of the
beautiful moon, who has poisoned
what she has borrowed.* Never-
theless, and maintaining this with
all the energy of which we are ca-
pable, it is still true that each one
•of the great false religions, which at
various times and in divers places
have swayed mankind, was rather
the overgrowth of error on a sub-
stantial truth than the breaking up
of truth into fragmentary and Hlo-
gical negation, which is the charac-
teristic of all forms of secession
from the Catholic unity of the
church. The modern aberrations
* It is injurious to sleep in the light of the moon ;
. and it produces rapid putrefaction in dead fish, etc.
fronl the faith are a mere jangle of
sounds,' while the old creeds were
the petrifaction of truth. The
modern forms of faith outside ihe
church are a negation of truth
rather than a distortion. Conse-
quently, they are for ever drifting
and taking Protean shapes that
defv classification.
They have broken up into a liun-
dred forms; they will break up into
a thousand more, till the whole fa-
bric has crumbled into dust. The?
have none of the strong hold on
human nature which the old reli-
gions had, because they afte not the
embodiment of a sacred mystery,
but rather the explaining away of
all mystery. They are a peri>etual
drifting detritus, without coherence
as without consistency; and as
they slip down the slant of time,
they fall into the abyss of oblivion,
and will leave not a trace behind,
only in so far that, vanishing from
sight, they make way for the fuller
establishment of the truth — the eter-
nal, the divine, spherical tnith,
absolute in its cohesion and perfect
in all ita parts.
The hold which heathen and pa-
gan creeds have had upon mankind
conveys a ]esson to ourselves which
superficial thinkers are apt to over-
look. It is certain they could not
have held whole nations beneath
their influence had not each in
its turn been an embodiment of
some essential truth which, though
expressed through error, remains in
itself essentially a part of truth.
They snatched at fragments of the
natural law which governs the uni-
verse, or they embodied in present
expression the inalienable hopes
of mankind. They took the world
of nature as the utterance neither
of a passing nor of an inexorable
law, but of an inscrutable Being,
and believed that the mystical un-
Tiu Eternal Years.
85 1
derlies the natural. Untaught by
llie sweet revelations of Christian-
ity, thef^ religion could assume no
aspect but one of terror, silent
dread, and deep horror. Their
only escape from this result was in
t.lie deterioration that necessarily
follows the popularization of all
stl^stract ideas, unless protected by
SL system at once consistent and
el astic, like that which is exhibited in
thiedisciplineofthe Catholic Church.
'I'hey wearied of the rarefied at-
mosphere of unexplained mystery.
They wanted the tangible and evi-
dent in its place. Like the Israel-
ites, they lusted after the flesh-pots
of Egypt ; and their lower nature
nnd evil passions rebelled against
the moral loftiness of abstract
truth. The multitude could not
be kept up to the mark, and need-
ed coarser food. The result was
inevitable. But as all religion in-
volves mystery, instead of working
upward through the natural law to
the spiritual and divine law, they
inverted the process, and grovelled
down below the natural law, with
its sacramentalistic character, to
the preternatural and diabolic.
Mystery was retained, but only in
the profanation of themselves and
of natural laws, until they had pass-
ed outside all nature, and, making a
hideous travesty of humanity, had
become more vile and hateful than
the devils they served.
Thus the Romans vulgarized the
Greek mythology; and that which
had remained during a long period
as a beautiful though purely human
expression of a divine mystery,
among a people whose religion con-
sisted mainly in the worship of
the beautiful, and who themselves
transcended all that humanity has
ever since beheld in their own
personal perfection of beauty, be-
came, when it passed through the
coarser hands of the Romans, a de-
generate vulgarity, which infected
their whole existence, in art aud
in manners, quite as effectually as
in religion. Then Rome flung
open her gates to all the creeds of
all the world, and the time-honored
embodiments of fragmentary but
intrinsic truth met together, and
were all equally tolerated and
equally degenerated. All ! — ex-
cept the one whole and perfect
truth : the Gospel of Salvation.
That was never tolerated. That
alone could not be endured, be-
cause the instinct of evil foresaw
its own impending ruin in the Gos-
pel of peace. •
It was a new thing for mankind to
be told that a part of the essence of
religion was elevated morality and
the destruction of sin in the individ-
ual. Whatever comparative purity
of life had co-existed with the old
religions was hardly due to their
influence among the multitude,
though it might be so with those
whose educated superiority enabled
them to reason out the morality of
creeds. While the rare philosopher
was reading the inmost secret of the
abstract idea on which the religion
of his country was based, and the
common pagan was practising the
most degraded sorcery and peering
into obscene mysteries, without a
single elevation of thought, suddenly
the life of the God-Man was put
before the world, and the wiiole
face of creation was gradually
changed.
But as the shadows of the past
in the old religions led up to the
light, so shall the light of the
present lead up to the "perfect
day."
TO BB COKTIKUIO.
852
A Search for Old Lace in Vrnice.
A SEARCH FOR OLD LACE IN VENICE,
One is almost ashamed to mention
Venice now, or any other of those
thousand-and-one bournes of hack-
neyed travel and staples of hackney-
ed books. There is probably no one
claiming a place in a civilized com-
munity who does not know Venice
almost as well as do her own chil-
dren, and who could not discourse
intelligently of the Bridge of Sighs,
the Doge's Palace, and the Rialto
Bridge, of St. Mark's and the brazen
horses. Still, when one has read
multitudinous poems about gondo-
las and gondoliers, and any amount
of descriptions of t!»e Grand Canal,
with its palaces of various styles of
architecture, and some few dramas
about the grand and gloomy, the
secret and awful, doings of ancient
Venetian life, even then there are
nooks in the place and incidents in
the doings which escape notice. A
traveller arriving at Venice is hard-
ly surprised at the water-street, with
which pictures have already made
him familiar, but the mode of entering
a covered gondola — crab-fashion —
is not so familiar, and he generally
butts his head against the low ceil-
ing, eliciting a laugh from his gon-
dolier and the good-humored by-
standers, before he learns the native
and proper way of backing into his
seat. So, too, in rowing slowly and
dreamily about from church to
church, full of artistic marvels or
wonderful historical monuments, he
feels to a certain degree at home.
He has seen all this before ; the
]i resent is but a dream realized.
But there are now and then unex-
pected sights — though, it must be
confessed, not many — and of course
such are the most interesting, even
if they are by no means on a lerel
with those mbre famous and more
beautiful.
From Venice to Vicenza is but
a short distance by rail, and Vicen-
za boasts of Roman ruins, and medi-
aeval churches, and a Palladian thea-
tre ; but on our day's trip there, in
early spring, we certaijily dwelt
more on the aspect of the woods
and plains, with their faint veil ot
yellow green already beginning to
appear, the few flowers in the osUrU
garden, and the box hedges and
aloes in the cemetery. The beauty
of the Venetian and Lombard plains
lies more in their mere freshness
than in their diversity ; it is entirely a
beauty of detail, a beauty fit tor
the minuteness of Preraphaelite art
rather than for the sweeping brubi)
of the great masters of conventional
landscape painting. But coming
from Venice every trace of verdure
was grateful to the eye, and we fell as
one who, having been confined in a
beautiful, spacious room, filled t^iih
treasures and scented with subtle
perfume, might feel on coming sud-
denly into the fresh air of a prairie.
By contrast, the suggestion of
fresh air and open space draws us
at once to our subject — a search af-
ter old lace in one of the cities
known to possess many treasures in
that line.
Like all other industries in Ven-
ice, the sale of lace thrives chieflv
on the f;incy of the foreign vihi-
tors. The natives arc generally
too poor to buy much of it, and, in-
deed, much of what is in the market
is the product of forced sacrifices
made by noble but impoverished
families of Venetian origin. It is a
A Search for Old Lace in Venice.
8s 3
sad thing to see the spoils of Italy
still scattered over the world, as if
t lie same fate had pursued her, with
a. lew glorious intervals of triumph
mid possession, ever since the bar-
l>a.rian ancestors of Jier forestieri
rifled her treasure-houses under the
banners of Celtic, Cimbrian, and
Oothic chieftains. What Brennus,
j\laric, and Genseric began the
Uonstable of Bourbon and the great
>Iapoleon continued by force ; but
%v]iat is still sadder is to see tiie
daily disintegration of other trea-
sure-houses whose contents are un-
willingly but necessarily bartered
away lo rich Englishmen, Ameri-
cans, and Russians. Pictures, jew-
elry, lace, goldsmith's work, artistic
trifles — precious through their mate-
rial and history, but more so through
the family associations which have
made them heirlooms — too often
])ass from the sleepy, denuded, di-
lapidated, but still beautiful Italian
palace to the cabinet or gallery or
museum of the lucky foreign con-
noisseur, or even — a worse fate — in-
to the hands of men to whom pos-
session is mijch, but appreciation
very little.
Vvhile at Venice we were so
lazy as never to go sight-seeing,
which accounts for the fact that
we missed many a thing which
visitors of a few days see and talk
learnedly about; and if the business
activity of an old lace-seller had
not brought her to the hotel, our
search after lace might never have
been made. Siie brought fine
specimens with her, but her prices
were rather high, and, after admir-
ing the lace, she was dismissed
without getting any orders. But
she came again, and this time left
her address. We wanted some lace
for a present, and fancied that the
proverbial facility for taking any-
thing rather than nothing, which
distinguishes the Italian seller of
curiosities, would induce her to
strike some more favorable bargain
in her own house, where no other
customer would be at hand to trea-
sure up her weakness as a precedent.
It was not easv to find the house.
Many intricate little canals had to
be traversed (for on foot we should
probably have lost our way over
and over again) ; and as we passed,
many a quaint court, many a deli-
cate window, many a sombre arch-
way, and as often the objects which
we, perhaps too conventionally,
call picturesque — such as the tat-
tered clothes drying on long lines
stretched from window to window ;
heaps of refuse piled up against
princely gateways; rotten posts
standing up out of the water, with
the remnants of the last coat of
paint they ever had, a hundred years
ago; gaudy little shrines calculated
to make a Venetian popolana feel
very pious and an '* unregenerate "
artist well-nigh frantic — met our
sight. At last the house was reach-
ed, or at least the narrow quay from
which a calle^ or tiny, dark street,
plunged away into regions unknown
but inviting. Our gondolier was
wise in the street-labyrinth lore of
his old city, and up some curious out-
side stairs, and then again by innum-
erable inside ones, we reached the
old woman's rooms. Of these there
were two — at least, we saw no more.
Both were poor and bare, and the
old lace- seller was wrinkled, un-
clean, good-humored, and eager.
She talked volubly, not being oblig-
ed to use a foreign tongue to help
herself out, but going on with her
soft, gliding, but quick Venetian
tones. Travelling in Italy and com-
ing in contact with all classes of
the people is apt sadly to take
down one's scholarly conceit in
knowing the language of Dante
854
A Search for Old Lace in Venice.
and Petrarch ; for all the classicism
of one's school-days goes for very
little in bargaining for lace, giving
orders in a sliop or market, or try-
ing not to let boat-and-donkey-men
cheat you to your face. There is this
o»''2 comfort : that if you often can-
*iot understand the people, they
can tMmost invariably understand
you (unless your accent be altogeth-
er outrageous), which saves John
Bull and his American cousin the
ignominy of being brought an um-
brella when they have asked for
mushrooms, and actually taken the
trouble to give a diagram of that
vegetable.
The prices were kept so obsti-
nately above our means that all pur-
chase of lace was impossible ; but
the old woman was untiring in dis-
playing her stores of antique trea-
sures, and we felt sufficiently re-
warded for our expedition. She
herself was worth a visit ; for, like
many ancient Italian matrons, and
not a few nearer home, she was one
of that generation of models whom
you would have sworn has endured
from the days of Titian and Van-
dyke, immortally old and unchange-
ably wrinkled. You see such faces
in the galleries, with the simple
title " Head of an old man" — or old
woman, as the case may be — attri-
buted to some famous painter ; and
these weird portraits attract you
far more than the youth, and beau-
ty, and health, and prosperity of
the Duchess of Este, the baker's
handsome daughter, or the gorgeous
Eastern sibyl. Again, you do not
care to have any allegorical meaning
lacked on to that intensely human
face ; you would be disgusted if
you found it set dov/n in the cata-
logue as ** a Parca," a magician, or
a witch. You seem to know it,
to remember one which was like it,
lo connect it with many human vi-
cissitudes and common, though not
the less pathetic, troubles. She is
probably poor and has been hard-
working ; wifehood and motherhood
have been stern realities to her, in-
stead of poems lived in luxurious
houses and earthly plenty ; her
youths romance was probably
short, fervid, passionate, but soon
lapsed into the dreary struggle
of the poor for bare life. Chance
and old age have made her look
hard, though in truth her heart
would melt at a tender love- talc
like that of a girl of fifteen, and
her brave, bright nature belies the
lines on her face. Just as women
live this kind of life nowadays, so
ihey did three ?nd five hundred
years ago ; so did probably those
very models immortalized by great
painters; so did others long before
art had reached the possibility of
truthful portraiture.
Our old friend the lace-seller»
though she has given occasion for
this rambling digression, did not,
however, at the time, suggest all
these things to our mind.
If she herself was, a type of cer-
tain models of the old masters, her
wares were also a" reminder of
famous people, scenes, and places
of Venice. They were all of one
kind, all of native manufacture,
and, of course, all made by hand.
In a certain degenerate fashion this
industry is still continued, but the
specimens of modern work which
we saw were coarse and valueless
in comparison with those of the
old. There were collars and cuffs
in abundance, such as both men
and women wore — ^large, broad,
Vandyked collars like those one
sees in Venetian pictures ; flounces,
or rather straight bands of divers
widths, from five to twenty inches,
which had more probably belong-
ed to albs and cottas. They sug«
A Search for Old Lace in Venice.
8S5
gested rich churches and gorgeous
ceremonial in a time when nobles
and people were equally devoted
lo splendid shows, prosperity and
loftiness, and a picturesque blend-
ing of the religious pnd the impe-
rial. Chasubles stiff with gems and
altars of precious stones seem to har-
monize well with these priceless veils,
woven over with strange, hierogly-
ph ic-looking, conventional, yet beau-
tiful forms ; intricate with tracery
which, put into stone, would immor-
talize a sculptor; full of knots, each
of which is a miniature master-
piece of embroidery ; and the whole
the evident product of an artist's
brain. This lace has not the gossa-
nier-like beauty of Brussels. It is
thick and close in its texture, and
is of that kind which looks best on
dark velvets and heavy, dusky
<;loths — ^just what one would fancy
the grave Venetian signiors wearing
on state occasions. It matches
somehow with the antique XVth and
XVIth century jewelry — tlie mag-
niHcent, artistic, heavy collars of
the great orders of chivalry ; it has
something solid, substantial, and
splendid about it. Such lace used
to be sold to kings and senators,
not by a paltry yard measure, but
by at least twice its weight in gold ;
for the price was ** as many gold
pieces as would cover the quantity
of lace required." Now, although
this princely mode of barter is out
of fashion, old Venetian *• point "
is still one of the costliest luxuries
in the world, and the rich foreign-
ers who visit Venice usually carry
away at least as much as will border
a handkerchief or trim a cap, as a
memento of the beautiful and once
imperial city of the Adriatic. The
modern lace — one can scarcely call
it imitation^ any more than Sal-
viati's modern Venetian glass and
mosaic can be so called — seems
to be deficient in the beauty and
intricacy of design of the old spe-
cimens ; it is so little sought after
that the industry stands a chance
of dying out, at least until after the
old stock is exhausted and neces-
sity drives the lace-makers to ply
their art more delicately.
Some modern lace, tlie English
Honiton and some of the Irish lace,
is quite as perfect and beautiful,
and very nearly as costly, as the
undoubted specimens the history
of which can be traced back for
two or three hundred years. But
from what we saw of Venetian
point, the new has sadly degenerat-
ed from the old, and exact copying
of a few antique models would be
no detriment to the modern pro-
ductions. To the unlearned eye
there is no difference between Ve-
netian glass three or four hundred
years old, carefully preserved in a
natiqnal museum, and the manu-
factures of last month, sold in Sal-
viati's warerooms in Venice and
his shop in London. Connoisseurs
say they do detect some inferiority
in the modern work ; but as to the
lace, even the veriest tyro in such
lore can see the rough, tasteless,
coarse appearance of the new
when contrasted with the old*
856
New Publications.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Supposed Ml n AC LES: Aji Argument for
THE Honor of Christianity against
SuPERSTniON, and for its Truth
AGAIN srr Unbelief. By Rev. J. M.
