(navigation image)
Home American Libraries | Canadian Libraries | Universal Library | Community Texts | Project Gutenberg | Children's Library | Biodiversity Heritage Library | Additional Collections
Search: Advanced Search
Anonymous User (login or join us) Upload
See other formats

Full text of "New Catholic World"

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&not 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^