Buckley. New York : Uurd & Hough-
ton. 1875.
Mr. Buckley is a Methodist minister,
who seems to be a sensible, honest, and
straightforwa::d person, strong in his con-
victions, ardently religious, and yet ab-
t'torring the excesses of credulity and ir-
rational enthusiasm. The substance of
his pamphlet was delivered by him as
an address before a meeting of Metho-
dist ministers, and is principally directed
agstinst some pretences to miraculous
powers and wonderful cure- working with-
in his own denomination. So far as this
goes, his effort is quite successful, par-
ticularly in regard to a certain Rev. Mr.
Piatt, who professes to have been cured
of an obstinate infirmity by the prayers,
accompanied by the imposition of hands,
of a lady by the name of Miss Mossman.
His particular object led him, however,
to advance some general propositions re-
specting real and supposititious miracles,
and to sustain these by arguments and
appeals to so-called facts, real or assum-
ed, having a much wider range and ap-
plication than is embraced by his special
and immediate purpose. As an arpimen-
turn ad homiuem^ his plea may have been
quite sufficient and convincing to his
particular audience ; but as addressed
to a wider circle in the form of a pub-
lished pamphlet, it appears to be some-
what deficient in the quality and quantity
of the proofs alleged in support of its
frreat amplitude and confidence of as-
sertion. It is also defective in respect to
the definition and division of the subject-
matter. To begin with his definition of
miracle : " A true miracle is an event
which involves the setting aside or con-
tradiction of the established and uniform
relations of antecedents and consequents ;
such event being produced at the will
of an agent not working in the way of
physical cause and effect, for the purpose
of demonstration, or punishment, or de-
liverance." This definition errs by ex-
cess and defect — by excess, ia indodio^
the scope or end as a part of tbe essence .
by defect, in excluding efiects prodorru
by an act of divine power which is abovv^
all established and uniform relations 0^
antecedents and consequents. This last
fault is not of much practical impor-
tance in respect to the question of tbt.
miracles by which a divine revelation is
proved, or of ecclesiastical miracles; be-
cause tliose which are simply above na-
ture, called by S. Thomas miracles of tht
first order — as the Incarnation and theglo
rification of the body of Christ — are very
few in number, and are more objects than
evidences of faith. The first error, bow-
ever, confuses the subject, and opens the
way to a summary rejection of evidence
for particular miracles on the it pn.n
ground that they have not that scope which
has been defined by the author as nccessar)'
to a true miracle. It is evident that God
cannot give supernatural power to per-
form works whose end is bad or which
are simply useless. But we cannot de-
termine precisely what end is sufficient,
in the view of God, for enabling a person
to work a miracle, except so far as we
learn this by induction and the evidence
of facts which are proved. Mr. Bucklej
affirms positively that the end of mira-
cles was solely the authentication of the
divine legation of Christ and his fore-
runners in the mission of making knaira
the divine revelation. Consequently
from this assumption, he assens that
miracles ceased very early in the historr
of Christianity. He also professes to
have ** shown, by the proof of facts, tbai
miracles have ceased. If the great R«
formation in Germany, Switzerland, ao-i
Scotland, if Methodism, had no miracles .
if the missionaries of the Cross [1./., Pro-
testant] are powerless to work them ; and
if the best men and women of ail brancbe^
of the [Protestant] church are witboui
this power, then indeed must they hare
ceased." No one will dispute the logi-
cal sequence or material truth of this
conclusion, so far as it does not extend
beyond its own premises. He has made
it, however, a general conclusion, and
Neiv Publications.
857
promtsos to prove it by " conclusive and
irresistible proof." He is therefore bound
10 prove that miracles had ceased from
an eaily epoch in the universal church,
including the whole period before the
.\VIth century, and in respect to all
'Jaristian bodies except Protestants from
t.iat time to the present. In respect to
tlic former period, his whole proof con-
sists in a statement that no person of
candor and judgment who has read the
ante-Niccne fatners will conclude it
probable that miracles continued much
beyond the beginning of the lid centu-
ry, and in the assertion " that they have
ceased we have proved to a demonstra-
tion." In respect to supposed miracles
during the latter period in the Catholic
Church, tne proof that none of them are
true miracles is contained in the state-
ment that *' the opinion of the Protestant
world is settled " on that head. Very
good, Mr. Buckley ! Such logical
accuracy, united with the intuitive insight
of genius, is a conclusive proof that the
*' assistances which our age enjoys "
have amazingly shortened and simplified
the tedious processes by which **that
indigested heap and fry of authors which
they call antiquity " were obliged to
investigate truth and acquire knowledge,
ihe re.*erend gentleman tells us that
" I have for some years past been read-
ing, as I have found leisure, that magni-
ficent translation of the ante-Nicene fa-
thers published by T. & T. Clark, of Edin-
burgh, in about twenty five volumes.
To say that I have been astonished is to
speak feebly." Probably the astonish-
ment of Origen, Justin Martyr, and
Iremeus would be no less, and would
be more forcibly expressed, if they could
resume their earthly life and peruse the
remarkable address before us. If its
author will read tiie account of the mira-
cles of SS. Gervaslus and Protasius given
by S. Ambrose, the City o/GoJoiS. Augus-
i\ntfX\\Q Ecclesiastical l/istoiyoi Ven Bede,
and Dr. Newman's Essay on Eccle^iasticM
Miracles, we can promise him that he
will experience a still greater degree of
astonishment than he did on the perusal
of the antc-Nicene fathers. Mr. Buck-
ley appears to be in bonafidcy and is
probably a much better man than many
whose knowledge is more extensive.
The hallucination of mind which pro-
duces in him the belief that he stands on
a higher intellectual plane than Clement
of Alexandria and (Cyprian in ancient
times, or Petavius, Kleatgen, Bayma,
and "Jesuits" in general, is so simply
astounding, and the credulity requisite
to a firm assent to his own statements as
'demonstrations" is so much beyond
that which was, in the olden time, shown
by believing in the " phoenix," that he
must be sincere, though very much in
need of inform.ation. We cannot help
feeling that ho is worthy of knowing
better, and would be convinced of the
truth if it were set before him fairly.
It is plain that he has no knowledge of
the evidence which exists of a series of
miracles wrought in the Catholic Church
continuously from the times of the apos-
tles to our own day, and which cannot
be rejected without subverting the evi-
dence on which the truth of all miracles
whatsoever is based. The number of
these which are considered by prudent
Catholic writers to be quite certain or
probable is beyond reckoning, though
still very small in comparison with ordi-
nary events and the experiences of the
whole number of Catholics in all ages.
Those of the most extraordinary magni-
tude are relatively much fewer in num-
ber than those which are less wonderful,
as, for instance, the raising of the dead to
life. Nevertheless, there are instances
of this kind — :.g.^ those related of S.
Dominic, S. Bernard, S. Teresa, and S.
Francis Xavier — which, to say the least,
have 9iprimA facie probability. One of
another kind is the perpetually-recurring
miracle of the liquefaction of the blood
of S. Januarius. The miraculous and
complete cure of Mrs. Mattingly, of Wash-
ington, is an instance which occurred in
our own country, and which, among many
other intelligent Protestants, John C.
Calhoun considered as most undoubted-
ly effected by miraculous agency. Wc
mention one more only — the restoration
of the destroyed vision of one eye by
the application of the water of Lourdes,
in the case of Bourrictte, as related by
M. Lisserrc. We are rather more cau-
tious in professing to have demonstrated
the continuance of miracles than our
reverend friend has been in respect to
the contrary. We profess merely to sho%v
that his demonstration requires a serious
refutation of the arguments in favor of
the proposition he denies, and to bring
f rward some considerations in proof of
the title which these arguments have t(^
a respectful and cmdid examination.
Moreover, thoj/.i wj cannot pretend
858
New Publications.
to prove anything, hie ei mmCy by con-
clusi7C evidence and reasoning, we
refer to the articles on the miracle of
S. januarius, and to the translation of
M. Lasserre's book, in our own pages,
as containing evidence for two of the
instances alluded to, and to the works
of Bishop England for the evidence in
Mrs. Mattingly's case.
Besides those supernatural effects or
events which can only be produced by a
divine power acting immediately on the
subject, there arc other marvellous ef-
fects which in themselves require only a
supermundane power, and are merely pre-
ternatural, using nature in the sense
which excludes all beyond our own
world and our human nature. Other
unusual events, again, may appear to be
preternatural, but may be proved, or
reasonably conjectured, to proceed from
a merely natural cause. Here is a de-
batable land, where the truth is attain-
able with more difficulty, generally with
less certainty, and where there is abun-
dant chance for unreasonable credulity
and equally unreasonable scepticism to
lo5c their way in opposite directions.
Mr. Buckley summarily refers all the
strange phenomena to be found among
pagan religions to jugglery and fanati-
cism. Spiritism he dismisses without a
word of comment, implying th:it he con-
siders it to be in no sense preternatural.
We diflcr from him in opinion in respect
to this point also. We have no doubt
that many alle;;ed instances of preter-
natural events aie to be explained by
natural causes, and many otlicrs bv \\\z-
glery and imposture. We cannot, for
ourselves, find a reasonable explanation
of a certain number of well-proved facts
in regard to both pasjanism and si)irit-
ism, except on the hypotliesis of preter-
natural aj;ency. The nature of lliat
ajifcncy cannot be determined without re-
curriuiT to theoloprical science. Catholic
theology determines such cases by re-
ferring them to the agency of demons.
Mr. Buckley is afraid to admit that the
alleged " miracles were real and wrought
) by devils." "If so," he continues, "we
may ask, in the language of Job, Where
and what is (iod ?" We answer to this
that God does not permit demons to de-
ceive men to such an extent as to cause
the ruin of their souls, except through
^ their own wilful and culpable submis-
sion to these deceits. It makes no differ-
ence whether the delusion produced is
referred to juggler)^ or demonologj i
respect to this particular question.
The Formation of CHwsn.Mnii
Part Third. By T. W. Allies. Lob
don : Longmans & Co. 1S75.
Mr. Allies dedicates this volume, inter
beautiful and appropriate terms, to Dr
Newman, who, he says in classic iw
graceful phrase, having once been "th
Hector of a doomed Troy/' isnow^thi
Achilles of the city of God." The pu
ticular topic of the book is the rchiioi
of Greek philosophy to the Cbristia
church. A remarkable chapter on tb
foundation of the Roman Church, i
which great use is made of the discofti
ies of arclucologrists, precedes the tm
ment of the Neostoic, NeopythagoreB
and Neoplatonic schools, with cogm
topics. One of the most interesting as
novel chapters is that on ApoUoninK
Tyana, ^ose wonderful life, as rdatii
by Philostratus, the author regards as
philosophic and anti>Christian myth i
vented by the above-mentioned pag:
writer, with only a slight basis of bisto
cal truth. Mr. Allies has studied t
deep, thoughtful works of those Germ
authors who give a truly intelligcoi 1
connected history of philosophy, and 1
work is a valuable contribution to tl
branch of science, as well as to the h
tory of Christianity. One of the rrn
irresistible proofs of the divine mis^i
and divine personality of Jesus Chi
lies in the blending of the elements
Hellenic genius and culture, Icwi
faith, and Roman law into a new com;
site, by a new form, when he founJcu i
universal kingdom. A mere ni.m.
his own natural power, and undor 1
circumstances in which he lived, cox
not have conceived such an idea, crj
less have carried it into execution. 1
most ineffably stupid, as well as av
ciously wicked, of all impostors .i
philosophical charlatans arc those ap'
tate Christians who strive to drai: Chr
tianily down to the level of the pai:
systems of religion and philosophy, a
reduce it to a mere natural phenomer.i
Mr. Allies shows this in a work wh:
combines erudition with a grace of sn
formed on classic models, and an <
lightened, fervent Catholic spirit, i
bibed from the fathers and doctors of t
church. At a time when the popui
philosophy is decked in false hair a;
mock-jewels, as a stagc-quccn. it
New Publications.
859
cheering to find here and there a votary
cf that genuine philosophy whose beauty
Is native and real, and who willingly
proclaims her own subjection and in-
feriority by humbly saying, Ecct ancilta
The American Catholic Quarterly
Revizw. Vol. I. No. I. January,
1876. Philadelphia: Hardy & Ma-
hony.
A very large number of the most highly
gifted and learned Catholics throughout
Christendom, both clergymen and laymen,
arc at present employed in writing for
the reviews of various classes which have
existed for a greater or lesser period of
time within the present century. Much
of the very best literature of the age is to
be found in their articles, and a very con-
siderable part of this is of permanent
value. In solid merit of matter and style,
and in adaptation to the wants of the time,
the best of these periodicals have im-
proved steadily, and we may say of some
of them that they hardly admit of any
farther progress. The advantage of such
periodicals is not only very great for their
readers, but almost equally so for those
ivho are engaged in contributing to their
cc n tents. The effort and practice of wiit-
ing constantly for the public react upon
the writers. Each one is encouraged and
instructed in the most useful and effective
method of directing his studies and giv-
ing verbal expression to their results, so
as to attain the practical end he has in
view— that of disseminating and diffusing
knowledge over as wide an extent as pos-
sible. The combination of various wri-
ters, each having one or more specialties,
under a competent editorial direction
secures variety and versatility without
prejudice to unity, and corrects the ex-
cesses or defects of individuality without
checking originality, thus giving to the
resulting work in some respects a supe-
riority over that which is the product of
one single mind, unless that mind pos-
sesses the gifts and acquisitions in modo
e'liii^ti which are usually found divided
.imong anumber of different persons. To
cDnouct a review alone is a herculean
task, and Dr. Brownson has accomplished
;i work which is really astonishing in
maintaining, almost by unaided effort,
through so many years, a periodical of
the high rank accorded by common con-
sent to the one which bore his name and
will be his perpetual monument. That,
at the present juncture, a new review is
necessary and has a fine field open before
it ; that in its management ecclesiastical
direction and episcopal control arc requi-
site for adequate security and weight with
the Catholic public ; and that full oppor-
tunity for efficient co-operation on the
part of laymen of talent and education is
most desirable, cannot admit of a mo-
ment's doubt. It is therefore a matter of
heart-felt congratulation that the favora-
able mom'ent has been so promptly seize J
and the vacant place so quickly occupied
by the gentlemen who have undertaken
the editing and the publishing of the
American Catholic Quarter /y. It is proba-
bly known to most, if not all, of our readers
that the editors are Dr. Corcoran, profes-
sor in the Ecclesiastical Seminary of
Philadelphia ; Dr. O'Connor, the rector
of that institution ; and Mr. Wolff, who
has long and ably edited the Philadelphia
Catholic Standard. It would be difficult to
find in the United States an equally com-
petent triad. The publishers, who have
already the experience acquired by the
management of a literary magazine and
a newspaper, will, we may reasonably
hope, be able to sustain the financial bur-
den of this greater undertaking in a suc-
cessful manner, if they receive the sup-
port which they have a right to expect,
by means of their subscription list. The
first number of the new review presents
a typographical face which is quite pe-
culiar to itself and decidedly attractive.
Its contents, besides articles from each
of the editors, are composed of contribu-
tions from three clergymen and two lay-
men, embracing a considerable variety of
topics. The clerical contributors are the
Right Reverend Bishops Lynch and Beck-
er, and the Rev. Drs. Corcoran, O'Con-
nor, and McGlynn. The lay contributors
are Dr. Brownson, John Gilmary Shea,
and Mr. Wolff. The names of F. Th^-
baud. Dr. Marshall, and General Gibbon
arc among those announced for the next
number. We extend a cordial greeting
with our best wishes to the Amnicau
Catholic Quarterly Herieu:
Manual of Catholic Indian Mission-
ary Associations.
The Indian question continues to be
one of the most troublesome in our na-
tional politics. Its only real solution —
and we believe this to be President Grant's
opinion — is to Christianize the In-
dians. The task is undoubtcdlv a hard
86o
Nt'V) Publications,
gne, but it would be far less so if wolves
in sheep's clothing had not been sent
among ihem. The only successful at-
tempt at civilizing the Indians has been
made bv Catholic missionaries. But
9
under the administration of the Indian
Bureau, the utter rottenness of which has
been so recently exposed, missions and
reservations have been thrown to this re-
ligious agency and that without the
slightest regard tor tlie wishes of those
who, it is to be supposed, were most to
be benefited by the operation — the Indi-
ans themselves. In this way flourishing
Catholic missions were turned over to the
Methodist or other denominations, and
the representations of the missionaries,
as well as of the chiefs and tribes them-
selves, were of no avail whatever to alter
so iniquitous a proceeding. This little
manual gives a brief sketch of the status
of Catholic Indians and working of the
Bureau of Indian Missions. It contains
also an earnest appeal to the Catholic la-
dies of the United States from the '* La-
dies' Catholic Indian Missionary Associa-
tion of Washington, D. C," urging contri-
butions and the formation of similar as-
sociations throughout the country to aid
in sustaining the Catholic Indian mis-
sions.
A CORRECTION.
To THE Editor of The Catholic
World :
I have just received, through the Ca-
tholic Publication Society, the following
card from Mr. Gladstone :
" Mr. Gladstone desires to send with his
compliments his thanks to the Society
for a copy, which he has received, of Dr.
(Clarke's interesting paper on Maryland
ToUration. Having simply cited his au-
thorities, and used them, as he thinks,
fairly, he will be glad to learn, if he can,
the manner in which they meet the chal-
lenge conveyed in the latter portion
of this paper. Mr. Gladstone's present
object is to say he would be greatly
obliged by a rcfc'rence to enable him to
trace, the ** irreverent words" imputed to
him on page 6, as his Vatican DccreeshaiVG
no page 83, and he is not aware of bar-
ing penned such a passage.
*' 4 Carlton Garden , London-, Jan. 24, xl',€J'
Mr. Gladstone is right in disclaimisg
the words imputed to him in this to
stance. They are, on investigation, foun^
to be the words of the Rev. Dr. Schaff. The
Messrs. Harper, the American publishers
of Mr. Gladstone's tracts, are largely re-
sponsible for the mistake, by having id*
serted in their publication a tract of 1>t
Schaff, paged in common, and all cover-
ed by the outside title of ''^ Rome and tk(
l/ewest Fashions in Religion. CltidstemT
and by the title-page givingtheautfaorshi;>
•* By the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone."
To a writer making selections as needed
from different portions of this book the
mistake was eas}- and natiiral; and
though the authorship of Dr. ScbaiTs
History of the Vaiienn Decrees containing
the passage in question is given, it is not
so given as easily to reach the eye, and
is obscured by the introduction of Dr.
Schafl's tract into a volume under Mr.
Gladstone's name, and by paging Dr.
SchafTs Hisiof-y in common with Mr.
Gladstone's Vaticamsm, On page 83 of
this publication of the Messrs. Haqxr
the "irreverent words" are found. I
am only too much gratified at Mr. Glad-
stone's disowning them, and hasten, on
my part, to make this correction throng
your columns, in which my reply to Mr.
Gladstone on Maryland Toleration firjt
appeared, and to beg his acceptance of
this amende honorable.
Rich. H. Clame
51 Chamcbbs Stxebt, Kbw Yoke, Fefaciuiy to,
1876.
In a notice, which appeared in last
month's Catholic WorLd, of certain
works published by Herder. Frcibnri?. it
was stated that the publications of that
house are imported by the firm of Bcn-
ziger Bros. Mr. Herder has a branch
house in St. Louis, Missouri, where all
his publications may be procured.
PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED.
The First Annual Report of the New Yoik Sodetf
for the Prevention of Cruelty to ChiMrea.
Landreth's Rund Register and Ahnaaac, 167&
ITERARY
ULLETIN.
■♦♦♦■
Messrs. John ^farphy & Co., Baltimore, lyivc
iuift ifisned A Hcuid book of British and
•AjDCLexicaxL I^iteratare, for Colleges, School?,
iiad AcademfeSf by the Rev.O. L. Jenkins, A.M.,
I&te President of St. Charles^ College, BUicott
O ity. An advertisement and prospectus of It can
He found elsewhere.
Tlie Catholic Publication Society has in prer s
txn€L will soon issue Jules Verne's Around ths
M'oKtiiy translated from the French by Edward
Itotb. The book will contain twenty-four lllus-
trntion? and a map of the moon.
The' November (1975) number of Dtr Katholik
of Mayence contains a lengthy notice of the
pamphlet published by Pickering, of London,
and republished in the form of an article in The
Catholic World of last April under the title
*^ An Exposition of the Church in View of Re-
cent Difficulties and Controversies and the Pre-
heat Needs of the Age." It is now well under-
stood that the pamphlet, though published
anonymously, was written by Father Becker
while in Italy, after his travels. In an article of
t hirty-four pages the writer In Der Katholik gives
tt full analysis of the pamphlet, written In a
friendly and appreciative spirit. He concludes
by saying :
'* We know not whether the hopes of the au-
thor of the pamphlet will be soon realized ; but
we do know that the highest hopes of mankind
will be far excelled by the wonderful workings
of Providence and divine grace which God be-
Mtows on the church for her progress and on
men for their salvation. The author of the pam-
phlet does a noteworthy service in directing our
attention with so great a strength of faith and
frrvor <jf love to the one thing necessary. For
this reason, as for others, we trust that this
pamphlet will find many readers who may right-
ly understand the great truths w^hlch it con-
tains."
The Catholic Publication Society has just
printed a new edition of Holy Week Book.
This is the only complete edition of this l>ook in
Latin and Eoglish. It has been revised and
corrected by competent persons, and although a
book of nearly six hundred pages, large type, it
iif not a bulky volume, as it is printed on fine, thin
paper.
It is announced in the London literary papers
that Mr. St. Qeorge Mivart will shortly publish,
through Messrs. II. 8. King & Co., a volume en-
titled Contemporary Evolution. This will
lie a review of the present coarse and tendency
of philosophical f]fcculation, ecicntific advances,
and social and political cbango, in so far as they
affect Cbrittianity. It will also discusM the pro-
bable effects upon the church and society gen-
erally of the further continuation of the proce»»
of evolution in these spheres. In addition, it
touches on the effect which may hereafter be pro-
duced on Christian art by the farther evolution
of Catholic opinion.
The Life of S. John.—" We do not know,"
says the New Orleans StAir^ ** how to commence
to speak of this exquisite work, which, although
a translation, retams all the grace of the original
and all the beauty of its author's thoughts. To
us it is a wonderful book; for, while drawing the
life of the beloved disciple, it sketches in vivid
touches the life of Him who formed St. John in his
own school, and taught him all the mysteries of
his infinite love. And these masterly strokes of the-
Christian artist's pen make the divine Master a
feal and tangible existence with whom we live-
and move and hold celestial Intercourse. We
feel the Infinence of that sublime moment wheu'
for the first time appeared before men, upon the
banks of the Jordan, He who was announced by
the Prophet John in these words : * Behold the
Lamb qf God ! ' We walk beside the Bvangelist
when, with Andrew, he followed the Master tim-
idly along the bank of the sacred river, and we
fe^l the thrill of joy that swept their hearts when
Jesus, turning around, asked : * What seek
you?' * Master, where dwellest thou?' J»-
their answer, thus giving themselves to him and
testifying their willingness to follow wherever he
may lead.
**It is a book for the simple and the learned :
the first can understand by wha^ lessons the
Master wishes us to learn of him ; the latter can
realize the beauty of the. instructions and the
grandeur of the theme.
" But no words of ours can so well describe its
value as these, selected from the preface, which
is in itself a poem of religious thought and sub-
lime utterances :
"* It is a book of piety. I dedicate it to all
Christians ; to priests— the priesthood has no
higher personification than 8. John ; to v I reins-
John was a virgin ; to mothers— ho merited to be
given as son to the Mother of God ; to youth— he
was the youngest of the apostles ; to old men--
it is the name he gives himself in his letters. I
offer it to suffering souls— he was at the cross ;
to contemplative souls— he was on Mount Tha-
bor ; to all souls who wish to devote themselves
to their brethren and to love them in God— char-
ity can have no purer ideal than the friend of
Jesus.'
" And the book more than fulfils its tender
Literary Bulletin.
V
promises, for every soul to which It it offered
finds therein the charm it sought ; while even
the most casual reader cannot fall to be imbued
with the peace, the purity, and the moral grand-
eur of the life which replaced that of our Blessicd
Lord towards his most afflicted mother, and
which, amid the wilds of Pajmos, awaited, amid
silence and prophetic visions, the summons
from Him who had said : * What If I will that he
tarry until I come t ' and who, as he passed away
to God, murmured words which every Christian
soul must pat Into practice until time shall
cease to be — * Love one another.'* "
The Catholic Record says : ** For nearly a year
The Catholic Publication Society has kept us in
expectation of this work ; but the charm which
its perusal throws like a spell over the reader Is
ample compensation for the delay. It Is a work
such as is issued only at rare Intervals to serve, as
It were, for a literary epoch, and it ought to be in
the baud of ever}' Intellectual person, Catholic or
Proiestant. To the former it will open new veins
of sacred, historical, and geographical lore, and
refresh the mind with its beautiful sentiments,
and strengthen it with theological arguments ;
while to the latter it will be a revelation of lite-
rary beauty, and that celestial wisdom of which
the world and its votaries never dream. The
preface alone is a sermon, replete with rare Ideas
and exquisite • sentiments, and a fitting introduc-
•tion to the charming pages which follow. We
feel quite incompetent to speak In a brief notice
like this of the merits of such a work, and there-
fore forbear from all attempts to make our read-
ers comproheud the intrinsic value of a book de-
serving whole pairos of analytical commenda-
tion ; but our readers )/iiifit be itx readers, there-
fore wejnced eay no more."
The London Tablet notices the reception
of the pami)hlet on Maryland Toleration as
follows :
" We have received from America a pamphlet
reprinted from tlie New York Catholic Would,
by Dr. Kichard II. Clarke, the author of Llres
of Dt'ceaned Biyhopn of the CathoUc Church in
the United States, etc.. who examines with great
conclu>*ivenc^f^i some of tlic most confident state-
ments made by Mr. Gladstone in the course of
the late controvorcy. They are those in which
he imputes ' complete misapprehension,'
' boaHting," and * very large exaggeration ' to
the Cardi!ial-Archl)ishopin his reference to the
policy purt^iied ])y the Catholic founders of the
colony of 3Iaiylaud, the two Lords Baltimore,
father and >^au. Mr. Gladstonesaid that the tole-
ration which tliose Catholic rulers established
was not a ca-o of the merciful use of their power
toward other.>^, but simply of a wise and defen-
sive prudence with respect to themselves. They
enacted toleration, it seems to Mr. Gladstone, in
view of a lju;L'e ininiigraticn of Puritans from Vir-
ginia into their colony, which otherwise could
not have been extricated from the grasp of those
intolerant Protestants. In addition to this view
the late premier, with Eomc iccofitifie
sertcd ttamt the tolerant constitation %u
work of Catholics at all, bat that the ebu
lative body by which it was enacted com
two>third8 Protestants and one-third Ci:
CommentingoD thesereprc«eotatiec», Dr.
first calls attention to the circamstance, t
diiiary and Incredible in itself, consider:
extreme intolerance wjtb which tngliib j
tants were then acting towards C&rfaoli<
towards each other in both bemifpbera
th^lf should have passed a law for the prot
of Catholics against Protestant asc«Ddii»
Protestant persecution. It may also be
if this were so, what becomes of Mr. Gladi
first proposition, that the act wa< pasted
Catholics for their own protection * Dr. (
however, argues the case on its own mnii
shows, exclusively from ProtMta&t antlK
and chiefly from Bancroft — whose testimo
Gladstone would appear to have cited nroo
—the complete nnteoabltoices of the ob}«
taken up against the ar^meot of his ^i
The fact, as quoted from the Americaa U#
is, ' that Lord Baltimore invited both tht
copalians of Virginia and the Paritaiia oi
England into his domains, offering them a
lands as an iDducement ; and it is aa Ui
fact that numbers of them accqxed tke
tion/ The same writer also aaaigns foe tl
duct of the two Lords Baltimore motirei
different from the feelings of mere self-i]
imputed to them in raticani&m. Btacr
pressly eulogizes the ^ dislnterest«diie
Calvert (Lord Baltimore*, who, he »t:
serves to be ranked :imong tb«? mo#i wi
benevolent lawgivers of all agcy.' Dr.
shows in the next place that the compofi
the legislative body that enacted Lord
more's Act of Toleration was nearly the i
of that stated by Mr, G ad^tonc ; the proj
being nine Catholics to six Prolestai.t lat
But another point remains which f-etiaf t
been overlooked by previous writi^rji on
laud Toleration : it is at a 1 events e
overlooked by Mr. Gladstone. It i* a
contestable fact," ' says Dr. Clarke— acd
duces historical proof of his lasccrtioc-
the religious toleration of Maryland d
originate with tlie law r f IGl^i. but, on il
trary, existed long anterior to, and indcp
of, it. The foundations of the colony w<
Kpon the basis of religious toleration. T
cration Act was nothing else than thee
tion of the existing state of thiti:?, and
long and cherished policy and praciic:
color.y— a formal sanction and statatori
ment of the existing c:.mmon Jaw of t
vince.' There is so much of iLttre>t ic
tails in which Dr. Clarke's casein stared,
the incidental notices he gives th** plantj
the Catholic comraonwealih of MaryJai
the pani])hlet deserves a more extended
which we hope to give it in its prope
shortly."
Likrary Btdletin,
NEW AMERICAN BOOKS.
he trUh ^aee in ike f^tiandike Treteni,
By the He*-. Aujf. J. Thdbatjd, S.J, For sale
by The Catholic Publicatioa Society ....^^ &0
Geniitiitn : Rclijjion Previous to Christianity.
By Rev. J. TWbaud, SJ. For sale by The
Catkolic PublicAtioo Society ^J S'O
FOREIGN BOOKS.
r*« Ziiite Sook of the JSTofy Ckitd^eeut,
A Prayer Book for bis children. By Canon
Warmoll 50 cts,
^Hker Segrneri't Sentimenii ; or. Lights in
Prayer ^f 00
werir%t<ie JKannering. A Talc of Sacrifice.
By Frances Noble ^^ 00
TAe £4/^ of Mere Marie de ia Trovidenee,
Foundress of the Helpers of the Holy Souls.
Hy Lady Georgiana FuUerton ^/ 00
Tire J^eeiure* on iAe Ci(y of sincieni
tRotme and her Empire over the Nations,
ihe DlTinely-sent Pioneer of the Way for t*e
Catholic Church. By Rev. Henry Formby,
aiuiMoriiy and sinarcJky ; or. The Bible and
the Church $f 00
IPiug TX, and Bit Timet : a Series of Sketches
made during a Prolonged Residence in Rome ;
the Subjects being Antiquarian, Artistic,
Sacred, Social, and Political, all illustrative of
the Present Pontificate. To which are added
Souvenirs of Travel in other parts of Europe,
with miscellaneous jottings. By Thomas
O'Dwycr, M.D., etc., late English Physician
at Rome. Dedicated with permission to Car-
dinal Manning, and under his Eminence's pa-
tronage $3 OO
fhixHnifnw 7 a Short Treatise declaring how
necessary the Tranquillity and Peace of the
Soul is, and how it may be obtained. By St.
Peter Alcantara 60 ctt.
7%e Vumina Quettiont. By William Moli-
tor .: ^/ SO
tike Life off*ope Tiut ihe Sei^enik, By
Mary U. Allies.
Contents:— Chap. L The Revolution and the
See of Peter. Chap. II. The Sovereign and the
Minister, Chap. III. Two Cardinals: Strength
and Weakness. Chap. IV. Pius VII. at the
Tuileries. Chap. V. The Apple of Discord.
Chap. VI. The Position assumed by Napoleon
^H a Ruler towards the Church. Chap. VII.
The Quirinal a Prison. Chap. VIII. Savona.
Chap. IX. Strife through Woman. Chap. X.
The Ring of the Fisherman. Chap. XI. A Gali-
can Council. Chap. XII. From Savona to
Fontainebleau. Chap. XIII. Greatness in Hu-
mility. Chap. XIV. The Fallen Emperor and
the Restored Pontiff. Chap. XV. "They who
Sow in Tears shall Reap in Joy " ,.$3 J95
T%e Zondon CaHkotio Direeiory, Ecclesi-
astical Register and Almanac for 1876. .|ftV 00
The Vutttie Life of Our LordJetut Chriti,
By the Rev. H. J. Coleridge, S.J. Part I.
S3 25
Our Lady^t Dowty^ or, How England Gained
and Lost this Title. A Compilation by the
Rev. T. E. Bridgett, C.SS.R. Crown 8vo,
486 pages. With four illustrations. By H. W.
Brewer, Esq SA- 50
Liret of the Irith Saints, By Rev. J. O' Han-
Ion. Nos. X, 2,3,4.< 6, 7, 8,9, 10, II, 12, «3now
ready. Price per No oO
Virectory for ^oricet of erery ftelipiont
Order, pariicutarty thote Jfeyated to the
MduoaHon of Touth Sf 25
n%o it Jetut Chritt ? Five Lectures deliv-
ered at the Catholic Church, Swansea. By the
Right Rev. Dr. Hedley, O.S.B., Bishop Auxil-
iary of Newport and Menc via. ^5 cts.
Life ofsinne Catherine Emmerich, Bv
Helen Ram. z vol. lamo ,,...92 50
f^aee through the Truth /or, Esssm^s on
Subjects connected with Dr. Pusey's Eireni-
con. By Rev. T. Harper. S.J. Second Series.
—Part 1.— Dr. Pusey's First Supposed Papal
Contradiction ; or. The Levitlcal Prohibitions
of Marriage in their Relation to the Dispens-
ing Power of the Pope. 1. The Prologue. 2.
Fundamenul Principles. 3. The Issue, con-
Uining a detailed examination of Dr. Pusey's
evidence respecting Marriage with a De-
ceased Wife's Sister. 4* Doctnnal Postil. 5.
The Epilogue, x vol. 8vo ^/O OO
First Part S7 50
The Sitfte *and the Ttute of ^aith. By
Abbe Louis Naaaire Begin Sf 75
ss 00
The Seate of f^rfection. By JY*1'<? ""^9"-
With an Essay on the Spiritual Life of Mediae-
val England. By Rev. J. B. Dalgairns.
S2 00
Cateehitm Made JSaty, . Being a Familiar
Explanation of the Christian Doctrine. In a
vols. By Rev. Henry Gibson Si, 00
The Chronicte of St. Antony of ^dua, the
Eldest Son of St. Francis. By Rev. Henry
James Coleridge, S.J S2 75
The Story of St, T^ter. By W. D. S, $1 75
The Sacrijlee of the Sueharitt, and other
Doctrines of the Catholic Church Explained
and Vindicated, By Rev. Charles B. Garside,
M.A ^' '•'5
Serwoiis hu the Fathers of the Society of
tfeeua. vol. Ill $^ '^^
The IToljf Way 9 of the Croat*. From the
French of Bourdon. By Edward Healy Thomp
son, M.A ^^ 75
Ttte Peraecutiona of Anam, A History of
Christianity in Cochin China and Tonking.
By John R. Shortland, M.A $S OO
Medltatlona for the Vee of the Ctcrgth <or
Every Day In the Year, on the Gospels for the
Sundays. From the Italian of Mgr. Scotti.
4 vols $S 00
J
1 otnamtng iMcetcneg, uxograjnacut unu \jni
linguWied English Anth&ra, from the i
tlie rrewnt l>ay, with Selection
Writings, and Questionn ad'
to the Use of Schools.
Bv REV. 0. L. JENKINS,
Uf,- President «f Si Cl"'rt(»'s Collegr, FMUctl Cilff, Md.,.
Mary't (W.egr, Baltimore,
This is an Elemektary Uiotort of Hie Bngliah L
[HTirtUy intended tor SchooU, Academies, and CoUt
I'lniiriicea dates back a% early as the time nlipn tlic Base
kindud in Brilnin, and reaches to our own Any Ihroug
.\i,!/!o.f!-ixon Period, 549-100.1 ; the S(mi-^tr-n Pa-ied.
l',;-!od, 1250-13.'>0 ; the ,WA?(f English Period, 1350-lM
t'riiiii l-tdO to our time. Eacli of tbesc fK'riodii is a poin
iif Eii^'tish Literature, and each conalitiiles in Itself .
urinMl) of tlic Iniigiiage, In the fiflh, or tasi period, fal
A«Ki:iCA. Tliis ia divided into tliree parts; She C(d>i
I', riod, and llie Preteni t'cntury.
Tlie ftutlior's prinripal mfxic of Irenlmciit U to gii
CitiTiCAL SKETCnEs of tlic Urtat Literary Men who ha
■;tiii,!;c and Literature. In ndditlon to tlicse Sketches.
work, e.nd piirtlcularlj in tlie flr»it periods, goes into intt
H 1 "TOR V, and points to the eaasee that liave promoted
Icitur:*. These summalioii.'i are nriiher speculative n
iittractive to tlie ordinary reader, and important for tl
lUe development of literature.
. Tlie EXTRACTS iinvL- been earefnlly selected, with
/Vi/r »peeimen» of the style of the writer.'', but also as ai
-..Ives of Engli.ih Lileniture. VarioiLS Tahles, ehrom
as n eopioiis Index, accoinpanj* Ihc work. In fine, Qui
lor (he special couvcuieiice of tcacliers and students.
J;^ hie Work is compriaed in a haiidiome roliime
FBBBUABir 10, 1875.
This supersedes aU previews Catalogues. J^
BOOKS PUBLISHED
BY
The Catholic Publication Society,
9 WARREN STREET, NEW YORK.
N.
In conse<|uenOe of the increase of postage on books, which took
effect in March this year, we must request all persons ordering
books by mail to accompany the order 6y ike retail price of th€
book.
No books will be sent by mail to booksellers, or others entitled to
a discount, unless at least the money to cover postage accom-
panies the order.
All the publications of the several Catholic Publishers, both in
this country and in England, kept in stock.
B, — ^This list contains all the books published by the Catholic Pub-
lication Society.
STORIES, SKETCHES, TRAVELS, ETC*
L Winded Word, and Other Storioa.
By the Mthor of '*The House of Yorke/'
etc., 1 50
Clotk gilt, . . ... 2 00
AdlMtnMir de BelcasM; mr, Bo.iurt
fiasty in Jndffin^, . 1 50
AlMBaUow Eve; or, Tlia Tost of
Faturity, «ad Othei otories. 1 vol. 8vo,
2 00
Cloth, eilt, 3 00
Anna Severin. By tke Avthor of *' A Si*-
ter*3 Story." r vol. cmm, ctoth, . 1 50
Cloth, Kitt, 2 00
Ci^therino Haodlton. A Ttle for Litde
Girls. i8mo, OOcts.
Ooostanoo Sherwood i An AvtoUo-
frrapHiy of the Sixteenth Century. By Lady
Georgiaoa Fullerten, With four illustra-
tions, t Tot. ev«, extra doth, . . 2 00
Cloth, cilt 3 00
Cradle LandC Ef^yot, Syria, Palestine,
Jerusalem, etc. By Lady Herbect. Illus-
trated by eight fuii-page lUustrations. x v<»l.
csmo, velliiin cloth, .... 2 00
Cloth, full gHt, 2 50
HaJf-caU; 4 00
Piary of a Sister of Mercy. Talee
from the Diary of a Sister of Mercy. By C.
M. Brame. z vol. lamo, extra cloth, 1 50
Extra inlt, 2 00
Dion and the Slhyle « A Claeeic, Chris-
tian Novel. By Miles Gerald Keon. One
▼ol. 6vo, doth, extra, .
1 50
Bliai or, Spain Fifty Years Ago. From
the Spaaish of Femao Cahallero. s rol.
ttrao, 1 50
BUza Despres) or, The Bfibcts of
Readlag Bad Books, .... 50 cts.
Father Bowland. A North American
Tale. i8mo, cloth, . 50 cts.
nojuranco. By Madame Augustus Craven.
X vol. 8vo, 1 50
aoth, gilt 2 00
Oeneriovo : A Tale of Anti^nit^,
showing the Wonderful Ways of Providence
la the Protection of Innocence. From the
Gerviae of Schmid. x6mo, cloth, 50 cts.
CHimpsoB of Pleasant Bomes. ^y the
author of " The Life of Mother McCaufey."
tUustrated with four full-page Illustrations.
I vol. ismo, cloth extra, ... 1 50
Cloth, gilt, . . . . 2 00
Bad Bzmmple. May-Day, and Other Tales.
jA-otes Ohapoaan. The Young Astronomer,
uftd Other Tales. Anrel Dreams. EUerton
rriory. Handsomely Dound, and put up in
box. Clotfa, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt, 4 00
The Land of tiM Cid. Translated from
tneFreacbof Ozanam. IJlastrated, 1 00
The NesUtB i or, A Mother's Last Reauesi,
and Other Tal«a. i vol. zamo, . . 1 25
Thtf mustrated Oatfaolic Sunday-
School Library. Sixth Senes. The foll«w.
iiiK are the titles of the different volumes :
Idleness and Industry. The Hope of tJie
Katxekopfs. St. Maurice. The Young Bmi-
Crrants. Angels' Visits. Scrivener's Daugh-
ter, and Orange Girl. Handsomely bound,
and put up in a box. Cloth, extra, . 3 00
Cloth, gilt, 4 00
The Pronendonista and Angela.
From the German of Bolanden. z voL 8vo.
ninetrated Catholic Snnday-
School Librarv. Seventh Series. The follow-
are the titles of the different volumes :
of Catholic Artists. Honor O^More's
Three Homes. Sir iElfric, and Other Tales.
Select Tales for the Young. Tales for the
MfltnT. Frederick Wilmot. In a box, ill us
trated. Cloth extra, . . 3 00
Clmh, gilt, 4 00
Tli9 IDnstrated Catiiolic Snnday-
School Library. Eighth Series. The follow-
insf are the titles of the different volumes:
Tne Apprentice, and other Sketches. Mary
Benedicta, and Other Stories. Faith and
Loyalty, and The Chip Gatherers. Agnes,
and Other Sketches. Lame Millie. The
Chapel of the Angels. Handsomely boynd,
and put up in box. Cloth extra, . 3 M
Cloth gUt, .... .400
Cloth, gilt.
J 50
00
The Tvo Schools: A Moral Tale.
By Mrs. Hughes, xamo, cloth, . 1 00
The Veil Withdrawn. From the French
of Mme. Craven 1 50
The Writinn of Madame Swetchine
Edited by Count de Falloux. z vol. lamo.
150
Triomph of Beli|ri^ni or, A Choice
Selection of Edifying Narratives. Compiled
from various authors. x8mo, cloth, 00 cts.
Two Thonaand Miles on Horseback.
A Summer Tour to the Plains, the Kocky
Mountains, and New Mexico. By James F.
Meline. i vol. lamo, ... 1 50
Wild Times. A Tale of the Days of Queen
Elizabeth, hyr Cecilia Mary Caddell. First
American edition, i vol. zamo, . 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY.
A Biemoir of Thomas Ewin|r of Ohio.
z -rol. quarto, net 3 00
A Sister's Story. By Madame Augustus ,
Craven. Translated from the French by
Bmlly Bowles. One vol. crown 8vo, pp. >
538, cloth, extra, 2 50 '
rAoth, ttWL . .... 3 00 i
ninstrated Bistoiy of Ireland^
from the Earliest Period to the Present
Time; with several 6rst-cla8S full-page en-
gravings of Historical Bcencs designed by
Henry uoyle, and engraved by George Han*
len and George Pearson ; together with up-
ward of One Hundred Woodcuts, by eminent
Artists, illustrating Antiquities, Scenery, and
Sites of Remarkable Events ; and three large
Maps — one of Ireland, and the others 0I
Family Homes, Statistics, etc. t vol. 8vo,
nearly 700 pages, extra cloth, . 00
Half-mor., 7 00
Books of Irish Martyrs. Memorials
of those who Suffered for the Catholic Faith
in Ireland during the Sixteenth. Seventeenth,
and Eighteenth Centuries. Collected and
edited by Myles O'Reilly, B.A., LL.D. 1
vol. crown 8vo, vellum cloth, . . 2 50
Cempendions Abstract of the History
of Uit Church of Christ. By Rev. Wm.
Gahan,O.S.A. With continuation down to the
present time, by John G. Shea, LL.D. zamo ,
1 25
Early History of the Catholic Chnrch
in tne Island of New York. By the Right
Rev. J. R. Bavley. D.D. With four Steel
Plates of the four first Bishops and a wood-
cut of old St. Peter's, z vol. zamo, doth,
150
Qalileo and Beman Inquisition, 30 cts.
Good Thinrs Ihr Catholic BeadMs
A Misceltany of Catholic Biography, His-
tory, Travels, etc. Containing Pictures and
Sketches of Eminent Persons, representing
the Church and Cloister, the State and Home,
Remarkable Places connected with Reliji^ion,
Famous Events in all Lands and Times.
With zo8 illustrations. Being a compilation
from the first five years of *^The Illustrated
Catholic Family Almanac." i vol. xamo,
200,
BEistorv of Bnffland, Ibr the Use of
Schools. By W. F. Mylius. Continued
down to the present time by John G. Shea
LL.D. zsmo 1 25
History of the Old and New Testa?
ments. By J. Reeve. 8vo, half-bound, em-
bosfed roan |^ 00«
8
of tli6 8oci0tf of Jom.
DauHKnac. a vols., .... 3 00
Iiiih Bmiffratioii to the United States.
What It Bas Been, and What It is. Facts
and Reflections especially Addressed to the
Irish People intending t^ Bmigrate from
their Native land, and to those livini; in the
Large Cities of Great Britain and of the
United States. By Rev. Stephen Byrne,
O.S.D. I vol. lamo, cloth, . 1 2t5
Paper, 60cts.
liOtten on the Boman Chancery. Rv
Bi8hv)p England, .... 1 00
Uft of
Alacoque.
tion to the Sacred Heart. By the Rev. George
Ticlcell, SJ. xvoLSvo, . .2 50
Margaret Mary
With some Account ot the Devo-
liift and Letters of Madame Swot*
chine. Translated from the French of the
Count Fallouz. One vol. lamo, . 2 00
Littf PasKiony Death, and Besorrec*
tion of Our Lord Jestis Christ. Beine aa
Abridged Harmony of the Four Gospels in
the Words of the Sacred Text. Edited by the
Rev. Henry Form by. With over sixty en>
gravings from original designs, i vol. lamo,
1 00
Cloth gilt, 1
Lilb of Mother Margaret Mary Hal*
lahan, founder of the English Congregation
of St. Catherine of Siena, of the Third C)rdei
of St. Dominick. By her Religious Children
With a Pre^e by the Right Rev. Bishop
UHathone. x vol. 8vo, . . .4 00
Life of St. Vincent do PanL same,
cloth, 4Dcto.
Lift ^nd Doeirina of Saint Oatheiine
of Genoa. Translated trom the itiilian.
z vol. lamo, 2 00
Lift of J. Thoophane Venard^ Martyr in
Tonquin. Translated from the French bv
Lady Herbert, x vol. >imo, . 1 00
Lift of Father Baker. The Lift and
Sermons of the Rev. Francis A. Baker,
Priest of the Congregation of St. Paul.
Edited by Rev. A. ¥. Hewit. One vol.
crown 8vo, p^ 504, .... 2 50
Half-calf or morocco extra, *. . 4 00
Lift of Father Bernard^
1 50
Lift of St. John the Biraugelist 2 00
of Christ Translated from the French
of Louis Veuillot by Rev. A.. Farley, i vol.
xamc^ ........ 2 00
100
Lingard's Tracts,
Lives of the Fathers of t^
and of many Holy Men and Woaen who
dwelt in Solitude. Translated from the
French. Embellished with eighteen engiav-
Ings. xSmo, cloth, 50 cts.
Leva of Oar Lord Jesoa Christ B»
duced to Practice. B7 St. Alphoasns Li-
gnori. Translated bv the Right Rev. W.
Walsh. Bishop of Halifax. New editioe^
x8mo. cloth, OOcts
Mary Qveen of Scots
est English Historian. A Narrative of the
Principal Events in the Life «f Mary Sleail.
With some Remarks on Mr. Froude's Hik
torv of England. By James F. Meliae. 1
vol. lamo, 1 75
Of BbUft
African SUve.
75cti
Peter Claver: A Sketch
and Labors in behalf of the
I vol. T6mo, . . . .
Pictorial Bihle and Chvrch
Stoi ies. An easy, cuntinuous narrative lor
the Young, from Adam and Eve in Ruadoe
down to ihe Middle of the Reign of Pope
^us IX. Profusely illustrated by ever
Woodcuts from original designs by the
eminent artists. Crown 8vo.
L The Old Testament Stories. Cootaimag
aeo illustrations and 6 maps, sao
PP 3 00
U. The Ufe of Christ CoAtaiung aeo
illustrations, 186 pp., . 1 00
in. The History of the Church. Con-
taining aoo illustrations, 540 pp., 3 00
The above beautiful books can he had ia
seta, put up in boxes, suitable tor presents, as
follows:
In three vols., cloth extra,
la five vols., cloth extra, .
In five vols., cloth gilt,
la five vols, half calf.
In uve vols, full calf antique, 30 00
The Lift of Saint John of the Ctm^ el
the Order of our Lad}' of Mount Carmel. >
vol. i6mo^ 1 25
The Lift and Times of Siztae the
Fifth. Translated trom the French by Is vacs
F. Meliae. i vol. i^mo, . . 1 '^^
700
900
12 00
The Lift ofBenry Dories Martyr. Traaa
lated from the French by Lady Herbert. 1
vol, B6mo, 75 eta.
The Lift of St Patrick^ AposUeoflre.
land, by M. F. Cusack, author of '* Tbe II-
lustrsted History of Ireland,** etc IIIus-
tmted, one vol., 6 OO
The Lift of the Meet Ber.H. J.SmI-
ding, U.U.. Archbishop of Batumore. Hv
Rev. J. L. Spalding. S.T.L. i vol. 8vo,4Bc
pp., with portrait on ste^, berelled
cloth,
Half-mor.
2qo
TIm UA of MofhMT Jiiliay FoondrMi
of tl&c Sisters of Notre Dame, z ▼oi. zamo.
Gloth« extra, with Portrait of Mother Julia.
1 ffO
Ctoth, Kilt, 2 00
4^*h« Idft ol Fatlier Bavignan, SJ.
By Father Ponlevoy, S.J. Translated from
tu French, x vol. crown 8vo, toned paper,
404
Tina lift of St. Catlieruio of
Siena, z vol. zamo, .
1 75
Vhm Uqtnofiictioii of the Blood of 8t.
JanuariuB. Cloth, .... 1 00
Tha Patriotfs History of Ireland, By
MZ K. Cusack. z vol., ' . 1 2d
Tha Sea of Peter, the Bock of the
Church, the Source of Jurisdiction, and the
Centre of Unity. By Thomas William Allies
I Tol., cloth, 75 cti.
The Pietozlal BlUa and Chnr^
History Stories, Abridged and Complete, z
vol. with a view of Solomon's Temple, a
bird's-eye view of J[eru8alem, and upwards
of one hundred beautiful Engravings. Crown
Bvo, 3ao pp. By Rev. Heniy Formby. Cloth,
extra, 1 50
Cloth, gilt, 2 00
Half-calf, 3 ISO
FuU^alf, 6 00
This is an abridgment of the larger work
described above.
The Worln of tha Most Beverend
John Hughes, first Archbishop of New York,
containing Biography. Sermons, Lectures,
Speeches, etc. Caremlly compiled from the
Best Sources, and edited oy Lawrence
Kehoe. a vols. 8vo, cloth, 8 00
a vols., half-calf, extra, . . 12 00
Three Phases of Christtan Love.
The Mother, the Maiden, and the Religious.
By Lady Herbert One vol. zamo, . 1 50
Gilt, extra, 2
BOOKS OF INSTRirCTION AND CONIROVESST.
A Treatise on the Catechism^ 50 cts.
A Vladicatioii of Italy and tho Papal
States, 40 cts.
Ahvidffment of the Christian Doctrine.
By tEe Right Rev. Bishop Hay. lamo,
cloth, 30 cu.
An AmicaMo Discussion on tho
Church of England, and on the Reformation
in general, dedicated to the Clergv of every
Proteraint Communion, and reduced into
the form of letters, by tne Right Rev. J. P.
M. Trevem, D.D., Bishop of Strasbourg.
Translated by the Rev. William Richmond.
X vol. xamo, 580 pages, • • 2 00
An Bssay in Aid of a Chranimar of
Assent. By John Henry Newman, D.D., of
the Oratory, z vol. zamo, cloth, . 2 50
Apalofia Pro Vita Snai Beinir a Bo*
Ely to a Pamphlet entitled ''What, then,
»oes Dr. Newman Mean ? *' By John Henry
Newman, D.D. New edition, z vol. zamo,
200
Amivatiotts of Natoroi By Rev. L T.
ifecker. Fourth Bdition, revised, cloth,
estza, . 1 50
Oatoefaism of Christian Boligion.
Translated from the German of Deharbe,
by Pander, S.J 75 cts.
Oatsehim of Coancil of Trent.
Published by command of Pope Pius V.
Translated by Rev. J. Donovan, Professor
Royal College, Maynooth. 8vo, . 2 00
Catholic Tracts. Fifty Catholic Tracts ol
''The Catholic Publication Society," 00
various subjects, z yol. zamo, cloth extra,
1 2§
Catholic Christian Instmctod. »nio
edition. Cloth, .... 50 cts.
Catholic Christian Instmcted in tho «
Sacraments, Sacrifices, Ceremonies, and Ob-
servances of the Church, by way of question
and answer. By the Right Rev. Dr. Chal-
loner. a4mo, cloth, flexible, 25 cts.
Ohrist and the Chnrch. Lectures deli-
vered In St. Ann's Church, New York, dur-
ing Advent, Z869. By Rev. Thos. S. Pres-
ton, z vol. zamo, .... 1 50
Chnrch Deftncei Report of a Conference
on the Present Dangers of the Church.
By the author of "My Clerical Friends."
Connsels of a Christian Mother. 60 cu.
Dr. Newman's Answer to Dr. Posey's
Eirenicon. Paper, . 75 cts.
Bzposition of the Lord's Prayor. By
the Abt>e Gron, 30 cts
■zpoaitlon of tho Doctrine of the
Catholic Church in Matters of Controversy.
By the Right Rev. J. B. Bossuet. A new
edition, with copious notes, by Rev. J.
Fletcher, D.D. ztmo, 60 cti.
lO
Familiar Diao«iinei to tlie Young,
Preceded by an Address to Parents. By A
Catholic Priest, z vol. xam6, cloth, 75 cts.
Familiar Instnictiomi mi Mantal
Prayer. By the Ahbi Courbon. Translated
from the French, and edited by Rev. W. T.
Gordon, of the Oratory, London, ivol. x6 mo,
eloth, 75 cts.
Fili^ Bmmoiui why tiia Catholic Bo-
lig(on ought to be Preferred, . 40 cts.
Fletchor's
60
Gropinn Aftor Tmtfa. A Life- journey
from New England Congregationalism to
the One Catholic Apostolic Church. By
Joshua Huntington. One volume cloth,
75 cu.
Grounds oi tho Catholic Doctnao,
contained in the Profession of Faith publish-
ed by Pope Pius I V. ; to which are added.
Reasons why a Catholic cannot Conform
to the Protestant Religion. 3amo, cloth,
20 cts.
Ovido to Catholic To
mag
rn th(
Bspecially for those who earn their own li^
ing. By Rev. George Deshon, Missionai
Pnest I vol. zamo, • 1 Oi
Women.
liv-
lary
00
Bomilieo on tho Book of Tohiai i or.
A Familiar Explanation of ttie Practical
Duties of Domestic Life. By Rev. T. Mar-
tjm. (Only a few copies of this book \etl^
lamo, cloth, 1 00
Boraihold on tiio fl** ipiif *»^«nj^ ^
etc. The Commandments and Sacraments
explained in Fifty-two Discourses. By the
Ri|;ht Rev. Dr. Homihold, author of '' Real
Pnnciples of Catholics." xamo, cloth, 2 00
Lotlan to a Proteitaat Friond on the
Holy Scriptures. By Rev. D. A. Gallitxin.
x8mo, clota, CO cts.
Lottera to a Prohondary. Being an An-
swer to Reflections on Popery by Rev. J.
Sturgis, LL.D. By Right Rev. J. Miiner,
D.D. a4mo, cloth, .... 75 cts.
Marriage and Family Dntioi, By Arch-
bishop Purcell, ... . 25 cts.
" A wonderful book.'*— Basiott PiUi.
My Clerical Friends, and their Rela-
tions to Modern Thought. Contents : Chap.
I. The Vocation of the Clergy.— IL The
Clergy at Home.— III. The Clergy Abroad.
— rvT The Clergy and * ' " *"'
I vol. lamo.
Modern Thought
. . . ilso
Oakeley on Catholic Wonhip : AMa^
nual of Popular Instruction on the Ceremo-
nies and Devotions of the Church. By Fre-
derick Canon Oakeley, M.A., Missionary
Rector of St. John's, Islington, x vol. t6mo,
60 cu.
Oakeley on tlio
Ceremonial of the most Holy and Adofsblc
Sacrifice of the Mass explained in a Diskne
between a Priest and a Catechumen, wn
an Appendix on Solemn Hmm. Vtmtn,
Compline, and the Benediction of the Moat
Holy Sacrament. By Canon Prcdcrid
Oakeley. z vol. i8mo, .
Poor lOan'a Cateddfln) oti
Christian Doctrine Rxplained, with Shod
Admonitions. By John Mannock, O.S.B.
•4mo, cloth, . SOctB.
Poor Bbn's Controrersy. By j. Mia-
nock, author of " Poor Man^s Cstcckisa.'
i8mo, eloth,
Price of a Sovl,
Piohlema of tho Am. Witt StaiiM
in St. Augustine on Kindred Subjects. By
Rev. A. F. HewiL i voL xamo, extra detk,
Qaeitiona of the SooL
Hecker. New edition.
Cloth, gilt, .
By Rev.
L T.
150
2M
Beaaon and Revelation. I^cdnrcs De-
livered in St. Ann's Church, New York,d«-
ing Advent, 1867, by Rev. T. S. Prcses.
One vol. xamo, 1 5#
Symbo]iim|_ ory
Doc
•f m
octrinal Differences between Catholics tad
Protestants, as evidenced by their Syvlxdk
Writings. By John A. Moehler. D.D. Tiias-
lated from the German, wkh a Memoir of the
Author, preceded by an Historical Sketch ol
the Sute of ProtesUntisei and CatholicMa
in Germany for the last Hundred Yean.
J. B. Robertson, Bsq., 4
U
The Cleivy and
their Relations to the People. ByH. PAbW
Isidore Mullois, Chaplain to Na|J«DVeMi IIL
One vol. lamo, extra cloth, . 1 59
PlBBit
e. BrlLI
\
The Comedy of Con'
Knglish Church.
by Archdeacon Chasuble
cated to the Pan-,
doth.
The Doctrine of Belli
Discussion between Rev. C. A. Walworth'
and Wm. Henry Burr, x vol. xSmo, CO eta.
The Divinity of Christ. By Right Rcr
S. H. Rosecrans, D.D.^
The find of Reliffiooa Cent
U. Rev. John MUner, D.D. x
vol. xxmo
76
By Rt.
The Oentle Skeptic or Boeaya
Conversations of a Country Justice on the
Authenticity and Truthfulness of the Old
Testament Records. Bdited by the Rer.JX
A. Walworth, x vol. xamo, . 1
II
nins^'s and Newman's Reply, xamo, cloth,
1 50
Gladfrtona Controversv. Vani
an's and UllathoTne*s Reply, aod Fessler on
iDfallibility, with Syllabus, lamo, cloth,
1 50
of tfaa Papal
. 50cts.
StMt^
of Holy Mass,
; or, Tha Valna
. 50 cts.
Yliie Boly Commmiiaji. Ila Philoso-
phy, Theology, and Practice. By John Ber-
nard Dalgairns, Priest of the Oratory of St.
Philip Neri. x vol. xamo, . . .2 00
The Internal Muoion of the Boly
Ohost. By Archbishop Manning, i vol.
xamo. Correct edition, . . .X 00
Xhe Invitation Heeded : Reasons for a
Return to Catholic Unity. By James Kent
Stone, late President of Kenyon and Hobart
Colleges. X vol. xamo, • • 1 50
Tlia King's Highway j or. The Cathp
oiic Church the Only Way ot 3|ilvation as
Revealed in the Holy Scriptures. By Rev.
A. F. Hewit. x vol. xamo, . 1 50
The ''eid-OatiiAlics'' at Coiofaa. A
Sketch in Three Scenes. By the author of
"Comedy of Convocation." x vol. x8mo.
75 cts'.
The Progren of the Age,
60 cu.
The Spirit of Faith; or, What mnst I
do to Believe. By Bishop Headley. Cloth
OOots
The Sacramentalfl of the Holy Cath-
olic Church. By the Rev. W. J. Barry,
1 00
The Threehold of ^m Catholic
Church. A course of plain instructions tor
those entering her communion. By Fr.
Bagshaw. With preface by Mgr. Capel.
X vol. xamo, 1 50
The Viaihle Unity of the Catholic
Church maintained against Opposite Theo-
ries ; with an Explanation or Certain Pas-
sages in Scclesiastical History erroneously
appealed to in their support By M. J.
Rhodes, M.A. a vols, in x, 8vo. cloth extra,
500
Why Men do net Believe i or The
Pnncipal Causes of Infidelity. Translated
from the French of Mgr. Laforet. Clo^,
BOOKS OF DEVOTION AND MEDITATION.
\
%
An Epistle of Jesne Christ to the
Faithful Soul that is devoutly affected to-
ward iiim. I vol. x6mo, . . . 1 00
A»*<w Divotai or, Decent SonL
Translated from the Italian of Very Rev. J.
B. Pagani, Provincial of the Order of Char-
ity in England. This is one of the most
instructive and useful books that enrich our
spiritual literature. It is a series of excellent
considerations relative to the Eucharist as a
sacrifice and M.crament. and will be found by
the pious Catholic to be a valuable manual
in tJie preparation for Holy Communion.
a4mo, cloth, 60 cts.
Bona Mors i A Pions Association of
the Devout Servants ot our Lord Jesus
Christ, dying on the Cross, in order to obtain
a good death. a4mo, cloth, 25 cts.
Confidence in the Mercy of G^d.
Reflections on the Confidence in the Mercy
of God. By the Right Rev. Joseph Languet.
x8mo, cloth, .... 50> cts.
Bears of the Passion $ or, Pathetic
Reflections on the Sufferings and Death of
our Blessed Redeemer. by St. Liguori.
New edition. Translated by Right Rev. W.
Walsh, Bishop of Halifax, with a sketch ol
the Life of St. Alphonsus Liguori. x8mo,
cloth * 60 cts.
and Songs ftr Catholic Chil-
iren. Containing the most popular Catholic
Hymns for every season of the Christian
Year, together with May Songs, Christmas
and Easter Carols, for tne use of Sunday<^
Schools, Sodalities, and Confraternities^
Paper covers, 15 cts.
Cloth, flexible, 25
Imitation of Sacred Beart of J(
From the Latin of Amoudt.
cts.
'?»
Imitation of the Blessed Vir^n, in
Four Books. x8mo, cloth, 50 cts.
Interior Christian, in Bight Books.
with a Supplement. Extracted from the
Writings of M. Bernier de Louvigny. x8mo,
cloth, 50 cts.
Introdnction to a Devout Lift. From
the French of St. Francis of Sales, Bishop and
Prince of Geneva. To which is prefixed an
Abstract of his Life. x8mo, cloth, 75 cts
Lenten Monitor, or MUnral Beflec-
tions and Devout Aspirations on the Gospel
for each day, from Ash- Wednesday till Easter
Sunday. By Rev. P. Baker, O.S.F. _s4mo,
cloth, new edition,
50 eta.
12
Lafwids cf Boly Havy,
50 eta.
Uffht in DarkneM i A Treatifle on th*
Obscure Nii^ht of the Soul. By Rev. A F.
Hewit z6ino, cloth, extra, . 75 eta.
UtOa TrentiM on tho Littie Virtneik
Written originally in Italian by Father Ro-
bert!, of the Society of Jesus. To which are
added, A Letter on Fervor by Father Vallois,
S.J., and Maxima from an unpublished
manuscript of Father Secrneri, S.J. ; also, De*
votiona to the Sacred Heart of Jesua. samo,
cloth, 45 cu.
Littlo Wannal of Dovotton to the
Sacred Heart of Jeaua, and Spiritual Bou-
quet, 50 eta.
>i or, Tha Spixitnal Bxarciaat
of St. Ignatiua. For General uae. New
Kdition. z vol. lamo, ... 1 50
of a Christian Lift.
Contamingall that a soul newly converted to
God ought to do that it may attain the per-
fection to which it ought to aspire. By Rev.
Lewis de Granada, O.S.D. Revised and cor-
rected by Rev. F. J. L'SsUange, O.S.D.
iSmo, cloth, 75 cts.
Btalth of BCary. Containing a Series of
Meditations, etc., in Honor ot the B. V. M.
Arranged for each day of the Month. umo«
cloth, 40 eta.
If oaotfs Moditationa on the Idft and
Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, tor Everv
Day in the Year. By Rev. ). Nouet, S.J.
To which are added, 'Meditations on the Sa-
cred Heart of Jesus Christ, being those taken
from a Novena in preparation for a Feast of
the same. By Fattier C. Borgo, S.J. One
vol. lamo, 68o pages, .... 2 50
Oratory of the PaithiU Sonl ; or, De-
votions to the Most Holy Sacrament and to
our Blessed Lady. Translated from the works
of Venerable Abbot Blosius. By Robert
. Aston Coffin, Priest of the Oratory. i8mo,
cloth 50 cts.
PleadingB of the Sacred Beart of
Jesus. From the French. By Rev. M.
Comerford. Cloth, . 60 cts.
Portraiture of True Devotion. By
Abbe Gron, 30 cts.
Sacred Beart of Jeena and the Sa-
cred Heart of Mary. Translated from the
Italian of Father Lanzi, author of ^^ History
of Painting," etc. With an introduction by
Rev. C. P. Meehan. 94mo, cloth, 60 eta.
Sacmm Septenarinm; or, The Seven
Gifts of the Holy Ghost^ Exemplified in the
Life and Person of the Blessed virgin Mary,
for the Guidance and Instruction ofchildran.
By Rev. Henry Formby. z vol. s6mo, 1
A^
all Claaaes of Christians, 'hj St A)
LIguori. The holy author of ^is
says : " Were it in my power, I would ;
Itsn as many copies of this work as there i
Christians on earth, and would five each
copy, that each might be convinced of th
absolute necessify of prayer." Ncwe^'
a4mo, cloth,
Sunday Monitor. By Rev. p. Baker,
Spirit of St AlnhoBfloa de UfMd
A Selection from his Shorter SpiritaaTTre^l
tiaes. Tranalated frona the Italiaa bv thai
Rev. J. Jones. With a Memoir of the vakorJ
s4mo, cloth, Ofcts
Spiritoal Oembat To which is iddad.
The Peace of the Soul and the Hanpiittsi ol
the Heart which Diea to itself in oracrloLin
to God. 3amo, , . 40 cb.
Spiritual Oonaoler} or,
to Enlighten Pioua Souls in their Doubts aad
allay ther H ears. Written originally io Utio
by Father Quadrupani. i8mo, . 50 cu.
Sniritnal Director Of
ligious Souls. By St.
aalBt.
de Sales,
50 ca.
The Book of the Boljr Bomr. A FeU.
Popular, Doctrinal Bzposition of its Fifteen
Mysteries, and of their Correspondioa TyT«s
in the Old TesUment. Illustrated with thirty.
six full-page engravings, printed io the best
manner on toned paper, extra omaaieiittl
binding, and gilt edWes. By Rev. H. Fona-
^y. I vol. quarto, &11 gilt, . . 4 00
The DoTont
P. Baker. 34mo
BrBtf.
. SOcti
The aioriee of Mary. TraadaM
from the Italian of St. Alphonsns Maria d(
Liguori. Second edition. Revised bj Rev
Robert A. Coffin, C.SS.R. i vol. ino
185
Think WeUOnti or,
the Great Truths of the Cbnstiaa Relipoo,
for every day in the Month. By Rig bt iL^t.
R. Challoner. jamo, cloth, 30 ^
Tiaita to the
to the Blessed Virgin, for every day in tk
Month. By St. Alphonsus Liguori. tiao^
cloth, new edition, . . 60 c&
Way of Salvatieo, in Medilati«i
for Every Day in the Year. Translated tm
the lulian of St Alphoosas Liguori hyRtr
James Jones. a4mo, doth, . 76 c^
13
SERMONS.
lemAlB asermomk From the Italian of
Father Scgneri, SJ. Vol. I. lamo, 1 50
1 50
Vol. II.
Guire.» .
By the Rev. T. Mc-
. 75ct8.
Prmctieal Diiemunwi on tho Perftc-
tions and Works of God, and the Divinity
aad Works of Jesus Chriht. Ry Rev. J.
Reeve. 8vo, cloth, 2 50
Shado^vi of tho BoocL Eight Lenten
Sermons, I 00
Sormoiui on Bcdoiiastical Snl^octs.
Vol. I. By Archbishop Manning. Cloth,
extra, 2 00
The same. Vol. II., . . 2 00
Sermoni of tho Panlist Fathorsy for
1864. New Edition. Cloth, extra, . 1 50
Sermoni of tho Panlist Fathor% for
1865 and 1866. Cloth, extra, 1 50
Sermons of tho Panlist Fathora. . Vol.
VI. zamo, 336 pag^es, cloth, . 1 50
MISCELLANEOUS.
BiUiographia Catholica Americana.
A List of American Catholic Books published
up to the year iSas. By Rev. J. M. Finotti.
1 vol. 8vo, 5 00
Oatiiolic Hymns and GantideSi This
edition contains twenty-one new Hymns ;
among which are five Christmas Carols, a
charming carol for Easter, entitled ** Tbe
Alleluia Bells"; several new and onginal
SonnfS for Catechism ; the popular Congrega-
tional Hymns sune; in the Paulist Church oy
the Rosary and Christian Doctrine Societies,
and at the Way of the Cross, etc., the whole
forming the most complete Catholic Hymn-
Book ever published. One vol. xamo, 1 00
Ohristiney and Other Poems. Bv
George H. Miles. Cloth, . . .2 00
Gilt, extra 2 50
BmscllflT Hall, a Drama for Girls, 20 cts.
nivstrated Catholic Family Almanac
for i86g, 1870, 1871, 187a, 1873, 1874, 1875,
and 1876, each, 25 cts.
In Heaven we Enow Onr. Own.
Translated from the French of P^re Blot, i
▼oL x8mo 50 cts. *
Irish Odes, and Other Poems. By Au.
brey de Vere. x vol. xamo, toned paper.
2 00
Qoth, gilt, . . ... 2 50
manual of SI Angnstine,
50 cts
may Carol% and Hymns and Poems.
By Aubrey de Vere. -Blue and gold, 1 25
Cloth, plain, 1 00
Oar Lady of Litanies. By Rev. x. D.
McLeod, 1 00
The DeaAmnte. A Drama for Boys,
50 cts.
The mistress of Novices Enlightened
upon her Duties. Translated by a Sister
of Mercy. AV/„ .... 1 50
The Office of Vomers. Containing the
order of the Vesper Service; the Gregorian
Psalm Tones, harmonized, with the Psalms
for all the Vespers during the year pointed
for chanting. Common melonies tor the
Antiphons, and the Four Anthems of the
B. V. Mary. By Rev. Alfred Young. With
the Imprimatur of the Most Rev. Archbishop
of New York. (The Gregorian Tones, and
the words of the Psalms, by a new and
original division, are so arranged that but
one pointing of the Psalms, as given, is
needed for all the Tones, with their various
endings.) Single copies, . ' . . 75 cts
Per dozen, 5 00
The Reverse of tho modal A Drama
for Qirls, 20 cts.
14
BOOKS m PAPBS GOTBK8.
9r. Newman's Beply to Gladstone.
50 cts.
Arckbiihop Manning's Beply to Glad-
stone, 50ctB.
The True aad the Falie InfiOlihiUty.
By Bishop Fessler, .... 50 cts.
The Syllabas ftr the People. By a
Monk of St AugusUne*s, . 25 cts.
Bt. Bev. Biihop VangrliMi's Beely to
Mr. Gladstone, 25 cts.
Biihop Ullathene's Beply to Mr.
Gladstone, 25 cu.
The Catholic Chriitian lastmcted-
By Bishop ChalUner. . 20 cts.
BoMaefs Ezpontieii of the Doctrines
of the Catholic Church on Matters of Con-
troversy. With Notes. Large edition.
25 cu.
Beesnetfs Bzposition of the Doctrines
of the Catholic Church on Matters of Coa-
troversy. Without Notes. Small edition,
20 cts.
The Poor Man's Gatechiam ; or. The
Christian Doctrine ExplaiLed. . 25 cts.
The Poor Man's Controrersy, 25 cti.
Bnd of Beligions ControTersy, 50 cu.
OalUtsin on the Holy Scriptnre%
___ cts.
Catholic TractL Vol. i., . . c% cts.
Oaheley on the Blass, 25 cu.
•Oakeley on Catiiolic Worship, 25 cts.
The Comedy of Convocation in the
Eniflish Church, .... 25 cts.
Net ftr the Fishers of Bkn, . 6 cts.
PJlTHBB FOBMBTMi BOOKS.
The Parahles of Our Lord Jesos Christ.
With twenty-one illustrations, . 25 cu.
Fomhy's School Songs. The Junior and
Senior School Song-Book, complete in one.
20 cU.
The Seven Sacraments, with Sixteen
lilustrations, 25 cts.
The Seven Dolors of the Blessed Vir^
gin Mary. With Seven Illustrations, 15 cU.
The School Keepsake, with Four Illus-
trations, 12 cU.
Lift of Christ Abridged. With several
IlluBtrations. 25 cu.
l^vc^ Mystsries of the HmtfW^
Ustorical Catechism. By M. TAbM
Fleury. Continued down to the Prescai
Day, by Father Formby. iSmo, paper co
THB HOLT
Pocket editiOttf embossed, plaia.,
Embossed, gill, morocco, .
Calf, extra, red edi^ea or ihU. .
Morocco or calf, extra, fall gilt, .
'Tooled edj^e,
Morocco Turkey, bevelled,
12ine edition-
Morocco,
Morocco, extra, ....
Full calf, ....
or morocco, tooled edge.
$1 85
1 7B
600
550
. 6
6
»k
400
500
560
760
Sto edition printed on the finest qnaiky e<
paper, with Illustrated Family Record, etc
Arabesq^ue, gilt, $4 00
Roan, gilt, 6 00
Morocco, extra, bevelled, . . 7 60
Full calf, bevelled 8 60
*"* or morocco, tooled edge, . O 60
NBW TBST
INT.
l^no cloth.
bossed, gilt.
Roan, gilt,
Morocco, extra, bevelled.
. ••0 75
. . 1 26
. . 260
. . 460
cloth, embossed, .^O 40
Arab, gilt, 75
Roan, full gilt 1 00
Turkey morocco, 2 60
FullcalC SOO
FOLLOWING OP CHBIST.
In Four Books. By Thomas k Kempis, witfe
Reflections at the conclusion of each chapter.
Translated from the French for this edition.
i8mo, cloth, $0 00
Arabesque, gilt, 1 00
Olnstrated I2nie edition. , _
Arabesque, I 00
Turkey morocco, super extra, . . 4 00
Full calf, 6 00
Withont the Beflectiona. 3>mo.
Cloth, extra 40
Roan, gilt edge, 1 00
Turkey morocco, super extra, . . 9 00
FuUcalC 8 00
OFFICB OF HOLT WBBS.
According te the Roman Missal and BreviajT.
in Latin and English. New and revised cdi>
tion. i8mo, dot^, $0 70
ArabesQue, gilt, 1 00
Roan, gilt, 9 00
Morocco, gilt. .... 60
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY,
Lawrence Zehoe, (Hneral Agent. S.Warren St., Newllork.
Foreign Books.
Boolc9 9rderedfriytn this list will not he taken back or eaxJmnged.
A discount from prices not marked net is allowed to clergymen^
libraries, aiid religious institutions.
Any of the following books not o7i ha7id, toill be os'dered if so desired.
->♦♦■
A CompariBon between the HiB-
torj of the Church and the
Prophecies of the Apocalypse, $1 00
A Devout Paraphrase on the Seven
Penitential PBalms ; or, Practi-
cal Guide to Repentance. Rev.
F.Blyth, ... .50
A Dialogrue of Comfort against
Tribulation. Sir Thomas More, 1 50
A Directory for Novices of every
ReligriouB Order, . 1 00
Adventures of a Watch, . 1 00
A Few Flowers from the Garden, 1 00
Aftemoona with the Saints. W.
H. Anderdon, D.D. First and
Second Series, . 1 20
A Hundred Meditations on the
Love of (iod. Robert Southwell,
of the Society of Jesus, Priest
and Martyr. With Portrait.
1 vol. 12mo 3 00
Allies' St. Peter, his Name and his
Office, as set forth in Holy Scrip-
ture 2 50
Allies, T. W. The Formation of
Christendom. 2 vols., . 13 00
An Ekssay on the Druids, Ancient
Churches, and Round Towers
of Ireland. Rev. R. Smiddy.
18mo, 2 00
An Introduction to History of
France, 1 50
Ante-Nicene Christian Library.
Translations of the Writing of
the Fathers down to a.d. 325. 24
vols. out. Per vol., . . 8 00
Apostolic Fathers. 1 vol.
Justin Martyr and Athenagoras. 1
vol.
Tatian, Theophilus, and the Cle-
mentines. 1 vol.
Clement of Alexandria. Vol. 1.
Irentsus. Vol. 1.
Hippolytus. Vol. 1.
Tertullian against MarcioUj 1 vol.
Cyprian. Vol. 1.
The Completion of Irenous and
Hippolytus. 1 vol.
The Writings of Origen. Vol. 1.
Clement of Alexandria. Vol. 3.
TtnulliM. T«l, 1.
1 00
1 00
The Writings of Methodius. 1 vol.
Cyprian. Vol. 2.
Apocryphal Writings. 1 vol.
Tertullian. Vol. 2.
The Clementines and Apostolit
Constitutions. 1 vol.
Tertullian. Vol. 3.
ArnobiuB. 1 vol.
DionysiuB, Gregory Thaumaturgus,
etc.
Lactantius. 2 vols.
Origen. Vol. 2 (completion).
Early Liturgies and Remaining
Fragments.
Anti-Janus. Dr. Hergenr5ther, f^ 50
Arbitration Instead of War. Rt.
Hen. Lord Montagu, M.P.
Paper, ....
A Remembrance for the Living to
Pray for the Dead. Rev. James
Mumford, S.J., .
A Reply to Faber's " Difficulties
of Romanism." Rev. F. C. Hu-
senbeth, 2 00
A Series of Papers in Vindication
of Catholicism. E. W. Atwood,
■D. ^V., . ■ ....
A Spiritual Compendium, in
which the Principal Difficulties
in the Way of Perfection are ex-
plained. Father Gaspar de la
Figuera, of the Society of Je-
sus,
A Theory of the Fine Arts, .
Atwood 's Stromata Procatholica.
A Series of Papers principally
Procatholic or Antidotal to Anti-
christianism, ....
Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury,
Life of. Mrs. Hope, .
Bellarmine, Cardinal. Commen-
tary on the Psalms. Cloth,
Book of Moses; or, The Penta-
teuch, in its Authorship, Credi-
bility, and Civilization. Rev.
W. Smith, Ph.D. Vol. 1, .
British and Irish History, a Manu-
al of. Rev. Thos. Flanagan,
Butler's (Rev. Alban) Meditations
and Discourses on the Sublime
Tmihi aad Impertant Dutisi et
2 50
2 00
2 00
1 50
200
2 50
7 50
5 00
i6
ChristiftBitj. 8 toIb. post 8to,
cloth, $4 00
Calderon, Dramas of. Traffic,
Comic, and Legendary. Trans-
lated from the Spanish by D. F.
McCarthy. 2 vols.. . . 6 00
Campion, Edmond : a Biography.
Richard Simpson, . . . 6 25
Cardinal Mezzofanti, the Life of.
C. W. Russell, D.D.. . . 4 00
Cassian's Conferences. Father Ro-
bert, of Mount St. Bernard's Ab-
bey. 2 vols 2 50
Caswall's Hymns and Poems, . 2 50
Catechetical Reading-Book — His-
tory and Doctrine, ... 76
Catholic Doctrine of the Atone-
ment. Henry Nutcombe Oben-
ham, M.A., . 5 00
Ceremonial according to the Ro-
man Rite. Translated from the
Italian of Joseph Baldeschi. Rev.
J. D. Hilarius Dale. New ed., . 3 25
Challoner's Memoirs of Missionary
Priests, and other Catholics of
both sexes, that have suffered
Death in England on Religious
Accounts from 1557 to 1684, . 1 50
Clbristian Counsels, Selected from
the DevotioniJ Works of F6n-
elon, 2 50
Chronicles and Memorials of Great
Britain and Ireland during the
Middle Ages. Henry Thomas
Riley, M.A. 2 vols., . 12 00
Companion of the Sick. A. F.
Ozanam. Large type, . . 1 50
. Compendium of the Ajrt of Always
Rejoicing. F. Alphonsus de
Sarasa, 1 00
Contemporary Annals of Rome, . 2 50
Conversion of the Teutonic Race,
Mrs. Hope. 2 vols. 12mo, . 6 00
Count de Montalembert's Letters
to a Schoolfellow— 1827-^0.
Translated from the French by
C. F. Audley 2 50
Count Lucanor ; or, Fifty Pleasant
Stories of Patronio. Don Juan
Manual, 2 00
Creation, The Simplicity of; or,
The Astronomical Monument
to the Blessed Virgin. W.
Adolph, 2 50
Daily Manual of the Third Order
of St. Dominic, in Latin and
English, 1 00
Demon of Qold. Hendrik Con-
science, 1 50
De Joinville's Life of St. Louis,
King of France, . 1 25
De Vere's Infant Bridal, and other
Poems, 8 00
Do Vere's Sitters Inisfail, and other
PoMOi, 2 M
De Vere's Legends of St. Pairiek,f2 M
Diana: The Sonnets and other
Poems of Henry Constable, with
Notes. Thomas Park, . 2 90
Digby's Children's Bower ; or.
What Yon Like. 2 vols., . , 5 SO
Digby's Compitum ; or. The Meet-
ing of the Ways of the Oaiholie
Church. 4 vols., . . 12 00
Digby's Evenings on the Thames,
2 vols., 7 51 •
Directory for Novices of every
Religious Order, particularly
those Devoted to the Edaeauon
of Youth, 1 25
Divinity of Jesus Christ. Angus-
te Nicolas, S 00
Dublin, Gilbert's History of, from
the earliest period to the present
time. 8 vols., . . 00
Ecclesiastical Antiquities of Lon-
don and Suburbs. Alexander
Wood, M.A 8 50
Echoes of the Vatican, . . 1 75
England, Dodd's Church Histoiy
ol 5 vols. 8vo, . . 20 00
E^ssay on Beatification, Canoniza-
tion, and the Processes of the
Congregation of Rites. Faber, . 1 00
Extracts from the Fathers, Histo-
rians, and other Writers of the
Church. Literally Translated, . 1 59
Faber's Hymns, . 8 25
Faber's Poems, . 4 00
Faber's Notes on Doctrinal and
Spiritual Subjects. 2 vols., . 5 00
Fabei's Spirit and Genius of St.
Philip Neri 1 00
Faith and Reason. Abb£ Martinet, 2 75
Father Ignatius, Life of, . 2 50
Fathers of the Desert, Lives of
the, 3 75
Florine. Princess of Burgundy.
A Tale of the First Crusade.
William Bernard McCabe. New
edition 2 OO
Flowers of Mary ; or. Devotions for
each Month in the Year, . . 1 50
FuUerton (Lady Georgiana), Seven
Stories, 1 50
God in his Works. Father Rawes, 1 85
Gold Digger, and other Poems.
Lady Fullerton, . . 8 00
Good Deeds. Sketches of Holy and
Devoted Lives, .... 50
Gospel Harmony of the Life of
Our Lord, 1 00
GoBselin. The Power of the Pope
during the Middle Ages. 2 vols., 5 00
Great Truths in Little Words. Rev.
Father Rawes, O.S.C, . 1 50
Heart to Heart with Jesus. 75
Henry Suso, The life of. By him-
self, . t 00
Henry VUL, The Life of, . . 2 00
17
Bistory of the Charch in Eo inland.
Very Rev. Cauon Flanijjan. 2
▼oIb,, $9 00
Hig:li«r Paths in Spiritual Life, . 50
History ot ibe Viceroys of Irelaod.
J. T, Gilbert, . 3 50
Holy Confideoce. Father Rogacci, 1 00
H»ly iBle, The, ... 50
Home^r&rd : A Tale of Redemp-
tion. Rev. Father Rawes,O.S.C., 1 50
Howard. The Life of Philip Tho-
mas Howard, O.P., Cardinal of
Norfolk 3 76
HyninB of the Church, . . 2 25
Intentions for Mass and Holy Com-
munion, for every Day in the
Year, 75
In the Snow. Rev. W. H. Ander-
don, 1 00
Ireland, A History of. Martin
Haverty 4 00
Ireland and her Churches. James
Oodkin, 8 00
Ireland. A Selection from the
Family Archives of The Mc-
Qillicuddy of the Reeks, with
an Introductory Memoir. W.
Maziere Brady, D.D. 4to, cloth, 10 50
Ireland. Eccleeiastical History of
Ireland, from the Introduction of
Christianity into that Country to
the Year 1829. Rev. M. J. liren-
nan, O.S.F., . 5 00
Ireland. Prof. O'Curry's Lectured
on the MS. Materials for Irish
History 5 00
Irisland. Rise and Fall of the Irish
Franciscan Monasteries in the
17th Century. Father Meehan, 75
Ireland. The Life and Letters of
Florence McCarthy Rea^h, Ta-
nist of Carbery, McCarthy Mor.
Daniel McCarthy, of Glean-a-
Cbroim. 1 vol. 8vo, . . 8 50
Ireland. The Towers and Tem-
ples of Ancient Ireland. Marcus
Keane, M.R.I. A., . 8 00
Ireland. The Irish Reformation ;
or. The Alleged Conversion of
the Irish Bishops at the Acces-
sion of Queen Elizabeth, and the
Asaamed DeHcent of the Present
Established Hierarchy in Ireland
from the Ancient Irish Church,
ExfKwed. W. Maziere Brady,
D.D • . . 1 00
Ireland under Eoglish Rule. Rev.
Father Perraud, ... 4 00
Jesas Christ : A Reply to M.
Renan. Pere Gratry, . . 75
Jesuits in Conflict ; or, Historic
Facts Illustrative of the Times
of Queen Elizabeth. 1 vol.
12mo, 2 50
Jeeos the Son of Mary ; or, The
Doctrine of the Catholic Church
upon the locarnation ot God the
Son. Rev. John Brande Morrip,
A.M. 2 vols. 8vo. |6 00
Julian Watts Russell, Pontifical
Zouave. A Memoir, . . . . 1 00
Lady May: A Pastoral. Lady
Chatterton, 1 50
Lectures on Certain Portions of
the Earlier Old Testament His-
tory. Rev. Philip G. Munro.
1 vol. 12mo, . . 1 75
Lectures on Catholic Faith and
Practice. Sweeney, . . .4 50
Lectures on the Lite, Writinfirs,
and Times of Edmund Burke.
J. B. Robertson, E^q., . 3 00
Lectures on the (Ecumenical Coun-
cil. Rev. J. N. Sweeney, O.S.B. 2 50
Legends of Our Lady and the
Saints ; or, Our Children's Book
of Stories in Verse. . .1 25
Letters of the Most Rev. John
MacHale, D.D., Archbishop of
Tuam, 5 25
Life and Death of the Most Rev.
Francis Eirwan, Bishop of Kil-
lala 2 50
Life and Spirit of Father Augus-
tine Baker, 1 25
Life of Beato Angelico da Fiesole,
of the Order of Friars-Preach-
ers, . . 4 Of)
Life of Blessed Alphonsns R^^dri-
guez. Lay -Brother of the Society
of Jesus. With engraved por-
trait. 1 vol. crown 8vo, . .2 5©
Life of Blessed Margaret Mary.
Rev. George Tickeli. 1 vol.
8vo, .... . 2 50
Life of Blessed Peter Favre, of the
Society of Jesus, first companion
of St. Ignatius Loyola. From
the Italian of Father Guiseppe
Boero, . . . 3 25
Life of Louis Marie Grignon de
Montfort 2 50
Life of St. Bernardine of Sit-iia. 1
vol. 12mo, 2 50
Life of St. Dominick aitd .viht-r
Saints. Illustrated, . . o 50
Life of St. Francis of Ahhhiiiih.
Rev. Father Murphy. O S.K.. . I 00
Life of St. Fran9ois do ^air-i*.
1 vol 2 00
life of St. German, Bishop of Aux-
erre. 1 75
Life of St. Philip Neri, Apostle of
Rome. Mrs. Hope, . . . 1 50
Life of St. Walburge. Rev.
Thomas Meyrick, . . . 1 00
Life of Vincent Palloti. Founder
of the Pious Society of Missions.
Melia, 2 00
Life of Father Henry Young, . 1 75
18
50
50
5 00
1
1
25
00
5 00
2 50
2 50
00
00
Life of Stephen Langton, Arch-
bishop of Canterbury, . $1 25
Life of Anne Catherine Emme-
rich 2
Li^uori on the Religious State,
Liuffard. The History and An-
tiquity of tbe Anglo-Saxon
Churcli. 2 vols.,
Linsrard's True Account of the
Gunpowder Plot,
Little Book of the Love of God, .
Lives of the most Eminent Paint-
fFH, Sculptors, aud Architects
of the Order of St. Dominic.
TruDslated by Rev. C. P. Mee-
han. 2 vols., ....
Lord Dacre of Gilsland ; or. The
Risin^r in the North. An Hip-
torical Romance. E. M. Stewart,
Lore:to and Nazareth. William
Antony Hutchison,
Love of Holy Cburch. From the
Frencb of M. F Abbe Petit. Ed-
ward Caswall, ....
Love for the Holy Eucharist,
Lutber, History of tbe Life, Writ-
intrs, and Doctrines of. M. Au-
din. 2 vols
Maliometanism in its Relation to
Prophecy. Andrew Lisle Phil-
lips
Manning's Celebrated Answer to
the Rev. C. Leslie's Case Stated,
b»*tween the Church of Rome and
the Cburch of England, .
Manning's England and Christen-
dom,
Manning's Essays on Religion and
Literature. Various Writers.
Edited by Archbp. Manning.
▼''Ib^V^* • • • • •
Manning. The same. Vol. IL, .
Manning. The same. Vol. III., 5
Manning's Love of Jesus to Peni-
tents, . . . .1
Manning's Moral Entertainments, 2 00
Manning'n St. Francis 'Assisi, the
Little Flowers of, .
Manning's Temporal Power of the
Pope
Manual of Devotions to Oar Holy
Fatber Saint Benedict,
Manual of Devotion to the Sacred
Heartof Jesus. Father Gautrelet, 1
Manual of Instruction in the Chris-
tian Doctrine
Manual of the Third Order of St.
Francis of Assisi. 2 vols.,
Marsfuerite Hibberr. A Memoir,
Margaret Verfla*'sen : A picture
from the Catbolic Cburch,
Martyrs Omitted by Foie. Being
Records of Religious Persecu-
tions in the ICth and 17th Cen-
turies,
5 00
2 25
1 75
00
5 25
7 00
25
00
1 50
2 50
1 50
25
1 50
3 00
50
1 50
1 25
Mary Magnifying God. Rev. F.
Humphrey, O.S.C, . tX
May Papers ; or. Thoughts on the
Litanies of Loretto, . .1
Meynell's Short Sermons, chiefly
on Doctrinal Subjectsi, . 2 OQ
Meditations for Every Day in the
Year. 2 vols.
Meditations for the Use of the
Clergy. From the Italian of
Sooti. 4 vols., - . 8 OP
Meditations of St. Anselm, . . 3 59
Meditations of St. Thomas on tbe
Purgative.Illnminative.and Uni-
tive Ways, for a Retreat of Ten
Dsvs, S»
Meditations on Divintj im*9
Father Vincent Huby, SJ., . 1 50
Meditations on theVeni SaDctiSfN-
ritns, . . . . 5Cf
Meditations for Everv Dav in the
Tear and the Principal Feasts.
F. Lancicius, S.J., . . . 3 25
Meditations on the Life and Doc-
trine of Jesus Christ, . . 5 ^
Memoir and Correspondence of
Viscount Castlereagh. 4 vola, 2 00
Milner, Life of the Right Rev.
John, D.D. F. C. Husenbeth,
D.D.,V.G 4 OP
Month of March, St. Joseph, Pro-
tector of the Cburch and Model
of Christians. Madame de Geo-
telles. Paper. . . 50
MontQ of Mary of Our Lady of
Lourdes. Henry Laseerre, . 1 25
Moran's Essays on the Orifrio,
Doctrines, and Discipline of the
Early Irish Church, . . .8 25
Moran's Life of Oliver Planket.
Archbishop of Armagh, . 3 75
Moran's History of the Catholic
Archbishops of Dublin since the
Reformation, . 8 00
Nature and Orace. William Qea
Ward 6 00
Nazareth. Mrs. Cashel Hoey, . 1 50
Newman. V. Rev. John Heaiy,
D.D., Works of, >'ew
Editions :
Theological Tracts, . * *'
Lectures on the Present Posi-
tion of Catholics in Eii|r*
land, . . . .850
Sermons on Various Occa-
sions, . . • • ^ 2
Difficulties of 'Anglicanism, . 8 50
An J^Issav on the Miracles. . 8 00
The Office and Work of Uni-
versities, . .80^
The Scope and Nature of
University Education, . 8 00
Parochial and Plain Sermona
Complete in 8 vols. Per
voL, 2 ^
J
»9
Sermons an Subjeets of the
V^j $2 25
Sermons before tlie Univer-
sity of Oxford, . . . 2 25
EIsMiye, Critical and Hiatorical.
2 vols., . . . 6 00
The History of tbe Arians, . 4 00
Historical Sketches. 3 vols., 9 00
l^ectares on Jastification, . 2 25
Callista, 2 25
Church of the Fathers, . .2 50
Discussions and Arf;am<'nt8, . 3 00
N«3"ver For^tten ; or. The Home
of the Lost Child, . . 1 75
^t¥ie ConBlderatioDS on Eternity, 1 25
Of Adoration in Spirit and Truth.
Written in Four Books. John
flasebius Nierember^, S.J., . 3 00
4>liver'8 Collections lllustratinjor
tbe Hi8tory of the Catholic Re-
ligion in the Connties of Corn-
^"all, Devon, Dorset, Somerset,
Wilis, and Gloucester, . 4 00
Oliver's Collections toward Illus-
trating the Biography of the
Scotch. Eoglish, and Irish Mem-
bers of t be Society of Jesus, . 6 00
On Jubtification: What Saith the
Scripture ? Canon S. Eccles, . 1 50
*>n some Popular Errors Concern-
ing Politics and Heligion, . 3 00
Origin and Progress of Religious
Orders, and Happiness of a Re-
ligious State. Patrick Man-
nock 1 50
Oar Lady's Month, . . . 1 00
Our Lady's Dowry, . . . 4 50
Paganism in Education. Abb6
Qaame, 1 00
Papal Sovereignty, The, Viewed in
iu Relations to the Catholic Re-
ligion. Mgr. Dupanloup, . . 8 00
Particular Examen of Conscience
according to the Method of St.
Ignatius. Father Luis de la
Palma, 1 25
Peace through the Truth. Father
Harper, S. J. Part I., . . 7 00
Peace through the Truth. Part
II 10 50
Perry's Practical Sermons for all
the Sundays of the Year. First
Series, 2 00
The Same. Second series, . . 2 00
Pictures of Youthful Holiness.
Rev. R. Cook, O.M.I. 1 vol.
16mo, 1 25
Pizarro, Life of. Arthur Helps, . 3 00
Plunket, Life, Letters, and
Speeches of. His grandson, Hon.
David Plunket. 2 vols., . .14 00
Protestant Journalism, . . . 5 00
Purgatory Surveyed, . . . 1 50
Realities of Irish Life. W. Steuart
Trench, 5 00
Reflections and Prayers for Holy
Communion, . . (2 25
Remarkable Conversions, . . 1 25
Revelations of Rome. Rev. J. H.
Turner, M.A., . . . . 2 00
Rise and Fall of the Franciscan
Monasteries in Ireland,. . . 75
Robertson's Lectures on Ancient
History, . . . . 2 (H)
Ritual of the New Testament.
An Essay on the Charactt^r nnd
Origin of the Catholic Ritual.
Being the second edition of" In
Spirit and in Truth." Rev. T.
R Bridgeit. 1 vol. 12mo, . 2 50
Robertson's Lectures on Modern
History, Biography, and Mason-
ry, . . . • . .V Uv
Rock's Church of our Fatbe^rs.
Illustratfd with many Engrav-
ings on Wood and Copper. 4
vols. 8vo, ... 24 00
Rock's Letter to Lord MannerK, . 1 50
Saint Mary and her Times, 'f he
author of Geraldine, . . 1 00
Selections from the Poets. De
Vere . 2 00
Septem ; or, Seven Ways of Hear-
ing M&w, . . 1 00
Sermons — Liguori's, . . . 3 00
McCarthy'H, . . . . 3 00
MaBsil ion's, . . . 3 00
Bourdaloue's, . . . . 3 00
Murray's (Archbishop), . 10 50
Mevnell's, . . . . 2 00
Moroney's 3 00
Murphv's 3 0(>
By the Fathers of the Society
of .iesus 8 00
By Father Harper, S J., . 3 00
Rossi'h 1 75
Newman's Parochial. 8
vols 18 00
Newman's Subjects of the
Day, . . . 2 25
Newman's Variou?* Subjects, . 3 00
Newman 'if University Ser-
mons, . . . 2 25
Sketches of Religious Life on the
Continent, 1 75
Spirit of St. Gertrude, . . .75
Spirit «>f St. Tere«»a, . . . 1 00
Spirit of the Cure of Ars, . . 1 50
Spiritual RetroHt of the Rev.
Father Colombiere, of the So-
ciety of Jesus, . . 1 00
Spiritual Works of Louis of
Blois 1 75
St. Augustine on Cltristian Doc-
trine, etc 3 OO
St. John of the Cross, The Com-
plete Works of. 2 vole., 14 00
St. Peter's Day in the Vatican.
Canon Pope, . . . . 2 50
St. Teresa, Life of. David Lewis, 5 25
'9
20
St. Teresa ■ Interior Caatle, $1 75
St. Teresa's Book of Foundations, 5 00
St. Teresa's Letters, . 1 75
St. Teresa'd Way of Perfection, . 1 75
Suema, ilie Little African Slave, . 1 00
Summer Talks about Lourdes. . 1 00
Sarsum ; or, Sparks Flying Up-
wards. Rev. H. A. Rawes, . 1 50
Suso, Blessed Henry. Little Book
of Eternal Wisdom, . 1 75
Sweeney's Lecture on tbe Nature,
the Grounds, and the Home of
Faith, 1 75
Tales and Sketches for Fireside
Readings, 1 50
Testimonies to tbe Most High,
drawn from the Books of Na- .
ture and Rt<veIation, . . 1 00
The Abb6 Zouave ; or. The Life of
Joseph Louis Querin, . 1 50
The Abbots of St. Albans. A
Chronicle, .... 25
The Art of Dying well, . 1 00
The Blessed Cornelius, Archbishop
of Armagh. Dr. Dixon. . . I 00
The Blessed Virgin's Root traced
in the Tribe of Ephraim. . 5 00
The Catholic Church in Scotland.
Rev. J. F. S. Gordon. 1 vol.
quarto, ... 12 60
The Choice of a State of Life, . 1 50
The Christian JSsop. Edited by
Dr. Anderdon, . . 2 00
The Coodition of Catholics under
James 1. Father Gerard's Nar-
rative of the Gunpowder Plot.
Edited, with his Life, by John
Morris, S.J., . 6 00
The Coreaii Martyrs. Canon
Shortland, . 1 00
The Crown Hymn-Book, . . 3 00
The Day Sanctified , being Medi-
tations and Spiritual Readings
for Daily Use, • . . . 1 75
The Devout Client of Mary In-
structed in the Motives and
Mnans of Serving her Well.
Father Segneri, S.J.. . . 1 00
The Dialogu«:'8 of S. Gregory the
Great 3 00
The Directorium Asceticura ; or,
Guide to the Spiritual Life.
John Baptist Scaramelli, S.J.
4 vols 12 00
The Divine Cl.>u K Father Au-
gusiin Baker, O S.B., . 2 00
The Eternal U^p.^tness of the
Saints. 1 50
The Dolorous P«*-HJiin of our Lord
Jesus Christ. From the Medi-
tations of Catharine Emme-
rich, 1 75
The Ecclesiastical Choir- Book. A
S«'ection of Mottit«», Hymns, and
ICasses, from the Great Masters
i
of the Sixteenth Centniy. 1
vol. quarto, |6 00
The Evidence for the Papacy.
Hon. Colin Lindsay, . . . 6 00
The Hidden Life of Jesus, . . 1 50
The History of the Christian Coun-
cils, from Original Documents to
the close of the Council of Niee,
A.D. 325. Bishop Hefele, . 6 Oii
The History of Irish Periodical
Literature. Richard Robert
Madden, M.R.LA. 2 vols., - 10 00
The History of the Sacred Pasrion.
Palma 8 0"
The King and tbe Cloister: or.
Legends of the Dissolution. 1
vol. 12mo, . . . . I 35
The Legends of Mount Leinster, 1 25
The Letters of Placidaa on Educa-
tion, 1 5*
The Life and Labors in Art and
Archeology of George Petrie.
William Stokes, M.D., . 6 ^'^
The Life of Father Balthasar Al-
varez, Religious of the Society of
Jesus. F. Louis Du Pont. 2
vols., 3 50
The Life of John Banim, the Irish
Novelist. Patrick J. Murray, . 1 OU
The Life of M. Olier, . 2 Oh
The Life of Luiea De Carvajal.
Lady Fullenon, . 2 5(i
The Life of Monseigneur Verneaz,
Vic. Apostolic of Cores. With
a preface by Lady Herbert, 1
vol. 16mo, 1 2S
The Life of Paul Seigneret of Saint
Sulpicie. 1 vol. 18mo, . . 75
The Life of St. Ignatius of Loy-
ola. Father Gennelli. 1 voL
12mo, S 00
The Life of St. Jane Frances de
Chantal. Emily Bowles. 1 vol.
12mo, 2 75
The Life of St. Philip Neri, . 2 50
The Life of the Baron de Renty.
Edited by Edward Healy Thomp-
son, M.A 8 00
The Life of Laisa De Carvajal, . 2 50
The Life of the Blessed John
Berchmans. Francis Qoldie. 1
voL 12mo, 2 50
The Literary Workman ; or. Life
and Leisure. A Magazine of
Amusing Literature and Gener-
al Information, . . 2 OD
The Liturgical Year. Very Rev.
Dom Prosper Gueranger, Ab-
bot of Solesraes. Translanted
from the French by the Rev.
Dom Laurence Shepherd, Honk
of the English Benedictine Con-
gregation. The volumes now
out are :
Advent, . . . .3 00
.
21
CTfarietxnas. Vol. I., $8 00
OlirisXxoaB. Vol. 11., . 8 00
Septuagefiima, . 2 60
Lent, 8 00
Paesion-tide and Holy Week. 8 00
Paselia.! Time. Vol. I., . 8 00
Paeelial Time. Vol. II., . 8 00
PaBcb&il Time. Vol. III., . 3 00
Tlie MyBtic Vine. From 8l, Ber-
nar«\, 75
The Ordinal of King Edward VI. :
It© History, Theology, Liturgy.
* I>om W'ilf rid Kaynal, O.S.B., . 2 00
Tlie Origin, Persecution, and Doc-
trines of the Waldenaea. Pins
Melia, D.D. 1 vol. 4to, . . 6 00
Xlie PaBsion Flower : A Novel. 1
▼ol. 12mo, . 2 00
The People's Martyr : A Legend
of Canterbury, . 2 00
The Perfect Lay Brother, . . 2 25
TY\e Philosopher's Stone. F.Cros-
bie, M.A.. . 1 00
Tlie Pope and the Emperor, . 1 00
T\ie Pope and the Church. Rev.
Paul Bottalla, . . . 6 25
The Priest on the Mission. Canon
Oakeley. 1 vol. 12mo, . . 2 00
The Prisoner of the Temple, . 2 25
The Prophet of Carmel. A Series
of Practical Considerations upon
the History of Elias in the Old
Testament. Rev. C. B. Garside.
1 vol. 12mo, . . . 2 50
The Public Life of Our Lord Jesus
Christ. Rev. H. J . Coleridge, S.J.
Part I., 8 25
The Reign of Law. The Duke
of Argyll, . » . . 2 50
The Rosary: A Legend of Wilton
Abbey, 1 50
The Question of Anglican Ordina-
tions Discussed. £. E. Estcourt,
MA. 1 vol. 8vo, . 7 00
The Religious and Social Position
of Catholics in England. Wise-
man, 60
The Rufl^an Clergy. Translated
from the French of Father Gaga-
nn» S.J., 2 50
The Scale of Perfection, by Wal-
ter Hilton, 2 50
The Sonnets and other Poems of
Henry Constable, . 8 00
The Spirit of St. Gertrude, . . GO
The Spiritual Doctrine of Father
Louis Lallemant, of the Society
of Jesus, 2 OU
The Spiritual Retreat of Father
Bourdaloue, S.J., . .75
The Treasure of Superiors; or, Let-
Address,
ters upon the Manner of Govern-
ing Religious Houses. From the
French of Pere Beaufils,
S.J., $1 35
The Troubles of our Catholic
Forefathers Related b^ Them-
selves. Edited Irom biiheito
unpublished manutteiipts i>y
Rev. John Morris, S.J. Ivol. 8vo, 5 (M)
The Unforgiven Siatt^r, . 50
The Truth. By the Duke of Sal-
dana, 1 25
The Vatican Council. . . 1 25
Tlie Virtues of Mary, Mother of
God. Father Francis Arias, S.J.
1 vol. 16mo, . 1 25
Thoughts on Some Passages of
Hoi J Scripture. By a Layman, 1 25
The "i ear of Preparation for the
Vatican Council, . . 1 25
Tradition, Priacipally with Refe-
rence to Mythology and the
Law of Nations. Ix)rd Arundel 1
of Wardour. 1 vol. 8vo, . . 5 0(>
True to Trust ; or, The Story of a
Portrait 2 00
Union with Rome, .50
VersicleR and Tales, . . .1 75
Vesper-Book, . . 2 00
Visions and Instructions of Blessed
Angela of Foligno, . . 2 00
Visits to the Altar of Mary, 50
Walsingham's Search Made in
Matters of Religion, . . 3 00
Water worth's Origin and Develop-
ments of Anglicanism, . 2 50
Waterworth's England and Rome, 2 50
Water worth's The Fathers on St.
Peter 5 00
W"hen Does the Church speak In-
fallibly ? Knox, . . 1 25
Who is Jesus Christ ? . . . 05
Why do we believe'? Henry John
Pjre, M.A., . . . 1 75
Works of St.^ugustine :
Writings lu Connection with
the Donatist Controversy, . 8 00
St. John. Vol. 1, . . . 8 00
Do. Vol. 2, . . . 8 00
Christian Doctrine, . . 3 00
City of Gf»d 3 ^-ols., . 6 00
The Anti-Pelagian Writings.
Vol. 1, . . 8 00
The same. Vol. 2. . . 3 00
The Manichean Heresy, . 8 00
Letters, 8 00
On the Trinity. . . . 8 00
On Harmony of the Gospels, . 3 00
Ximenes, Cardinal, The Life of, . 5 00
Zeal in the Ministry. Dubois. 1
vol. 8vo, 5 00
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY,
LAWRENCE KEHOE, General Agent, No. 9 Warren Street, N. Y.
\
If
ELDER'S CATHOLIC AGENCY,
NEW ORLEANS, LA.,
Lites promptly all kIndB of oommtssioBg for the CJkTHOLIC CtEKGT, RELIGIOUS INSTITt'-
IS. EDUCATIONAL ES I'ABU^HHENTS, and CI I'JZENS OENERALLT.
'be undersigned U also prepared to fill with despatch all orders for BOOKS, 8TATIOKGEV,
"PRINTING, and Kives, as heretofore, bphcial attention to the oollection and remittance of
'lON BILLS AMD OTHER ACCOIJN'l S due In this section.
CHAS. D. ELDER,
124 Camp Street— Lafayette Square,
NEW ORLEANS, LA.
O. Box 8,084.
Have been familiarly and favorably known
to the American public for upward of thru -
quarters of a century ^ with yearly increas-
ing: popularity.
They speak their own praise wherever planted.
Landreth's Rural Register and Almanac
1875 will be mailed without charge to all
who apply, enclosing a stamp to prepay
postage.
DAVID LANDRETH & SON,
Nos. 21 and 88 South 8ixth St., Ptailadelphin.
1 oromsr h:..a.kolid,
ISexton & Undertaker,
CHURCH OF ST. PAUL THE APOSTLE,
59th Street and 9th Ave., New York.
.Residence, 921 Eiglitli ^veniae.
Between 54th and 55th Streets.
METALLIC AND OTHER CASKETS.
Funerals furnished with everything requisite.
STimilAi AHBKICO BILLIMB TUBIBl
TRADE
MARK.
H. W. OOLLENDER,
"^ Successor to PHELAIf & COLLBNDERj \^\
738 Broadway,
p. O. BOX 1,847.
NfiW TORE.
Cloth. Balls, Cnes, and eyerything appertaining to Billiards at lowest prices. Illustrated Cata-
logues sent by mall.
DRADDY BROTHERS,
Monumental Sculptors,
1446 AND 1448 BROADW^AY,
Near Forty-Second Street, NEW YORK,
Monuments, Tombs, Altars, Basts, etc., erected in Freestone, Granite, and Bronze.
I
THE (LONDON) TABLEN*
J WEEKLY NEWSPAI^R AND BEVIEJV.
(K8TABLISHBD 1840.)
An effort has been made during the last three years— and it has proved ia ei
spcct Hiiccesi^rnl — to raise the character of the Tablet to a lerel with the taj*t*f>
livoti(»n of the most highly educated classes among English-speaking Catholic*,
Qttrtioed a wide circulatioii not only among the clergy and the edacat4*€l CatuoUcsi
British Empire, hut is also extensively read in the London clahs, and by States
Anglicans, and such as, from either religious, social, or political motive^i, defire toj
tbcmsclroH informed on important Catholic events, or to test from week to week tl
ol tbo Catholic mind and feeling. It is now obtaining an extended elrciiiatlon
the clergy and laity of the United States.
In politics, the Tablet belongs to no party. It professes to be simoly Oatl
o sustain the principles of truth, justice, morality, and honor in whatsoever pa
may be found. In the words of Magna Charta : " Imprimis volnTuns ut Keei
libera .sit."
An important feature in the Tablet, and one which will commend it to the
of America, is its carefuUv prepared editorial chronicle of the week's new«, which
confined to purely English or political topics, but gathers up each week the chiel
of Catholic interest in Christendom.
Those interested in Catholic aud general literature will find reviews and m
some ten or twelve publications in every number of the Tablet.
With regard to Roman news, the Tablet has peculiar advantages on accoQOt
exceptional and reliable sources of information.
All official documents published by the Holv See, having any kind of public <
era! interest, are carefully translated and printed in the Tablet. And in order to
this j<mrnal a complete* and, for many, an indispensable work of reference, a a
dij^i'stod index is printed at the end of each half-yearly volume, together with an
priate title-page, and forwarded to all subscribers.
The Tablet consists of from thirty- two to forty pages each number.
A reduction in price has been made in favor of American amtual subscribenl
prepay. Henceforth the paper can be had, if prepaki, for $7 50, currencv. Dt
inouey-order to that amount at your nearest post-office in favor of Mr. U. fcl. HEAT!
Manager, and forward it, with name and address, to the Tablet Office. 27 Wellii
Street^ Strand, London, TV. C.
Subscriptions also received by "The Cateolio Publication Society.'' 9
Street. New York, who will forward the money for you U) Ltmdun. No name Mitt I
the $7 50 is received.
Every Wednesday, tU THE TA BLET Office, 27 WelUngtan
Strand,
^u
Catholic Opinion.
HOME AHD FOREIGN AND EDUCATIONAL BECK
A New Series, price One Penny, illastralcd.
Containing the beet eelections from the Catkolic Continental, American, and OolonUI
digest of the English Press on Catholic Topics.
The Summary of News will principally chronicle the events occarring since the issoc of the I
day's Tablet, though it will also touch upon the general topics of the week.
Space will be given to everything concerning the Propagation of the Faith thron^oot V
doms. A continuous tale of interest, by a noted author, will fonn one of its fcatures.
On the first Wednesday of each month, one-half of the paper will be devoted to an Edac
cord, under the Editorship of a Diocesan Religiotts Inspector, for the special benefit of CatK
crs and their Scholars thronghoat the coontry, and will be full of matt^^rs cither important, '
or amusing.
Literary communications to be addressed to the Editor. Business commonicatiotts
to the Msnager, n. E. Heather, at the Oflice, 27 Wellington Street, Strand. Subscriptions
vAnc(>^$2 50 gold— which can be sent direct to the oflUce, or to Mr. L. Kxao^^CathoUc World
York.
)
r
3 STANFORD UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES STANFORD UNIV
STANFC
RIES
ANFORD UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES STANFORD (JNIVERS
VERSITY LIBRARIES STANFORD UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES
^D UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES STANFORD UNIVERSITY
l"fY LIBRARIES . ST
3 • STANFORD UNI
STANFOF
ANFORD
UNIVERS
IVERSITY
UBRARIE
^Q UNIVERSITY LIBF
)|TY LIBRARIES ST
iS • STANFORD UNT
RARIES ■
STANFOF!
STANFORD UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES
CECIL H. GREEN LIBRARY
STANFORD, CALIFORNIA 94305-6004
(415) 723-1493
All books may be recalled after 7 day$
DATE DUE
"7^